Something I Need (xoxo Nashville Book 1) (7 page)

“
I
’m taking
you out today.” Dolly flounced into the kitchen the next morning, all airy and bright.

Jonte looked up from her coffee and her now working phone. “Out?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” Jonte asked, confused but happy she no longer had to stare at the messages on her cell. Whilst she didn’t exactly know Dolly all that well yet, she was beginning to recognize that her sing-song tone meant she had a plan and was up to something sneaky.

“You need a Nashville makeover.”

Jonte half-choked on her coffee. Yes, Dolly had been amazingly kind and generous to her, but that didn’t mean that she was ready to play dress-up, especially considering Dolly’s tastes, which quite frankly could only be described as eclectic. Today’s outfit was exhibit A: a striped white zip-up corset-looking top – an interesting dominatrix meets Lara Croft combination – teamed with a pair of skin-tight denim capris and leopard print stilettos.

“Is that a gun holster on your corset?”

“No, it’s a belt.” Dolly offered Jonte a closer look. “Cute, right? I order them from this UK company. I’ll show it to you later. They stock some amazing things.”

Jonte simply smiled back, unsure of how to reply.

“You’re gonna hit the bars to look for a gig tomorrow or the next day, right?”

Jonte nodded in reply.

“Right, so you need to reassess your image, work on how you want others to see you.” Dolly ran a finger along Jonte’s hairline. “Your roots are showing, darlin’, and your eyebrows are a little bushy. What are ya planning on wearing?”

“Jeans?” Jonte said, certain that was the wrong answer.

Dolly tutted and shook her head. “I figured as much. Last night I did some rearranging of my appointments today and called my hairdresser.” Dolly paused when she caught Jonte’s look of absolute shock. “I’m not saying you need to cut all your hair off or dress like me, but you need to do something, ‘cause I don’t believe for one second that you belong in flip-flops and tank tops. You wanna be a star. So let’s make you one!”

“Seriously, Dolly, it’s too much –”

“Nonsense. Let me take you out. It’ll be fun.”

“I don’t know, Dolly. I mean, I don’t have an actual job, just Cash’s offer, and I have to be careful with how much money I spend.” Jonte hesitated, trying to balance practicalities with her curiosity of what it would be like to spend the day with Dolly. Her reality wasn’t like that of the twins, who seemed to have a bottomless pit of money to buy businesses, cars, clothes, and bikes with. Not that she had any idea where on earth they’d gotten that pit from, seeing as it really wasn’t her place to ask.

“Fear not, I know the absolute best place in Nashville. You need boots, yeah?”

“Cash did mock me for not having any the other night.”

“Darlin’, you traveled over here with nothing but an oversized duffel bag. Surely ya knew you’d have to buy some stuff, right?”

Jonte nodded again at the truth in Dolly’s words.

“Give me a budget and we’ll work with that.”

“Okay,” Jonte said, glad to be going out with Dolly and relieved to have a legitimate excuse to ignore the fifth text message her older brother Jack had sent through, demanding she return home. Clearly their mother had now dragged him into her let’s-bring-Jonte-home mission. She’d message Jack later. Or not.

“Yes!” Dolly squealed and did a crazy shimmy victory dance.

J
onte was taken aback
when Dolly pulled her near new shiny black VW convertible up in front of a group of what appeared to be brown, green, and red boxy shops. This certainly wasn’t what she’d been expecting.

“The Idea Hatchery,” Jonte read off the sign.

“Trust me.” Dolly grinned, grabbed her small clutch, and jumped out of the car, keen to get shopping.

“Okay.” Jonte smiled and followed Dolly. She’d signed up for the day, so she may as well just go with whatever Dolly threw at her. Within reason, of course. “So what’s the go with these huts?”

“They were built a couple years back and marketed at small businesses who wanted somewhere low key and affordable to start up. Really it’s a win-win. Win for the business owner and big win for us, ‘cause they have the best stuff here.”

“Right.” Jonte nodded. She knew Dolly was a business owner, but it was kind of weird hearing her talk all serious like that.

Dolly pulled Jonte past a few art and indie shops that sold everything from oats to leather goods, all the way down to the back of the complex.

“Shopping time,” Dolly sing-songed, leading Jonte into the shop with a small Goodbuy Girls sign hanging out the front.

