Accidentally Married on Purpose: A Love and Games Novel Page 10

  “Colby and Jason are sorry they couldn’t come and say hello. They’re both on shift tonight, and we’re watching Emma. But I have a great idea. What do you say we have a big ole Welcome-to-the-family dinner tomorrow, yeah?”

  Chapter Nine

  The world makes all kinds of rules for love…

  Sherry bolted awake, heart in her throat. “What the what?”

  Hand to chest, she glared at her clock, happily singing away about crazy people in love. Perfect. Not only had she been yanked away from a hot dream (and just when it got to the good part), but country music was now blaring in her room. Like a dope, she’d set her alarm to the local channel before falling asleep in an effort to get to know Tyler better…and this was what she got. Love songs. Perky love songs about people who shouldn’t follow a list of rules. Sticking out her tongue, she clicked off the rude thing and collapsed against her pillows.

  That was better.

  Staring at the popcorn pattern on her ceiling, she admitted the alarm clock wasn’t the only thing that had her teed off. Her subconscious was on her hit list, too. She’d purposefully escaped to her bedroom last night, needing a breather from, well, everything. From the hunk of a man now living with her, and from convincing her family they were in love. From the awkward, charged silence that had fallen after Cane and crew left, and remembering Tyler’s kiss out by her car. Along with those fuzzy images from their night in Vegas.

  Only problem was, the instant she closed her eyes, those memories overtook her.

  Normally Sherry had the good sense to dream about mystery men. Famous celebrities she could crush on from afar without bumping into them in the bathroom. But her brilliant self just had to go and marry one of those celebrities, which promised to make brushing her teeth a much more interesting experience.

  With a sigh, she threw off her blankets. Time to get ready for work. After slipping on a bra and padding to the bedroom door, she quietly turned the knob, pausing to listen for any telltale noises. The house was utterly silent. Sticking her head out, she dared a glance both ways, but not a shadow moved. There wasn’t a single peep.

  Could Tyler still be sleeping?

  Generally, Sherry was the last one up in any group. Morning person she was not. But it was possible her rock star husband was an even bigger slouch than she was. Slipping down the hall on tiptoe, she stopped before the bathroom and then leapt inside, wanting to get a handle on the bedhead. And the hideous dragon breath.

  Yeah, Tyler had already seen her at her worst—did it sink much lower than waking up nude, hungover, and bedraggled?—but she’d rather erase that glorious impression from his memory bank, not add to it. Safely tucked inside, she released a grateful sigh and shuffled to the sink. As water sputtered and filled the basin, Sherry lifted her bleary eyes to the mirror.

  Where a yellow sticky note was stuck at eye-level.

  Hey gorgeous,

  The label rented studio space downtown, so that’s where I’ll be all day.

  Call my cell if you need anything.

  Tyler

  P.S. Elvis is sweet, but I prefer sleeping with you.

  She left the water running. Heading down the hall again, this time in the opposite direction, she didn’t stop until she reached Angelle’s bedroom. With a palm placed against the partially cracked door, she peered inside…and there was Elvis. Sleeping curled in a fluffy white ball on a dented pillow. Tyler’s pillow. That no doubt smelled of sandalwood. A groan slipped out of her throat.

  The bad boy of country had cuddled her baby all night. The sweetness of that made Sherry’s chest constrict. Damn it, this wasn’t playing fair. She set her head against the doorjamb and stood there, watching Elvis sleep. His tail twitching mid–puppy dream and his tiny legs kicking the air. Tyler’s cologne lingered in the air and Sherry closed her eyes, fresh images from their night in Vegas sweeping over her. Sense memories tingled to life.

  The weight of his arms holding her.

  The slip and tug of his fingers knotting in her hair.

  The warm pant of breath on her already heated skin.

  Releasing a jagged breath, Sherry opened her eyes and focused on Elvis.

  Lucky bastard.

