Rogue Wave: Cake Series Book Five

by Bengtsson, J.

  But the funny thing about underdogs was you could never really count them out, and while the bosses were totaling up their chump change, Jake was quietly building a devoted fan base. Before the studio heads knew it, their one-hit wonder had morphed into a two- and three-hit phenomenon. Followers arrived in droves, filling concert halls and gymnasiums and then later stadiums and arenas. Jake was a rising star who’d suddenly found himself in an enviable position of power. And to everyone’s surprise, he wielded it.

  After just one album, Jake turned the tables on his label, suing and claiming he’d been coerced into signing the contract as a minor. In an effort to avert a public relations disaster, Jake was let out of his contract. He promptly signed a favorable multi-million dollar deal with their biggest competition. It was a shake up heard round the musical world, made more fantastical because it was a kid just shy of his eighteenth birthday who’d choreographed it all. Well him, our two fed up parents, and Mom’s lawyer friend, Larry.

  Gone were the sloshed manager, the unprofessional roadies, and the decrepit tour bus he’d shared with the entire band. It was a total overhaul of the status quo. Well, maybe not total. There was, in fact, one unexpected survivor of the purge – Lassen, the jerk bus driver who was hated by all except for the one person who mattered. Jake.

  And so as the empty ranks were filled to my brother’s specific requirements, he was handed everything he wanted on a silver platter: a new manager, a professional crew, a private tour bus, and yours truly – personal assistant to the stars – Keith McKallister.

  The security guards and I had Jake surrounded as we made our final push through the crowd. I wasn’t paying attention to the people around me until a hand reached out and squeezed my package. Too stunned to respond, I turned to face the culprit, but she’d already dropped my dick in favor of palming either side of my face and aggressively shoving her tongue so far down my throat she was tickling my tonsils. I wished I could say the manhandling disgusted me, but that would’ve been a lie. In fact, the entire Jake-train was forced to stop so I could give my assailant a proper response. Cupping her neck, I pulled her in and planted a kiss on her lips that gave her a glimpse of what she was never going to get.

  Then as swiftly as it began, I drew away and kept moving through the crowd.

  “Holy shit!” the woman called out. “Come back. Don’t set me on fire, baby, if you’re not going to put me out.”

  I grinned, not looking back. There was a certain satisfaction in leaving my accoster in the dust. Chancing a glance at Jake, I worried he might be pissed at my pit stop, but instead, I was met with a smile of mad respect.

  “Pirate hair.” I shrugged. “The ladies love it.”

  * * *

  After making it into the back lot where the busses and semi trucks were parked, the world around us returned to normal. No more grabby hands. No more screamers. Lassen was waiting for us at the door to the bus. He grunted something unintelligible to Jake, who nodded his own weird greeting.

  I scratched my head, not understanding their primeval language. As far as I could tell, they genuinely seemed to like each other, but for the life of me I couldn’t figure out why… or how… or when. Granted, the closest I’d ever gotten to an actual conversation with the man was when a bird unexpectedly splatted on the windshield of the bus.

  I’d said, “Oh, shit, man, you hit a bird.”

  And he’d replied, “Yep.”

  The end.

  Once Lassen was out of earshot, I spoke my mind. “You know, Jake, you really need to get some friends your own age.”

  “I know, but people my own age are way too young.”

  “Well, then, maybe we can get you a puppy or something. Anything’s preferable to Lassen.”

  “Give him a chance. I didn’t like Lassen when I first met him either, but he grows on you.”

  “Hmm, interesting, you mean like flesh-eating bacteria?”

  “Yes,” Jake grinned. “Just like that.”

  “Alright, well, as long as you’ve got some strong antibiotics, who am I to complain, right?”

  Jake plopped down at the kitchen table and proceeded to stare at me while I was rummaging through the refrigerator.

  Lifting my head I asked, “Do you have a question? Or are you just admiring my bubble butt?”

  “Actually, I do have a question,” he replied. “How’s your girlfriend going to feel about you macking on that woman back there?”

