Derailed_An Off Track Records Novel

by Kacey Shea

  Hmm . . . Curiosity has me shuffling my way to the door. I wonder if she’s a diva like most women, or a cool chick like Lexi and Cora. I scrub the sleep from my eyes again and prepare for the burst of light that’ll pour in once I open the door.

  I step out into the hallway, eyes squinting, and am practically clobbered by a tower of moving boxes attached to two fantastic legs. “Shit,” I curse as the boxes hit my chest and tumble to the ground.

  “Oh, goodness! I’m so sorry.” My gaze follows the legs up to find an incredibly attractive young woman. She drops to her knees, chin dipped so her hair falls forward in her face. She restacks the handful she had before she careened into me. “I didn’t . . . I’m so sorry.” She won’t meet my gaze but there’s something about her that’s awfully familiar.

  Oh. My. God.

  The girl from the waiting room in Off Track Records yesterday. That’s why she was there. Coy’s girlfriend. My new roommate. The one I was eye fucking. Oh, fuck me now.

  “I really am sorry.” She struggles to lift the stack of boxes.

  And I’m being a dick for standing here staring. Get it together, man. I place my hand on her arm so she’ll look at me. The minute those big brown eyes lift to meet mine my pulse kicks up, along with the awareness that I’m wearing nothing more than my boxers. Of course my dick realizes this too, and it’s all I can do to keep him from popping up to say hello.

  “I’m sorry,” she blurts.

  “For what, exactly?” I cock my head and then take most of the boxes from her arms. “Here, let me.”

  “I didn’t see you. Are you okay?” She’s actually concerned and I have to laugh.

  “It’ll take more than a few cardboard boxes to take me out.” I wince, pretending I’m offended. “Right to the ego. All those hours in the gym wasted.”

  Her eyes widen and she shakes her head. “I’m so sorry, Sean.”

  Fuck, I love the way my name sounds on her lips. It’d sound even better in my bedroom. Damn it! No! Not my girl, but my dick doesn’t seem to care about semantics. Thank God for the box covering my growing junk. “It’s okay. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “Jessica. You can just call me Jess, though. Everyone does.”

  “Jess.” I nod and smile. It suits her. “Nice to meet you.”

  She nibbles on the inside of her lip, her gaze dropping to the one box she’s balanced on her hip. “Well, um . . .I . . .um.”

  “Shall we?” I tip my head to the bedroom door past my own. “After you.”

  She nods, her smile almost relaxed, and I try not to stare at her bare legs and how damn good her ass looks in the cutoff jeans she’s sporting. Jesus! What’s wrong with me? My brain and good sense are having trouble keeping up today. She’s off limits. I might as well paint a big red X over the back of her shorts.

  “You can set them over by the dresser, I think.” She glances around the room, almost as if she’s overwhelmed.

  I drop the boxes to the ground and turn to meet those wide doe eyes. “Sorry, it’s not very big.” Sure, this is a decent-sized room with its own bathroom, like every other room in the house, but it’s no apartment. Probably much smaller than what she’s used to.

  Her gaze drops to my boxer briefs, “No it’s ginormous.” Her lips don’t turn up with her joke but I can’t help the laughter that bursts from my belly.

  “I was talking about the room.” I wink and her cheeks stain with a bright pink hue.

  “So was I,” she mutters, but I catch her chance another glance at the front of my underwear. Ridiculous, but it strokes my ego. I wish she’d stare a little longer, actually. Or maybe I’m glad she doesn’t because I take the opportunity to look at her unapologetically.

  “Hey, did you get los—” Coy’s voice interrupts my ogling of his girlfriend. “Oh, Sean. You’re here. In my room. Without your pants on.”

  My gaze snaps over to his and I use my hands to cover the front of my boxers. Not that my dick hasn’t retreated on his own, self-preservation and all. “Sorry, I caught Jess struggling with the boxes in the hallway and grabbed a few for her.”

  “Right.” He laughs but there’s not a trace of a smile on his lips. “Maybe don’t make this a habit? The no clothes part.”

