The Swede

by Maureen Smith

  The second he hit send, the screen went black.

  Frowning, he pressed the power button but nothing happened. The phone had turned off before his message went through.

  “Skit!” He banged the dead phone against his open palm and then the stall door. “Skit, skit, skit!”

  “Yo,” an amused voice called out. “Everything okay in there?”

  Viggo grunted something unintelligible. He’d have to get a new phone if this one couldn’t be fixed. With Scarlett on tour and him hitting the road in a few days, he needed to stay connected with her.

  He was still scowling at his phone when he came out of the bathroom and bumped into someone coming down the hall. Glancing up, he started to mutter an apology until he saw that it was just Logan.

  “Dude, don’t go back in there,” his teammate warned.

  Viggo frowned. “What’re you talking about? Don’t go back where?”

  Logan jerked his head in the direction of the barroom. “Leave your coat at the table and just go, man.”

  “Why?”

  “She’s here,” Logan said in a dramatic whisper.

  “Who’s here?”

  “Hello, Viggo,” a woman spoke from behind Logan.

  Viggo stiffened in dread.

  Logan shook his head sympathetically, clapped him on the shoulder and mouthed, I tried to warn you.

  Not fast enough, Viggo mouthed back through clenched teeth.

  A glint of amusement flashed in Logan’s eyes. Then he turned around and stepped aside to reveal a slim blonde in a beige knit dress with brown knee-high boots.

  Logan cleared his throat. “Oh, hey there, Audrey.”

  “Logan.” Her tone was as icy as the look she gave him. “It wasn’t necessary for you to rush out here to warn him that I was coming.”

  “What? Warn him?” Logan’s eyes widened in exaggerated innocence. “I wasn’t warning anybody. I had to use the bathroom.”

  Audrey gave him a skeptical smirk. “Really?”

  “Yeah. Really. That’s where I was heading.” Logan started backing up toward the men’s room, his eyes gleaming with wicked laughter. “Good seeing you, Audrey.”

  She glared after him before shifting those cornflower-blue eyes to Viggo.

  He forced a smile. “Hey, Audrey.”

  Immediately her expression softened and she took a step toward him. She was a pretty woman, but he couldn’t help thinking how washed out she looked compared to Scarlett’s sizzling vibrancy.

  “I called you the other night,” she said a little accusingly. “Did you get my message?”

  “I did.” No use lying.

  She frowned. “Why didn’t you call me back?”

  He almost sighed. “You know why.”

  She stepped closer, touching his arm. “I’m really sorry I didn’t tell you who my uncle was. I didn’t think it was a big deal—”

  “It is a big deal,” Viggo cut her off. “I wouldn’t have gone out with you if I’d known that your uncle is the team’s general manager. Seriously. I don’t need that kind of complication in my life.”

  “But it doesn’t have to be complicated,” she insisted.

  “It would be. Trust me.”

  She pouted, tucking her blond hair behind her ear. “Is that the only reason you won’t go out with me? Because I’m the general manager’s niece?”

  Viggo didn’t want to answer her. He knew the truth would hurt her even more than the unreturned phone calls. They’d gone on three dates and had sex a handful of times. It had been decent, nothing distinguishable from any of his other hookups. Audrey was a nice girl, but she just didn’t have that special something to hold his interest. The spark of chemistry he’d felt when they first met had fizzled out pretty quickly.

  Unfortunately, she was still staring at him, waiting for his answer.

  Shit.

  He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by the sound of loud giggles as Tattoo Bunny and her posse came strutting down the hallway. Tattoo Bunny brushed past him, smiling seductively as she ran her fingers through his hair.

  Audrey’s eyes narrowed to icy slits. “Seriously, bitch?”

  Tattoo Bunny gave her a catty smirk and threw up her middle finger. The other bunnies burst into peals of laughter as they skipped off to the restroom.

  Audrey shot Viggo a look of disgust. “Please don’t tell me you fucked any of those skanks. I’d expect that from Logan, not you.”

