I deliver three steak dinners to the guys at table fourteen. I don’t miss how they stare at my cleavage as I place their meals before them. “Will there be anything else?”
“Ketchup, please,” the dark-haired one says.
“Coming right up.” I take a bottle from the wait station and put it down in front of him.
The blond one tries unsuccessfully to grab my hand. I raise my brows at him.
“How about more lemons for my water?” he says.
“Of course.” I scurry back to the wait station and put four wedges on a plate. I set them on the edge of the table so he won’t reach for me again. “Will that be all?”
“Yup. Thanks.”
“Miss,” one says as I walk away. I turn, and he holds up his beer, which was half full a second ago. “I’d like another, please.”
I paste on a smile even though I want to string them up by their balls. “Sure thing.” I cross to the terminal and punch in the order. I check another table on my way to the bar; they don’t need anything.
I like hanging out in the bar. They have good music here—they listen to the radio instead of the stuffy piped-in elevator crap heard in the main dining room.
“Everything okay?” Maddox asks.
I stand at the end of the bar, waiting on the beer. “The usual grabby customers.” He stops pouring and puts on the big brother face he does so well. I know what he’s about to say, so I stop him. “It’s fine. They aren’t too bad.”
“I’m off in a few. How about you?”
“Just need to close out my last two tables.”
“Want to get a drink after?”
I shift my weight from one leg to the other. “Not really. My feet are killing me.”
“Drinking might help.”
I laugh. “Raincheck?”
“Always.”
“Thanks. I just want to go home and sleep for twelve hours.”
He puts the beer on the counter. “See you in a few. We can walk home together.”
I place the beer in front of the guy with the bulging muscles. He immediately picks it up. I can tell he’s flexing for me. I try not to roll my eyes.
He squints to read my name tag. “Reece. Nice name.”
“I’ll be sure to thank my parents for you. Can I get you anything else?”
“How about your phone number?”
Oh, that’s original. “Sorry. House rules.”
He seems confused. “The restaurant won’t let you give out your number?”
“I meant my house. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other tables.”
I hear a slow, quiet whistle as I walk away and ignore it. A minute later, I’m summoned back to get yet another drink for one of them.
I close out my other table and wait at the bar for the guy’s drink. I listen to the radio, liking the song that’s playing. Maddox puts the order in front of me, and I linger, wanting to hear the rest of the song. My heart races when I realize I already know the next words before they’re sung. I drop the drink, and beer and glass shards fly across the floor.
Maddox runs out from behind the bar. I think he says something, but I don’t hear him. I’m listening to the song. He tries to get my attention.
“Wait!” I snap.
“Reece, what the hell is wrong?”
I’m glued to my spot as I strain to hear every lyric.
“Reece!”
I sit on a barstool, unable to remain standing. “That song,” I say in disbelief. “That’s my song.”
“What are you talking about?”
“The song that was just on the radio. It’s mine. I wrote it.”
Realization dawns, and there’s a huge smile on his face. “Holy shit, that’s fantastic!”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not one of the songs I sent to agents. I wrote it when I was eighteen.”
“I’m confused.”
“It wasn’t me singing, Maddox. I’m saying someone stole my lyrics.” I close my eyes and sigh. “And I know who it was.” I eye the mess on the floor, feeling the need to leave as soon as possible. “Can you pour me another? I’ve got to get rid of the guys at table fourteen.”
I clean up the floor as he gets the drink. I deliver it and then try and wait, not-so-patiently, while the three men do everything they can to keep me coming back to their table. I’m about to jump out of my skin. I have to get out of here and find out about the song. A few minutes later, I present them with the check, not asking if they want anything else. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“What about dessert?” the blond says.
“Oh, I’m sorry.” I bat my lashes. “I figured, what with those hard bodies, you wouldn’t want any.”
I swear they all sit a little straighter. “You’ve got quite the hard body yourself,” one says. “Wouldn’t it be a shame not to put it under one of us tonight?”
“One?” the dark-haired guy says. “How about all?”
A hand comes around my waist. “You about ready, babe?”
I don’t have to look to see who is behind me. This isn’t the first time this has happened. “I am. Just waiting for these gentlemen to pay their bill.”
Maddox stares them down. “Well?”
They reach for their wallets as I try not to laugh. Maddox is six-two and two hundred pounds of pure muscle. Money gets thrown on the table. “Thanks, guys. I hope you have a great night.”
Maddox peeks at the bill and quickly counts the money. He doesn’t move to let the big guy out of the booth. He leans down, near his face. “You ran her around all fucking night and then you leave her an eight percent tip? Who the hell raised you to be such a cheapskate?”
It amazes me how in this upscale, white-tablecloth establishment, Maddox can strong-arm assholes without causing a scene.
Another ten lands on the table.
“That’s more like it,” Maddox says and moves aside.
I pull him into the back. “You didn’t have to come to my rescue, but thanks.”