  “No disrespect, man.” I hold up my hands and take a few steps toward the door. Jess’ eyes are wide and she’s back to biting the inside of her lip. It’d be sexy if she didn’t appear so nervous. I realize I’m probably the source of her discomfort. “I’ll put on some clothes. I can help you with the rest—”

  “Not necessary. We got it, man.” Maybe I only imagine it, but Coy’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes; in fact, his left one twitches a few times.

  Shit. And just like that we’re off on the wrong foot. I don’t say another word and high tail it back to my room. Jess might be gorgeous, and I might feel something for her—a pull I can’t quite explain—but I have no intention of going after her. She’s with Coy. It’s that simple.

  Or is it?

  7

  Jess

  “What the fuck was that?” Coy practically growls after slamming and locking our bedroom door. He stalks toward me but I meet each of his steps with one backwards until my head hits the wall with a thud.

  “What was what?” I shake my head but I know exactly to which he’s referring. Jealousy’s always been Coy’s nature. I should have asked Sean to leave the moment he dropped those boxes. He was only being friendly, and yes, I was quite enjoying the view, but I had no right to indulge in either.

  “You are mine.” Coy grips my chin roughly and lifts it so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Mine.” His grip is firm already, but he jerks my head higher.

  It hurts enough to bring tears to my eyes, but I blink them back before they fall. “I’m yours, babe. You know I am.” The words heave from my lips, along with my breath.

  He nods, his hold loosening. “Damn straight,” he whispers, and just like that his lips cover mine. Pushing. Demanding. Claiming me as his as if I needed the reminder. He takes control and my body conforms to his hunger.

  Lust, powerful and sudden, pulses through my body and between my legs. My fingers reach to pull him closer but he steps away.

  “Don’t do that again.” His warning quashes my desire and replaces it with shame.

  I’m not exactly sure what he means, but I don’t want to cross him again. “What?”

  His gaze narrows. “Invite another man into our bedroom.”

  I shake my head. “I won’t. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  “Go find something to do.” He turns to one of the boxes that still needs unpacking. “I can’t even look at you right now.”

  Even though I didn’t do anything wrong, this is just how Coy is. I should have known better. I was foolish. My fingers go to my lips, the ones he was tracing with his own only moments ago. “Oh, okay.”

  “Just give me a minute, okay?” He glances over at me and runs his fingers through his hair. “I’m stressed the fuck out.”

  “Okay.” I nod like I understand, but I don’t really. What does he have to worry about? He’s got his dream job, a rent-free place to live, and more money in the bank than he needs. Unless he’s stressed about me. That’s likely it. The usual melancholy hits and I tuck the loose strands of my hair behind my ear as I venture out into the house. I always screw up. Say the wrong thing. I’m not shiny and bright. I’m the girl who always falls short when everyone else seems to get it right.

  This place is huge, big enough that when I wander downstairs and through the main living areas I don’t run into a single person. I wonder if everyone’s still asleep, and whether that’s a normal occurrence for rock stars. Party all night, sleep through the day? If that’s so, I need to find something around here to keep me busy. I might not be the most talented or skilled person, but I’m not okay with sitting around and doing nothing. Maybe I could help keep things clean. I’ve done housekeeping before. Yes, that’s perfect. I’ll just lo
ok for the broom closet, or wherever it is rich people store their cleaning supplies.

  The kitchen is immaculate, like the rest of the house, and beyond that is a family room that extends out to a big patio. There’re several closed doors off of one hallway, and a staircase beyond that to the basement. That’s one thing Coy couldn’t stop talking about when we loaded up his Chevy before heading over. The studio is here, right in the lower level of the house, and apparently tricked out with all the latest in sound recording equipment.

  There’s got to be a laundry room around here somewhere, but I don’t want to barge into any rooms without permission. God, I feel like a stranger in my new home. I thought it would be bad being left behind in Coy’s apartment, but now I’m not so sure. This place is posh, stylish, and way out of my league. I don’t belong here at all.

  An overwhelming apprehension claws at my chest until I can’t take a full inhale without being on the verge of a panic attack. Fighting it back, I push outside the giant glass door in search of fresh air.