Jonte gasped. The space was no bigger than a bedroom and jam packed with boots – walls of them, all unique – clothes, jewelry, hats, bags, nick-nacks, everything stacked on wooden shelves or small tables, or tucked away on the wooden faux-fireplace behind the counter. At first glance, it seemed like a bit of a mess, but as she continued to take it all in, Jonte realized it was definitely designed to be organized chaos. It had a distinct country feel to it, but there was a mash-up of modern and vintage happening too.

“What is this place?” she asked, wide-eyed.

“Your new best friend.” Dolly smiled triumphantly and made a bee-line for a shelf of boots. “What size are you?”

T
wo hours
. That’s how long the duo spent fossicking through the shop and loading their arms up with gems. Jonte couldn’t believe she’d found two gorgeous pairs of pre-loved boots in her size – an awesome pair of shorter ones in baby-blue suede, and more traditional red, white, and black leather ones – and both for less than $200 in total.

“It’s way cheaper than buying ‘em new, and the beauty is that they’re already worn in.” Dolly winked.

Regardless of her own personal preferences, Jonte played the game and tried on everything Dolly threw at her – teeny tiny snakeskin print halter tops, fringed leather vests, American flag leggings, multi-colored sequin bodysuits, leather hot pants, dozens of printed tanks, and even a flowing green vintage dress.

When Dolly was satisfied there was nothing else currently in stock that would fit Jonte, they finally made their way to the counter. Also in Jonte’s ‘yes pile’ was a black and white polka-dot dress with a lace décolletage cutout, a vintage white linen playsuit, a pair of distressed denim cut-offs, and even an
I love America
cropped tank. It was a good start to the collection of clothes she would need to have when she finally landed a gig.

Dolly was ecstatic with her own finds of the day: a vintage silver faux fur coat she claimed would be perfect for winter, and a pair of almost new cream leather boots that were simply made to be worn with the coat.

On their way back to the beetle, Dolly caught Jonte eyeing a royal-blue ruffle dress in the window of one of the other boutiques.

“It’s nice, girly even, but too conservative for the look you’re going for,” Dolly said.

Jonte was well aware of this. The dress was traditionally pretty and something her mother would have purchased for her, and regularly had. Her mother had an unhealthy obsession with trying to mold Jonte into the perfect daughter. The daughter she’d always wanted. There was no question her mother would have hated the shop they’d just been in, and probably everything she’d bought. Even the polka-dot dress.

Dolly checked her watch. “Come on, you. We’ve got time for a quick lunch and then we’re off to the hairdressers.”

By the time they hit the super cute beauty parlor, Jonte was feeling much more comfortable with Dolly. Dolly was fond of giving her a not so gentle nudge to try new things, but when all was said and done, she respected Jonte’s decisions, whatever they were. Together the pair flipped through the color chart while they waited for Dolly’s hairdresser, Jaydee.

“Show me the actual color of your roots,” Dolly said when they hit the darker shades.

Jonte studied the chart and pointed to a dark brown with a reddish tinge to it.

“Pretty. Maybe you should try that. How long have you been blonde for?”

“Years.” Jonte raised an eyebrow at her new friend. “And here I thought I’d be walking away with blue streaks to match my boots.”

Dolly let out what Jonte was beginning to recognize as her trademark melodic chortle before replying. “Oh, blue streaks – I love it! Sure, we can do that if you want. I just thought this would look sexy.”

“Ha! Well I guess that’s a good thing.”

“Sexy is always a good thing.” Dolly grabbed a handful of Jonte’s hair. “Now tell me, these waves, do they curl when you put some booster in ‘em, or will we need to use a wand?”

* * *

I
t took
Cash’s brain a good twenty seconds to reconcile the fact that the woman walking towards him right now was his sister’s apparent new best friend, Jonte.

Holy. Shit.

There was no denying she was already a gorgeous girl, so natural and vivacious. But as she made her way up to the bar now, he knew he was in a shit ton of trouble, just like Tanner had warned yesterday.