  …

  Walking inside Sherry’s house was like entering a war zone. The same basket of clothes was shoved in the corner, fresh Coke cans were on the coffee table, and now, piles of paper littered the floor. Tyler waved at the bodyguard he’d had posted outside (and the cause of their first martial spat via text that morning. She’d said it wasn’t necessary; he’d vehemently disagreed, and in the end, well, Tony was still there), then closed the door behind him. Maneuvering as best he could, his inner neat freak twitching to organize the chaos, he called out, “I’m home.”

  Home. Now there was an interesting concept. Several dwellings contained Tyler’s stuff. A big one in Nashville that collected dust. A tour bus he’d spent half his life on the last few years. The house he grew up in a few hours up the road that held his childhood books. That one probably came closest to an actual home, but it wasn’t his. It didn’t tell the story of who he was today, or what he wanted as a man. It told where he came from. And illness permeated the air.

  But this place was different. Bigger than a tour bus, smaller than the one he owned in Nashville, Sherry’s house had a warmth and energy that wrapped around you the moment you opened the door. Even with the cluttered mess. The belongings weren’t his—his stuff didn’t arrive for another hour—yet somehow Tyler felt more at home here than he had in years. Giving it up in a month was going to suck.

  “I’m in here,” Sherry called back, and Tyler followed the sound to the kitchen. She lifted tired-looking eyes from her laptop, surrounded by even more papers crowding the counter. “Hey. What time is it?”

  “Just after five.” He’d spent almost the entire day at the studio, meeting the crew, getting the lay of the land, prepping things so that when Charlie and the band arrived they’d be good to go. Melodies and lyrics were already churning for the new songs, and Tyler was eager to get to work. Grabbing a barstool, he sat down with his guitar on his lap and waved a hand over the paperwork. “What’s all this?”

  She rolled her head in a slow circle. “Robicheaux’s is having an event next week.” Yawning, she rubbed the back of her neck and then said, “I’m finalizing a few of the details.”

  Distracted by the strain of soft cotton as she raised her arms, stretching her chest, Tyler was slow to comprehend her response. But forcing his gaze away, he looked over the paperwork and said, “A few details? It looks like a small tree gave its life here.”

  She mumbled something incoherent, continuing to work sore muscles, and he snatched the nearest papers off the counter. To keep his mind busy and his hands off her soft skin. As he gathered the sheets into piles, he realized that despite outward appearances, she clearly had a semblance of organization—each one had a giant letter written in marker on top. A, E, F…

  “It just bugs the crap out of you, doesn’t it?”

  “Hmm?” Looking up, he found Sherry’s eyes bright with laughter.

  “I swear, music man, you make me feel like a slob. You woke up at an ungodly hour. You made your freaking bed around Elvis. And your things are all unpacked. Heck, even your toothbrush was tucked away in the cabinet.” She set her elbow on the counter and leaned her chin into her hand with a tsk. “Dude, didn’t you get the memo? Musicians are supposed to be rowdy and break stuff. I think you might have to turn in your rock star card.”

  “Funny.” Tyler tapped a pile against the counter with a smirk. “What can I say? My mama raised me this way. No one came behind me to clean my messes. That was my job. Even if she tried, I wouldn’t let her. She had enough to deal with.”

  The truth came out without thinking, and from the corner of his eye, he saw Sherry’s eyes sharpen. Tyler bit back a curse. Tonight was her family’s dinner; now wasn’t the time to share their sob stories—if they ever would. Adjusting his guitar on his lap, he
fixed his attention on the papers.

  The pile in his hand was marked with the letter A. The top sheet was a bulleted list, highlighting the needs of the St. Tammany Humane Society. Under that was a detailed spreadsheet of different breeds, along with math equations scribbled in the margin. Curious, he picked up another pile, this one with the letter E, and found names of local DJs, bands, and media contacts.

  “Sherry, this seems pretty major.” After reading a press release listing her as the point of contact, he asked, “Wait, it’s Wednesday? As in, a week from today?”

  She nodded, and he reared back in his seat. “Tell me about it. Good thing I work well under pressure, huh? It came together rather quick, but Tyler, it’s so worth it. You’ve gotta see this center. What it does for the animals in our parish. I volunteer as often as I can, and during my last visit, I overheard they were several big donations shy of their goal. I had to do something. I’m telling you, this place is phenomenal.”

