Jack Who? Perfect Storms

by Lisa Gillis

  Jack Who

  Perfect Storms

  Lisa Gillis

  The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

  ©2013 Jack Who? by Lisa Gillis

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

  Dedicated to the real Miranda. Dedicated to Alys Arden, Alex Rosa, and Laura Russo. Dedicated to the many rock star beta readers who shaped the story into what it is. Dedicated to my family, Scott & Jett for allowing me the many hours to write.

  Silver Strings Series

  G-Strings Set

  Book 1

  Table of Contents

  CHAPTER 1

  CHAPTER 2

  FIVE MINUTES LATER:

  FIVE DAYS LATER:

  FIVE MONTHS LATER

  FIVE YEARS LATER

  CHAPTER 7

  CHAPTER 8

  CHAPTER 9

  CHAPTER 10

  CHAPTER 11

  CHAPTER 12

  CHAPTER 13

  CHAPTER 14

  CHAPTER 15

  CHAPTER 16

  CHAPTER 17

  CHAPTER 18

  CHAPTER 19

  CHAPTER 20

  CHAPTER 21

  CHAPTER 22

  CHAPTER 23

  CHAPTER 24

  CHAPTER 25

  CHAPTER 26

  CHAPTER 27

  CHAPTER ONE

  ROCK STAR READS

  Connect

  CHAPTER 1

  “TFH!” The letters gasped out. Verbal acronyms were something she rarely used, but hours under the scorching sun had Marissa Duplei’s skimpy shirt plastered to her skin and the strength sapped from even her voice. Being in the midst of a crowd of equally hot bodies intensified the suffocation. Her closest friend, Olivia, habitually voiced text abbreviations and had no trouble interpreting ‘Too Freaking Hot’.

  “You’re such a vampire! When did you stop having fun?” Olivia complained as they wove through the throngs of scantily clad partiers. “We used to be on all day beach patrol.”

  Her friend referenced their younger years in their Mississippi coastal town and their non-stop troll for guys who could stop a girl dead in her sandy tracks. Back then, Spring Breaks and summer months brought vacation flings, and temperature had never once been a complaint.

  A refreshment trailer was an oasis just off the sand, and Olivia passed her plastic through the tiny window. Feeling the cool blast of air escaping in the transaction, Marissa moved closer as more interesting plastic was pushed to their side along with the return of Olivia’s credit card.

  Curving her fingers around the base of the cold cup, she wiped at beads of sweat forming near her hairline and wondered how the newest drugstore clearance mascara, currently coating her lashes, was holding up.

  Olivia closed glossy, red lips around the straw of her super-sized hurricane drink. Marissa had no doubt that Liv’s lipstick, as well as anything else painting her face, was a department store brand priced in, or near, triple digits, assuring a worry free day from smearing or disappearing. Taking a pull from her own straw, she eyed the surrounding crowd as the cool alcoholic slush trickled soothingly down her throat.

  “Better?” Olivia sweetly inquired.

  “Much!” Marissa sighed the assurance and shoved the cheap sunglasses higher on her nose. Curving a smile, she made an effort to seem thrilled to stroll the ‘Hang Fest,’ a yearly festival of live bands, rides, and vendors.

  “Good,” Olivia grinned. “Proceeding with Phase One.”

  “Ugh...” This time her sigh was one of annoyance.

  Up until now, the mission had been momentarily abandoned, not aborted, and she mentally cursed Kel for the thousandth and one time.

  Walking in last week on her fiancé, Kel, with some tramp straddling him had been devastating. Worse, there was a twisted irony of forever knowing this faceless bitch’s name due to it being a permanent stamp above her slim butt. The image was branded in Marissa’s brain just as permanently.

  Hibernating, she had moped in misery around her apartment binge eating granola bars and yogurt. Olivia became the only person she spoke to, wailing to her face, whining into her calls, and texting chapters of Kel hatred.

  When she quit sending Kel’s pleading and apologetic calls straight to voicemail, Olivia charged to the rescue heading up ‘Operation Save Rissa From Herself.’

