by Kacey Shea
“I . . . uh . . . shit, man, I don’t really know how to bring this up without coming off as a selfish prick, so I’m just gonna say it.” He clears his throat with a cough. “Would you come visit?”
“Of course, Iz. Yeah.” As if there was even a doubt. “When?”
“They set up a family and friends visit tomorrow. It’s at ten.”
We have the charity gala tonight, but I think I can swing that. No all-night after party for me, but this is more important. Hell, I’m sure Bedo’ll be thrilled. “Sure, man. Count me in. Get me the address?”
“Yeah. I will. Thank you, Sean.” I can’t tell, but it almost sounds as if he’s about to cry.
It’s enough to bring moisture to my own eyes. I know he’s where he needs to be, but it’s got to be incredibly lonely. “So . . . I guess we’ll talk then?”
“Yeah . . . uh . . . I tried to call Austin and Trent. They didn’t pick up. I don’t want to put you in the middle, or cause any more problems for the band . . .” I know what he’s asking and although their avoidance isn’t surprising, it’s still a little disappointing.
Not wanting him to be discouraged, I answer with a fake enthusiasm I hope is convincing. “I’ll tell them about it.”
His chuckle says I fail miserably. “I understand if they don’t want to see me. Fuck, I don’t want to see me.”
“I can’t promise they’ll come, but I’ll pass it along.”
“Thanks, Sean.”
“Of course, man. The band, we’re family. I’m glad you’re doing well. I really am.” I say good-bye and end the call feeling much better than when I started the run. Even though it’s mid-March, Los Angeles weather is a temperamental bitch. Sweat drips down my back and off my brow from where my hair is soaked. Pocketing my cell in my shorts, I peel off my Dri-FIT long sleeved shirt and use it as a towel to wipe my face. I turn toward the pool, considering a quick dip in the hot tub, but stop short.
Oh, fuck me.
Big brown eyes follow my every move from above the top of a magazine. But that’s not what has my entire body taut with tension. No, it’s the virginal white one-piece bathing suit she wears that leaves very little to my imagination. Not that my imagination hasn’t already traced every single curve, but still, now I know for certain her body’s as banging as I thought it’d be. God, I’m such a pervert. Not moving or saying a damn word since I caught her staring.
Not like she’s moved or said a word, either. I study her with the determination of a straight A student preparing for a final exam. Knowing I won’t get to look again, I memorize everything I can, right down to the little mole on her left thigh. Shit.
“You always start your day with a little eavesdropping?” I didn’t notice her when I came into the yard, but she had to have heard every word of my call. I notice her magazine. “And celebrity tabloids?” It was meant as a joke, but my brows furrow with the realization that I know nothing about this woman. She seems sweet and innocent enough, but if she’s reading that shit . . . She could easily make a quick buck by selling insider secrets.
Her eyes widen, bigger than I thought they could, and she snaps the magazine shut, holding it over her breasts. “I thought I’d be alone out here.”
“Yeah? So what, you come out here and read about the lies of the rich and famous while tanning in a luxury backyard of a home you don’t own or pay rent on? What’s your game, Jess?” My tone is harsher than I intend, and I almost feel bad when she slinks further back into the chair.
“Game?” Her brows pull together and she shakes her head. “No game. I swear it.”
“Coy appreciate you reading that crap?” I nod to the magazine and her fingers release it as if the thing just caught on fire. I can’t imagine he does, but my words were only meant to rile her. Maybe draw out her intent, not send Jess into a ghost white panic.
Even her lips lose their color as she tucks her legs up and wraps her arms around them, placing a barrier between us. “I . . . um . . . Please, don’t . . . I’m . . .” Her words are barely audible as her entire body trembles.
Shit. I close the space between us and prop myself on the edge of the loveseat, my hand rubbing small circles at the center of her back. “Breathe. Just breathe with me. Deep breath in. Let it out.”
