by Cari Quinn
“I’m not supposed to think about your dick. Because I’m your foster sister, remember?”
He swore under his breath. “What am I supposed to do? Tell me.”
“It’s already done.” She shook her head and kept walking, anchoring her knapsack higher on her shoulder. “I’ll see you around. Maybe on the cover of a magazine. Or maybe YouTube. Lots of artists get discovered on there nowadays.”
“Jesus, Jazz, wait. I couldn’t just hit the pause button on my life.”
“I know. And neither can I.”
“So that’s it? This is really the end.” He let out a harsh laugh. “I got you back only to lose you all over again.”
She stopped at the end of the sidewalk and turned back, sucking him down one last time. Bathed in unrelenting sunshine, he seemed to glisten with life and vitality. The golden boy she would always love, no matter what.
“With us, you never know.”
CHAPTER FORTY
Now
Gray adjusted his guitar on his good shoulder and stepped onto the set where they’d be shooting the “Sugar Kiss” video. After eight weeks in rehab, his first task involved stepping in front of the camera.
Nothing like a trial by fire.
The crew bustled around the room, arranging cameras and set pieces. There was a big four-poster bed in the middle, piled high with a thick duvet and piles of fluffy pillows. He frowned. No one had mentioned a bed to him.
Then again, Lila wasn’t exactly forthcoming with details. Her instructions had been along the lines of “here’s where we’re doing the shoot, get your ass there at ten a.m. and don’t be late.”
He considered it lucky she’d given him until ten a.m., since he’d been released at eight.
Technically he could’ve gotten out last night, the official end of his two month stint. But he’d taken the last night away from the band to plan how he wanted things to go. He’d coasted for too long, just doing whatever it took to get by. Eight weeks of talking more than he’d ever wanted to in his life had helped him to realize that he couldn’t do that anymore. He’d always been someone who had concrete goals and a step-by-step way of reaching them. His ability with the guitar and 4.0 average in college hadn’t been accidents. He’d worked his ass off.
Now he had a new subject to master. Well, a couple of them. He wanted to take his skill to the next level, both with the guitar and with songwriting. He’d discovered a whole new way of making cash on the side, and that meant he couldn’t take the slacker’s way out when it came to coming up with new material. His A-game wouldn’t cut it. He needed an A+.
Then there was the even bigger goal. The one where he settled down with the girl of his dreams and they finally made it work.
It wouldn’t be easy, but he was committed to doing things the right way this time. No more two-week courtships and a proposal outside a grocery store. This go-round, they were going slow. They would date for a long while and really hit all the levels. No quickie moving into the same room, no skipping to the good stuff first. It was all good stuff, and he’d be damned if either them were cheated out of the whole experience. She was it for him, and this would be the one and only time he headed toward the altar. So they could take the scenic route.
Assuming she was on-board, of course. They hadn’t spoken much during the past eight weeks by mutual agreement. She’d been busy in the studio, and he’d been busy cleaning out his system and his mind and going more than a little stir-crazy. Once he’d found his songwriting outlet—and had started making serious use of the fitness facilities at the center—everything had started falling more into line.
Even mental exertion and physical exhaustion hadn’t stopped him from wanting coke. He didn’t think of it as often as he had before, especially during the time right before rehab. But he still thought about it way too much. That would be his life now. He had to be constantly vigilant. There would never be a time he could relax and “recreationally” use any kind of substance. He had an addictive personality, and using any of his drugs of choice was a slippery slope leading to the same pit.
Including the woman he’d had to learn to love differently. Not less. That wasn’t possible. But he’d begun to figure out that she had her own life, her own decisions to make, her own world that he didn’t have to be privy to twenty-four/seven. He couldn’t shield her from everything. And that was okay, because she was a fucking wonder in every way. Her strength astounded him.
Now he had to be just as strong.
“You’re here.”
He turned at the sound of Lila’s voice and smiled. “I am.”
