Turn up the Tempo (Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 4)

by Charli B. Rose

  “Be still. It’s too early,” Brooks groaned, burying his face deeper into my neck.

  “Got to get up and take the dog out. If I don’t, she’ll make a mess and get into mischief. But you can keep sleeping.” I ran my fingers along his forearm, which flexed beneath my touch.

  Lyric ran over to the corner and began walking in a tight, little circle.

  “Lyric, no,” I said in a stern voice and got up off the couch.

  Leaning down, I planted a kiss on the tip of Brooks’s nose. Then I sashayed over to the dog and headed to the backyard.

  I watched as white and gray streaked across the yard, leaping and bounding after a bug of some sort in the grass. By the time she’d had her fill of outside playtime, she scrambled up the steps.

  Back inside, Brooks was at the stove, shirtless and scooping something out of a pan and onto a plate. Yummy smells drifted through the air.

  “You cooked? Is this your normal MO when you wake up with a woman the day after?” I teased.

  “I’ve never cooked for a woman before. But I figured I’d make you an apology breakfast. I still can’t believe I was such a dick to you.” He turned around with a plate in each hand.

  ♪ Best I Ever Had by State of Shock

  I was distracted by the wide expanse of visible flesh standing before me. I longed to lick the tattoo on his right pec.

  “I should’ve checked to make sure you liked omelets,” he said, interrupting my dirty thoughts before they got too filthy.

  “Love them,” I said, sinking down at the table.

  He placed the plate in front of me. Once his was at the seat next to me, he crossed the floor to the coffeemaker. “Here’s your coffee.”

  We ate in companionable silence. When we were halfway done, his phone vibrated on the tabletop. I couldn’t help but glance at it. The name Misty filled the preview screen.

  “I need to take this. I’ll be right back.” Brooks grabbed his phone and slid his chair back. Before I could respond, he’d disappeared around the corner.

  I couldn’t make out what he was saying, just soft murmurings. Then I started to hear what sounded like a song. An old song.

  A love song.

  Lyrics sung softly in Brooks’s voice. Brooks never sang in any of the performances I’d watched on YouTube. And I’d watched a lot. Who was this Misty he was singing to?

  ♪ My Love by Lionel Richie

  My heart ached at the tenderness in his voice. Whoever Misty was, she must mean a lot to him. A tear fell from my eye. Angrily, I swiped it away. I didn’t have time for this. I dropped my fork, letting it clatter against the porcelain plate.

  After what felt like forever, but was really only a few minutes, Brooks returned and sat in front of his plate. Defeat radiated off him. With a few deep breaths, he forced a smile back on his face and let his shoulders relax. “Were you waiting for me to finish eating?” he asked, tipping his head at my half-eaten breakfast.

  Shaking my head, I snapped out of my trance. “Yeah. I guess I was. Silly, huh? Letting it get cold while you were on a phone call.” I picked my fork back up and placed a bite of sawdust in my mouth. A gulp of lukewarm coffee helped force the lump down.

  “Sorry about the interruption.” He finished cleaning his plate in silence then moved to get up with his plate in hand.

  “Don’t worry about that. I’ll take care of the dishes. You cooked after all.” I gave him a tiny smile.

  “Thanks.” His eyes crinkled up on the sides with the force of his grin.

  “Originally, I’d planned to see if you wanted to hang out today. But now something’s come up and I have to go. Raincheck?” he asked hopefully.

  “Sure,” I offered as he stood to head for the door.

  “Thanks for forgiving me, Britt. I’ll see you later.” He brushed his knuckles under my cheek.

  “Later,” I said softly as he disappeared.

  Heavy-hearted, I cleaned up the remnants of our breakfast—scraping the plates into the garbage can, much like I wished I could scrape my feelings from my heart. I’d avoided feeling too much for so many years. Allowing too many emotions in had potentially devastating effects.

  I needed to let go of what almost happened with Brooks. What had been almost happening between us and had been thwarted repeatedly since the reception. I needed to focus on my dancing.

