Pretty Instinct (33 page)

Rhett joins in with a soft, mellow beat and I glance back skeptically, afraid of what I’ll find. Needless—all I get is an air kiss and a quick thumbs up from an endearing friend, happy for the other.

I’m a blubbering mess when he finishes, so Jarrett, like a champ, closes the show and I scurry off stage. The heat is right there behind me, filling the air with a heady weight of protection and adoration. I’d know he was in the room if I was in a coma. My nipples perk, my knees shake, and my breathing accelerates…my body attuned…like it’s other half is near.

“Thank you,” I whisper, back still to him, mostly to hide my hasty wiping of my sniffling nose.

“Always my pleasure, love.” He glides up closer, wrapping his monstrous arms around my waist. “Need my nibble.” He doesn’t move my hair this time, rather just maneuvers his face under it and nips at my neck, licking the spot after. “Let’s go introduce you to the Blackwell clan.”

“Huh?” I squeak, tensing.

“You heard me. I figure you wanna walk to them, but I’m okay with throwing you over my shoulder. Your call, baby.”

I can
hear
his smirk.
Throw me over your shoulder, my ass.

“Walk,” I acquiesce grumpily. “Do they know?” I twirl around, nervous moisture pooling in my mouth, tongue threatening to swell beyond capable speech.

“Know what? That I love you? Yes. That you’re amazing and selfless? Yes. That you sometimes poot in your sleep? No.” He grins a devilish, ornery goad.

“I. Do. Not. Poot. And even if I did, how hateful of you to mention it! You hump your mattress in your dreams.” I cross my arms and prepare for battle.

“Sometimes.” He shrugs, grabbing my hand and pulling me to the stairs that lead to the gallery. “And sometimes you poot.”

Lightening the mood to keep me from hyperventilation was his tactic, I know. But now I’m even more self-conscious…
I fart in my sleep?

“Siren,” he peers back, “if you were walking any slower, you’d be going backward. Come on, sassy girl, you got this.”

And with thirty-two more steps, not counted by me of course, we’re standing in front of his family.

He squeezes my hand and pulls me closer in to his side. “Moms, Dad, Sommer.
This
is my Lizzie. Elizabeth Carmichael.”

Of course, his mother’s the first to approach, but not with the handshake I’d dried my clammy sweat off for. No, she has me secured in a perfumed hug before I can blink, then pulls back, spreading my arms out, and looks me over. Remember that scene in
Sixteen Candles
, the “Oh, and Fred, she’s gotten her boobies!” one? It’s racing mortifyingly around in my mind until she takes a different route. Thank God.

“You are the most precious thing I’ve ever seen! So beautiful and collected. And that voice? You have a wonderful gift, Elizabeth. I’m honored to meet you.”

So much better than I’d expected. There might actually be one of my heartstrings wobbling a bit right now.

Next is Sommerlyn, a supermodel blonde with glowing green eyes. “Hi, Lizzie, nice to meet you. I’m Cannon’s sister, Sommerlyn.” Niceties first,
then
she takes her hug.
How fortunate Cannon has helped tremendously with my touching phobia or else this family of huggers would be freaking me out right now.
“My brother is smitten,” she whispers in my ear. “He’s fabulous, you’ll be happy, I promise.”

“Damn right, she will.” He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. Sommerlyn needs to work on her whispering, ‘cause you could cook meat well-done on my flaming cheeks right now.

Then there’s his dad, who honestly, I already like. More than obvious where his son gets it, he’s very handsome and well kept, with a smile that instantly invites you in. “I’m Marshall Blackwell, it’s very nice to meet you.” He shakes my back to clammy, vaguely trembling hand. “Could we treat you kids to a late dinner?

Respectfully, Cannon leaves the decision up to me by stealing a subtle glance and squeezing my hand.

“Are you hungry?” I ask faintly.

“I could eat.” He shrugs, giving me no hint on which way he’s leaning.

“Lizzie,” Sommerlyn kinda whines, “please?”

“All-All right,” I stammer and offer an uncertain smile. “Let me just check with the rest of the band.” This was the last show and we haven’t even really talked about anything… I’m practically running backstage, crashing open the door.

Thankfully, they’re still there, waiting on Uncle Chimney to finish a smoke. Everyone looks up at me when I burst out.

“Hey,” I speak to the ground, “what are the plans?”

“We were just talking about that. Technically, we’re at the end of this leg, and pretty close to home.” Rhett laughs. “Well, home is figurative. Anyway, your uncle could rest up while we regroup.”

