Triple Trouble (Found in Oblivion Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  Randy: You are. I’ll be out there with them. I’m switching off with one of my techs at the board tonight.

  Juliet: It only counts if you’re wearing a Warning Sign T-shirt.

  He glanced down at his plain black T-shirt and motioned over one of the younger guys in the crew. “You know where I can get a band shirt?”

  “Yeah, try the merch table. The box back here is already empty.”

  “Merch table, huh?” Randy scratched the back of his neck. That meant venturing out into the masses. Not that anyone cared about him. The crew was only useful if they helped a fan get closer to fucking the band.

  Randy: I’m on it.

  Juliet: Come back here and let me see you with our name on your chest.

  It was a skill she had, the way she could make even the most innocuous thing seem dirty.

  Randy: You sure? I don’t want to mess up your pre-show deal.

  Juliet: There is none, other than watching Molly preen & pick scarves. The boys squabble & show off. Elle & I roll our eyes a lot & drink a ton of Red Bull. So yeah, come…help me take the edge off.

  There was no missing her winky face emoji. Or the immediate stiffening in his pants.

  He could so do that.

  God, could he ever.

  Chapter Eighteen

  First, he needed a T-shirt.

  After making sure the board was covered by Derek and another tech, Randy made his way down to where they were selling band merchandise. He grabbed a red tee with the band logo splashed across the front in slashing black letters and a bumper sticker. On impulse, he snatched a gray hoodie off the pile too and pushed all the stuff at the giddy teen manning the table.

  “Oh, look at that.” A brunette with a bouncy dark ponytail leaned over to snatch Randy’s bumper sticker from the teen. “It’s like a target.” She had a smoker’s rasp, the kind that sounded oddly musical. “That’s fucking cool. Wish they’d spraypaint that shit on the windows of the bus.”

  Randy gave her a polite smile, wondering if she planned on giving back his damn bumper sticker. It was the last one.

  When she slipped it into the back pocket of her skintight jeans and shot him a dazzling smile, he decided apparently not.

  “Share with a girl?”

  Something about the question rose his hackles. Sharing was his life lately, but it definitely wasn’t his natural way of being. Still, he gave her an easy smile. “Sure thing.”

  “You’ve got some muscles on you.” She pinched his biceps, not stepping back even when he had to dig out his wallet. “You’re not in the band, but you have that band smell on you. Who are you? Rigger? A&R? Roadie?”

  He paid for his stuff and raised a brow when the pretty brunette touched him again. “I’m in the crew, yeah. But no, I can’t get you in to see the band, even if you pat my chest and tell me I’m pretty. Sorry.”

  Her smile transformed her face from cute to damn close to beautiful. Wide, heavily fringed pale brown eyes met his knowingly. “You’re more than pretty. I wasn’t lying about the muscles. But yeah, I’d love to meet the band, seeing as I’m going to be driving their asses all over God’s green earth for the next however how long. Denver Casey.” She stuck out a hand and he took it, unsurprised at her firm grip. “So you gonna give me a name?”

  “Sparks Pruitt,” he said after a moment, feeling more than a little ridiculous at using his nickname. But Juliet had christened him with it, so he wanted to use it.

  He was so freaking gone for her.

  “Let me guess. Lights?”

  “Yeah.”

  “New on the crew?”

  “No, I’m the lighting director.”

  “Hmm, fancy. Well, I’m just the bus driver, but you’d be surprised what kind of tricks I can do behind one of those big ass suckers.” Still holding his hand, she tugged him toward the stairs to the second level. “I was heading up to the dressing room. You too?”

  He was baffled by Denver’s friendliness. There was being pleasant and then there was acting like they were old pals ten seconds after meeting.

  And dammit, he’d wanted that bumper sticker.

  “What happened to Stew? He was just on the bus this morning,” he said, following her up the stairs.

  “Stew is in the stew, if you catch my drift. He’s been drinking pretty heavily and today on his off hours, he got picked up for a DUI.”

  “In what? The band bus?”

  “He met a lady in a bar and drove her car for an afternoon tryst. Whilst in route, they ran over a pigeon and crashed into a guardrail.”