  Not a trace of exhaustion remained in her eyes by the end of her short speech, and her entire face lit with a smile. “And don’t even get me started on the animals. I’d adopt them all if I could afford it. There’s this sweet little Catahoula Leopard mix I’ve had my eye on…” She sat back with folded arms. “If that girl doesn’t find a home soon, she’s mine.”

  As usual, her enthusiasm was completely adorable. This right here was Sherry’s passion, her dream, in action. And Tyler wanted in. “Tell me what I can do.”

  “Really?” Her voice pitched high, and if it were possible for her smile to grow even wider, it did. He grinned in response. “Awesome, because I can really use the help. I may be a go-with-the-flow chica, but this is pushing it, even for me.”

  Without stopping for a breath, she jumped into explaining the details, animatedly waving her hands. Tyler found himself leaning closer, unconsciously mimicking her gestures. His wife was a dynamo. Her excitement for these abandoned animals made him care, too. Now he wanted to adopt them all.

  Simply being near her did something to him. Made him breathe easier, think differently, act better. Had him wanting to prove he could be the kind of man she deserved…if life were drastically different and a real relationship were feasible. A saying his dad taught him a long time ago came to mind.

  Look for the game changer, son.

  There was no doubt that Sherry Robicheaux would change the entire game if he let her.

  The truth hit him like a stun gun.

  “Tyler, are you listening?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, hoping the errant thought went with it. “It sounds fantastic. You’re going to make a killing for this place. Put me where you need me.”

  “Hmm…” She chewed the corner of her lip in deliberation. “How about Master of Ceremonies?”

  Anywhere but there…

  Give him a guitar and he was good to go, but public speaking wasn’t his thing. Accepting awards and hyping a crowd was part of the gig, but when Blue wasn’t performing, Tyler avoided microphones like the plague. He was much better at singing than giving speeches. And improv? He straight-up sucked.

  “Well…truth is, I hide behind a guitar for a reason. Trust me, sugar, you don’t want me up there making jokes. I’ll bore the poor people to tears.” Tyler cleared his throat. “How about muscle?” he suggested instead. “Surely you can use some manpower, right?”

  A look of surprise crossed her face at his admission, but she nodded, quickly accepting his counterproposal with a, “Oh, definitely.”

  Relieved, he smiled. “Good, then put me to work.”

  It wasn’t until her gaze dipped to his fingers that he realized he’d been fiddling with his guitar. A habit of his whenever he was anxious. Or stressed. Or happy. Pretty much, it was what he did.

  Sherry closed her laptop and leaned forward on the counter. “Tell me about your girl.”

  Her voice was so sweet, her wide eyes so sincere that Tyler couldn’t not answer. Not without feeling like a dick, at least. Plus, strangely enough, he actually wanted to share part of his story. Let her see a small bit of the real him.

  Fingers still strumming the strings, he said, “Mom had just gotten diagnosed, and things around the house were tight. We didn’t have a lot of money. Just paying the bills was a struggle, and frivolous things like entertainment and hobbies didn’t make the cut. But Dad, he knew my passion for music. He was a musician too, and he saw it in my eyes.” He felt his mouth lift in a grin. “Anyway, he worked even harder than he already was, pulled more hours at the mill just to save up, and the day I turned thirteen they shocked the hell out of me. Handed her over with a big blue bow and said, ‘Chase your dreams, son.’”

  Sherry’s gaze softened, and he played a quick riff from one of Blue’s current hits to cover his discomfort. He wasn’t ready to answer any questions just yet. When her lips parted, he hurriedly said, “You know, I’ve gotten tons of guitars through the years. Some I’ve bought, others given by companies wanting photos of Tyler Blue endorsing their brand. But this is mine. It’s what I use when I write or just play for fun. This is me with strings.”

  Corny as hell, but the damn truth. He shrugged, slightly embarrassed, and she smiled.

  “She’s special,” she said.

  He nodded, ready to shift the focus away from him again. He’d shared a piece of himself, more than he’d shared with anyone in a while. That was enough for now. “What about you? Your brother and Emma both play. Are you a secret performer?”