  “My girlfriend?” I asked scrunching my nose. “Are you referring to Sophie?”

  “I thought her name was Sophia.”

  Now I had to think. Resting my jaw against the open refrigerator door, I wracked my brain for clarity. “No, I’m pretty sure it’s Sophie.”

  “You’re pretty sure?” Jake laughed. “You might want to get it straight.”

  “Why? She doesn’t care.”

  “Oh, I guarantee you she cares.”

  “Yeah, well, she’s not my girlfriend, so it matters not, my friend.”

  “See, the problem with that is she thinks she’s your girlfriend. I caught her doodling something on a notepad the other day and once she left I saw that she’d written Sophia McKallister just above two entwined rings and an overload of puffy hearts. You might already be engaged, Jack Sparrow.”

  I scoffed. Not with Sophie, I wasn’t. She was a trust fund groupie who drove from place to place, sleeping her way backstage because she didn’t have anything better to do with all that money. That’s where I’d found her a few weeks back, and we’d been getting it on at different concert stops ever since. But she was nowhere near marriage material.

  “Trust me on this one. Sophie will never be a McKallister.”

  “Sophia,” he corrected.

  I shook my head, grinning at his persistence before tossing him a bottle of water from the fridge.

  “Whatever. I need to break it off with her anyway. I need someone who’s smarter than me.”

  “That shouldn’t be a problem.”

  “You’d think, but the last time we were together, she was talking about seeing a psychic, so I made a joke, saying I wished she was clairvoyant. She got jealous, thinking Clair Voyant was an actual woman.”

  Jake chuckled. “No way is that true.”

  “Oh, but it is. And get this – she pronounces the ‘l’ in salmon. Who does that shit?”

  “Women you date.”

  I nodded smugly, playing up the role of the perpetual playboy. My track record with women was legendary with my brothers. They thought I was a god of sorts, going from woman to woman, never deigning to settle down. But that was just a part I played to earn their respect. The reason I couldn’t hold onto anyone for longer than a couple of weeks was because I was still stuck on the ideal of a very specific girl I’d lost long ago.

  As I peered into the fridge, I shook off the image of Sam tracking through my brain. It did me no good to dwell on the past. Besides, remembering her put me in a somber mood, and Jake needed me to remain upbeat and fun. That was the role I’d played in my brother’s life ever since that day in the hospital when I got him talking again. I was the comic relief, the person he turned to alleviate the darkness that still swirled just behind his troubled eyes. If I could get him to laugh a few times a day, I was earning my paycheck.

  “You wanna hear my shower thought for the day?”

  Every morning, while soaping up my meat sack, meaningless thoughts popped into my brain, creating the phenomenon commonly referred to in our family as ‘shower thoughts.’ My dad was blessed with the gift, as was I, but I liked to think my ideas were more profound.

  “You know I do,” Jake responded, amusement already spreading across his face.

  “So, you know that commercial that says four out of five people suffer from diarrhea? Does that mean one person actually enjoys it?”

  Jake coughed out a laugh, water spraying from his mouth and as he wiped it away. “You have the maturity of a ten-year-old kid who still laughs at fart jokes.” />
  “I don’t care how old you get, fart jokes are always hilarious. Besides, you should talk about maturity. You’re eighteen years old and cradling a stuffed animal.”

  The squishy toy was one of the many gifts that were thrown up on stage every night. Why he’d swiped that one off the floor and carried it with him to the bus was a mystery to me, but Jake was like that – a walking perplexity.

  My brother responded to my diss by pitching the fuzzy bear at me. I caught it in midair and proceeded to have my way with it. Rubbing its furry body against my face, I switched to kid’s speak. “I’m going to name you Cuddles and we’re going to be best friends.”

  My brother smiled but otherwise ignored my nettling. I tucked the bear under my arm, needing it handy for the counter assault I was currently plotting.

  After a quick search of the shelves, I found what I was looking for. Yes! Frieda was my girl! She’d stocked the fridge to my specifications. Tucked in the back on the bottom shelf were the beer bottles I’d requested. Grabbing one, I popped the cap and downed a healthy gulp.

