Playing Dirty (Stargazer #2)(22)
Author: Jennifer Echols

He might have been annoyed with them, but he fed them well anyway—so well that it almost made up for Sarah’s coffee. The pancakes were fluffy, the eggs were perfection, and the fruit was fresh and cold. It probably was the best breakfast Sarah had ever eaten. Which wasn’t saying much, because her mother wasn’t known for her culinary skills, either. The other three made no comment, as if they ate like this every morning. What luxury. Sarah ate until she was stuffed. Owen and Quentin were still eating when the doorbell rang.

Quentin put down his food and took the foil-wrapped plates to the front door. They heard him exclaim from several rooms away, “Hot damn!”

“The Timberlanes have a garden,” Erin explained to Sarah.

Quentin returned carrying a large grocery sack. “I got some corn. See? It pays to be nice to people. I’ll make this for lunch, and I’m not giving you any.” He gestured to Erin and Owen. “You remember that the next time you make fun of me for being on a ventilator.”

Owen asked, “How long are you going to milk this ventilator thing?”

“I was near death!”

“It’s hard to feel too sorry for you,” Sarah couldn’t help commenting. “You OD’d on coke. You did it to yourself.”

“No he didn’t,” Owen told Sarah at the same time Erin said, “He has food allergies that close up his airway and make him go into shock unless he gets his medicine in time.”

“She doesn’t believe you,” Quentin said simply. He turned to Sarah. “No corn for you, either.”

Was he so stupid that he’d already completely forgotten they were supposed to be lovers?

The doorbell rang again, and three long-haired men reeking of cigarette smoke let themselves in the door from the garage, waved briefly into the kitchen, and stomped down the stairs to the studio. They were followed immediately by a grizzled man with an impressively laden tool belt. “Came to fix your door?” Quentin pointed him down the stairs, too.

Sarah had never felt so sad about a door being repaired.

“I guess we’d all better get to work,” she remarked. So there would be no mistaking her message, she pointed at Quentin, then pointed toward the garage. She waved good-bye to Erin and Owen as she slid off the stool. Erin waved back. Owen stared. Sarah heard them whispering behind her as she rounded the corner.

She met Quentin at the door to the garage. “You’re not very good at this,” she whispered acidly. “You act like you love fresh corn and that waffle iron more than me.”

“It’s a pancake griddle,” he whispered back. “You told Erin last night that I remind you of Ernie from Sesame Street. That’s not good for business, either.”

“Touché.” Sarah laughed.

“Let’s try again to make Erin jealous,” he said softly, stepping closer and slipping his hand under her shirt. “We’ll do a better job this time.”

Her whole body tingled at his touch. She pulled off his glasses just before their lips met.

At first, she let him kiss her. Then she broke the kiss. When he stopped in surprise, she licked his lips with the tip of her tongue and simultaneously rubbed her thigh across his groin.

He had exactly the reaction she’d been counting on strategically, and aching for physically, all through breakfast. He took in a gasp, let out a small groan, and kissed her hard, with drive.

That’s when she put her hand on his chest and pushed him away. “Better.” She settled his glasses back across his nose.

He opened the door to the garage for her. She was such a masterful femme fatale that she managed to hold his hungry gaze without tripping in her heels while she descended the two steps. “I want my album,” she said.

“I’m going to give it to you,” he said darkly.

Maneuvering between the pickup trucks in the garage, headed for her BMW out on the driveway, she heard the door to the kitchen close behind her. Then a soft thud. Then a faint curse. She smiled to herself and kept on walking.

Quentin collapsed with his back against the door. And banged his head in frustration. And cussed.

“Did you break Rule Three?” his bandmates hollered from the kitchen bar. Even Martin had finally dragged himself up from the guest room/opium den to confront Quentin about Sarah.

“You think I’d be beating my head against the door if I’d broken Rule Three?” Quentin exclaimed. With effort, he pushed away from the door and returned to the kitchen under their accusing glares. He started an omelet for Martin like everything was normal, even though he knew Martin wouldn’t eat it.

When he looked up from the pan, they still stared grimly at him over the bar. They didn’t believe him. Nobody believed him today.

“I swear to God I didn’t,” he said.

Their looks didn’t change. They were going to kick him out of the band.

“I swear on the statue of Vishnu in my daddy’s front yard,” he said desperately. “Erin, you believed me earlier!”

“That was before she came downstairs,” Erin told him. “There was definitely a vibe between you two.”

“Well, I was going to,” he confessed. “I had full intention of breaking Rule Three.” He laughed nervously. “And then I passed out.”

Owen exploded in laughter, and Erin clapped.

Martin said quietly, “If you’d broken Rule Three, being drunk wouldn’t have been an excuse. A rule is a rule.”

Quentin said, “Yeah, but—”

“There’s no ‘but’ if you break a rule.”

Martin was really beginning to piss off Quentin with his hypocrisy. Martin was high, for Pete’s sake, his pupils pinpoints behind his glasses.

“Y’all made me get drunk!” Quentin protested.

“It was your turn,” Owen said.

“Yeah, but we could have skipped me and moved to Erin if we’d known Chewbacca was a hot chick.” He reached across the bar to poke Martin’s chest with the eggy spatula. “Why didn’t you stop me?”

“Because you acted like you were going to hit me,” Martin reasoned.

“I’ve hit you before and you survived.”

“And anyway,” Martin said, “the three of us agreed you were going to pass out before you could make a move on her.”

“Then what the hell’s the problem?” Quentin smacked the omelet onto a plate and shoved it across the bar at Martin.

“The problem is that there was a vibe between you and Sarah,” Erin repeated. “You know I know you, Q. You know I know the vibe.”