What to Read After FSOG: The Gemstone Collection (WTRAFSOG Book 7)

by Lexi Buchanan

  “So, tell me about yourself, Miss Marino.” He ventures after taking a sip of his coffee. He drinks it black. I cannot, so I start to add cream and sugar to my own cup.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “How old are you?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  He shrugs, “Just curious.”

  “Twenty-five. Is that ok?”

  Chuckling he responds, “Of course. I just thought you were older.”

  “Definitely not something a girl wants to hear.”

  “No, no, it’s a complement. You are very mature and responsible. I was impressed with how you handled Mr. Crowse.”

  “Thanks?”

  He smirks and explains, “It’s a compliment.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Twenty eight.”

  Nodding, I take a sip of coffee, looking up to see Jack frowning. “What’s wrong?”

  “What, no compliment for me?” He teases.

  “Oh…um, yes you are very mature also?” An apologetic smile accompanies my response.

  He chuckles again and shakes his head. “You sound so convincing, Miss Marino. I have another question. Where do you see yourself in five years?”

  “Wow. Didn’t I already get the job? I feel like I’m on an interview.”

  He laughs. “You did get the job. But I’m still curious.”

  “Five years…that’s right around the corner. I was just in high school.” Stopping to take a sip of my water I scramble my brain for an acceptable answer. Truth is I see myself touring the country as the lead singer of my own rock band. Being in a relationship would be nice too. “Um…I see myself singing in my own rock band.” I say hesitantly, watching his face for his reaction. “Am I fired?”

  “No, you aren’t fired. I appreciate your honesty. I get it. Your voice definitely screams for solo success. It’s flattering that you are choosing Devil’s Lair to begin your career.”

  “I’m flattered you chose me to join your band. I’m a big fan.”

  “What other bands or artists do you listen to?”

  “Well, my dad played a lot of music as I was growing up. I love Springsteen and…”

  “Wait…” He immediately cuts me off. “I knew you were going to say that. It’s like every Jersey girls’ birth-right to like Springsteen.”

  “That’s not true. I have a lot of friends who prefer Bon Jovi.”

  Jack lays his full blown CCDS smile on me in response.

  Oh my god…

  “What?” I ask breathlessly.

  “I knew you were going to say that, too.”

  “Why don’t you like Springsteen?”

  “He’s alright.”

  “He’s a poet. Have you ever listened to his lyrics?” Pure conviction fills my voice.

  “They’re alright.” He throws back at me.

  WHAT?

  I shake my head in disbelief. “Have you ever heard the lyrics to Jungleland? You can argue that his lyrics can be considered Shakespeare’s modern day Othello. They are poetic genius.”

  He shakes his head, yet smiles widely. “Ok, you get an A+ for that literary reference, but poetic genius? You are definitely insane.”

  “Uh…ok, we need to agree to disagree about Springsteen. I just signed a contract to spend a year with you and I really don’t want to hate you already.”

  “Hate me? Wow, that hurts.” He grins while holding his heart, and he takes my breath away yet again.

  The filter in my brain malfunctions, and I blurt out, “You have a really nice smile.”

  My comment takes him by surprise. “Why thank you. You have really nice eyes.”

  Out of embarrassment, I look down to avoid eye contact, biting on my lip. An awkward silence looms between us. Jack notices my uneasiness and brings the conversation back to music.

  “Ok, so keep going, who else?”

  Doris appears just in time with my water. I take a long sip and carefully watch him gazing at me over the rim of the glass. He waits patiently. My guess is that he most definitely is onto me and knows I am stalling.

  Clearing my throat, I try again. “Um, ok, I love Pat Benatar. Her range blows me away. I love Fleetwood Mac, and The Eagles, and Boston, and Foreigner, and The Who, and Journey, and Zeppelin and…”

  “Wait.” He interrupts me again.

  Rolling my eyes I complain, “What?”

  Suddenly he laughs…a deep, throaty, sexy as hell laugh.

  Oh lord.

  We will never finish our conversation if he continues to do this to me during this lunch, and I will end up getting fired.

