by Linda Kage
“JB?” I whispered in uncertainty.
With a tender smile, he pressed his forward to mine. “You are on my level, Teagan Marie. And I’m going to prove it to you.”
He kissed me again, his lips claiming and showing me what we already had together. Groaning, I crawled up into his lap and he wrapped the sleeping bag more firmly around us until we were cocooned inside it.
“So, just to make sure…” He broke away long enough to ask, his voice rasping against my skin as he ran his nose up my throat. “You’re not still planning on experimenting like this with Luke, right?”
I punched him lightly in the shoulder blade. “Don’t be a dumbass.”
“Damn.” His lips twitched up into a grin. “Why does it suddenly sound incredibly hot when you call me that?”
I smiled and skimmed my fingers up his bare chest. “Because you know it means you’re going to have your hands full with me.”
“Am I?” Physically cupping my hips in his hands, he positioned me until I was straddling his erection. We both sighed in unison, and I began to ride him through our clothes, undulating my hips into a sweet, seductive rhythm. Then, he groaned and added, “Good. I don’t think I’d like them full with anyone else.”
My head fell back, my hair spilling down my spine when he slid both his hands under my shirt and up until he was cupping my braless breasts.
“Oh, God, I want to feel you inside me,” I rasped.
“Teagan,” he groaned, pressing his forehead to mine. “What the hell is happening here?” Unceasing as he massaged my breasts and skimmed his mouth down my cheek, he shifted up his hips to grind against my core harder. Then he looked into my eyes. “What does this mean?”
I could only grin. “I think it means our moms are going to keep debating about a fall or Christmas wedding for quite a while to come.”
He chuckled. “What the fuck do they have against spring weddings?”
“I do like the flowers in spring,” I admitted.
He smiled at me before capturing my mouth once again in a kiss I felt all the way to my toes.
God, I loved his mouth. I wrapped my legs around his waist and buried my fingers in his hair, giving him everything I had. With a growl, he accepted it, giving back just as heartily as he took.
“Okay, we’ve come to a decision,” my dad announced, striding back into the clearing. “You two can date as long as you—what the fuck?!”
He jerked to a halt when JB and I didn’t immediately leap apart, only stopped kissing to glance his way. All bundled into the sleeping bag as we were, he could basically only see our heads, but it was pretty obviously we were wrapped up in each other’s arms and I was on JB’s lap facing him.
When the other parents appeared behind Dad, falling to their own surprised halts, JB merely tugged me closer. So I set my cheek on his shoulder and grinned ruefully at everyone else.
“As long as you guys can accept the fact that we’re going to start dating no matter what,” JB announced. “Then you all can come to any conclusion you like.”
And with that, he kissed me some more.
* * *
The End
Part Four
Playing to Win
For Everly Lucas
I love your words.
Every single one of them.
Please don’t ever stop with the words.
One
Rory
About fifty different strains of music floated into the hallway behind the stage of the Albright Auditorium. Some tunes were pretty decent. Some downright sucked. Only a few actually kicked ass.
All the seats out in the performance hall were filled, and the emcee for the night was cracking corny jokes, trying to keep the crowd entertained before the talent show contest began. In my changing room, I stroked my fingers over the cords of my guitar, warming up.
Tonight was a big night for me, and not because the venue was huge, because it really wasn’t. No VIP I needed to impress was out there watching, either. But I wanted to win this competition anyway. So bad.
Because no one here knew who I really was.
I wasn’t going to just be Aurora Hart, daughter to Asher and Remy Hart from the world-famous band Non-Castrato. I finally had a chance to make my own name and see if I had what it took to go anywhere without their influence.
After being bullied at my old high school because my parents were rock stars—even though they’d actually moved on to producing music these days instead of singing, and their band hadn’t played together in almost ten years—I’d moved in with my aunt and uncle for a semester to finish high school in their neighborhood, under the name Rory Hartley.
Here, I could be anonymous and start over fresh, become anything I wanted to. But at the end of the day, I’d still just wanted to be me. I loved music, and I loved creating it, just like my parents did. Running through the strains of Heart’s “Barracuda,” I closed my eyes and began to murmur the lyrics just as a knock came at my door.
