6. Kess

6

KESS

Today was the day that Emery and I officially sold our third business together. I doubted we’d be able to go the rest of our lives without another business idea taking us down a different path, but this was the first time since high school we weren’t actively working toward the next money maker.

It was a bittersweet milestone I was sure we’d celebrate at some point, but today was a little too raw. Also, Stevie had some sort of 4-H presentation that Emery couldn’t miss.

After seeing him off, I stayed in town. Given the failures of my very expensive matchmaker—okay, most of that was on me—maybe what I needed to do was strike out on my own and meet a guy in the real world. The decision to stay in town may or may not have been influenced by the presence of a scorpion in my sock drawer, but the less said about that, the better.

Suffice it to say, country living had been a little more challenging than I’d bargained for.

My hotel was right in the middle of Austin’s SoCo district, so I checked in, put my things away, and slipped out into the night. I made my way down South Congress, took the obligatory selfie by the i love you so much mural, ate some fantastic street tacos, then meandered, following an enchanting guitar melody that I eventually tracked to a small club.

Sticking my hands in my pockets, I strolled over and watched the guitar player through the big picture window at the front of the bar. Her eyes were closed, her long hair spilling over her shoulder as she played a pretty Spanish melody. The song was familiar, but I didn’t know the name of it.

Surveying the quirky interior of limestone, colorful art, and dark wood, my eyes caught on a man at the bar facing away from me. I couldn’t put a finger on what drew me in, but he had wavy thick brown hair down to his shoulders and was wearing a cream Henley and blue jeans with some broken-in cowboy boots.

Emery said that now he lived in the country, he could easily tell the difference between a city boy wearing cowboy cosplay and an actual cowboy. Something about boots that were too shiny and wearing a cowboy hat where one wasn’t needed.

The cowboy shifted to watch the guitar player, and I sucked in a breath. Even in partial profile from outside the crowded bar, I could tell it was Rowdy. His hair down was as beautiful as I remembered it, only now I knew it smelled like good shampoo, with a hint of something muskier. Something that was all Rowdy.

God, I want to kiss him again.

Jealousy lanced through my chest when I saw him sitting next to a stunning man, whispering in his ear. Rowdy must’ve said something funny because this guy, this stranger, threw his head back and laughed, smacking Rowdy’s thigh as he did.

Where Rowdy had this soulful, natural vibe about him, his friend wore a mix of masculine and feminine clothes, along with what looked to be high-end makeup. I wondered if this might be one of his hookups, but they seemed to know each other too well for that.

Was Rowdy actually dating someone?

Nah. He adamantly stated he didn’t date.

God, please don’t be dating someone.

That request was hella hypocritical given my recent forays into dating, but I didn’t care.

Still, I felt like a creeper staring at Rowdy through the window. Just as I decided I should move on to one of SoCo’s other offerings, Rowdy looked up and we made eye contact. His brief surprise turned warm as his broad smile took over his face. He motioned for me to join them. As I made my way inside, he leaned over and whispered something into his friend’s ear.

The friend’s eyes widened as they turned to look at me. I wasn’t sure what to make of it as I closed the distance. Time was running on its own schedule, and before I could blink, I was standing in front of them, no idea what to do with my hands.

Rowdy hopped up and gave me a big hug, which I returned—and then held for too long, if the jump in his friend’s eyebrows was any indication. I gave Rowdy another squeeze—wait, one more—before releasing him.

Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him. Don’t kiss him.

Had he always smelled this good? And why was a simple cream-colored Henley spackled to his spare muscles so fucking sexy?

“Kess!” Rowdy said, gesturing to his friend. “This is my good buddy Skylar.”

Good buddy? What did that even mean?

“So,” Skylar said, assessing me. “This is the famous Kessler.”

Rowdy elbowed him, and I produced a laugh. “Famous? You’ve been talking about me?”

Rowdy rolled his eyes. “Don’t get a big head about it. I was just telling him about the killer house party you threw,” he said.