“Gained some weight. And some serious muscles.” She surprised him by poking his belly. “You look good.”
“Thanks. I feel good too.”
“And you kept growing out your hair. Nice.” She fluffed the ends, viewing him with an objective eye. “You’ll look great in the video, especially since it requires a little physical work, shall we say.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? Last I knew, the concept involved Jazz pouring sugar on Simon.”
“Oh, that was just a wild hair.” She glanced down at her tablet and waved her bright red nails. “We went round-and-round about it. Donovan had a different visual in mind, but I convinced him to go with the sure thing.”
“And what’s that?”
She gave him a smile that could only be construed as wolfish. “You and Jasmine on a bed, making out.”
“Say what?” He set down his Epiphone between his feet. “She agreed to that?”
“Actually, it was her idea.”
Had he only been gone eight weeks? Sure didn’t feel like it right now. “Hold up. Jazz hates to be out front for long.”
“Really? You should check out the footage from Trix. She has quite the stage presence.”
“I never said she didn’t. Of course she does. She’s a goddamn knockout and no one plays better than she does. Not even me.”
Watching the footage from the night she’d covered for him had brought him to that startling conclusion. He’d been strictly on guitar for years yet she still had a competence with the instrument that seemed to outweigh his hours of practice. There was no beating a native understanding of rhythm and an ear for music, and she had both.
And beyond that? Nick had been right. She’d looked so fucking hot playing his guitar.
The tightening in his groin made him clear his throat. Yep, he didn’t need to be thinking about that right now.
“I think Jasmine is just coming into her own. So perhaps what might have been usual for her yesterday isn’t the same as today.” The knowing smile she gave him caused alarm bells to clang in his head. “Give it a chance, okay?”
He grunted. So much for his taking it slow plan with Jazz. That had included treading gently with sex, but he hadn’t anticipated rolling around on a bed with her first thing. Good intentions only went so far. How was he supposed to remember his vow to prove to her how much he cherished her when he wanted to fuck her blind?
“Go on and get freshened up in dressing room C. There are clothes in there for you to wear. I might have underestimated your pants size, though.” Thoughtfully, she tapped her nails against her teeth. “Then again, that might be helpful.”
“Only from where you’re standing,” he muttered.
She laughed and started walking away. “It’s great to have you back, Grayson.”
“Lila, hang on.” He grabbed his guitar and jogged after her. “Something weird happened this morning. I tried to make sure the payment plan with Visions was all set up and they told me I was paid in full.”
She aimed her attention at her iPad. “Hmm. How irregular.”
“You paid for it, didn’t you?”
“TKS Enterprises paid for it, if you must know.” She patted his arm. “And TKS can more than afford it.”
“Who’s that?”
Her lips tightened. “My husband’s company.”
“Lila,” he said softly, gripping the neck of
his guitar. “How am I supposed to thank you for that?”
“You’re not. In fact, I demand that you don’t.”
“But I owe you—” He owed so many people, Jazz and his parents the most. He was on his way to earning the money to pay them back. He’d manage to pay Lila back too.
“You want to repay me?” She turned her direct, pull-no-punches gaze on him. “Don’t fuck up again.”
“Don’t worry.” His voice held the conviction that stiffened his spine every time he’d felt his resolve slipping. “I won’t.”
“Not just because of Oblivion, but because of Jasmine. If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s her.”
“Yeah.” After a moment, he smiled. “You’re not going to liken this situation to Titanic again, are you? Because I watched that movie in rehab, and dude, the guy frigging dies.”
“I told you. But it’s a good cautionary tale. At any time, the woman you love could banish you to icy cold water so watch your step.”
“I guess so. Do you—”
He lost the thread of what he was saying as Jazz sauntered onto the set from a door across the room. She wore a floor-length robe with furry piping, and instead of it making her resemble a miniature wrestler in the WWE, she looked like a pinup queen. Her banging body didn’t quit. She had serious curves from head to toe. And her hair. It was back to glossy unrelieved black, a wavy curtain that tumbled over her shoulders and framed her heart-shaped face.
