Playing With Fire (Grindstone Harbor, #2)

by Cat Mason

  Not that I can see a jury convicting me once they meet her.

  Turning to the window, I stare out, watching the sun set, and the city begin to light up. People already fill the streets, all looking to get their fill of the nightlife. While I can’t hear the music, smell the mix of foods from the restaurants, or feel the brisk, autumn night air, the energy still finds its way up from the crowd below, making me long to be down in the thick of it. “I won’t make it in prison,” I murmur, pressing my forehead to the cool glass. “Even if it has five stars and killer room service.”

  “Remember the first time we came here?” Tanner asks, his front at my back.

  My heart squeezes at the memory. The happiness of that time, of days when we had not much more than the shared love of music and the togetherness of our makeshift family fills me with warmth, reminding me of how far we’ve come. And while I can feel the changes that have occurred since that time, I can just as clearly feel how much has and will always remain the same.

  “I’ll never forget that trip.” His arm comes around my waist, giving a squeeze. As I find myself doing so often lately, I lean back against him, my cheek pressing to his chest, feeling his heart beat while the warmth that is so incredibly Tanner gives me comfort and momentarily eases my irritation about Vicki. “Or the guy wearing roller skates and a blue speedo, that tried to steal Greer’s wallet while we were waiting on food truck tacos.”

  The vibrations of his laughter roll through me. He squeezes again, his smile at my ear. “You bounced the prick’s face off the curb like a basketball.”

  “We played on the street that night too.” The memories flood back. Tanner and I, both had beaten up acoustic guitars that were older than either of us. Greer banged out a beat on one of those chunks of wood he loves so much, while Bristol belted out song after song. Not for fame or even crowds of cheering fans. That night was of a more simpler time. “Made barely enough cash for breakfast and gas for the drive back home.” I chuckle to myself, eyes moving back to the street again. “We were the happiest nobodies on the planet.”

  “Babe.” Brushing the hair from my neck, he presses a soft kiss just below my ear. “You’ve never been a nobody.” His grip loosens on me, long fingers finding their way beneath the hem of my pale blue t-shirt, hand coming to rest on my belly. His possessive, yet tender touch, stirs up the butterflies in my stomach, sending a wave of delicious tingles down my spine. Running my hands along his forearms, I allow myself to enjoy all those feels that come with moments like this between us.

  I am quickly figuring out that when Tanner brings up moments from years past, pieces chip away, giving me a glimpse into the man I hadn’t been aware of at the time. Moments when I found him most annoying or frustrating were when he struggled with his need for me most. Still, he was there any time I needed him. Also, when I swore I didn’t. Although now, I am starting to believe there have been parts of me that always have, and always will.

  I can only hope the feeling is mutual, that it won’t be jeopardized if the baby causing the bump Tanner is currently lovingly caressing belongs to Evan, instead of him. Our previous talk on the matter provided a needed glimpse into his struggle with the possibility of me carrying another man’s child. He loves me fiercely, that much I know without needing to even hear the words from his lips. I also know badly he wants the baby to be his. His words on that subject, along with the pain etched across his face while he spoke them, made that crystal clear.

  Not that I can do anything about it at this point.

  I have deliberately tip-toed around the subject since, hoping to give us both a beat to adjust to the new depths of our relationship before going into the topic again. If for no reason other than I am enjoying the easiness settling between us and refuse to be the one to shift it into something that could sour the sweet. Or risk spoiling it altogether.

  Neither of which I’m eager to risk.

  A loud knock has all of us turning to the door. Tanner’s hand slips free of my shirt, sliding down to grip my hip, holding me in place when I start to pull away. “Mr. Parker,” Vicki snaps coolly at Craig, not bothering to look up from the laptop positioned on her lap. “See to that intrusion.”

  Craig straightens, rises from the chair, and does as he’s told. When he swings the door open, my jaw drops. I blink several times when I see the face of the man standing at the door. “Sorry, pal,” Craig barks, bracing his thick forearm on the doorjamb, blocking my view. “Wrong floor. Wrong door. Elevator’s on your left.”

  “Dick move, Red.” The deep voice responding, proof that I’m not hallucinating. “Most people would at least invite the guy footin’ the bill inside for a beer.”

