Faded (Faded Duet Book 1)

by Julie Johnson

  At this point, I’ve made enough cash to stop stockpiling my tips like a squirrel preparing for the first winter frost… but I can’t bring myself to waste single a penny. I’ll eventually have to splurge and restock some essentials — I’m getting dangerously low on deodorant and toothpaste — but the ever-growing wad of bills beneath the loose floorboard in the corner of my room is the only security blanket I have left in this world. Not to mention my only means of escape, if my past comes knocking at the door.

  Thankfully, my tips tonight are flowing in even faster than usual. It’s Saturday and there’s a line out the door so long, you’d think Elvis himself was about to take the stage. I drop off a round of tequila shots to a group of particularly generous guys in the corner, then head back to the bar to put in a few more orders.

  “Thanks, Jay,” I call, as he starts mixing the drinks.

  He grunts in acknowledgment — apparently tonight will not be the night he betrays his strong silent type persona.

  “Hey!” Carly appears out of thin air at my side, a platinum pixie blur. “How’s everything going out here?”

  “Busy. We’re turning over tables so fast I can hardly keep up.”

  “At least you’re getting in some solid cardio.”

  “I can always count on you to find that silver lining, Carly.” I grin at her. “How’s the lineup looking?”

  “All good so far. Everyone’s been on time for their slots… but we’ve got Lacey Briggs on the schedule next, so there’s a definite chance that’ll change.”

  I go still, my heart beginning to pound faster. If Lacey’s on the schedule… that means Ryder is, too.

  I haven’t seen him since that first night in the parking lot, a few weeks ago. I wish I could say he hasn’t been on my mind, but that would be a lie. At night, when I’m tossing and turning in my bed trying to get to sleep, I sometimes replay that moment we shared. Him and me, standing in the shadows. The tension in the tendons of his neck as he leaned against the wall, eyes closed, breaths coming fast. I’d wanted to lay my hand on his skin, to comfort him in some way. To tell him he wasn’t alone, even if it was only for a moment.

  But that’s insane.

  I barely know the man. He’s a virtual stranger. We’ll probably never speak again.

  “Hello?” Carly snaps her fingers in front of my face. “Where’d you go?”

  I blush. “Sorry. I think I need some coffee, I’m out of it tonight.”

  “Go grab a cup from the break room. I’ll cover for you for a few minutes.”

  “Thanks. You want me to bring you one?”

  She shakes her head and pushes me lightly toward the door. By the time I suck down a cup of coffee in the back and return to check on my tables, the folk singer on stage has finished her set. Carly walks up to the mic to introduce the next act.

  “Hey, y’all! Hope you’re having a good time tonight! Our next act is a firecracker about to set this stage on fire… I think some of y’all may know her already…”

  The audience starts to whistle.

  “Please put your hands together and give a great, big Nashville welcome to…” Carly’s voice crescendoes. “Miss Lacey Briggs!”

  The crowd cheers so loud, the window panes rattle in their frames. I find myself unable to look away as a curvy, peroxide blonde girl struts out on stage. She’s in the shortest pair of jean cut-off shorts I’ve ever laid eyes on, plus a sparkly pink halter top that leaves her midriff completely exposed and her rather large assets on display. There are rhinestones running up the seams of her pink cowboy boots, glittering each time she takes a step beneath the stage lights. She’s like a disco ball in human form — it’s almost too much to take in without experiencing sensory overload. I’m so fixated by her appearance, I almost don’t notice Ryder stepping onstage along with the rest of the band.

  Almost.

  It would take something truly spectacular to keep me from noticing him, even tucked away in the shadows on the left side of the stage. I drink in the sight of his faded blue shirt and tight fitted jeans like the first sip of water after a ten mile run. He’s even more gorgeous than I remember.

  I find my hands shaking as I reach for my drink tray. Maybe that cup of coffee was a bad idea. I’m jittery enough already.

  Lacey doesn’t greet the crowd — she just starts singing.