  I grab my water and take another sip to cool down.

  Jack has been talking, but I have no idea what he has said. I tune back in to hear him say, “…of your dads’ influences, I’m sure. What about modern bands? Who do you listen to that aren’t over the age of thirty?”

  At that exact moment our food comes and he dives right in. I take a bite out of my own sandwich and moan. He’s right it’s delicious.

  He glances up with an intense, smoldering gaze. “I take it that you like?”

  It’s the look that hypnotizes me, puts me in a trance, and turns whatever brain cells I do have into mush. Nodding as a reflex reaction, he repeats my motions just before he shoves more of the sandwich into his mouth and calls Doris over.

  “Dee, can I get a…”

  “I already put it in doll.”

  This must be a pattern for him.

  With a face full of fries, he asks, “More?”

  I again shake my head pathetically out of reflex. I’ve apparently forgotten the basics of the English language. Doris nods and walks away.

  Jeeze, he even looks pretty as he shoves food into his face. Anyone else would look like a total buffoon. His hands picking up his fries, his sandwich, his coke, have me completely mesmerized. They are so masculine. This is a first. I don’t think a pair of hands has ever turned me on. There is a long scar on the back of his left hand that makes me wonder what happened to him. Was it a fight? I need to ask him about it one day.

  “Ok, keep going. Who else?”

  “Are you going to interrupt me again?”

  With a look of complete innocence, he crosses his heart. “No. I promise.”

  “Ok…I love Cliffhangers.” I smile sweetly at him. The look he gives me makes me giggle. “They are the band I play with in Hoboken.”

  “Oh, I am definitely coming to Hoboken to hear them play. So who else?” He finishes his sandwich and continues with his fries.

  I bat my eyelashes. “You know how much I love Devil’s Lair. They sound so hot!”

  Jack blinks a couple of times disoriented. Then he smirks at me, his smoldering gaze setting my insides on fire. “You already signed the contract Leila, so there is no need to butter me up, unless you want to that is.”

  Holy hell…he’s wrecking me.

  “Hello? Are you still with me?” he asks. Sometime during my internal orgasm Doris delivered the second grilled cheese sandwich and he has already taken a bite.

  “Um…” I pause. “I love Every Avenue. I think they are awesome. I have most of their music downloaded. I also love My Darkest Days, Linkin Park, and MACE.”

  “Much better. MACE is very cool. We loved touring with them last year. My Darkest Days is also cool. Not many know who they are yet, kind of like us. I also love Every Avenue. They have a great song called, Tie Me Down. Do you know it?” He glances down but grins devilishly.

  That’s my ringtone for him. It’s a song about being tied down and fucked and I suddenly feel very, very warm.

  My blush tells him that I know the song well.

  “Who else do you like? Who influences Devil’s Lair?” I try to throw the conversation back to his court. I need time to sit and process.

  “The usual. The Stones and Zeppelin. I love the Doors. Morrison was a freaking genius. I also love U2, and Aerosmith, as you already know. Coldplay, Linkin Park, and Kings of Leon are cool. Oh, and Bob
Marley.”

  Now it’s my turn to interrupt him. “Reggae? I wouldn’t peg you as a fan.”

  “The beat is fantastic. Bob Marley is a legend. I like to relax and listen to reggae. It doesn’t influence my own music too much, so I can purely enjoy it without worrying its seeping into my artistic subconscious.”

  He explains when he sees my eyebrows pulled together in confusions. “When you write your own songs, it’s hard to listen to a lot of the competition. Other music and lyrics tend to influence what you want to create. I avoid other rock bands when I am in a zone and writing lyrics to a song, so my music is purely me.” I knew he was a talented musician, but this bit of information he shares with me has me very impressed.

  I am about to tell him so, when a very giddy young girl interrupts us.

  “Oh my god!!!! You are Jack Lair!!!” She hops up and down at the end of our booth.

  “Um yes, I am. How’s it goin’?” He looks clearly discomfited. Mr. Sex God is not quite used to fame yet.

