“Pay special attention here. There’s one journo’ you don’t want to talk to. No matter if it sounds like a friendly ‘how do you do.’ They’ve been putting a negative spin on everything to do with your backstory. Don’t give them anything to quote.”
This news had my undivided attention, and I made a mental note of the name.
“Just stay tuned in to me. I’ll give you a heads up.”
Nodding, I fingered the tiny earpiece I would have in one ear for the red carpet portion of the upcoming drop party for my debut album.
“It’s going to be a lot of fun. Don’t be worried.”
Was I looking worried? I didn’t feel that way. My eyes strayed to Gage who was deep in conversation with Jax. Gage had done a lot of session work on my album as well as a couple of other bands. On the very date his non-compete clause with Fire Flight had expired, he’d received the call from Jax he’d been hoping for and within the week had become the newest artist on the Jewelstone label. Until I’d actually seen the change in him—the permanent and prideful straightening of his shoulders I hadn’t realized were hunched much of the time—I hadn’t realized how deeply drifting along as an unsigned artist had been affecting him. Feeling my eyes on him, he looked up and sent a smile across the room, which I returned. Nope. Not worried at all.
The red carpet was painless. I touched the earpiece in my ear one last time as Gage and I took our positions. What was to come in the days afterward was unpredictable.
With his career off to a fresh start, I’d wondered if Gage might regret his vow of not caring if we went public, but just last night, he’d made goofy jokes about how to announce it tonight.
We began the walk. Gage hung back each time I stopped for a press pose. Eyeing the printed cards along the carpet that identified each agency, I watched for the one I’d been warned about. Sure enough, a little voice in my ear reminded me just as I saw it, and I only smiled for the chic woman. That however didn’t stop the inevitable associative question from one of the next journalists.
“Did your brother Gage work with you on the album, Scarlette?”
No time like the present. Laughing, I grabbed Gage’s hand. “Gage isn’t my brother.” I read Gage’s thoughts as clear as if he’d said them, even though his features were impassive. You sure about this? Hell, I was so sure, I leaned into him, and in that smooth, silent commutative way only lovers had, he sweetly snaked an arm around my waist.
Flashbulbs became strobe lights.
A dull roar became a yell fest.
“Are you and Gage Remington dating?”
“At what point did the video happen in your relationship?”
“How long was Gage Remington your stepbrother?”
And there it was.
I only smiled as we continued to move down the line.
“Holy shit!” Colt grinned. “That is hysterical.” He’d played the video twice, and now he raised his voice in imitation of me. “Gage isn’t my brother.”
“It is funny,” Caroline picked her head up from Colt’s shoulder to agree. “The look on your face is priceless. Like the gal is an idiot!”
“Just a crafty cunt looking for a story angle,” Ivy interjected. It took a discerning eye to see Caroline bristle a bit at the other woman’s presence. Ivy seemed unbothered and hugged closer to her man of the hour who was an independent film writer and director. The press had been merciless during her very public final breakup with Bradley, and that was the reason for the tone she took when speaking of press. Her next words however were breezy. “We’ve got to get going. Scarlette and Gage, love the new digs!”
“Thanks for coming.” I jumped up and hugged my friend.
Gage and I had hosted a Scarlette Rose tour kickoff party at our new house—built on the lot where we’d had our first grownup kiss and lost the vape pen. Really, it was more of a barbecue with our closest friends and my side men. My tour musicians and their families had left within a few hours, but Gage and I, Colt and Caroline had been talking around the pool for half the night. Ivy and her date had dropped in and out quickly. Seth and a few of his friends—some of them girls—were playing video games just across the patio under his parents’ keen eye.
The upcoming tour leg was to be short. Just over a dozen dates. Gage was traveling with me, with the exception of the last few dates when he’d be returning to L.A. ahead of me to begin recording his own album.
We’d lain awake many a night, limbs tangled, staring into the dark as we resolved to not be one of those celebrity couples who rarely saw one another. We would keep our tour dates minimized, and that way we’d be able to travel with one another. Our united focus was getting our music ‘out there,’ and there were plenty of mediums for doing so without a heavy tour schedule.
I knew Gage loved the stage and the spotlight, and I’d become a teeny bit addicted to the adrenaline rush of performing in front of thousands. The short tours would be enough to suffice that craving. Hence, session musicians and tour musicians.
I would have liked the cohesive experience of a permanent band, but I realized the expectations would be different. It wouldn’t be right to deny them the touring that I didn’t want or financially need and they might. Gage had talked himself out of a permanent band for the same reasons. Besides, he said Fire Flight would always be his band.
Caroline giggled and when everyone looked her way, she passed Colt’s phone to me.
A picture of me and Gage that I had posted to Instagram during a recent session break titled ‘Making Music With My Man’ was now edited and reposted to twitter.
Scar + Gage #SHIP #Goals
The homage to us as a couple had over a thousand retweets.
