Metal & Lace (An Opposites Attract Novel Book 1) (9 page)

It has been four days since I got back from LA, and as expected,
not
a word from my almost lover. Time seemed to slow to an excruciating pace and it was only made worse by the article I was typing up for next month’s issue.

When I wasn’t spending long hours at work, I was at home eating cheap Chinese and watching backed up episodes on our DVR.

During a particular episode of Once Upon A Time, Gwen turns to me with a concerned look in her brown eyes, her mahogany hair looped on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s ridiculously gorgeous. I guess she’d have to be, being a model and all.

“Something’s going on with you.”

“Yeah, I just went through a major breakup,” I state, hoping to throw her off the scent. Truth was it hurts talking about Gunnar.

“Alright, I can’t take this anymore,” she states, picking up the remote control and pausing the show. “We are getting our sorry asses up, dressing to the nines, and going out.”

I groan. “I don’t feel like it.”

“Nope. I don’t care what you
feel
like. You
are
going out with me! Now get your fanny up and get it into gear, missy.”

I reluctantly stand and follow her into the bedroom.

We head out, all dressed up, and hit the bars. We drink and dance
and party it up. I haven’t been out like this in years. Holden was kinda controlling and didn’t like Gwen, which meant our girls night became few and far between.

We dance until our feet are about to fall off and then head out for a late night carbo-load. Once we’re stuffed full of pancakes, sausage, and hash browns, we head back to our place ready to pass out drunk. Located in Greenwich on Perry Street, it’s a cute, three-story brownstone apartment building. And, besides being right around the corner from Magnolia Bakery, it’s within walking distance of some fabulous designer stores.

We exit the cab, and I poke through my purse for the keys.

“Whoa,” Gwen mumbles, clutching my arm and staggering a bit.

“What’s wrong?” I ask, looking up.

Gunnar walks toward us wearing a hooded sweatshirt, shredded jeans, and worn out boots. He looks hot.

“We need to talk,” he states, not giving Gwen the time of day.

“I think I’m going to head up,” she says, letting go of my arm.

“Are you okay to go up on your own, sweets?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine. See you in a few?” I can see she’s eager to talk to me about it.

“Sure, a few minutes.”

She clumsily bolts up the stairs and into the building, leaving us alone on the tree-lined sidewalk at three in the morning.

“Why are you here, Gunn?”

He stares at me for a moment before speaking, “I wanted to see you, Lace.”

“I thought we established I’m not the type of girl you go for. I’m the goody two shoes, remember? The good girl.”

He grabs my arm, pulling me into the shadows and presses me against the wall of my building, just out of sight from others. He smashes his body into mine, pinning me with my hands above my head. His lips creep toward mine, stopping within half an inch, his hot breath caressing them.

“Maybe I want a good girl.” He brushes his warm lips against mine. “Maybe I’m looking for something different.”

Maybe we both were. I’ve done the ‘good’ boy. The man you’re supposed to marry, have kids with, build a life with, he broke me. Maybe different is exactly what I need.

“But you’re leaving in a month.”

“I don’t want to overthink things, Lace. I want you. I want to make you cum.” I feel everything tighten up at his raw words. “I need it, baby. I haven’t been able to think about anything but you these past few days.”

“I’ve been thinking about you, too, Gunn,” I confess.

“I love hearing that, baby.” He places his forehead against mine, releasing a long breath. “I better go.”

He lets go of me and takes a step back.

“But aren’t you going to come upstairs?” That sounded just a little too desperate. Reel it in.

“No, I’m not. You’re drunk. I won’t take advantage of that. When you fuck me, you’re going to be present. You’re going to feel everything. You’re going to remember I was there.”

“Aren’t you the gentleman.”

“Hardly. I’ve done the drunk thing, Lace. I told you, I want something different.”

“Well, will you at least kiss me goodnight?”

He moves back in, smiling wickedly, and presses his mouth into mine. His tongue coerces my lips apart, thrusting inside, playing with mine. It flicks and twirls, enticing me to do the same. He breaks away, breathless, eyes shut tight. He looks as if he were fighting himself.

He opens his eyes, boring them into mine. Even in the shadows, their clear brilliance can’t be contained. “I want you, baby doll. Let me have you.”

I don’t want to give all of myself away tonight, show him all my cards, so I come up with an answer I feel comfortable giving him.