  “Guy doesn’t look like he drinks beer,” another voice booms from outside the door. “Or blinks.”

  “Whoa.” Bristol’s eyes shoot to mine, a goofy, starstruck expression on her face. Rounding the wet bar, she cuts across the room in seconds. “Do you live under a rock, Craig?” she asks, shoving him. “Move your broad ass and get a clue. This man is rock royalty.”

  Craig looks to Vicki. Closing her laptop, she nods. Moving the computer off her lap and onto the cushions, she rises from the couch in one swift motion. Craig steps back fractionally, with Bristol following, allowing Hunter Chesterfield to saunter into the room, flashing his trademark cockier than hell grin. The years since we watched them play live have been good to him. Light touches of gray in his dark brown hair and scruff lining his jaw are the only things giving away the fact he has aged at all.

  When Hunter’s brother, and badass drummer from Shaft, Aiden, steps into the room with a pretty blonde tucked into his side, I nearly come unglued. The slight fangirl moment almost causing me to miss the very large man, with a salt and pepper crew cut, step into the room behind them. Squaring his shoulders, he slips off his dark sunglasses before tucking them in the front pocket of his black t-shirt. He looks to Craig smugly, sizing him up. Craig backs up considerably, giving room to the guy currently towering over him, before checking the hall for anyone else and shutting the door.

  “Aiden’s ball and chain,” Hunter says, jerking his chin toward the blonde. “Golden oldie over there’s Henry.” His smile turns on Bristol and I see her clench her hands nervously, before extending one for him to shake. “Bunch of us are grabbin’ dinner downstairs.” He glances around the room. “You game?”

  “Uh,” Greer stutters, staring at Aiden in complete shock and awe. I think we are all a bit thrown for a loop that members of Shaft are standing in our hotel room right now. Playing a venue with someone is one thing, having them stop by to hang out is something else entirely.

  Later I’ll have to remember to give my big brother shit about swallowing his tongue. God only knows when I’ll get an opportunity like this again.

  “Mr. Chesterfield,” Vicki blurts, inserting herself into the conversation. Plastering on a fake as hell smile, she extends her hand. “Victoria Brandwell, personal relations liaison and manager of Absent Without Leave. Lovely to meet you.”

  “Right.” Hunter slips his hand free of Bristol’s to give Vicki’s a quick shake. “Logan said you’d be tagging along.”

  “Well.” Clearing her throat, she straightens. “We actually planned to stay in for the night. Media attention has been somewhat of a problem as of late and it is my job to keep everyone focused and on their best behavior.”

  “Lady,” Hunter blurts, holding up his hand. “In this business, you want the media’s attention. You get it, you spin that shit to your benefit and enjoy the ride.”

  “I’m afraid we have to agree to disagree, Mr. Chesterfield.” Vicki’s reply is clipped, yet lacking its usual icy undertone. “Although, if you have a few moments there are a few things I would like to discuss before tomorrow. The event planner will not return my calls or emails.”

  “Camaron Chesterfield.” Slipping free of Aiden’s arm, his wife walks toward Vicki. The skirt of her knee length green halter dress sways with her hips, silver peep toe heels cl
icking across the wood flooring as she walks with completely and total confidence. “I oversee Evil Wiener Productions, manage all talent signed to the label, including Shaft. All EWP events are planned by myself personally from the ground up. I received your messages. Every single one.”

  “Good.” Vicki’s tone hardens, her eyes snapping to Cam. “Then you understand Absent Without Leave will not be doing the meet and greet or any interviews. We leave immediately after they perform.”

  Not one bit intimidated by Vicki, she steps closer. “I’ve been doing this a very long time, Miss Brandwell. I’ve dealt with more than my fair share of control freak managers, power hungry suits, and even the occasional pompous ass that thinks they can show up the day before an event and start barking orders.” Her grins spreads, confidence rolling off her. “Don’t waste your time. You’ll find I don’t heel. As for the schedule for this weekend’s events, Boyer himself read and accepted terms for all activities we proposed. He trusted us with AWOL and signed his name on the dotted line, not you. While I’m more than happy to address any actual questions or possible safety concerns, I won’t waste my time with the dozens of suggestions you’ve made in those calls and emails, which sounded much more like demands and derogatory criticism. I’m in charge and you can rest easy knowing everything will go off without a hitch.”

