Westside Series Box Set

by Monica Alexander

  She’d probably have something to say once she realized all the other things she was getting, but I’d deal with that when the time came. Let her be mad at me. I’d charm her out of it.

  Two hours later, I was lounging on the couch with my guitar in hand, messing around with a melody, waiting for her to get done with her salt scrub so we could eat the spa lunch that had been delivered a few minutes earlier. The woman from the spa had left ten minutes ago, letting me know that Andi would be out shortly. Finally she emerged from the room she’d been in for the better part of the morning.

  “I should be so mad at you,” she said, as she slumped down onto the couch next to me.

  As I set my guitar down, I tried to ignore the fact that she was only wearing a fluffy robe, but it wasn’t easy. I had no idea if she had anything on underneath.

  “But you’re not mad?” I ventured.

  She shook her head. “Nope. Not even a little. I can’t remember a time when I was this relaxed. This puts the bath I had last night to shame.”

  I laughed. “Well, we have lunch, and then there’s more.”

  “More?” she asked, sitting up. “Cam, this is too much.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “It is,” she insisted.

  “Trust me. It’s not.”

  “But why would you do all this for me?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? But if you want a reason, consider it a thank you from me for staying in town a few extra days.”

  “I’m thinking the private jet ride home will be enough of a thank you for that,” she said, shaking her head.

  “Oh, that’s just convenient,” I said, waving her off. “It’s easier and quicker than flying commercial.”

  “You have no idea what it’s like to live in the real world, do you?”

  “Not really. At least not anymore, but right now you’re benefiting from that, so are you really going to argue?”

  She sighed and sunk back into the couch. “I’m going to pay you back for all this. I’m not sure how, but I am.”

  “No, you’re not,” I said simply. “It’s nothing I can’t afford, and it’s really something I wanted to do. You’re just going to have to be okay with it – and then you’re going to have to come with me when I drag you to every tourist site in the city over the next two days. You’ll be begging me for another massage after that.”

  When she looked over at me, I could see conflicting emotions written all over her face. “You’re too nice for your own good. Do you know that?”

  “I know,” I said, even though what I was thinking was that I’d never done what I was doing for her for anyone else.

  But I liked her – a lot – and this was my way of showing her. It would probably get me nowhere, and I was okay with that, but it still gave me satisfaction to do it.

  Andi crossed her arms over her chest. “You don’t have anything elaborate planned for dinner, do you?”

  I shook my head. “Nope. I actually wanted to get pizza from that place near your apartment that you told me about yesterday.”

  “Can I pay?” she asked.

  I so badly wanted to say no, but I knew how that would make her feel. “Yes. You can pay.”

  “Thank you. Now, what is that I smell? I’m starving, and it smells amazing.”

  I smiled. “That’s our lunch.”

  She sighed. “I’m assuming you bought that too?”

  I turned to face her. “Andi, do you remember me telling you that I have a lot of money?”

  “Yes,” she said miserably.

  “Okay, then stop complaining, and let me spend it. I have more than enough, and I like doing things for the people in my life.”

  She didn’t look convinced, so I continued.

  “I grew up poor,” I told her. “Really freaking poor – like we were lucky if we had meat with dinner, and not because we were vegetarians. Ramen noodles were a staple in our house, as were peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. I’m in a position now where money doesn’t matter, and I can buy whatever I want, but I’m not going to spend it all on myself. It’s just not going to happen. Trust me when I say I lavish everyone in my life whenever I see them. It’s just who I am. Yes, I have a nice house, and I drive a nice car, but I’d rather spend my money having fun and enjoying life than on material things.”

  “And treating me to a spa day is enjoyable for you?”

  “The look on your face when you walked out of that room just now was exactly what I was hoping for, so yes, it’s enjoyable for me. Now will you let it go?”

  She sighed. “Okay, fine, but it’s not easy for me to just accept things like this.”

  “I know, but can you try?”

  She nodded, but she didn’t seem wholly convinced. “Sure.”

  “Great,” I said, ignoring her reluctance to indulge. “Now let’s eat. I’m starved.”

  Andi looked thoughtful as she appraised me. “Why me?”

  Apparently she wasn’t going to let this go.

  “What do you mean?” I asked, playing dumb.

  “I mean, why me? What’s so special about me that you’d want to do all this?”

  “Because you hate my band,” I told her honestly, which was part of the reason I liked her so much. I just wasn't going to tell her that.

  Her eyes got wide. “I don’t hate your band,” she said quickly.

  I smiled. “Andi, you were front row at our concert, and you were texting and barely paying attention. You were indifferent when you met us. And I loved that about you. Do you know how many people I meet who are enamored with me just because I’m Camden Baylor from Westside? About ninety-eight percent of them. You had no idea who I was, and I loved that. I could give a shit if you like the music – okay, that’s a lie. I kind of want you to like some of it, but in reality, the fact that you’re not a fan and that you’re not hanging out with me so you can tell people that you hung out with me is really important. You’re here because you like me as a person – at least I think that’s the reason. Maybe you’re just bored. I don’t know.”

