“But, right now, I need to get ready to go play and see how it works.” Christian gets up and holds out a hand. “Come up with me.”
I blink at him.
“I’m not leaving you down here alone so they can pester you for more information.” He winks.
“We’ll be nice,” Zach insists. “I’m always nice.”
It’s the same conversation from the last time I was at the Poison Apple and I just laugh.
“Come on,” Christian says as he pulls me to the stairs, but we don’t get far before the front door flies open and Alyssa, Mia, Kate, Joy and Zoe rush in.
“Is it true?” Joy cries.
I guess someone sent a text message. Though I shouldn’t be surprised.
“You never said that it still had to be a secret,” Dylan answers.
I step back as the girls surround Christian, hugging and kissing him, then they start hugging me.
“This is so exciting,” Zoe says. “And, you have to let us babysit, all the time.”
“Sure,” I say, a bit overwhelmed.
“You’ll get the first 7 to 1 shift.” Christian tweaks her nose before explaining my work schedule and how that will overlap his if he is staying with the band.
“All the more reason to live here,” Sean says. “We can make sure someone is always here when you guys are working.”
It is a load off my mind, but once the newness of the baby wears off, they might not be so quick to volunteer after a few months.
“We’ve got this,” Mia insists.
“Bethany also has her own place,” Christian reminds them.
They may want the baby here, but Christian may not want me here too.
“You can’t raise a baby in a loft,” Mia argues.
“People do it all the time,” I tell them. At least I assume they do. Besides, I’m not ready to give up my place. It’s way too soon for that.
“But there isn’t any room for us,” Zach says.
“Well, not all at once,” I laugh. “Let’s just take this one day at a time, okay.”
Christian looks down at me and squeezes my hand. “One day at a time,” he agrees and I’m so glad he isn’t pushing anything on me even if his friends have me moved in and a nursery built.
“Now, I really need to get ready.”
I follow him up the stairs. I really do want this to work out, I really do, but since he isn’t insisting on me being here and mentioned that I do have my own place, is he rethinking us being together.
He pulls me into a room and shuts a door, and then locks it. I turn and see the quilt over his bed and tears spring to my eyes. So much went into that quilt. It started because I thought it would be pretty. Then it became a huge frustration, until Christian sent fabric. And even though my heart was breaking as I finished it, I’m not sorry that it’s done and not sorry that I gave it to him.
Christian pulls me across the room. “It looks good, doesn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been sleeping under it since I came home from the hospital.”
“That’s the purpose for it.”
“We should get under it now.”
I eye him. Am I ready to be intimate? Is that what he wants? I’m so unsure of so much right now.
“Come on.” He pulls the covers back and gets in after kicking off his shoes.
“Okay.” I do the same and then he pulls me close.
“Now, doesn’t this feel right?”
It does. More than right.
“My room in a house I share with a bunch of guys, under the quilt you made.”
Where is he going with this?
“Right next door is a room where our baby can sleep.”
“I have my own place,” I remind him.
“I know.” He blows out a sigh. “I only reminded my friends so they don’t pressure you.”
“And you aren’t.”
He turns toward me. “Oh, I want to,” he assures me. “I want to go back to the loft and pack up all of your things and move you in here, with me, right now.”
Warmth seeps into my bones at the intensity of his words and the fear I had melts away, but that doesn’t mean I’m ready to pack either. “Slow.”
“Slow,” he agrees. “But, that doesn’t mean I’m not going to be with you every moment that I can, whether it is here or at your place, the doctor, or anywhere.”
“Why?” Not that I don’t want to be with him that much, but I’m curious as to the reasons. I don’t want it to be just about the baby.
He stares down at me, his dark eyes intense. “Because I’m in love with you. I never fell out of love with you and those weeks of being alone were hell.” He kisses me. “And, I need to make you fall back in love with me.”
My heart melts a little more. I lift a hand to touch his cheek. “Christian. I never said I fell out of love with you.”
“So you meant it?” he asks hopefully.
“Meant what?”
“When you said you loved me, that first night I called when on tour.”
My face heats. I had so hoped he hadn’t heard me.”
“Well, did you?”
At least it didn’t scare him away and since there will be no more lies, I decide to be honest. “Yes, I did. And I still do.”
“That is the best thing you could have said to me today.”
“I thought ‘I’m pregnant’ was high on that list.”
“Oh, it is, I assure you. But knowing you also love me and I have a chance at a real family is better than everything.”
We’re going to make this work. It’s in my gut and for the first time since I got the result, I’m truly happy and relaxed. I’m going to be a mom and the best dad I can imagine is right next to me.
Christian slides his hand under my shirt. “You know, I’ve been waiting for you to get under this quilt with me.”
