by Emme Rollins
The post-high haze began to recede and I looked around.
Manny had succumbed to the pot smoke and was curled up on the couch snoring peacefully while Carter was quiet in the front seat. And next to me...
Next to me Kent was staring at me.
A flush of color and heat went through me, potent and startling, enough to take my breath away. I bit my lip and turned away, raking my fingers through my hair in an attempt to look as though I hadn't just been sleeping with my head in Kent's lap. The brother of my nominal boyfriend.
I remembered Carter's wink.
Okay, my nominal boyfriend's brother, and said boyfriend wanted to hook us up or something. Carter's motives for finagling this seating arrangement were somewhat suspect—if Kent and I were involved with each other it would obviously be harder to keep Carter on our radar, which was the exact reason we had agreed not to pursue anything, entirely aside from the lie that Carter had a wholesome girlfriend and oh my god when did my life get so complicated?
I put a hand to my face just as my phone started ringing again. Again the dreaded ring tone. Jason's ring tone. The opening bars of one of his songs.
Not looking at anyone I reached into my messenger bag and snatched the phone out of it before mashing the ignore button as though I could somehow ignore every call from him ever again. Why hadn't I blocked his number? I should have...
“Are you all right?”
Startled, I glanced up to see Kent still staring at me. The intensity of his blue-green eyes pierced straight through me, down into my heart.
I sucked my breath in. “I'm fine,” I said. “I've just never had that kind of weed, that's all.” Jason had smoked the medical grade stuff, and so had most of his friends. It was easy to get it in California as long as you were white.
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't say anything else to me. Instead he stood as far as he could in the cramped quarters of the van and turned toward the front. “Hey,” I heard him say to Sonya.
I am not going to scope that ass. I am not going to scope that ass. I am not going to scope that ass...
I sneaked a glance at Manny and found him still asleep. I was safe.
I scoped that ass, for a good minute, and then we were finally pulling up to the hotel.
*
Check in was swift and painless, and we had a good hour left before the band had to be at the shooting location—the lighthouse, of course, on Point Loma. A great spot, with a beach and the sun and a desolate end-of-the-world feel, even on sunny days. And it was cheap. All in all, I should have figured that was where we would be going.
I breathed the smell of the hotel—clean sheets and floor polish—and took my key from the nice receptionist lady. A block of suites on the fifth floor had been reserved for us, and I was looking forward to collapsing and taking a nice nap or watching some TV. Even though I'd slept in the van, travel wore me the hell out. I was staying in Carter's room, but luckily there was a pull-out bed on the couch in the suite, and as the elevator doors opened on the fifth floor with a ding, I made to follow Carter.
“Rebecca.”
Kent's voice cut through the quiet, tired shuffling of bags and clothes. I turned to see him still standing in the elevator. “Yes?” I said.
He glanced at Carter who was standing next to me, looking puzzled. “Carter, could you take Rebecca's bag with you to your room? I need to speak with her alone.”
He's going to tell me off for getting high, I realized. I knew it. Goddammit. I should have stayed sober. I'd let myself slip because Carter had been behaving himself, but I should have remembered I was here to do a job.
I cast a pleading look at Carter, but he just looked relieved that it wasn't him on the chopping block this time.
With a sigh I stepped back into the elevator. The doors slid shut behind me and suddenly I was alone in a confined space with Kent Hudson.
Light lightning, awareness jolted through me. The last time we had been alone together, we had watched each other. I'd watched him stroke his cock and he'd watched me bury my fingers in my cunt until we both came in the darkness. The time before that, he had cornered me in my sister's bathroom and born me to the ground, his mouth finding every soft, dark, secret part of me. And the time before that we had tangled in an airplane bathroom, coming so close to joining the mile high club that really only technicalities kept us from it.
Kent and confined spaces mixed far too well. I knew it, and he knew it.