  “You drinking?” Jake asked, as if it were an afterthought and not some calculated attempt to micromanage me.

  I raised a brow. “One beer is not drinking.”

  Before he could respond, I performed a spin maneuver and pelted my brother in the right temple with the downy bomb. He tipped back in his chair from the force of the sneak attack.

  “Jesus,” he grumbled, rubbing his head.

  “Besides, what are you, Jake, the fuckin’ drink police?”

  He actually gave my words some thought before countering, “I don’t think that’s an actual division of the police force.”

  I flipped him off with a smile on my face, pretending it didn’t irritate the hell out of me that I was being questioned in the first place. I was twenty-three years old. If I wanted a drink, it was my goddamn choice. “Do you want me to pour it out, Officer Dickweed?”

  “No.” He shrugged, looking away. “Drink it. I don’t care.”

  Well, fuck. Now I was pissed. “Clearly you do care or you wouldn’t have brought it up.”

  My family had a way of doing this – policing my choices as if I couldn’t be trusted to make the right ones. And, yes, fine, there had been an issue or two on the tour, but I had never lost control. Okay, maybe that one time. But otherwise I’d been clean. Regardless, it was no one’s damn business what I did on my down time. I wasn’t an indentured servant. I didn’t serve Jake twenty-four seven.

  My brother sat up a little straighter, boldly meeting my eye. “If you want to know the truth, I don’t think it’s the best idea to have alcohol in the bus when both you and Lassen are recovering addicts.”

  “Lassen?” My ears burned. The nerve. “I’m supposed to worry about Lassen now too? Is it my fault you hired a wacked-out bird murderer?”

  “What are you so pissed about?” Jake asked. “I have no idea why we’re fighting in the first place.”

  “We’re fighting because you’re being a condescending little shit. Don’t tell me what I can and can’t do. You’re not the boss of me, asshole.”

  “Actually, I am, and I have a contract you signed to prove it.”

  He was right, and that fact made me want to smack that smirk right off his face. But the days of using physical force on Jake were over. There was no dragging him down hallways anymore. No swift punches to the arm. Even the curling of a fist could cause my little brother to flinch away. No, nowadays, I was reduced to using stuffed animals against him. And blackmail.

  “Look at you puffing out your chest, big man. Just remember who carries the dirt on you.”

  “What dirt? The only dirt I have, the whole fucking world knows about, so the joke’s on you.”

  He’d played his trump card. We never discussed that dirt, and I wasn’t about to start tonight. But I had a few other cards up my sleeve. “I’m referring to the ancient porn stash you and Kyle found in that tree house in the woods when you were twelve.”

  A fusion of mortification and amusement crept over Jake’s cheeks.

  “Uh-huh, I knew all about it. Who do you think was swiping those antiquated magazines from your hiding spot under the dresser and rubbing it out in the bathroom like a pilgrim?”

  His embarrassment turned to straight up laughter as any tension between the two of us diffused. Suddenly, we were back to our easy camaraderie.

  “Speaking of pilgrims and porn,” I continued, eyeing him as I made a show of dumping my remaining beer into the sink and then turning to His Majesty and presenting him with a shallow bow, “you do realize that, thanks to the Internet, we’ve seen more naked women than all our ancestors combined.”

  Jake’s eyes rounded as he chewed on that shower thought.

  “Shit, I never thought about that,” he said, scratching his head.

  “Powerful, right?” Now it was my turn to puff out my chest. After all, I’d just contributed to the smut sciences. “We’re so lucky to be born in this century.”

  Nodding his agreement, Jake leaned down and swiped the stuffed bear off the floor where it had fallen after ricocheting off his skull. He examined it for the longest time before sliding it over the table toward me and pointing to the words and numbers written on its back in silver sharpie.

  Call me. I promise you won’t regret it. LeAnn.

  I looked from the bear to Jake and then back to the bear before realization dawned on me. Oh, shit. He wanted to call her. This was a new development. In all the time I’d been with him on tour, sex with a groupie had never been a line item.

