by Lyrica Creed
Table of Contents
About This Book Read it your way
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48 All Chapters 3rd POV Section
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Contact
STRUNG OUT
Needles and Pins (I)
by Lyrica Creed
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
©2015 Strung Out by Lyrica Creed
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.
Published by: Rock Star Reads
Cover Design: Book Bangs
Formatting: Book Bangs
00405160
Dedication
to musicians and those who love them through the highs and the lows of rock and roll
About This Book
Read it your way
If you prefer to read in 3rd Person Point of View Click here
Blurb
‘Finding my best friend and getting the hell out of California is top priority. Especially as the relationship with my rock star stepbrother becomes more complicated with each passing day…’
Prologue
Ivy
Met the guys. Pax is way hotter in person. Ross isn’t but I’d still do him!
03/01 8:23 PM
Whore!
sent 03/01 8:24 PM
Ivy
I’ll answer to that tonight ;)
03/01 8:26 PM
Ivy
Watching the show side stage. Close enough to have sweat flung on me!
03/01 9:05 PM
Lovely. Man sweat. Not.
sent 03/01 9:10 PM
Ivy
You need a sweaty man. You should have come.
03/01 9:20 PM
:)
sent 03/01 9:25 PM
Ivy
Drunk! Full bar in the party room backstage.
Attachment
03/01 11:20 PM
Ivy
Guess who is on the bus partying with Rageon! Thanks for the all-access passes! You so rock!
03/02 12:58 AM
Ivy
Asleep? Here’s to a happy wakeup Attachment
03/02 1:35 AM
Ivy
OMG Paxton is fuckin hot‼ Attachment
03/02 2:10 AM
Ivy
Me. Still drunk Attachment
03/02 2:30 AM
Ivy
Bus is rolling. I’m still here! Just call me the bj queen.
03/02 3:30 AM
Sleep that hangover off yet?
sent 03/02 11:00 AM
Guess you’re at the next show by now.
sent 03/02 6:31 PM
What’s going on? Still with Rageon?
sent 03/04 11:47 AM
Call me! I want to know EVERYTHING!
sent 03/07 10:36 AM
I’m freaking out a little.
sent 03/12 10:25 AM
Just talked to your mom. Freaking out A LOT. Where are you?
sent 03/13 10: 19 AM
Chapter 1
That’s it! If you don’t answer by morning, I’m assuming the worst and coming after you.
sent 6:45 PM
I wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that my schedule had just opened, making my return text a possibility instead of an idle threat. It had been two weeks since Ivy’s messages from the bus on the night of the concert.
I’m serious Ivy. Give me a heads up if you’re living the rock star life.
sent 6:46 PM
“Scarla? Could I get some service, like yesterday?”
Restraining the urge to grab a soda gun and spray his smug face, I shot a smile down the long bar to the unruly patron and his tumbler of melting ice. “Of course. Another?”
“Make it a double.”
“Coming right up.”
I could almost see steam pouring from his ears when I took my time closing the text screen and then the email screen before pocketing the phone in my jeans. The figurative clouds vaporized, and his glowing gaze stuck like glue to my derriere.
With my forefinger, I hooked a selection from the neatly-lined liquor bottles and assembled the ingredients into the shaker. Tired of the sensation of his staring eyes, I turned, fully facing him as I mixed and poured. Flipping a bar towel over my shoulder, I carried the glass, switched it out with the empty, and wiped up while he pulled bills from his wallet. He always tipped well, possibly in atonement for his behavior, and I curved a forgiving smile when I saw today was no different.
The mirror behind the bar reflected a smudge of eyeliner beneath one eye, and I wiped it away while closing the money into the register. My hair was in a fritz due to the humidity, and I ran a smoothing hand down the tresses. Was there a hair clip in my purse…
“Hey, kitten. I ordered a double. I paid for a double.”
And here we go. At least once a week, this man made my shift a misery by harassing the other customer
s until he ended up in a fistfight, or was escorted from the premises. Due to the weather, the bar was near empty. With no one else to aggravate, he focused more on me.
“It is a double.” Leaning into the damp cloth, I put extra elbow grease into wiping up an empty area of the bar. “You watched me make it.”
“Everything okay?” The deep timbre of the voice was more than familiar, and relieved, I turned to the newcomer. Behind him, rain pattered on the sidewalk and then the door fell closed, as silently as it had opened. He swung a leg over the stool in front of me and sent a knowing look down the bar. Derrick kept me company during my shift often enough to know the troublemakers.
“It will be, in five minutes when I’m out of this joint.” I poured him his usual. In my peripheral vision, I saw my least favorite customer had decided he didn’t want to stir things up yet and was back to drinking in silence.
After thanking me for the drink, Derrick sipped and fiddled with his coaster. “Did you check out that concierge job?”
“I did.” Grateful for the job lead at the resort where he worked part time, I’d followed up. “The money isn’t right. The tips, you know. They keep me in school.” I deliberately let the appreciation in my voice carry. For two years, I’d done well enough working part time to take courses full time.
Until now. But he didn’t know the bad news yet.
He took another drink, and his lips thinned into a line. He’d offered a loan many times—so many that we’d argued when it last happened. Never one to stay moody for long, he looked up hopefully. “You got any of your hot sauce left?”
Knowing how addicted he was to my homemade salsa, I regretfully shook my head. “I ate the last of it when I got here. Wiped out the chips too. Sorry.”
“Bitch!” His jest was a little overenthusiastic, his voice carrying, and the others at the bar honed in.
“If you’re nice, I’ll bring some tomorrow.”
“I can do nice,” he assured.
His wolfish smile didn’t go unnoticed, and flutters tickled the inside of my belly. I made a quick circle, checking on my other customers. The man who worked so intently on his tablet. The couple who jested about celebrities in constant need of rehab while watching the muted television above my head.
