by Lyrica Creed
“There’s not a problem with that. Happens all the time. There’s a contingency clause in your contract. They can still record the other members under Fire Flight. If they decide to keep that name.”
“Right.” Statistically, changing the vocalist didn’t bode well for a band. It was more probable they were hanging on to Colt until they could decide if they could make a buck from his talent and name as a solo artist. “Thanks, man. Later.”
The moment the call ended tone sounded, he threw the phone. It hit the wall and incredulously bounced to the floor in one piece.
In truth, he had known doing the right thing—giving Colt the publishing rights he deserved—was likely to bite him in the ass. But he’d needed it off his conscience. He’d never felt right about letting the label manipulate him and in doing so causing him to steal. Now that Colt had equal ownership in at least a third of Fire Flight’s songs, all they had to do was make another album. They could easily tour with that much of the old stuff plus new.
“Argh!” The bellow rose and spewed like bile from his throat. He kicked at the laptop stand. When it didn’t topple, he swept the computer from the surface and watched with a strange combination of grief and satisfaction as he lost the last half hour of work on the new song.
Standing at the edge of the room, where it opened onto the patio, he tried to calm himself with the sight of Scar floating in the pool. The Bluetooth headphones in her ears had kept her from hearing his tantrum.
Retrieving his phone, he scrolled through his contacts and typed out a text to his assistant.
Clear morning?
Sent 4:21
LP
Aye. Be there in a bit.
4:26
Remembering he had trashed his black bag in a gesture of goodwill, he quickly sent another message.
the works too.
Sent 4:27
LP
Right. No problem.
4:29
Scarlette was still in her swimsuit, but out of the pool. The sight of her centered him some. Wandering out, he took the chair beside her, and they discussed dinner. With her phone in hand, she was soon intent on ordering their supper while engaging in a game of footsie with him. When the doorbell rang, he sprinted from the patio and through the house.
With his assistant trailing behind him, he headed to the studio. Putting everything in a safe place for later, he spoke over his shoulder.
“I’m going to be away for a while.”
“Rehab.”
Gage nodded, knowing it was fairly common knowledge by now among his staff and friends. He turned to find the other man staring beyond the room perimeter at Scar with as much interest as every time he’d seen her—despite the cleanup chore of puke on a car mat tainting the last time.
Remembering he’d never properly introduced Scar to Logan that day, he briefed him. “That’s my stepsister, Scarlette. I’m going to give her your number. Anything she needs. Understand?”
“Yeah. Sure.” The other man seemed too eager to oblige and pulled his phone from his pocket. “What’s her info? I’ll put it in right now.”
Logan’s nonchalant inquiry while drooling over Scar had Gage gnashing his teeth. “I’m not giving out her number.” Not that he even knew by memory the number she was giving out to anyone other than her inner circle. The second number and extra privacy protections were part of having her cell provider classify her account as ‘celebrity,’ which she had done around the time of the documentary release. “It will come up as restricted.” Like his. Even if someone added the number to his or her contacts, when a ‘celebrity’ call came through, it always showed restricted access instead of a name. “That’s why I told you her name. So you’ll know who she is if she calls. But she may never call. I just want to know there’s someone she can turn to if she needs help with anything.” Besides fuckin’ Colt, dammit.
“Whatever.” His assistant shrugged and smartly decided to play it cool. “You going to introduce us at least?”
“Fine. Yeah.” Once again cursing the gods of fate taking him away from her for any length of time, he walked his assistant outside and commenced with the introduction.
Scar and Logan shook hands and immediately after the pleasantries, launched into a conversation about USC. He returned to the studio, watching them while he cleaned up his tantrum mess before Scar saw.
Tick damn tock…
Hung Out by Lyrica Creed is available now on Kindle Click Here
Acknowledgements
The Gages in my life.
Corinna Reilly for all of your help and input with this book.
Debbie Williams for your editing expertise.
Lisa Gillis for lending out Jack Storm
The many bloggers who love reading and dedicate their time and sites to spreading the word about their favorite books.
Contact
STRUNG OUT
All Chapters 3rd POV Section
Needles and Pins (I)
by Lyrica Creed
About This Book
Read it your way
To go back to 1st Person Point of View Click here
Blurb
‘Finding her best friend and getting the hell out of California is top priority. Especially as the relationship with her 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. 6:45 PM
Scarla wasn’t sure if it was a blessing or a curse that her schedule had just opened, making her 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. 6:46 PM
“Scarla? Could I get some service, like yesterday?”
Restraining the urge to grab a soda gun and spray his smug face, she 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
.”
She could almost see steam pouring from his ears when she took her time closing the text screen and then the email screen before pocketing the phone in her jeans. The figurative clouds vaporized, and his glowing gaze stuck like glue to her derriere.