  “A pigeon? Really?” He didn’t laugh because it was funny, but because he had no idea if she was bullshitting him. She seemed like the prankster type.

  “Swear to God.” She kissed two fingers and lifted them to the sky, then turned at the top of the stairs and went right to the dressing room. Pulling him along, of course.

  “Hey there, people,” Denver called out, knocking on the door. “Coming through.”

  “Hang on—” Sparks began, trying to detangle his hand from her now rock-solid grip as she barreled into the dressing room.

  He wasn’t quick enough to miss how Juliet leaped up from the couch—and stopped dead when she saw his hand enfolded in Denver’s.

  Screw finesse.

  Yanking it free of Denver’s hold, he walked straight to Juliet and hauled her up on her tiptoes. And kissed the hell out of her while the room erupted into cheers.

  The loudest belonging to Denver, of course.

  “Not into public displays, huh?” Juliet murmured against his lips as she pulled back a fraction. But she grasped a handful of his shirt and twisted the fabric between her knuckles as she peered over his shoulder. “Who is she? Do I have to maim her with my bare hands for touching you?”

  Since she didn’t make any attempt to be quiet, Denver heard the questions. And laughed long and loud.

  “I’m the new driver. Stew is in the tank. No maiming needed. He’s cute, but he has too many worry lines in his forehead. I only bounce on the uncomplicated ones.”

  Randy flushed as Denver shook Juliet’s other hand. Juliet, however, grinned.

  “I thought the same. My error there,” she said quietly, giving Randy a glance that made him forget he was embarrassed. “Look,” she said a moment later when Denver had wandered to her next victim. “Someone sent me flowers.”

  He followed Juliet to a small table in the corner weighed down with white roses. At once, he knew who had sent them. “Tris,” he said into her hair.

  “Yeah. He said he wishes he was here, and that we’re going to knock everyone dead.” She touched one of the petals and gave a wistful sigh. “Sweet.”

  “It was. I should’ve thought of flowers.”

  “You’re here.” She turned toward him and took the shirt and hoodie out of his hands. Eyes sparkling, she murmured, “Now strip.”

  Letting out a laugh, he tugged his shirt over the back of his head. Juliet leaned forward and pressed her hand to his bare chest, placing a loud kiss on his pecs. “Just staking my territory.”

  “Stake away. It’s all yours.”

  She smiled and helped him put on the Warning Sign shirt, laughing more than a little when his arms bulged at the seams.

  “Told him he had muscles,” Denver said, wandering past with her arm around Elle’s shoulders.

  Elle gave Juliet a pleading wide-eyed look, but Juliet just snuggled up against Randy in his too small shirt and grinned. “He does. All over.”

  “Jesus,” Randy muttered, barely resisting a shudder.

  “God, you’re adorable. It’s so fun to tease you.” Juliet turned the sweatshirt around and checked the tag. “Aww, you bought me a hoodie for my own band?”

  “Hush up, Reece, and put it on.” He dragged it over her head as she sputtered. “There’s a method to my madness. Wanted to show you something. Not sure if you’ve seen it yet.”

  Her head popped through the hole. “Oh, there’s something I want to see all righ
t, and I’ve not only seen it, I’ve kissed it and made it mine.” As laughter broke out around them, she shoved her arms through the sleeves. At his stern expression, she sighed. “Okay, okay. What is it?”

  Saying nothing, he steered her out of the dressing room and into the poster room where band posters covered the walls.

  Her laughter immediately vanished and she reached up to grip his hand on her shoulder. “What is this?”

  “Every band who sells out The Fillmore gets a special poster made for them. They don’t put every one up on the wall anymore, because they ran out of room.”

  “Wow, look at these.” She reached up to press her fingers to the edge of the framed posters. “Third Eye Blind. George Thorogood and the Destroyers. Violent Femmes. Gregg Allman. Holy crap.” She scanned the walls, then glanced back at him as he tugged her hood up. “No one knows who I am.”