“I heard what that prick said. You can’t let customers treat you like that.”
“I don’t let them. Besides, if I get pissed at them, they’ll leave no tip at all.”
“Trouble out front?” Skylar asks.
I love Skylar, but now is not the time for a motherly talk. I beg Maddox with my eyes to get me out of here. He doesn’t get the message. “Some asshole college dorks trying to get Reece to sleep with them.”
She cringes. “Again?” She glances at my cleavage revealed by the standard-issue uniform they make me wear. “Maybe we should re-think this,” she says, tugging the edges of my blouse closer together.
“It’s fine,” I say. “It’s the big boobs. Even if you put me in something else, men will always be dicks about it.”
Maddox looks offended. “Hey.”
“I’m not talking about you,” I say. “As my roommate and best friend, you are obviously immune to my … charm.”
“I’m a man, Reece. I’ll never be immune to charm. But I would never act like those tools.”
Skylar puts an arm around him. “My sister raises good kids,” she says proudly. “You’ll walk her back to your apartment in case those boys are waiting outside?”
I stash my apron and clock out, practically running out the door. “I have to hear it again,” I tell him.
“Are you sure you heard it right? I mean a lot of songs sound alike.”
I pull him along, coaxing him to walk faster. “I’m sure. I knew what the words were going to be before I heard them. It’s not the tune I imagined for it, but it sure as hell was the lyrics. It was practically word-for-word. No way is it a coincidence.”
On the subway I become impatient, wishing the train would go faster. I snap at a man who looks at me the wrong way. Maddox laughs.
I give him a punishing stare. “You think this is funny?”
“I haven’t ever seen you this worked up.”
“He stole my lyrics.”
“Who?”
&nbs
p; “Garrett.”
His jaw goes slack. He knows all about Garrett. “Oh shit, really? Well, this is about to get super interesting.”
I am not amused by his amusement.
Our stop comes, and I push past others to get off the train. Despite my legs being much shorter than my roommate’s, I make it up the stairs, around the corner, and into our building far ahead of him. He catches up to me at the elevator. “Reece, the song isn’t going anywhere. You act like you might not ever hear it again.”
The elevator doors open. We enter, and I pin him to the wall with a glare. “Why are you taking this so lightly? He stole my song. Do you know how many laws that breaks?”
“No.”
I slump against the wall. “Actually, I don’t either. But I’m sure a lot.”
We get off on our floor, and I race to the front door and unlock it. Then I throw my keys and purse on the floor and turn on the radio. I flip through the stations for two hours while he pours me glasses of merlot. Finally, right after midnight, I hear it.
“Maddox! It’s on!”
He runs into the living room and sits next to me. Hearing someone else sing my lyrics is surreal, and her voice is amazing. My heart beats out of my chest, and I wonder if this is really happening. I try to calm down and listen.
You sit upon your two-wheeled throne,
Wind in your hair, smile on your face.
I watch you from the safety of
My four-wheel drive in second place.
You go east (east), I go west; I swerve right (right), you swerve left.
If I throw caution to the wind and cross that yellow line,
Will you turn around and wait for me? Tell me that you’re mine?
Racing, weaving, flying down the road
Just like a bat out of hell,
I fear I’ll never measure up
To the dreams you hold so well.
How much do I have to give
If I swerve into your lane?
Will I lose myself in you
And forget from where I came?
You go east (east), I go west; I swerve right (right), you swerve left.
If I throw caution to the wind and cross that yellow line,
Will you turn around and wait for me? Tell me that you’re mine?
The song ends. Hot tears run down my face.
He pulls me close. “It’ll be okay.”
“That bastard. He sold my lyrics. I swear to God I’m going to kill him. And sue his ass.”
“Which is it? Do you want to kill him or sue him?”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up. This is serious.” I get my phone off the table. I have to find out who sings it, but I don’t know what to type. “I don’t know the name of the song. I never gave it a title.”
“Type one of the lyrics and see if you get a hit.”
I do what he says and get a bunch of random stuff not related to the song. My head falls back onto the cushion. “How will I figure out who she is if I can’t find the song?”
“Give me that,” he says, taking my phone. “Every song is on the internet.”
I snatch it back. “It’s not.”
He hops off the couch and brings the bottle of wine over. “Guess you’ll have to call him then.”
“Garrett? No way. He’s ignored me since the day he walked out of my life six years ago.”
“But surely you know how to find him. What’s the name of his band?”
“It was Cryptology, but that was a long time ago. Who the hell knows what happened after that? For all I know, he’s playing drums for Aerosmith.”
“You never googled him?”
“Why would I?”
“Because you were in love with him.”
“That was a long time ago. Besides, I know it’s not a Cryptology song. They were an all-male band.”
He pulls out his own phone and taps around on it, then he laughs. “Holy shit, Reece.”
“What is it?”
“Your ex is fucking famous.”
