Page 14 of Indiscretion: Reckless Sin
Dexter has always been sort of on par with our girl, the two of them bonding over singing and living the standard life of a rockstar’s kid in the public eye. They both had dad’s in Viper that were gone all the time and mom’s at home who cared about their wellbeing beyond the norm of the “the nanny can handle it” mentality that seemed to bleed into those of the wealthy. But even then, there was a note of indifference that brought them together to focus on the one thing they cared about more than each other and the rest of us. Music.
They were lucky like that. We all were, I guess, but there was something about them singing together that was pure magic. Part of that bond being so strong though meant that Dexter had no idea how to handle the pain of her being gone. To him, it felt like the ultimate betrayal. Not only did she abandon him and his love for her, but the music as well. Our music.Theirsongs.
For me things were a little different. I’ve always been close to my mom. She’s been my rock from day one. I think for her, she felt a heavy sense of mom guilt because my dad forever only cared about one thing—Viper. When he came home, he’d made it obvious that he didn’t want to be there. His wife wasn’t as hot as his groupies, her cooking was never as tasty as the food he ate on the road, her focus was always on their kid so she didn’t give him all the attention he demanded.
To this day, his ego refuses to allow him any relationship unless he’s essentially being worshipped by his counterpart. Bringing us to me, his only son. The one who didn’t idolize him or want to follow in his footsteps by playing the guitar. My passion has always been the piano, making me more like my mother. I disgust him entirely. It doesn’t matter that I graduated early and started college classes as a sixteen year old, I can play damn near any instrument I pick up and am—for the most part—a good person.
My mom divorced him shortly after Mr. and Mrs. Dylan got a divorce. Apparently she saw it as a sign to walk away from the toxicity, but dear old dad didn’t make anything easy on her. And while I was down about Ainsley leaving and trying to support my mom through a messy divorce that at several points, I was sure were going to break her, and overwhelmed with advanced placement classes to graduate early, I missed all the warning signs that my best friends were all hurting. They needed me then more than ever and I missed it. More than one of them almost died more than once and I fucking missed it. The car accident was the final straw. We’ve all got scars from that night—emotional ones as well as physical ones—and we’re still healing. It’s why we’re here. It’s why we came to find our Rock Princess. We need her to be whole again.
Standing, I place her dad’s old guitar back on its stand and I move toward her, finally taking in my surroundings. I’d been so focused on helping her find her peace and making sure she knew how much I need her back, that I’d missed it all. The space is large and open, lightly stained white pine support beams standing out as a statement along with the white and gray brick wall in the kitchen, giving it an almost warehouse vibe, but in a trendy way.
The colors adorning the living room are so vibrant and fun, just like the sleeping beauty in front of me. She’s laying on a light gray tufted velvety sofa, so light it almost looks silver when the sun shines through the window on its soft shimmery fabric. There are turquoise throw pillows and curtains, along with vases, and a faux fur rug. Pops of yellow and purple shine through in artfully decorated pieces throughout the space, leading to the kitchen where matching yellow kitchen appliances adorn the counters and island. It’s cutesy and fun, just like the woman living here.
Crouching down, I sit back on my haunches, reaching over to tuck a stray bit of her golden locks from my view of her stunning face. Her eyes flutter open and she reaches up, tenderly cupping my hand to rest gently on her cheek. My thumb moves of its own volition, rubbing across her cheekbone, and I can’t help but wonder how her skin is so damn soft.
“I’ve missed you so much, Ainsley James Dylan,” I choke out as all my emotions rise to the surface.
“I go by AJ Callahan now,” she says, surprising me a little as she opens her sleepy eyes, sorrow filling her pretty seafoam green eyes. I can see how much it hurts her to deny her father’s name. She was always so proud of him. I can’t imagine how hard she took to her parents splitting up.
“You could change your name a hundred different times, it won’t make a difference to me. I know your heart and the beat to which it drums against your chest. I know every lyric and every line of the song that makes up who you are. Time, distance, and even a name change couldn’t stop me from knowing you. It’ll never keep me from loving you either,” I whisper, moving my lips closer to hers just slowly enough that she could stop me if she wanted to.
When she does nothing more than suck in a gasp of air, I take it as my okay to take her lips, her face now fully clasped in my hands. Tentatively, she opens her mouth and tastes my lower lip before I touch my tongue to hers. Our kiss is languid, yet still manages to hold more passion than I could ever explain. It’s like lazy Sunday mornings with breakfast in bed or hitting every note right on the first go of a new song or growing old with your soulmate. This kiss feels like a lifetime of love and the very essence of forever.
Not wanting to push her too much after the morning she’s had, I pull away. Before I get too far, I touch my nose to hers, leaving her with an eskimo kiss because breaking the intimacy of this moment isn’t something I’m ready for. When her eyes flutter open again, she’s dazed, thankfully still lost to our kiss. So when I gently rub my finger up her nose between her eyes and they close again, I know she’s seconds from passing back out. Today was probably too much and if we weren’t running out of time to convince her to be ours, I’d take way more time and care. With time not on our side, I do what I can to lull her back into the comfort of sleep and whisper a quiet “goodbye” before I find her spare key right where they used to keep it in their old house—under a planter by her front door—and make my exit, locking up as I go. Now I’m off to find the guys to make more plans to force her into spending enough time with us that she’ll realize she can’t ever let us go again.