  Sherry laughed. “That would be a hard no. My musical career piddled out after third grade recorder and ‘Hot Cross Buns.’ Cane’s the music guy.”

  But her eyes kept going back to his fingers.

  “Maybe you just haven’t had the right teacher.” He waggled his eyebrows suggestively, and she rolled her eyes. “Come on,” he urged. “One lesson. It’ll be fun, I promise. Plus, isn’t that Marriage 101? Thou shall learn each other’s interests?”

  “And here I never knew God wrote a marriage book.” She smirked, but it soon transformed into a reluctant grin. Tyler slid her the puppy dog look that always worked on his mama, and she groaned, pushing to her feet. “Okay, okay. One lesson.”

  He pumped his fist in the air, and she laughed. “But not tonight. We, dear husband, already have plans for the evening.” Sidling over to his side of the counter, an evil glint entered her eye as she asked, “Ready for the in-law inquisition?”

  Chapter Ten

  “Everyone’s here.” Sherry parked behind a Chevy in the long driveway of her childhood home, and thunder rolled as Tyler’s eyes fell on the truck’s bumper. Two stickers promoted the Magnolia Springs Fire Department and the local gym, Northshore Combatives. On the drive over from the house, she’d let it slip that one of his new brothers-in-law wasn’t just the town’s fire captain. He also owned the gym…and was trained in hand-to-hand combat.

  So much for not being intimidated.

  “My damn hands are sweating,” he said with a laugh, wiping them on the rough denim of his jeans. He glanced across the console of her shoebox car. “And you’re sure they bought your story?”

  Lightning flashed, revealing her rolling hazel eyes. “In this case, it pays to be the addicted-to-love little sister.” With a flick of her wrist, she killed the engine, and the blades swiping the rain from the windshield stilled. “Quick recap. We met in the green room of the casino, completely hit it off, and spent the weekend together. Classic love-at-first-sight stuff. You swept me off my feet, and we just couldn’t stand to have it end. Then, since I’m practically certifiable, I suggested we elope, which you thought was a fabulous idea, as most of my ideas are. So, we got hitched.”

  Glancing down, she straightened the diamond ring on her finger. “Anyway, the next morning, we parted ways. You headed back for a meeting in Nashville, and I came here to get our love nest ready. I feigned shock when the reporter showed up at my door because we hadn’t wanted to tell anyone right away. You wanted to meet them first b
ecause you’re traditional like that.”

  Tyler scoffed, but he had to hand it to her. The woman could spin a story. If she ever went into PR, she’d make a killing. “Wouldn’t a traditionalist ask permission prior to the elopement?”

  “Don’t mess with the cover, rookie,” she teased. “You’re dealing with an expert.”

  Chuckling, he raised his palms in surrender. Already he felt lighter than when they first pulled up. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” The rain beat a steady rhythm on the hood, and he grasped the door handle, ready to run for it. “Prepare to see my eighth grade drama skills in action, Mrs. Blue.”

  She smirked. “Do try and keep up, rookie.”

  Laughing, he threw open the door and tore up the drive, expecting Sherry to be right behind him. But when he reached the front door and turned around, she wasn’t on the porch. Confused, Tyler walked back a few steps and found her instead in the yard, face tilted to the sky, arms stretched to capture the liquid drops.

  In his experience, women tended to get all Wicked Witch when it came to the wet stuff—they freaked if it touched them. While Sherry wasn’t overly dramatic about fashion, he’d seen her tackle box filled with makeup and witnessed the application ceremony. If anyone would avoid the risk of messing it up, it’d be Sherry.

  But then, as he always seemed to be when it came to this woman, he’d been wrong.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  She stuck out her tongue like a kid catching snowflakes and closed her eyes as the rain pelted her once flawless face. Lowering her head with a grin, she said, “It’s not like we’re gonna melt. Haven’t you ever danced in the rain for fun?”

  “Danced?” Tyler edged closer to the end of the covered porch, shocked anew. Raising his voice over the torrent, he shook his head. “Can’t say that I have.”

  His confession earned him a playful grin, and as she held out a hand toward him, she said, “There’s a first time for everything.”