Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1)

by Lyrica Creed

  As reverently as the last time, Colt extracted the guitar from behind the glass. Gage held out his hand. “I’ll tune it for you?” She nodded, gratefully, as she hadn’t thought of that. He’d shown her how to use a tuner app, but she had no idea how to tune by ear yet.

  Yet. She silently acknowledged the desire to continue learning.

  A young woman introduced herself as the onset stylist. Scarla had already been tended to by a stylist before arriving, but now she sat for touchups while the cameraman and Willard pointed out shiny spots and hair wisps.

  She was soon settled on the tiny set with the Scarlette Rose. The strap felt heavy on her shoulder. Looking up, she sought the comfort of Gage’s eyes and let her fingers drift over the strings. Up one fret, then back down, she concentrated on what she was doing and ignored the fiery pain in the tips of her never-quite callused fingers. She drifted from the song Gage had taught her, weaving in the extra layers he’d added as she learned. From there she segued into the bridge and verse of her dad’s song. The piece was simplistic and short.

  When she lifted her head, she was almost surprised to see the camera and the hypnotized gaze of every other occupant in the room. “And cut!” The directive rang out and applause clattered around her. He asked her for one more take before she shrugged off the guitar. The rest of the interview time flew by. They talked mostly of what it was like to have access to her father’s life through media. They touched on her personal life, where she’d lived, what her music tastes were. Gage’s publicist, who was now hers too, had done a Skype session with her, advising her on the wording of her answers.

  You don’t remember your father at all?

  No.

  You knew him though. Through his songs, videos, interviews. What is one thing you feel like he taught you in the legacy he left?

  Don’t let fears control your destiny.

  “Thank you, Scarlette. You’ve grown up as beautiful a person as your dad. He would be proud.”

  “I wish he hadn’t said that part about my dad being proud. No one knows that.” Scarla took a long sip of her beer and idly watched the several heads bobbing in the two pool levels.

  “I know that.” Gage emphasized the pronoun, refuting her statement. His eyes caressed hers, but he didn’t physically touch despite his chair being only a few inches from hers. “He would be. I told you that already.”

  “You killed it, Scarla.” Colt stood in front of his fancy grill and never paused in the flipping of burger patties to interject.

  Switching her attention from Gage, to Colt, she smiled her thanks, becoming used to how he never got the deeper meaning of a conversation or gesture. The backyard gate swung open, admitting Caroline who carried a baking pan. Judging by the way his eyes always lit up in a special way for this one woman, Colt being a shallow dick would change one day.

  After the greetings died down, Caroline left Colt’s side to sit on the edge of the pool and talk to Seth. Colt continued to poke at the meat browning over a glow of orange coals.

  While everyone else was occupied, Gage tipped his water bottle ever so slightly. The stream splashed her collarbone and did a slow run down her skin, trailing through the valley beneath her swimsuit top before damming up at the elastic.

  “Let’s eat these burgers already and get out of here.” His whisper was heavy with meaning, and although she only raised her brows, she couldn’t concur more.

  Their second night at Arrowhead they had only snuggled in bed. The next morning they’d flown out, and events had unfolded too quickly over the last two days to think about sex other than a shower quickie. This afternoon, they had rushed home minutes after “that’s a wrap” had been called—long enough to change into their swimsuits. Another quickie had helped her wind down—at first. Now a couple of hours into the aftermath, thinking about that wall bang rekindled what felt like orange coals in the sweet spot of her insides.

  Colt dished the hamburger patties up. She stabbed a piece of meat with a fork, slapped it between the two layers of a bun with only a squirt of mustard, and took a big bite. “Hungry?” He waved the spatula and sent an incredulous look her way. Nodding with her mouth full, she tried not to look at Gage. For sure, she didn’t want to provoke any of Colt’s obnoxious remarks.

  She knew Gage was being careful of their relationship. He had removed his arm from around her chair, the moment the rest of the band began arriving.