“Why is that?”
Mischief twinkles in his brown eyes. “So we can do all the naughty things I’ve been thinking about.”
My nipples tighten and heat pools in my belly. He isn’t the only one who wants to do naughty things. “Don’t you have an appointment to keep?”
“Not for two hours.” He sits up and pulls my shirt over my head then leans down and kisses me. “I love you, Bethany Dalton, and this is going to work.”
I wrap my arms around his shoulders and pull him closer. “I love you, Christian Sucato, and with both of us wanting it to work, how can we fail?”
Dear Readers,
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Thank you for reading SHAKE, RATTLE AND ROLL, the sixth book in the Baxter Boys ~ Rattled series. For more Baxter Boys, watch of Sean’s story –available in the fall of 2017.
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EXCERPT – RATTLED
(Rattled: Rattled #1 (Baxter Boys Series ~ Rattled))
© Copyright 2016 – Jane Charles
All Rights Reserved
I shake out my hands, take a deep breath, but continue pacing in the green room. Why am I so nervous? This is al
l I’ve thought about for over a year. I’ve saved every penny and existed on ramen noodles just so I could get this done. And it has to be today. And it has to be here. The Reeds are and have some of the best tattoo artists around and I can’t just trust this to anyone.
I’m not alone in here. There are others, all waiting to see a tattoo artist, but I’m not really paying attention to them. I’m too anxious to just sit and make idle chitchat with a stranger.
I planned ahead and made the appointment weeks ago, but instead of getting on the schedule, I was asked if I’d be interested in letting one of the artists being auditioned for the show do my tat. At first, I rejected the option. This was an important tattoo and I didn’t want it fucked up by an amateur. But then I went back and watched the previous shows. The Reeds don’t just let anyone walk in off the streets and start tattooing, or even audition. The artists are vetted way before they are trusted to apply ink. So after thinking about it further, and knowing the price is half of what I’d saved for the occasion, I called back and asked if I could still participate.
It’s probably better that I didn’t get one of the Reed brothers anyway. I’ve watched since their show first aired and if I came face to face with any one of them I’d probably go all fan girl and humiliate myself. Today is going to be hard enough.
It’s already hard.
I clutch the worn manila envelope close to my chest. Everything that’s important to me is in here. It’s with me always. If it’s not in my big purse, it’s in my backpack. It goes everywhere I go, and what I want is in there.
My stomach churns and I take a deep breath. I just hope to hell that whoever I get assigned to doesn’t fuck this up.
I’ve checked my station five times. I have everything I could possibly need for a tat. All I can do now is wait for the skin to get here.
I just hope she’s clear in what she wants, and that she’s not difficult to please. I’ve done tats that are perfect, yet sometimes customers are just never happy, and others have remorse. But for the most part, everyone has been happy with my work, often returning and referring customers. I need one of those today. This is too important and I don’t need a bitch or an asshat showing up, being a pain in the ass.
I need to land a spot on the show. I need to work for the Reeds.
I’m good at what I do. Damn good. But they’re better. Nobody is as good as they are, and anyone who gets an opportunity to work with the Reeds will only get better.
Once I’m on the show, I’ll have a regular paying job and I’ll be creating art. In time, I’ll have name recognition and will be able to do what I really want.
The door starts to open and I wipe my sweaty palms on my jeans. “Your skin is here, Mr. Dosek,” says one of the producers.
A young woman steps through the door. Her dark head is down and she’s clutching a wrinkled and stained manila envelope to her chest. The door closes and she slowly looks up.
Her brown eyes meet mine and widen. “What the fuck?” she says by way of greeting.
I glance around. There is a cameraman watching my every move and recording everything I say. Is this some kind of joke? Are the Reeds really auditioning me or is this about to turn into a bad episode of “What Would You Do?”
I shake the stupid thought from my head. How could the Reeds, their producers, or anyone know of my connection to Kelsey Fry? I haven’t seen her in five years. Not since I graduated from Baxter Academy of Arts.
“Hi Kelsey, how have you been?”
“Are you really the artist?”
I hold out my hands palms up and smile. “Yep.”
She turns to the door. “Well, I want someone else.”
If she walks out now, it’s a fail. Immediate crash and burn. Besides being a great tattoo artist, people skills and customer service are also at the top of the list to get hired. I won’t get another chance if she leaves. I’ll be shown the door. “Please?” I hate to beg, but I will. “Don’t go. This is too important to me.”
Kelsey slowly turns, her mouth open and dark eyes wide. “Too important to you?” she asks with indignation. “This,” she thrusts out the envelope, “is too important to me, and you are the last person I want doing my ink.”