  Only on my dancing.

  I had no time for a relationship. Brooks and I were just supposed to be fun. Jealousy, tears and heartache weren’t fun. But they were an omen—one I needed to listen to.

  I darted upstairs to change out of the clothes which would just remind me of what I needed to forget. Lyric was asleep in the middle of my bed, so I moved quietly. I swapped the baggy clothes for spandex and lycra. Then I smoothed my hair into a high ponytail.

  With my phone and keys in hand, I made my way across the backyard to the pool house. I turned on the lights in the studio, admiring the smooth floors, the wall of mirrors, the barre stretching along the wall. Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes and released the tension, the unfulfilled longing, the sadness. After a few cleansing breaths, I was ready.

  I strode over to the sound system and started the music I was supposed to be choreographing for. So far everyone was pleased with what I’d shown them, but there were areas I wanted to perfect and smooth out. I set my phone up on the tripod I’d found in the house and pressed record.

  As I breathed in the music, I let it flow out through me. I spun. Dipped. Butterflied. Krumped a little. Executed a pirouette. Butterflied down. Slow rolled up.

  The music ended. A new song started. Faster. I changed my tempo. Added more jerkin’ and turfing less ballet.

  And the process continued for the other songs. By the time I finished the ballad, my chest was heaving. I staggered on wobbly legs over to my phone and pressed stop. I collapsed on the floor. As I guzzled water from my water bottle, my phone lit up with a text message.

  Brooks: M.C.M.Y.P.

  I smirked, shaking my head.

  Me: Again with the abbreviations?

  Brooks: Yeah. The anticipation as you try to figure out what I mean is foreplay for both of us.

  Brooks: Any guesses?

  Me: My brain is mush right now. I sweated out all my brain cells dancing the afternoon away.

  Brooks: Damn. The image you just painted—you in one of those tight dance costumes, sweat making your skin glow and your hair curl, your chest heaving as you try to catch your breath—all that makes what I texted before even more true.

  Me: You just wrote me a whole book in a text message. Yet you abbreviate the things you really want to say. SMH.

  Brooks: I’ll give you a hint

  Brooks: M – My

  Brooks: C – Cock

  Brooks: M – Misses

  Brooks: Any guesses now?

  Me: I’ll let you finish. Wouldn’t want to steal your thunder.

  Brooks: Y – Your

  Brooks: P – Pussy

  And the temperature just rose a dozen degrees in the room. I swallowed hard.

  Brooks: You still there?

  Me: Yeah

  Brooks: I’m sorry I had to bail earlier. I really did want to spend the day with you.

  Brooks: I’ll make it up to you later.

  Me: I just might hold you to that. Now I have to go peel these sweaty clothes off and shower.

  Me: Maybe I’ll think of you when I touch myself in the shower.

  Brooks: Fuc….

  Brooks: Kill me now.

  Me: Bye, Brooks

  I closed the studio and went inside the main house. Under the heated spray of the shower, I couldn’t help but think of how much I wanted Brooks. That longing hadn’t diminished. It was growing. Like an itch I couldn’t reach.

  Maybe the fun he and I had originally planned for just one night could be fun for multiple times. For while I was in town. Then I’d get him out of my system. I just needed to make sure I kept my heart out of the mix.

  ♪ Hanging
by a Moment by Lifehouse

  Chapter 16

  Brooks

  With a smirk still on my face and my cock straining against my zipper at the mental image of Britt in the shower, I slid behind the wheel of my SUV.

  After spending the morning on the phone with one of the top neurologists in Ohio, I felt more in control about what was going on with Mom. The doctor wouldn’t speak about Mom’s situation specifically since she didn’t have her medical records. But she did discuss statistics and agreed to meet with us in a few days—which was a small miracle since she was technically booked six months out. Her daughter was a fan, and I was all too willing to sign some stuff and provide some future tickets and backstage passes in exchange for the earlier appointment.