  She wasn’t sure if he was being considerate of her, or if he had his own motives. She understood if it was the latter. She wasn’t sure if he was being considerate of her, or if he had his own motives. She understood if it was the latter. If there was anyone who didn’t need another scandal—besides rich Hollywood socialites suffering from affluenza—that person was Gage. His career in the spotlight couldn’t take another hit.

  Caroline selected an empty chair and pulled it in close to the food fixings. As she heaped her plate, she conversed over the table. “I was so happy to hear you extended your stay in L.A.” Scarla nodded and smiled around another bite. “Colt said you might finish school here.” Colt blasted his baby mamma with an annoyed glare, and now Scarla did eye Gage. They had talked about it very briefly and only a few days ago. That she might transfer into one of the homeopathic colleges near Los Angeles while Gage was… gone. Apparently, he was so sold on this plan that he’d spoken of it in passing with Colt. She swallowed her bite and nodded. “That’s something I’m thinking on.” The others invaded the table and Caroline continued to talk, but she switched the topic to less personal matters.

  “Thanks for the barbecue.” Scarla bent to Colt’s chair as She and Gage prepared to leave and planted a brief kiss on his mouth. Beside her, she heard the low rumbling growl thing from Gage and knew that’s why she had done it. So sexy. However, she could actually feel the laser heat of Caroline’s gaze, and hobnobbing between the rest of the group fell deadly quiet for the span of a few seconds before resuming. Right. She’d kissed Colt right in front of his baby mamma. Not cool. Without missing a beat, she moved to Caroline and transferred the kiss. She had never kissed another woman on the face―much less for an instant on the lips―so she hoped the moment looked every bit as Californian as it felt uncomfortable. “I’ll see you around, girlfriend.”

  Gage appeared startled by the out of character behavior, but he said nothing. He simply waved to his bandmates and their spouses. The moment they were closed into the garage at his house, he shut off the engine and leaned across the seats, cleansing her palate with a very thorough kiss.

  Inside the house, they separated at the foot of the stairs. “I’ve got to feed and water the big bad guard dog and lock the doggy door.” They both showered Rascal with love and he pranced around, preening at the attention. “…And drink my stuff. I’ll be up in a sec.”

  Upstairs, she went into her own room and did a quick jump in and out of the shower. The blank tiles were lonely looking, and she realized she was already accustomed to showering surrounded by Gage’s latest lyrical musings. Wrapped in a towel, she pawed through her dresser until she found what she was looking for.

  The black boxer shorts with the blue silky top.

  Hastily, she finished drying and donned them. After releasing the knot she’d piled her hair into for the shower and running a brush through it, she viewed her reflection. With her face washed clean of the heavy makeup required for the camera she looked more herself—even with her hair back to a color she hadn’t seen in years. Hooking a frizzy strand that must have escaped the shower bun, she tucked it behind her ear. She was pretty. She knew that when she really stopped to look at herself. As the daughter of Henni Smythe and Tyler Conterra, how could she not be? But if beauty was enough to hold on to a rock star, they’d all be hitched to the first cover girl they flaunted. She shook away that thought.

  Gage wasn’t a rock star. Gage was her rock star. The light in her dark sky. At least for now.

  Chapter 46

  Dwindling the melody to a close, Gage ducked ou
t of the strap and settled the guitar into its resting place. With a grimace, he downed the last of the cherry juice and while passing through the den, abandoned the tumbler on a table for the housekeeper to deal with. He was too eager to be upstairs to detour through to the kitchen.

  As he ascended the stairs, Rascal appeared and as was typical ran ahead of him. The light was still on in his bedroom, but Scar was only a motionless lump beneath the covers. He shrugged his shirt off and began shucking out of his jeans while his eyes never left her.

  Was she asleep? Or only fooling around?