Some of the press might be having a field day with former step-siblings turned lovers—one outlet had even dug up a shot of me and Gage as young teens with our parents, running it next to a passionate still frame from the video, entitling it ‘How Do You Get From Here to Here?’ But the fans of our music didn’t give a shit, and there was more evidence of their absolute devotion every day, taking forms like this post.
“Scarlette, dear, do you want me to put this food up before I go to bed?” Henni stepped out onto the patio and called across.
“I’ll get it, Mom. Thanks for your help. See you in the morning.” I kicked Gage’s shoe, and was impressed when he added a very sincere sounding “Yeah. Thanks. Rest well.”
I rewarded him with a scalp rub, and enjoyed the silky strands of his hair slipping through my fingers. Henni’s silhouette was soon out of sight, and I spoke quietly. “Only a couple more days, and she’s into her new place across town.”
“It’s been a long week.” He grumbled, jabbing his thumb down on the vape pen button.
“Oh, really?” I snuck a look to be sure we weren’t boring Colt and Caroline, but those two were conversing just as closely in their own little world. I snatched his prescription weed to dose myself. Damn rude rock stars. For a second, I’d gotten all warm and fuzzy, but he’d ruined it by countering his gesture. “So sorry for your long week.”
He jacked the vaporizer back into his possession. “Yeah. A week of not being able to walk naked through the house. Not being able to fuck in the kitchen if we wanna. Not being―”
I giggled, completely forgiving him. “You freak. What will you do when there are Gage juniors running around?”
“Shit myself.” His answer was immediate, and although it was accompanied with a silly smirk, I knew Gage was terrified of babies. His babies.
In fact, his fear of family might be why we weren’t married yet. I wasn’t critical. We’d both been warped by our own sperm/egg donors in one way or another. I was just as terrified of being a parent. But one thing I did know. At some point in the future, I yearned for at least one mini Gage doppelganger.
He would have dark shaggy hair and eyes like his dad. And of course, the engaging smile.
“I love you, Gage.”
“Not as much as I love you, Scar Dar’.
Epilogue
“What did you do?” She eyed the plastic on the inside of his forearm.
“Come see.” He led the way to the brighter lights of the bathroom.
With his free hand, he pulled at the temporary protection his tattoo artist had sent him home with until the swollen skin was visible.
“You had the broken string fixed?”
Letting the trash fall into the bin, he nodded. “The broken string was the something out of whack in my life.” Something in her face made him rush to add, “It was one of my first tattoos. And I’ve never even thought of fixing it. Because I’ve never been truly at peace until now.”
He watched as she took it in. The vine visible now, instead of a broken string. The rose on top of the perfect straight strings—holding them in place.
One day, after he had a ring on her finger, he’d add into the petals the names of each of their children…
THE END
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Bookshelf
Needles and Pins Series
Strung Out
Scarlette and Gage know they can’t hide their relationship from public eyes forever, but it should be easy enough to fly under the radar while they are separated by Gage’s rehab stay.
Or not…
When a viral sex video outs them as lovers, their very new and now long distance relationship is tested.
Hung Out
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…
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
HUNG OUT
All Chapters 3rd POV Section
Needles and Pins (II)
by Lyrica Creed
About This Book
Read It Your Way
If you prefer to read in 1st Person Point of View Click here
Blurb
Scarlette and Gage know they can’t hide their relationship from public eyes forever, but it should be easy enough to fly under the radar while they are separated by Gage’s rehab stay.
Or not…
When a viral sex video outs them as lovers, their very new and now long distance relationship is tested.
Chapter 1
I could have been any rock star’s kid. My mom dated dozens of famous musicians over a decade and a half, and I use the word dating very loosely. Any one of them could’ve been the one.
But I hit the rock star daddy lottery.
That’s what people are acting like anyway. It’s sickening.
I’m Scarlette Conterra daughter of Tyler Conterra, rock icon who fatally overdosed three weeks shy of joining the twenty-seven club. His millions multiplied into billions over twenty years, and I’m days away from reaching trust fund age.
I’m not going to lie and say it won’t give me a thrill never again to worry about paying my bills. Being offered my own onyx charge plate and invited into elite social sites is also a strange kick. But I’d give it all up and go back to bartending my way through college to have one real memory of my dad—one little clip in my head or fuzzy image that I know for certain is not part of a YouTube video or a Google Image.
I can’t imagine anyone will believe that. But it’s true.
*
Achy eyes and blurred vision kept her from continuing. Her thumb rested on the keypad of her phone while she squinted the almost tears away and read what she’d typed.
What the hell?
She was supposed to be writing a two-hundred-word essay on ‘The Biggest Misconception About You.’ It was one of five such questions on the application to her dream college of naturalistic medicine.
This rambling monologue although very true, was unacceptable.
Extremely personal.
