Manster

by Cari Quinn

  Then again, I couldn’t complain about the hot kiss she’d treated me to as a goodbye. And not the smashing lip kind either. She was a very apt student.

  I even treated myself to an actual car service to pick me up and bring me to Ripper Records. The band had a meeting with the sound engineer to see what was left that needed to be worked on for the album.

  Things were progressing nicely on all fronts.

  I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt as I checked in at the security desk. Keys was on the phone and pacing in front of the window. When she spotted me, she waved me over.

  “I know, Warden. Just chill out a minute. Wyatt is here.” Keys grinned up at me and rolled her eyes. “Yes, I know there have been issues at the Warning Sign shows. That’s why you’re our security guru, babe. We’re not letting anyone else have you.” She made an mmm-hmm sound. “I promise, I’ll call when we’re out for the day. I love you too.” She clicked off and shoved her phone into her vest pocket.

  “Aww.”

  She punched me in the arm. “Shut up. I see you making googly eyes at your phone these days too, buddy.” She angled her head and picked something off my chest then looked at it a little more closely. “Is that an animal hair? And is that shirt from yesterday?”

  I smoothed out the folds of the rolled cuffs at my elbows. “I don’t want to hear it.”

  “Never thought I’d see the day Hudson Wyatt was less than pressed and dressed to impress.”

  I looked down at my wrinkled dress shirt. True, I hadn’t been home to change into one of my dry-cleaned shirts, but I looked more put together than eighty percent of the people in a four-block radius. “I may have a thing for a crazy cat lady.”

  “Callie’s friend? From the baby shower?” She nudged me. “Oh, I like her.”

  I shrugged. “Yeah, well, why don’t you tell me about that cryptic phone call to your husband instead of trying to needle me for info?”

  “But that’s way more fun. Quinn is just being a crazy bodyguard again.”

  “That’s him all the time. Why is this one different?”

  She narrowed her eyes. “I see what you’re doing and I’m not going to let this go.”

  “At least let it go long enough to spill actual details.” I wasn’t ready to talk about Piper yet. I didn’t even know if we could define ourselves as a thing.

  Keys gestured to the large, ornate doors that led to the hive. Ripper Records was a sprawling set of meeting rooms and studios in an almost confusing circle setup. You could cross a hall and walk into a Beatles-esque room outfitted with the latest equipment along with an honest to God egg chair from the sixties.

  Down the hall would be a conference room with a massive mahogany round table which looked like it belonged in an Arthurian movie set. Evidently, being a billionaire mogul allowed Donovan Lewis to do whatever the hell he wanted.

  I liked him though. He was no bullshit and he actually loved music. I knew some of my bandmates didn’t see it that way because he and Lila Crandall micromanaged to the nth degree, but I knew it was because he cared about the product as much as the artists.

  It was refreshing to see after our first album. We’d practically been put in a production line and spit out like Keebler Tollhouse cookies. It had fucking sucked. But then we’d found Donovan. Or, rather, Donovan had found us. Lila had campaigned for us and we were one of her first success stories after she’d gotten the job.

  Dex Munroe was our rep now. It was the only thing that pissed me off about making the new record. Lila was juggling too many things with too many new artists and we didn’t need handholding any longer. Being second tier sucked when it came to management.

  Keys twisted her trio of rings on her thumb. She’d been quiet way too long. It wasn’t like her.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Quinn is a little worried. Some shit has gone down here while Warning Sign was working. Lots of extra lookie-loos with telephoto lenses and talk of possible bugs placed in the studio. Then there have been two other incidents.”

  “In the studio?” I frowned down at her.

  “No, outside. But Donovan contacted Quinn for some names to start beefing up security.”

  “Huh. Well, I’m not surprised.”

  “No?”

  I shook my head. “Warning Sign has been big in the press lately, plus our own current spotlight. Along with some of our extra tagalongs who bring paparazzi of their own.”