Mention of the housewarming took me back to that night. To my room. To the urgency in the way he’d clung to me.

Seriously, Kess. Don’t. Kiss. Him.

Based on Skylar’s expression, I guessed Rowdy had told him what we’d done. My cheeks went hot, but I quickly neutralized my face.

“That was a good time.” Turning to Skylar, I teased, “Though your buddy here was two hours late.”

Skylar clucked his tongue. “For shame, Rowdy. For shame.”

“I guess it’s too much to ask for Rowdy to give up his sexcapades in favor of a humble housewarming party,” I joked, and Skylar frowned.

He opened his mouth to say something, but his phone went off. After a quick check, he sent an apologetic look to Rowdy.

“Sorry to abandon you, doll. Daddy Big Bucks calls.”

Skylar slid off the barstool and waited for me to take it; a kindness in this crowded bar, even as his eyes narrowed. He was still staring at me as he bussed both of Rowdy’s cheeks.

Pretty sure there was a warning in those sharp eyes.

Rowdy, unaware of our silent exchange, grinned and gave his friend a quick hug. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

Skylar refocused on Rowdy, pursing his lips. “Now, that doesn’t give me much to work with, does it?”

Rowdy pushed his shoulder, and Skylar winked. “You know how my sugar daddy is. He won’t last long. If you want to hang out, I’ll be back in half an hour, forty-five minutes, tops.”

Rowdy pulled a face. “Eh. Haven’t had any alcohol, so I was planning on heading home tonight.”

“Fine. But text me when you get home.” Skylar kissed his cheeks. Again. “Oh, are we still on for the weekend after next?”

“Absolutely, my friend.”

Skylar beamed. “I can’t wait to give you the cabin of your dreams.”

With that, he sauntered away, several men tracking his ass as he walked out the door.

I crossed my arms as Rowdy situated himself on the barstool and drank his soda.

“What?” he asked, uncertainty in his dark eyes.

I gestured to Skylar’s retreating figure. “Did your hookup just ditch you for a sugar daddy?”

Rowdy shuddered. “God, no. Not a hookup. I told you—Skylar’s one of my best friends.”

“I’ve known you, what, two years now? How come I’ve never heard of this Skylar person?” I asked, utterly aware of how insecure I sounded.

“You don’t know everything about me,” he tossed back with an arrogant grin.

No shit.

“Fine. I guess I’ll find out more when he shows up weekend after next. To stay with you in your one-room cabin. On your single bed.”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a queen, Kess. Besides, Woody’s been nagging me to make the cabin my own, and Sky offered to help.”

“Yeah, right. Now that I’ve met this Skylar person, I’m surprised you don’t have a sugar daddy.”

I’d said it to be funny, but the joke landed like a broken ankle. Rowdy looked ill at the words, an expression that was there and gone in a second. I felt five kinds of wrong-footed and couldn’t shake the feeling that’d been growing since our encounter at my housewarming: I did not have the full story on Rowdy Lockwood.

And once again, I’d stumbled into some invisible miscalculation of the man in front of me.

Rowdy straightened his shoulders, tossing me a smirk. “You can miss me with a sugar daddy. I have zero interest in that kind of exchange.”

I lightly shoved his shoulder, hoping to get us back on track. “Besides, isn’t a sugar daddy too much of a commitment for you?”

If anything, that seemed to make Rowdy even more uncomfortable. After the briefest moment, however, he sat up and sent me a teasing smile. “You know me, Kess. Strings are for bikinis.”

I returned his smile, even as my lawyer brain fired up. Any legal professional worth their salt could spot a lie from a mile away, and Rowdy had just lied right to my face.

About what, though?

Rowdy ran a nervous hand through his beard, his nails catching my eyes. Only...

“Are those calluses on your fingertips?” I asked, frustrated that I’d somehow missed this detail. “Do you play guitar?”

Looking almost guilty, he lifted a shoulder. “A little.”

“How come I’ve never seen you play?”

He crossed his arms, hiding his hands in his armpits. “It’s just for fun. I’m not, like, a professional.”