“Wow,” he managed once he’d unglued his tongue from the floor.
Lila laughed and gave him a light shove. “Not yet. Go get ready for her first.”
“I’m more than ready for her now.”
“I just bet,” she said drily. “Save it for the shoot, stud. We want this video to be hot enough to fucking crash YouTube.”
“I’m not wearing a penis sock. Just so you know.”
“Nah, we figured we’d have you perform au naturel.” When he gaped, she shook her head and pointed down the hall. “Outta here or you get the sock.”
“Most interesting threat I’ve ever heard.” He picked up his guitar and snuck one more quick glance at Jazz as she talked to one of the cameramen, gesturing with both hands as she often did. The sight made him smile.
God, he’d missed her. He would’ve agreed to exile in an igloo in Antarctica if a glimpse of her was his reward.
“There’s the Titanic smile. Been waiting on it.” Lila sighed. “Damn you people and your epic loves.”
He flushed. “Can I get a sock for my head too?”
“You wish. Scram.”
Gray found the dressing room she’d indicated and walked into a zoo. Simon was spinning around on the swivel stool in front of the mirror, his legs kicked out as if he was on a ride at the fair. Nick slouched against one wall and laughed hysterically at something on his phone. Deak, the only sane one of the bunch, stood near the window, talking quietly on his cell.
He also happened to be the only one who was dressed.
“Jesus H. Christ, if nudity is required, I’m leaving.”
Silence descended. Simon stopped spinning like a mad top, Nick stopped laughing. And everyone stared at Gray as if they’d seen a ghost.
He smiled. Well, they kind of had, if his occasional nickname counted.
“Holy fuck. He lives.” Simon bolted off the stool and pulled him into a hug, clapping him on the back hard enough to dislodge a vital organ or two. He stepped back and gripped Gray’s shoulders. “You look great.”
“Thanks. And you look naked.”
Simon laughed and grabbed a pair of leather pants off the dressing table. “When you’ve got it, flaunt it, bro.”
Gray lifted an eyebrow at Nick. “That your theory too?”
“Nah, I just got distracted. Not like I haven’t been at a wang party before.” Nick tossed aside his phone, pulled on a pair of faded jeans sans underwear and extended his fist, knuckles out. “Good to have you back, man.”
Gray smiled. “You actually sound like you mean that.”
“I do.” Nick shrugged. “When you’re not around, I gotta practice with Leather Loins over there and he preens more than plays.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m beautiful.” Simon leaned toward the mirror to line his eyes. “Want?” he asked over his shoulder.
“Hell no, I don’t want. You think I’m a damn female?”
“Not you, jackoff. I meant Gray.”
Gray grinned. “Goddamn, it’s good to be back.” He met Deak halfway across the room to slap hands. “How you doin’, Pops? Lovin’ all over that woman carrying that baby of yours?”
A shadow passed over Deak’s face though he recovered quickly. “Yeah, yeah, you know it.” He laughed and gripped Gray’s shoulder—the good one, thank God. Deak could’ve killed him with a careless shoulder clap. “You look incredible. Doing all right?”
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat and met the other man’s gaze squarely. Of everyone, Deacon had been the most militant about kicking Snake and his drug habit out of the band. Gray certainly hadn’t expected a hero’s welcome from him. “I know you probably don’t have a lot of faith in me right now, man, but I want you to know that I’m straight.”
“Pretty sure we all knew that already.” Simon leered over his shoulder. “Isn’t that why you get to bang the hottie on camera? Prior knowledge and shit?”
“I’m not banging her on camera.” Though the more everyone kept talking, he was seriously starting to wonder what kind of video shoot he’d wandered into. “I haven’t turned to porn yet.”
“Don’t rule it out, buddy. Times are tough.”
Nick shoved Simon hard enough to upend his stool. “Christ, shut the hell up.”
