Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  I smiled at people reaching for me with their phones out. Jerome did his best to hold people back, but it really was no use. “No pictures today, guys. I only have a second.”

  Collective groans and a few tears almost had me relenting, but then my pocket buzzed again. I was well past late at this point. Thank God they didn’t really need me at soundcheck. At least I told myself that as I accepted notebooks, CDs, phones, and human appendages to sign.

  I made small talk and asked people if they were coming to the show. I finally relented for one picture with a little girl wearing a Brooklyn Dawn shirt and blinged out jeans.

  Finally, my driver, George, stepped out and herded people back with a bark of orders, then shuffled me into the car.

  I waved at the fans and collapsed against my seat. “Thanks.”

  “Darcy is about to have a litter of kittens,” he said as he slammed his door.

  “She’s always a step away from birth.”

  George just grunted. Pretty much his favored form of communication. It suited me. He let me rattle off about my day like a therapist when I needed it. Sometimes imparting bits of wisdom, but mostly, he just allowed me to unload.

  George Hendrix was built like a tank, with a barrel chest full of muscle and arms that could snap a body in half. I’d witnessed his impressive bodyguard technique on more than one occasion. Best of all, he made me feel safe in a world full of people who could be fairly imbalanced. Add in my rich parents and I’d been security-conscious for most of my life at this point.

  Selling tens of millions of records brought with it a lot of amazing things. It also brought stalkers, mentally challenged people, and people looking to make a quick buck on an illicit photo.

  Again, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to see Darcy’s number. Just as I was about to accept the call, a FaceTime call came through the in-dash iPad.

  Jamie’s profile icon with the double middle finger won out. I hit accept.

  “Where the hell are you?” She frowned at me. “You look like ass.”

  “Thanks. Missed you too.” Jamie, however, looked rested and extra tan. She’d probably spent the week in a cabana with her bartender.

  She narrowed her eyes at me. “Did you get fucked?” She filled the screen with her angular face as if it would give her a better look at me.

  Yes. “Jesus, Jame.”

  “Lift your sunglasses.”

  It was on the tip of my tongue to own up to it, but something held me back. Again. It wasn’t as if I was ashamed, more like I wanted to keep that little piece of us mine. Yes, even from my best friend. Fucked up, maybe, but it was the truth. “No.”

  “Hmm.” A smirk slid across her sharp features. “Well, I got enough for the both of us. Bartender boy was magnificent. He was also a surfer and something about the ability to balance on a surfboard gave him extra hip action and thrusting power. I swear, he tried to break me and it was glorious.”

  “Good God. I haven’t had enough sleep or coffee for this discussion.”

  She dropped her voice to a whisper. At least Jamie’s version of one. “He was one of those uncut motherfuckers and man, I thought it was gross at first, but talk about a—”

  “Jamie.”

  “What?” She curled her lip at me and sat back on one of the trio of couches we carted around with us on the trucks. “You’re just jealous. I was in the land of cock and coconuts and you went to fucking upstate New York. I don’t get it.”

  “Logan was in a bind.” Upstate New York hadn’t exactly been lacking in cock, but again, I couldn’t quite bring myself to share that little tidbit.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t even fuck that guy. Why do you keep doing him favors?”

  “Why do I put up with you? I didn’t fuck you either.”

  “Okay. That’s fair. However, if you put that pretty boy on the same level as our friendship, we’re going to have a problem.”

  “No one is like you, Jamie.”

  “Fuckin’ A. I still think you’re way too nice.”

  I sighed. “I know. But it’s done and I’m on my way to the venue.” I wouldn’t even have time to wash off the airplane stank, but since we were doing two nights in Chicago, at least I could crash in a nice hotel tonight. Not getting on a bus or a plane tonight sounded divine.

  Maybe I’d even find Nash later for a little FaceTime action I’d actually enjoy.

  Jamie flipped the camera around to where Oz and Teagan were talking. “Get a look at those seats. We sold this mother out, girl. It’s huuuuuge.”

