Renting with the Rival (Awkward Arrangements Book 2) Read online

The name hits me in the gut, followed by a wash of shame that’s a decade old but still feels fresh.

  She’s grown up now, her body toned and carved by age, her eyes older and wiser and sharp as ever. All I can think about is what I did to her. How much she must hate me.

  “Molly?”

  She inhales audibly, not quite meeting my eyes. “I wasn’t sure it was really you.”

  “Yeah.” I spend my life in front of crowds, winning them over, and yet I can’t think of a single thing to say other than that. I feel like I’m trespassing on private property. I feel like I’m eighteen and stupid again. I feel like I’m not supposed to be here, but of course I am. This space is everything I need, except for the woman standing in it.

  Molly covers her face with her hands, and her shoulders start to shake.

  Jesus Christ, is she crying?

  I glance at her in alarm, but no. Molly Torres isn’t crying—she’s laughing.

  I have a feeling, somehow, that that’s worse.

  “Are you okay?” I venture.

  She drops her hands and shoots me an exasperated look. This time, her eyes catch mine, full of fire and uncertainty at the same time. “Seriously, Parker?”

  First name only. At least there’s that.

  I hold up my hands in self-defense. “Seriously what?”

  She gestures around the place and narrows her eyes. “Why the hell are you here?”

  “To look at this space?” Why am I saying it like it’s a question? I shove my hands in my pockets. “For my band.”

  She shakes her head, and a glint of light reflects off the furious tears in her eyes. She dashes them away with the heel of her hand. “Don’t take it from me.”

  It’s a whisper and a plea, and it breaks my heart. My spine stiffens as I recoil from the anger and sadness wrapped up in one little sentence.

  I have no idea what her financial situation is, but I’d place a sizable bet that my bank account’s fatter than hers. From the look on her face, she knows it, too.

  “I’m not gonna…” I say, but then I trail off. Of course I am. Or, I was.

  Before I knew who I’d be bidding against, I’d planned to sweep in, secure the place, and get my sorry ass here to start writing. That fan from earlier isn’t the only one waiting on my new album, and the acoustics in here are perfect for what I need.

  Molly takes my words as the admission of guilt they are. She twists her lips and straightens her spine, and without another word, she marches past me.

  “I’ll take it,” she tells Marie.

  What?

  No.

  I stride back to the two women and shake my head. “Not so fast.” Molly’s eyes shoot daggers at me as I crack a smile for Marie. “I’d like to put in a bid as well.”

  Marie claps her hands together, and her sharp bob swings. “Two offers? The owner will be so pleased.”

  “This a first come, first served situation, right?” Molly asks hopefully.

  “Yes, but with the two of you, it’s also a highest bid situation.”

  Molly deflates, the smile falling off her face as her confidence fades. I want more than anything to snatch this place away. To show her she doesn’t have the right to judge me.

  But I can’t be the one who puts that look on her face. Not again.

  Shit.

  “Wait.” I reach for Molly’s elbow, and she flinches away. I pretend like it doesn’t piss me off. “I need to talk to Molly privately.”

  “What?” she snaps, but she lets me guide her to the far side of the room.

  I’m a head taller than her, and I bend my head closer to hers to whisper in her ear. A wave of her perfume hits me—coconut and lime—and something in my chest seizes with nostalgia. Molly Torres might hate me, but she smells like home.

  “Maybe we can both win here.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “In what world?”

  The words fly out of my mouth before I can bite them back. “In a world where we split the space.”

  “No, Parker,” Molly flares.

  I ignore her and call over my shoulder to Marie. “If we put our names in the hat, how long can you keep a soft hold on the place for us?”

  She consults her phone. “No guarantees, but I’ll be reviewing all offers at the end of the week. If you can get me something worthwhile before then…” She shrugs. “It’s anyone’s game.”

  I turn back to Molly. “Do you want this space?”

  She snorts. “Of course I do.”