  “Hey, I resent that,” Logan retorted, walking past them on his way from the bathroom. “Even I have standards. Mostly.”

  Audrey rolled her eyes at him, then flipped her hair over her shoulder and returned her attention to Viggo. “I miss you,” she said, almost purring. “I had a really great time with you, and the sex was seriously amazing. We don’t have to stop seeing each other just because my uncle works in the front office. I mean, it’s not like you’re in danger of getting traded or anything. You’re one of the stars of the team. You, Reid, Hunter and Logan have, like, ironclad job security.”

  Her willful naiveté both amused and irritated Viggo. “Look, Audrey—”

  “There’s another reason I called you on Saturday,” she rushed on before he could say another word. “If you had called me back, I wouldn’t have had to track you down.”

  Viggo just looked at her, waiting for the rest.

  “I need a huge favor, and you’re the perfect guy to help me out.”

  Her batting lashes and innocent smile sent a fresh wave of frustration through Viggo. Because he realized at that moment that getting rid of her would be even trickier than he’d thought, and one way or another, he was going to ruffle the wrong damn feathers.

  Chapter 9

  Scarlett

  On the Road Again

  * * *

  Beads of sweat ran down the sides of Scarlett’s face and trickled between her breasts.

  She was in the zone tonight, rocking out in front of an enthusiastic crowd of metalheads and hipsters packed into Brooklyn’s Knitting Factory. When she closed her eyes, all the faces disappeared and the screams were muted. It was just her and her instrument, her body buzzing with an electric energy that flowed through her fingers and into the drums.

  But she didn’t keep her eyes closed for too long. She loved watching the crowd, loved feeding off their frenetic excitement as they jumped to the pounding music and pumped their fists in the air. She loved working the sweaty mob into a frenzy of writhing bodies and churning mosh pits.

  It was such a rush, as exhilarating as watching her bandmates do their thing: Gage on lead guitar, Ryu on electric guitar, Zander on keyboard and Traeger rocking the house with a killer bass groove. At no time did Scarlett feel more connected to her boys than when they were all performing together, creating rock ’n’ roll magic.

  As lead singer and drummer, she performed at center stage with the guys fanned out around her. It was pretty rare for drummers to be lead singers, but she had the best voice in the group so it was sort of a no-brainer. Gage backed her on vocals and sang lead on songs that were better suited to his raspy growl.

  They were closing out their set with “Fahrenheit 32,” one of the most popular tracks off their latest album. It was a fast, hard-driving song loaded with complex drum patterns, heavy bass lines and crashing chords.

  Sweat dripped off Scarlett’s brow as she smashed her sticks against the drum hoops and stomped the foot pedal, her head bobbing wildly to the ferocious beat. When she hit the cymbals, she could feel them vibrating through her body, shimmering pulses of sensation as electric as the billboards lighting up Times Square.

  Another mosh pit had formed in the crowd. A throng of adoring groupies was clustered around the front of the stage, screaming their heads off for Traeger, Gage and Ryu. The fellas soaked up the attention, their smiles as wicked as their guitar riffs.

  Beating the hell out of her drum kit, Scarlett traded grins with Zander and then brought her mouth to the mic to belt out the closing verse.
>
  On the last guttural note, the crowd began clapping and hollering.

  Scarlett leaped to her feet, kicked her stool back and pumped her fist in the air.

  The audience screamed louder.

  Tapping her drumsticks above her head, she leaned into the mic and yelled over the noise, “Thanks for the awesome welcome, Brooklyn! You guys totally rock!”

  More cheers and whistles erupted. Some dude shouted drunkenly, “Will you marry me?”

  Laughter swept over the crowd as Scarlett blew her suitor a kiss, then grinned and flipped her damp hair out of her eyes. She waited for the clamor to die down before speaking again. “Thank you for supporting indie artists. Since you guys enjoyed our music so much—” She gave a sexy wink “—please show your love and go buy our shit. Then get ready for a kickass show from the one and only Black Kross!”

