Slower

By Deana Birch

Speed bumps are there for a reason. Especially after barreling through the genesis of a relationship. But when rock drummer, Jake, and his career-driven girlfriend, Louana, blow through stop signs and red lights, sirens flare. The two learn one thing: If they want their love to last, Slower is the only way to go.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Deana Birch
• Release date: Nov 27, 2018
• ISBN: 9782839924122

Book preview

1

LOUANA

---

A familiar laugh. My eyes fluttered, and my feet refused to make forward motion. I begged reality to be lying. Not him. Please, no. And sure as shit, not now. My landlady had no doubt ushered him into our courtyard without hesitation. A handsome, well-dressed man, who smelled amazing and could charm a lamppost? She wouldn’t have been able to resist. Not many could.

I stopped at the green iron gate and saw my fears realized as Dimitri and Fern giggled poolside and sipped her self-proclaimed world-famous sangria. He had probably sold her a line like of all the sangria he’d tasted in Barcelona, hers was better. And Fern had probably bought it. Because Dimitri was smooth. Smooth like silk. Smooth like his divine, clean-shaven olive skin.

Damn it.

I glanced back at my current boyfriend, who was still in his Jeep and waiting for me to fetch our neighbor Richie. He bobbed his head from side to side and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. Blissfully clueless. If only I could freeze time.

As I turned back to the courtyard, Fern’s dog, Archie—with his black-and-white markings and lopsided ears—spotted me and trotted over. Also clueless. Dimitri’s attention followed the adorable beast and landed on me. He bit his bottom lip, a habit I used to find sexy, and his hazel eyes gleamed behind thick lashes.

Putain.

Manners nudged me from the spot in my gut they had occupied since childhood. I swallowed hard, pushed the gate open, and walked over to the past.

The breakfast in my stomach churned with each step toward him.

Him.

Dimitri Le Clerc. TriTri to his fans. French soccer player. Son of my grandmother’s best friend. Man to whom I’d willingly offered my virginity below the silver platters in his parents’ living room in Marseille. Ex-boyfriend for six mostly long distant years. Man my grandmother wanted as my husband. Man I’d thought had been the love of my life.

Him.

That Dimitri Le Clerc. Standing in the courtyard of my apartment complex next to my sweet elderly landlady and sporting a guilty-as-charged-but-didn’t-give-a-shit smile on his still-striking face. He’d never been the possessive type, but after hearing of my new relationship status, it was no accident he wasn’t at home in France.

Dimitri wore a tight, button-down, light blue dress shirt tucked into his dark jeans, and his brown leather shoes matched his belt. Physique ever fit, maybe thicker than before. As always, his short black hair was perfectly groomed, and his Spanish features echoed his mother’s side, the warm amber eyes the only sign of his French father.

I hid my frown while his cologne transported me to my grandmother’s garden in the South of France and the day we’d moved from vacation friends to much more.

I shook my head before he leaned into me and kissed each cheek. Damn him for his grace and poise. Because manners trumped everything. Always. Even the fact that he was the last person on Earth I wanted to see at my apartment. When I had a boyfriend. Whom I’d fought like hell and all its demons to keep.

Fern excused herself and led the dog inside her apartment.

You should’ve called. My nostrils flared.

Minette… he purred and reached for my arm.

Don’t. I raised a hand and pulled away. This is the worst timing possible.

Dimitri studied my face, tilted his head and asked, You’re not ‘appy to see me?

I wanted to tease him about his inability to pronounce an h, but that would have meant this was okay. And it was very much not okay.

I let out a long breath before saying the words I knew he wouldn’t care about. Words he already knew. I have a boyfriend.

So you said. But I don’t think your grandmother is aware. You might want to tell ’er. So casual. But so much truth and power.

Stella was most definitely not aware of Jake. Jake who sat one hundred feet away, waiting for me to come back with Richie to help carry in a newly purchased and obnoxiously large flat-screen television. Jake, the drummer of one of the most popular rock bands on the rise. The man who had completely swept me off my feet. The man I loved and had officially moved in with the day before. Jake, with a jealous ugly giant inside him. Jake, whom I’d made promise me his past was behind us. Jake who would walk through the green gate wondering where I was any minute. That Jake.

