My Life as a Holiday Album (My Life as an Album #5) Read online

  Khi walked into the room, and I inwardly groaned. I’d hoped I would have been able to greet Grace without an audience. Cole was bad enough, but he already knew everything. He was already caught in the middle.

  “Is that Gracie-Lou?” Khiley asked.

  “Why are you here? Isn’t Stephen pining away for you somewhere?”

  “Har-har. I’m just leaving to meet up with him. We’re all going to McFlannigan’s tonight to celebrate Eliza and Brett. You’re coming, right?”

  “First I’ve heard of it,” I said.

  “If you’d ever look at your phone, it wouldn’t be.”

  “Are you talking about that group text that boggles my mind?” I asked. I never even read them because it was impossible to keep up with the back and forth between way too many people.

  “How else are we all supposed to talk?” Khiley asked.

  “It’s called an audio button for a reason.”

  Khi put her hand to her heart. “What? And actually have to hear your snarly voice?”

  “Smart-ass.”

  I’d missed Grace getting out of the car because of Khi’s talk. As the doorbell rang, Khi almost skipped toward it, beating me there. She opened the door with a small smirk that made me wonder if Khi suspected something about Grace and me.

  “Gracie-Lou!” Khi shouted, hugging her.

  I still hadn’t gotten a good look at her. I hadn’t seen her in almost six goddamn months, and now my sister was blocking her from me.

  “Just Grace. It’s just Grace, remember?” Grace said with a sigh, and just her voice sent shivers of expectation over my body.

  Khi let her go, and I was stunned into silence by her.

  I always forgot how small she was, because, to me, she seemed huge. Her personality was ten times the size of her slender frame. Her dark curls were already trying to escape the bun-like creation she’d tied them up in, and her blue eyes were shining with sarcasm and sass. When she smiled at Khi, she looked like Titania and all the fairies put together. Beautiful. Ethereal. She’d been just Grace for so long it took moments like these, moments when we’d been apart for too long, for me to see her differently. To see her and know she could wreck my world with her beauty.

  She’d come for combat, wearing an outfit she only wore when she was ready to go apeshit on someone. It was a black leather skirt with cutouts down the sides showing tan skin that made me want to run my fingers through every single loop. Below the sexy leather was a pair of thigh-high black boots that belonged in some ‘70s rerun. Her black cropped top showed off her flat stomach and belly button ring I’d once, for a brief moment, had the pleasure of teasing with my tongue. On top of that, she’d put on her battle makeup. She was beautiful with and without makeup, but today her eyeliner was curling up at the corners, making me think of Adele and Taylor Swift and Gwen Stefani. All musical greats who had, at one time or another, aced the cat-eye look.

  “You look stunning!” Khiley said, glancing down at her sweatshirt and jeans with a grimace.

  “Thanks,” Grace said as she came farther into the room with Cole following her.

  Grace and Cole together were like oxymorons. She was small and tiny, and he was tall and lanky. Easily six feet, six inches, he belonged on a basketball court. The only similarities between them were the dark, wavy hair and the lean muscles they both sported.

  “Cole, right?” Khiley said. He nodded with a small smile.

  I didn’t waste two seconds on Cole. Cole and I were fine. Cole and I were never not fine. But Grace. Grace and I… My heart snagged. I wanted to pull her up against me, hold on tight, and not let her go until she’d listened to my apology in person. Until she acknowledged we could fix this.

  “Grace… God, you look good,” I said with a sigh, stepping toward her. Not only did she look good, but she also smelled good, like she’d bottled the California sunshine and brought it with her.

  “Asshole,” Grace returned, but she was at least looking at me.

  Unfortunately, the look was full of anger. Anger that was hiding the hurt. Because I had hurt her. I’d hurt her more than I’d ever thought I could, and all I wanted to do―with every single inch of my being―was to make it right. To take away the pain and replace it with love.

  I wasn’t sure she’d ever let me.

  Grace

  LAST CHRISTMAS

  “Last Christmas, I gave you my heart

  But the very next day you gave it away.”