My throat tightens. Part of me wants to be happy that he achieved his dreams. The other part, the part that knows he’s a lyric-stealing bastard, wants to rip his head off. “If you tell me he plays for Aerosmith, I’ll kill you.”
“No, not Aerosmith.”
The way he’s staring at me is strange. “Who then?”
“I’m pretty sure you have about ten of their songs on your playlist.”
I swallow. “Tell me.”
“Reckless Alibi.”
My eyes go wide. I swipe his phone, scroll down, and tap on links to their albums. “They had an album released today.” I do more digging and find the names of the new songs. “Oh, shit. Look.”
“‘Swerve.’ You think this is your song?”
“It has to be.”
I search for that song specifically, wanting to find the lyrics, but nothing comes up.
“They’re probably not out there because it was just released,” he says. “Damn, do you know how successful they are?”
I download the song and listen to it two more times. “Why would he do this to me? Surely they don’t need to steal lyrics. They have plenty of hit songs.”
“What if they stole the lyrics to all their songs? I think you should sue him. Or them. Or whatever you do in this situation. They aren’t some one-hit-wonder band. They’re really hot. You might be able to get a lot of money.”
“You think?”
“Millions maybe.”
My mouth goes dry. “Millions?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
I lean back and pull a pillow onto my lap. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. They’re a successful band. I’m nobody. Who will believe me over them? I could be anybody claiming anything.”
“You write down all your lyrics, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Find them. There has to be some way to prove you wrote them six years ago.”
“Even so. It’s not like I can afford to hire a lawyer. You know as well as I do, I can barely make rent.”
He smiles. “You must have forgotten who you’re talking to.”
“What do you mean?”
“My dad owns a production company. He’s probably got five entertainment lawyers working for him. I’m sure he’d be happy to let you talk to one of them.”
“Do you think I really have a case?”
“Are those really your lyrics?”
“Yes.”
“Then you owe it to yourself to do something about it.”
I take a drink. “I do, don’t I?”
I finish off the rest of the bottle, terrified because I know one thing for sure. I won’t get through this without having to face Garrett Young.
Chapter Three
Garrett
Heading back to the studio, I pass four more musicians in the hall waiting to audition. I slip into the room and take a seat next to Crew. “We’ve been at this all day long. Let’s just pick someone already.”
“We’re not trying on new shirts, G. This is someone who is going to become one of us. It’s a damn hard decision.”
It’s not like the ten previous players weren’t good, but they just didn’t feel right. It’s funny. I never thought Brad fit in with the rest of RA, but after meeting dozens of potential replacements, I’ve come to the conclusion he actually does.
“Thank you,” Brad says to the person auditioning. “We’ll let you know.”
He leaves and the next one comes in. By the time the last bassist plays, I’m about to pull my hair out. “He’s as good as any of them,” I say to Brad. “What do you think?”
He shrugs. “I suppose.”
I cross to where Liam, Crew, and Bria are sitting. “How about it? Want to give this one a shot?”
They don’t oppose the idea.
He stops playing.
“What’s your name again?” Liam asks.
“Iggy Smart.”
“Iggy?” I say. “That�
��s not your real name, is it?”
He whips out his driver’s license and shows it to me.
“Well, damn.”
Liam picks up his guitar. “Alright, Iggy, let’s all jam and see how well we play together. You know ‘Sins on Sunday’?”
“Hell, yeah.”
We take our places. Everyone but Brad. It doesn’t seem right that he’s not going to be one of us anymore. I close my eyes as I play so I can really listen to Iggy. He’s good. It’s hard to tell it’s not Brad playing. When the song ends, we play two more. Brad’s all about his wife and new baby now, but I could swear he doesn’t want to leave. He hasn’t been truly happy in a while, but throughout these auditions, he’s seemed downright depressed. Especially now.
Ronni is in the booth watching. She gives us a thumbs-up—not that I give a shit what she thinks, but at this point, I’m willing to accept her vote just to get this over with.
We stop playing, and I nod at the door. “Give us a few minutes, Iggy.”
In the conference room, I corner Brad. “Are you one hundred percent sure this is what you want?”
He nods, but I don’t miss the reluctance. “I have to put my family first.”
I turn to the others. “Iggy is good, but there’s something about him. I just can’t be sure.”
Liam takes a seat. “We sure as hell can’t bring someone on we’re not sure about. We can’t give a fifth of our earnings to some random person off the street we don’t know from Adam.”
“Who says we have to?” I ask.
“Well, we have to do something,” Bria says.
“Garrett’s right,” Ronni says. “You don’t have to bring him on as a full-fledged member of Reckless Alibi. You need someone pronto so you can get ready for the tour. Offer him a six-month contract, no royalty split, and a monthly salary. If he works out, great, we’ll make him a permanent member. If not, you got the tour covered, and you can have auditions again after.”
In all the time we’ve known her, I’ve never heard a better idea come out of her filthy mouth.
Reckless Reunion (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 2