  “Then grab coffee with me. Hear me out.” I lean close enough for one of the long strands of her hair to brush my face. “Please,” I add softly.

  Once, back when I lived in Hawaii, I found this stray dog tangled up in a chain-link fence. She’d tried to push her way through a hole and gotten stuck halfway through, the metal snagged in her long, gray hair. I worked to free her, but all she did was snarl at me the whole time I tried to help.

  That’s what Molly reminds me of now.

  She’s the dog trapped in the fence.

  She needs me more than I need her, but I can’t help thinking that if I get too close, she’s gonna bite.

  3

  Molly

  This is a bad idea. The second cup of coffee and the drinking it with Parker Atwood part. He’s the one man I swore I’d never see again once I stepped foot off Oahu, and here he is across the table from me, his luscious lips skating the rim of a porcelain coffee cup with Fuel Coffee emblazoned on the side.

  The coffee shop sits just a few doors down from the studio, a small storefront that opens into a big seating area decorated with dark wood and a hand-painted orange logo on one of the brick walls. The scent of fresh coffee and buttery pastries floats through the air, a mouthwatering backdrop to the unfairly gorgeous man in front of me.

  Ten years later, Parker has taken the surfer-boy vibe he had in high school and cultivated it into a beachy rock star look. Between his tousled gold hair, the stubble clinging to his jaw, and the nose that’s slightly crooked on top from the time he broke it surfing in the tenth grade, he’s stupidly alluring. But I’m not falling for it.

  “Tell me again why we’re here,” I ask, clutching my own mug and dragging my gaze to his piercing blue eyes.

  My words come out a little sharper than I intend, but it’s not because I hate him. Not outright. I forgave him long ago, choosing to believe he came into my life for a reason. Maybe that reason was to show me I could be okay with even my most shameful secrets exposed. That I could get through anything. He taught me the value of my independence, and I wouldn’t be here—in Seattle, starting my own business—if not for that. But while I don’t hate him, I don’t trust him, either. And I sure as hell can’t figure out why he’s in my life now.

  Parker has the decency to look apologetic as he answers, but still. I’m pretty sure the universe is laughing at me right now. “I want to hear what you have planned for the space. Maybe there’s a way we can compromise.”

  My jaw feels stiff as it drops open. “Seriously?”

  “Yeah, Molly.”

  It’s a little like “Show me yours, I’ll show you mine,” and going first makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. But I need him to understand why this has to be my place so he’ll back off.

  Parker can afford to go anywhere. I can’t.

  “I’m planning to open my own yoga studio. Open-Hearted.” I smile a little wistfully, my business so real I can smell the incense. “I’ve been teaching around the city, but I’ve been saving for years to get my own space.”

  “Yoga?” he says with a lift of his eyebrows. “You never did that back in high school.”

  I shrug. “It helps me stay grounded when I’m feeling out of control.” I snort and mutter under my breath, “I could probably use a session right now.”

  The way Parker’s mouth tightens lets me know he heard.

  Too much, Mol.

  I sigh and let out a shaky laugh. “Sorry. You have to recognize, this is not how I saw my day going.”

  Parker nods, his face inscrutable. “Tell me more.”

  So I do. I lay out my plans for him, the way I envision classes starting in the morning and going into early evening. I explain how I’ve already got instructors lined up to help me teach classes when I’m not around. How I’ll charge membership fees but also let people take drop-in classes. And how I want to host community events, let other people come and explore the studio and meet people and learn how to take care of themselves.

  “I’m already preapproved for a loan,” I say. “I’m trying to do this fast so I can capitalize on all those people who set New Year’s resolutions. This place is in my price range with a huge amount of foot traffic, and it’s available now.”

  At last I sit back, having given him everything.

  “Okay,” Parker says, and one corner of his lips pulls into a lazy half smile like he can’t even be bothered to get all the way there. “That should work.”

  “Of course it will work,” I start, but then I remember he’s talking about his compromise. I stuff down a snappy retort because while I want to throw this in his face, it’s possible he’s doing me a favor. I hate that he’s being kind.