Did you find Richie? This Jake. Jake, who called from over my shoulder and whose arms crossed and eyes narrowed as he swaggered closer.

Dimitri sized him up. He knew about my grandmother’s social standards, and a scruffy California boy in a T-shirt, baseball cap, and Vans wouldn’t cut it. Shit. There was no way to win. Maybe I could drown myself in the pool. Then everyone could just take a piece of me and be done with it.

This is Dimitri. Dimitri, Jake.

From France? Jake’s eyes widened, and his chin tucked.

That’s the one. I cringed. It was hard to know which of us to be maddest at. Dimitri for abracadabra-ing his way to California, Jake for his annoying jealous streak, or myself for being at a total loss as I stood between them.

Jake’s jaw flinched, and his arms stayed glued to his chest. I guessed shaking hands was out of the question. Manners were apparently not the most important thing to him.

Dimitri pretended to fix his watch, but he kept a curious eye on us. The squirmy dance in my feet brought a small grin to his face. How many times had he corrected my fidgeting in the past? At least he had enough sense not to reach out to me. Between the anger waves crashing off Jake and the uncomfortable nerves pinballing inside me, my ex was probably thoroughly amused.

Jake’s tongue moved behind closed lips as if he was tasting his disgust. He stared me down as his chest rose and fell, and he shifted his weight to one side.

I need a minute, I said—and held my breath.

Jake stiffened, and his eyebrows reached for his hairline.

I closed my eyes for a beat to break his hold. Please.

After a once-over of Dimitri, Jake’s attention turned back to me while he rubbed the stubble on his face. I’m gonna get Richie. He stomped up the exterior steps to Richie’s apartment and banged on our resident computer geek’s front door.

Dimitri and I sat down at the round wooden table where Fern had left him. Jealousy was not in his emotional palette, and the arrival of Jake had done nothing to his nerves. Confidence, however, came in all colors. He also knew he had the upper hand. He always did. I searched my brain for an antidote to his control, but if I hadn’t found it in six years, six seconds weren’t going to help.

Why didn’t you call me? I tried puppy dog eyes with a frown. Had they ever worked?

"I did. I told you I was thinking about traveling. And I didn’t like the way you sounded on the phone. I was worried. De toute façon…"

I held up my hand with my fingers spread wide. Do you mind if we keep it in English? If Jake was eavesdropping, I wanted to be sure he would understand me rejecting my ex.

English, Spanish, Italian… whatever you like. He waved his hand in the air. By the way, it’s nice to see you. California agrees with you. He bit his damn lip again. I reminded myself I was immune to his charm. Dimitri and I didn’t work. Loving him meant losing me. Besides, I loved Jake.

Jake huffed down the steps with Richie in tow, shot us a dirty look, and clanked through the metal gate to the car park.

It’s nice to see you, too. Whatever we weren’t, our childhood and family would always connect us. We were still friends—I thought so anyway. It was easy to forget about him when he was across the globe. But in the flesh and two feet away, reality smacked me upside the head. And then there were those unshakable fucking manners. How’s your knee?

It’s better, I’m doing physio and will be back to playing in two months. His tight smile lacked conviction and touched a tiny soft spot inside me. For all the bad, there had been more good. Dimitri and I had been family friends—vacation siblings—before we’d been anything else. I’d stood on too many sidelines over the years not to sympathize with his injury.

I dumped my head into my hands and resisted the urge to scream.

He was killing me. Slaughtering me. My past and all my grandmother’s expectations slicing through me with sharp precision right there next to the pool in sunny L.A. I didn’t want to disappoint anyone, and Dimitri had traveled with my greatest weakness in his luggage. If arranged marriages had been an option, Stella and Dimitri’s parents would have signed on the dotted line ages ago.

Why did you come here? I asked as I shook my head.

He shrugged. Stella and Mama were naming our babies. I thought you should know. While probably true, his answer still set off my bullshit meter.

The gate squeaked. Jake and Richie were back, carrying the huge box and maneuvering around the pool in the center of the courtyard.

"I’m just going to put this in our apartment," Jake said with a snarky nod, moving in the direction of our front door.

"You’re living with ’im?" Dimitri asked with a blink.

Yes. The cat, or the minette in this case, was out of the bag.