  “They will.” Holding the sides of the hood, he lowered his mouth to hers. He felt a little like a vampire feeding off her energy rather than her blood. Her excitement hummed between them until she whirled away to race to the next wall. “So fucking cool,” she breathed, staring up at the wall as reverently as if she were in church.

  “You’ll be up there someday soon.”

  She reached up to squeeze his fingers on her shoulder. “Thank you for showing me this.” She gave him a sideways glance. “For believing in me.”

  “I do. So much.”

  On the walk back to the dressing room, he caught more than a few people watching them laugh and hold hands and generally act like a sappy couple. Guilt laced through the pleasure of gripping her hand in his, and he tugged out his phone.

  He needed to try to explain about the magazine article to Tris. To make sure this was okay. If it wasn’t, if the stories in the press about him and Juliet bothered his best friend, somehow they’d figure out how to make it right.

  Fixing things was his specialty. Except this didn’t feel broken. On the contrary, what the three of them had found was the closest to perfect he’d ever felt.

  “It’s not an O, but still pretty amazing.” She smiled up at him as they reached the chaos of her dressing room. “Thanks for coming up to see me. I know it makes you nervous to leave the board.”

  “I wanted to see you.” Dragging her closer, he kissed her as Molly slammed a closet door behind them.

  “Nice for you to rejoin us, Jules. We’re only due onstage in five minutes.”

  Juliet just rolled her eyes. “Mol’s super nervous,” she said, voice low. “This is close to her home turf and she’s determined to blow the roof off the place. Hometown girl makes good. You know.”

  He nodded, though he actually didn’t know. He’d never felt that overwhelming need to prove himself to anyone.

  Now there was Juliet, and he couldn’t stop trying to reaffirm he was the man she deserved. That he and Tris both were.

  “I gotta go.” She noticed the phone in his hand and cocked a brow. They both knew who he wanted to call.

  “He should hear it from us about the magazine,” he said softly.

  “Yeah. He should.” She glanced over her shoulder at Molly’s renewed slamming around. The girl wasn’t subtle, that was for sure. “I’ll catch you later? Him too. I’m sorry I can’t be with you when you tell him.”

  “If I even reach him. He’s damned elusive.” Smiling, Randy kissed her forehead. “Go get ‘em, Reece.”

  She smiled back and touched her fingers to his lips before she went back to deal with Molly and company.

  And he walked into the hall to text Tris.

  Randy: You have a few?

  Surprisingly, Tris answered right away.

  Tristan: Barely. Show starting soon?

  Randy: Yeah. She’s getting ready. Loved the flowers. Nice touch.

  Tristan: Sucks I can’t be there.

  Randy: She understands.

  Tris: Do you?

  Randy swallowed hard, lifting his head to smile at a couple crew members hurrying up the hall with gear in hand. It was almost showtime, and he needed to get back to the board.

  Randy: Sure. Listen, man, something happened. The paparazzi took pictures of me & Jules kissing. It’s a thing now. In the papers, I mean.

  Tristan replied quickly, almost too quickly.

  Tristan: Yeah, I know. I saw it on an entertainment news show. No big.

  Randy’s eyes narrowed. A news show too? What the hell?

  Randy: Must be a slow week for gossip.

  Tristan: Nah, you guys look hot together. Gives good picture.

  Randy frowned. Was that it? He felt like he should apologize to his best friend, though he hadn’t done anything wrong. But pretending a lie was truth wasn’t right, even if the lie had started in the media.

  Started from you kissing Jules. And there was no lie about that.

  Randy: It’s about all 3 of us. Pretending anything else isn’t right. I just don’t know how to handle this.

  Tristan: Nothing to handle. You’re the Romeo to her Juliet. All good.

  Randy: But what about the 3 of us? It’s not right to make it seem as if it’s just 2.

  Tristan: The 3 was only a downlow thing and temporary. All good.

  Randy hated the questions that sprung to his fingers. Careened in his brain.

  Is it really that easy for you to accept?

  Are you over this—us?

  Are you just going to use this as an excuse to bolt?

  But there was no point in asking anything now. He had a show to prepare for, and Tris was already shutting down.