  She asks for a picture and without waiting for a yes or no response slides into the booth next to him. Shoving her phone at me she asks, “Please, can you take this?” Her eyes never leave Jack’s face.

  “Um, sure. No problem.” Jack raises his left arm to wrap around the girl’s shoulders, and she beams at the phone. I barely snap the picture when she scoots out of the booth and starts texting it out to someone.

  She calls out, “Thank you!” and practically skips away. We look at each other and burst out laughing.

  “You aren’t used to getting recognized yet, I see.”

  Jack shrugs and says, “Nope, not yet. None of us really are yet. It doesn’t happen often, but it is very surreal when it does.” Jack fiddles nervously with his silverware while quietly contemplating something in his mind. I surprisingly see a different side of Mr. Sex on Legs. He isn’t the cocky, look at me I’m a hot rock star type that I thought he was. He actually seems more unassuming than arrogant.

  When he put his arm around “giddy girl” the sleeve of his t-shirt rode up, exposing a small part of his tattoo. Dying of curiosity, I decide to ask him. “What do you have tattooed on your arm?”

  He glances down to his left arm, twisting his body and lifting the sleeve enough to reveal the whole thing. It’s the band logo in gorgeous vibrant color. On the bottom running in straight block letters is “Devil’s Lair” with multi-color flames of red, gold, and orange, shooting up out of the words. It’s beautiful and I tell him as much.

  “Thanks. Shortly after we got signed we worked with the studio on our logo. This is what the graphic department came up with. It was such a defining moment for us that I felt it was necessary to honor it.” He’s gives me a shy half smile.

  “Do any of the other guys have it also?” I ask worrying this is some sort of rite of passage into the band.

  “No, just me. I’m not sure Trey could find the space on his body for this. Hunter wants to get something similar tattooed one day. He thinks he wants his drum set with the logo on the bass drum, but he hasn’t made up his mind yet. Scott’s not the tattoo type. Do you have any tattoos?”

  “Nope, no tattoos. I never had the desire for one actually. Maybe one day something will mean enough for me to put it on my body.”

  Um, did I just say that out loud?

  Amusedly he opens his mouth to comment, yet decides not to.

  Instead, he looks over at my uneaten fries.

  “Would you like some of my fries?” I tease.

  “Yep.” He reaches for some and dips them into my ketchup.

  “I have a question. Is Jack Lair your real name?” I just need to know.

  “Yeah, why?” he asks looking amused.

  “Oh, I don’t know. Jack Lair. Seems too perfect for a rock star.” I say exactly what I am thinking.

  “Kind of like Leila is for a rock singer?”

  “Touché.”

  “So what’s your favorite movie?”

  “The Notebook.” He rolls his eyes and groans.

  “What?”

  “I hate that movie.”

  “Ok, so far you hate Springsteen and my favorite movie. I quit.”

  Chuckling he shrugs. “Sorry, it’s just such a chick flick.”

  “Ok Mr. Macho, what’s your favorite movie?”

  “Platoon.” Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes and groan. Shrugging, he adds, “I’m all MAN.”

  That he is.

  “So have you always lived in Hoboken?” He shoves more fries into his mouth.

  “No, I grew up in Cliffside Park. It’s about twenty minutes away from Hoboken, closer to the George Washington Bridge than the Lincoln Tunnel. Where are you from?”

  “I’m from Long Island…Massapequa. I’ve lived there my entire life until I moved in with Hunter eight years ago. Our apartment is in Brooklyn.” He throws the ball back in my court. “How do your parents feel about this tour?”

  Oh damn… he’s going there.

  “Well, it’s just my dad. My mom died when I was ten.”

  “I’m sorry.” He simply says, staring intently at me.

  Uncharacteristically, I end up breaking our eye contact first by shrugging and looking away. “It was a long time ago.”

  “So how does Dad feel about all of this?”

  “He is very happy that I’m happy, but he’s not thrilled with my career choice.” I am not able to hide the uneasiness I feel with this line of questioning.

  Jack doesn’t seem to notice. “What would he rather you be doing?”

