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

by Charli B. Rose

  “It won’t be tomorrow. It’ll be a few days. Anyway, you know how we had the issues with the paps taking pics of us in … compromising situations in the backyard?” he asked.

  “Yeah, I remember something about that.” I chuckled.

  “I turned the balcony off our bedroom into a sort of outdoor bedroom. It has windows with privacy glass, but they slide open. The screen is dark, making it hard to see through from the outside. Anyway, the outdoor bed was supposed to be delivered before we left, but then it got delayed. They need to deliver it and set it up before I can get back home to deal with it myself. I know Britt is staying at the house, but I didn’t want to aggravate her with this,” Dawson explained in a hushed voice.

  “Say no more. Send me the information. I’ll take care of it.” It was the least I could do after being such an absentminded friend as of late.

  Dawson and I chatted for a few more minutes, and by the time we said goodbye, Mom was in bed.

  Not wanting to talk anymore, I told my sister goodnight and escaped to my room. I quickly shed my clothes and climbed under the covers. There in the dark, I composed and deleted at least a dozen messages to Britt.

  I didn’t send any.

  Chapter 21

  Britt

  Mariachi music mixed with the sounds of chatter and forks scraping plates. Sombreros hung on the walls. Wilder sat across from me, sharing a basket of chips and salsa while we waited for our meals.

  I systematically loaded my chip with guacamole, salsa and queso. Wilder was sticking to just salsa. So far, our evening had been pretty uneventful. Conversation had been light, circling away from anything heavy. Thank goodness. I needed the escape.

  “I heard you hung out with Cleo the other night,” Wilder said after our server dropped off our entrees—enchiladas for me and steak fajitas for him.

  “Yeah. It was fun. I really like her. Surprisingly,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head at the irony of it.

  Wilder began scooping beef and veggies from his sizzling frying pan onto a tortilla shell. “She’s a cool chick. Once she got beyond seeing us as a way to gain a taste of fame, we all became good friends. She starred in a couple of our music videos, and she was one of our first fans when we moved to New York in the beginning,” Wilder said then took a bite of his now-filled tortilla shell.

  “She actually hooked me up with a job opportunity.” I sipped my margarita.

  He set his fajita down. “Really?”

  “Yeah. It’s a dancing and acting gig with a cruise line. The pay sounds good. I have an audition next week,” I explained, cutting into my enchilada.

  His eyes widened. “That sounds amazing.”

  Silence overcame us for a few minutes as we ate our dinner.

  “Thanks for agreeing to give me a do-over tonight. I shouldn’t have drunk so much last time. I was a poor date.” He reached across the table and brushed his fingers across my knuckles.

  I didn’t argue with him that it wasn’t a date. Instead, I gave him a little smile. “It’s OK. Everyone has a bad day.” I shrugged, then lifted my hand to grab my glass.

  “I want to explain. You deserve an explanation. I’m not sure how much of my history you know. But I grew up in and out of foster care for years until Mama Nancy adopted me. Anyway, before she found me, things were tough. My parents would lose custody then reclaim me. It was an endless cycle for my early childhood. My dad didn’t live with us after I was like seven. But he popped in and out for a few years after he left. Anyway, the other night, a man claiming to be my father called and left a message. He wants to meet with me. It kind of sent me to a bad place to hear from him.” Once the words were out, his shoulders slumped in relief. He grabbed a chip and dunked it into the salsa.

  Sympathy caused my heart to clench as I imagined a young Wilder being shuffled around, feeling abandoned and unwanted. I rested my hand on top of his. “That’s big. And heavy. What are you going to do? Are you going to meet with him?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t decided yet.” He sipped his beer. “I just don’t know.”

  “Well, you don’t have to decide right now. You can think on it. Talk with the guys, see what they think. Aren’t you and Maddox close?” I propped my chin up in my hand as I considered Wilder and his predicament.

  “Yeah. He’s my foster brother. And I know I could probably talk to Brooks too. We’ve been through a lot together. But Maddox and I have been through the most.” He drained the last of his beer, and the server appeared immediately with another.