  Since Olivia’s answer to breakups was hook ups, the given mission today was to pick herself up, dust Kel off, and get dirty with someone else.

  Just thinking about a random hook up was terrifying. When it came to men, Marissa was out of practice. A local casino was her place of employment, and the sexy smiles rehearsed in the mirror were for better tips from blackjack players, not real live flesh and bone players.

  Olivia sent a look of encouragement as they paused at the fence jutting up to the stage platform. Olivia worked at the casino also, and a backstage pass tipped to her by a player at her craps table had her hoping to meet and mingle with her metal idols.

  Marissa had no such aspirations. Besides not having a laminated access card, she couldn’t care any less about any of these bands.

  “Ten o’clock, Rissa.” Direction, and not time, was the subject of her friend’s clipped, enthusiastic sentence, and as instructed, Marissa slung her gaze to the slight left.

  A long, lanky roadie had paused in the stage set up, and was currently honing his attention over the front area to the two of them. Olivia held up the badge swinging from her neck, and nervously knowing that her own success in passing this hallowed line would depend on her flirting abilities, Marissa shuffled her feet.

  Putting the awful events of the previous week behind her, she mustered her sexiest smile, and her first ‘strange’ flirt in five years. After gesturing that he would come to them, the roadie finished the tear down of a microphone stand.

  “Score!” Olivia did a jig before grabbing Marissa’s wrist and towing her closer to the gate. Vaguely, her excitable friend rattled on about which band members, from which bands, in which order, she wanted to bang. Mindlessly, Marissa listened as a severe case of cold feet set in, and working through a mild panic, she focused on her friend instead of the area beyond the fence.

  Bending at the hip, Olivia raked manicured fingers through her scalp then flipped her thick mane of hair as she straightened.

  Draining her drink to the last slurp, Marissa desperately hoped an alcohol confidence would quickly kick in. A few paces away, she trashed the cup ignoring her friend’s silent censor. With the cup, refills were half-price, and Olivia, despite blowing her money on designer everything, was into saving money on alcoholic anything.

  “He’s coming!” Olivia’s frown disappeared, and she thrust her hip out as she whispered. Marissa took that as a hint to strike a similar sexy pose.

  Although initially he had been several hundred feet away, recognition came easy, and the roadie was even hotter close up. A ponytail of straight brown hair was elasticized at the nape of his neck, and heated hazel eyes perved them both.

  Without checking for access badges, he pushed the gate open and stepped to the side enough for them to pass through, but not enough that they could avoid brushing against the tee shirt he wore. The small talk went fast although their pace was slow. They strolled, one on either side of him, answering the usual questions, name, where they were from, and getting the same back.

  Dirk was from New York City, and he had Oliv
ia’s undivided attention when he spoke of one the bands she idolized. Resting a foot on a stoop to one of the many trailers parked around, he inquired with a secretive smile, “So you want to meet Jackal?”

  “You mean it?” Olivia bounced from one heel to another, almost dropped the empty hurricane cup in her excitement, and gushed, “Oh hell yeah!”

  Marissa remained silent studying the guy’s expression, and instinctively disliked what she saw.

  His smile stretched. “I know all the guys in the band. So, yeah, if you want to meet them, just hang with me.” There was no mistaking the insinuation when his eyes lingered on Olivia’s cleavage, and if that were not disgusting enough, his hand dropped for a quick adjustment to the fly of his jeans.

  Without so much as a trite excuse, Marissa pivoted on the heels of her Doc’s but turned back when Olivia did not follow.

  “Liv!” The hiss left her lips as an annoyed breath and was quickly sucked in again when her friend, not in the least perturbed, hurried over.

  “I’m going to hang out,” Olivia announced, then puckered a frown. “Aren’t you?”

  Olivia was wild in her ways and had abandoned Marissa for various guys she had to have many, many times. However, to offer whatever favors some stranger wanted in exchange for a chance to meet some idol was reckless, in a way that left Marissa wondering if Liv had pregamed before picking her up this afternoon. Surely, alcohol was to blame for this irrational behavior.