Thankfully she does, and color comes back to her face after a few breaths. She won’t meet my gaze, but I consider it a win that she’s not shaking anymore. I try not to ogle her body. I really do, but there is something about a woman in white fabric that pulls at the inner caveman. There’s nothing I’d like more right now than to claim her lips. Kiss that apprehension away and then use my mouth to memorize a map of every dip, valley, and curve of her gorgeous body.
“You won’t say anything?” She finally tilts her chin and meets my hungry gaze.
The magazine. Right. I also won’t be telling Coy how much I fantasize about his woman. I won’t be telling anyone that. “I won’t say a word. You’re new to all this,” I say and she nods. “So you don’t understand how apprehensive we can be about tabloids. It’s all fun and games until you’re the one they’re talking about.”
“Outfits,” she blurts and scoots over, putting a few inches of space between us.
I drop my hand from the small of her back and cock my head with a slight smile. “Come again?”
She blushes. It starts at the top of her breasts and goes up her neck to stain her cheeks. “I look at this kind of magazine for the outfits. Clothing, jewelry. You’re correct. I’m new to all of this, and I’m terrified I won’t look the part. I’m sure you’ve already guessed I don’t come from money.”
“Hey, I don’t come from money, either.” I wait until she meets my gaze again. “That’s nothing to be embarrassed about.”
“I just don’t want to make the band look bad.” She nibbles on the inside of her lip. It’s her nervous tic. She has no fucking clue how desirable she is, and because of that she’s even more appealing. The media, though, they’ll eat her up in a minute.
“Practice. It comes with practice. You can’t let them in.” I want to touch her again, and I know that’s wrong. I shouldn’t, but I strike a compromise with my desire and lift my hand to tap the side of her brow. My fingertips brush a few loose strands from her forehead and I tuck them back behind her ear. “Fake it ’til you make it, and maybe have Coy take you on a shopping spree. I always feel like a million bucks when my clothes play the part.”
“Oh, I don’t want to bother him with that. He’s got so much to do before tonight.”
“You don’t have a dress for tonight?” I frown because if Jess were my girl, I wouldn’t let her worry about this kind of crap. I’d give her my credit card and set her loose in Nordstrom with a personal shopper. “Borrow my car?”
“I couldn’t do that.” Her eyes go wide with alarm and I wonder why a woman like her is so opposed to a favor like that. I need to know. I want to know everything about her.
Raising a brow, I smile. “You must. I insist.”
“I can’t,” she says, and I catch her chin tremble before her lips pull wide and a laugh escapes them. “Like, I seriously can’t. I don’t drive.”
“You don’t . . . Where the fuck did you come from?” I laugh and take delight when she joins me.
“Nowhere, USA.”
“And they don’t have cars there? Still riding horses and shit?”
She shakes her head. “No. I’ve never been on a horse either.”
“Damn, girl. This really is a whole new world.”
“You don’t even know.” She sighs and for the first time since I caught her back here, she appears comfortable.
“Trent’s mom.” I smile with the idea. It’s perfect, really; she always wanted a daughter.
“Pardon?” Jess’s stare is apprehensive again.
“Deb. She’ll take you out today. We’re not heading down to San Diego until two o’clock for the gala stuff. That gives you plenty of time.”
“That’s really sweet, but I do
n’t have much . . .” Her voice trails off and I realize what she must mean. Money. Well, good thing I have a hefty supply.
“My treat. I insist on it.” I can sense the wariness in her eyes and I stop to consider my intentions. Fuck, yeah, I want to play the knight in shining armor. Pick her up and save the day, but it really isn’t my place. She’s not mine. However, Coy’s one of us now. He’s part of the band. Family. And family looks out for each other. Before she can open her mouth to object again, I stand up. “Pick out something to knock Coy’s socks off. Something that makes you feel like the famous girlfriend of a famous rocker. ’Cause that’s what you are now. Play the part, Jess.” I dip my head to the magazine lying open on the ground. “They’re easy to impress. They like shiny and new things.”
With that I turn and walk away before I’m tempted to say more. Before I insist on taking her shopping myself. God, what I wouldn’t do to wait while she undresses and changes into outfit after outfit. Offering her body for my approval each time. Yeah, that’s not cool and I know it, but fuck if that’s not what I get off to in the shower.