The most obvious difference was definitely her hair. The bleach-blonde, just-stepped-off-the-beach look she had been rocking had morphed into something that was simultaneously sexy and sophisticated; a much darker shade, a shiny mahogany, and the waves had been replaced by well-defined curls. Gone were the flip-flops and tank top, and in was a black and white polka-dot dress and – were they blue suede cowboy boots? Cash did a double take and shook his head in disbelief. Only she could sashay in here wearing a pair of baby-blue colored boots!

“Nice boots.” He leaned against the bar as she slid onto a stool.

“Thanks.” Her smile was all cute and coy, and she flushed a pretty shade of pink.

“Dolly take you to that vintage country place she loves so much?”

“Yep.”

“I like your hair. It suits you.”

Yeah, he liked her hair much more than he should. He’d always preferred brunettes. And checking her out now, he couldn’t figure out why she’d bothered with the blonde hair. He busied himself by pouring her a pint so that he would have an excuse to look away.

“Thanks. Dolly suggested I go back to my roots.” Jonte tousled her curls.

Cash sat the pint down on a coaster in front of her. “So you’re naturally darker?”

She nodded and took a sip of her beer. “Thanks for this, by the way.” Jonte lightly tapped her fingers across the bar top. “Things got a little out of hand yesterday. You know, the whole apartment hunting theatrics. I was tired and frazzled, and realize you were just trying to help.”

“Don’t worry about it. It wasn’t exactly my finest hour either.”

“That’s nice of you to say. So, yesterday you said I could help out around here until I find something more permanent. Was that a genuine offer?”

Of course it had been a genuine offer. He really did want to help her. He just wished he could help her without actually having to be near her, especially this post-Dolly makeover version of her. New hair, clothes, and makeup – what else had Dolly done? He quashed his curiosity – well, tried to.

“Sure,” he replied, with what he hoped was a casual I-wasn’t-just-thinking-about-you-naked shrug.

“Don’t sound so enthusiastic. I’m not that bad to work with.”

“No, it’s fine, really. I could use an extra pair of hands to help out over the weekends.”

“Are you sure? You’re not just saying that to be nice?”

Christ. He needed to get away from her. There were a million thoughts racing through his mind right now and none of them were nice.

He shook his head and threw a damp rag down next to her beer. “You can start as soon as you finish off that beer. Grab the empty glasses and wipe down the tables.”

Cash left Jonte to go check on his regulars.

“What’s with the sudden surge in hotties?” Tommy hooked his thumb over his shoulder toward the other end of the bar while he waited for Cash to pour his next shot.

“No surge, same hottie.” Cash nudged the shot towards him.

“Huh. You gotta do something with that.”

“I just offered her a job. Does that count?”

Tommy knocked back his shot. “Suppose it’s a start.”

J
onte hadn’t counted
on starting work straight away, but now had to be better than nothing. She finished her beer and scanned the bar, not exactly sure where to start. Was it weird for her to just randomly waltz up to tables and ask people for their glasses?

She looked to Cash for help and he held up a finger at her, signaling that he’d be there in a second. Jonte tapped her foot in time with the drumbeat to The Rolling Stones classic “Painted Black”
that was playing on the jukebox. Back in high school, her teacher had taught her to play this on the piano as a part of her exploration of all things that weren’t classical. Instinctively, her fingers flew across the bar top as if it was a piano. She stopped them quickly, knowing how deranged she must look, and softly sang the first line of the second verse.

“Stones fan?” Cash startled her.

“Sometimes.” She let out a nervous laugh and ran her hands along the skirt of her dress, already regretting wearing the damn thing.

“Don’t stop. Keep singing.”

“No, it’s silly.”

“Sorry, but for some reason I was under the impression you wanted to be a singer?” Cash chuckled at his joke and stared at her expectantly.

“I do,” she said, her voice quiet, her pride a little battered.

“Don’t tell me you get stage fright?”

More like Cash fright. He was looking at her differently tonight and she hadn’t yet decided if she liked it. She couldn’t afford to get hypnotized by those green eyes.

“Not at all.”

“So?”

“Do I just walk over and grab their glasses?” She nodded at the crowded half-dozen tables.

“Yep.” Cash ducked down. “Here,” he said, tossing her a black T-shirt. “Throw it over your dress so you don’t ruin it.”

Jonte put the T-shirt on. It swam on her and she didn’t need a mirror to know she looked ridiculous. Huh, so much for her irresistible Nashville makeover.