  Down a little path I come upon a seating area of oversized padded furniture; I take a seat, and here I’m finally able to breathe normally again. Closing my eyes, I relish in the way the sun warms my skin over the cool air. March in Los Angeles is so much more delightful than Denver, and for a moment I focus on the fact that moving here with Coy wasn’t merely my only choice. It was a good one.

  Here I can pretend everything is perfect.

  I can make believe this is my home, and that I belong here with my talented boyfriend.

  I curl up in my chair with my eyes still shut, and even consider falling asleep. This chair and secluded backyard is my new favorite hiding spot. When things get too overwhelming this is where I’ll disappear.

  “Tony! Tony, no! Drop that this instant!” A woman’s shouts pull me out of my daydream. My eyelids snap open and I sit up just in time to catch the tiny dog barreling straight for my lap. He leaps from the ground, a ball of long fur with something bright purple between his teeth. Before I can investigate, the woman who’s shouting stops short, her hands on her hips while she glares at the pup.

  Her eyes lift to mine and she shakes her head with a slight smile. “He’s always after the ladies.” She retrieves the dog from my arms and snuggles him to her chest before removing what’s stuck in his mouth and tucks it into her back pocket.

  “I’m Jess,” I blurt out and the woman eyes me with a chuckle. Stupid. She doesn’t know who I am or why I’m here. Wishing I could start over, I push to my feet and try again. “I’m Coy’s girlfriend. It’s nice to meet you.” I hold out a hand.

  Her lips pull with a familiar smile and she tucks the dog into one arm to grasp my hand. “Deb, Trent’s mom.”

  I shove my hands into the back pockets of my cutoff shorts when she releases my hand. “And you live here, too?”

  “Yeah.” Her smile widens but I can’t tell whether she’s happy to see me or not. Some people are really easy to read. She keeps her emotions well hidden.

  “Oh, thank goodness. There’s a lot of testosterone in there.” I shake my head before I blabber any more. “But who is this?” I lean closer to examine the puppy’s face. He looks like a little lion with that giant mane of hair. I reach forward so he can sniff the back of my hand. “Oh, you are just the cutest pup I’ve ever seen, aren’t you?”

  I glance up and find Trent’s mom laughing. Straightening my spine, I pull my hand back. I’m sure I sound like an idiot, but there’s something about a dog like this that brings out a high pitch in my voice. “Sorry. I’ve never had a pet before.”

  “He’s mine.” She drops a kiss on his head, and for the first time in years I wonder if I might own a pet one day. It’s never been possible before, but even as a child I dreamed of that kind of companionship. “Even though he’s naughty, I still love him. Kinda like my son.”

  “He’s adorable.” As if Tony agrees, he yips, and both Deb and I laugh. I glance back at the house before meeting her gaze. “If there’s anything I can help with around here—washing dishes, laundry, floors, whatever—please let me know. I’m used to keeping busy.”

  Her brows rise with my offer and she smiles. “I do need help with the bathrooms, actually.”

  “Sure.” I nod, because having a job right now is just what I need. “Cleaning supplies? I tried to find them earlier but I didn’t want to snoop around.”

  Trent’s mom clicks her tongue inside her mouth and narrows her gaze along with her smile. Maybe I’m imagining it, but her smile appears warmer, more welcoming than before, as though we might actually be friends. “Oh, you’re an interesting one . . . I’m teasing you. I don’t clean the bathrooms, not anymore. I wouldn’t subject you to that mess! Have you seen those boys? Overgrown children, though I love them. We have a crew that comes through to take care of this place. I prepare and cook the meals though, because I love it. And I garden for fun.”

  “That’s awesome. I’ve always wanted to learn how to do things like that. Grow my own food.” I shake my head and drop my gaze to the ground. “That’s silly probably.”

  “Not at all. Want to see my garden?” Her eyes warm with delight and she sets Tony on the ground to run amuck. Nodding toward one side of the house, she gestures for me to follow. “I’ll show you a few things. I have a corner that’s open and ready to plant. I was going to do it this week. I can teach you.”

  My stomach clenches with the hope that this place might not be as lonely as I thought. “I would love that. Thank you.”

