Page 5 of Four Dates and A Forever
“We can always cut it right down the middle,” he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
Elsie felt the first smile come on since the knock on the door. “I have painters’ tape.”
They both laughed because back in college Rhett had crashed with Elsie and Axel for a blink of time. Being typical guys, they were loud, messy, and, sometimes, invasive. Needing a man-free zone, Elsie had used painters’ tape to block off her own she-shed in the corner of the family room.
“Why does this feel like old times?” he teased.
She was about to say something very olive branchy when the doorbell rang. Seconds later she heard the front door flung open.
“Rhett?” a sultry voice called out, and in walked a stunning twenty-something who was rocking a pair of ass-hugging yoga pants and a Namaste tank which showed off half her midriff.
Elsie looked at Rhett. “You’re right, this feels just like old times,” she deadpanned. “Oh, and by the way, I have a party tonight. So you and Namaste will have to find other accommodations for your ‘yoga’ class.”
His gaze traveled the length of her, from her cleavage to her bare legs and back—ever so slowly. “Is it a pajama party? Count me in. Although I have to warn you, I like to cuddle.”
Chapter Two
Dating Tips from Elsie Dodd
When people show you who they are,
listen.
Elsie Dodd.
Man oh man. Talk about an unexpected blast from his long ago past. She was still stubborn, smart, and the sexiest woman to walk the planet. Back in college, they’d shared a weekend—a single, blow-your-mind, hold-on-for-dear-life kind of weekend that scared the shit out of him. He’d wanted it to be more, so had she, but finding out that his dad was terminal had wrecked him. Then came the news that he’d landed his first big sponsor, giving his career much needed traction, which had further cemented what his gut had been telling him—to walk away.
Biggest mistake of his life.
Rhett had always chalked it up to right girl, wrong time, but that was a decade ago. Once she’d hooked up with Axel she was—according to bro-code—off-limits. Not that he’d minded watching her squirm in that oh-so inspiring robe of hers earlier. If she hadn’t seemed so close to tears, he would have looked his fill just to raise her hackles. But he wasn’t willing to play with fire—not even for her. She’d rammed him in the nuts once—duly deserved—and he wasn’t open for a replay.
Lately, his life had been one gigantic knee to the nuts. Starting with his separation, then his very public divorce, and even more public dating life. Not that there had been a ton of dating, but he’d gone out with a few women, including “Namaste,”—whose date he’d gently canceled. He’d told himself it was because he had to work, but that’d been a lie. He hadn’t been able to write worth a damn since the divorce. It was the pressure, he decided. Not that anyone knew.
He handled his problems like he handled everything else, with a big-ass grin. It started out as his trademark, then morphed into something automatic. He’d become a pro at faking it. Playing it up for the press, his ex, even his family—for whom he didn’t want to cause any more undo stress. They were already treating him with kid gloves. Which was part of the reason he needed his own space.
According to his brothers, he had four houses he could crash at. All of which had their own guest suite. Then there were the seventy-three-hundred hotel rooms to choose from in the greater Portland area. Not to mention all the Airbnbs around. Unfortunately, none of these allowed him the two things he’d come back home for: peace and quiet. Not to mention a music room and a private recording studio, which was in the basement. The Greenhill house had all four—if he could get his squatter to move out.
Rhett had made the decision last year after his divorce that he needed a change and decided to go solo for one album. Getting his label on board had been step one. Then it was breaking it to the band. At first the other members of Subtle Warfare felt blindsided, but quickly got on board. Most of his bandmates were husbands and dads, desperate for some downtime to spend watching their kids grow up.
Now that Rhett had what he wanted, a chance at a solo career, he seemed to be floundering. Not only with the music, but the creative direction he wanted to the album to take. He had songs, he just wasn’t sure they were the right songs, which was why he’d come home to the one place he felt like he could be himself without all the pressure of being a commodity.
“You going to drink that or is this your idea of foreplay?” Owen, the second eldest brother, asked, pointing his chin toward the beer Rhett had been nursing for the past thirty minutes.
It was Friday night at Stout, which meant Four-Dollar Drafts—and all four brothers had dragged him to the family bar. The big screens were tuned into different ball games, including the Dodgers versus the Giants, so the place was packed like Madison Square Garden during a Beyoncé concert. The bar was overflowing with beautiful single women, including a pretty redhead sitting across the way giving him the green light, and he needed a little go-time in his life right about now. Except, another pesky red head kept popping into his mind, which was all kinds of ridiculous.
He didn’t know much about Elsie anymore, except that she’d walked out on Axel—a play from Steph’s book—then made his life a living hell. According to his friend, Elsie had nearly cleaned him out, which was why Axel had started doing studio work between tours. Rhett also knew that she’d owned her own award-winning design company, and still looked as beautiful as ever. Not that he was looking. He’d had his fill of complicated women and wasn’t about to get involved with another—even as friends. He liked the idea of love and devotion for other people, it just hadn’t worked out in his favor. Which was why he needed to come up with a solution that pleased both parties.
Rhett looked back over his shoulder at the table of beauties smiling his way and winked. The bolder of the group winked back, then gave a littlecome hitherwiggle of the finger. He saluted her with his mug, then turned back to the guys.
“My technique seems to still work magic.”
Owen snorted. “Says the guy who looks like he hasn’t had any as of late.”
“Leave him alone,” Abi said from behind the counter, gifting Owen a smack to the butt.
Abi was a teacher who ran a summer program for local under-privileged kids. She was also Owen’s fiancée. They were the least likely couple of anyone in the family. And not because Owen was built like the Sears Tower and Abi barely came up to his chest. In addition to running a bar, his brother also rented space as a tattoo artist across town and had enough muscle and ink to double as a biker gang member. Abi was sweet and cute in that kindergarten teacher kind of way, and she could smell BS a mile away. Hilarious since Owen was the biggest BSer on the planet.
They met last fall when Abi came to Portland looking for a do-over and sweet-talked her way into working at the bar. It didn’t take long before she sweet-talked her way into Owen’s heart. Things had worked out; Rhett hadn’t seen his brother this happy since before their dad passed. It was intimidating.