“Maybe.”

I smile at him and he smirks back, tilting his head to the side.

“No worries…I
will
get what I want. And I want you, Lace.”

With one last nip at my bottom lip, he’s gone, leaving me plastered against the wall with my heart thumping in my chest.

“You filthy whore!” Gwen yells at me as I walk through the door,
a huge grin spreading her cheeks from ear to ear. “You better tell me every filthy detail. Like yesterday.”

I plop my purse on the table near the front door. “There’s not much to tell.”

“You’re not just a filthy whore. You’re a filthy, lying whore,” she giggles out. “You’re telling me you didn’t let him pet your kitty?”

“My kitty? Really?”

She waves me off. “How did you meet Gunnar Haze?”

“He’s the one I went with to Los Angeles to interview. I told you this.”

“No, you said you were going to interview some band, not Anarchy fucking Reigns! Gunnar Haze is an absolute wet dream.”

She’s completely right. Gunnar Haze, rock god, is a guitar-toting, knee-weakening wet dream come true.

I start to feel uncomfortable with her fawning over him, practically frothing at the mouth. She’s a second away from grabbing the nearest pillow and letting out a lovesick sigh like some teenage girl.

“Yeah, he’s hot.” I shrug my shoulders and shake my head.

“When I told you to get under some guy, I didn’t know you would pick such a wild man.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, Lacey, I mean, he has quite the reputation in the bedroom. Honey, that boy has seen more pussy than a gyno.”

“He’s a manwhore?”

“Minus a pimp, but yeah.”

“And you’re excited I may or may not have slept with him?”

“I’m sure he’s clean. Just ask for a test before you hit the sheets…if you have or have not already, and use a rubber. But, honey, a man with that kind of experience can rock your world.”

I don’t want to talk about this anymore. It makes me anxious. I don’t have experience with many men. Two in fact, and quite honestly, the sex was less than satisfying.

“I think I’m going to head to bed. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?”

I rise from the couch and give her a look of exhaustion.

“Sure. I think I’m going to crash, too. See you in the a.m.”

I shuffle into my bedroom and shut the door behind me, falling onto my bed when I’m close enough.

Every other minute, I glimpse down at the clock on my
cell
praying that the next time, by some divine power, hours have passed.

Gunnar never said when I’d see him again, but I have to assume it wouldn’t be long if we have only a finite amount of time. I do my best to shake the thought, burying myself in work for the rest of the day.

By five, when I haven’t heard from him, I chalk it up to a no go and head home feeling disappointed. When I walk through the front door, I find Gwen sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer, fingering through a fashion magazine.

“How was your day?” she asks, looking up at me from her reading material.

“I survived,” I joke with a shrug.

“Anything new to report on?” She takes a sip of her beer, avoiding eye contact with me. She wants to know about Gunnar.

“He hasn’t called.” I take out a can of soup, wanting something simple and easy to clean up for dinner.

“Yet. He hasn’t called, yet.”

I sigh and roll my eyes, pouring the condensed soup into a pot when suddenly there’s a knock on the front door. Gwen jumps up, skipping over to answer it. When she opens it up, she pauses, staring out into the hall, dumbfounded. From the kitchen, the door blocks my view.

“Who is it?” I ask, stirring the simmering broth in the pot.

When she doesn’t answer, I glance up and find Gunn standing at the edge of the small kitchen.

“Hey, baby,” he murmurs seductively.

“Hey,” I whimper out, taken back by how good he looks standing in my kitchen. He’s wearing a stressed leather jacket, ripped jeans, and his scuffed boots. His beard has been trimmed and his hair is freshly cut. All his tats, except on his neck, hands, and the odd one poking out from a tear in his jeans, are covered.

He frowns down at the soup on the stove and shakes his head. “That’s what you’re having for dinner?”

“What the hell is wrong with soup?”

His lip curls. “Nothing if you want to be hungry an hour later.” He goes back out to the hall and brings in two brown paper bags. Whatever’s inside smells gut-grumbling good. “I thought you’d prefer this more. And there’s enough for everyone.” He glances over at Gwen still by the door, gawking at him with her mouth agape.

He dumps the bags on the counter and Gwen raids them, pulling out foil containers with cardboard lids.

“That was really thoughtful of you, Gunn.”

