Shooting for the Stars

  He was, however, naked.

  Bear’s eyes flew open, and the realization kicked in. Naked. Fancy wooden beams on the ceiling. Tahoe. Tequila.

  Stella.

  Oh, fuck.

  Gingerly, Bear turned his head to the side. It was almost a relief to discover that he was alone in the bed. The only sound he could hear was the cycling of water from that ridiculous hot tub in the bathroom.

  And it was just as well, because he needed a couple minutes alone, if only to process what had happened. Bear closed his eyes and took a steadying breath. It had been glorious, really. The intense look in Stella’s eye while they made love? So hot. His whole life he’d kept a sturdy wall between desire and the wonderful creature that was Stella Lazarus. Last night, he’d dropped that wall.

  Afterward, he’d fallen asleep curled around her body, but woke up again a couple of hours later. Alcohol always trashed his sleep cycle. He’d tiptoed into the bathroom for a glass of water. In the dark, he’d borrowed Stella’s toothbrush and washed his face. Then he’d tiptoed back to bed, climbing in as quietly as possible.

  She’d turned in toward his body immediately.

  “Hi, buddy,” he’d whispered, not knowing whether she was asleep or awake. In answer, warm hands skimmed his chest. That was all it took. He leaned in, giving her a deep and minty kiss. On the sound of a sigh, Stella had pressed her beautiful body up against his. Before long he was pulling her up onto his thighs while she reached for a condom on the table.

  With the dark cloaked around them, there hadn’t been any thinking. Just heat and craving.

  But now? In the daylight, things looked different. Hank was going to shoot him. Jesus Christ. “Do you mind taking Stella out tonight to celebrate?” his friend had asked. Yeah. Sure. No problem, Hank.

  A few short hours later, he’d… Bear clapped one hand over his eyes and held back a groan. There was no greater violation of the guy code than the sin he had just committed.

  They weren’t cavemen, of course. There was a version of events which might have made a Bear and Stella combination acceptable. Say, if Bear had ever sat down with Hank and asked him, man to man, if it would be okay if he asked Stella out.

  Unfortunately, that scenario bore no resemblance to the events that had occurred on this bed. A tequila soaked hookup? That was just plain wrong. The worst, most childish defense popped into Bear’s head. “But she started it.” She had, too. It was God’s honest truth. She’d kissed him, and she’d unbuttoned his fly.

  Right. As if that made a difference. Oh, well then. It’s fine that you banged my baby sister after splitting a pitcher of margaritas.

  Said no one ever.

  Bear’s head began to throb. He was such an asshole. And the more he thought about it, the worse he felt. Stella had started it — quite enthusiastically, too. But for ten years, she hadn’t shown any interest in him — not since that kiss when he was eighteen. Why now?

  Bear did not like the idea germinating in his mind. She’d done it because he got kicked off the tour yesterday. She’d done it to cheer him up.

  Stella Lazarus had thrown him a pity fuck. And he’d taken her up on it.

  Now he put both hands to his face, pressing the heels into his eye sockets. And this time, he didn’t bother to hold back his groan.

  “Bear?” The low voice came from the direction of the bathroom.

  Whoops. “Yeah?” he said, his voice husky from disuse.

  “Are you okay?”

  That was really debatable. “Yeah, Stella.” He cleared his throat. “You?”

  There was a beat of silence. “I’m fine. But you just made the sound of a dying wildebeest. And now I’m wondering why.”

  Because I’m as intelligent as a wildebeest.

  “Bear, come in here, would you?”

  He would have rather lain on his back a while longer, beating himself up over his poor decision-making. But the damage was already done, and the only thing to do was take the consequences like a man. Bear rolled off the bed and stood up. His head didn’t like that too much. Locating his underwear on the floor, he pulled them on, then padded into the bathroom.

  Stella wasn’t standing in front of the mirror where he expected to find her. Instead, she was neck deep in the Jacuzzi bath, her hair piled up and clipped on top of her head. She looked adorable, actually, and his heart gave a spastic thump at the sight of her. “Hi,” he managed.