  When I walked into the apartment, the lightness in my step evaporated. Wilder was still passed out on the couch. He’d switched ends, so at some point he had woken up.

  I went to the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the pitcher in the fridge. Then I shook four Tylenol into my palm. After I set them on the coffee table, I flicked on the lamp. I lowered my frame to the coffee table and leaned forward to nudge Wilder.

  He didn’t budge, so I prodded him again, harder this time. “Wilder, man. Wake up.”

  When he only groaned and threw his arm over his eyes, I marched over to the large window. I wrenched open the heavy drapes that were blocking the bright lemony sun.

  I was so annoyed. Annoyed with him and the fact that he’d taken Britt out to dinner and spent time with her. Annoyed he’d brought her home. Annoyed he’d gotten wasted and snuggled up in her lap. Just so damn annoyed.

  So, I did something to make myself feel better. I moved to the backside of the couch. I wedged my hand underneath his shoulder and rolled him onto the floor.

  He landed unceremoniously with a thud. His eyes fluttered open, bloodshot and watery. “What the hell, man?” he asked with a scowl.

  I kicked his foot. “No. You don’t get to act like that. What the hell is wrong with you?”

  Rubbing the back of his head, he slowly sat up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He draped his arms over his knees and hung his head.

  “I’m not even sure where to begin.” I paced the short strip of bare floor between the TV and coffee table. Tension coiled inside me. I finally looked my friend in the eye. “Why did you get so wasted that you couldn’t make sure Brittany got home safely? If you just wanted to drink and snort yourself into oblivion, you should’ve taken her home first,” I hissed furiously.

  “I didn’t tak—” he started, but I held up my hand.

  “Don’t lie. I know the signs. You always get the same look on your face when you’re stoned.” I sank down on the couch cushion near where he still crouched on the floor. “We used to all get high together for fun when we were first starting out. But whatever went on last night wasn’t fun. Brittany was worried. And you didn’t even care. You just passed out in her lap, trapping her until I came home and rescued her.”

  He had the decency to look ashamed. “Is she OK?” he whispered.

  “She’s fine. I took her home. What happened? We left all that nonsense behind after Dawson’s overdose. We all agreed. No more. Did you have a dealer come here while Brittany was here?” The thought made my blood boil.

  “What? No,” he said, his tone indignant. “It was some old stash I had. Last night was the only time. I swear. I just couldn’t settle my mind. I needed to forget. To escape.” His lower lip quivered.

  “Escape what?” I asked softly. I could certainly identify with the need to escape the harsh realities of life. But I hadn’t even considered seeking chemical oblivion.

  He shook his head sadly. “I never should’ve checked my voicemail.”

  Dread curdled in my stomach. “What was in your voicemail?” Wilder wasn’t one to generally let things bother him. Sure, he was a party animal, but he was generally a happy-go-lucky guy. Wilder was … well, wild.

  “Some guy called. Said his name was Clint Hammond.”

  I frowned at the vague familiarity of the last name. Before I could sort it out, he continued, “Said he’s my dad. He wants to see me.”

  “Damn.” I collapsed against the back of the couch. “Do you think he’s legit? I mean, when’s the last time you saw or heard from your dad?”

  Wilder made his way up off the floor and collapsed onto the other end of the sofa. He wrapped his fingers in the hairs on the top of his head and yanked hard. “I think I was like ten the last time. He stopped by the house to get high with my mother. I took Cami and hid in my closet.”

  “Did he say why he was calling?” I asked, suspicion coloring my tone. It wouldn’t be the first time someone from one of our pasts wanted a piece of our future.

  “Wanted to make amends. Said he’s sober now. He probably just sobered enough long enough to figure out the son he didn’t want has money,” Wilder said cynically.

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know. Nothing?” He shrugged.

  As long as I’d known him, Wilder had always seemed a little lost. Like he wasn’t sure where he fit in. Knowing his biological parents would probably help with that. But not if they only wanted to know him for selfish reasons, not because of the amazing person he became without them … in spite of them.