  “He supports a singing career, just not a rock band one. He prefers Broadway or a vocal teacher.”

  We stare at each other for a few seconds, and I feel my pulse quickening. Jack starts to say something, and I cut him to the quick. “What about you? How do your parents feel about you being a rock star?”

  “Oh they are just thrilled.” He says sarcastically. My confused expression prompts him to continue. “I was supposed to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a lawyer. I’m an NYU dropout.” He stops and smiles when he sees the surprise on my face.

  Jack a lawyer?

  Jack at NYU?

  A model or an actor or most definitely a rock star? Yes! But, an NYU lawyer? Mr. Pretty is also smart?

  This man is killing me.

  “I was actually studying pre-law at NYU when I dropped out. They were most definitely not happy with me. But they are more supportive now than they were a few years ago. Thanks to my sister, they now realize this is what I am meant to be.”

  “How old is she?”

  Doris appears with more coffee, filling our cups without asking for permission. She looks down at my plate and asks. “Didn’t you like it, hon?”

  “Oh, it was the best grilled cheese I ever had. I’m just full.”

  Doris goes to lift my plate. “Leave it Doris. I’m still working on it. But I’ll take my pie now. Leila would you like some pie?”

  “No, I’m good. Thanks.” Doris winks again, and makes her way to the dessert display.

  “They also make a really good apple pie.” He grins and I can’t help but return a grin of my own. He looks adorable, like a little boy waiting for his ice cream.

  “So how old is your sister?”

  “She’s twenty five.”

  “What’s her name?”

  “Elizabeth, but we call her Lizzy. How did you become a singer?” Again he throws the conversation back to me. He really is good at that.

  “I have been singing since I was a little girl. I grew up with the guys in my band. They immediately asked me to join them when they started. I share vocals with our lead singer Matt. We started off singing at weddings and bar mitzvahs, but thank God we got the gig at The Zone a few years ago. I was really happy about that since I hate singing at private parties.” I didn’t mean to ramble and share so much.

  “Oh I don’t know. Private parties can be a lot of fun.” He raises his eyebrows and smirks suggestively. It’s unfair how this man exude
s sensuality, especially to warm-blooded females who’ve been on an exceptionally long unprovoked sexual dry spell, like me.

  Doris appears with the biggest piece of apple pie I have ever seen. Jack sees me eyeing it and says, “I usually don’t share. But you really need to try this.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “Nope. You need to try it. Trust me.” He cuts a huge piece off with his fork and shoves it into his own mouth first. “Mmm…damn it’s good.” He cuts another huge piece and stretches his arm toward me. “Taste.”

  I lean back in the booth and shake my head while he nods his.

  “Oh come on, I don’t have cooties. Try it.”

  I widen my eyes at the huge hunk of pie sitting on his fork. Jack licks his lips, watching me intently.

  Fuck…I really need to have sex.

  The bastard is doing this on purpose and he’s not going to let me off this hook.

  Well, two can play at this game.

  “Fine.” I lean forward, open my mouth wide, and take the pie from his fork, running my lips along the prongs to wipe them clean. Instinctively, I close my eyes, lick my lips and moan suggestively, as I slowly chew.

  “Wow…that is good.” I open my eyes to see Jack staring at my mouth, with his fork still suspended in the air between us. In turn, I do the same in an effort to go tit for tat with him by visually devouring his chin, his stubble, and his lips before glancing back up to his eyes. I feel like we are playing chicken with each other. I’m not sure where this newfound confidence is coming from. I blame the Jack Lair voodoo. I haven’t acted like my typical self in his presence once since meeting him.

  Jack slightly shifts in his seat and shoves more pie into his mouth to break our eye contact.

  Game. Set. Match.

  One point two seconds later, by merely watching as he slowly chews his pie, my internal switch is flipped causing me to squirm in my own seat from the throbbing in my lower region.

  Close game.

  There is an uncomfortable silence between us buzzing with sexual tension. I nonchalantly pick up my water as Jack consumes the rest of his pie.

  He finally breaks the silence by asking, “Um, how many guys are in your band?”