With her forefinger, she hooked a selection from the neatly-lined liquor bottles and assembled the ingredients into the shaker. Tired of the sensation of his staring eyes, she turned, fully facing him as she mixed and poured. Flipping a bar towel over her shoulder, she 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 she curved a forgiving smile when she saw today was no different.
The mirror behind the bar reflected a smudge of eyeliner beneath one eye, and she wiped it away while closing the money into the register. Her hair was in a fritz due to the humidity, and she ran a smoothing hand down the tresses. Was there a hair clip in her purse…
“Hey, kitten. I ordered a double. I paid for a double.”
And here we go. At least once a week, this man made her shift a misery by harassing the other customers 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 her.
“It is a double.” Leaning into the damp cloth, she 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, she 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 her and sent a knowing look down the bar. Derrick kept her company during her shift often enough to know the troublemakers.
“It will be, in five minutes when I’m out of this joint.” She poured him his usual. In her peripheral vision, she saw her least favorite customer had decided he didn’t want to stir things up yet and was back to drinking in silence.
After thanking her 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, she’d followed up. “The money isn’t right. The tips, you know. They keep me in school.” She deliberately let the appreciation in her voice carry. For two years, she’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 they’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 her homemade salsa, she regretfully shook her 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 her belly. She made a quick circle, checking on her other customers. The man who watched television so intently on his tablet. The couple who spoke with their heads together as if they were the only two people alive.
Choosing a canned drink from the fridge, she pondered her dire financial straits. An entire semester was about to eddy down the drain. Stationing herself across from Derrick, she leaned a hip against her side of the bar, popped the tab, and tipped the can to her lips.
“Did you get the notes downloaded?” Like her, he maintained a 4.0 average and always had an assignment, test, or paper on his mind. She 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 Scarla waved away the harried woman’s apology. It took less than a minute to clock out and grab her things.
Derrick settled his tab and sprang off the stool to exit with her. Mutually, they paused beneath the overhang instead of separating to their vehicles. The streetlights were flickering on. But it was still light enough to see his car parallel parked several lengths ahead of hers.
“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. She could pretend she hadn’t received an email less than an hour ago from university financial services. She could pretend for now nothing was wrong. She could go home, pour a stiff drink from her mother’s cheap vodka, and process the inevitable alone for a bit before having to deal with it and the consequences.
Or she 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 their two worlds might no longer be coexisting. Pausing, she opened her umbrella. He ducked beneath the dome shelter with her, and she drew in a heady breath when his attractive face held her attention for a few moments. They’d shared a friends-with-benefits relationship over the last two semesters. He was uncomplicated and sexy. They 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, she expanded her answer. “Just this semester.” His gawk morphed into a ‘have you lost your damn mind’ look, fixating on her face, and she understood. Her grades were great. The semester was on the downhill slide to finals. She began walking and he fell in step.
“What’s going on?”
Hopping over a puddle, she debated her answer. If she told him the truth, he would offer to help. Having the money would fix one problem, but borrowing it from the guy she was ‘hanging out’ with had the potential to create different problems.
“Family emergency.” She lied. Although Ivy was as close as family to her, and her disappearance was under unusual circumstances, she wasn’t sure she would have dropped everything in the middle of a semester to fly to another continent and search her 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, she passed him the umbrella, and he held it as she folded into her piece of shit car.
“You got it.” He agreed, and she loved that he didn’t pry. Instead, he snapped the umbrella closed and dropped it to the floorboard behind her. “The States, huh? Have a safe trip.”
He pushed closed the car door, and she waved as she cranked the engine. It wasn’t yet Belize’s rainy season, but the storm had become a torrent, splattering the windshield and aptly replicating her 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, she pulled up the banking app on her phone. The balance was as dismal as it had been when checking it right after receiving the email. With a practiced eye, she ran down the debit transactions and noted a few she didn’t recognize. It wasn’t the first time her mother had helped herself to her debit card and put it back without a word. This situation was her own fault, for not managing her money more closely—for keeping a running
total in her head instead of looking at her damn bank account once in a while.
Mentally, she summed the figures. The balance combined with her upcoming paycheck wouldn’t be enough to pay the university, but according to Travelocity, it was enough for a flight to Los Angeles. She hadn’t been bullshitting Ivy, or Derrick. She was going.
Closing the apps, she scrolled though her text contacts, stopping on ‘G’.
Gage.
The name on the screen next to a blinking cursor was as near and dear to her heart as it was practically a stranger these days.
Drawing in a breath of courage, she began tapping her 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, she and her former stepbrother had been as close as blood siblings. Possibly closer, since they’d rarely fought like a real brother and sister. After their parents’ divorce, they’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, she didn’t wait for a response. The waiting made her too nervous. Was it because he and his band had catapulted to fame and were everywhere on social media? Or was it because last night she had dreamed again of their 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.