  The United Center was one of the bigger arenas on this leg of the tour. With well over twenty thousand seats, it was an impressive venue to sell out. Especially two nights in a row. Another step up in our evolution as a band.

  I was nervy about discussing adding stadiums for the summer, but if we kept going on the same trajectory, it was one more goal post we’d reach for.

  Oz waved. “Yo.”

  I lifted my voice. “Hi, guys. Sorry I’m late.”

  “All good, chief.” Oz rested his arm on Teagan’s shoulder. “We got things covered.”

  Teagan knocked his arm off of her. “Glad to see you made your flight.”

  Jamie twisted the screen back to her make-up free face. “Get your ass here. Darcy is getting that eye twitch thing again.”

  “How long, George?”

  “ETA is seventeen minutes,” he said from the front seat.

  “Got that?”

  She gave me the peace sign. “I’ll let our favorite devil know. Nice to see you back, chick.”

  “You too.” I smiled and clicked out of the video chat.

  Seventeen minutes to decompress was almost enough to get my head on straight. I checked email that I’d been ignoring for the week and sent a few texts to Darcy to get updates from her.

  I was cutting it close to do any checks on my equipment so Jamie stood in for me and sent me a thirty-seven second video of her yowling out the lyrics to “All I Wanted” from what would be my perch on the B-stage.

  Laughing, I sent her back a middle finger emoji as George pulled up to the side door to the venue. I grabbed my leather music journal-slash-planner that I couldn’t live without. I never knew when inspiration would hit. There was a lot of downtime between warmups and opening acts. Some nights we had too many VIPs backstage, but tonight, there should be mercifully few.

  “I’ll have your bags brought to the hotel.”

  “Thanks, George.”

  “Of course. Have a good show.”

  I smiled. “I have a good feeling about tonight.” I slid out of the car and shot through the door being held open for me. I murmured a quick thanks to one of our usual roadies and prayed for a little clemency. Just a shower to get me back to rights—that was all I needed.

  Maybe I could get by our stylist on staff. She’d kill me, but I had to wash my hair. I was beyond wrecked thanks to the flight and the frenetic quickie between me and Nash on the way to the airport. I was struggling to remain optimistic about this situation, but it had felt way too intense for just a see-you-soon bang.

  More like goodbye.

  I was trying really hard not to freak about it. Not with how he’d held me after.

  I’d thought I was too old for a backseat bang, but evidently, I was wrong. Especially since his Jeep was very roomy and actually had enough headroom for the two of us. Mostly. And actually getting to enjoy some afterglow with him was unusual.

  Ugh. I didn’t know what to think, but I had to put that away for the damn show.

  “Finally.”

  Crap.

  I hunched my shoulders at the voice. That grating tone followed me into nightmares far too often. Unfortunately, she was fairly brilliant at stage makeup and costumes. “Genie, I just need a super quick—”

  “You need to get into this dressing room and start getting ready. I do not have time to dry that mop on top of your head.”

  I winced. “Mop?”

  She rolled her eyes and sn
apped her gum. Her eyes were heavily made-up and flawless, but honestly, who needed that much makeup if you weren’t on stage?

  I sighed. Dreams of my shower faded to dust as I followed the wave of her scarlet tipped acrylic nails. Personally, I wasn’t sure how she did anything with nails that long.

  I walked in to find Oz in the chair. His hair was wet.

  “How come he gets to wash his hair?”

  “Because his hair is straight and people like it to look like he just fell out of the damn shower. The beast doesn’t even wear clothes on stage.”

  Oz’s slashing dark brow arched. “I wear pants.” His smile was devilish. “That’s about it though. I like maximum movement.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I haven’t had enough coffee yet.”

  “There’s not enough coffee on this planet for you to handle me, girl.” His smirk was playful and harmless. Lethal to others, but to me? Not even a quiver.

  I punched him in the shoulder as I hopped in the salon chair next to him. “Keep your stories about your legendary junk to yourself.”