  “I thought that was what I remembered about you and Maddox from when you guys did that talk show. He’d be a good one to talk to. He probably knows how you feel about having a connection to your biological family and feeling angry toward them as well,” I offered, scooping up another bite of cheesy deliciousness.

  “You’re probably right. But something is going on with him. I don’t want to add more stress to his plate,” Wilder said with a frown.

  “Do you have any idea what might be going on with him?” I asked hesitantly, remembering the other night at the club with Cleo.

  “No. I just know he’s been off since our trip to Vegas. Quiet, distracted, distant. I can’t put my finger on what the problem is though.”

  “Do you think he’s having issues with his girlfriend?” I asked softly.

  Wilder tipped his head to the side. “Why would you ask that?”

  “The other night when I was out with Cleo, we saw Gina tending bar. She was awfully handsy with several customers. Even kissed one across the bar, and I don’t mean like a kiss on the cheek. That’s not how a girlfriend should behave. It’s definitely not how a fiancée should act.” I hated saying it out loud, but even though I wasn’t necessarily a fan of relationships, I certainly didn’t condone cheating.

  “You know, crap like that is why I normally steer clear of relationships. It’s so hard for people in our position to trust the sincerity of the feelings of those around us. Ever since we started performing, I’ve had to question any woman I’ve been with if they actually cared about me for me. Not as Wilder, member of Lyrical Odyssey,” he confessed sadly.

  “I can totally see the danger in that. So, if you steer clear of relationships, then why do you keep asking me out?” I asked, curious.

  One of his eyebrows raised in question. “Honestly?”

  I nodded my head.

  “You make me reconsider it all.” He gave me a beautiful smile. He held up his hands palms up, like he couldn’t resist.

  I drained the last of my drink in a big gulp. I was saved from having to respond by our server coming to settle our bill.

  Once it was squared away, Wilder stood and held his hand out to me. “Let’s go salsa, shall we?”

  “We shall,” I said, laying my palm against his. Dance was a language I understood. It wasn’t confusing.

  “Wow,” I exclaimed breathlessly when I unlocked the front door of Dawson and Izzy’s house hours later. “I haven’t had that much fun in forever. But my feet are killing me.” I leaned against Wilder’s shoulder so I could lean down and unfasten the straps on my heels.

  “Ahhh,” I groaned once my feet were flat on the floor. “Much better.”

  “It’s been a while since I’ve been to El Floridita, but it’s my favorite.” Wilder pressed me toward the living room with his hand at the small of my back. “Take a load off. I’ll get us something to drink,” he said as he’d steered me in front of the couch.

  “I’ve got to let Lyric out of her crate.” She was whimpering in the kitchen.

  “I’ll get her. Does she need to go out?” Wilder asked.

  “Probably.”

  “I’ll take care of it.”

  Gratefully, I sank onto the couch and flopped back against the cushions. With my head leaned back, I closed my eyes, allowing the quiet to soothe my aching muscles and my unsettled heart. Dancing had been a nice distraction. But now I was back here. Back where I’d shared moments and almost moments with Bro
oks.

  Minutes later, the cushion next to me dipped beneath the weight of Wilder sitting down. He pressed a cold bottle of water into my palm. I twisted the cap and took a long swallow. The refreshing liquid quenched the thirst I’d worked up dancing the night away with Wilder.

  Wilder eased my legs onto his lap. Then he pressed his thumbs into the arches of my feet, massaging out the ache. His touch made me feel boneless. I slumped down, resting my head against the back of the couch, and closed my eyes to enjoy the foot massage.

  By the time his fingers had worked out the stiffness, I felt as if I could go to sleep sitting right there. I couldn’t help but think about my time on this very couch just over twenty-four hours before. Then I wasn’t relaxed. I was wound tight, keyed up and desperate for Brooks’s touch. The silence wasn’t easy like now. It was fraught with desire that crackled like electricity seeking a place to ground itself. Disappointment wrapped around my heart as I recalled—for at least the hundredth time since Brooks said goodbye—everything left unfinished between us.