  When Dirk, the jerk, butted into the argument, Marissa lost the battle, but not before demanding Olivia’s phone.

  On the pretext of making sure it was set to take calls, she switched the tracker on and returned it into the pocket of Liv’s designer jeans.

  “Answer my texts.” With a threatening frown, she worriedly lingered.

  Liv disappeared with the roadie into the tiny trailer while calling back a mocking, “Yes mam!” Just before the door slammed.

  The girl was mental. Had Liv really grown overly careless and crazy after Marissa had moved in with Kel and quit prowling with her? Maybe she had always been that way, and Marissa had overlooked it...

  A ball of fur colliding with one of her ankles was an interruption to these musings, and curious, she glanced around in search of anyone the dog could belong to. The next music act was on, and a woman’s voice mingled with the pounding of the instruments from the stage. Numerous trailers, trucks, and buses were parked in neat numbered spaces of what seemed to be a private parking area. A few large tents broke up the rows of metal and tires. The leash trailing behind the pup was clear evidence that it was lost.

  As a child, for a few brief months, Marissa and her siblings had a pet Jack Russel Terrier, affectionately dubbed ‘Bones’ by her older brother, until her mother had professed allergies. Days later, the four-pawed family pet was given to a good home, one that was not theirs, much to the despair of everyone under four feet in the family.

  This dog, bearing a huge resemblance to Bones, took her recollections back to those days. Kneeling as it neared, she put a cautious hand out, and when the canine trustingly sprinted her way, she stoked through its short fur as she took the leash. No way could she leave this innocent eyed pup to wander.

  Unsure of where to go, she stepped into the crosswalk of transportable habitations. Between two ginormous tour buses, a few guys stood passing a small smoke and her lips hesitantly tipped. Thankfully, the bunch, although intimidating with the mass of ink on their shirtless torsos and arms, bald heads, and scruffy assortment of biker beards, returned welcoming grins.

  “Hey sweetheart! Want a hit?”

  There was no Olivia by her side to rebelliously snatch the joint and voice a flirtatious retort, yet she moved closer intent on finding any information on her new four-legged friend.

  Politely stretching her hand, she took a fake drag and humorously hoped that if second-hand smoke rumors were true, random drug testing threatened in the employee manual would not suddenly be sprung Monday at work.

  “This puppy, I was wondering who he,” here Marissa paused because she had never scoped any identifying details not readily visible on the canine, “or she?...might belong to?”

  “Jack,” The dude with a goatee let out the hit he was holding, and her face must not have cleared because he elaborated, “Jack Storm.”

  The name briefly registered as one Olivia had earlier tossed about, and Marissa hopefully extended the leash. “So could I get you to–?”

  Immediately, her question was squelched with a negative shake of three heads and a guffaw about girly dogs. Kneeling, she scratched the tan fur between the pup’s ears in consolation from their ridicule.

  Jabbing a thumb in a general direction, ‘mutton chops’ stopped laughing long enough to give directions. “The bus with the blue lightning bolt down the side, sweetheart.”

  Nodding her thanks, she moved off. The terrier sprinted ahead stretching its leash to the max, and reflexively her grip tightened. Three rows down, the tip of the mentioned lightning bolt came into view, and her steps slowed, her thoughts uncertain as she pictured knocking on the door to a rock star’s mobile crib.

  The door burst open stopping her heart for more reasons than startled surprise. In the doorway was framed the finest specimen of the male species she had ever beheld.

  Her eyes were drawn first to the massive expanse of bare chest, and the six pack, just on the verge of an optical eight pack. A convulsive swallow tightened her throat. Fully inked sleeves tapered off between his shoulders and collarbone barely meeting at the throat. Denim jeans snugly encased his legs, and the button of the fly was open revealing the barest tip of hair on a flat abdomen. Reluctantly bringing her gridlocked gaze upward, past these heavenly sights, her look landed on his striking features and finally stopped on deep chocolate-brown irises.

