Played (Elite PR) (2 page)

Mel dodged what might have been a puddle of pee on the side of the road, making a little jump over the curb. She’d gone looking for an adventure last night. This wasn’t what she had in mind, but at least she was out there experiencing new things.

Had
he
done the same?

She wasn’t so naive as to think that, after three years abroad, Teddy hadn’t sampled the local cuisine. Really, she didn’t care if he had. Even though hearing from him out of the blue struck a nerve, she’d been over him for a long time now. Of course, those first few months had been excruciating. She had cried herself to sleep every night, called home every day, and checked her phone incessantly, praying he’d call. It went on that way for so long it’d become normal, until Miranda hired her. Once she joined the Elite team, there wasn’t time for any sort of wallowing.

Really, with the exception of her lack of judgment last night, she had made a good life for herself alone in the city. Mel hadn’t known a single soul in Atlanta when she’d moved that summer after college graduation. Her apartment in Little Five Points—a bohemian area of the city that was about as far from her hometown of Sweetwater as you could get—had been her humble abode for three years now. True, she stuck out like a sore thumb with her preppy clothes and bright colors amidst the dark hipster-wear of the area, but she loved it here.

It was a place known for its restaurants, bars, and shops, but at the ass crack of dawn, you’d never know it. Except for the stench. The pungent stink of stale beer and quite possibly vomit made her own stomach turn. She needed to move fast or she’d find herself hurling on the side of the road like a freshman during rush week.

Finally, she rounded the corner to her place—an older home that’d been converted into three apartments. A place she might not have for much longer unless she seriously turned things around. The pale yellow house stood proud on the corner with its wrap-around porch. It was that porch, with its colorful Adirondack chairs, that had captivated Mel initially. She envisioned hanging out there after work and having cocktails with friends, kicking back on those chairs on a hot evening while reading a book, even serving sweet tea to her parents when they came up to visit.

Two out of three wasn’t so bad.

She couldn’t blame her parents; they had the business to take care of. Not to mention her sisters (and their families) were all in Sweetwater, so there wasn’t much need to leave. Strange how things turned out. Who would’ve ever thought that Mel would be the one to move to the city and land the big job? Or be the last to get a ring on her finger?

She was so focused on that depressing thought that she didn’t notice the moving truck parked in front of the house. So when she opened the door that led to her apartment, she wasn’t exactly expecting to see a guy dragging a mattress up the stairs.

“What in the ever-loving hell?” she screamed, stumbling back into the door. Her mind flipped from one scenario to another to explain the scene in front of her. Thief? Squatter? Deliveryman?

“Oh, hey there,” a deep voice said from behind the puffy white Select Comfort on the flight of stairs above. “Don’t mind me. I’m just moving in.”

“Just moving in?” she mocked. Meanwhile, there went ten years off her pathetic life. She didn’t like being caught off guard, and she definitely didn’t like surprises. It only made her ornery. Combine that with her current state of exhaustion and Mel didn’t exactly show well.

She couldn’t get a good look at the guy. He was hidden in the darkened hallway, but the door across from her upstairs apartment was propped open. Shit. He must be her new neighbor. She might’ve known that if she answered any of her landlord’s calls. But she had her reasons for avoiding him.

Still, who moved at this time of day, unless you were running from the law or a woman? Either way, she didn’t need the drama so close to her own living quarters when she had her own mess to deal with.

“A little early for moving day, wouldn’t you say?” she snapped.

“And a little late to be coming home”—he peeked around the mattress—“dressed like
that
, wouldn’t you agree?” His voice was smooth, low but clear, almost musical. She ignored what the sound did to her insides and absorbed his words instead—his condescending and judgmental words.

“Daddy, is that you?” she sing-songed. Who did he think he was, talking down to her? She had enough of that at work. She certainly didn’t have to put up with it at home, too.

“Barking up the wrong tree, little lady,” he said with a smile in his voice, not letting her stop him from his work. “Not really into role-play.”

Hmm, role-play. Now that could be something to explore. Somewhere between shots four and five last night, Mel decided that she was going to try this
adulting
thing—for real this time. She was on a mission to make a life here and to finally have the adventure she left home for. And whether she decided to meet Teddy or not, she’d return to Sweetwater this year a new woman. She was ready to embrace her inner Scarlett and live a life without regret.

“It’s okay,” her new neighbor said, interrupting her dramatic internal monologue. Heck, she was just about ready to break into song. “Whatever floats your boat, hon. I’m not here to judge.”

Right.
He was still talking role-play. She didn’t bother to acknowledge him. Instead, she walked up the flight of stairs, squeezing against the wall of the hallway to slip past the mattress. She was not going to let this inconsiderate a-hole keep her from—she checked her watch—the hour and fifty minutes she had left for sleep. She had the world to conquer in the morning.

