The Fiction of Forever (A Stand By Me Novel Book 2) (10 page)

C
urrent Day

Kiley

“
P
inch me
.” I frown at Tony and hold out my arm. “Go ahead. Do it. Because there is no way I’m awake.”

He reaches across and bypasses my arm to give my cheek a friendly tweak. He lingers a second longer than I expect. “Yes, Gunner says he will be our star bachelor.”

I drop into the patio chair and rub my bleary eyes. The coffee doesn’t help to perk me up after a night of tossing and turning. “Why would he change his mind?”

Tony takes the seat opposite me. “I forwarded the compensation package yesterday. He emailed me this morning. He’s a guy of few words. Didn’t even ask the usual questions. I advised that he have an attorney look over the contract before he signed it. He said he’d do that today and get it back to me tomorrow.”

“So, it’s final. He’ll be on the show?” My heart sinks. I’m so screwed. I’ll have to watch him with other women until I want to gouge my own eyes out.

“You aren’t happy about it?” Tony’s forehead wrinkles into fine lines. “Ed made it sound like Gunner Parrish is your only chance to be on the show. You know how Ed is. He thought it would get him what he wants.”

I shrug. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? It’s decided. So, me and Gunner.”

“We haven’t done the studio tests. If he comes across the wrong way, I can advise that we find someone else for you.”

“No. If Gunner wants to be on the show, then so be it.” It confirms everything about last night. If he wanted to pursue a relationship with me, he’d have declined the show. My head begins to pound. What the heck do I want? The show. Of course, I want the show.

“Kiley, how about I make some lunch reservations. We could talk about the show and your ideas for this season. I liked what you said before. You’ve got a great sense for what the viewers want and how to make this fresh. How to reinvent
Forever
.”

I rub a hand over my forehead. “OK. I can meet you.”

“That’s not necessary. I’ll run back out here and pick you up.”

Tony’s voice barely cuts through my miserable state. “Sure. Whatever you want,” I answer, standing with my mug in hand. “I think I’ll take something for my headache. Make yourself at home. Dad should be back any minute. He said he had a quick errand to run.”

He studies me. “Are you up for lunch? If you don’t feel well, we can make it another time.”

“Lunch is great. I’ll see you then.” I smile with every ounce of energy I possess and hope he can’t see through my facade.

After I leave Tony to his coffee on the patio, I retreat to my bedroom. I need alone time to pep talk myself into feeling better about
Forever
. I don’t look forward to discussing all the ways I’ll find Gunner’s future love.

Twenty-four hours later, I conclude that Gunner can be a jackass. We spend only one hour in the Rolling Hills boardroom signing contracts and discussing the schedule, but I’m ready to kick him in the balls—something I’ve never in my life done. I could pop the violence cherry on him.

And to think I’d been crushing on him for days.

I bite the inside of my mouth to keep from screaming. OK. I inhale slowly. Then exhale. Every Matchmaker probably faces this sooner or later. I give my pageant queen smile, the authentic one I practiced for hours as a teen. “I think we should film some shots of Gunner in his element. His cabin could use an interior design update, but it would make a great opener. He—”

“You’ve been to Gunner’s house?” Tony looks up from his notes.

“What do you mean an update?” Gunner ignores Tony and glares across the table.

Sweet Fanny Adams. He’s like an obstinate five-year-old who doesn’t want to get rid of his blankie. “You know. Maybe some woodsy-themed furniture, fabrics with rich golds and greens, some…” I trail off under the glacial look he continues to give me.

“No changes to my place. It’s fine. If a woman doesn’t like me the way I am, then she can get lost.”

I tamp down my frustration. It’s only the third thing I’ve suggested in preparation for filming and Gunner continues to hate every idea I have.

My dad’s absent; he never participates in the pre-show arrangements. Tony sits to my left, his mouth tightening after each protest from Gunner.

“Do you trust Kiley?” Tony folds his hands in front of him and waits for Gunner’s answer.

“I don’t know,” he says.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” I close my eyes for a second and inhale. This isn’t going as I’d planned. If he disagrees with one more item on my list, I’m going to fly across the table and throttle him.