After I’ve washed away my sweat and inappropriate thoughts, I quickly dress and hunt down Trent’s mom to employ her assistance and hand over my credit card. Even she gives me a strange look. She’s right to question my motive but doesn’t refuse, and I know it’s because Jess has already won her over too.
Packed up and on the road by three, we split up into four cars for the ride down to San Diego. Trent’s staying two extra nights because Lexi’s flying into town on a short break from her solo tour. I’m happy they’re making this two-separate-rock-careers relationship work. God knows it has its challenges, but I can’t imagine a world where those two aren’t together.
Coy and Jess take off in his Chevy, but I catch Deb’s wink to Jess on their way out the door, along with the shy smile she returns. I did the right thing there. Trent’s mom and Jess were gone all morning shopping. Deb hands me back my credit card once Jess heads out with Coy, then gives me a hug, assuring me I’m a good man. A twinge of guilt, because my motivation isn’t one hundred percent altruistic, but if the end result brings Jess a little extra confidence tonight, that’s enough for me.
Austin’s up to God knows what, claiming he needs to drive his own car to the event. I don’t ask because honestly, I’m good with the space. It’s surprisingly therapeutic to crank the tunes, windows down, while we caravan along the highway. Tonight’s gala is at The US Grant, and we’ve all booked rooms to stay the night. No curfew or house arrest tonight!
But it’s not play time yet. As soon as we arrive, we’re given instructions to haul ass to one of the conference rooms for the interviews with local media that Bedo booked for us. It’s only then, in the elevator with Austin, Trent, and Coy that I remember the phone call from this morning.
“Hey, I forgot to mention. I talked to Iz today.” I clear my throat and prepare for the hate-er-ade.
Trent’s lips pinch together with disapproval and Coy’s brows narrow from beneath his shades.
“Why the fuck are you still talking to him?” Austin furrows his brow.
I knew they’d react like this, but frankly, I don’t give a fuck. Iz was a part of this band, so they can be irritated all they want. “He called. I thought you might like to know.”
“That’s great.” Trent says, but not like he means it.
“Dude, I’m standing the fuck here.” Coy scoffs and throws up his hands.
I almost roll my eyes at his mini-tantrum. Just because he’s the new drummer doesn’t translate to cutting off all contact with our former one. I ignore them all and watch the numbers count down from the top floor. I should keep my mouth shut. I get that they’re still angry, but when are they gonna let it go? It’s not as if we didn’t play a part in his addiction, looking the other way for almost a solid year. “He’s sorry.”
The elevator doors part and Trent reaches out to push the button to close them again. He twists around and blocks the exit with his body before any of us can escape. “That’s nice, Sean, but we’re about to go into an interview. With our brand new drummer. This maybe isn’t the best time and place to discuss this. Yeah?”
This time I do roll my eyes. “Whatever.” I’m not exactly sure there’s ever a good time to have this conversation.
“Not whatever.” Trent says it like a warning. He glances around and gives each of us a pointed glare before the elevator doors slide open again. He takes one step backward so he’s between them. “We only look forward. That clear? Only forward.”
I give a curt nod, even though I’m not sure we need to cut Iz out completely. That seems harsh and unnecessary. But it’s clear by looking around at my friends that I’m the only one who feels this way. No matter. They don’t have to make peace with what happened with Iz. I do.
9
Jess
This hotel is full of beautiful people. Talent and education drips from every stitch they wear. I don’t belong here. I wish I could go back to the house and spend the evening on the couch with Deb and Tony, but that’s not my job today. Nope. I’m here for Coy. His plus one. Besides, what kind of girlfriend doesn’t want to spend time with her man? A pang of shame hits me for even considering abandoning him. If Coy needs me, that’s all that should matter. Besides, this dress is like magic. It helps me stand a little taller, and as I walk down the expansive, elegant hallway, I lift my head with enough confidence to meet the inquisitive stares.