His body went rigid as he stabbed a number on the control panel. Floor seven. The top floor. Why we were going there I had no idea. I forced my feet to take me to the opposite side of the elevator and leaned stiffly against the wall until the elevator dinged again and the doors parted. Then I shot into the hallway as though my ass were on fire.
Breathing hard, I turned and watched Kent step warily from the elevator, his eyes locked on me. I won't say our eyes were locked because he seemed to be quite interested in what my breathing was doing to my breasts, and the caress of his eyes caused my nipples to harden, tightening painfully beneath my shirt.
I swallowed. “Okay,” I managed to say. “What do you want to talk about?”
His lips twisted and I could see him trying to figure out what to say. Maybe this wasn't about the pot?
And then my phone rang.
Jason. Again.
Fuck fuck fuck.
Reaching into my bag, I yanked the phone out and ignored him again.
That, apparently, was all it took to break the ice with Kent.
He crossed the distance between us, drawing close and then taking one step closer, the step that brought him into my personal space. Startled, I squeaked and looked up at him, nearly dropping my phone. “What?” I said. My voice came out high and wheezy. Like a mouse fart, as my mother used to say.
Kent glared down at me. “Who keeps calling you?” he demanded.
Unable to look away, I shoved my phone blindly into my bag. “No one.”
Blue-green eyes glared down at me. “It's not no one. They have their own ring tone. And you never pick up. Who is it?”
I felt my lips press into a thin line.
His eyes narrowed. “Rebecca.”
I stared up at him. His dark hair fell into his face as he searched inside my eyes for some clue, and suddenly I just wanted to tell him everything, wanted to throw myself into his arms and lean on him. The lure of a strong man is dangerous, but so hard to resist. The story welled up in me, crashing against my teeth, and finally I had to let it out.
“My ex-boyfriend,” I blurted. “It's my ex.”
“Jason,” he said.
Shocked, I took a step backwards. “How did you know his name? Did Carter tell you?”
Now it was his turn to look surprised. “Carter? No, he hasn't mentioned anything. I looked at the name on your phone when it was ringing off the hook in the van while you were passed out.” His eyes narrowed. “Why, is Carter keeping something from me?”
“Nothing he shouldn't be,” I snapped. “For god's sake, you're not his dad, stop acting like you need to keep tabs on him all the time.” That was perhaps unkind, but I was pissed. He shouldn't have looked at my phone.
Those blue-green eyes narrowed even further. “Our father didn't give two shits about Carter beyond the money he could make him, so don't talk to me about concern.”
His voice was sharp, and his words were like a slap across the face. I shut my mouth, stunned and hurt.
Almost immediately he seemed to realize he had been too harsh and he closed his eyes. I saw him forcibly relax his body. “I'm sorry,” he said. “You don't know anything about that.”
I shook my head. “No, I'm sorry,” I replied. Yeah, it hurt, but wasn't I sticking my nose in places where it didn't belong? You stick your dick in a beehive and you're bound to get stung. Or so my dad always said. When mom couldn't hear of course. “That was out of line.”
He almost smiled at that, a small, rueful twitch of his lips. “No, it wasn't, but never
mind that. What's going on with your ex? Does he live here in San Diego?”
Pressing my lips together, I nodded. “He does.” I hesitated.
Kent saw my hesitation and pressed forward. “Is he harassing you?”
I looked away. “I don't know. He's left a bunch of messages, but I haven't listened to them.”
A large, warm hand alighted on my shoulder, and I looked back to see his face had softened in a way that made my knees turn to jelly. “Would you mind if I listened to them?” he asked gently.
I thought about it for a moment, but I found I wanted him to hear whatever it was Jason had to say. I suddenly realized that just because Jason had expelled me from my former life with his lies, that didn't mean his lies couldn't follow me into this life like bad karma I just couldn't shake.
“Okay.” I took my phone back out of my bag. My hand shook as I passed it over, and though Kent didn't say anything I knew those sharp eyes caught the trembling of my fingers.