  Tristan: Gotta go. IM me when the show’s over. She’ll kick ass.

  Randy: Yeah, she will. Later.

  Half an hour later, when he’d checked and rechecked the lighting sequence, he gave control of the board over to Derek and one of the other senior techs, who was practically bursting the seams of his hipster jeans at the thought of manning the show. Randy rarely gave up control, instead choosing to remain involved in every step. But tonight, he needed to support Juliet, and he had to trust that his people would do the same job that he would in their stead.

  And hell, he wasn’t going far. Just to the first row. If something happened, he’d be back where he belonged in an instant.

  Besides, this gave him another view of the stage. Another way to eye their setup, to scrutinize their choices. He’d be watching his own handiwork as much as Juliet.

  Or so he thought.

  The show started with a darkened stage, something new for Warning Sign. They were trying different stuff, using this opportunity to fill in for The Grunge to show off what they could do. The restless crowd shifted in the dark, bumping elbows as the steady simmer of the drums and the bass and guitars heralded the beginning of a song many of them knew. One spotlight popped on, illuminating Molly behind the mic in a shaft of blue as she cupped the microphone and sang in her low, husky voice about wishing she was special. He smiled at Radiohead’s “Creep”, amazed at how she was making the song her own. In her fringed black dress—with its thigh-high slit that revealed a hell of a lot of leg as she leaned forward into the song—and with the multi-colored scarves wrapped around the mic, she reminded him of a young Stevie Nicks. That gravelly, husky voice that seemed entirely ordinary until she opened it up on the high notes and let it soar to the ceiling and beyond.

  One by one, lights popped on around the stage, revealing Michael and Elle, heads bent as they focused on their playing. On Malachi, keeping time on the drums with his seething intensity as ever present as another band member. On West and Ry doing their crazy joint keyboard thing and making the keys sing. Finally, the light landed on Juliet, her head tipped back as her thumb and fingers plucked the strings in perfect rhythm.

  Molly’s voice grew, filling the twelve-hundred seat room with inescapable sound. The girl had fucking pipes for days, and when she followed the song to its epic conclusion, the showmanship to go with it. Gripping her microphone, she wailed into it like her heart was breaking as the music swel
led around her, building to the breaking point.

  Like a snapping finger, it cut off, and the tormented Molly disappeared, replaced with a grinning one who unclipped her microphone and yelled out, “How the hell are you doing tonight, San Francisco? Hope you guys were in the mood for some Radiohead, because we sure were.”

  The crowd cheered back, surprisingly lively considering this wasn’t the band they’d paid to see. But after that opening, the audience was with her. With them.

  “Let me get this started by introducing the band. First, Michael Shawcross on lead guitar.”

  Cheers.

  “Elle Crandall on rhythm guitar. Yes, she’s the sister of that Crandall, if you happen to know who I mean.”

  More cheering. Apparently, at least a chunk of the crowd knew that Elle was Nick Crandall of Oblivion’s twin sister.

  “West Reynolds and Ryan Waters on keyboards, though you’ll see Ryan all over the damn place tonight. And maybe West too.” She did an exaggerated wink and then swung her outstretched hand toward Juliet. “On bass, Juliet Reece. And yes, she’s the sister of another pretty famous Reece.”

  Juliet waved and did a little half bow. He grinned as she turned her smile his way, but he couldn’t help wondering if being in competition with her older sister ever stung. Margo had made a name for herself in Oblivion, and comparisons were hard.

  He and Harper had never had that between them, but maybe because they both had their own areas of expertise that weren’t comparable. Or perhaps because they weren’t the same sex.

  Then again, maybe everyone competed subtly—or not so subtly—and only since he’d been involved with this thing with Jules and Tris had he been aware of it. Though he wasn’t jealous of Tris and Juliet, not anymore. The three of them fit. Even if it wouldn’t make sense to the outside world, when it was just them, they made sense.

  “Back there on drums is Malachi Shawcross, Michael’s older brother.”

  More shouting and clapping as Mal held up his sticks in one fist.