“Hey,” my cousin Trick greeted as he popped inside. “I just wanted to wish you good luck and see if you needed anything.”
At twenty, he was the only child of Aunt Eva’s and Uncle Pick’s still living at home. It had been strange to go from living with two younger sisters in thirteen-year-old Riley and eleven-year-old Ayden to having only an older brother-type figure to fight with for bathroom time. But no matter how much I’d wanted to strangle him for forgetting to put the toilet seat down, Trick and I had actually grown pretty close these last few months, even if I suspected it only stemmed from sympathy on his part because some evil mean girls had pinned me down in the bathroom of my last school and whacked all my hair off when I’d confronted them for posting signs of me all over the school, calling me a bitch and whore and all sorts of other lovely, untrue names.
The whole thing had left me traumatized, so that must be why he’d been taking it easy on me.
“Hey,” I greeted right back, setting my guitar aside so I could give him a big hug. “Thanks for stopping by, and nope, I think I’m good. Just waiting for my turn to play. Have they started yet?”
“Nah.” He waved a hand. “The lame host is still cracking unbelievably bad dad jokes.” He shuddered. “I had to get out of there for a minute, especially when my parents started laughing.”
I rolled my eyes. “I wish he’d hurry up. I’m ready to get this show on the road.”
“I don’t know why you’re acting so nervous,” he said, walking around my room to investigate, though there wasn’t much to snoop through, just a folding table, a couple chairs, a mirror, some inspirational posters on the wall, and a complimentary bottle of water. “You’ve got this contest in the bag.” Picking up the water, he twisted it open and took a swig.
I made a face, even though I hoped he was right. “You don’t know that for sure.”
He sent me a look, eyebrows lifted and expression dry. “Yeah…I do. You’ve been playing since you were, what, four? Or maybe I should say, you’ve been playing well since you were four. The only thing to concern yourself with right now is what you’re going to do with all that prize money?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “Twenty-five hundred would make a sweet shopping spree.”
I shrugged dismissively and picked my guitar back up. “I’d probably just put it away in savings.”
Chuckling, Trick shook his head. “Wow, you are such a spoiled little rich girl. Here’s over two grand, and you’re just like…meh. Whatever. God, I wish I could be so blasé.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, because you’re so destitute yourself, boy-whose-parents-own-the-most-famous-nightclub-in-the-state.”
“First world problems, kid. First world problems.” Grinning, he ruffled my hair and started to reverse from the room. “Hey, I’m going to head back out to Mom and Dad. See you after, okay?”
“Wait!” My suspicions rose. When he paused, lifting his eyebrows questionably, I hesitantly asked, “Who else showed up?”
Because if either of my parent
s or sisters were here, I was probably already made. Mass hysteria would ensue. Oh my God, it’s those singers from that one band; let’s everyone scream and rush them and ask for their autographs like hysterical idiots.
Trick winked at me. “That’s it. Sorry, your fan club’s small tonight.”
My shoulders relaxed, glad no one else had come. “No, that’s fine,” I assured him. It was exactly what I wanted. This was like my first test. Could I do this on my own? Could I control a crowd? Rile them? Excite them? Transfix them? Before, I’d only been able to gain cheers because they’d known who my parents were. But tonight…tonight was my time.
“Knock ’em dead,” Trick called, already in the hall with the door shutting behind him.
“Thanks,” I answered, turning to examine myself in the mirror, making sure I looked okay.
My hair was still shorter than I’d ever worn it in my life. A moment of mourning passed, missing all the silken dark locks I’d inherited from my mom. But it’d grown out enough that I’d been able to spike it up and out, dying strands here and there with different colors. My cropped black leather jacket, the leather strip with silver spikes wrapped around my throat, and tall black platform boots over fishnet pantyhose completed the look. The only thing I was wearing that wasn’t black or silver was my hair, the hot pink tank top I had on under the jacket with a unicorn outlined in glitter on my chest, and the pink and silver glitter eyeshadow I wore. Even the bangle bracelets piled up both my arms were black.
