“Yeah. He, thought he lost it last night at that bar where he’s doing some part time work. Wasted some time trying to track it. But today when he figured out the tracker was off, he knew it was stolen.”
“Thanks, Leah. I’m not in the country. So tell him not to worry about calling me. Just ask him to text me. I’ll give him some time to get his new phone activated and call him.”
Scarlette blew out a relieved breath the second the call disengaged, and he ran a comforting touch down a strand of her hair. A movement behind the pastry counter caught his eye. But the worker was seemingly oblivious to them and he wondered if he’d imagined the cell phone camera. Paranoia from days gone by, possibly.
He wished Mike would hurry the hell up and call back. He wanted security on Scar here for the duration of their time in Europe, and Mike would be able to set that up.
“Who’s Leah?” Crossing her legs, she tilted her head so that her hair was no longer in his fingers.
“His sister or cousin, I think.” Seeing the familiar set of her jaw, he added firmly, “A family relation.”
There it was again. A phone aimed their way. Seeing he was busted, the young man who had served Scar put it away and his accent was heavy when he called over, “Need anything? Refills?”
“No thanks.” He folded the newspaper and replied to the negative at the same time Scar smiled and accepted. “Yes, please.” Settling back into his chair, he resigned himself to another twenty minutes because he wasn’t leaving her side until she was safe back in her room—and maybe not even then. “Could I get it to go?” She added.
Yes! Thank you. It wasn’t that he begrudged another half-hour with her. But he was exhausted. Mentally from the mind games consistently playing out between them. And physically from their all-night workout. A nap was on his late afternoon agenda.
The server delivered the large paper cup to the table and lingered, asking her about the untouched pastry. Scarlette was polite as ever, making an excuse of an already full stomach and promising she’d eat it later. This led to their forced linger of another few minutes when the guy insisted on fetching a to-go wrapper.
Gage identified the behavior. The guy recognized Scarlette. As far as he knew, she had been undetected on this tour until now. His hackles rose, wondering if the other man knew her from their Cabo video exposé or American paparazzi tabloids.
“We need to go.” Straightening from his seat, Gage collected the wrapped pastry and leveled an urgent stare onto her features.
Like most shy fans, this one grew bold when he saw his window of opportunity closing. “You’re Scarlette Rose, right?”
Scarlette seemed caught completely off-guard, and her eyes widened a bit in disbelief before shuttering her private self and putting on her public persona.
“I’m your biggest fan.”
Of? Her naked body? Gage’s fist curled. Or snapshots of her on the red carpet?
“That’s really sweet of you to say so…” And here, Scarlette inadvertently schooled Gage on being a gracious celebrity. Looking at his nametag, she finished that sentence with his name, and he beamed.
Gage waited, unrecognized himself, as the two of them smiled for a selfie and she flipped to the back blank side of one of the shop’s flyers. Poised with her pen, she asked, “How should I sign it?”
“Scarlette Rose is fine.”
Her brows furrowed a bit, but she again eyeballed his badge and printed out his name, a salutation, and then signed with a flourish the requested ‘Scarlette Rose.’
“So weird that he knew my middle name.” She mumbled as the pedestrian sign changed from ‘Avanti’ to ‘Alt.’
“Yeah. Well he probably knows the name of your childhood cat and your favorite everything too.” Sarcasm oozed from his reply as they herded across the street.
“You’re so jaded.”
“Not anymore.” He stepped up onto the curb and automatically offered his hand.
Her lips moved as if she were about to retort and then clamped closed and she darted a sideways look toward him. In that moment, he knew she’d figured out what he hadn’t until this second. The lack of his former fame had embittered him.