He held my phone in his hand, and it looked very small in his long, calloused fingers. I remembered what those fingers felt like on me, and I wished things between us weren't so complicated and weird. And here I was, staring at my phone, in the city I'd fled from only a month ago, wishing I could just forget Jason, forget San Diego, forget Carter and the tabloids and all that bullshit and just throw myself at Kent. Hold me, I thought, hoping he could hear it echoing in my head. Touch me.
But he didn't. “Do you want to stay while I listen?” he asked instead, his voice still gentle, his hand still on my shoulder.
I thought about it. If I stayed, I would be able to hear Jason's voice, as unintelligible as it was, on the other end of the line. On the other hand, if I went, I'd have no clue what he had said. And I had to admit, my curiosity was eating at me, like cancer.
“I'd like to stay,” I said.
He stared at me for a moment longer, and then nodded.
Across from the elevators stood a small bench with a floral cushion on it. The warm hand on my shoulder guided me toward it and I took the seat gratefully. Kent didn't sit down next to me, however. Instead he began to pace in front of the bench as he dialed into my voicemail and held the phone to his ear.
At the other end of the line I heard the mechanical voice of the answering service, and then came Jason's voice.
My whole body tightened, any pleasure at being close to Kent forgotten. I couldn't hear the words Jason spoke, but I knew the tone all too well. The berating tone. The paternal tone. The subtly demanding tone.
Why don't we have rent money, Rebecca? I thought you were going to take care of it at work.
Don't bother coming to rehearsal, Rebecca. It'll be boring today.
I was out with friends.
I thought you loved me.
My arms came up and I hugged myself tight, suddenly so grateful to Kent that I could cry. The messages on my phone had been burning a hole in the back of my head for days. I knew I would listen to them, and they would take me back, back to here, back to that time when I lived with nothing but lies and I didn't even know it. And as I watched, Kent's face grew darker and darker, until his expression was as black as a thunderhead.
When the last message was finally done, he dropped the phone from his ear and stared down at me.
I stared back up at him, unable to even think.
He held up the phone. The shiny black screen seemed suddenly sinister, like a one-way mirror.
“Rebecca,” he said, “do you mind if I hold on to this for you?”
I felt my lips thin. “I'm not used to being without my phone...” I said.
“If you want it to browse the internet or check your mail, you can use mine,” he said. “But I don't think you should have this in your possession.”
I clenched my teeth. “Why? What did he say?”
To my shock, Kent hesitated, and then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of me, so our faces were level. I was still hugging myself, and he didn't make a move to disengage my arms, merely put the phone down next to me and reach out to put his large, warm hands on my arms. The heat of him rocked me, the touch of him slicing through the fear and the cold inside me.
“I don't want you to listen to those messages,” he said. “But I don't want to delete them. For legal reasons.” His vivid eyes searched my face. “Do you understand?”
I scowled at him. “I'm not stupid,” I said.
He smiled a little in return. “No, but you are emotional.”
“That's sexist.”
“Only if it's not true. You think I didn't notice the spotless kitchen? The well-scrubbed toilets? The polished baseboards? When you're all messed up inside you're like June Cleaver on amphetamines.”
...Goddammit. “Yeah, well, you're like Trent Reznor on 'roids,” I shot back.
To my utter shock he laughed at that. “Maybe,” he said, “but I still want to hold onto this for you. You don't need this kind of hassle. Let me handle it for you.”
I shook my head. “Why are you being so nice to me? You've been avoiding me like the plague and now... bam. What's the deal?”
As though he suddenly realized we were touching, he swallowed hard and pulled his hands away. His eyes dropped and he stood. “You haven't heard the new album yet,” he said. “Carter said he wrote it for you.”
I blinked, not getting it. Maybe I was stupid.