Choosing a canned drink from the fridge, I pondered my dire financial straits. An entire semester was about to eddy down the drain. Stationing myself across from Derrick, I leaned a hip against my side of the bar, popped the tab, and tipped the can to my lips.
“Did you get the notes downloaded?” Like me, he maintained a 4.0 average and always had an assignment, test, or paper on his mind. I nodded, and he went on. “We’re putting together our usual study group. One night a week for the rest of the month. And then three sessions the week before finals.”
The relief bartender interrupted, rushing in with her hair dripping onto her shoulders and a few minutes late as usual. This coworker was recently divorced with too many kids, and I waved away the harried woman’s apology. It took less than a minute to clock out and grab my things.
Derrick settled his tab and sprang off the stool to exit with me. Mutually, we paused beneath the overhang instead of separating to our vehicles. The streetlights were flickering on. But it was still light enough to see his car parallel parked several lengths ahead of mine.
“Can you text me your schedule later?” He pulled his hoodie up, and strands of hair stuck out when it settled on his head. “So we can get the studies set up?”
Damn it all. I could pretend I hadn’t received an email less than an hour ago from university financial services. I could pretend for now nothing was wrong. I could go home, pour a stiff drink from my mother’s cheap vodka, and process the inevitable alone for a bit before having to deal with it and the consequences.
Or I could be done with it. “I won’t be joining a study group. Thanks though.”
His smile fell. “Aw, come on. We need you. You didn’t join another group, did you?”
His scrutiny deepened a bit with the last question. As if he thought our two worlds might no longer be coexisting. Pausing, I opened my umbrella. He ducked beneath the dome shelter with me, and I drew in a heady breath when his attractive face held my attention for a few moments. We’d shared a friends-with-benefits relationship over the last two semesters. He was uncomplicated and sexy. We had no problems spending an hour with notes spread all over the bed and then stacking them aside to spend an hour rolling all over the bed.
“I dropped out.” When his eyes blinked rapidly, I expanded my answer. “Just this semester.” His gawk morphed into a ‘have you lost your damn mind’ look, fixating on my face, and I understood. My grades were great. The semester was on the downhill slide to finals. I began walking and he fell in step.
“What’s going on?”
Hopping over a puddle, I debated my answer. If I told him the truth, he would offer to help. Having the money would fix one problem, but borrowing it from the guy I was ‘hanging out’ with had the potential to create different problems.
“Family emergency.” I lied. Although Ivy was as close as family to me, and her disappearance was under unusual circumstances, I wasn’t sure I would have dropped everything in the middle of a semester to fly to another continent and search my friend out if an email from financial services hadn’t intervened. “I’ll make the classes up in the summer sessions.” When money is no longer a problem—ever again.
“Damn, is there anything I can do?” His handsome face puckered in concern.
“Take me out on the wave runners the moment I get back from the States.” Striving to lighten the mood, I passed him the umbrella, and he held it as I folded into my piece of shit car.
“You got it.” He agreed, and I loved that he didn’t pry. Instead, he snapped the umbrella closed and dropped it to the floorboard behind me. “The States, huh? Have a safe trip.”
He pushed closed the car door, and I waved as I cranked the engine. It wasn’t yet Belize’s rainy season, but the storm had become a torrent, splattering the windshield and aptly replicating my morose mood.
Dear Ms. Smythe, We regret to inform you your last two direct payments didn’t clear… Your exemplary GPA is the only reason financial services waived the deadline last month. We want to work with you. If you can pay the amount due by Friday…
Instead of putting the car into gear, I pulled up the banking app on my phone. The balance was as dismal as it had been when checking it right after receiving the email. With a practiced eye, I ran down the debit transactions and noted a few I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the first time my mother had helped herself to my debit card and put it back without a word. This situation was my own fault, for not managing my money more closely—for keeping a running total in my head instead of looking at my damn bank account once in a while.
Mentally, I summed the figures. The balance combined with my upcoming paycheck wouldn’t be enough to pay the university, but according to Travelocity, it was enough for a flight to Los Angeles. I hadn’t been bullshitting Ivy, or Derrick. I was going.
Closing the apps, I scrolled though my text contacts, stopping on ‘G’.
Gage.
The name on the screen next to a blinking cursor was as near and dear to my heart as it was practically a stranger these days.
Drawing in a breath of courage, I began tapping my thumbs to the keyboard.
Hey big brother.
sent 2:55 PM
It’s me, Scar. Your dad gave me your number not long ago.
sent 2:56 PM
How are things?
sent 2:56 PM
At one time, my former stepbrother and I had been as close as blood siblings. Possibly closer, since we’d rarely fought like a real brother and sister. After our parents’ divorce, we’d kept in touch for a few years with texts and calls before contact had dwindled to nothing.
Tossing the phone to the passenger seat, I didn’t wait for a response. The waiting made me too nervous. Was it because h
e and his band had catapulted to fame and were everywhere on social media? Or was it because last night I had dreamed again of our kiss?
Chapter 2
“Another?” The bartender flipped a bar towel over his shoulder and paused in front of Gage’s section.
“Please.” Reaching into his back pocket, Gage pulled out his billfold and extracted a twenty. When the young man returned with his longneck, Gage nodded to him to keep the change.
The television over the bar flickered with a muted procession of sports and entertainment news. He experienced a private moment of amusement when a soul-sucking succubus he’d briefly dated starred in one of the scandalous headlines. His inner smile quickly dissipated when the host moved on to the next story and his own face filled the large flat screen. Hunching his shoulders, he lowered the brim of his hat on his forehead. Nonchalantly, his gaze swept the immediate vicinity to gauge if anyone else at the bar was watching this crap. Of course. A half dozen eyes were glued to the video clips and scrolling captions.