I can’t really blame her. I was a fucking dick to her back then. I hated her for what she’d done and a part of me still holds a lot of resentment for her actions. But I have to set it all aside. Make it right, at least until the tat is done. My future depends on it.
“I’m sorry.”
“Sorry?” she yells.
I take a deep breath. “Listen, I was seventeen. I had a chip on my shoulder. I was an ass and I treated you like shit.”
“You got that right.”
“It was also a long time ago.”
“Not that long.” She snorts and then narrows her eyes on me. “And I’m supposed to believe you’ve changed? That you’re no longer a dickwad?”
I chuckle. “I’m pretty sure I can still be that, but not in here. Not with you, and never, ever when I’m doing a tat.”
“I still don’t want you touching me.” She takes a step back and I rush forward.
“Listen, I swear that it will be the best tat you’ve ever had. It will be perfect and exactly what you want. Please, don’t walk out. You won’t get another artist and I’ll get booted.”
She frowns, biting her bottom lip. “I can’t just switch with someone? Others are waiting in the room. I’ll just ask one of them to trade.”
“If I lose a customer, I’m out.”
“I can explain—”
“It won’t matter.” I step closer. “Please, Kelsey, I need this. It’s a chance for a break and I could really use one.”
Her brown eyes study me as she bites her bottom lip again. It seems like forever before she says anything. “Do you promise not to give me any shit for what I want, or why?”
I hold up my hands like I’m surrendering. “I swear I won’t.”
“I mean it, because you aren’t going to like what I want, and I’ll be damned if I have to listen to your opinions on the matter again.”
My gut tightens. What the hell does she want? We’ve only disagreed once, when I yelled at her for being a selfish stupid bitch. We never talked again after that. Just glares in classrooms and on campus. Thankfully, we didn’t have that many classes together because I was a year older and our art concentration was different. “I swear. I have no opinions or thoughts in this room except for what the customer wants. There are some things I’m morally against, but it isn’t my skin.”
“Would you turn someone away if they wanted something you are morally against?”
“I have twice before.”
“Then I might as well head for the door now because you’ve made your opinions of my choices very clear.”
“Wait!” I have to stop her before she’s gone. “I’m sure whatever you want doesn’t come close to my moral compass code.”
She snorts. “Really? I’m not so sure.”
“Unless you want a swastika, I’m sure there is nothing you can suggest that I’d find offensive.”
She turns, a look of disgust on her face. “God no! Do people really get those?”
I shrug. “I’ve seen them. I just don’t do them.”
She tilts her head and studies me. “Anything else on your list I should know about?”
“Nope, that’s pretty much it—or any hate symbol, for that matter.”
She’s nodding, studying me, back to biting her bottom lip. “Are you any good?”
“Would I be here if I wasn’t?” I grin.
She doesn’t return it. “Your ego has never been in question. Are you any good? Because this is important.”
I’m not going to win her over with apologies. “I am good. One of the best. And trust me, this is just as important to me.”
Again she studies me, and it’s almost like I can see her battling with a decision behind those dark brown eyes. Slowly she holds the envelope out to me. “You better n
ot fuck it up, and you better not give me any shit.”
I assume there’s a picture of whatever she wants on her body in the envelope. I reach out for it. Her hands are shaking and if I’m honest, so are mine. Seeing her for the first time since high school, and remembering how much I resented her and made her life hell, has me unsettled. I’m afraid karma is about to bite me on the ass.
She lets go before I can grab the envelope and it falls to the ground. A small pink rattle rolls out onto the floor.
She may be anxious about all this, but seeing what just came out of that envelope has me a bit rattled too.
The old anger at what she did surges, but I force it away. She’s a client. I won’t judge her for her decisions or actions. I may have then, but I won’t today. Not in this room. And not when I have so much to lose.
When the tat is done, and I’ve made the show, then I can go back to resenting Kelsey Fry once again.
Author’s Note
Testicular cancer is the leading cancer in men ages 15 to 44. This statistic I knew.
The fact that I didn’t know: “In this age group, more men will die of testicular cancer than women of breast cancer.” (https://www.testicularcancerawarenessfoundation.org).
Let that sink in for a minute.
I understand that “most” women who do develop breast cancer won’t until their 40s, 50s, 60s, and the chances increase as you get older. So, what I’m assuming is the women between ages 15-44 are feeling for lumps and catching cancer early and guys aren’t. Why? Because females have been made aware of the risks, prevention, treatment and the importance of early detection before they even have breasts.
And you know what happens when all of this awareness is out there? It saves lives!!!
Why aren’t men talking about Testicular Cancer Awareness like women talk about breast cancer? Okay, maybe they are and I just missed it.
Shake, Rattle and Roll: The Baxter Boys #4 (The Baxter Boys ~ Rattled) Page 29