  Performed by Wham

  Written by George Michael

  My heart had been a stampede since we’d landed in Tennessee the night before. I was glad to be leaving Dad and Mom behind for a few days. It would give me time to get my act together. As it was, both my parents had been giving me, “What’s up?” looks for the last two weeks as my nervousness at coming here had ratcheted up notch by notch.

  Up until now, I’d been able to blame it on the script we were editing. Both my parents understood that revising the screenplay we’d pitched to Dylan Waters came with a lot of pressure. Pressure to keep the deal Cole, the Asshole, and I had gotten with Dylan’s production company. We were lucky to have even gotten a meeting with him to begin with, let alone a deal. We’d gotten the meeting in a good, old-fashioned bout of “who knew who” because my almost uncle, Keith, had worked for him for years, and because the Asshole’s uncle was Dylan’s brother. But Dylan had made the deal with us because our musical spoke for itself. It was going to hit it big at the box office. I felt it in my bones.

  Letting my parents have the misconception about the screenplay was the only thing I could do. I sure as hell couldn’t tell them the real reason I was a bundle of nerves. I couldn’t tell them because I was still embarrassed and hurt and angry. I couldn’t tell them because I was pretty sure Dad would end up killing the Asshole the next time he saw him. And let’s face it, they’d be seeing him because we were making a movie together. It was going to be inevitable.

  I hardly heard Cole as we drove out to the ranch. My brain was focused on fight or flight. I was trying to figure out what I was going to say―or not say―when I got there.

  I parked the car, turned off the engine, and sat for a minute.

  Cole already had the door open, and he looked back inside when I didn’t open mine.

  “Grace?”

  I ignored him.

  He sat back down. I could feel him looking at me, but I didn’t return it.

  “I know you still hate him right now.”

  “Don’t,” I said with a growl.

  “We need him. His name is on the contract, too. He’s the composer and the entire musical team. You and I can’t make that shit.”

  This did get my goat. I turned to him with a flash of anger. “I’m damn good at writing lyrics, thank you very much.”

  Cole held up his hands. “I know, I know. But neither of us know enough about actually writing the music that goes with them.”

  I couldn’t argue that. Neither one of us were musical geniuses like the Asshole.

  Cole said quietly, softly, as if he didn’t want to send me over the edge, “The screenplay is his baby, too.”

  It was the truth. The three of us had poured our hearts and souls into it.

  I didn’t respond. I just got out of the car and slammed the door as hard as I could. I didn’t care if it broke the speakers. I didn’t care if they’d now sound like permanent static. It was good to let off the steam that had been building inside me for days.

  I tugged at my leather skirt, making sure it wasn’t showing more than I wanted it to show. The Asshole had always liked my skirts. This skirt was similar to the one that had gotten me into this predicament to begin with. The one I shouldn’t have worn that day, just like I probably shouldn’t have worn it today. But it felt like my armor. As if the black leather and cotton could bounce his charisma away before it sank into me.

  I stomped up the steps of the charming ranch house. It was the epito
me of the South: sweet tea, swings, and porches. As gorgeous as it was, the Asshole hadn’t loved growing up here. He’d always felt like a duck out of water. Or maybe a neon light out of the city.

  The Asshole’s sister opened the door and wrapped me in a hug I hadn’t expected. That was the one thing you could count on with this clan. Hugs and smiles. It was like someone had taken The Brady Bunch and The Waltons, thrown them together with a hint of Nashville, and called it a family.

  “Gracie-Lou!” she said as she squeezed me, and I ground my teeth together to prevent from snapping back at her. The Asshole’s mom had started the nickname back when I was little, and somehow it had stuck in a way I didn’t understand.

  When Khiley finally let me go, I turned toward Mayson, and my heartbeat increased about twentyfold, that fight-or-flight adrenaline rush pounding through me again. My body was caught between wanting to do both. Wanting to punch him in his perfect nose and wanting to run away and hide.