  “See, you’ve heard the tales.”

  “Only out of you. It’s kinda like when you give yourself your own nickname.”

  He tipped back his head and his rolling laugh filled the room. It was rare for him to let out a belly laugh. I laughed too. I was exhausted and would prefer to crawl into bed—without Nash, dammit—but this was the best part of my non-stage life.

  My band.

  My friends who had been with me from the jump.

  “How was New York?”

  I shrugged. Again, the urge to share was nonexistent. What had happened with Nash was tucked into a little hollowed out space only for me. We were singing a song that was a departure for me. Being part of a duet wasn’t something I did. I liked the spotlight.

  I was comfortable there.

  I didn’t have to share my vocals with anyone. The stage, yes, but not the words. The harmonies were honed to perfection after years together. The band and I were a unit.

  Nash and I were…

  New.

  Precious.

  Mine.

  There was so little that was actually mine these days.

  “Logan was in a bind. The woman who was supposed to be the centerpiece of his Christmas album flaked. Hard.”

  Oz slouched down in his chair. “Yeah, she was on the vids. Sucks. Angel Martin has a lot of freaking talent. So stupid.” His brow furrowed and the laughter drifted out of his dark eyes.

  Oz had strong feelings about drug use after losing his little sister to an overdose in his teens.

  I reached over and covered his hand. He held on for a second before slipping away and standing.

  “I’ll see you on stage.” His voice was gruff.

  I nodded. “See you in a bit.”

  His massive shoulders hunched as he strode through the doorway and disappeared around the corner.

  I sighed.

  “What’s with him?”

  I glanced at Genie. It wasn’t worth explaining to her. Especially since she’d been touring with us for two albums and was still stunningly oblivious to most of the goings-on in the band.

  “He’ll be fine.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever. Do you want your hair up or down?” She removed Nash’s hat from my head and held it up between two fingers.

  Before she could toss it in the garbage can she was eyeing, I snatched it out of her hand. “Surprise me.”

  “I always do.”

  That was definitely a true statement.

  I zoned out as she attacked my hair with more product than I wanted to think about. One nice thing about being on vacation for a week was the lack of makeup and hair junk.

  Thirty minutes later, Genie was sewing me into my catsuit for tonight’s show. It was flesh-colored with panels of glitter and crystal that made me look like I was part flame in certain lighting. This was my favorite outfit of the new wardrobe for this album. It felt and looked as if I was wearing nothing.

  A wolf whistle came from the doorway. I lifted my hand with a middle finger.

  “Is that any way to greet your bestie?”

  “If only I had one.”

  “Watch it, sister.” Jamie came in and dropped on the couch across from the mirrors. She was wearing a barely there swatch of crimson over her breasts and threadbare ripped black jeans and lethal boots. Her jet-black hair held a fresh dip of ultraviolet and scarlet on her ends.

  She flopped onto her back and swung her boots onto the arm of the couch. She arched her entire five-feet-ten form in a feline stretch. “Nice of you to join us plebs.”

  “Shut up.”

  She lifted her head and shot me a look. “What the hell kept you?”

  “Studio.”

  “Meh.” She dropped her head back onto the cushion and snapped her gum. “Boring.”

  Jamie would play on any stage or even on a rock in the middle of a desert for hours on end but asking her to go in the studio required a lot of bribing.

  I shamelessly used that to my advantage so she wouldn’t ask me for any more details.

  “Any problems?”

  “Nope. Smooth sailing. Oh, Teagan and Oz played this sick version of a cover today while we were messing around. Think we’re adding it as an audible.”

  “Oh?” I bent at the waist to make sure my costume didn’t tug anywhere. Inwardly, I hissed at the sunburn I hadn’t quite healed from. Evidently, September sun didn’t make a difference when you spent the better part of a morning naked.

  “I’m not finished,” Genie snapped.

  I stood up straight and let her keep working on the zipper. “Sorry.”

  She muttered something I didn’t catch, but it wasn’t worth getting her riled up.