I open my eyes to Gunner’s stare. He’s grinning at me.

“Maybe Kiley should come over and show me some of the changes she has in mind. She could bring some pictures because I don’t know anything about this decorating stuff she’s mentioned.”

Tony glances between the two of us. “Good idea. You need to get comfortable with each other. The first show is all about Kiley going through the list of candidates for the speed rounds and then planning the follow-up dates for the remaining ten contenders. It helps if there are no awkward surprises in what you like.”

“Makes sense to me.” Gunner nods and looks to me. “What do you think?”

Now he’s agreeable? “Perfect,” I say. “Let’s do that. When?”

“How about tonight?” he says. “I have some landscaping business to take care of this afternoon and then I could meet you at my place. You have the address?”

“Memorized.” I kick him underneath the table. Yes, violence is definitely the answer.

He jumps as I connect with his shinbone. “I look forward to it.”

“Seven o’clock?”

“I’ll be there.”

As I get up from my seat, Gunner stands and says, “I’ll walk with you to your car.”

Tony places a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. It takes me off guard for a second. “I’ll call you later,” he says.

“OK.” I’m sure he’s questioning Gunner’s negative responses to every idea I’ve had. If he’s going to be this difficult during the show, we’re in trouble.

I grab my bag and Gunner opens the door for me. We walk in silence out to the parking garage of the production studio.

“What are you playing at? Why do I need to come over tonight?” I stop suddenly and face him.

He stumbles into me and his hands go to my shoulders. “To talk about the way you want to change all my stuff.”

His fingers tighten for an instant and my nipples—with a mind of their own and little common sense—perk up and ask for more.

I wrench away like he’s stung me. “I didn’t say I wanted to change everything. But my real question is why you went from disagreeing to everything I said to playing some kind of game now.”

“Who’s playing games? Isn’t that why you came over the other night? To see if my house fit with your show concept?”

I gasp. “I did no such thing. I came over because…I wanted…” I don’t really know where I’m going with my explanation. He’s grinning because he
knows
I didn’t come over for that reason.

“Wanted what?”

“Never mind. The point is that I dropped in with no ulterior motive.”

“OK.”

“OK? That’s it? I think you owe me an apology.”

“Calm down.”

“Hey,” I say with an edge to my voice. “I’m not asking that you be anything but honest. Do you really think that’s what I did? I don’t know if this is going to work if you accuse me of underhanded—”

He takes a step forward, so close I can see the anger in his eyes. “I didn’t mean what I said. I’m pushing your buttons because I’m frustrated and a little insulted.”

His low voice disarms me. “I wasn’t trying to hurt your feelings.”

I lick my lips and his gaze instantly flicks to my mouth.

“I’m a grown man and I’ll be fine. It’s… It riled me when you were judging my place. I couldn’t give a damn about what anyone else thinks of my place. But you, I…” He shifts from one foot to another and tucks his hands into his jean’s pockets.

“Me what?” I soften my voice. “I like your place. I do. It’s comfy and it’s you. But I want to help you make a good impression on the people who will judge by a first impression. People say it doesn’t matter, but it does.”

“Maybe tonight you should see the bedroom.”

My face heats and my eyes narrow. Oh, he is a wily one. I take a gulp and turn to walk the few remaining steps to my car. “Why is that?”

“To see what you think. Maybe you’ll suggest it needs a makeover, too.”

Right. The bedroom and Gunner’s bed. My belly clenches as a thrill shoots through me. I glance from beneath my lashes to see if I can read him.

“'Will you walk into my parlor?' said the Spider to the Fly.”

This fly will keep it professional.

With shaking hands, I unbuckle my bag and remove my key fob. The SUV beeps as I hit the unlock button. “I can guess it’s similar to the living area.”

“I don’t know. I’m not some designer. I really need your expert opinion.”

We both reach out simultaneously to open the car door. I jerk my hand back as if he’s branded me.

“I’ve got it.” He opens my door and waits for me to climb up into the driver’s seat of my SUV.

My short skirt rides up and I catch him staring at my legs. I tug the hem down, my blush deepening. “I’ll see you at seven,” I say in my most business-like tone.

“I’ll be waiting.”