  “Hi yourself,” she said, her face taking on a guarded expression which was unnatural for Stella. Hiding wasn’t her style. That’s what he loved about her. Liked. He liked that about her.

  Bear parked his ass against a marble counter and crossed his arms. “Look, I probably shouldn’t have…”

  Stella held up a hand to stop him. “Nope. We’re not having any conversations that begin that way.”

  Bear opened his mouth and then closed it again. She didn’t want to talk about what happened last night. She must be embarrassed, too. “Okay. If that’s what you want.”

  A flash of uncertainty crossed her face. Then she lifted her chin in classic Stella style. “Don’t just stand there,” she said. “Get in already.”

  Bear shifted his weight, his eyes darting to the roiling surface of the water. Soaking in hot water with his favorite girl would be heaven on any other day. But just now, he wasn’t sure it was a good idea.

  Stella rolled her eyes. “Get in. I’m not going to attack you again.”

  Bear was confused, and also fairly sure Stella was upset about something. He had no idea what. Of course, he could have easily avoided this awkwardness if only…

  Right. Too late for that.

  Bear ducked into the little toilet area, which was separated by a marble partition. After a necessary moment there, he washed his hands and poured two glasses of cold water. God knew he needed one to ease the pounding in his head.

  “Thanks,” Stella said when he handed one to her.

  Then, trying not to feel self-conscious, he dropped his boxer briefs and climbed into the churning water at the unoccupied end of the oval shaped tub. He bumped legs with Stella, so she pulled hers aside to give him space. He sat down on the ledge, and sank back against the curved wall.

  The hot water was heavenly. “Okay,” he said slowly. “This is good.”

  Stella smiled a little and splashed him. “Of course it is.”

  Bear relaxed his legs a little, and they tipped toward Stella’s. She did the same, and so they came to a tentative truce, her smooth leg braced against his larger one. Bear put one elbow on the side and rested his achy head in his hand. From there he observed her, trying to guess what she was thinking so hard about over there. Her hair had gone curly from the steam, and her cheeks had a gorgeous flush to them from the heat. It made him want to trace his thumbs over her cheekbones the way he’d done last night.

  She caught him staring and her eyes flicked away.

  “What happens next?” Bear asked. He wanted her to say that they could go on being friends. He did not want to lose her over a single drunken mishap. (A mishap of judgment, anyway. Every minute of last night had been exquisite.)

  “Next, we order breakfast,” Stella said. “Coffee. Bacon. Coffee. Waffles, maybe. More coffee.”

  “All right.” She was joking with him. That was a good sign. The throbbing in his head eased up ever so slightly. “I have no idea what time it is.”

  “After ten.”

  He laughed. “Wow.” On the tip of his tongue there was a joke waiting about how Stella had tired him out. But he bit it back. “I’ll climb out of here in a minute and order breakfast. What time do you have to leave for the airport?”

  “Eleven-thirty.”

  “Okay.” God, he was going to have to say goodbye to her, not knowing when he’d see her again. It could be months. And then tomorrow Hank was going to fly back out west and meet up with Bear at the gym like nothing happened.

  If he asked Bear how his night out with Stella had been, what the hell was he going
to say? Bear cleared his throat. “Um, about Hank…”

  Stella shook her head immediately. And that guarded look was back on her face. The one that made Bear feel pretty sure he’d fucked up last night. “It’s none of Hank’s business,” she said.

  Bear kept the wince off his face. Stella was obviously embarrassed about starting something last night. That did absolutely nothing for his self-confidence.

  “Anytime I’ve ever mentioned my sex life to Hank, he puts his hands over his ears and sings Jingle Bells,” Stella added.

  “Gotcha,” Bear said.

  “You’re sitting over there feeling all guilty, aren’t you?”

  “Maybe.” Definitely.

  “Don’t, okay? I don’t want to be your responsibility.” She pronounced the word as if it tasted bad. “Or anyone else’s, for that matter.”