  “Met a boy last night said he’d break my heart. I told him no chance honey it’s been broke from the start…” Her hips swivel suggestively in time to the beat as she belts out the opening verse. Lincoln is at the drums, pounding out a driving tempo. Aiden is playing like a devil. But it’s Ryder I can’t tear my eyes away from. How his fingers move so fast over the strings they seem to blur, how his rich baritone fills out the somewhat superficial sound of Lacey’s thin soprano.

  Looking around, I have to say I’m the only one who finds fault with her performance. The audience is going crazy for Lacey. They watch wide-eyed and enraptured, pagans worshipping at her altar. By the time she reaches the chorus, she’s got them eating out of the palm of her hand.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, warn ya, warn ya…” Lacey grins sultrily and extends her mic out to the front row of swaying fans. They know the words by heart, and echo back eagerly.

  Don’t say I didn’t warn ya, warn ya, warn ya…

  It’s not my type of music, but even I can’t deny it’s catchy as hell. I wonder if Lacey wrote the lyrics. If so, she’s more talented than I gave her credit for. This kind of tune was made for radio.

  I watch the rest of their set with a mixture of reverence and resentment, delivering drinks with one eye fixed on the stage. Lacey Briggs may’ve been an unreliable waitress… but she was born to be famous. That kind of stage presence can’t be taught.

  Chapter Five

  ryder

  Lacey is in rare form tonight.

  Not only does she manage to show up on time, she delivers the kind of set I’ve only seen a handful of times in the year I’ve been playing with her. We do six of our best original songs and the crowd responds with roaring appreciation. My lyrics and her stage presence make for a killer combination — a fact that does not go unnoticed by the two record execs from Red Machine Records sitting at a table in the far corner.

  This moment, right here, is everything I’ve been working toward. I try to keep my eyes on the prize.

  Record deal.

  Los Angeles.

  Freedom.

  But my goddamned eyes aren’t on the prize. Instead, they keep wandering to the pretty, dark-haired waitress delivering drinks during our set. Her hair is in a high ponytail tonight, swaying every time she takes a step like a metronome designed to mesmerize me. No matter how hard I try to focus on the music, I find my eyes straying to her every few minutes.

  It’s fucking infuriating.

  Half of me wants to drag her into the back hallway and tell her to get lost — out of this bar, out of my head, so far from me I’ll never think about her again. The other half wants to drag her into the nearest dark corner, wrap that ponytail around my fist, and kiss her until we forget to come up for air.

  I bite my lip so hard I taste blood, hating the unfamiliar sensations swirling through me.

  Maybe I should just screw her out of my system. It’s always worked before.

  Her ponytail swings.

  I play harder.

  Her hips sway beneath that little black apron.

  I sing louder.

  We shift gears into “Liar” — our final song of the night. I wrote it a few months ago on a diner napkin at two in the morning after a particularly wild bender with Linc and Aiden. It might not be emotionally moving, but it’s a certifiable hit.

  If this doesn’t convince the talent scouts to sign us, nothing will.

  Linc lays down the beat and Aiden fills in the sound on his bass as Lacey slithers across the stage, running her hands up and down her body as if it’s her own instrument to tune. She leans in to share my mic for the opening verse,
her brown eyes gleaming fever-bright beneath the stage lights. Strumming the chords, I force a grin on my face and go along with her act, putting on a show for the crowd.

  The lyrics pour out of her cherry red mouth like a viper hissing venom.

  “Kiss me like you mean it. Come on, make me feel it… They say I’m bad, but I’ll show you a good time.”

  Lacey turns her back to me so our shoulders brush and starts to shimmy. She cranes her neck to put her cleavage on better display and sings directly to every man in the crowd.

  “You say I’m no good, but you’re a bad, bad liar.”

  I can practically taste the testosterone thickening in the air as they watch her. I know what they see — tight shorts, big tits. I know what they hear — breathy sex kitten voice, promises of ecstasy. There’s not a man in that crowd who doesn’t want to fuck her. Hell, they can hardly keep their eyes off her.