  I’d attempted a joke to ease the tension, and it seemed to be working. Andi smiled at me.

  “I like you, Camden, and not because you’re in Westside,” she said softly. “You’re a really great guy.”

  “Excellent,” I said around a breath, feeling my mouth tug up at the corners as she used my full name. I liked when she did that. “I’m glad you think so. And before you ask, no I’m not doing this as a ploy to get in your pants. I told you I wasn’t going to go there, and I’m not. This is just me being nice to my new friend.”

  “Very nice,” she corrected.

  “Fine. Very nice.”

  “You’re probably the nicest person I’ve ever met.”

  “Okay, stop,” I said, fanning my face. “You’re making me blush.”

  That made her laugh as she stood and walked over to the table where our food was laid out under metal covers. She lifted one and smiled.

  “This looks amazing,” she said as I walked over to stand next to her.

  “Grab a plate, and eat as much as you want, but be finished by one. You have a facial then.”

  She turned and looked up at me, and I thought she might start to chastise me again, but instead she just said, “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Neither of us said anything as we dug into our lunch, but I stole glances at her while she ate, loving that she was there with me. For the first time in too long, I was glad to be in a city for more than a day. For the first time in years, I didn’t want to leave.

  “So what were you playing?” Andi asked as we each took our last few bites.

  “When?”

  “When I came out here. You were playing something on your guitar. I heard it when I was relaxing after the masseuse left.”

  “Oh,” I said, recognition dawning on me. “That wasn’t anything really. Just possibly the beginning of something.”

  “A song for Westside?”

 
I shrugged. “Maybe. Or possibly just something for me. Westside might not last forever, and I’m not about to quit playing music. I figure I might pull a JT and go after a solo career.”

  “Then you could play your own music,” she ventured.

  I nodded. “I could. If I did that, would you come see me perform?”

  She smiled. “Absolutely.”

  “Would you spend the whole show texting?”

  Andi rolled her eyes adorably. “I’m not going to ever live that down, am I?”

  I shook my head. “Definitely not.”

  “Then no. I wouldn’t spend the whole show texting.”

  I nodded. “Good to know.”

  A knock on the door to the suite let me know it was time to end our conversation even though I could have talked to her for days.

  “I think that’s for you,” I told her.

  She shot me a smirk as she shook her head. “Sweetest guy ever.”

  I leaned back in my chair and watched her walk to the front door. “Remember that,” I called after her.

  She just laughed, and I just smiled, happier than I’d been in a long time. And for the first time in a while, it wasn’t because of the music I was playing. It was for a whole other reason.

  * * *

  “Will you humor me?” I asked Andi as we ate pizza at the dining table in my suite.

  We’d talked about going out, but neither of us had wanted to get dressed up, so Chris had picked it up for us.

  “And what would that entail?” she asked me as she picked a pepperoni off of her pizza and popped it into her mouth.

  “I want you to listen to something.”

  “Something?” she asked, seeming to know where this request was headed.

  “Yeah. I sort of checked out your iPod while you were getting your facial, and once I knew what you liked, I figured I’d put together a few Westside songs that you’re probably going to hate, but you might not find them completely horrendous.”

  Andi’s mouth curved into as smile. “Did you make me a mixed tape, Camden?”

  It was only the fourth or fifth time since we’d become friends that she’d called me by my full name, and each time she did it, she sucked me in even deeper. Maybe I just liked my name on her lips, or maybe I liked it because it was her saying it and not some fan who didn’t know that I’d rather be called Cam. It was more intimate when Andi did it, and it sparked a little fire inside me that made me wonder if there might be more between us.

  “I possibly made you a mix tape,” I told her, and then I just owned up to it. “Okay, fine, I absolutely made you a mix tape.”

  Andi smiled. “That’s adorable.”

  “You’re probably going to hate it.”

  “But I might not,” she reasoned.

  Yeah, she was going to hate it.

  “Never mind. It’s a dumb idea,” I said, getting cold feet.

  “Cam, tell me honestly. It really bothers you that I don’t like your music, doesn’t it?”

  I leaned back in my chair. “Yes and no. It bothered me the night of the concert, but I got over it. It’s just, I hated most of our music at first too, but I’ve changed my mind over time. You know those songs that you hear on the radio and you think you hate them, and then they get in your head, and even though you don’t want to admit it, you grow to love them, and in fact, you find yourself belting out the lyrics whenever they come on the radio?”

  “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together,” she said in response. “I loathed that song for two straight weeks when it came out, and then the next thing I knew I was having a dance party in my kitchen when it came on the radio one afternoon.”

  I shook my head. “Sad,” I said, completely mocking her.

  “I know,” she said in the same tone. “I tried therapy, but it didn’t work.”

  “Swiftamine,” I said, remembering the SNL skit I’d laughed my ass off at when I’d first seen it.

  “Exactly,” Andi agreed, her eyes lighting up. I loved how expressive they were when she was passionate about something.