  Tongue-tied now, Bear sank a little lower in the water. He didn’t know what to say to make everything okay. It was a familiar problem. He’d never been good with words, especially when they really mattered. Once in awhile he caught himself replaying in his mind all the moments in his life when words had failed him. It wasn’t a pretty collection. The morning that his mother had left forever, she’d sat him down to try to explain. “I can’t stay here anymore. It’s too quiet. I’m no good in the country. If I just go, it will be better for you. No more fights between your father and I.”

  Privately, Bear had not agreed. He knew that the months between winter’s snowy peak and when the trees budded out were the hardest on her. And if she could just hang on a little longer, she’d feel better again. But he hadn’t said it. He’d just sat tongue-tied and angry while the hot press of tears threatened the back of his throat.

  A half-hour later she was gone for good. And he hadn’t said a word.

  That moment was probably his biggest personal failure. But there had also been that eerie winter when Stella was sick, and had to stay in her room while he and Hank ran around in the snow. He didn’t even know the word “chemotherapy” at the time, but he knew Stella was hurting. He was mighty sorry about the whole thing, and he’d wanted to tell her just how unfair it was. But did he say that? Nope. As best he could remember, all he’d done was deal out another hand of cards.

  Bear had a near perfect record for never having the necessary words. And now it was happening again. He had no clue what to say. Frustrated, Bear shifted one of his long legs around, grabbing Stella’s ankle between his two. He gave it a friendly squeeze.

  At first, Stella only gave him a mistrustful lift of her eyebrow. Then, with a big sigh, she shifted her free foot against his. And even though so much in Bear’s life was up in the air, including his future, his friendship with Stella, and a guilty secret he would have to keep from Hank, an ankle snuggle was somehow helpful. He drained the water in his glass, set it aside, and dropped his head back against the tub’s rim.

  They soaked awhile. At one point Stella’s phone began to vibrate on the bathroom counter. Stella looked over at the phone, and then ignored it again. Over the next ten minutes, though, the phone rattled and chimed and practically danced the macarena. She looked more agitated each time.

  “Maybe you should get that,” he said eventually.

  “I’m considering it,” she said with a wry smile. “But if I don’t check it, then it’s still possible all those calls are from Chad, who’s calling about a generous new sponsorship he’s secured for me.”

  Bear glanced toward the phone. “Maybe it is Chad, though. Who else is going to call you five times on a Sunday morning?”

  Stella crossed her arms, which were gleaming from the water, over her chest. The gesture made her breasts above the water line. Bear tried like hell to ignore them. But the vivid memory of putting his mouth…

  Stop, asshole. The memory of their time together was going to torture him for eternity, wasn’t it? Seemed like a fair punishment now that he thought about it. But it was probably going to be a years-long sentence. Every time he and Stella and Hank found themselves in the same city, they’d sit down at some restaurant somewhere, and Bear’s mind would head straight into the gutter.

  Awesome. That’s what he got for thinking with his dick.

  The phone buzzed again. “One of us should check that. Or else turn it off. Who’s it gonna be?” he asked.

  “Rock, paper, scissors?” Stella lifted her eyes to his, and Bear saw heat there.

  Oh, fuck. He was never going to be able to think of that game again without remembering the moment he was rolling on a condom to…

  Without warning, Stella from the water, sleek and beautiful. Bear’s heart practically stopped beating as the curve of her perfect ass swung in his direction. He swallowed with difficulty as she stepped out of the tub. And it wasn’t until she’d wrapped herself in a towel that he began to breathe normally.

  Stella lifted the phone and swiped at the screen. He watched her face carefully, hoping for a smile. Instead her mouth formed a grim line. She wandered out of the bathroom. A moment later, he heard her say, “Hello, Mom?”

  Bear took the opportunity to get up, too. Feeling warm and loose, he stepped into the glass shower stall for a quick shampoo. His subconscious was still feeling frisky, apparently. Because he spent a brief moment imagining how nice it would be if Stella joined him in there…

  Not happening, he reminded himself. She was only trying to cheer you up.