In front of her door at the top of the landing, she reached into her bag for the keys. But as she did, her panties fell out of her purse. Not yet accustomed to her new adventurous side, she completely forgot they were in there. Shit, this was not the first impression she wanted to make with her new housemate.

Maybe he didn’t see.

She quickly bent down to grab her underwear, not daring to look back, but the man’s amused chuckle told her all she needed to know. He was definitely a witness to her little humiliation.

“Not what it looks like,” she lied, finally pulling her keys from the bag. She squared her shoulders and, despite the ticking clock, she took her time with the lock. She would not be shamed for…okay, yes, it
was
called the walk of shame for a reason. Still, she wouldn’t be humiliated for her choices. Damn it.

“Whatever you say, princess,” he said. “It’s no crime.” And for a brief second, she wanted to turn around. One, to see who this velvety voice belonged to, and two, to give him one of her death glares.

She resisted, opened her door, and let it slam behind her. Maybe not what Scarlett would do, but she needed her sleep first. Yes, sleep. Then she’d make her mark on the world.

And she had just four weeks to do it.

Chapter Two

Sometimes I am two people. Johnny is the nice one. Cash causes all the trouble. They fight.

—Johnny Cash

A
aron Major often felt like his idol—with two distinct personalities battling for control. There was the normal guy—the family-loving, church-going, dog-petting man who’d lend a hand whenever he could. And then there was the star—the egotistical, attention-seeking, skirt-chasing, whiskey-drinking asshole who didn’t give two shits about anyone other than himself.

Though his star had fallen quite some time ago, he could feel remnants of the guy he used to be lurking beneath his skin, waiting to come out and play. His new neighbor was exactly the kind of woman who provoked that guy. And she was exactly what Aaron Major was trying to stay away from: temptation…and things that fucked with his head in general.

That sexy Southern belle was guilty of both offenses.

He hefted another box up the flight of stairs, but her scent in the hallway was enough to do him in. Spicy, floral, and something else that filled his head with filthy thoughts. He could write an entire album about her scent.

Their little meeting in the hallway was a teaser, and he wanted more. A nice long look. But that wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t going down that road again.

With only a few things left in the truck, he’d simply have to power through it. And then? Take a cold shower.

What should’ve taken him a handful of trips, he managed in two. So by the time he finished and dropped to the couch in his new living room, he was moments away from a heart attack. His chest ached and each breath was labored, painful to release, making his head spin. All because of a woman.

Not fucking normal, Major. Now pull it together.

He took stock of his new place: recently remodeled, with high ceilings and beautiful chestnut woodwork. It already felt like home. It may have been quite a step down from where he’d once been, but it was a step up from his last place. And that felt like the perfect position to be in, considering.

He arranged his living room, happy he found some guys to help haul in the heavy stuff the night before, all for the bargain price of a case of beer. He mounted his flat screen and shuffled a few boxes around, until he located the one marked “bathroom.” Pulling out the essentials—towels, soap, and the like—he went into the shower to take care of business. And by business, he meant his aching cock.

Mercy, he’d tried to play it cool with her, but once he stole a peek at the sassy blonde who came storming into his new home, that primal need he’d kept buried for so long came rushing back. And it was like he never left Tennessee. Never mind Vegas, Nashville’s the place they should call
Sin City
. A city with so much talent, so much raw energy, so many beautiful people…well, it made the freewheeling sex inevitable for a kid with a record contract.

After his early morning run-in with the temptress, he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that missed it. Long, lean, and pissed as hell, she was irresistible. One of those girls who looked all prim in public, but get her out of that sorority getup and she’d have something wicked on underneath. He knew it.

Forget playing to standing-room-only auditoriums, adoring fans screaming his name, and all-night drunken benders—this girl made that shit look boring. Thank Christ he’d had a mattress to conceal his reaction to her. Especially once those lace panties came a-tumblin’ from her purse.

Where’d she been when his life was also full of wild nights of debauchery? Oh, the fun they could’ve had. Too bad that time was long gone for him. He’d just have to stay away from her as much as possible. It had taken him over seven years to get his life back on track, and he wasn’t about to let it go to shit because of a hot piece of ass.

He was determined.

Once he relieved his stress and put himself back together, he left the building to return the U-Haul—not wanting to run into his naughty neighbor until he worked up a little immunity.

T
hat evening, Aaron vowed to keep to himself and stay clear of the siren next door. But hell if he couldn’t help but take a peek out his bedroom window when he heard a car drive into the back alley. It was an unusually cool night—eighty degrees was brisk for Hotlanta—so he had the windows open to air out the stuffy apartment, which was precisely why he couldn’t miss her. The squealing tires echoed through his place the second they hit the drive.