  The air shifted subtly as Wilder moved on the cushion beside me. Soft fingers stroked my cheek. My eyes fluttered open. He was close.

  Too close.

  His gaze was intense. Stormy with emotion and intent. Stubble lined his jaw, giving him a sexy look. His light brown hair stuck up in that purposefully messy way. That handsome face drifted closer to mine until his lips grazed my mouth. It was so soft and sweet … and hopeful. It felt restrained.

  Gently, I lifted my hand and pressed it against his chest and dropped my head, wishing I felt differently than I did. But I couldn’t do this. I couldn’t kiss Wilder. Not here on the couch where I made out with Brooks a day ago. Not when Brooks was at the forefront of my rioting thoughts. Not when Brooks was all I wanted.

  With a sigh, Wilder slid back but kept his hand against my cheek. His thumb caressed along my jaw. “I know you don’t do the whole relationship thing either…. I clearly remember our conversation from that night. And we were totally on the same page then. And I know I explained earlier why I steer clear. I don’t know why you avoid commitment, so I know pursuing something and hoping for more isn’t very fair of me. But I can’t help it.” He picked up my hand with his other one and gave it a squeeze.

  Wilder really was a great guy. His attention hadn’t wavered once. He didn’t leave me confused. Wouldn’t leave me aching and wanting. But I just couldn’t do this. Not now.

  Not yet.

  I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his fingers. A sad smile graced my lips. “You’re so sweet and wonderful. And I enjoy spending time with you. Really, I do. I just … need some time to think,” I whispered softly.

  He nodded. “I’m a patient man. Time is something I can do. Starting right now. You’re exhausted, so I’m going to head home. I’ll text you later, OK?” He got to his feet.

  I stood next to him and walked with him to the front door.

  “Sleep well, brown-eyed girl,” he said as he leaned down and kissed the corner of my mouth.

  “Night, Wildman,” I teased back.

  After he left, I leaned my forehead against the door, wishing there was no confusion clouding my mind. I grabbed my phone from the living room and turned off the lights downstairs.

  Lyric trotted next to me as I went to my room and got ready for bed. As I eased under the covers, my phone lit up with a text message.

  Brooks: I miss the taste of you.

  I didn’t bother to respond. I just powered down my phone and forced myself to relax.

  Chapter 22

  Brooks

  It took me and Bri pretty much a week to mom-proof our childhood home. Anything Mom could hurt herself on, we packed away, threw away or hid away. The stove was discreetly disconnected. We created a designated safe place for Mom to keep her keys, wallet and phone. Then we had duplicates of everything made for Bri to keep at her place. We went through the necessary paperwork with the bank for spending limits to be placed on Mom’s accounts so she couldn’t accidently get taken advantage of. Bri set up all of Mom’s bills so Bri could handle making the payments from an account that I deposited money into.

  Then we loaded a locator app to Mom’s phone so we could locate her through the app if she were to get lost. With the help of a friend in the IT field, I was able to get my hands on a watch that, in addition to acting like a FitBit, was also a locator device. Bri and I put the necessary software on our phones. The apps weren’t replacements for actually being with Mom, but they certainly provided us with a little peace of mind where she was concerned.

  We set up a routine for Mom that involved regular outings with her friends, who we discreetly made aware of her condition. Then we interviewed several qualified home health caregivers and picked someone who could check in on Mom every morning and again in the evening. Bri would come by each night. Satisfied that we’d done all we could do at the moment to help look after Mom while still leaving her with her independence, I flew back to LA.

  When the plane finally landed, I got my ride out of the parking garage and sped down the Pacific Coast Highway. I didn’t even detour for home. My only thought was getting to Britt. We hadn’t really talked much while I was away. We’d exchanged a few dirty text messages and one phone call. The one time she hinted that I should come over, I told her I couldn’t. And I didn’t explain. The week away from her had nearly driven me crazy.