  I start over. “What do you mean?”

  He sets down his coffee cup and frowns. “Listen, I’m going to rent this place.”

  “Are you kidding—” I start, but he holds up a hand.

  “We both know I can outbid you, so let’s not even pretend it’s a competition.”

  I cross my arms over my chest. “Maybe I have better credit than you,” I say, feeling a little petty.

  I’ve spent my life working to avoid being as poor as I was growing up—I don’t have debt, I live cheaply, and I pay off everything I can on time. Hell, it took me until la
st year to buy my first car, and even then I paid cash. All of which makes me an excellent candidate for my bank loan.

  This lease will be the single biggest purchase of my life, but I have a plan for that, too.

  Parker lets out a surprised laugh that feels a little too warm in my chest. “Yeah, maybe your credit’s better,” he concedes. “But hear me out. I’d like to split the rent with you and share the space. I’m not sure if you know, but I’m in a band now…”

  “Okay,” I mutter. Despite my best efforts not to notice, Parker and Matter More show up from time to time in the tabloids when they’re touring. He wears his casual confidence well, even in the grainy photos shot by long-range lenses.

  This time, Parker grins for real, cocky and amused. “Matter More needs a practice space, but we’ll mostly meet up at night. You can use the space during the day for your studio, and we’ll come in through the private back entrance at night.”

  “Why are you even doing this?”

  He taps a finger against the sticky wood table between us. “I’ll feel better if someone’s watching the place while we’re touring.”

  Jesus Christ.

  His arrogance and entitlement make me want to scream. Instead, I force my voice to remain cool and level. “I don’t want your scraps, Parker.”

  A muscle ticks in his jaw. “Please, Molly. I’m trying. I can tell this means a lot to you. I think we can make this work.”

  I sigh, feeling a little stung. “Okay,” I mutter. “Sorry.”

  So much for feeling zen. So much for total independence.

  I can have my dream, but only if Parker comes too.

  “Look,” he says. “Give me your phone.”

  Somehow I know if I protest again, I’m only going to come off like the asshole here.

  I dig my phone out of my purse and hand it over begrudgingly, then watch as Parker enters his number in my contacts list. When he’s finished, he glances up and captures my gaze like a dare. His blue eyes dance over my skin, assessing me in a way that makes me squirm in my seat.

  “Tell me what you want to do,” he says. “But whatever happens, we need to move quick or we’re both gonna be screwed. I’ll give you twenty-four hours to get back to me, and then the deal’s off.”

  I grit my teeth but nod. And then, without another word, Parker gives me my phone and places my future back in my own hands.

  4

  Parker

  “You’re late.” Bryan, Matter More’s bassist, glances up from his spot on my couch as I slide through the front door of my apartment an hour after we’d scheduled practice to start.

  I groan, and he narrows his brown eyes at me like a mother hen.

  Bryan always has a stick up his ass about schedules and production, and while it normally drives me nuts, I’m not so thick-headed that I don’t recognize he also keeps us moving forward. Back at the beginning, before we had a manager, Bryan was the one who booked our shows and promoted the hell out of us. For a guy who stands out of the spotlight onstage, he’s largely responsible for getting us out there and noticed.

  “Don’t be mad at me,” I say. The guys have given me extra grace over the last few months, but this is excessively late, even for me.

  “How can we be mad?” Gunther says, fingers plucking aimlessly at his guitar strings. His shoulder-length blond hair’s swept up in its usual topknot, his jaw covered in stubble. “You’re always late.” He shoots a pointed look at Bryan. “If you’re expecting Asshole here to be on time, you haven’t been paying attention.”

  It’s a fair point.

  “This is why he gave us keys,” Theo chimes in. He’s sitting next to Bryan on the couch instead of behind his drum kit, and his rich, dark skin, goatee, and close-cropped hair give him a perpetually cool rocker vibe. Theo doesn’t always get wrapped up in our squabbling, but when he does talk, he always has something wise to say.