He smiles faintly at me. “It was nothing.”

He begins taking the lids off, revealing the steaming, mouth-watering contents, linguini with a white clam sauce, spaghetti with meatballs, and extra cheesy chicken parmesan.

“Yum! Italian!” Gwen exclaims, clapping her hands together. She’s a sucker when it comes to Italian food.

We take the containers, plates, and wine into the living room, chowing down until we’re stuffed and groaning. Once Gwen heads off to bed, too tired to keep her eyes open after the button-busting meal, Gunnar and I settle back into the couch with a glass of wine.

“I wouldn’t take you for a wine-drinker,” I comment.

“I’m not. I’m more of a whiskey double type guy.” He takes a sip and winces slightly.

Definitely not a wine guy,
I laugh to myself.

There’s so much I don’t know about him. Like, everything. I figure it couldn’t hurt to find out about the man I intend to let into my bed.

“Gunn, will you tell me something about yourself?”

“What do you want to know?”

There’s only one thing that pops in my head. “You have bad reputation with women. How much is true?”

“I enjoy fucking, Lace.” He grasps his hand onto my thigh, rubbing it with his thumb. “I don’t hide that.”

“I know I’m new to all this, but…Where do we stand if I choose to go through with our, for lack of a better word, relationship?” I inquire, even though I may not get the answer I want.

“Do you mean, will I still fuck other women?” He tilts his head to the side, searching my face for my response.

“Yeah.”

“I hadn’t really thought about it.” He pushes his bottom lip out into a pout as he ponders this thought. “I don’t have intentions of fucking anyone else. Do you?”

“I don’t know. Would it be a problem if I did?”

“Yes, it would.” The expression on his face goes from thoughtful to stone cold in a flash. “What’s mine is mine.”

“Do you have, like, regulars?”

“Two,” with the hand not firmly glued to my leg, he pops his long fingers up into a peace sign, signifying the number, “but it’s complicated with both of them.”

Suddenly, a horrifying thought strikes me. “Gunnar, have you been with anyone since we met?”

He looks down at his lap, removing his callous hand from my lap. “Some questions shouldn’t be asked, Lace.”

I feel a burning mass form in the pit of my stomach.

“I thought you said you didn’t get with that groupie.” The hurt in my voice is evident.

“And I didn’t.”

I don’t like this. I don’t like this at all. I mean, sure, we aren’t technically together…Hell, we aren’t even together in theory, but it still stings.

“When did this happen?” I ask, again, not sure I want to know the truth. I guess I’m just a fucking emotional masochist.

“Baby, does it really matter? If you tell me you want me, I’m yours. Isn’t that enough?”

No. It’s the least. But, seriously, what do I expect from the guy? He’s probably had more ass than a subway seat.

“Yes, I suppose,” I reply with little conviction.

“Would you want me to lie to you?”

“No, I want honesty. But it doesn’t make it hurt less.” The idea that he fucked someone else, since this became more than just an article, feels like a knife of betrayal has just been plunged into my chest.
But if it wasn’t the groupie skank…
“Who was it?”

I can tell he’s uncomfortable. But I don’t know if it’s the subject or me hindering him from telling me. When he finally opens his mouth, I stiffen up, bracing myself for the knockout. “Callie.”

“Callie? You screwed your manager?” I inquire, disgusted.

“Yes,” he says, annoyed by my reaction, “and now it’s over between us, her and I.”

A sharp snort escapes my nose. “Yeah, until you leave for your tour.”

“Lace, you have to lighten the fuck up. We aren’t together like that.”
Uh, hurtful.
“And it’s more than I would give anyone else.”

“Meaning?”

“I’ve never given up my women for another.”

He’s never
…I don’t know if I should be flattered or perturbed about what I just heard.

“You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious.”

“Okay, so then why me? What makes me so special?”

“I don’t know, Lace.”
Huh? What the hell does that mean?
“Still working that out.” He takes a decompressing breath and looks about the apartment then back at me. “You wanna get out of here?”

“Where do you want to go?”

“For a ride,” he says, voice gruff.

I know he isn’t just talking about on his bike.

“I’d love to.”

“You should go get ready, maybe wear some jeans.”

I get up from the couch and walk toward my room, just off the living room, and turn back to him. “Do I have time to shower?”

“Sure, I’ll wait.”

I nod and head into my room.