“Twist it into a knot. I’ve seen Dolly do that before.”

She twisted the excess material round and round and then knotted it off to the side so it sat just above her hip.

“Right, you’re all set.”

“Thanks.” She smiled, grabbed the rag, and began to walk away.

“Just so you know, that conversation you strategically ducked out of just now, it’s not over.”

Jonte didn’t turn back around.

S
ix hours later
, Jonte kicked off her boots. Cash locked the door behind his last customer. Pete had left about half an hour earlier, once he’d cleaned up the kitchen, and Dolly had never stopped by after her late shift. So, yeah they were all alone now.

“Feet sore?” Cash’s eyes darted between her boots and feet.

“Oh. I probably shouldn’t take them off in here, right?” She started to pull her boots back on.

“Relax, it’s just us. Nobody broke any glass tonight, so you should be safe.”

“What do you want me to do now?”

“Not much left to do. You already stacked the dishwasher and wiped down everything.” Cash effortlessly jumped up onto the bar.

“So?”

“Relax and have a drink.” He lined up two shot glasses next to his left jean-clad leg. “Whatcha feel like?”

“Whatever.” She carefully pulled herself up next to him, making sure she didn’t flash her panties in the stupid polka-dotted dress Dolly made her buy.

* * *

T
hree shots of tequila later
, Jonte definitely had the giggles on and was bopping away to Blink 182’s “Dammit.” Cash couldn’t help but laugh as she tried to slide down, but instead, unceremoniously fell off the bar and onto his wooden floor.

“Shit. Are you okay, sweetheart?” he asked when she didn’t immediately get up.

“Fine.” She continued to giggle in a pile on the floor.

Cash jumped down and helped pull her up and onto her feet.

“I don’t know if it’s good or bad that you’re a cheap drunk.” He shook his head and brushed the hair off her face. The simple act had his heart rate galloping, like a racehorse sprinting the final half-mile at the Kentucky derby, and he had to force his hands away from her. Wow. She was exquisite, even half-drunk at one in the morning.

“I’m not cheap.” She huffed, all indignant-like before a drunk girl giggle escaped. She stumbled towards the jukebox.

“Christ, what are you up to now?”

“Finding something to sing to.”

Of course. Now she wanted to sing. That made perfect sense. Cash followed her, his philosophy that all women were crazy reaffirmed.

“I already told you, there’s no country music on that thing.”

“You lie.” She flashed him a smile that made his insides flip-flop, and started shimmying to the beat of Kid Rock’s “All Summer Long.”

He focused on the hypnotic sway of her hips. Crap. He was her boss now; he couldn’t watch her do shit like this.

“This isn’t exactly country.”

“Dance with me.” She ignored his comment and grabbed for his arms.

“I don’t really dance.” He side stepped her with a low chuckle.

Jonte skipped past him and danced around the pool table. She sang the first two lines of the chorus and then broke into another giggle fit. He was about to point out that she’d gotten some of the words wrong, but she suddenly said, “What do you think he means when he says
different
things?”

“Who knows with that dude?”

“Hahahaha, you just said dude.”

It was well and truly time to wrap things up for the night. He needed to get Jonte upstairs so she could sleep or pass out or whatever. But she looked so carefree dancing around the pool table, so much more relaxed than he’d seen her the past few days. All right, so she was half cut, but she was happy.

“Do you have a lake at your ranch?” she asked, but became fixated on trying to unknot the T-shirt he’d given her earlier.

“What are you doing?”

“I smell like beer.” She fumbled with the knot for a minute but finally managed to yank the top over her head. “Do you have a lake at your ranch?” She repeated her unanswered question and walked towards him, watching him the whole way.

“No, but we have a river. Why?”

Her head dropped to one side and she looked straight at him, the flecks of gold in her hazel doe eyes almost catching fire. “Do you make love to girls out there, like in the song?”

Shit. This was not good. Cash ran his hands through his hair and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. “I think it’s time I took you upstairs.”

“Do girls go for the whole white knight thing you’ve got going on?”

“Jonte.”

“Cash.” She mimicked the reprimanding tone in his chide, clearly mocking him. He didn’t care. He liked her sass.

