Sweet Thing (Naughty Things 2)

“Nobody,” I say.

“Nobody?” Ozzy says, laughing. “He’s only the drummer of one of the greatest rock bands of all time.”

“Who?” Amherst asks again.

“It’s not important,” I say. And I’m kinda irritated with Ozzy for mentioning it. It was a weird time in my life, and not a good weird, either. And Ozzy never approved of that old life, so right now he’s only doing this to impress Aria’s father. Even worse, I’m not sure it’s working.

“Son of a Jack,” Ozzy says, doubling down and ignoring my cues that I really don’t want Aria’s dad’s first impression of me to be one associated with the most controversial bands to hit the scene in the last two decades.

“Oh,” Amherst says. “I think I’ve heard of them. I’m pretty sure April, my older daughter, saw them in concert a few times.” Then he winks at me. “She’s my outrageous one. She’s in Australia photographing models right now or I’d introduce you. But Aria…” He sighs. “Aria is my sweet one. She’s not into that kind of scene.”

Jesus Christ. I’m going to hell for what I did with his sweet thing of a daughter. What was I thinking?

“In fact,” Ozzy says, “aren’t they on tour right now? I think they’re coming here to play over Fourth of July.” He looks excitedly at Amherst. “Ryker will get in touch with them and see if they have time to meet your daughter.”

“Oh, I’m sure she would love that!” Amherst beams.

I just give up and nod. “Sure. Sure. I’ll see what I can do.”

The rest of the meeting goes pretty much like that. Ozzy and Amherst hitting it off wildly and me picturing what my eternal sentence in hell might look like. Because it’s very clear that the whole reason Amherst gave his younger daughter a big old diamond ring for her eighteenth birthday was because it’s a giant hands-off signal for anyone who thinks they can take his place in her sweet, young heart.

But… success. Amherst, Ozzy, and I leave the restaurant with a firm handshake deal on the final loan we’ll need to finish the project.

I beg off after that, telling Ozzy that I’m just gonna walk home and I’ll see him on Monday, while he takes the car back to the office to go over the loan papers.

When I get home I change into jeans and a t-shirt and wait for nine o’clock to roll around so I can go over to the co-op and drum off some steam. I hadn’t realized how much I’ve missed music until this past week and used it to take my mind off Aria.

Didn’t work. In fact, it made me think of her more. The way she came in that night of her birthday. Her father outside in the car while I went all alpha on her.

The devil is saving me a special place in hell for all this, I can feel it. How is it that one sweet girl could bring back all the bad-boy tendencies hiding deep inside me? I’ve done a great job of forgetting where I came from, and who I was, and all the fucked-up trouble I used to get into before I left home and came here to start over in college.

It was a lot of luck, but it was a lot of hard work too.

But the past is tattooed on my soul and on my body, so there’s no way to leave all that shit behind.

And what the fuck is up with Ozzy bringing up Kenner and his band? Seriously have not even thought about that guy in over a decade. And tonight, the one night I would very much like to keep all my secret past transgressions buried, I not only have to acknowledge them, I have to make a fucking phone call to Kenner McConnell and beg him to meet someone’s daughter when they play here in the summer. And to top it all off—as if this situation couldn’t get any worse—Amherst invited Ozzy and me to his country club Spring Fling in two weeks so he can introduce us to all his friends.

Which means we have to go.

At exactly eight forty-five I go down to the garage, get in my car, and drive over to the co-op. It’s nine on the dot when I walk through the door and I’m surprised by two things.

One, Aria is in her cube. And two, so is that pesky ballerina.

Like, seriously? The universe can’t cut me one break? I know I told Aria I’d be here tonight—practically invited her to meet me—but after meeting her father, who I realize I genuinely like, not to mention respect, it was a horrible idea.

And I can’t even talk to her the way I want, because I’m certain the ballerina has a thing for me. She’s been hanging out all fucking week trying to make me notice her.