  The audience roared with cheers and applause as the rest of the band joined her at center stage. Together they took a bow before turning and running backstage, where the concert promoter and several venue staffers congratulated them on a great performance. They barely stopped to listen, laughing and whooping all the way down to their dressing room.

  “Holy shit!” Ryu yelled excitedly, picking Scarlett up and swinging her around. “We fuckin’ killed it!”

  “Hell yeah!” Scarlett smacked a big kiss on his sweaty cheek and hooted ecstatically. “They fuckin’ loved us!”

  “Hell yeah, they did!” Ryu spun her around again before putting her down, grinning from ear to ear. He was tall and lean with intense black eyes and sculpted features. With his jet-black hair scraped back into a topknot, he looked like a superhot Samurai. His cool Japanese name meant dragon, so naturally he had a fire-breathing dragon tattoo on each bicep, which chicks totally loved.

  Traeger plopped down in a chair, flipping his sweaty hair off his face. The blue-eyed bassist’s muscled arms were inked from shoulder to wrist. He had several days’ worth of scruff covering his jaw, and his shaggy brown hair had that just-got-out-of-bed look that drove groupies crazy.

  “Too bad those weren’t our fans out there,” he grumbled.

  “Who cares?” Scarlett retorted. “They enjoyed the show, so who gives a shit if they didn’t come to see us?”

  “Seriously.” Zander had the hipster thing going on. He wore a flannel shirt open over a black T-shirt with the band’s logo splattered across his chest like graffiti. A knit beanie was pulled low over a wild mop of blond hair. His boyishly handsome face made him look even younger than twenty-four.

  “Stop being such a buzzkill, Traeger,” he scolded, enunciating his name as Tray-gur. “We barely had time to rehearse before our set, and we still knocked it outta the park. Enjoy the moment or shut the fuck up.”

  “Seriously!” the others echoed, slapping high fives and whooping some more.

  Traeger watched them celebrate, lips twitching. “We were pretty awesome.”

  “I agree,” a voice spoke from the doorway.

  Everyone whirled around as a skinny white guy wearing John Lennon glasses stepped into the small room.

  “Who the hell are you?” Gage demanded suspiciously. He looked like an old school grunge rocker with long dark hair and a thick goatee beard. If Eddie Vedder and Dave Grohl had been siblings, Gage could have passed for their good-looking baby brother.

  “Sorry for crashing the party,” the newcomer said, coming forward. “I wanted to meet you guys and tell you how much I enjoyed your show.” He addressed the group but his eyes were on Scarlett. “My name’s Dan DeGroot. I write for Soundcheck and I’d love to interview you guys.”

  “Really?” Pleased glances went around the group. Soundcheck was one of the most popular New York-based music magazines. They were very selective—borderline douchey—about which artists they chose to grace their coveted pages.

  Gage was less than impressed. “You should probably talk to our manager,” he told the bespectacled writer. “She handles our media requests.”

  “But she’s not here,” Traeger interjected, shooting an annoyed glance at Gage. “So you can talk to us.”

  Dan looked smugly amused. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” Traeger grinned crookedly. “Scarlett won’t let us get into any trouble.”

  Dan smiled at her. “So you’re the spokeswoman.”

  “Something like that.” She gave him a chiding smile. “We’ve never been interviewed by Soundcheck before. We’ve been featured in The FADER and several other New York music blogs. But not Soundcheck. What took you guys so long?”

  “Uh…” Dan chuckled sheepishly, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Honestly, Scarlett, I don’t know how you guys flew under our radar this long. But I’d definitely like to rectify that.”

  “Good.” She winked. “Better late than never, right?”

  “Uh, right.” He actually blushed.

  Someone snickered. Probably Gage. Or Traeger. They loved it when she unleashed her feminine wiles on unsuspecting music critics and bloggers. Everything she knew about flirting she’d learned from her mother.

  “So when would you like to interview us?” she purred, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “We’re only in New York a couple more days before we leave for Rhode Island. But we’ll be back later this month to play in Syracuse and Buff—”

  “What about tomorrow morning?” Dan interrupted. “Are you free for breakfast?”