Aye! Dimitri clapped his hands together in joy, then scolded, "Ooo lala, Minette. Stella is not going to like this." A slow shake of his head said he didn’t either.

Merde. He had me. Probably exactly where he wanted me. How had this happened in less than ten minutes?

Please don’t tell her… I need some time. I leaned in. Part of me wanted to reach out to him but the hovering stank of Jake’s mood stopped me.

Those two women are going to want to know why we didn’t make our babies. He tapped the table with a finger.

Sisplau? My one great hope was asking please in Catalan, his mother and uncles’ native language. I hated using it. History told him I was desperate when I did.

His lips twitched, and the smile came. My plea had worked, but at what price?

I’ll think about it tonight and tell you what I’m going do tomorrow at dinner.

You can’t show up and demand I go to dinner with you.

It’s a shame about those babies… Now he was the one with the puppy dog eyes, but his held an underlying threat that he would bite.

There would be a gelato store in hell before I would chance Stella finding out about Jake from Dimitri. He could skew the details in any direction he wanted. And as much as I wanted to scream at him for trying to control me, he would be a far better ally than an enemy. Asshole. "One dinner, then you have to leave me alone. And stop calling me Minette."

But I’m here for a week, and I don’t know anybody else. He spread his hands out in front of him and his lips pouted into a fake frown.

Jake was back. There was more to get out of the car. Any time you’re ready to be done here, he spat as he passed by the table.

Je t’appelle demain. Dimitri stood up and I followed his lead. Ciao, Minette. He kissed me twice, gave a fearless nod to Jake, and left through the main gate of the complex.

Jake planted his hands on his hips as he watched Dimitri leave. Then, he mocked, What happened to, ‘he lives in France, Jake’?

Lordy, his jealousy stank with immaturity. For a second, I wondered if he might go out and piss around the perimeter of our building to mark his territory. My day was officially a clusterfuck. Damn Dimitri and his terrible timing and damn Jake’s jaundice-eyed monster within. And triple damn me for having zero ideas on how to better the situation.

I pursed my lips and looked away, because I had bigger fish to fry than dealing with Jake’s insecurities. My grandmother would go ballistic if she knew I had let a man move in with me after knowing him for such a short amount of time. Jake and I had happened so fast— with her on the other side of the globe—I hadn’t given it any thought.

And now that I was faced with the urgency to do so, a thousand scenarios rushed into my mind. My mom would take my side against Stella, creating an even deeper divide between them. Dimitri’s parents, whom I loved like family, would hate me. Would Stella shun me as she had done with my mother?

I needed to pump maximum oxygen into my lungs to keep myself from suffocating in the mess I’d created. I stormed into my apartment and Jake fumed behind me.

Richie sat with a rounded back on the floor in front of the TV and connected red and blue wires. Jake handed him the bag from the Apple Store, then followed me to the walk-in closet. I pulled my sundress overhead and reached for my sports bra.

Where the fuck are you going? He stalked into the doorway, blocking my way out. But at least he wasn’t yelling.

I searched for my running shoes while I pulled on my shorts and socks.

Louana? His tone remained even.

I squatted as I tied the laces and looked up. I’m going for a run.

Thanks, Captain Obvious, he scoffed. But I’d like to know what the fuck that guy was doing here.

I’m not ready to talk about this. I need a minute to clear my head. I popped back up and motioned for him to move out of the way. I knew my fight-or-flight option had grown wings. I knew Jake hated it. I was making the situation worse. But I was more afraid of hurting Jake by admitting Stella would be disappointed in me than I was of him getting pissed at my avoidance behavior.

"Are you fucking kidding me? Your ex-boyfriend shows up out of the blue and you’re not ready to talk about it?" His mouth twisted.

I need to think. I need a minute. I stared through him. Making eye contact would have been overload. I needed space. Air. A retreat. And I needed to move my nervous body before my mind could clear.

Still firmly planted in his stance, he asked, What the fuck is there to think about?

Shit. The anger was bubbling. But I wasn’t ready. Talking to him in that moment would make it worse. I knew it. Processing through movement was how I’d always coped.

You’re not helping. This—I motioned back and forth between us—is not helping.

I dipped under his arm and went to fetch a hair-tie, my phone, and earbuds.