Another obvious lie. People who were just having “fun” didn’t grow a set of perfectly manicured nails, and they sure as hell didn’t have such well-defined guitar string grooves on their fingertips.

“What genre do you enjoy? Do you sing?”

He dipped his chin, his cheeks going red. “I can carry a tune, kinda? But I prefer mostly Spanish instrumental. And I love percussive guitar.”

“Percussive guitar? Like that young guy?” I tapped the bar, trying to remember. “Marcel?”

“Marcin,” he corrected.

“Can you play any of his songs?”

“Not as well as he can, but I like to warm up with his version of Carmen.”

I snapped my fingers. “That’s the one. I love that song.”

“I do, too,” he said, his smile widening as the loud room disappeared into the background. “And you don’t realize how much punishment his hands and fingers must take until you actually try to play it.”

“Oh?”

Rowdy pushed his hair behind his ears, his eyes lighting up with excitement. “Absolutely. Let me show you.”

Using the top of the bar like a guitar board, he showed me the techniques used in percussive playing. I didn’t know why he’d felt the need to hide this—I could tell from the rhythm he maintained on the shellacked hardwood that he was better than he thought he was. Or at least better than he was willing to admit.

Something about that line of thought stuck with me. I wondered what else he wasn’t willing to admit. I loved our banter and had now twice tried and failed with what I thought would be an in with him—his sexual prowess.

It was something he talked about a lot. I’d assumed his sexual expression and freedom were a pretty core part of his being, but I had never seen him as alive as I saw him now, gushing about what that style of music meant to him.

“I’m surprised you don’t pursue it,” I said, wondering how much money he could make with his talents.

He scrunched his nose. “I’ll never make money off of that.”

I signaled for the bartender to refill Rowdy’s soda, then turned to the man who’d so thoroughly captivated me. “Don’t say that about yourself. I can tell just from the way you tapped on the bar that you are more talented than you’re letting on.”

He leaned forward, and I followed suit, curious about what he would say. He lightly rapped my forehead.

“Look, Kess. I know you’re very good at capitalism. And that’s not a knock on you,” he quickly added when I opened my mouth in protest. “But not every talent has to be monetized. I like what I do with the sanctuary, and with Emery and Stevie. I enjoy playing guitar by myself because I don’t have to layer any expectations on top of it.”

I sat back, lingering on his pretty lashes. “I suppose I get that. I’m not out here trying to make furniture for a living. I just like the accomplishment of building something.”

He smacked my chest. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. Going after a particularly difficult piece of music gives me a sense of accomplishment when I get it right.”

I rubbed my chest, right where his hand had landed. “I can see that.”

This brought out his genuine smile again. “But enough about me,” he said, a now familiar pattern of deflection. “Tell me how things are going with the house. Are you settled in?”

I hesitated for a second. I contemplated asking him why he was changing the subject, but we were having a good time, and there was no need to fuck with the mood.

“It was going well until I found a scorpion in my sock drawer this morning. That was unpleasant.”

Rowdy shook his head, clearly disappointed. “It’s just a spider, Kess. As long as you found the other scorpion, you’re golden.”

“Emery said that was an old wives’ tale,” I said, panicking. There had only been one scorpion, and that had been enough.

He casually lifted a shoulder. “Maybe.”

Jackass .

“Well, whatever. I’m staying at the Austin Motel tonight, and I’m not going near my place until the exterminator comes tomorrow.”

The extra keycard sat heavy in my wallet at the mention of a hotel room. My hands flexed with the desire to pull him to me, invite him to stay with me, and promise him every fucking pleasure I was capable of.

I thought briefly of the dates I’d been on, trying to remember why the hell I’d pursued that line of men when I had Rowdy right here in front of me.

Because he’d practically recoiled from you the last time, remember? Not to mention the fact that there’s no way he’d want to be saddled with a kid right now. Or ever, probably.

The unsaid invitation hung between us, and Rowdy’s shoulders stiffened.