  “Anyway, that’s how most of our songs are,” I said, getting back to my original point. “They’ll suck you in if you give them a chance, and then there are some others that are less mainstream and good in a non-addicting way. I know you prefer the acoustic stuff, but we also have some light pop songs that aren’t meant for fourteen year-olds – if you give the lyrics a chance.”

  “Okay then. I trust you,” Andi said definitively.

  “Yeah?”

  “Sure. Play some of them for me after dinner,” she said as she took a bite of her pizza. “I’ll listen to whatever you want me too, and I’m sure I’ll like it. Millions of people can’t be wrong.”

  “That’s the spirit,” I said cheerfully, hoping I wasn’t wrong.

  Twenty minutes later, Andi was lying on the couch with her feet propped up on my lap. I had my iPod in my hand.

  “Close your eyes,” I instructed her.

  “Why?”

  “Just trust me.”

  I watched her close her eyes and wondered what she’d do if I leaned over and kissed her. Then I dismissed the thought and pushed it right out of my head, because I was afraid I’d be disappointed to find out that she was okay just being friends. I didn’t want that. I wanted more, but I had no idea what she wanted, and the last thing I wanted to do was overstep my bounds.

  So instead I pressed play on my iPod and watched her expression as the opening chords of a song from our second album that we rarely played live started to emanate from the speakers. It had a violin intro, and it was a really beautiful song, but for some reason the label hadn’t even gotten it airplay.

  “This is a Westside song?” Andi questioned once we were thirty seconds into the song and the four of us were harmonizing the chorus.

  “Yes,” I told her, my gaze locked on her expression, searching for changes.

  “It’s pretty. Are you singing right now?”

  “Yes. Can you tell which voice is mine?”

  I wasn’t sure if she’d be able to detect it. I’d been told my voice was distinct because it was on the raspy side. Dillon’s was deeper, more growly, Phillip could hit the high notes, and Van had the range we all wanted.

  “I’m not sure,” she said, frowning as she concentrated.

  “My solo’s coming up,” I told her. “Right . . . now.”

  Her face softened as she listened to me singing, and so help me God, I’d sung too many times to count and never had I cared so much about what one person thought of my abilities. Andi’s opinion suddenly meant everything to me.

  “I love your voice,” she said after several torturous moments. “It’s really sexy.”

  Well, shit, if that didn’t make my heart start beating more rapidly than it already was.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say, but it came out as raspy as my singing voice.

  And I didn't even care. She loved my voice. She thought it was sexy.

  Andi let me play a few more songs for her, and even though she didn’t love all of them, I had a feeling I’d won her over just a little bit, especially when she promised she’d keep listening. I considered it a small victory and mentally promised to send her an advanced copy of our new album when I got it. I was going to turn her into a Westside fan if it was the last thing I did – or at least someone who didn’t hate us. I’d be cool with that.

  Chapter Nine

  Andi

  I didn’t know what to do with Cam and his intentions. Two nights now we’d spent in the same bed, and he hadn’t so much as kissed me. I had no idea what to think, and I was starting to wonder if he wasn’t interested, that we’d crossed into the friend zone because I’d been adamant about not wanting more from the start.

  But we’d gotten so close so fast. There was something there. This didn’t happen with just anyone, and it had certainly never happen to me before.

  I’d stayed over at his hotel the night before after having spent the better part of th
e day being pampered beyond belief and then relaxing on the couch with him all night. We hadn’t even left the hotel suite to get dinner. Instead Chris went out and got it for us. I’d learned that his job was multifaceted. Not only did he act as Cam’s personal security guard, but he was also a driver and essentially a getter of anything Cam needed. Bruce was also around, but I didn’t see him much since he would only follow us if we went walking around outside.

  I wasn’t sure how Cam had gotten used to be trailed everywhere, but I guess if there really was a danger of being mobbed, then it was necessary. We’d even had an escort from my apartment to the hotel, and again we’d used the secret entrance, even though there weren’t any fans lingering around the front entrance this time.

  Cam had explained that as long as he laid low and didn’t attract attention or post anything on social media that led fans to believe he was still in the city, he’d probably be okay. I wasn’t exactly sure what could happen, but I also wasn’t sure I wanted to know. We had a full day of sightseeing planned, though, so there was also a chance I’d find out before the day was over.

  I had to remember that he was famous. In fact he was incredibly famous. I’d done a little research to see just how out of the loop I was, and I’d learned that Westside was huge. They’d sold out every show for their new tour in minutes, their albums all went multi-platinum, they’d been features in countless magazines, and their online following was more than impressive. Each guy had millions of followers on Twitter alone.

  And even though I hadn’t started following him, I’d gone back and read at least fifty posts that Cam had made over the past two months. He was definitely active on social media, posting pictures from their tour or random messages or simply just saying ‘hi’ to the fans. And he was funny. The craziest thing was that each time he tweeted something, close to a hundred thousand fans either retweeted the message – regardless of how insignificant it was – and an equal number marked it as a favorite. He also got begging requests to follow back, comments about how much he was adored, and even hate messages.