He slid his eyes to mine. “You know, when I first saw you sitting in the middle of all those suits, looking like a teenager who gave no fucks about anything, I thought, 'she'd be a great lay.' People who don't give any fucks about anything are crazy in bed. But you do give a fuck. You really do. About Carter and about whatever it is that drove you out of this city.” He frowned. “I'm not explaining this right.” One hand raked through his hair as he began to pace. “What I mean is, you care. You just... you overflow with it. You've... you've been good for Carter. And given the new album, you've been amazing for this band... Shit, I don't know.”
I stared at him, stunned that confident, self-assured Kent somehow had no idea what to say.
He looked at me again and stopped pacing. He held out the cell phone. “Look. Rebecca. You don't need to care about this, okay? Let me care about it for you.”
There was a curious stinging in my eyes and when I swallowed, it was around a lump in my throat.
“Okay,” I said.
His shoulders relaxed at that, a tiny, imperceptible easing. “Good,” he said. “Now come on. We're going to be late.”
Dazed, I followed him into the elevator, too preoccupied and too touched by his offer to give a shit for me that I didn't notice his wording. But when the doors opened on the fifth floor, they revealed the rest of the band already divested of their luggage and waiting to go down to the bottom floor.
As they piled into the elevator, I started to squeeze my way out.
A hand caught my arm, and Carter said: “Whoah, wait a minute. Where are you going?”
I turned in surprise. “To the room.”
He shook his head. “Nuh-uh. Come on, Mrs. Girlfriend. You gotta be on set in thirty minutes! Getting in make up and everything.”
I blinked at him dumbly. “What?”
He grinned at me. “You're starring in our video, Mrs. Girlfriend.”
I stared and his grin grew wider.
“What, did I forget to mention that?”
For the first time in a week, the thought, gentle and serene, floated across my brain:
I'm going to kill him.
Chapter Eleven
The lighthouse on Point Loma is a beautiful little picturesque building, small and white and perfect for weddings and wedding pictures. That was probably why it was cheap enough for the recording studio to spring for. The band would have the run of the grounds and even take a few shots inside the museum.
As we pulled up to the lighthouse, I couldn't quell the butterflies flitting around in my stomach. I had no idea what to expect. I'd never shot a music video before. Shit. Okay, may
be once. In third grade. For a school project.
I was doomed.
The whole way to the lighthouse Kent sat next to me and brooded. Or maybe he was thinking about bunnies. It was hard to tell with Kent sometimes, since it seemed like everything made him brood. Manny shotgunned Red Bull, trying to wake himself up, and Carter sat in the front seat again, although this time he couldn't seem to stop bouncing in his seat like a little kid.
I was going to kill him, I'd decided. How could he spring this on me? I should have known something was up, though. I mean, in hindsight Carter was just the sort of guy to pull a stunt like this.
When we arrived Sonya parked the van, a wheeling, dangerous maneuver that had me thankful that I had been either high or asleep during the drive down, and popped open the door. “Ride's over, boys,” she said, and hopped out. The rest of us followed suit.
The smell of the ocean hit me, salty and vast, and I breathed deeply, trying to get my bearings. In the parking lot were a couple trailers already set up. People bustled around, carrying equipment and looking busy, and shit, I was already lost. I had no idea what to do. Someone trundled past hauling a huge camera on his shoulder. I stared at him, amazed anyone could carry such heavy equipment like it was a box of cotton balls. He didn't even give me a second glance.
“Are you coming?” Carter called.
Whipping around, I realized the band was climbing into one of the trailers and I hurried to catch up. Unfortunately I was stopped, along with Sonya, at the entrance, by a girl who looked like she was just out of high school. “You two are in wardrobe first,” she said, shooing us to the other end of the trailer where another door stood.
Sonya didn't say anything, merely whirled around and stomped off in her customary huff. I flashed the girl a smile of thanks but she didn't even look at me. She was already hustling the boys inside.
I followed Sonya through the other door and into the most claustrophobic space I had ever seen.