  If only they knew beneath the surface, she’s emptier than a china doll.

  She bounces back to center stage and grabs the mic stand, pulling it into an embrace like a lover she’s intent on seducing.

  “Honey, I’m so good I’ll set your heart on fire.”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of the record execs whispering to each other… and I know, in my gut, that something is about to change. Something big.

  My grin turns genuine for the first time all night as we finish the song.

  We pile into our favorite booth after the set, buzzing with energy. Being up there, performing like that to an appreciative crowd… it’s the best kind of high there is. No drug, natural or synthetic, can even come close to the rush I feel when I’m on stage.

  “That was fucking incredible!” Lincoln drums his hands against the tabletop in a feverish beat. “I could kiss every single one of you!”

  Lacey leans away from him, a glower on her face. “Please don’t. You’re sweaty.”

  He shakes his head like a dog, sending droplets of perspiration flying everywhere. She screeches in displeasure and ducks her head against my chest for protection.

  “Gross, man.” I reach across the table and shove his shoulder. “Not looking to share bodily fluids with you. God only knows where you’ve been.”

  He waggles his eyebrows. “Where haven’t I been is the true question.”

  Aiden clears his throat. “Anyone else see those record label guys in the crowd?”

  “Yep.” I lean back against the leather booth. “They seemed pretty interested.”

  Lacey is still half-sprawled against my chest. Her peroxide blonde hair smells sickly sweet, like hairspray and bubblegum shampoo. I’d push her away but I know from experience that if I do, she’ll pitch a fit and act like a bitch for the rest of the night, basically ensuring she’ll blow our big shot if the Red Machine scouts swing by to talk to us.

  “You think we should approach them?” Linc asks, eyes bight with excitement. “Give them a contact card or a demo…”

  “No.” Aiden’s voice is firm. “We wait for them to come to us. Otherwise it looks desperate.”

  Linc sighs. “Dude, we are desperate.”

  “They don’t need to know that.”

  “Ryder, what do you think?” Lacey cranes her head up and peers into my face.

  I open my mouth to answer, but the sound of a delicate throat clearing to my left cuts me off.

  “Sorry,” a lilting, melodic voice says. Recognition slams into me. “I don’t mean to interrupt…”

  “So don’t,” Lacey mutters under her breath, rolling her eyes at the perceived intrusion. I ignore her, too focused on the girl hovering to my left to care much about the one still pressed tight against my right.

  I brace myself before I glance over, but she still takes the wind out of me. She’s standing there blushing furiously, avoiding my eyes as she stares down at her notepad. Her hands are shaking.

  She’s so fucking beautiful.

  “I was just wondering if y’all need any drinks.” She shifts uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as though she’d rather be anywhere else. “But if you need a minute, I’ll come back.”

  “Not so fast, sweetheart.” Lincoln slides over on the booth so he’s closer to her, eyes intent on her face. “You’re new.”

  She nods. “Just moved here a few weeks ago.”

  “Well, I don’t know if you’re aware of this yet, but I like to think of myself as a sort of unofficial welcoming committee here in Nashville.” Linc is pouring on the charm thicker than honey. “Lincoln Travers, at your service.” He reaches for her hand and presses a kiss to her skin. “And you are…?”

  A small smile twitches her lips up at the corners as she extracts her hand from his grip.

  I swallow down a growl. I’ve spent the past few weeks wondering what her name might be. How the syllables will feel rolling off my tongue for the first time. Damned if I’m going to let Linc steal that moment from me.

  “I’m—” she starts.

  “We’ll take a bottle of whiskey,” I cut her off before she can finish, my tone dismissive. “Jack Daniels will do.”

  Is it a dick move?

  Absolutely.

  But it’s my only option at the moment.

  Her eyes fly to mine. For a split second, I see fury in those incredible amber-gold irises, but she buries it away so fast I’m almost convinced I imagined it.