  “Yeah. It’s unreal. I know you know the words, so it’ll be cake.”

  “I’m good with a change up. What is it?”

  “‘Dream On.’”

  I stumbled to the side, my ankle wobbling slightly in my five-inch heeled boots. “What?”

  “Aerosmith.” Jamie sat up, swung her feet down with a thump, then propped her elbows on her knees. “You know, famous song. Killer piano solo and guitars.”

  I swallowed at the flames licking up the middle of my spine. “Oh, I know the song.”

  Jesus. The only reason my nipples didn’t pop through my skintight costume was the three layers of crystals hiding them.

  I hadn’t played that song since him. Since an underground piano bar in New York.

  “Yeah, it’s gonna be gorgeous. Even activated the rotation base on T’s piano for it. It’s gonna be crazy.”

  “Right. I’m sure it’s stunning.”

  “And you in that outfit? You’re going to have men and women popping boners across the arena.”

  “Nice, Jame.”

  Jamie stood, then tilted her head. “You’re being weird.”

  “No, I’m not.” Even as I said it, I could hear the oddly distant tone in my voice.

  “What’s the big deal? You love the song.”

  “No problem here.” Except that I would probably spontaneously combust on stage.

  “Sure about that?”

  My heart raced at the memories bombarding me. They weren’t painful this time at least. Instead, they were tinged with the newness of having Nash back in my life. Especially when we had no real label for what was happening between us.

  Fuck buddies? We were far too intense for that.

  “Positive.” I fixed the collar of my catsuit, glad that it was covering up the brunt of my broiled pink status. “I’ll do a quick run-through during my warmup, but not a big deal.”

  “Arms.”

  I lifted my arms at the snapped order. I was the alpha when it came to the stage, but backstage Darcy and Genie ruled.

  She unzipped the back and Jamie twisted me around to view the evidence. “What the hell?”

  “Had a nice day and did the picnic thing.”

  “Naked?”

  I
hopped down from the little bastardized workout block Genie used for fittings. Thank God I’d already had my makeup done so the bruises on my throat weren’t showing. Handily, Genie had a don’t ask, don’t care policy. “I wasn’t naked.”

  My throat closed around the lie. Having bands in my hair didn’t count as clothes, last time I checked.

  “Really, because there are no string lines there, sister.”

  “What are you, my mom?”

  Jamie flinched. “No. Whatever. You do you.” She twisted on her booted heel and sailed out of the room.

  “Fuck.”

  “You are hella pink. Pull your front down and I’ll put on my miracle gel.”

  I didn’t bother fighting with her. She knew every inch of my body anyway. Besides, I did feel a lot better after she put it on. Which was good, because I had a minimum of two hours of running around to deal with.

  Luckily, Genie not only didn’t ask questions, she also didn’t give a fuck if I had hickies. She hadn’t even raised an eyebrow. This was just a gig to her. End of story.

  I resisted the urge to go after Jamie. She would be in a snit for days. It would be better to be honest and take the hit, but it still felt too big. Too much mine to share.

  After Nash’s actions in the car, I didn’t really know what to think. Maybe the week had just been all we would be. Though that didn’t feel right either.

  I so didn’t need that in my head right now. Yet no matter how many times I shoved him out, he came right back.

  “Dream On”, for fuck’s sake. Of all the songs, they had to pick that one? My luck.

  I waited patiently for Genie to fix my zipper one last time before she left. People knew I needed a warmup alone and I wasn’t too proud to demand it.

  Label me a diva, I didn’t give a shit.

  Once I was alone, I did my usual exercises. After so many years of singing, I knew what I needed to do for prep. Especially since I hadn’t gotten the week’s worth of rest I’d been looking forward to.

  In fact, my voice was a bit huskier than usual thanks to all the damn screaming I’d been doing. Thanks, Alex. But it would have to do.

  I got the usual notices from Darcy and my staff about the countdown. I checked my phone once more before I turned it to do-not-disturb and found a weird voicemail waiting for me.