  “See?” I say. “I’m looking out for you.”

  Is it embarrassing that I’m twenty-eight years old and I’ve only ever given my house keys to my friends instead of a woman?

  “Still,” Theo says, “why are you an hour late instead of the usual ten minutes? Did you get the place?”

  “Yes. Sort of.” I wince as three pairs of eyes narrow on me.

  “Sort of?” Bryan asks.

  I hold up my hands. “So, here’s the thing. I ran into an old, uh, friend from high school. I grabbed coffee with her after the showing.” My mind flashes to Molly in the coffee shop, the way she bit her lip as she considered my offer. The way I couldn’t help staring at her mouth while she did it. “She wants the place, too.” I rub a hand over the back of my head. “For a yoga studio.”

  “And?” Bryan demands.

  I sigh. This is going to be that much more painful if I drag it out. “I offered to split the studio with her.”

  “Split the place?” he sputters.

  I nod.

  Gunther’s hands still on his guitar, silencing the notes. “You’re going to have us practice in a yoga studio?”

  “Not at the same time she’s going to have classes, or whatever. At night, when the place is closed.”

  “That’s not going to work,” Bryan counters. “We need a place we can drop in anytime.”

  I know.

  “It’ll be fine,” I say. He’s right, which makes me that much more of an ass for arguing with him. “It’ll get us into practice staying up late, so when it’s time to tour again, we’ll be ready.”

  “You’ve done a lot of crazy shit…” Bryan starts, and I groan.

  “Don’t be ungrateful bastards. I’m the one paying for the place.”

  It’s not something I like to hold over their heads, but the reason I’m footing the bill for the studio instead of splitting the rent with them is that over the years I’ve gotten extra cash from being featured on other bands’ albums. As the lead singer and writer for my band, I’m the one people come to for collaboration opportunities. It pays to be the front man, but it also makes me feel guilty as hell if I think about it too hard.

  The room falls quiet and tense, and I wish I could take back my words. Instead, I rush to cover the silence with more excuses.

  “She could still back out, okay?” I hold up my hands. “And if she does, you don’t have to share with anyone except my crabby ass.”

  “When do you find out?” Theo asks.

  “I’ll know by tomorrow whether or not Molly agrees. If she does, we get the place that much cheaper. And if she doesn’t, I’ll put in the offer right away.”

  “See?” Gunther says in my defense. “It’s fine. Who wants to share a space with four sweaty guys, anyway?”

  “Whatever,” Bryan mutters.

  Gunther shoots him a look. “Listen,” he says. “Since we’re all sitting around gabbing like schoolgirls, why doesn’t Bryan tell us what he heard from Alexis?”

  Bryan is the main contact with our manager, in part owing to his meticulous nature, but mostly because he’s been rocking a crush on the petite powerhouse ever since she started managing us. Ask him about it, though, and he’ll deny his feelings up and down.

  “Sure,” Bryan says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Alexis said she can book a couple of shows for us in the next few weeks. But she won’t put together a full tour until there’s enough music for a new album.”

  My stomach tightens as my bandmates’ gazes swing to me. “There’s half,” I say. “Enough new stuff to trot out for the dog and pony show.”

  Bryan shakes his head. “You know that’s not the best way to leverage a tour. New music, new tour, or nothing.”

  I jam my hands into my hair while I absorb the news quietly. I know Bryan is only the messenger, and I know Alexis is right. But still, it kills me. Because I’m the one everyone relies on for new music, and the last few months have been a blank slate. Not blank as in brimming with possibility. But blank as in void.

  No tour, no income. It’s not just my problem, it’s a problem for all of us.

  Theo stands and paces my living room, a muscle flexing in his jaw. Three steps around the wooden coffee table. Two strides past the edge of my couch.

  If even he’s affected, I know how much shit we’re in.

  “Okay,” I say. “That’s it then. Exactly why we’re getting this new space.”