I throw my sticks on the snare. “We’re letting her sing the song, giving her three nights as our opening act, allowing her to ride with us, and now you want to provide the fucking band, too?”
“You’re letting me sing?” she snaps. “I’d say it’s more like I’m allowing Reckless Alibi to play my song. I could have made you pull it, you know. The other stuff is in lieu of compensation.”
Liam steps between us. “We went over this yesterday. No need to rehash it. We all agreed to the deal. I’d say you two need to work on getting along.”
I laugh. “In your fucking dreams.”
“G, you’re so goddamned tight-lipped, nobody here knows what happened between the two of you, and I don’t care. Reece is going on tour with us, so you’d better figure out a way not to be at each other’s throats the entire time.”
“Maybe hire the goddamn house drummer to take my place,” I say like a petulant preschooler on my way out the door.
Jeremy follows me. “Garrett.”
I hold up my hand. “I don’t want to talk. I’m leaving. It’s almost quitting time anyway.”
“It’s three o’clock.”
“Close enough.”
“We’ll talk about this Monday!” he yells after me.
Out front, I lean against the building. Ronni is outside smoking. I motion to her pack. “Can I have one?”
She holds them out to me. “I didn’t know you smoked.”
“I don’t. I mean, I did for a few years. Started when I was nineteen and quit before I joined the band.”
“Did I look like I wanted a recap?” she says, putting out her cigarette and opening the door. But before she goes inside, she stops. “I’d watch out for that one. I know a con artist when I see one.”
I take a drag and exhale. “She played me once, Ronni. Believe me when I say it won’t happen again.”
“Yet she’s already got you inviting her on tour.”
“We didn’t have a choice.”
“There’s always a choice, Garrett.”
Reece and her friend appear. She eyes the cigarette in my hand. “You smoke?”
I laugh, but it has a harsh edge. “I guess there’s a lot of things we kept from each other, isn’t there?”
Maddox tugs on her elbow. “Let’s go. Nice to meet you,” he says over his shoulder. “Good luck on the tour.”
I inhale more crap that might someday kill me.
Liam comes out and leans on the windowsill next to me. “Want to go for a drink?”
“I could use one. Or five.”
Iggy joins us, lights up, and looks at me. “You the only one who smokes?”
Liam takes my cigarette, throws it on the ground, and crushes it. “He doesn’t smoke, and neither will you on the tour bus. I’m not riding for hours on end in a fucking chimney.”
“What’s up with you and the busty blonde?” Iggy asks.
I resist the urge to punch him in the face. “Iggy,” I say, then laugh. “I’m sorry, I can’t say your name without cracking up. It sounds like a nickname for a three-year-old.”
“G,” Liam warns.
“It’s okay,” Iggy says, getting in my face. “At least my name doesn’t sound like it belongs to a fucking banker. Garrett Young.”
I puff up my chest. “Back off.”
Liam pushes us apart. “Both of you shut up. Let’s go, G.”
On the way down the street, Liam calls his girlfriend, Ella. “Garrett and I are going out for a drink. I’ll be home by five and then we can meet your parents for dinner.” He laughs at something she says. “Me, too. See you then.”
“She’s really got you whipped, huh?”
“Man, she really got to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Reece. Ever since Joe mentioned her name two days ago, you’ve been in rare form. Give it a rest, why don’t you?”
“Give what a rest?”
“Being a complete dick.”
“I need a drink is all.”
Crew and Bria run up behind us. “You’re not getting away that easily,” she says.
I keep walking, not wanting to get another earful. I take a left into the nearest bar and flag down the first waitress I see. “Bring a pitcher of beer and four shots of your best whiskey to the booth in the corner.” We all sit. “You didn’t invite the new guy?”
“We did,” Bria says, “but Iggy had other plans.”
“How can you say his name without cringing? It’s fucking stupid.”
“As opposed to Crew?” Crew says.