His phone buzzed, and he retrieved it from his pocket, thankful for the interruption of that awkward moment. “Hey, Mike. Thanks for getting back with me so fast. Listen, we have a situation…”
Scar kept walking and he blindly followed while talking. When the call ended, he was standing in the middle of her hotel room and she’d stretched on her bed with a soft drink. She was fully clothed—correction, wearing a pair of the short shorts that made him crazy and the skimpy pink top he’d already noted earlier. And the bed was so tightly made, he bet a quarter would bounce on it. The sight was a stark contrast to this morning and yet again—how many times was it now in the last hour?—his cock twitched.
“So. You’re arranging a bodyguard?” She waited until he’d made his own selection from her minibar and was settled in one of the chairs.
“You need one.” He twisted the top of the bottled water and steeled himself for an argument.
But she only dropped her gaze to the aluminum can in her hand and had one word. “Thanks.”
“I was getting ready for a debate.”
“He creeps me out. A lot.”
With good reason. The man should be slinking away now that he knew his jig was up. Why was he still making contact? And stealing cell phones to do it? He trusted Mike to know at what point to turn to the local authorities. For Scar, he played it down. “He’s just trying to bully you. Scare you into giving him the money at least once. But just in case he tries something, you need protection.”
She nodded again, somehow managing to strum her guitar, drink, and channel surf. “Look!” Excited by what she’d found on TV, she let the guitar slide away.
The gray shadows of evening filled the room when he woke. City lights cast their reflections on the window. ‘Spiderman’ was over and another movie played out on the screen. He barely remembered moving from the chair to the bed. Reaching over a sleeping Scarlette, he eased the remote from beneath her arm and muted the sound.
His phone lay between them. A few texts blinked—one from Colt who offered advice and encouragement now that Scarlette knew the truth behind the ‘boyfriend caper.’ He hadn’t realized she was still in touch with Colt, but for the first time it didn’t bother him that his friend knew their business even when he hadn’t been the one to tell him. Mike had found muscle who could integrate with the tour schedule. The guy was experienced with bands and had his own sleeper vehicle available for when they traveled by bus. Logan’s text repeated the account of his cell phone theft.
Curiously, he looked toward Scarlette’s purse. However, despite being a jealous ex-boyfriend who had elaborately schemed behind her back, he couldn’t bring himself to violate the privacy of her purse, even when he desperately wanted to check her messages for any of Logan’s real ones.
Easing back onto the bed, he watched her sleep and played with her guitar, plinking the strings without turning on the amp. When he tired of that, he set it aside and turned the television volume on low. She curled her arms into her chest as if cold. He raised enough to flip the part of the blanket and spread he was sitting on over her and settled again, dozing.
Chapter 36
Shoulder to shoulder, Scarlette stood with the winners of VIP passes to the West Stage of the festival. Rattler was on the last song in their set, and she was indulging her favorite pastime lately—watching the sweat glisten on Gage’s cut and inked body.
A smile still hovered on her lips from Gage’s wink a few verses ago. Almost two weeks had passed since he’d roused her that last night in Milan, insisting she not miss out on a bit of fun—outside the room. They’d danced the rest of the night away in the clubs in the Navigli district and had scored souvenirs—their favorite Marvel comics in Italian from a huge comic book shop tucked among the clubs on the canal.
In the dark morning hours afte
rward shrouded in the backseat of the cab, they’d kissed. Those long luscious rock star kisses she couldn’t get enough of. Then, with a respectable distance between them, they’d entered the hotel, ridden up the elevator, and separated to their respective rooms.
They’d had mini dates and had kissed a few times since when they could sneak away without raising eyebrows. Neither of them spoke of what this meant. It was as if they didn’t want to break a spell. She tried to remain in a mindset of enjoying these spontaneous moments as they came without analyzing them to death—and without guilt.
A phone call with Logan had officially ended a relationship between them that had never been. That’s how she felt anyway despite Logan’s claims of true feelings in a trapped situation. He’d apologized and even though her traitorous body and heart had absolved Gage before they’d left Milan, it had been three calls and several texts later before she’d been able to accept Logan had been in an impossible situation and forgiven his part.