  Keys held up a hand. “Don’t get me started. I’m going to take one of those white dresses that bitch wears all the time and strangle her with it.” She tempered her voice. “For the life of me, I cannot figure out how she makes Bats come to heel. No one can do that. Does she have some sort of magic pussy?”

  I choked on a sip of my coffee. “Really?”

  “Come on, you know it’s a thing. She must have one because Hunter was under her spell too.”

  I wasn’t so sure about that. I mean, yes, there was such a thing as being blinded by sex, but what Keys forgot to consider was the fact that Victoria was an actress. She might be a lot of things—raging cunt being my favorite name for her—but she was a good actress. She could chameleon her way into any role. So why not one to make a guy think she was the perfect woman?

  But like all actresses—and I knew a good number of them—they couldn’t maintain the persona forever. Luckily, Hunter had caught on before marrying her. I just had to hope Bats would do the same. Even if it didn’t feel like a similar situation in any way. Because Reed knew just how duplicitous she was. So maybe the magic pussy theory Keys had come up with had merit.

  “Huh,” I murmured.

  “There was much meandering and musing in there.” Keys twirled one of her ringed fingers in my face.

  “Maybe you’re right.”

  Her face brightened as she walked ahead and turned the knob to the Rolling Stones studio. “Of course I’m right.”

  I rolled my eyes and followed her inside. The man in question—Batty Reed himself—was swiveling back and forth in a candy-red studio chair as he flicked through screens on his phone.

  Our producer was at the board playing with levels and spools of actual old school recordings. The one nice thing about Ripper Records was their attention to detail. Murdock Turner was a genius. When Zach and Hunter had gone to hunt him down to do our new album, his only stipulation was that he worked old school. He didn’t like the slick sounds that were out there now. We agreed.

  While the final product would be digital, the actual work was done on retrofitted spool system that had become the cornerstone of the studio. I’d even heard other bands not on Ripper’s label were booking studio time so they could have access to the gear.

  And our new shit was on there.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Reed muttered.

  I was in too good of a mood to get into it with him. Keys bounced over to the long couch where Hunter and Zach were sitting. I dropped onto my favorite chair in the room—a large, purple, throne-like crushed velvet chair with black ironwork. It was one of the few pieces of furniture that didn’t make me feel as if I was sitting at the kids’ table.

  Owen was on one of the rolling stools with his arm draped over his bass. His thoughts appeared to be somewhere far away, most likely on his wife and soon-to-be-born baby.

  What must it be like to be a part of that kind of unit? To have a real family who would be waiting for you when you got off tour and missing you while you were gone.

  Murdock spun away from the board and hooked his arm over the ancient leather chair he brought with him to every studio. Lucky chair or some such shit. His jet-black hair was tied back in a stubby tail.

  I knew from experience that probably wasn’t a positive sign. He only did that when he was going to tear apart a song.

  “Good morning, slugs. You actually ready to do a listen through of “This Fire” today? Hope you didn’t have plans.”

  I sighed. Good thing I didn’t.

  Mostly.

&nb
sp; Seven hours later, I wished for another shower. We had the first song, “Burning Bright” as a finished entity. “Firelight” came together while we were sitting around during lunch. It was the first song lyrics I’d ever had input on. Keys and Owen had been so shocked that they had scribbled down my lyrics before I could take them back.

  They reshaped them about thirteen times, but I actually had writing cred on a song for the first time in my life.

  “Burning Bright” was the final song on the album and we didn’t get it right until nearly eight o’clock that night. But for once, we all left the studio chatting and laughing. Including Reed.

  I checked my phone and saw a message from Piper. She was visiting Callie.

  “Hey, Owen. Mind if I ride with you?”

  “You want a ride into baby central? You all right?”

  I laughed. I hadn’t gotten a chance to visit Callie since the baby shower. “My girl…” I trailed off. Again with calling her mine. I wasn’t sure what the hell that was about. I cleared my throat. “Piper is visiting.”

  “Oh, is that how it is? I thought you were steering clear of the fair barista?”