  “Asleep already?” he whispered, in case she really was. The stress she’d been under had to have her exhausted. “’Cause I was going to strip you naked and lick you like an ice cream cone…” At this, he thought he saw the barest movement. A hitch of her breath. He continued his seductive words. “…but if you’re asleep, I guess I’ll just sleep too…” God he hoped she was faking it. He sank a knee into the mattress, and easing behind her, combed his fingers gently through her new hair. Rascal bounded onto the bed, and the top sheet shifted. His fingers froze while he took in the shiny blue scrap of material and lace. Reverently, he traced a spaghetti thin strap, the contrast of silk and skin tickling even through his rough fingertip. “Damn if I didn’t just wake up on Dream Street.” He wrapped himself to her and prodded Rascal with his feet. “Get down, boy. Go sleep on the couch… Go on…”

  His lips skimmed her neck and sweet words fell from his lips as naturally as each breath. “…smell so good …feel so good… so pretty, Scar.” She rolled to him and let him kiss the smile from her lips. A sweep of her hand fevered his skin, and he felt her suck in an unsteady breath when her hand settled on his bare ass. They took their time with the kiss. He skimmed his hands over the silk and then unable to wait, tunneled beneath the thin top to touch her smooth skin. The barrier of the barely-there material teased his lips when he began to inch his way down. As impatient as he was for a direct taste of skin, he enjoyed the frustrated heaves of her chest too much to rip the garment from her body just yet. When he was unable to wait another second, he pushed the hem up until it stopped beneath her breasts and trailed his tongue down heated skin to her stomach. Her gasp was loud, and her hand drifted from his shoulder to clench in his hair when he swirled her navel. Her breathing grew increasingly more ragged as his attention drifted downward. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the skin above the elastic waist of the boxer shorts. In response, her fingers tightened into a fist, clenching a handful of hair at his nape. His tongue dipped beneath the elastic and one of his fingers hooked the waistband, drawing it down a bit. The tug at his scalp became painful and then eased. He trailed his tongue over another expanse of skin, silkier than the top she was wearing and winced when her grip twisted painfully in his hair again, as she tugged him upward. And then like before, her grip relaxed when he paused. Abandoning his hold on her boxers, he curved his hands to her waist. Unable to stop his lips from curving in amusement against her, he mumbled into her soft flesh, “Is that a yes? Or a no?”

  Her sharp intake of breath was loud, and beneath his mouth, he felt her stomach cave ever so slightly as she blew it out. “I don’t know.” Her fingers curled and uncurled as if in indecision.

  Propping his chin on her boxers, he saw she was staring to the ceiling for whatever answer she sought. Shimmying up, he enjoyed the combo of silk and skin against his chest while nuzzling her neck. “Why don’t you know?” After asking, he lifted his head enough to study her face while she answered. For a while, he thought she wasn’t going to reply and so he kissed her, conceding.

  But then she spoke against his lips. “I’ve never done that.”

  He stilled, completely thrown. He couldn’t stop the heady thoughts that came next—one of them a private joke for his own enjoyment. She had done it. The searing memory of her lips and tongue on him earlier that morning had him instinctively grinding his hips to hers. But the thought of no one having ever kissed her in that way brought out a greedy possessive streak he’d never felt this intensely before tonight.

  “It’s so…” she sighed, her embarrassment with the conversation obvious, “…too much. Too intimate. I’ve never let anyone.”

  Their lips were still touching, and he locked his eyes to hers. “Are you going to let me?” If the soft question came out in the same wheedle he’d used on her as kids, it was because he suddenly felt as desperate for her to agree, as he had for her to split that last ice cream sandwich she’d been about to bite into when they were ten.

  He hadn’t wanted the ice cream as much as he had wanted her to give it to him. Her handing it over held a deeper meaning. It had demonstrated feelings between them left unsaid. Back then, she hadn’t hesitated—she’d even offered the slightly larger half.

  Tonight, it seemed like the world stopped while he waited the few seconds for her answer. A response he felt would reveal everything about where they were right now in this crazy relationship.

  “Yes.” Her gaze never wavered, and before she’d finished nodding, he ground his lips to hers in a kiss of gratitude, servitude, and passion.

  Chapter 47

  Please call me, Scarlette Rose

  You can’t keep ignoring me. I’m your mother.

  Call me.