“I’m going to see Nessy,” Jarrett says, his face lighting up.

“Rhett, where will you go?” my question sounds worried, and accurately so. I never know what Rhett’s plans are, and I feel the tiniest bit guilty that he’s gotten bumped further down my priority list.

“Dunno.” He shrugs. “But I’ve saved every dime I’ve made, plus the grandparents’ trust fund that my parents don’t know about. I was thinking of looking for an apartment for when we want to go home to an
actual
home.”

I don’t mention I was thinking of doing the same. “So why don’t we do this? Jarrett goes to Vegas to see his honey—kudos on the monogamy, by the way.” I give him a high-five. “Rhett and I find places, and Bruce heads to the home he already has and rests up?”

“You can drop me at the airport,” Jarrett tells Bruce as he bounces foot to foot, rubbing his hands together.

“I’m straight. I’ll find a way to get there when I figure out where there is,” Rhett says. “And I assume you’re sticking with Cannon?”

I nod and grin. “I am.”

“Okay, sounds like we got it. Everyone can call or text, see where we’re at after the break,” Rhett says optimistically but glances over at me, his eyes telling me—
he knows
. “Hands in,” he offers first me, then the others, a poorly faked smile and we make a pile of mitts. “New path on three, one, two, three,” he chants and we all yell it and throw our hands up like the band of dorks we are.

Jarrett hugs me first. “Be seeing ya soon, Liz. Call me if you need me, or when you’re ready to head out. Tell Con Man hey for me.”

“Will do. Love you.” I kiss both his cheeks.

“Back at ya, lil’ bit.” He smiles and flicks my ear.

Next Rhett and I have our moment, which leaves us both crying, my tears far sloppier than his. “I’ll miss you,” I sputter into his shoulders.

“Me too, Liz, me too. But you’re gonna be fine, I have no doubt. He’s a good one and he loves you. I trust him with the most precious thing in my life—you. Maybe I’ll go find someone that lights me up like that.” He kisses my forehead, one last lingering embrace. “Call me and be good.” He starts to walk away and stops, not immediately turning to face me, every breath an obvious effort through his shirt. Finally, when I’m seconds from rushing to him and embracing him in the hug of a lifetime, he turns to look over his shoulder. “Even if it’s not next Tuesday, I’ll always be seeing ya. I love you, Liz.”

I nod shakily, biting my lip enough to hurt, the pain counteracting and keeping the tears at bay. “Always,” I mouth, and hold strong as he walks off, giving Bruce and me some time alone…or maybe himself.

My uncle, kind but rough around the edges, gives me a knuckle rap on my cheek. “Go fly, baby girl. Just remember your way home. Let me know when you need me.”

I nod, reaching to hug him fiercely. “I love you.”

“Not half as much as I love you, angel. Go live. You know where to find me. And don’t you start feeling guilty,” his brow furls at me sternly, “those boys will be fine. Your turn, Elizabeth.”

I watch as the bus fires up and pulls away, then stops, Jarrett jumping out and running back to me with Cannon’s duffel and guitar case, the actual instrument still inside the venue with him. “Phone’s in the bag. Anything else, I figured you could grab from your uncle; I wasn’t about to carry all of everyone’s crap out here,” he laughs. “Love you.” He kisses my cheek and disappears again.

About that time, Rhett’s cab pulls up, he, himself unmoved from further down the sidewalk where he’d retreated. Once he’s committed to it, inside the cab and it moving, he turns, glimpsing back to find my eyes. “Wipe those tears, Liz. I’ll see you soon!” he calls through the open window with a reassuring smile.

And then he’s gone.

All I can do is stand there, dazed. It shouldn’t have been that cordial and effortless to part ways with three of the most important, day in day out, companions, friends, in my life. Maybe for them it was “Have a great summer, see ya when school starts,” but for me, there’s an air of finality gnawing at me, festering in my subconscious in the most sensible, but undoing, voice.

I simply can’t remember the actual moment I last made a fresh start. Maybe because it was on the heels of misery and I’ve chosen to block it out…I don’t know. But this time, it’s different; exhilarating, exciting…but not less off-putting.

“I could’ve sworn we’d decided against you standing in dark alleys alone,” Cannon says behind me.

“They all just left; hasn’t been five minutes.”

“Where’d they all go?” The ground coverage crackles beneath his steps closer to me.