I don’t want to disappoint Coy. He’s my rock. The one person in the world who’s cared enough. He’s so gifted and I’m not. I’m just me. Heck, what guy earns himself a spot in one of the most popular rock bands and brings his high school dropout of a girlfriend along for the ride? No one. That’s why I want to look extra nice for him tonight.
Shopping with Deb this morning was almost overwhelming. I couldn’t help myself from balking at the price tags. She demanded I stop, and for as nice as she’s been, Deb is not someone to mess with. I almost settled on a solid black gown—something simple and understated—but she encouraged me to continue trying on dresses that some woman from the store brought me one after another. Most I wouldn’t be caught dead in, but then she brought in this one. I didn’t know it was possible to fall in love with a piece of clothing.
It is.
When I caught a glimpse of the cotton candy pink fabric I was hoping—no, praying—that the rest of the dress would be beautiful. With a deep sweetheart neckline, it’s way more revealing than anything I’ve ever worn, but the tulle under the knee length skirt makes me feel like a princess from some fairy tale. I stepped out of the dressing room and Deb screamed, that’s how excited she was. And then she insisted we look at shoes. I couldn’t bring myself to peek at the total cost. Stupid, I know, to wear something so expensive when I don’t have a job and less than a hundred bucks to my name, but this is a huge night for Coy. For once, I want to fit the part.
Silly.
The minute we arrived he had interviews so I busied myself getting ready. He texted that he’d meet me downstairs at the gala, and before I left our hotel room I felt the most beautiful and desirable I had in all my life. But now? Now I feel foolish. My flouncy pink skirt appears childish compared to all these successful women in elegant gowns, accompanied by men in tailored tuxedos. I wish I could have come in with the band, but Coy didn’t offer and I refuse to be the nagging tagalong.
“Name?” The woman at the check-in table assesses my dress with a polite, impersonal smile. A slight lift to one of her eyebrows is her only tell that she thinks I don’t belong here. What she doesn’t know is that I already agree.
“Jessica Moore,” I say, and she scans her tablet. My pulse races as the volunteer at her left checks in three couples while my woman puzzles over her screen. I can feel the sideways glances as the line at my back lengthens with every second she doesn’t find my name. I wish I could fade into the wall. Even reevaluate my decision to pick a fabric that stands out in this sea of black and
white. Damn it. “I’m a guest of Coy. Coy Wright. He’s playing in the band tonight.”
She nods with a flash of a smile. “There you are! I’m sorry about that. We have you seated at table Thirty-Four, but please enjoy the appetizers and silent auction for the next hour.”
“Thank you.” I skirt the table, chin down, and follow the couple ahead of me until we’re inside the vast ballroom. My breath hitches at the grandeur of it all. Add it to the list of experiences I never would have been exposed to without Coy. As much as the crowd of strangers intimidates me, the beauty of it all momentarily steals my fears. I place my clutch at the table and look around for Coy, but when I don’t spot him I decide to walk around. The silent auction fascinates me the most and I walk from art display to golf resort basket and onward. The generosity of the offerings is amazing. I’d never be able to afford these things, let alone place a bid, but it’s uplifting to see so many people coming together to help children.
An oversized framed photograph stops my wandering. It’s a portrait. A nude, but everything important is covered as the woman folds her legs up over herself. It’s not the lack of clothing that captivates my attention, though; it’s the pure desperation in her eyes. Fear, but also strength. An unbridled searching. My heart races. “My Shelter” is the title, Anonymous photographed by J Moreno. I rest my hand over my chest and my pulse thrums through my fingertips at the low cut neckline of my dress.
“Jess. What the fuck?” Coy chastises in his low growl.
I startle at his words and my eyes widen as I meet his angry glare. “Baby—”
He grips my arm just above my elbow and yanks me behind him. His strides are long and I have to take two steps of my own just to keep up. His fingers tighten, digging into my skin enough to bruise. My eyes train on the marble tiles of flooring and how the tips of my shoes play peek-a-boo as the hem of my skirt swishes with each step.