  Tall. Dark. Handsome. Mayson looked like someone had flung old-school Chris Hemsworth and Scott Eastwood into a baby maker and gotten this gorgeous human being. I seriously heard Avengers’ music playing in the background just looking at him. As if the music haloed around him. When’d he’d first moved to LA and become Cole’s roommate, I had been oblivious to his looks. Probably because we’d known each other as little kids, and there was nothing sexy about that. Probably because we’d circled around Cole instead of each other.

  But that hadn’t lasted long—days…maybe a few weeks. The more time we’d spent together, the more I’d been attracted to him. I’d ignored it at first―ignored it for years―just like he’d ignored it. Right up until the moment he’d kissed me and everything had changed.

  “Grace,” he said, and I heard the plea in it. The plea had been in every goddamn text he’d sent me over the last few months. He followed my name with, “God, you look good,” in a tone that made my entire body flare to life. Especially the bits that were barely hidden by my black crop top and miniskirt. God, I wanted to hate it.

  “Asshole,” I said back.

  I saw Khiley’s surprised look. I heard Cole’s sigh as he came in behind me, but I couldn’t have done more right now. This was as much as I could say without caving in a way I’d regret when I was alone at night.

  “Okay. Well, it was nice to see you both, but I’m off. Don’t forget to be at the bar at five for happy hour, Mayson,” Khiley said to the Asshole before grabbing her keys and her purse and heading out the door.

  The silence sat heavily amongst us as the Asshole and I stared at each other. When I couldn’t stand it anymore, I turned and flung my bag on the nearest couch, reaching inside it to pull out my computer. “So, I have the last set of notes Dylan sent us.”

  “Grace,” Cole said.

  “What?” I looked up quickly and then back at the computer as I brought up the notes.

  “No, it’s okay,” Asshole chimed in.

  He came around and sat next to me on the couch. I had to fight my instinct to move farther away. “Let’s make a deal,” he said.

  I crossed my arms over my chest, which drew his eyes to my cleavage. I pulled my arms away and set them back to my side. He was taking in every piece of me, and I could already feel myself yielding. I could feel my body leaning toward him when I really should have stabbed him in the heart and disappeared. My body was a turncoat.

  Cole sat down in an armchair across from us, and I concentrated on my cousin instead of the jerkwad trying to bargain with me.

  Since I hadn’t replied, he kept going. “The deal is, we work on the changes for an hour, and then we go meet up with my ridiculous family at McFlannigan’s, where we can, for the first time, celebrate our contract altogether. But after… After, you owe me a conversation.”

  “Owe you? I don’t owe you diddly squat,” I said, fire burning my soul, and then I clamped my lips shut. I hadn’t wanted to talk to him. I hadn’t wanted to say more than two words, and he’d already gotten ten from me.

  He grimaced at my response. “You’re right. Owe was a bad choice of words. You do this to me. You make me say things before I can’t stop myself from saying them. It’s how this all started.”

  What the hell? “You’re blaming me?!”

  “Shit. That isn’t what I meant either.”

  My eyes narrowed and my body burned as it tore itself in two, fighting an internal war of wanting him and hating him. But how dare he blame me! It is partly your fault, the little voice inside tried to say, and I slammed it back down deep inside.

  “Look,” Cole intervened, rubbing his hand over his face. “This is never going to work if you two can’t even be in the same room without fighting. We might as well just call it quits and tell Dylan we’re done.”

  “No!” I yelled at the same time the Asshole exclaimed, “What?!”

  “What’s it going to be, Grace?” Cole asked me. Now, I was equally pissed at my cousin for defecting. For turning against me, just like my body had. “Stop shooting eye daggers at me. Either you figure this out”—he waved a hand between me and the Asshole—“or we stop.”

  “I’m not a quitter.”

  “Me either,” Asshole said, and I scoffed.

  “What a load of malarkey,” I couldn’t help but blurt out. I covered my mouth with my hand in frustration.

  “Helping my family isn’t quitting!” Asshole said, frustration leaking out of him.