As the last song wound down, she made her exit. If watching Gage perform was one of her favorite things in the world, then watching groupies throw themselves on him was her least favorite thing. It was best she wasn’t around. She paused at the hospitality tent to grab a cold drink and a couple of snack bags. When she offered the same to Jal, a giant of a man who was now her shadow, he shook his head. Afterward, she texted for a runabout cart to carry them to the bus.
If she remembered the tour itinerary correctly, they were leaving around dark and traveling through the night. They’d worked their way gig to gig by bus for the better part of this week.
The afternoon was muggy, and she considered for a second before remembering they were in Amsterdam. When Landon had bemoaned the heat at one of the recent festivals, Gage had sarcastically told him he’d have fond memories of the heat when he experienced the humidity of The Netherlands. Landon had snarked back something about Gage always flaunting the fact that he was a tour veteran.
The cart slowed as it approached the sleek row of tour buses. VIP wristbands adorned the arms of the group milling the area. Several burly security personnel, dressed in black with white identifying letters kept the group corralled.
The fans stirred when she and her giant shadow alighted from their transport, and she made her way toward Rattler’s bus.
“Scarlette!” One cry was quickly followed by another and then another. This had occurred a couple of times since Milan. Word of her tagging along on the Rattler bill must be making its way around the internet. She waved, and as unobtrusively as possible hid her face behind a curtain of hair.
Maybe it was again time to go all out rock star with glasses and a hoodie. After the first several frenzied months of her re-debut into rock society as Scarlette Conterra Rock Princess, the following months of peace had been nice while it lasted.
The security near their bus nodded politely to her and, along with Jal, positioned protectively in front of her as she punched the code in. The cool air when she pulled the door open refreshed her face. She stood for a moment in the empty living area, acclimating and enjoying the peace. Carrying her snack, she paused in the galley.
First, she made sure the cherry mix was in the fridge, which would ensure the guys could wind down when they returned ready to relax or sleep. Next to the cherry chill as Landon had dubbed it, was energy booster bars she’d baked the morning before.
She considered relaxing downstairs, but knew soon enough one or more of the guys would return, and she didn’t feel like talking. After washing up in the tiny bathroom, she climbed to the top story and folded into her bunk.
Propped on one elbow, she maneuvered enough to plug her guitar in and settle headphones on her head. After adjusting the airflow into her area, she drew the thick accordion privacy curtain. Lying down, she positioned the guitar across her stomach and began to play. Her eyes drifted closed while she strummed, and she lost track of time.
She woke to noise inside the bus. It took only a second to register they weren’t rolling yet, so she hadn’t been asleep long. Removing her headphones, she heard more than one giggling girl.
And…
Her ears strained…
Landon…
And…
No other voices. But that didn’t mean anything. Parting the curtains, she peeked outside her bunk and found all the other bunks darkened. But that didn’t mean anything.
She checked the time on her phone while fighting the urge to pee. Apparently, she’d been asleep less than an hour. After squeezing her legs together, she gave up and went to the upstairs facilities. And as long as she was already up and about, she crept down the stairway. A part of her was very curious if Gage was downstairs with women draped all over him.
“Right there, hold, hold…” Landon’s voice, crooning, and before she could run back up, certain she was about to get an X-rated eyeful, he yelled, “Yes! Holy fuck. That’s good stuff! Have the rest.”
And she gaped at the sight in the front lounge.
Landon was offering a ‘straw’ in the form of rolled currency to a topless young woman who all but sat in his lap. The gal took it and bent to the white bump lining the spine of the human table in front of them. Scarlette shuddered to think how dirty the bus floor was and wondered how drunk the nude woman must be crouched on all fours with no thought of the germs.
“Okay, your turn.” He motioned the gal wiping her nose down, and the gal on the floor up.
Scarlette backed without a sound up the stairs, and the horrific scene disappeared from her vision, but the audio continued.