She drove a little green hybrid that he hoped wouldn’t dent his pickup as it barreled into the garage. He had to hand it to the woman. She knew how to make an entrance. As she stepped out of the garage, Aaron ducked away from the window. He didn’t need her thinking he was some fucking pervert watching her every move.

What was it about her that got him so worked up?

It didn’t matter. He had more important things to think about, like finishing the rest of his album. So he went to work…pacing the living room, doing push-ups, searching for a word to rhyme with
fence
, watching the Braves for an inning (or three), before finally falling asleep on the couch. So, the usual.

He slept on and off, waking every few hours to contemplate his next move. He desperately wanted to create music on his own this time, but it wasn’t working, and his deadline was just a few weeks away. He needed to have a completed album in less than a month, and he was still a handful of songs short.

He knew the surefire way to lay down the tracks, but it was a last resort. He wouldn’t call in reinforcements unless he absolutely had to. For now, he’d try to be patient and let the creative juices flow when they were ready. Sometimes if he forced the issue, it only made matters worse.

It was a restless night, but the next time he woke up, he had something. A tune. He didn’t think twice before picking up his guitar in the middle of the night. Or working a drum beat on his new coffee table. When the muse came to call, you’d better answer. He’d learned the hard way to never turn his back on the finicky bitch.

“Darlin’,” came his neighbor’s clipped tone from outside his door. Oh shit. He checked the time on his cable box. Five a.m. Still, he couldn’t help but smile at the way she made such a sweet endearment sound like a ball-busting threat. “If you don’t shut the hell up in there, I’m going to help you out.” She pounded on his wall for effect. “Turn down the blasted music.”

“Sorry, hon, I can’t do that,” he yelled back, deciding to toy with her for no reason but the fun of it. He was downright giddy that he had the hook for a new song and part of the melody, and he was ready to play. Plus, the only way to build up his immunity was to see the girl, talk to her. Get his body used to her presence, rather than fantasizing every waking second about what she was doing behind that closed door.

“And why not?” she asked, her voice drifting in. “I dare you to come out here and tell me.”

“Because,” he said, standing up to a million pinpricks in his calves and feet. How long had he been in that position, picking at his guitar? Could’ve been minutes, or hours, or days. Time seemed to stop when he was in the zone.

“Waiting,” she huffed.

Never one to back down from a challenge, he walked to his door. “I’m the guy
making
the blasted music, honey. And my guitar doesn’t have a knob for the volume.”

“I’m sure I could help you out,” she said, but she didn’t sound the least bit helpful. He smirked, imagining her face twisting in a sour expression.

And just like move-in day, he was completely unprepared for what happened next. He opened the door and he couldn’t breathe. He was disoriented, hit with the strangest sort of pain. It was like that time as a kid, when he popped a wheelie on his bike and fell off the back, knocking the wind clear out of his chest.

That’s exactly what she did to him.

And if that first day was a teaser, with stolen looks and quick glances, this morning was the full-length feature film. And holy fuck did he get his fill. He perused her body as if he was buying a new instrument—slow and thorough, with great care.

Dressed in a tank top and those tiny little shorts women liked to wear to bed, she stood at his doorway, hands on her hips. Freaking glorious trim hips with the perfect amount of curve. And speaking of curve, the material of her top was just the right amount of tight and thin, offering him a preview of her perky breasts. He quickly snapped his mouth shut after he realized he was almost at the point of drooling. Her partially covered body was nearly the perfect combination of naughty and nice, in his humble opinion, though he could’ve done with just a pinch more naughty.

“Well now,” he said, mustering up all of his control to keep his hands to himself. “That wasn’t very neighborly.”

“And banging around before the sun’s up is courteous to your neighbors?” She straightened her back and pulled her lips tight, but her pink-tinged cheeks gave her away. She was affected by him as well. Maybe not to the same degree, but there was something there, he could feel it.

He gripped the doorjamb to steady himself, continuing to drink her in in small doses—even when he wanted to take a huge gulp. He shifted and said a quick prayer of thanks he wasn’t wearing a loose pair of sweatpants. The denim he had on was strong enough to hold him at bay…if only for the moment.

“Just making music, sugar,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “Trust me, you’d know if I was doing any sort of banging.”

“Classy.” Her cheeks were now fully flushed. When was the last time he made a woman blush? Too long, and that was a helluva shame.

“Right.” He laughed. “Says the lady who prances home at five a.m., carrying her drawers in her handbag. What’s the Good Book say about casting stones?”

Her mouth dropped open, and she promptly turned on a heel and walked back to her place, slamming the door once again.

“Hey,” he called out, wanting to push just a little more. “I still didn’t get your name.”

“And you never will,” she said, before the click of her deadbolt resounded in the hallway between them.

He chuckled and shook his head. Yeah, sometimes he could be a real asshole.