Thanks for doing this, Richie, I said. Because manners.

I hoped Jake would calm down with a bit of space, but experience told me he would be more like a pressure cooker and explode when I got back. It didn’t matter. My mind would never be able to work through what was happening until my body had massaged out its kinks and found the calm. Another lesson I cursed Dimitri for as I slammed the gate. How many times had his hand on my knee stopped my legs from bobbing? How many times had a small wink promised a massive reward if I’d just stop fidgeting?

I headed west away from the tourists of Hollywood.

The situation was a mess. If I told Jake the truth, I risked sounding ashamed of him. I also didn’t want to go down Memory Lane and give him the details of Dimitri’s and my relationship. He didn’t need any more fuel for his already hot-burning fire.

Then there was Dimitri. There was not a doubt in my mind that he would tell his mom and/or Stella about Jake if he left Los Angeles pissed off.

Merde, Stella. She would already be displeased by the situation; hearing the news from another source would be a slap in the face. It was pretty much the last way I’d expected the first day of Jake officially living with me to go. So much for a happy couple.

My feet pounded the cracked and littered Hollywood pavement for forty-five hard minutes without finding a solid solution. The one thing on which I was crystal clear was that Dimitri could not be the one to tell Stella about Jake. Without even recognizing it, I had repeated the exact same sin that had torn apart her relationship with my mother. My mom had rushed into her marriage with my father—a man well below the standards of the tenacious Stella Forlini— in a place far from home.

Keeping my ex quiet had to be priority number one. Risking my relationship with Stella was not something I was ready to do. I would ease her into the idea of Jake and deal with the rest of the shit storms as they flew into my face.

When I got home, Richie was sitting on the couch with the remote pointed at a massive bright blue screen, but Jake was nowhere in sight.

Hey. Almost done here. Richie tried a smile that read more uncomfortable than polite.

Where’s Jake?

He left right after you did; it sounded like he was meeting Shane somewhere… Richie shrugged and went back to thumbing the thin remote.

Icing, meet the cake. I was finally ready to explain to Jake that I needed to buy a little time and he was with the one person who made my skin crawl.

I swiped up the plastic bags and folded the cardboard while Richie finished. After he left, I showered, made dinner, and ate it alone. Around ten, I called Jake. But Shane, the horrible, terrible lead singer of my boyfriend’s band—who couldn’t decide whether he wanted to fuck me or my boyfriend—answered. That fucking Shane.

"Louana, Louana, Louana. Tsk-tsk. I guess we’re not so perfect after all."

I closed my eyes and swallowed back the dinner crawling up for its release at the sound of his slithering voice.

May I speak to Jake, please? Manners. Fucking manners.

"Yeah… No. Jake’s decided he needs a minute before he can talk to you."

As my words were thrown back into my face, I identified them as Shit Storm Number One.

Will you please put him on? I hated begging Shane almost as much as I hated Jake sharing our business with him.

I told you, he’s not ready. But thanks for the ‘please.’ That asshole was probably eating this up.

Do you know if he’s planning on coming home?

Eventually. There was no need to see his smug face to picture his wicked grin.

Music played in the background, and thank Jesus it didn’t sound like a strip club.

Where are you? I asked.

A lesbian bar in Echo Park.

Really?

No. Enjoy all your extra time to think. He hung up.

Holy shit, was Shane implying Jake was going to cheat on me? After one fucking day of living together and one surprise ex-boyfriend? I took out my cigarettes from their normally untouched spot in my kitchen drawer, headed out to the table where my shitty day had started, and smoked up my frustration.

Later, as I stared at the ceiling above my bed until well after midnight, my thoughts raced and finished on every possible worst-case scenario. I heard Jake stumble in around three; his swearing and clumsiness confirmed his blood-alcohol level. But he was back. There was still some glue holding us together.

2

JAKE

---

I raked my fingers through my hair and closed my eyes to fully roll them. John sat with his new purple Fender on the other side of the glass. As soon as he’d hit the chord, I knew we were in trouble. And so did he. Fucking shit stirrer.

Our bass player, Sam, sat on the black leather couch of the recording studio next to me and ran his fingers down his dark cheeks, then shook his head. We exchanged a knowing, bitter glance. I unscrewed my bottle of water and waited for the fucked-up Shane-and-John battle of egos to begin.