  “You want to hook up with her? Is that what you’re saying?” I tried to mask my astonishment. Really, I shouldn’t have been surprised. He was, after all, a teenage boy. But things were different for him. He wasn’t like everyone else. Despite being on his way to becoming a musical icon, privately Jake was isolated and reserved.

  “As long as that’s what she meant by ‘You won’t regret it’. How am I supposed to know?”

  Exactly. How would he know? Jake didn’t come in contact with girls his own age very often; unless, of course, they were fainting at his feet. And it wasn’t like he could just stroll onto a college campus and come out a winner.

  I had to get this conversation into a place where Jake didn’t look like he was going to spew his guts. Leaning in, I read the words etched upon the stuffed animal’s back. “I mean, if I were a betting man, I’d say she doesn’t mean you’ll regret not listening to her talk endlessly for hours on end. But women are a goddamn mystery, so don’t mark my words on that.”

  “What do you think I should do?”

  “I think you should take your chances. The worst that can happen is you’ll get a new chatty best friend. And the best – well, you know, you’ll be on your way to pound town, son.”

  Just by the way he diverted his eyes to the ground told me I’d overestimated what he knew. The obvious question of his virginity now tottered on the edge of my mind – which he promptly read.

  Shifting uncomfortably, Jake clipped me off before I could even ask. “No. I haven’t.”

  “And, uh, you want your first time to be with Yogi Bear?” I asked, my eyes diverting to the stuffed animal in question.

  “Not specifically with the bear, no.” He grinned, breaking the tension in the room and bringing his eyes back up to meet mine. “The girl who threw the bear up on stage – yes.”

  “So you saw her, and there won’t be any nasty surprises?”

  “I saw her. She’s hot.”

  “Oh, whew. I mean there’s nothing wrong with the aesthetically disadvantaged. Like I always say, never be afraid to plow some 4’s here and there.”

  “Really? You always say that?”

  “What? It’s clinically proven that having low standards automatically quadruples your chances of getting laid.”

  Jake shook his head, but there was no hiding the amusement. “I should have asked someone else for advice.”

  “Right. Because Lass
en’s a regular old sex guru.”

  “Actually, he is. Did you know Lassen’s been married three times and, he hasn’t said it in so many words, but I think he was married to more than one wife at a time.”

  My mouth dropped open. “Lassen was?”

  He nodded.

  The image of the sweaty, overweight bus driver getting it on with one woman was disturbing enough, but two? “Well, fuck.”

  Jake wasn’t paying attention to me as he turned the bear over in his hands. “Do… do you think I should call her?” he stammered.

  Multiple times a week I watched him take the stage with a maturity that defied his years. He was poised and talented. A star. Sometimes I forgot he was still a kid – in need of his big brother to show him the way. Pulling my chair out, I flipped it around and straddled it. Time to get serious.

  I reached my hand out. “Give me the bear.”

  His fingers closed over the squishy animal. “No. Why, what are you going to do?”

  “I’m going to call the number and get her over here, that’s what I’m going to do.”

  “You? Shouldn’t I call her myself?”

  “If you were a normal guy, yeah. But Jake, you’re a star. You don’t call women.”

  “I don’t?”

  “No, you have people to do that for you. Now give me the bear.”

  Jake squeezed it tighter. “I don’t know.”

  “Do you want to get laid or not?”

  Myriad emotions passed over his face before his fingers loosened and the bear dropped to the table. The phone was out of my pocket and I was dialing her number before he’d even retracted his hand.

  I set the call on speaker.

  “Hello?” A female voice responded on the first ring. Perhaps she’d been anticipating the call. Jake jumped from his chair and signaled me to abort the mission with the subtle mime of slicing his fingers across his throat. I smiled and shook my head. Not a chance, stud.

  Directing my attention back to the caller, I asked, “Is this LeAnn?”

  She let out a high-pitched squeal as giggles from her friends filled the line with giddy little air bubbles. “Yes. Are you Jake? Oh, my god, I can’t believe you called me.”