Chapter Eleven
Ainsley James Dylan
Iwakewithastart, looking around for any sign of Cyan but he’s clearly gone. I honestly can’t tell if I’m happy or sad about that. Pressing my fingers to my lips, I replay that kiss in my mind. It was everything I could have expected from Cy. Sensual, giving, thoughtful. He treated me like I was truly precious, kissing me in a more practiced version of what we once shared. I definitely don’t want to dwell on who he’s been practicing with. It’s not like I can be jealous seeing as I haven’t been a saint, as I’m sure they’d prefer—A perfect little Rock Princess, the picture of virginal sanctity.
Nope. Not me. Though I wish I could say I’d at least been somewhat adventurous. Sex has never been super exciting for me. None of my whopping three partners ever got me off so unless I’m taking things into my own hands, it’s not really a priority for me. At least it was until I had five perfect men touching me all at once while Nix damn near brought me to my knees with his mouth alone.
Do not think about how they got so skilled, Ainsley James.
Checking my phone, I realize I’ll be late for work if I don’t get a move on. I didn’t get anything done for my class this morning and while I really needed that nap, I didn’t need to sleep the entire day away. I already let my bosses down by not going in last night, they don’t deserve my tardiness today as well.
Hustling, I grab my standard work outfit of black form fitting stretch trousers and matching black button up top with three quarter length sleeves tucked in. My black leather belt matches my short heeled, knee length black leather boots. My hair is a total mess from my midday slumber so I French braid a messy mohawk into the top and throw the rest of my hair up into a ponytail, giving off super cute Viking vibes. It’s cute and takes very little effort—intentionally messy if you will. Plus it looks great with a quick slash of eyeliner, mascara, and some gloss. I’ll be cute enough to make tips, but I’m not so polished that if I happen to trip and spill a plate of spaghetti and meatballs on myself, it’ll ruin my evening.
I almost never wear black outside of this job, usually preferring to keep myself in good spirits with fun colors and patterns. But atMia Polpetta, I like to let a little bit of that go. Let my mask slip, so to speak. It’s easier to not feel like I have to be…on… all the time. Mamma and Papa, also known as Regina and Georgio, are the owners. They took one look at me the day I walked in to apply for the job and saw the fragility of the pain I keep wrapped up so tight under layers and layers of smiles and perkiness. They make it so easy to naturally be happy and full of laughter, then they remind me from time to time that it’s okay to not be okay, and it’s almost always when I need to hear it the most.
Not that I’m not actually a happy person. I am. Mostly, there’s nothing I can complain about because my life is really good and the few people I let close are a dime a dozen. It’s just that occasionally the old pain I’ve buried likes to surface and I don’t want anyone to know my secrets. Or maybe Georgio and Regina are just that intuitive after raising six daughters of their own. Theirpiccolo polpettas—little meatballs—as they like to call them.
Wrapping things up, I add a few small spritz of Clinique’sHappyfragrance because when they say that shit’s happiness in a bottle, they aren’t joking. It smells heavenly and I’m slightly obsessed.
Popping my Airpods Pro in my ears, I put on Gnash’sI Hate U, I Love U, stuff my phone in my pocket, grab my keys and leave for work. All the while, praying for any semblance of normalcy tonight. But really, it’s a Saturday night in New York, anything could happen.
***
“Ordina!” Papa calls from the kitchen, letting me know there’s an order ready to be served. To anyone on the outside looking in, they’d hear his gruff voice and assume he’s a big beastly man. The reality is that he’s actually a jovial little old man. Well, notold, old. Around my grandfather's age.
Him and Regina don’t look it though, both of them around five foot six, the only real signs of wrinkles coming from their laugh lines around their mouths and eyes. Sprinkles of gray coloring their dark hair, giving them away. Their daughters are the perfect mix between them and as beautiful as can be. I’m grateful they call me one of their own.
“Capito! I got it, I got it!” Mamma tells me enthusiastically. “New customers just walked in,bella ragazza. Seat them, yes?” her Italian lilt serving to warm my heart, light filling me with her soft smile.
“On it, mamma!” I respond, a smile lighting up my face at the endearment. I was so worried she’d be mad at me for calling in, but it was all for nothing. They’ve coddled me since the moment I stepped through the doors earlier this evening, worried that I’d called in sick the day before. Understandable since it’s so unlike me. Even now I can feel their eyes on me, watching to make sure I’m okay. They are truly some of the best people I know. Them and Oscar, of course.
Three hours into my five hour shift and we’ve been busier than normal. Apparently someone famous tweeted about the restaurant and there have been a metric fuck ton of groups of women in and out, waiting to see if they’ll see him here. I’d be happier about it if they were eating real meals. Most of them have chosen to eat the salads with water. I know this is super judgy and annoying of me, but who comes to an Italian eatery full of homemade pastas, pizzas, and freshly baked bread to dip in olive oil and handmade sauces, and then orders a bowl full of leaves? Don’t get me wrong, the salads are also delicious but I’m a huge fan of carbs so I cannot wrap my brain around it. And I’m totally biased, but these are the best carbs a person could eat on the East coast.