  Cam’s calm and self-assured tone makes Vicki jolt back a step. Her mouth drops open, only to snap closed equally as quick. I can’t help find serious satisfaction being here to see someone silence the raging mouth of our Bitchtator. Looking more than mildly pissed off, Vicki goes back to the couch. Grabbing her phone, she excuses herself from the room, only stopping to tell Craig she is checking in with Mr. Boyer before storming off. Cam’s eyes quickly sweep the room, landing on Aiden, the look they share a mix of adoration and amusement.

  I have a serious girl crush on Cam Chesterfield.

  “Now, what about dinner?” Hunter asks, strolling over to where my guitar sits.

  “Count us in,” I blurt, feeling Tanner nudge my ass forward.

  “Nice,” he says, gesturing with a jerk of his chin. “Yours?”

  “Yeah,” I murmur, when he bends at the waist, the tips of his fingers gliding over the frets. “I’m Quinn, by the way.”

  “Oh, we know.” He laughs. “Got a dozen kids between all of us. Every damn one jealous as fuck knowin’ we’re here and they’re not.” Snagging my guitar, he drops to the lounge, his long expert fingers strumming absentmindedly. My inner fangirl squeals and nearly faints. This has to be a dream. I pinch the inside of my forearm and question my sanity for a second, reminding myself that this is real and I haven’t gone absolutely fucking nuts.

  After all, nothing says crazy like a famous front man you’ve idolized nearly your entire life, fondling your Fender.

  “Holy Moses,” Bristol and I blurt in unison, exchanging a quick look of shock before going back to Hunter again. Tanner chuckles behind me, though I know he is no less affected by the people currently standing in our room. Hell, Greer is still staring at Aiden like he’s just seen a rare sighting of the Loch Ness Monster.

  “Hope you’re hungry. They’ve got an applewood smoked bacon wrapped sirloin the size of your head.” Looking up, his brown eyes find me. “It’ll change your life.”

  “Sounds like it,” Tanner says, when no one else speaks.

  “You’ll learn real quick the sun doesn’t shine out this motherfucker’s ass,” Henry laughs, his comment calling us all out on our awkwardness. Looking our way, he shakes his head. “His ego’s bad enough with someone strokin’ it.”

  “Wounded as fuck right now, Big Man.” Hunter’s head tilts up, looking anything but offended by Henry’s comment.

  “Sing us a song about it, shithead. Only way anyone’s buyin’ it.”

  Laughter fills the room, cutting through the tension. Breathing deep, I shake the nerves and let the excitement take over. Forcing my feet to move, I follow Bristol down the hall to the bedrooms, hoping like hell I can figure out what someone wears to dinner with Shaft. My grief over missing out on the streets of downtown Nashville on a Friday night totally forgotten.

  For now.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  1-800 Kiss My Ass

  Tanner

  The reservation Hunter made at the restaurant on the first floor of the hotel was for eleven. We barely managed to fit that many of us at the table meant for ten when Hunter yanked an extra chair over, making room for his wife, Chase, to sit beside him at the head of the table after she came in with Shaft band member, Grayson, and his wife, Daisy. This meant there was no room for Vicki and her black suited entourage to hover. Not that I minded. None of us did. In fact, I’m willing to bet my left nut there wasn’t a single person here, other than Vicki, bothered with the fact that they were seated in a booth at the opposite side of the restaurant.

  Including the hostess who Cam tipped fifty bucks to put Vicki and her guard dogs as far away from us as possible.

  “Bet she’s a fun one to keep around,” Hunter chuckles, jerking his chin in Vicki’s direction, before taking a swallow from his beer. Swirling the straw in her drink, her eyes stay locked on our table from across the crowded room. “You rent her out for parties?”

  “Or to torture double agents?” Henry mutters, pushing his empty plate away and stretching back in his seat.

  “Nah.” Greer shakes his head. “She does that shit for free on the weekends.”

  “Hate to disappoint her,” Cam mutters, wiggling her fingers when she waves in the direction of the booth. Vicki sneers. “Her attitude won’t work here.”