  He laughed mockingly. “You’d think growing up without a family would keep me from having any family drama.”

  For a split second I considered confiding in him about what was going on with my mom. But now wasn’t the time.

  “No one is immune to family drama,” I offered.

  “Man, my head is killing me,” he groaned.

  I nodded at the coffee table where the water and pills rested. “You might want to take those then.”

  “You couldn’t have mentioned those earlier?” he asked with a chuckle as he swallowed them.

  “Nah, wanted you to suffer a little. No matter what the message, leaving Brittany stranded with no ride home wasn’t cool. Getting stoned when you’re supposed to be responsible for someone else is assholish.”

  “You’re right. I owe her an apology.” His head flopped back against the couch.

  “So … uh … before the voicemail ruined everything, how was your dinner?” I asked hesitantly, needing to know, but not wanting to at the same time. My fingers dug into my pocket and grabbed the candy stashed there. I’d eaten more of these damn hot balls in the past weeks than I had since the first couple of months after I quit smoking years ago.

  “Oh, last night, things were good. Dinner was great. Brittany and I laughed and talked. Everything was good except for a couple awkward minutes when we ran into Giselle. She was … well, you know how Elle is. Anyway, we left after that. Came back here to dive into the rocky road I hid in the freezer and watch TV. I just wanted her to be able to relax. She’d been working so hard at the studio all week. She deserved to unwind.” He rolled his head around, trying to ease the knots he no doubt had from sleeping on the couch all night and day.

  “Right,” I agreed, hoping he’d tell me more. Tell me what he was doing with her. Tell me why he was spending time with her. What his intentions were.

  “Anyway, Giselle was asking about you. You should reach out. The band could really benefit from the exposure her show could provide now that we’re launching the label and doing the Vegas residency. You know, drum up some free press for us on the arm of a hot chick.” He got off the couch and slowly moved to the kitchen to refill his cup.

  “I don’t know, man. That ship kind of sailed a long time ago. You know I don’t do repeats,” I said, lying through my teeth.

  “I’m not saying you have to have sex with her. Though that would certainly be no hardship for you. Remember how kinky she was?” He shook his head, lost in the memory. “No, I was thinking you could take her to that movie premiere tonight the band was invited to which we’d all planned to bail on. You know, do dinner with her. Her camera crew would follow for the show.
Then you do the red carpet for the paps. The band gets publicity now, and then again when the show airs. And all it costs you is an evening with a girl you used to really enjoy spending time with. Win-win. Besides, technically, it’s your turn to do the band publicity thing.”

  He downed the rest of his water while I contemplated a way to refuse his suggestion, which was perfectly reasonable in Wilder’s eyes. Months ago, I would’ve been totally on board with the plan, especially for the sake of the band.

  “I don’t know. I’ll think about it. Send me the info on the premiere. I can’t remember the details,” I said with a sigh.

  “Did you have plans tonight?” Wilder asked.

  Plans I could tell him about? No.

  “Nothing set in stone. I said I’d think about it, and I will. Now I gotta go shower.” I started toward my room. “And Wilder?”

  “Yeah?”

  “Don’t look for escape that way again. Talk to me instead,” I pleaded.

  Wilder nodded.

  Chapter 17

  Britt

  After connecting my phone to the big screen in the living room, I snuggled up on the couch with Lyric to watch the video playback from the routines I worked on earlier. I couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across my cheeks as I surveyed myself, looking for any problems. The most up-tempo song was perfect. The others were almost there. The ballad needed the most work. But that was a problem for another day.

  When I’d watched through all the routines a few more times, I shut off the playback. My phone emitted a happy chirp when I disconnected it from the TV.

  Another dirty text riddle from Brooks. I swiped the screen to see more then the preview.

  Brooks: I.N.Y.C.O.M.F.A.C.

  Brooks: I know that’s a long one, so I’ll give you some time.

  The messages came through an hour ago.

  Me: I give up. Tell me.