His answer isn’t seductive in the least, but the look he gives me makes me hope I can make it through the rest of the day without jumping him and ripping his clothes off.

I am in so much trouble.

A
t seven
, I pull into the driveway of Gunner’s cabin.

He’s standing on his front porch as if waiting for me, shirtless and wearing jeans that hang far too low on his trim waist. I gulp and point the air conditioning vents toward me for a second.

He saunters over to my door and waits for me to kill the motor.

My hand shakes as I turn off the ignition. I get out of my vehicle. “Am I late? Early?” In God’s name, is he trying to torture me with his bare chest?

“Nope. Let’s go inside,” he says and places his hands on his hips, pulling my gaze to the perfect V of muscles disappearing into his jeans.

Did I imagine a purr in his voice? He’s like a tiger, all dangerous and lethal.

“You don’t look ready for me. You’re not wearing a shirt.” Did I have to point it out? Of course, he knows this. People don’t accidently forget half their clothes. Do they?

And can I be here next time he does?

“You were on time. I didn’t expect that,” he answers casually.

“If now is a bad time, I can come back tomorrow.”

He ignores my non-stop chatter and walks toward the door. “Hungry?”

“What?”

“I grilled some steaks. I hope you like yours medium well. We can talk about this decorating thing while we eat.”

“I don’t usually eat dinner.”

He stops and I run into the back of him. My hands automatically grab his waist to steady myself. My fingers tighten on the muscles of his waist, a place I’ve never really considered to have muscles.

My knees weaken at the sheer jolt of energy that surges from my fingertips all the way to my toes. If I fell on him accidentally, I’d probably electrocute myself.

“Why?” he asks. He gives a puzzled look over his shoulder.

I concentrate on whatever he’s saying about dinner. “I watch my weight and it’s something I’ve always done. Dad was never home at night and it seemed silly to eat by myself.”

“You’re perfect, so that’s a bunch of nonsense about your weight.”

“I won’t be this size if I eat meals all the time.”

He frowns. “I don’t get women. Eat good food. Work off some calories. That’s what I do.”

I huff at his dismissal of my concerns. “I’m in television, looking ten pounds heavier than real life. People judge. If I gain a couple of pounds, the tabloids say I’m pregnant.”

He shakes his head while opening the door for me. “You shouldn’t care what people think.”

We go inside and there’s a bouquet of sunflowers in a vase on the table. “Who did that?”

“Me.”

“Are you expecting someone?”

“You.”

Me? This is more than a meeting to discuss plaid pillows for his sofa or a new painting for the wall. This is something more. “Gunner…I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m your Matchmaker on the show. We can’t…” I wave a hand between us. “You know.” One corner of my mouth lifts in a sad smile.

He looks away from my gaze and pulls out a chair at his kitchen table. “It’s not a big deal. You made dinner for me once. Remember?”

I grimace and cover my face with my hands. When I let them drop, he’s smiling at me—a beautiful show of straight white teeth.

“Oh, come on. That was not a meal. That was a sandwich,” I say, mortified that he’s teasing me.

“If you think I care what it was, then you’re wrong. It’s been a long time since any woman fixed something for me. It was nice. I’ll be back in a minute.”

I stand, because I’m too nervous now to sit quietly as this guy does a number on all my expectations of him. The heavy sunflowers droop over in a glorious riot of yellow and brown. He must’ve clipped them from the massive group I noticed the first time I visited.

While he’s gone, I glance around at the cabin. The last time I visited, only one lamp lit the end of the large room with the sofa. I hadn’t paid much attention to the side of the room with a small kitchen. There isn’t any decoration, but it’s tidy.

A large pink cookie jar, a pig with a curly tail, is the only thing on the counter. It’s not French country décor, but more a cartoon pig. For some reason, this makes me smile. Manly guy needs his cookies.

I should make certain the pig jar stays.

His soft footsteps signal his return. “There,” he says. “I know it bothered you that I wasn’t fully dressed.”

“Much better.”
Not really
. He wears a pressed white button-down, but the same jeans as earlier.

He pulls out my chair. “Here you go. Let’s eat.” I sit and twist around to watch him while he walks from the oven to the counter.