  I lifted a shoulder. “Not quite sure how it happened, but there it is.”

  “Don’t question it. These things happen if they’re supposed to. I am a huge believer in fate.”

  “Yeah, well, it worked out for you, didn’t it?” Owen had everything. Especially someone special to love who loved him back.

  Me, on the other hand? Not so much. But perhaps my fortunes were changing.

  “Maybe you were exactly where you were supposed to be at the time. A cat cafe in the middle of West Hollywood isn’t exactly your typical milieu, now is it?”

  “No, definitely not.”

  “Ride it out. At least have fun. You need more fun.”

  “Thanks. I think.”

  Owen laughed. “Love is catching in this band, yeah?”

  I didn’t want to go that far—just quite yet—but I did want to see Piper. Might be a good plan if I didn’t smell as if I’d been in the recording cave for most of the day. “Mind if we swing by my place?” I asked.

  “Only if you don’t tell Cal I’m picking up a burger from In and Out.”

  “Why?”

  Owen turned into the drive-thru. “It’s on the nauseous list this week. In fact, I’ll probably need to borrow one of your toothbrushes.”

  “That bad?”

  “Yes. So very much.”

  I laughed. “Then I guess we will both feast and brush our teeth.”

  “Good plan, mate.”

  14

  Piper

  “Are you sure you have enough stuff?”

  Callie rocked in the swing rocker set up in the corner of the huge nursery. “I believe a dozen or so of those stuffed animals in that net are from you.”

  I twisted my mouth. “Guilty. I can’t help it. Every time I see a baby giraffe, I have to buy it.”

  “And that’s why I had to move the crib.” She nodded to the life-sized baby giraffe I’d ordered in a weak moment after a pint of triple chocolate espresso bean crunch ice cream. I’d thought about adding ice cream to the cafe and the cost of it had depressed me into a chocolate binge.

  Maybe next year. Especially if sales kept going like they were.

  Callie’s nursery had a distinct going-on-safari-meets-traditional vibe. From the billowy white curtains and soft yellow walls to the maple crib that somehow could grow with the kid, it was all perfect. Add in the mural of the African tundra at sunset on one wall with silhouettes of the wild creatures who littered the nursery in cute stuffed animal forms, and the place was an incredible sanctuary for a child. All the elephants and giraffes were the winners of the day though.

  Mostly because Keys and I were crazy people who couldn’t stop buying every baby thing we saw. She was the elephant girl and even had gotten her husband, Quinn, in on the buying spree. I was pretty sure baby fever was alive and well in the Alexander household.

  I turned back to Cal. She was rubbing her belly in little concentric circles.

  “Everything all right?”

  “Yeah. Baby Blackwell is a little more anxious to come out than we thought.”

  I sat next to her on the huge beanbag block. “You’re okay though, right?”

  “Yes. Just those blasted Braxton-Hicks things started this week. Owen is a hot mess about them and texts me once every freaking hour.”

  My gaze lowered to her distended belly with the Halloween Jack O’Lantern zipper hoodie stretched over it.

  Callie waved me closer. “It’s okay. He’s kicking.”

  “He?”

  “I’m guessing it is a boy, but Owen’s got girl in his brain.” She grabbed my hand and set it on the side of her belly. The flutter freaked me out, then something came out of the abyss of babyness.

  “Was that a foot?”

  “Yep. Definitely a footballer regardless of whether it is a boy or a girl. He’s kicking the shit out of my ribs and bladder.”

  Sweet God. Hell no.

  “Don’t look so horrified. A little person is in there. I’d be worried if he wasn’t moving around.”

  Yes, but did it have to look like a scene out of Alien? Nope. That was a hell to the no from my camp. My chosen babies had fur, at least for now.

  “I’m actually more worried about Owen than whatever plans this little guy has for me,” Callie went on.

  I looked up at her, my thoughts of gore and screeching alien faces forgotten. “Why? You guys are good, right?”

