Risky Business

Which is amazing until . . .

“Ugh . . . you taste awful,” he mutters. “Grass clippings.”

I stick my tongue out, running it on my teeth in a failed attempt to get the grossness off. “Plant shot.”

We look at each other, noses screwed up in distaste, but at the same time, it’s funny in a gross sort of way. Somehow, the kiss seems to have reactivated the blech of the Green Goddess’s lawn drink. I reach for the bottled water in the door and Carson does the same. I guzzle the liquid down until I have to gasp for air. The water dribbles down my chin, and I swipe at it with my hand but realize Carson is continuing to chug even though water is running down his chin in rivulets, dripping to his shirt.

I laugh. “God, that shot was awful.”

Carson’s bottle is empty, and I think he’d drink mine too if I weren’t clutching it tightly. “Fucking disgusting,” he agrees. “I’m all for eating healthy and all that, but . . . damn.”

We collapse back against the seat, panting and laughing.

“Ms. Rice?” Carlo says carefully. I meet his eyes in the rearview mirror. “Stop two?”

“Yes, please,” I answer.

When I turn back, Carson is assessing me with interest. “You really do have a surprise for me? You didn’t mean making out in the car on the way back to the airport?”

I try to decipher the look on his face. There’s surprise, but something deeper layered beneath it that I can’t define. “I do. I knew the meeting with Jazmyn and Steve would take a bit, but I planned a little something extra for us when I arranged everything.”

“Thank you. Nobody’s ever done anything like this,” Carson says quietly, his eyes boring into mine.

I grin. “You don’t even know what it is yet. What if it’s another plant shot? Or something worse?”

He shrugs, totally relaxed. “I trust you.”

It’s then that I realize what I’m seeing . . . the little boy who just wanted to feel loved and wanted. For someone to love him enough to do something just for his enjoyment. My heart breaks a little for Teen Carson and what he went through with his parents and Izzy. In a divorce situation, a lot of siblings turn to each other for comfort, but Carson couldn’t even do that with his brother. He was alone and an afterthought, or worse, a pawn.

“Do you want me to tell you where we’re going?” I offer.

Carson shakes his head vehemently. “No, I like the surprise.”

He relaxes back into the seat, his arm outstretched in welcome for me to snuggle into his side. It feels nice to slow down for a moment and enjoy the victory of today. We’re going to make the festival happen and it’s going to be amazing. We deserve a small break to recharge.

Carlo pulls up to the gated entry and types in the code Taya gave me. The black metal gates swing open slowly.

Carson looks around, confusion knitting his brows. “Where are we?”

“A friend’s place,” I answer, teasing him with a wink that says I’ve got secrets.

As the house comes into view, Carson whistles. “You’ve got some fancy friends.”

I do, but Taya isn’t one of them. Her house, however, is one of her flashiest expenses, with white rope columns, tiled archways, and lush green grass, even in California. Inside, there are more bedrooms and bathrooms than she could ever need or use, but to Taya, it’s a reaffirming sign that she’s made it and will never be the struggling artist dreaming of her big break she once was.

Carlo parks in front of the huge double doors and we get out. But we’re not going in the house, even though the warm wood and black iron scrollwork seem welcoming. “The kitchen’s inside to the left, Carlo. Help yourself to anything. If I had to guess, the fridge is stocked with sodas and the pantry with sweets.”

He dips his chin gratefully and then taps his watch to remind me that we are on a schedule, which I appreciate.

Slipping my hand into Carson’s, I pull him away from the front door toward a pathway leading around the side of the house. “Come on.”

He smiles eagerly, still looking around in shock. “Where are you taking me?”

“You’ll see.” I’m excited too. I haven’t been here in a long time with Taya’s touring schedule being as crazy busy as it is, but I spent many days and nights here when I was on assignment with her. It’s quiet and peaceful, something I think Carson could benefit from.

Behind the house is a large pool and deck area, but I bypass those too.

“Nice,” Carson deadpans, one brow raised in appreciation for the area.

I stop at another gate at the back of the property, making practiced work of the lock there. Stepping through, I reveal the reason for our being here, the private beach stretching out in front of us, the Pacific Ocean crashing on the sand a hundred feet away.