  “Time out!” Cole shouted, standing and staring down at both of us. “This is ludicrous. We’re never going to get anything done until the two of you work this shit out.”

  He snatched up the keys I’d flung on the coffee table and headed for the door.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, panic filling me as I stood up and stepped toward him. Cole couldn’t leave.

  “I’m going back to the hotel. Don’t call me until you’ve both figured out how the hell to work together, or you’ve called it off.”

  “Cole!” I said, stomping my foot like a toddler.

  “Don’t make this worse,” Asshole told him. At least he and I could be on the same side with this one thing. Neither of us wanted Cole to leave. We needed him here. I needed him here to make sure I didn’t cave.

  “Fix it!” he said, and then he left, slamming the door and making the windows rattle.

  We both stood, shocked, as we watched easygoing Cole get into the rental car and kick up gravel as he tore out of the driveway.

  It was so out of character for him that it caused a stunned silence to settle over us. He’d never been the hothead in the group. I was the number one hothead, followed by Mayson. He and I could argue for hours the validity of a plotline in a movie or a screenplay. Cole had always been the one to bring us back to earth.

  All my worst fears were coming true. Cole and my body abandoning me. The Asshole looking like a superhero. I wasn’t sure I could fight them all. I wasn’t that strong. I wanted to be as strong as my dad, but I wasn’t. And that hurt almost as much as everything that had gone down with the Asshole to begin with.

  In the silence that was left behind, my brain went back to our last night together. The last few hours I’d spent in Mayson’s presence in real life.

  We were at the keyboard in Mayson’s room. Cole had left hours ago to go to sleep, but we were so close to finishing the last couple songs that Mayson and I couldn’t just stop. It was always this way with us. Pushing on past what most people would consider sane.

  He played a few more notes as I watched his long fingers move along the keys. How could fingers be so damn sexy? Everything about him seemed that way to me these days. It was more than the stupid crush I’d developed at some point my freshman and his sophomore year. It was a growing ache to have him inside me that I tried, but couldn’t, just toss off as having been too long since I’d last had sex.

  His fingers stopped their dance with the keys, and he leaned across me to grab the sheet music he’d been writing on.
The movement caused his arm to brush across my breasts and his lips to travel a breath away from mine. He froze, eyes lingering on me as if he’d realized the same thing. The way our bodies were touching caused shots of adrenaline and lightning to course through me. Were they coursing through him as well?

  I wasn’t sure who moved, but suddenly our lips were together. A surprised touch of softness, the tentative exploration of what it felt like to be joined. His hands dropped the paper, curling around my waist and pulling me into him, and then the touch went from innocent wondering to full-out need. Zero to sixty, just like I liked my cars.

  His hands slid across my bare stomach. The half shirt and miniskirt I was wearing may have been my normal apparel, but it also made for easy access to my skin. I gripped his hair in my hands, tugging so our kiss deepened as I opened my mouth and darted my tongue against his lips.

  He groaned. A groan that was so full of sex and desire that my body instantly went up in flames, every single ounce of me responding to that throaty sound. Our fingers and our tongues picked up their pace, exploring, marking, seering.

  I moved on the bench, pushing between the keys and him so I was sitting on him, the keys clashing out a painful set of chords as my body bumped into them. Mayson picked me up easily, because regardless of the muscle I had, I was still tiny.

  He moved toward his bed and then dropped me, pausing to stare down at me, taking all of me in, from my scorched lips, to my pounding heart causing my chest to heave, and down to my skirt which was up to my waist, showing the black lace I wore underneath. His eyes stalled there before returning to my face.

  He wanted me. I wanted him. But something had him stopping when I didn’t want him to stop. I needed to feel that spark over my entire body. I needed his mouth on every inch of my skin.

  I threw out a Pretty Woman line, “Well, now that you have me here, what are you going to do with me?”

  His lips quirked, drawing him back from whatever had stopped him back to me and us and the pounding of our blood. “Want to know something?” he asked, responding with Richard Gere’s lines. “I don't have a clue.”