“Your name is cool. His sounds like he’s trying too hard. A thousand bucks says it’s not his real name.”
“He showed us his driver’s license at the audition, remember?”
“Doesn’t mean he didn’t have it changed legally.”
“I don’t think Iggy’s name is what’s really bothering you, is it?” Bria asks.
The waitress brings a tray of drinks to our table. I take a shot, not bothering to toast anything. Probably because there isn’t anything to toast.
“Oh, shit,” Liam says. “You think he likes her, don’t you?”
Crew tries not to laugh. “Damn, you’re jealous. Your ex walks in with some guy, then Iggy all but hits on her during practice.”
I steal his shot. “There’s nothing to be jealous about. She’s nothing to me.”
Bria eyes me skeptically. “Yesterday at the lawyer’s office, you thought she was married.”
“I’m not talking about this,” I say.
She draws in a sharp breath. “Oh my God, did she cheat on her husband with you? Is that what this is about? She lied to you and said she wasn’t married?”
“Jesus. I didn’t come here for the third degree. I came to drink. How about you just be my supportive bandmates and drink with me?”
“Fine,” Liam says, “but can I say one more thing?”
“What?” I bark.
“No disrespect to you, Bria, but that woman has some pipes on her, and I’m not talking about her tits.”
Bria swats him on the arm. “She is really good. Don’t go getting any ideas.”
Crew leans close to her. “Babe, you’re the one who put RA on the map. Nobody would ever replace you.”
“You’re the best, Bria,” Liam says. “I’m just saying I think it was a major stroke of luck that she heard the song and hired a lawyer. I’m willing to bet once this is all over, Reece Mancini will be a household name.”
I slap the table. “Whose side are you on, man?”
“Yours, of course, but kind of hers, too. You did screw her over by ripping off her lyrics. We owe her this. You know I love you, G, but a part of me can’t fucking wait to see how this plays out.”
“Are you done?” I look around the table. “Are you all finished talking about her? Because if you’re not, there’s a free table right over there.”
The three of them talk about a new song they’re working on. Liam composes the music for the lyrics Crew and Bria write. All I can think about is how stupid I was to use the lyrics Reece wrote so long ago. I keep asking myself why I did it. It’s not like we don’t have enough material. I wonder if deep down, I wanted to see her again. I take a long swallow of beer. No—seeing her dredges up too much shit from the past, shit I never wanted to think about again. It reminds me of how stupid I was to fall for someone and think I could have a steady girlfriend. I’m a goddamn rock star. Rock stars don’t do relationships.
I look at my friends. They do them. I shake my head.
The waitress comes over. I ask her for more drinks and her phone number.
Chapter Ten
Reece
Six years ago …
The past seven days have been the best of my life. Now I know what I’ve been missing. Living in Sheila’s house with Garrett and Reggie has shown me the life I want. Normal lives—coming home to each other after work. Cooking together. Lying on the couch and watching stupid movies. Sleeping in until noon on
Sunday, then making pancakes for lunch. I want this.
For over ten years, I never got pancakes unless it was someone’s birthday and sometimes not even then. More often it was fighting with the other foster kids for the last Pop-Tart. Or if it was the end of the month, and the foster parents hadn’t gotten their check yet, we were fed stale cereal without milk.
I know we’re living a fantasy. Sheila and Kurt get back from their honeymoon tomorrow, and I’ll go back to my crappy apartment, and Garrett will return to his parent’s palatial estate. But we still have today.
Garrett brought his drums over Monday. We jam every day and walk the dog every night. Then we sleep next to each other. We’ve done everything married couples do except that one thing.
It’s my fault. I told him on day one I didn’t want a fling. Then I may have opened up about my past too much. Garrett didn’t want to be just another man I came across. I don’t want him to be one either.
“Are you going to eat the last one?” he asks.
I stab the pancake with the fork and put it on his plate. “It’s all yours.”
He cuts off a piece and dips it into the syrup. “We can share.” He feeds it to me, and my insides tingle.