  She smiles and points a thumb over her shoulder and back toward the house. “And I’m the chef around here, but I can always use help. Nothing exciting, but it helps to have extra hands. Again, have you seen those boys? They eat as much as animals, too!”

  “I’ll help anytime. As long as Coy doesn’t need me elsewhere.”

  She wraps her arm around my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m glad you’re here, Jess. I think we’re going to get along just fine.”

  8

  Sean

  It’s been over a week. Nine days to be exact since Coy and Jess moved into the house. Why am I counting? Because it’s the same number of days Bedo’s had us sequestered. Someone leaked our drunken escapades from Paulo’s to TMZ. A short video clip of us staggering through the restaurant’s kitchen. Nothing too scandalous, but enough to get Bedo’s panties in a twist.

  No matter, though. We’ve been practicing every day and we’re ready to hit the studio next week to wrap up the album that should already be complete. But there’s no rest for the hustlers. Tonight we’re scheduled to play a gala for the San Diego Children’s hospital. We’ve also booked a mini-press junket, all Bedo’s idea, to shed some light on our humanitarian efforts, and I hope for all our sakes we can all keep it together. The reporters will be ten times more interested in digging for dirt on the band than why we’re raising money for sick kids.

  Regardless, it’ll be good to get away for the night and do something other than practice music and work out. I’ve always kept to a regular exercise routine because it’s something I need to keep me sane and healthy, but now that we’re stuck in the house, everybody else has jumped on the fitness train. I love Trent and Austin as if they were my own brothers, but I’m in need of some solo time. Which is why I woke up at six this morning and snuck out of the house for a run through the neighborhood.

  I need a break from everything. To stop worrying about Iz; stop wondering whether Coy’s as good a fit as we all want him to be; stop thinking about his girlfriend when I jack off in the shower every morning. It’s completely inappropriate, but I can’t seem to quit. I blame it on those big brown eyes. They’re laced with just enough innocence they beg to be violated, but thinking about how they’d look with her lips wrapped tight around me . . . fuck. I need to stop. She’s totally off limits.

  Again. Another reason why I opted for a five-mile run today over sleeping in, and shit, if these hills aren’t doing the trick. I can hardly suck in a full breath of air, let a
lone fantasize about gorgeous brown eyes. The muscles in my legs strain and ache to push my body back to the house. Music, angry and harsh, pulses into my ears and cheers me forward. I turn the corner, almost home, and the sound is cut short, interrupted by the buzz of an incoming call.

  A glance down as I pull my cell from my pocket shows an unknown number and I consider letting it go to voicemail. Fuck it, I’m almost done. Switching my gait to a walk, I accept the call. “Hello.”

  A scuff much like the rustle of fabric scratches through my wireless earbuds. Fucker. Probably time to get a new number. Someone leaked it, I’m sure. Pain in my ass. I reach for my cell to end the call but before I can, I’m stopped by a greeting I didn’t expect.

  “Sean.”

  “Iz!” I can’t believe it’s him. God, it’s good to hear his voice. “How are you?”

  “Eh, I’m still truckin’.”

  “How are things going? Rehab is good?” Fuck, that sounds stupid even to my own ears, but I’m not really sure what the protocol is here. There’s no sensitive way to ask. Reaching the house, I plug in my code to the front gate and opt for a walk around the side until I’m in the privacy of our backyard.

  “They aren’t letting me get high, so, that’s a win. I guess.” His throaty chuckle brings a grin to my lips.

  “That’s great.” It really is, and though I have so much more I want to ask, I’m kinda tongue-tied. Iz was always the guy in the band you could sit next to and not say much without it being uncomfortable. Now, as the silence stretches through the line, I can’t help but wonder if that was more because he was high, or how a friendship with him will be now that he’s sober.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t check in sooner. Things have been . . .” The static of his exhale buzzes through my ears. “They’ve been intense. And I didn’t know whether you’d even want to hear from me.”

  “Don’t say that. Of course I do. We all want to know you’re okay.” That’s a stretch, actually; I’m not sure Trent and Austin think much about Iz these days. They’re still pretty pissed off and hurt, which I’m trying to be sympathetic to. We all deal with things differently.