It only took a second. Shane, with his buckles jangling from his black boots, marched to the console. He pressed the talk-back button and cut John off mid-strum. Why the fuck would you play that key? You know I can’t sing it.

John swept away the dark hair that had fallen in his eyes and sat up straighter. He stared through the window at Shane. Finally, into the mic in front of him, he said, Dude. Calm the fuck down. This sound is fucking so right. We can fix your vocals after. John’s eyes darted over to our engineer, Ronnie, who lifted his hands in surrender and excused himself to the bathroom.

But the anger show had gone from spark to fire in Shane. He spat, Fix it in fucking post? That’s your fucking solution? Gee, thanks asshole. How the fuck am I supposed to go out and perform something every night when we’re on tour that I can’t fucking sing? With that, he spun around to Sam and me with bulging eyes. Little fucking help here.

Fuck. I hated taking sides with these two. No matter what I did, I pissed off one—who would inevitably hold it against me later. They were worse than children. Not that I had any idea what those were like. It didn’t help when John went back to playing the guitar, in a key that Shane Murphy absolutely could not sing for shit, and it echoed through the speakers of the control room. Sam stayed predictably silent, and the pressure of a successful sophomore album bubbled below the surface of all of our skin.

But in that moment, I had to side with the singer. Not just because John had a new expensive toy and he was showing off, but also since Shane had listened to me bitch and moan about Louana’s perfect ex-boyfriend the entire previous night. And the fact that she’d avoided talking to me about it stung. Murphy and I had bellied up to a karaoke bar in Studio City, sure no one would recognize us, and he’d helped me drown my stupid sorrows. Hell, he’d even begun e-stalking Mr. Dimitri Le Clerc. Not that it had been particularly helpful when he’d said he thought Louana’s ex was hot.

The thing was, though, he’d been there for me. He’d made me laugh, poked fun at me, and helped me forget I was a jealous idiot. So, I owed him one.

It’s fucked up. I agree. I pushed into my knees, stood, and took another long pull off my water. How are you not fucking hungover by the way?

Shane smirked and lifted one shoulder. I started ordering you doubles at midnight.

Aww, trying to get me drunk. You’re so sweet. I forced a yawn and let out a cry to wake myself up. I’ll go talk to him. Order me a pizza. I need some fucking grease in my stomach.

When I walked back to the control room, Shane held a dartboard and a large envelope.

Ha haaa! He lifted both and shook them. I have just what you need.

Yeah, well me too. He’s changing the key.

Good. Now help me hang this board somewhere. Shane tossed the envelope onto the couch.

Curious, I followed him to the wall where he’d positioned his new toy. We need tools, Murphy. You can’t just find a random hook and hang a dartboard.

Shane looked over his shoulder, found the assistant and said, You heard him. Get us some tools.

John’s new guitar part in an acceptable key played over the speakers, and my phone vibrated in my pocket.

---

Louana: You done punishing me?

---

She couldn’t be serious. Me? Punishing her? She was the one who’d fucking literally run off. She was the one who never fucking talked to me.

I plopped down on the couch and thumb-punched my reply.

---

Me: I’m giving you a taste of your own medicine. Nice, right?

---

Total dick move. Jesus, I sucked at being a boyfriend.

---

Louana: I’m sorry. He threw me for a loop, I know I handled it like shit. When can I see you?

---

Me: You know where I am.

---

The high pitches of a power drill spun behind me. Pizza would never be enough for this hangover; I needed a bottle of aspirin and my bed. My sacred place, where my life slowed down and somehow my girlfriend patched up my crazy.

Close your eyes, Shane said, once all the noise had gracefully stopped.

I arched an eyebrow. Twelve years in bands told me never to close my eyes when asked. You could end up with anything from a bag of dogshit in your lap to an STD. I was no sucker.

I closed one eye and peered at him with the other.

Fine. Don’t. He grabbed the envelope off the couch and pulled out a large poster. With the front hidden, he walked over to the dartboard and pinned it. When he stepped to the side, the face on the poster was revealed to be none other than the ex/soccer-playing douche’s.

Who the fuck is that? Sam asked as he tilted to get a better look from the