She was standing so close now. Her breath swirled around him. The lime from the tequila was mingling with the vanilla scent he’d learned over the past few days was all her. He knew he should step back. He knew he should take her upstairs, put her to bed, and leave.

“I don’t do anything fun,” Jonte said, practically pouting, her nose all scrunched up, her perfect lips smooshed together.

“You don’t?” Crap. That wasn’t what he was supposed to say. He was supposed to ignore her ramblings and the please-do-naughty-things-to-me look in her eyes. He was supposed to drag her half-drunk ass up the stairs, get on his bike, and go home. Alone.

“Noooooope. That’s why I ran away from home.”

“Aren’t you a little old to be running away from home, sweetheart?”

“You have sexy eyes. I think you could be fun.”

Fun? He could do fun – that’s all he ever did with women when the need came up. No, he couldn’t just fool around with her. What he needed to do right now was go home and have a cold shower. Maybe jerk off first.

Like an animal trapped in oncoming headlights, he was dumbstruck and simply watched her lean forward. She was so close now, and his heart was hammering in his chest – screaming at him to grab hold of her and never let her go, and simultaneously warning him to back away before things got out of hand and they crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed. He’d hesitated for too long, and now it was too late. Her lips barely brushed against his. They were soft and subtle and tasted of lime. From this moment on, lime would forever be synonymous with Jonte. Boss or no boss, he craved more.

Oh, fuck it! Who was he kidding? He was horny as hell, having watched her bend over tables and smile at him all night, and from the way she was now devouring his mouth, she was clearly up for this.

Careful not to break their delicious kiss, Cash gripped her hips and lifted her off the ground. A giggle escaped her mouth, but he silenced it with his and shuffled them forward, sitting her on the edge of the pool table.

Jonte’s hands grabbed fists full of his hair, while his explored her back, crushing the smooth fabric of her dress. Their bodies were pressed hard up against each other. Her legs had snaked their way around him, but it wasn’t enough. He had to be closer, had to feel more of her.

Cash toed off his boots. “Lie back.” His voice was hard and stiff, like the rest of him.

She did so a little too eagerly and hit her head against the red felt-covered slate.

“Shit. Are you okay?” He scrambled up onto the table, worried she’d cracked her head open.

Jonte nodded and he moved closer. He caressed her head and lay down next to her, quickly finding her lips again, desperate for that lime taste, those lips, her. Without hesitation, she hitched her leg over his hip, opening herself up to him. He rocked his body against her, his hands splayed on the felt at either side of her head, caging her underneath him. Jonte’s hand slid under his work shirt, and his muscles contracting at her touch. She made her way to his belt buckle and his head fell forward.

Christ. For the second time tonight, he knew Tanner had been right and he was in big trouble. Everything was moving fast, but it felt so damn good. His hands stroked her hair and his lips nuzzled her neck, causing her to moan his name in what he presumed was delight, considering how she was wriggling herself up against him, more determined now.

He wanted her. Had to have her. Here on the god damn filthy pool table.

Cash was lost in the haze of licking his way up Jonte’s neck, and over the thrum of the music, he heard the click of a key in the lock. He cursed but was too tangled up with Jonte to move quickly enough when the door swung open.

“Well, this is interesting.” Dolly’s satisfied purr was back. “I was just coming to check on Jonte, but clearly she’s fine, so I’ll be off.”

Dolly offered him a smirk before she left. He cursed again, fumbled with his belt, and slid off the pool table.

“I’m so sorry,” Jonte whispered.

She had nothing to be sorry for. This was all on him and his stupid raging boner. For fuck’s sake. How had he let that get so out of control? She’d been drinking, and she was his employee, and his twin sister’s new friend and roommate.

“No, that was all my fault.” He pulled his boots back on, embarrassed he’d let things go so far so fast. “I should never have let that happen.”

Jonte stumbled off the pool table and rushed to get her own boots. She didn’t bother putting them on. She just scooped them up and ran for the door. He let her go, uncertain of what the hell he was supposed to say, although, he was certain he was supposed to say something. What a fucking mess! He wasn’t supposed to care about her and he sure as shit wasn’t supposed to have enjoyed that as much as he had. He was perfectly happy with his quiet existence and didn’t need some Aussie country singer wannabe in blue cowboy boots screwing everything up.