I’m not sure how much more of this I can take. Every look from him makes me flush. Every seductive word makes my skin prickle. When we play together, it’s the most intense foreplay I’ve ever experienced. It’s also not lost on me that he’s taken a lot of cold showers this week.
“You missed a spot.” He leans over and licks syrup off my chin.
I can’t take it anymore. “Garrett, oh my God, when are you going to take me to bed already?”
He chuckles into the crook of my neck, then withdraws and takes our plates to the sink. He holds out a hand. “It’s our last day. Let’s have one more jam session before I pack up the drums.”
I want to yell at him, but the truth is, playing with him might be as satisfying as sex, minus the explosive outcome. Oh, how I crave the explosive outcome.
He sits behind his drum set, still in his sleep pants. He’s shirtless because I’m wearing his shirt. It’s what I’ve slept in the past six nights. He gives me a beat, and I play. It’s amazing how well we play together without scored music. We’re so much in sync, it makes me wonder how good we’ll be in bed.
I’ve had a few flashbacks of the night of the wedding, or maybe they’re fantasies of what I think it would be like with him. I’ve seen him naked. Naked with an erection. I’ve studied every tattoo on his right arm; I could draw them from memory. I’ve heard all about his childhood, his hopes, and his dreams. I know Garrett Young better than I’ve ever known anyone.
And I’m sure I love him.
I haven’t said it, though. Every time I do, they run for the hills. I keep asking myself what’s the respectable amount of time to wait before declaring my love for them. With Lincoln, it was two weeks. The next day we went shopping in New York City, and he left me there, stranded. With Bryan, it was a month. He stared at me for about two seconds, then said he was sorry and walked out the door. With Kevin, I was sure I was in love with him by the end of our second date. Then we ran into his ex and he left the restaurant with her, not me.
There’s a pattern here. The list goes on and on. I’ve often wondered if it’s me they don’t want to fall in love with or if it’s my past that scares them. Maybe no one wants a foster-care kid with so little potential. What they don’t know, what none of them realize, is that one day, I’m going to make it big. Then they’ll be sorry they didn’t give me a chance.
I can’t look away from Garrett when he plays his drums. He knows where to hit every cymbal, every snare, without looking. Will he toss me to the curb after today? Was this just a fortuitous break from his pretentious family and an opportunity to play house?
He stops playing, but I don’t. I keep strumming, working out the right chords for a song I started tossing around in my head this week. When I add lyrics, Garrett stares at my mouth as I sing. Maybe I don’t need to say the three little words after all. Maybe he knows how I feel from the song.
When he comes out from behind his drums, his sleep pants are tented. I put down the guitar. “If you don’t take me to bed right this second, Garrett, I might actually die. As in spontaneously combust right here, right now.”
He tosses his drumsticks on the floor. I jump on him. He looks into my eyes. “Did you write it because of me?”
I nod.
“Is it how you really feel, Reece? Or are you just trying to get me into bed.”
“It’s how I feel.” I touch my lips to his. “And I really want to get you into bed.”
His lips smile against mine. He carries me to the bedroom and puts me on the bed before removing his pants. I try not to moan, mewl, or beg as he stands gloriously naked in front of me. Climbing on the bed next to me, he whispers, “Now you,” and pulls my shirt up and over my head. He stills, looking at my chest. “You’re fucking gorgeous, do you know that?”
Heat flushes my neck and chest.
“Has anyone ever told you that before?”
I shake my head.
His eyes widen. “Never?”
I shrug. “A few said they liked my tits.”
He looks upset. “Not the same. Not nearly the same.” He kisses first one breast, then the other, being so gentle I have to press myself into him. He works his tongue down my stomach, stopping when he reaches my panties. “How attached are you to these?”
“Not very. I stole them from Sheila.”