Gray shook his head. “Sorry,” he said in an undertone to Deacon.
He just laughed. “I’m the one who should be apologizing to you. I’m the one who invited you to join this fucking chaos.”
“Misery always loves company.”
“You got it. And about the other…listen, I’m betting on you, man. I always have been. Whatever it takes to get you back to a good place, I’m behind you.”
“Thanks. That means a lot.”
“You and I gotta stick together. We’re outnumbered here—”
Gray glanced back as Nick began coughing and flailing against the wall. “What the fuck is wrong with him?”
“Some new syndrome that’s twice as bad as Tourette’s. In a minute, he’ll start foaming at the mouth and pissing his pants.”
Nick managed to stop coughing long enough to glare at Simon. “What’d I tell you about shutting up?”
Gray glanced back at Deak. “Those two are something.”
“Best friends. It’s basically a sickness for two.”
“Guess so.” He’d never had that issue with his best friend, but she also didn’t have the maturity of a ten-year-old, so that probably made a difference. “Where are my clothes?”
Deak pointed to another dressing table on the other side of the room. “Right there. Underneath the shirt is a surprise from Harper.” He grinned. “A little birdie told her your favorite.”
“Booyah. That almost makes up for the hell I’m about to endure.” He went over to the dressing table and pushed aside the clothes to pick up the plastic-wrapped plate with a sticky note on top. “Look, she gave me a heart.” He pinned it to his shirt. “Think she likes me more than you, man.”
“I don’t doubt it at the moment. Morning sickness is kicking her ass. They never like us too much then, fair warning.”
Gray peeled off the plastic and took a heady sniff of the chocolate-coconut popovers Harper had made for him. Sin on a fucking plate. “You are a lucky man, my friend.”
“Tell me about it. But you’re pretty lucky yourself.” Deak grinned and headed for the door with Moe and Curly in tow. “Enjoy.”
Gray already had one halfway to his mouth. “I probably won’t be able to fit into my damn pants.”
“Just leave them open. Easier acc—” S
imon began, trailing off when Nick yanked him through the door and slammed it shut.
Shaking his head, Gray grinned and finished his popover. So fucking worth it.
* § *
The hour of reckoning was close at hand, and Jazz had swollen ankles. That seemed particularly unfair.
Panning her iPhone around the set, Jazz waited until she had a good-sized clip before hitting pause on the recording and uploading it to Oblivion’s social media accounts with the caption “Guess what we’re doing today?” Answers immediately flooded in, from the zany to the downright nuts. But they were fun to read regardless.
She’d been slacking on the social media front for a while. Sure, she still tweeted now and then and took the occasional selfie to throw up on Facebook, but by and large, she’d let that part of her life lapse ever since things with Gray had gotten so crazy.
The last few weeks, she’d started easing her toe back in with candid pictures of Simon posing in his latest designer duds and Nick practicing like a maniac. Last night she’d caught a close-up of Deak and Harper sharing a smooch worthy of the hottest porno, and boy, had the Oblivion peeps enjoyed that.
But right now, she couldn’t concentrate on being cute and chatty with their fans. Not when it felt like her entire life rested on the line.
“How does he look?” she asked Lila finally.
“Is there any appropriate way for me to answer this question?”
“Come on, drop the appropriate for a minute. You’re a female. You have eyes.”
“So I won’t be risking life and limb if I admit he looks fucking incredible?”
Jazz frowned and went back to fluffing pillows. “You could’ve left off the fucking.”
“I wanted to make sure you had the word in mind before upcoming events.” When Jazz narrowed her eyes, Lila sighed. “See? Lose-lose proposition.”
“No, I’m just nervous and taking it out on you. Who thought this was a good idea?”
“You. And you. Oh, and still you.”
“If I throw up, I’m going to aim for your expensive duvet.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” She sighed. “Besides, I’m getting rather used to a disordered environment, thanks to Killer.”