  I’m sorry for the scene outside the ice bar. We need to talk.

  You’re pissing me off Scarlette

  The queue of texts continued to roll in after Scarla unblocked her mother’s number. Now she questioned the sanity of doing so.

  The twentieth anniversary of Tyler Conterra’s death had dawned a clear hot day in L.A. Gazing at the city in the distance, she wondered if a cloud of smog had hung over it the day her father had died. Not long ago, Gage had driven her by the modest house in the hills with a similar view where her father had resided and passed away.

  “Who’s blowing up your phone?” Gage paused his playing and rested the guitar against his chest.

  “I was going to call my mom. Today’s always been hard on her.”

  He scowled but said nothing. She knew what he was thinking. Henni Smythe had been about to trash the idealistic image of her ex-lover for millions of his adoring fans. If the date was sentimental to her, she had a strange way of showing it. Scarla knew though. She’d seen her mother do many unscrupulous things over the years in the name of money. These things were more often a con—not what she personally felt.

  “Give me some warning if you call. I need to be far away.” Gage’s look inferred he needed the distance to keep from throwing her phone over the wall into the canyon if that happened.

  “I guess this is your warning. I don’t want to be caught off-guard by her at the screening tonight.”

  Scarla was going to the documentary screening in several hours. Not that she wanted to. If she had to see it at all, she’d prefer to do so in private. And of course, a coming out in public was the last thing she had wanted. But publicity pictures with Willard Ackard, the producers, and other suits behind the film was in her part of the legal jargon that had ensured her mother was completely removed from any connection with the film. Her mother’s invitation to the screening had even been revoked, to guarantee she didn’t show up in a press picture. Somehow, though, Scarla didn’t think things would go off without a hitch. Although her mom had been paid, she had now been betrayed by her own daughter, and the woman seemed to relish public scenes.

  Wasting no time, Gage carried his guitar, retreating into the house, and he didn’t look happy about it. She loved him a little bit more for that—for letting her do what she felt she needed to do despite his disagreement.

  Taking a deep breath, she pressed speed dial.

  “Scarlette! Honey! Finally! What in the flipping fuck is going on with you?”

  “Me? I’m just trying to clean up your mess. What were you thinking?”

  “Every word was true.”

  “No. No it wasn’t!”

  “Scarlette. Listen to me―”

 
“No. I don’t care what’s true and what isn’t. You don’t fuck with a man’s memory like that. And just forgetting about the public humiliation you were about to bring on our family—did you ever think about what you were doing to me? What would make you screw up your daughter’s already messed up image of a father she never had the privilege of knowing?”

  “You’re an adult now. Act like one. You can’t think―”

  “No. YOU act like one.” Scarla brushed the back of her hand over her eyes. “Don’t try to be there tonight. There’ll be security on the lookout for you. And I’m going to have security around me. We won’t be talking there. In fact, I don’t know when we’ll be talking again.”

  “Scarlette! Calm down. You need to―”

  “If you’re worried about money, don’t be. You may be cold and greedy, but I’m not.”

  “What are you saying?”

  Scarla’s mouth twitched, a quirk of a disappointed smile. A crazy smile because there was nothing amusing about this. It wasn’t surprising her mom had ignored an attack on her character. The upcoming fortune was front and center in Henni’s mind, even with the five figures she’d very recently been paid for her traitorous interview.

  “That you’re my mother. I’ll make sure you have what you need.”

  “This is Gage, isn’t it? And his father. That man still has a vendetta against me. You and I need to talk alone. Soon.”

  “Before my birthday?” She felt her lips curve again in delirious amusement. “Okay. We’ll talk before my birthday.”

  “Alone. Just you and me.”

  Ignoring that, she lifted her face to the barest brush of a breeze and eyed the smog cloud. “Mom? Take care of yourself today. Okay?” Her throat burned with emotion and the words were hoarse.

  Jabbing her thumb at the screen, she hit ‘End Call.’

  Twenty years ago today, the world had lost an icon. Her mother had lost a man she loved. And she had lost a father she’d never remember.