  “All of us?” Traeger interjected with wry humor. “Or just Scarlett?”

  “All of you! Of course!” Danny Boy laughed, his face turning redder.

  Scarlett stifled a grin as her bandmates traded amused glances. “We can meet you for breakfast. That frees up our afternoon for rehearsal before our next show.” She lowered her voice confidingly. “Tonight was the first time we’ve performed together in months, so we’re a little rusty.”

  “Seriously?” Dan exclaimed. “If that was rusty, I can’t wait to hear you guys after you’ve rehearsed!”

  “Aww,” Scarlett cooed, fluttering her long lashes. “You’re so sweet. Ain’t he sweet, boys?”

  It was all they could do not to laugh.

  One of the venue staffers came bustling through the door carrying a huge bouquet of gardenias. Scarlett’s pulse jumpstarted the instant she saw the creamy gardenias. It was the same flower she’d worn in her hair two nights ago at the engagement party. The same flower Viggo had touched and called pretty while gazing into her eyes.

  The female staffer grinned enviously at her. “These came for you earlier, but they were put in the other dressing room by mistake.”

  Scarlett accepted the beautiful arrangement as her bandmates crowded around her, laughing and teasing her about having a secret admirer.

  Ignoring them, she pulled out the card and eagerly read the note, melting with every word:

  Songbird,

  Kick ass on tour, but don’t stay away too long.

  I’m missing you already....

  —The Swede

  Scarlett nearly swooned to the floor. The romantic note made her want to hop on the first thing smoking back to Denver and jump Viggo’s bones.

  “Who are the flowers from?” Traeger asked, trying to read the note. “Got a boyfriend we don’t know about?”

  “No,” she blurted quickly, holding the card to her chest so no one could see what it said. “They’re from my parents.”

  Her answer seemed to satisfy everyone’s curiosity. They shuffled away laughing and talking to the Soundcheck guy, making plans for tomorrow morning’s interview.

  Hiding a secret smile, Scarlett read the note twice more before slipping it into her back pocket. Then she lifted the bouquet to her nose, closing her eyes as she inhaled the heavenly fragrance. No man had ever sent her flowers while she was on tour. Viggo’s gift was all the more special because he’d just met her, like, five minutes ago.

  Smiling harder, she walked over to a table strewn with water bottles and some of their paraphernalia. She cleared a sp
ace and set the bouquet down, then dug her phone out of her handbag.

  She pulled up Viggo’s number and typed out a text: R u trying to make me feel guilty for skipping town? Lol. Srsly tho. The gardenias r beautiful. Thank u...

  She paused, debating whether or not to add a heart-eyes emoji. Too much? Too soon?

  Ugh. She was overthinking it.

  “Yo, Scar,” Gage called out. “We’re gonna go grab a beer before the show starts. Coming?”

  “Yeah.” She sent off the text—sans emoji—and put her phone away. Then she plucked a gardenia from the bouquet, broke off the stem and tucked the flower into her purple-streaked Frohawk. When she turned around, she found four pairs of eyes staring at her.

  She felt her cheeks heat. “What?”

  Her bandmates stared at the flower in her hair, then at the bouquet on the table. After exchanging speculative glances, they looked at her again, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

  Traeger voiced what they were all thinking. “You sure your parents sent those?”

  “Of course. Why would I lie?” Before anyone could answer, she sauntered forward and grabbed Traeger by the front of his shirt, towing him along behind her as she led the way out. “Let’s rock ’n’ roll, boys.”

  * * *

  They stuck around for Black Kross’s show because it was good etiquette for the opening act to support the headliner. Plus they were fans who genuinely enjoyed the band’s music.

  After the show, they parked their van at the hotel where they were staying and walked down to their favorite Italian pizzeria. They ate there every time they came to Brooklyn. The cooks and servers knew them by name, and the food was always good. It was also cheap, which was pretty important to a cash-strapped band.

  They were sitting around the table scarfing down pepperoni pizza and laughing raucously when Traeger suddenly blurted, “We’re more talented than Black Kross. They should be opening for us.”