Bringing up a new screen, she watched the icon blink and thought back to a couple of months ago. What was the biggest misconception about Scarla Smythe? Never mind that girl faded into nothingness a few nights ago on the red carpet.
Scarla Smythe was safe.
Scarlette Conterra was terrifying.
Chapter 2
So damn sexy. In body and soul. And she was his girl.
For now.
The clock in his head never stopped these days when rehab loomed closer with each second, waiting to take him from her.
It killed him that he was going to miss her birthday. It made him crazy to think about being separated for months, especially when their relationship was so new.
Sifting through the pictures his publicist had sent, Gage stopped on one.
Scarlette stepping from the limo, protectively centered with him on one side and Colt on the other. His hand was behind her, resting on her back. Colt’s hand was curved above her elbow. Her dazzling smile looked as natural as if she’d been appearing at publicity events forever. It was Colt and he who were glaring into the camera lens.
One or both of them had remained protectively by her side the entire evening, sometimes both holding her hands at the same time, and sitting on either side of her at the feature. For once, he hadn’t wanted to punch Colt for having his hands on her.
The two of them appearing together with her saved any speculation in the tabloids that would have occurred if she had shown up alone with him. It was natural enough. Her stepbrother and his bandmate. Her stepbrother and the guy who had loaned the ‘Scarlette Rose’ and other memorabilia to the film.
Letting the picture drop, he picked up another.
Scarlette posed by a huge poster of Tyler. The family resemblance was so striking that he doubted anyone could look at her next to her father without a lump in his or her windpipe.
He jumped in surprise when her arms wrapped his neck from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Where’d you get those?”
“Fax.”
“I didn’t know there was a fax here.”
“Everything’s here you could ever need.” He watched as she perused the matte prints. “In fact, I was thinking. Why don’t you stay? Until you go to school. You could even do the enrollment from here. Logan, my PA, takes classes at USC. He can help you get set up. Ivy could come stay with you some. Right? I could make one call. Rent it for another month.”
“Whoa. Slow down.” She eased around to sit on his lap. They both stared at the surf rolling in and Rascal prowling the jetty. They’d arrived at the bungalow on a private beach in Los Cobos around midnight, after the documentary screening a few nights ago.
They had fifteen days together before he would go into rehab for an estimated three to six months. This time he’d have to stick it out, or be handed into custody to do county time.
He knew he was making her crazy with possibilities and plans. Dates and details. He’d had a bank account opened for her and had already deposited more money than she’d need to get by until her birthday. He remained antsy, spouting a constant fountain of information he thought she’d need while he was gone. He wanted to make sure she didn’t want for anything, and a piece of him knew some of his suggestions were a hope to ensure she’d still be his when he returned.
“Let’s get something to eat.” As she made the suggestion, her fingers fiddled with his hair, massaging his scalp in a way that was both relaxing and erotic.
“I was hoping you were going to say let’s get naked.”
“Food first. I’m starving. Aren’t you?”
Truth was, he rarely got hungry these days. Too much stress. But he exited his pity party, and continued to play with the toys beneath her shirt. Best part of this vacation? Scar hadn’t put on a bra yet. “I could eat.” He lied, regarding food and even tried to sound enthusiastic. “Want to go out, or stay in?”
“Let’s go out since…” Her eyes drifted almost closed when he cupped and squeezed. “I haven’t been here since I was a kid. It’s really different.”
“’Out’ it is then.” He pushed at her, and when she vacated his lap, he popped her fine derrière with an openhanded swat.
They had seafood for dinner at a rooftop restaurant. He even downed a couple of glasses of wine. What did it matter whether he went into rehab almost detoxed or loaded again? When Scar refused a third glass, and he motioned their server to top his off, he tried to ignore the question in her eyes.
After that, it was easy to suggest one of the trendy clubs instead of heading back to their lodging. She argued for a bit, but he was persuasive. “C’mon. We can pretend it’s your birthday.”
With a smile of agreement, she nodded, and they soon had a band around their wrist and a stamp on their hands. Holding her hand, he drew her onto the dance floor, and tried to pretend there was no tomorrow. No next week. No long months ahead.
They rested at the bar after every couple of songs before hitting the floor again. He loved watching her hair swing around her shoulders, the feel of her body when it was against his, and that special spark in her eyes accompanying a smile she curved only for him.
When he felt a familiar prickle—the tingle that normally meant a fan of the band had recognized him and was currently staring while contemplating an approach―he ignored the tingly warning. They were thousands of miles from his stomping grounds of L.A. He was wearing a long sleeved tee and jeans to cover his trademark tattoos. Surely, the little needles in his neck were a false alarm. Besides, Scarlette had just twisted away, and her fine ass was begging his attention. Clamping his hands on her waist, he pulled her to him. When the song ended and the next began, she pivoted to face him, eyes glittering with a happy glow.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 29