Manaconda 2: The Second Coming(16)

He was never there to deal with her depression.

I swore I’d never let a man put me second. And there was no way I’d let Hunter Jordan be the one to do it. No matter how delicious he sounded in my high end speakers. No matter how my body reacted to his voice.

A text chime trilled over the song and I checked my dash for the text. I tapped a button and my phone read it aloud.



New client cancelled. Indie and Lila had to reschedule. Pick up some wine, sweetie—you have a free night.



I shouldn’t be happy that my evening fell apart, but the idea of me and Sammy on my couch with some Chinese delivery sounded blissful. I took the next exit and headed for my house.





6





Hunter





“If she murders me, I expect a very nice eulogy from you and your entire band.”

“She’s not going to murder you.” I slid open the van door.

“Oh, no? I just cancelled her evening so you could start the wooing you should have been doing two weeks ago.” Carter stood in the doorway to Kenny’s house, his arms crossed. Sammy was running circles around me and Tristan as we unloaded groceries and supplies. Tristan needed all his own cookware too. Damn prima donna.

I snapped my fingers for Sammy and he followed us inside. “I know I’m asking a lot, but I needed her to miss me first, or this wasn’t going to work.”

“Another week and she’d have been dating,” Carter muttered. “All right, I’m leaving. I don’t want to be blamed for this until tomorrow.”

“Wimp.”

Carter nodded. “Definitely.” He patted Sammy on the head. “Good luck. Don’t burn down the house,” he said and closed the door behind him.

“I knew it. If I’d just waited another week I could have…” Tristan trailed off as I dumped his plastic bin on her kitchen island with a crash.

“Excuse me?”

“What? You’re the one who told me your brother said bros before hos was archaic high school bullshit.”

“A—that would only apply if we were broken up. We are not.”

“Really? Did Kennedy get the memo?”

I unpacked his rondeau, utensils, and finally his zippered case of knives. I threw them from hand to hand. “Pardon?”

“Don’t mess with my knives,” Tristan warned.

“Don’t mess with my girl.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?” Tristan snatched the case out of the air. “On my night off, no less.”

“And I appreciate it.”

“Well, prepare to work tonight, son. We’re making risotto.”

He’d showed me how to make it once, and it had been a disaster. I kinda sucked at standing in one spot for forty minutes stirring, but it was time to bring out my A game.

She was worth it, and then some.

I opened up packages from the butcher and the fish monger we’d stopped at earlier. Between the salmon, scallops, and filet mignon we had enough here for us and for the ultimate meal to show a girl she was worth the time.

The only way I was going to prove to Kenny that she was the first thought in my head when I opened my eyes and the last thought of my night was to do it by degrees. The last two weeks had been hell.

Doing promo overseas had helped.

I was pretty sure Indie had mandated that I had to have a chaperone for all things that included Bats. And it was working so far. Wyatt kept me sane with workouts suited for an MMA fighter in training. It helped keep my aggression down, but I hadn’t worked up the right way to go about talking to Bats.

The fact that he didn’t want to talk to me either didn’t really help our situation. At this point we were living in a stalemate of epic proportions. On stage we were brothers, off…well, I didn’t know what to call us.

Between my withdrawal from days away from Kenny, and my friendship with Bats circling the drain, I was a walking open wound. Which is why the moment I touched down in LAX, I’d been on the phone with Tristan.

Noah had given me a deluge of good ideas. Operation: Wooing Kenny had commenced with very little fanfare. Luckily Carter was on my side. I wasn’t sure how I’d get near her if I didn’t have an inside man.

But instead of looking for trouble, I unloaded the dishes, candles, and tablecloth that I’d packed with Tristan’s goodies.

While my friend started the risotto, I took direction on mushrooms and seasonings. I was his sous chef—aka his bitch. I listened for any sign of Kenny as I mixed, sautéed, chopped, and washed every freaking pot Tristan used.

Sammy barked as my hands were submerged in soapy water. She came in with her keys in hand. Her hair was darker and more dramatic, but just as fist-worthy. Her lush mouth was set in a thin line.