  Callie and Owen were probably the most solid couple I’d ever met. Hudson’s friends in his band seemed to be mostly paired off. While I knew Kennedy and Hunter from Love ‘n Paws, I didn’t really have a lot of contact with them outside of the pet adoption services they were involved with.

  I’d eaten dinner in the framework of Callie and Owen’s place when it had been nothing but a door over some sawhorses as a dinner table. And now they had a beautiful home and a baby on the way.

  Their place was as eclectic and interesting as their lives. I’d even helped them paint the nursery we were sitting in, for God’s sake. I was practically as invested in their relationship as they were.

  “We’re awesome. Amazing. But I worry about him.” She blew out a slow breath. “He’s trying to be everything for me and his band and he’s stretched so thin. The album is good at least. But I know he’d rather be here with me.”

  “That’s anyone with a job, right?”

  “Normally, I’d say yes.” She tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “But with the baby coming in a few weeks and the promotional tour beefing up, he’s sleeping as awful as I am. He’s worried and trying to be strong for me with these stupid early labor scares.”

  A little twinge teased at the back of my neck. This was what it would be like to be dating—hell, even loving—a man whose job took him far away from home.

  “Wait, did you say early?”

  “It feels like labor, but it’s not. We’ve been to the hospital three times in the last ten days.”

  “And you didn’t tell me at the baby shower?”

  “It’s just one of those things that happens to pregger chicks. But I see all the worry dimming the light in Blackbeard’s pretty eyes.” She sighed. “It’s stressing him out to be torn between two major things in his life. The album is so important to him. Music is as much a part of him as that stupid leather jacket he won’t give up. Even though I bought him a kickass one for Christmas, I know he won’t wear it.”

  I laughed. “Well, if you made him look even more like a pirate, maybe.”

  We both laughed, but her words stuck in the back of my mind as I helped her pair up the three-dozen baby socks she had in a basket. Hudson’s life was much the same. And while he didn’t seem to have the musical obsession that a lot of the members of Hammered had, he had that drive to be with them. To be on the road.

  To be away from Los Angeles.

  Away from me.

/>   I swallowed hard. We were just having fun. At least that was what we’d been saying since the first time I’d thrown my little game at him. But nothing had been that simple when it came to Hudson.

  In the very best way possible.

  “Bunny?” Owen’s voice came from downstairs.

  “In the nursery.”

  “Are you decent, love?”

  “No,” she called back.

  I heard a murmur of voices.

  “You’re not having an orgy, are you?” Owen stood outside the door. “Darn. Just baby booties.”

  “Funny guy, aren’t you?” Callie tipped up her chin as Owen lowered to kiss her. His hand automatically went to her belly. His long fingers were clad in heavy silver rings. Along with his wedding ring, there was one on his forefinger and a skull with sapphire chips for eyes on his right ring finger. The rest of his knuckles spelled out love in a tattoo.

  “How’s the little one?” Owen asked.

  “Is there a football game on or something? He thinks there is.” She winced. “Oof. Hi there, baby.”

  Owen crouched beside her and rubbed lightly. It was an automatic gesture that told me he’d done it often. Another pang blindsided me. I’d never been the girl who was hungry to have children. I much preferred furry things to pink and squalling ones who always wanted something.

  But to have someone in my life who knew me that well? Who could come up to me and instantly know what I needed?

  That was a whole different story.

  “Hey, kitten.”

  My gaze went to the door. The green striped bootie I held fell from my fingers. “Hudson. What are you doing here?” I stood up.

  “Thought I’d kill two birds. Get a little Callie time and see you.” He strolled into the room, his hair still wet and curling against his neck. He was back in his regular clothes. A white dress shirt with an almost imperceptible gray plaid tucked into dark washed jeans and a gunmetal gray vest skimmed his black belt.

  His eyes skimmed me with a flare of interest. I was suddenly glad I’d decided to put on a dress today. It was a berry-colored sundress in a paisley print. I’d dragged it out of the back of my closet to go with my new purple-tipped hair.