  “Of course,” she says sweetly. “Be right back with that.”

  Her eyes drift down to Lacey, who’s still pressed against my side like glue, before she turns on her heel. I can’t help watching her ass the entire time she walks away, suppressing a groan. Her hips swing with such natural grace. She moves like music.

  “Damn, she’s gorgeous,” Lincoln says, reading my mind. “So shiny and new…”

  “She’s not a toy,” I snap without thinking.

  There’s a beat of heavy silence at the table.

  Shit. Did I just reveal my hand? My poker face is usually much better.

  “Not a toy, huh?” Linc chuckles. “ I don’t know, bro… I can think of a few games I’d like to play with her…”

  Lacey giggles.

  I grunt in lieu of a comment, not wanting to encourage him. Linc has a long history of screwing anything with a pulse. Normally, that doesn’t bother me. We’ve even shared girls on more than one occasion, since neither of us is the type to get attached. But something about the way he’s looking at the new waitress sets my teeth on edge and makes me want to throttle him.

  She’s mine. I saw her first.

  I shake off the irrational thought.

  “Hey, all I’m saying is, I wouldn’t mind getting a peek under her apron.” He laughs boyishly. “Been a while since we had some fresh meat around here.”

  I strive for a nonchalant tone. “You’ve got plenty of other girls to choose from without delving into the staff at our favorite bar. Do me a favor and try not to jeopardize this gig for the rest of us by sticking your dick where it doesn’t belong.”

  He blinks at me. “You don’t have to be such an asshole, Ryder.”

  “Asshole is my resting state.” I shrug. “Never bothered you before.”

  His eyes narrow, as though he senses something amiss. “‘If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were trying to get me to stay away from the new girl so you can have her for yourself.”

  My heart beats faster, but I keep my face an aloof mask. “Don’t be an idiot.”

  “I’m not the one acting all worked up over a pretty girl.”

  “Is she pretty? I hadn’t noticed.”

  “What, you’re fucking blind all the sudden?” Linc scoffs.

  Even Aiden looks incredulous.

  “My eyesight is just fine. It’s your priorities I’m worried about, if you think there’s any sense messing up our performing schedule here by screwing some cheap cocktail waitress.” The words taste like acid on my tongue, but I force them out anyway. Right now, I’d say almost anything to keep him from pursuing her.

&
nbsp; Lincoln’s gaze narrows on mine. “Bit harsh, Ry.”

  “What do you want me to say?” I snort, selling the lie with everything I have in me. “I guess that doe-eyed, innocent look just doesn’t do it for me. I prefer women in my bed, not little girls.”

  Lacey makes a mewling sound of pleasure, mistakenly thinking I’m talking about her.

  Linc looks totally dumbfounded. His eyes flicker from my face to the space over my shoulder. I have him on the ropes — one final strike should shut him down for good.

  “But if you want to fuck her, by all means. Doesn’t matter to me.” My charming grin is perfect camouflage for the truth. “I suppose you’ll take whatever you can get, isn’t that right, Linc?”

  Before he can retort, there’s a sharp crack of glass against wood as a full bottle of Jack Daniels slams down against the surface of our table so hard the napkin dispenser jumps. Everyone’s heads snap in the direction of the waitress, who’s returned far faster than anticipated… and, judging by her furious expression, overheard the last few snippets of our conversation.

  Fuck.

  I feel my face pale a shade. “Hey—”

  “You need anything else, just give a shout,” she says brightly, but I swear she’s blinking back tears. “I’ll be around.”

  I feel something inside me crumble as she turns from the table and walks away, ponytail swinging behind her with a bit less bounce than before. If I was the kind of guy who felt guilty about being an ass, my head would be hanging pretty fucking low right now.

  As it is… I am an ass. I don’t know how to be anything else.

  So, I reach out, twist off the seal of the whiskey, and take a long swig straight from the bottle. The familiar burn feels so good going down, it’s almost enough to forget the look in her eyes as she walked away from me.