Laughing, he uses his teeth to rip them off. It makes me feel like I’m Jane to his Tarzan. All week he’s protected and amazed me, making me feel more special than I ever have. I can feel the words bubbling up.
Don’t say them, I tell myself. I don’t want this one to leave.
When he puts his mouth on me, I arch my back. He inserts a finger, and a groan escapes me. Every move he makes is careful and calculated. He watches my face, for clues maybe, to see if I like what he’s doing. Oh, I like it all right. Everywhere he touches me, I’m on fire. Every lick of my clit has me soaring higher. Every crook of his finger makes me shudder. He asks me to come, and I detonate, calling his name as I fist the sheets and dig my heels into the mattress.
Before the last pulse has left my body, he’s inside me, thrusting. One. Two. Three. He buries his head in my shoulder and stills, grunting loudly.
He rolls off me, catches his breath, then rises on an elbow. “Didn’t mean to be Speedy Gonzales, but it’s been a while.”
“What do you mean? We did it last Saturday. Twice apparently.”
“So it’s been a while since I remember doing that.”
I raise a brow. “How long?”
He chews his lips. “Five months maybe.”
“That’s not so long.”
He laughs. “You’re not a nineteen-year-old man. Five months for us can seem like a fucking lifetime.” As he removes the condom, I wonder how he even had time to put one on. He seems to know what I’m thinking. “I’m pretty good with these things. Can put them on with one hand even.”
“I’m on the pill.”
“I know, but I’m not taking any chances. No way do I want any rug rats. Can you imagine trying to become a rock star and having to deal with diapers and daycare and snotty-nosed kids demanding your attention twenty-four-seven? A buddy of mine, a few bands back, knocked up his girlfriend. Do you know what he does now? Works at the local hardware store. Sure, he jams on the weekends when his kid’s mom isn’t making him do shit, but no way is that happening to me.”
“You’re preaching to the choir, Garrett. We’re on the same page.”
“See? You get it. You have a dream, and you aren’t going to let anything stand in the way. There’s no room for error. No mistakes can be made.” He traces my jaw. “You and I were destined to meet. Hell, maybe we’ll even be in the same band someday. Because we know what it takes to be stars. Hard work, plans, and no distractions.”
�
��And lots of blood, sweat, and tears.”
“Exactly.” He sits up and looks at me like he’s got an idea.
“What is it?”
“I want you to meet my family.”
I pull the covers up protectively. “Oh, no.”
“Reece, I’ve never wanted a girl to meet them before.”
“They’ll hate me, Garrett.”
“I’m not gonna lie, my dad might. He hates everyone, including me, but you’ll have to take him with a grain of salt. My mom will love you.”
“Going by everything you told me this week, they want you to marry a lawyer, not a fellow musician they think will never amount to anything. Especially one who grew up like I did.”
His eyes bug out. “Who said anything about marriage?”
My mouth goes dry. “I, uh …”
He pulls me on top of him. “I’m kidding, Mancini. I know what you meant.”
I try to calm down. For a second there, I thought he was going to bolt like all the others.
He grows hard under me. “Do you think you lasted more than five seconds when we did it at the hotel?”
He grabs his chest. “Ouch, way to hit a man where it hurts.”
“I’m just saying, if you wanted a chance to prove yourself …”
He flips me underneath him and wraps his fingers around my wrists, pinning them to the bed. “Challenge accepted,” he declares.
For the next two hours, he proceeds to prove himself over and over again.
Chapter Eleven
Garrett
We go into the bar and make our way to a table in front with a RESERVED sign on it. “Tell me again why we couldn’t listen to them play at IRL?”
Crew pulls a chair out for Bria. “You know as well as any of us that playing in the studio and playing for a live audience are completely different.”
“Oh my God!” a girl squeals. “Are you Reckless Alibi? Are you playing tonight? Can you sign something for me? Can I get a picture with you?”
People immediately take notice and Tom Horton, or Thor, as we sometimes call him, stands.
Reckless Reunion (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 7