  I knew from a couple of vague messages from Wilder that he’d seen her while I was away. But I didn’t know the status of what was going on between them. I couldn’t let myself think about the two of them spending time together when I was too far away to do anything about it. Though, I did beat the hell out of the punching bag several times over the past week as I imagined her in his arms.

  My headlights cut through the darkness as I wove in and out of traffic without regard for what was safe and prudent. I had a one-track mind.

  Brittany. Now.

  Without consideration for the time of day, I roared down the quiet street Dawson lived on and punched the code for the gate. As soon as it was open enough for me to fit through, I slipped inside. I didn’t even know if she was home. I probably should’ve checked before I came straight here. Too late now.

  I parked and strode purposefully up the back steps to the kitchen door. I pulled my key out and unlocked the door. As the door banged against the wall, I barged right in.

  Britt was on the couch watching TV. She jumped at my sudden appearance, her hand pressed to her heart.

  “Brooks?” she asked, her voice filled with confusion. “What are you doing here?”

  I slammed the door shut, then marched across the room in five long strides. As soon as I was close enough, I tugged her to me and crashed my mouth on hers.

  ♪ Impulsive by Wilson Phillips

  With a whimper, her lips parted beneath my assault. The past week had been so overwhelming dealing with my mom and missing Brittany, that I couldn’t formulate a coherent enough thought to actually voice anything. Our tongues swept back and forth across each other’s. Her fingers fisted my hair, holding me to her. I relished the slight bite of pain in my scalp when she tugged.

  When I finally took a breath, I stared down at her in wonder. Her lips were red and swollen from my kiss. Her lids were heavy with lust. And her eyes were filled with questions.

  “God, I missed you, angel,” I murmured.

  “Where were you?” she asked breathlessly.

  I shook my head. “It doesn’t matter. I’m here now. Right where I wanted to be the whole time.”

  Before she could ask more questions, I eased her back onto the couch. I dragged my mouth from her clavicle, up her throat, across her jaw, to her ear. “Remember what I promised you the other night right here in this very spot,” I whispered before I took her earlobe between my teeth.

  “Yes,” she groaned, dropping her head back.

  “I’ve been thinking about nothing but that since I had to leave. I’m here to make good on those vo
ws, angel. I swear by the time I’m done, the past week apart will be a distant memory. Every part of you will be shouting my name.” I stared deeply into her eyes, begging and pleading for her to believe me. To trust my words.

  She gripped the hair at the nape of my neck and directed my mouth back to hers. I allowed myself to get lost in our kiss.

  Without separating our mouths, I dragged her onto my lap. Kissing this woman did something to me. Something I didn’t understand. Something I didn’t have words for. But it was something I didn’t want to give up. I devoured her kiss like it was oxygen, sustenance, and every other essential thing I needed in the world to survive. I kissed her like she was music. Because she was. My music. My song.

  The sounds of the front door opening and Lyric barking didn’t immediately register in my kiss-drunk brain.

  “Have no fear, dinner is here,” a familiar voice called from the front entryway. Heavy footsteps and the rattle of paper bags sounded from behind me. “They didn’t have any ranch dressing, so I stopped by the store. That’s what took so lon—”

  A bag clattered to the floor, causing Brittany to leap out of my lap. She nervously stood in front of the couch, guilt making her not meet either of our eyes.

  Wilder looked back and forth from Brittany to me. Confusion pulled his face into a frown. “Brooks, what are you doing here?” he asked in a low tone.

  “I just got back into town,” I said by way of explanation.

  Britt moved farther away from me. She was barely within reach. The distance sent a shiver through my heart.

  Wilder leaned over and picked up the bag he’d dropped. Angrily, he stalked to the kitchen to put down whatever food he held in his hands. Apparently, I’d interrupted the date he had planned with Britt for the night.

  Tough shit.

  “So …” Wilder said as he spun back in our direction. “Have the two of you been … together?” He waved his hand between me and Brittany.