  “You threw that message out,” Bristol giggles, dragging a fry through her ketchup and tossing it into her mouth. “Loud and clear.”

  “Well.” Cam lifts her glass of red wine, her dark red lips quirking up into a small, satisfied smile before taking a sip. “If she didn’t catch it, I’ve got no problem spelling out exactly showing that I can be a bitch too.”

  “Hell hath no fury like my woman when she’s pushed,” Aiden says proudly. “After what I’ve seen of Vicki, I sure as fuck don’t think anyone sittin’ here gives two shits if she gets her ass taken down a peg or two.”

  “Only a peg or two?” Daisy asks, looking up from her plate.

  “Cam doesn’t do anything half-assed.” Hunter throws his head back, his loud laughter echoing over the chatter around us. “She’s more likely to rip her off the ladder by her hair and hit her over the head with it.”

  “Okay, yeah,” Chase agrees, her face lighting up. “Now that, I can see.”

  “Caught the playback on the radio spot you did last week.” Aiden swallows a mouthful of the bourbon he ordered. “Dug that acoustic track. Good shit.”

  “Wasn’t as entertaining as the video I caught,” Hunter tosses out, completely unfazed. Chase nudges him with her elbow. Turning to look at her, he raises his brows. “What? I’ve done some fucked up shit before, Tiger Lily. It took me back to the good ol’ days.”

  “God.” Quinn’s eyes drop to her lap, her cheeks flushing dark red. “Well, I’ll admit it wasn’t my finest moment. Even if that cashier was a bitch.”

  “Trust me,” Hunter assures her with a wink. “I’ve got you beat, sweetheart. In spades.”

  “Damn right he does,” Henry blurts.

  “Honey.” Looking over at Hunter, Chase sighs, her hand coming up to pat his cheek. “I thought we agreed to not to talk about this stuff tonight.”

  “That vote wasn’t unanimous, so I’m goin’ rouge,” he argues, shaking his head. His gaze shifts to us, locking on Quinn and myself specifically. “You learn quick in this business that the only time people go diggin’ for gold is when someone fuckin’ buries it. My advice: don’t let anything keep you from focusing on what’s important. The music, the fans, and the family you’ve built. The shit is already out there. You go into hiding, all you hurt is yourselves and the fans.”

  “Never a good thing,” Aiden agrees.


  “You’re not wrong,” I admit, sliding my arm around the back of Quinn’s chair. Knowing the public display will piss Vicki off, I tug my girl close to me. “Been thinkin’ a lot about that lately.”

  “It’s historical shit when Hunter’s right about somethin’ more than how many slices are in a pack of bacon.” Henry looks at his watch. “Hell’s gonna be freezin’ over any fuckin’ minute and I didn’t grab the snow chains from the garage.”

  “We keep him around for the jokes,” Hunter grumbles, flipping Henry off. “Guy’s a fuckin’ riot, isn’t he?”

  “Steering the conversation back to business for a second, I have to ask. How do I get Vicki on board with this meet and greet tomorrow?” Cam looks around at the table at each of us. “We’ve put together an area for each band to have an hour with the VIP ticket holders before they take the stage. Food, drinks, merch tables, the whole nine. It’s going to be packed.”

  “I’ve got no problems with it,” I reply immediately. “It’s for the fans.”

  “Count us in.” Bristol nods excitedly. “It’s been a while since we’ve done something like that.”

  “How’s that gonna go over with your blonde steamroller?” Aiden jerks his head in Vicki’s direction. “She’s clearly against it.”

  “Well, Boyer signed off, right?” When Cam nods, I sit up straight, giving her one of my own. “Then we’re in for whatever you’ve got planned.”

  “Great.” Cam finishes off her wine. Trading the glass for her phone, she starts tapping away on the screen. “I’ll send a car for you tomorrow morning at eleven. We’ll meet up at the venue and I’ll give you the rundown on the entire day and introduce you around.”

  “Can’t wait,” Quinn beams, practically bouncing in her seat.

  The waitress approaches the table. “Anyone interested in dessert?” Tossing her curly black hair over her shoulder with a jerk of her chin, she bats her lashes Hunter’s way. “We’ve got a triple chocolate brownie sundae. It’s to die for.”