“Bruce and the bus went home. He needs a rest. Jarrett’s flying to Vanessa. And Rhett wasn’t sure.”

“And what about Lizzie? What’s her plan?” he asks in a soft, seeking voice, chin resting on my shoulder.

Turning, I burrow into his chest and suck in his calming elixir. “I was hoping you had a plan.”

One hand cradles my head, where he kisses, the other my waist. “Want me to plan it? Do you want me to ease your mind and take care of things while you lie back, all lovely, and relax?”

I’m not sure what’s up with the Boss, Bitch, Defensive, and Always in Control Lizzies, but every single one of them just took a unanimous vote. “Yeah, that’d be wonderful. Just keep Conner in mind, prioritized.”

“Of course.” He smiles, I know without looking. “Now let’s go eat with my family before they think we fled out the back door.”

I know it’s silly and dangerous to get attached too early, but you haven’t met Cannon’s family.

They’re
amazing
, kind, accepting, open-minded, and huggers…Lord, are they huggers.

His father, I’m sorry, Marshall, (which he insists I call him) is just amazing. Not once all night did he criticize, scowl, raise his voice, or disappear. And it was him who suggested Rock-n-Bowl after our smorgasbord at IHop…where he had the Rooty Tooty meal. If he’s the leader of the family, I’m following!

And Libby, his mom—she’s loving, nurturing, and absolutely enjoyable! At the bowling alley, they played “Cha-Cha Slide” and she was all up in that, spanking it! I may love her. By the end of the night, I was
leaning
into her hugs.

Sommerlyn. Where do I start? First of all, she
vocally
, like six towns over can hear vocally, hates Ruthie. We were best friends immediately. And when she fawned over my hair and complexion, and called me adorable, repeatedly, I actually believed her.

Cannon sat back and watched mostly, a content smile on his face, though we dragged him up to teach us how to Dougie, even though we already knew. And may I just say…Cannon Blackwell can gyrate his hips and call it whatever the hell dance he wants, any time he wants; it’s a wonderful sight.

When we finally parted ways with his family, around four in the morning, I truly didn’t want to see them go and can’t quite wait to see them again.

After Cannon and I trudge to our hotel room door, we crash in bed fully clothed, less shoes, and I personally fall asleep in a happily, delusional haze, drifting off to a tranquil place where I dream of family picnics and mother/sister/me day trips to the spa and lunch. It’s a dream, so never having been a “spa girl” doesn’t matter.

His family makes me long for things I’ve never had, things I couldn’t have. I bet Christmas at their house is the bomb—at least, I hope so, since I’m invited!

***

The next morning, in this case, morning meaning noon, I stretch and groan, my arm immediately finding empty space. No noise, no shower running, where is my man?
My man
…I like it.

I roll out of bed, literally catching myself on one arm short of eating floor, and wander into the bathroom. I don’t wake up pretty, I rise a zombie killer. If my hair and big ass eye boogers don’t make one keel over in fright, my breath and dried drool trail will.

Wasting no time, I brush my teeth twice, then jump in the shower. I’m halfway through the fancy hotel conditioner rinse when the draft of the open door hits me.

“Morning, Siren.”

“Morning, babe.” I’m all giddy from last night and I know he loves it when I call him that, so I humor him. “Where were you?”

“Out getting every newspaper I could find. Not only to make sure Somm and my mother hadn’t published an engagement announcement,” he chuckles, “but so I could look for a place.”

“Fun fact,” I smirk over at him using one of his favorite phrases, “newspapers are on the internet now. Will you hand me a towel?”

“But do online newspapers have these handy dandy brochures with pictures and specs of the properties?” He spreads out several glossy booklets and fans himself with them. “Plus, what fun is it to circle rental options on a screen?”

“He shoots, he scores. Touché. Well done.” I tap the end of his nose lovingly.

“And he hasn’t scored yet,” he growls, scooping me up, landing me on my back, bouncing off the mattress in seconds, “but he will.”

He comes down over me, wrestling away the towel and lavishing kisses over my face, throat, and collarbone, until he latches onto my right nipple, sucking and nipping until he has it an aching point. “Perfect, it loves me. See? Pointing straight at my mouth.” Then he moves to the left, giving the same sensuous treatment as I pant and writhe beneath him, tugging at his hair to keep him close.

Abruptly, he stands, relieving himself of his gray t-shirt with one yank over his head, then a few so sexy moves to lose his jeans and briefs.