“Nope. No, no, no. Off with the pants. There you go. Oh yeah, honey… You know what? Put the heels back on… Now get down and give me a smooth surface…”
“You have to keep your back very straight.” An offer of advice allegedly from the original ‘table.’
Scarlette reached the landing, turned and ran to her bunk where she ripped her headphones from the amp, plugged them into her phone, and brought up the music app. With music cleansing her ears, other thoughts flooded in.
How long had Landon been using? How long had she stupidly been boosting him with vitamins and organic energy while all the time he was back to stuffing synthetic speed up his nose?
This entire venture was a failure. She was nothing more than a babysitter—and not a very good one apparently—to drug addicts.
Where are you?
Sent 8:32 PM
Gage
Watching Lemontine. Where are you?
8:37 PM
Gage
You should come. They rock.
8:47 PM
Gage
You okay?
8:58 PM
She’d been through several Fire Flight songs, lost in the catacombs of her mind when she heard shouting. Lifting one of the noise-reducing earbuds, she listened.
“Just get rid of the girls. Get ’em out, right now…”
“You get the fuck out…”
“Scarlette is upstairs…”
“Really? Get her naked and get her down here. We’ll make a movie―”
Cringing at the thud of the punch that followed, she leaped from the bed and flew to the bottom deck. What followed was a brawl of epic proportions. She had to call Jal to break it up.
Their departure was delayed while Landon was stitched up. The tour manager accompanied the drummer to the first aid station. Alone with Gage, Scarlette wet paper towels and dabbed at his scrapes while he grumbled about the other man’s piercings that were the cause of the blood on his knuckles.
“You shouldn’t have hit him.”
“Don’t start on me.”
She was startled and stung by the vehemence in his voice. Wadding the paper towel in her hand, she decided he could take care of himself. Screw him. But when he spoke next, she realized his tone had stemmed from the adrenaline not yet drained from his system.
“I’m not that angry person anymore. I wasn’t looking for an excuse to fight. Truthfully though, I might’ve been waiting fo
r an excuse to hit him.” He hung his head as he dabbed at his arm with a paper towel. “And then when he came at me like a rabid ape… If he wasn’t going to stop, I wasn’t either.”
“I wasn’t bitching at you. I was…”
His eyes were suddenly all over her face, stopping on her lips as she spoke. But now that she’d trailed off, thrown by the intensity of his regard, his charcoal gaze met hers. “You what?”
“I was…”
The pad of his thumb landed on her lower lip.
“…was wanting to hit him myself…” Sweet heaven. She became putty beneath his touch every time, particularly this one. The smooth stroke of his thumb with just the right pressure and gentleness. His strokes paused and his brows arched. “I wish I’d let you get the first punch in then.” When he resumed the ministration, she touched her tongue to his thumb and felt a groan lodge in her throat. Dampened, it felt, as always, like a kiss. When seconds ached by, she opened her eyes to his, having just that instant realized they’d drifted closed at some point. Was he deliberately dragging this out? She tasted him again, and slid her hands over the stretch of his tee shirt.
“Are you gonna kiss me or not?”
“If I say ‘not?’”
For a second, a disappointed stab pierced her heart until she registered the tone had been sexy and light and she fired the same right back at him. “Then I say cut this shit out.”
His mouth crashed to hers, urgent and then tapering to tender. She could handle the fires of pent-up passion. It was the tender moments that always riled an internal rebellion. The tiny stabbing second of fear a moment ago, was enough to tell her how paranoid she was about his affections. After all, he’d shown he was capable of pushing her away in a fit of jealousy. She never wanted to put herself in that position again. Right?
Still it was a Gage kiss. The damn rockstar technique. Her hands ignored the push-him-away signal her brain sent and instead glided up, locking to the back of his neck. His palm cupped her head, and his thumb, deprived of her lips, tickled the contours of her ear.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 49