“Besides a quarterly exterminator visit, you should also plant some sage and lavender around the house,” he said, fiddling with the paper coaster.

I despised the discomfort I read in his averted eyes, but his body language and verbal pivot could not have been clearer: Rowdy one hundred percent did not want me to proposition him.

Even though I’d reminded myself of the very good reasons I shouldn’t ask him to join me, I didn’t get it. Had I been wrong this entire time about our chemistry? Had he simply been placating me because I was Emery’s friend? When could I have another taste of him?

God, how I wanted another taste of him.

But he was not on board, and whatever the reason, I wasn’t going to figure it out tonight.

I decided, instead, to take the hint. “Good suggestion, but as I’ve discovered with my first round of plantings, I’ve got a black thumb.”

That brought a smile to his lips.

“You are pathetic,” he said as he grabbed my forearm and shook it. “Tell you what, I’ll rope in Stevie—Sunday after next, if that’s good for you—and we’ll set you up with some native plants that don’t need that much minding. Hell, I’ll bet they can be managed with your fancy automatic sprinkler system. Black-thumb proof.”

“I look forward to it.” I wasn’t lying—I’d be counting the days until I could see him again. “And that Sunday works great.”

He drained his soda and stood from the bar. “Not to abandon you, but I should probably hit the road.”

“Of course,” I said, standing with him. I swayed with hesitation. “I know you can take care of yourself, but do you mind if I walk you to your truck?”

“Uh...” He seemed to short circuit, then pulled himself together. “No, I wouldn’t mind that.”

I held out my elbow, and though he seemed uncertain, he took it. We walked out of the bar and down the street to the parking structure on the corner. I walked him up three flights of concrete and steel stairs to his little truck, keeping my eyes forward the entire time.

“Shit,” he said as we reached his parking space. “I totally forgot that you’re afraid of heights.”

I squeezed my elbow around his. “It’s okay. I know what to do to avoid a freak out.”

“But we could’ve taken the elevator.”

“I’m fine, Rowd. Promise. I’ll take the elevator on the way down.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

We stood there in the echoey garage until he finally slid his elbow from mine, fishing for his keys in his pocket.

As he unlocked the door, I asked, “Do you mind including me when you text Skylar to let him know that you’ve arrived home safely?”

He dropped the keys, and I swooped down to grab them.

“Uh, sure,” he said, avoiding eye contact as he retrieved his keys from my extended hand. “Maybe by the time I get home, I’ll have thought of a naughty limerick to share with you.”

Hm.

Ignoring his quip, I opened my arms slightly, and he responded immediately— automatically —by stepping into the hug. This he felt comfortable with.

We swayed together for a moment, then I held the door open for him. I found it interesting that he’d shied from every hint of sexual invitation, but seemed to enjoy—need, maybe?—the physical affection. Not exactly what I’d imagined of our lovable slut.

Humans contain multitudes, Kess.

“Be safe on the way home, Rowd.”

His smile was soft. “I will.”

I shut the door and waited as he put on his seat belt, started the truck, and pulled out of the parking space. I then made my way to the bank of elevators, grateful that they weren’t made of glass.

The moment I hit the street, I dove back into my imagination, making the short walk to the hotel while contemplating the many layers of Rowdy Lockwood. Unanswered questions pinged off the walls of my skull and were still going round and round an hour and a half later when I got a text notification.

Rowdy: Made it home.

Thank goodness.

Rowdy: A naughty limerick, as promised: There was a young man from Trent who had a penis so long that it bent. It gave him such trouble that he put it in double, so instead of coming, he went.

Unknown number: Thanks for letting me know, hun.

Unknown number: And thanks for the limerick, I think?

Me: Sleep well.

Seeing his message come in was such a relief that even the muscles in my neck relaxed, and I had to wonder if all of this overthinking was something else in disguise. After saving Skylar’s number, I slid under the covers and shut out the light.

The last thought I had before sleep finally overtook me was that Rowdy felt like a mystery worth solving.