  A smile had worked well for her thus far and somehow she summoned one yet received a scowl in return. Shaggy, dark hair brushed his shoulder when his chin directionally jerked toward the asphalt beside where she stood.

  “What the hell are you doing with my dog?”

  CHAPTER 2

  THE OBVIOUS ANGER focused on her, the rescuer of his dog, was confounding, and her gaze fell to his black high-tops. Impatiently, he skipped stairs in his bound from the bus to the ground. When he snatched the leash from her hand, she met his angry gaze with an indignant one.

  “What do you mean? ‘What am I doing with your dog?’” Her voice dropped several octaves to mimic his tone. “Your dog was running loose! Way back there.” With a sweep of her arm, she indicated the west stage area before continuing, “And instead of letting something happen to him, erm…or her, I tracked you down!”

  He had picked up the pup petting it during her tirade. Now, he set it down and his arms irritably crossed as he asked, “Oh? Out of the goodness of your heart? You brought Rusty to me?” One dark eyebrow rose as he arrogantly awaited the answer.

  “Rusty?” A bubble of hysterical laughter spewed along with her query.

  “Should I even ask what’s so funny?”

  “Seriously? Should I even ask what is not?” Two dark eyebrows lifted in annoyance as she stated the obvious, “The dog is a Jack Russell Terrier?” When he would not move his chin in confirmation or denial, she pushed on, “You are Jack, and your dog is Russell or Rusty?”

  “Rusty, not Russell.”

  “Tomato, tomahto.” Blowing the answer out on a weary sigh, she fell a few steps away back in the direction from which she had come. Somehow, Olivia be damned, she would find her way home.

  Another weekend night to herself suddenly sounded amazing. Maybe she would stop by the sandwich deli and pick up a grilled chicken sandwich on a whole-wheat bun. Her wish to get through this life-altering breakup with fewer pounds than tears, stemmed from the weight problem she had fought durring her adolescent years.

  “Wait!”

  Responding with only a slight turn, she did exactly that wanting to see what he would say next.

  “Yes
. The name was a joke at first. But it suited him, and I kept it.” The disclosure seemed grudging as he explained the name Rusty. “I’m sorry for accusing you. I left him tied up out here, just for a sec while I went back in for my shirt and shoes. I just assumed you took him. Because you wanted to meet me...”

  “Other than your name, I don’t know who you are.” Facing him fully, she smoothed a sweaty palm over her ragged jean shorts.

  “Yeah. I’m starting to get that. Again, I’m sorry.” His dark brows were now straight, instead of drawn together, and the incredible dark eyes beneath softened. “Obviously, or I guess, not so obviously, I’m Jack.”

  “Marissa.” She supplied her own introduction, and southern manners prevailed causing her hand to automatically shoot out.

  Moving closer, he squeezed her fingers in his and a tingle of awareness buzzed every cell as their palms lightly met. The husky timbre of his voice was an intriguing rumble to her eardrums. “You look hot, Marissa.”

  Determined to take the compliment as smoothly as Olivia would, she conjured a sultry look returning, “Thanks. You too...”

  Surprise flickered through those dark eyes, and when he quirked a smile, a dimple actually revealed itself. “I meant hot.” A slight breeze had begun to blow. The next gust, from the southerly direction of the ocean, cooled the sweat on her face and helped to clear up the misunderstanding. Quickly, he amended, “And, of course, hot in every way.” The eyes that slid admiringly to the neckline of her shirt, and down, supported that endearing statement. “Want something to drink?”

  “Sure,” Lifting a shoulder in a shrug, she waited expecting him to pop inside the bus and out again, but upon ascending the stairs, he held the door invitingly open.

  As she gaped around taking in the extravagant interior, he played host verbally offering up the fridge contents until she settled on a beer. Courteously, he popped the top from the bottle before handing it over. After selecting the same for himself, he filled a water bowl for Rusty. Water sloshed as he set it on a tiled floor and then straightened to lean a hip against the mahogany looking cabinets.