  It had worked, too.

  Bear rinsed his hair quickly, shut off the spray and dried off. The towels were plush and wonderful, and of a quality never found in any hotel room Bear would book any time soon.

  He pulled his underwear back on, then walked out into the bedroom. He didn’t hear Stella on the phone any longer. “Stella?” he called, grabbing his jeans off the floor and jumping into them. “Should I order some breakfast?” He zipped up and then looked around for his shirt. But she’d pulled that off of him when they were sitting on the sofa…

  Bear walked around the groovy fireplace. He found Stella sitting on the sofa, her phone forgotten in her hand, her towel sagging. She didn’t look up when he approached. And her face had gone pale.

  “Stella?” he asked quietly. “Is something wrong?”

  “Hank,” she whispered. “He crashed.”

  “What?” A chill crawled up the back of his neck. “What do you mean, crashed?” An awful idea leaped into his brain. Bear last saw him when he was on the way to the airport.

  Stella was silent and still, while Bear grew more frightened by the second. He sat down beside her and took the phone out of her hand. The screen showed her mother had called several times and left a voicemail twice. Bear touched one of the voicemails in the list. He put Stella’s phone to his ear. A moment later he heard the sound of Mrs. Lazarus’s hysterical voice, trying to tell her daughter what had happened. “Half-pipe,” he heard. “Accident.” And, “unconscious,” and “hospital.” Worst of all, “head or back injury.”

  Suppressing a shudder, Bear ended the playback, tossing the phone aside. Then he hauled Stella onto his lap, towel and all, and wrapped his arms around her. It just didn’t seem possible that Hank could be seriously injured. Nobody ruled the halfpipe like Hank. Nobody. He’d flown into the air off that thing every wintry day since they were boys. Hank was invincible.

  “Did you speak to her?” he asked suddenly. Maybe the voicemail was just a panicked call made in the heat of the moment. Maybe Hank was thinking about ordering his first beer of the day right now.

  Stella shivered in his arms, and her voice was scratchy. “She’s at the hospital. They’re doing a whole bunch of scans,” she whispered. “He hasn’t woken up.”

  He couldn’t hold back his shudder this time.

  “I need to get home,” Stella said, her voice panicked now.

  “Okay,” Bear said. He would take her home to Vermont himself. He shifted her gently to the sofa. “Get dressed, buddy. Let’s go to the airport.”

  “You have an event in two hours,” Stella said.
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  “No I don’t.” Last night he’d been feeling so sorry for himself. It had seemed as if losing his spot on the tour was an actual tragedy.

  It wasn’t. Not anymore.

  Nine

  BEAR STOOD OUTSIDE THE hotel’s front doors, waiting for the valet parking service to bring Stella’s rental around. The temperature outdoors was in the teens. The hotel had mounted warming lights on the sleek awning overhead. It was just the sort of detail a swank resort like this one would provide. Even on your ski trip, they wanted you fat and happy.

  He shivered anyway. A cold prickle had crept up his neck the moment he’d learned of Hank’s accident and would not leave. With his best friend unconscious at a hospital somewhere, he wondered if he’d ever feel warm again.

  Through the glass doors, Bear could see Stella standing at the check-out desk, taking care of business. She looked pale, her face drawn as she spoke to the woman behind the desk. He couldn’t hear their conversation, but he could imagine it. The agent at a fine hotel would be unfailingly cordial. “How was your stay with us, Ms. Lazarus?” she would ask. And then, “Did you enjoy any items from the mini bar?”

  Holy fuck.

  For a second, Bear experienced an ordinary wave of panic. Hank was going to see that bill, and know exactly what Bear and Stella had done last night. But then reality smacked him again, and he realized Hank’s anger was now the very least of his problems.

  Bear took a deep breath against the nausea that attacked him. The resentment he’d felt against Hank yesterday was unconscionable. Hank had only ever been good to him. As long as Hank woke up, though, Bear would get another chance to be a better friend. He needed Hank to wake up from his surgery, read the hotel bill, and then deck him.