I was tickled with how well I’d captured the eighties punk rocker look I’d been going for. I was so ready to shake this joint up. I spun, feeling the excitement spike through my system, until—ouch! Oh crap. I moved past the edge of the folding table too close, where a plastic piece of the lining had worn away and peeled off, making it poke out from the corner like a sharp, plastic dagger. It sliced into my upper thigh, hurting like a bitch and making an instant run in my hose.
“Dammit. Shit.” My perfect look was ruined.
Immediately thinking of damage control, I hurried to the door and yanked it open, hoping to catch Trick, so he could find his mom and see if she had some clear nail polish on her to paint over the area and stop the run from growing bigger. Aunt Eva was the super girly type and always carried the most surprisingly unusual things in her huge name-brand purse. It was possible she had a quick fix for me.
“Hey, Trick!” I called, rushing from the room, and turning to see if I could spot him in the hall. But I must’ve hurried out right in front of someone.
Because whoever it was bumped into me from behind.
“Oh, God. I’m sorry,” I gushed, whirling around to apologize.
“It’s fine,” a familiar voice with a familiar twang answered on a familiar husky laugh. “Are you okay?”
I faced him at the same moment he finally looked up. He’d been busy adjusting the strap of his guitar he had hanging off his back before finally checking on me.
Figured, I almost snorted. Check over his own things before making sure the girl he’d just plowed over was all right.
“Oh,” he added, his amazing grin dying flat before his blue eyes narrowed with disdain. “It’s you.”
Two
Rory
If I could be described as the stereotypical rocker chick, then Tucker Holt was all things country, from the cowboy boots, hat, Wrangler jeans, big belt buckle and the plaid shirt with pearl snap buttons. Even his freaking name went with the whole Nashville theme. Together, we were like George Strait meets Gene Simmons in Kiss gear.
We shared a class in school, and the first day I’d transferred there, the teacher had assigned us to pair up on a project together.
Tucker had been so sweet, and welcoming, and cute. Oh my God, the boy had it in spades in the looks department. Mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, dimple in his cheeks, impressive height, dreamy wide shoulders, lean narrow hips, and his butt…wow. Even I couldn’t knock the jeans he wore because they hugged his ass to perfection.
Chemistry had sparked between us at first sight. And I had flirted, big-time. My hair had been nearly buzzed off at that point and I still had a few bruises and scratches on my face from fighting off the girls who’d shaved me, but he’d looked at me as if I were pretty. It was the perfect welcome to a new place. We’d had fun working on the project together too, even though it was a boring history lesson, mostly looking up dates and places. He’d cracked jokes and made it exciting and unusual.
At the end of class, we stayed together, gathering our things at the same pace and walking into the hallway side by side as he asked get-to-know-you questions and followed me to my locker, so I could gather my things for my next class.
But as soon as I’d worked open the combination on my locker and swung open the door, he’d clutched his heart and winced as he took in the picture I had pasted on the inside of the door.
“No,” he’d groaned, angling his torso away from it in mock horror. “Say it ain’t so. You like Non-Castrato?”
Okay, so I know…I’d come here under a fake name so no one would know I was the product of two members from the Non-Castrato band, because I’d been hoping to avoid unwelcome negative attention from fellow classmates. My parents had gone through a lot to protect my identity. They’d offered private schools, personal tutors, all sorts of shit to keep me safe. But I thrived on people and crowds, and I’d wanted to finish my senior year in a public school. So they’d reluctantly agreed to let me move off and live with my dad’s brother, so I could attend Albright High until graduation, which would only last a few months.
All that should mean I probably shouldn’t have posted a huge sticker in my locker, blasting my allegiance to my parents’ band, if I’d wanted to stay anonymous and disconnected from them. But I loved their music, and come on… They were my parents. I had to show my support in some way. I mean, I didn’t even have their faces in the picture, just the group’s main logo.
And Tucker had gaped at it in horror as if it were the most offensive thing he’d ever seen.
I had paused and blinked at him in stunned shock. No one had ever bashed my parents’ band to my face like that before. I mean, they’d bashed me for being related to them but never them for just being them. I’d always been super proud of Mom and Dad for their talents, a fact that had probably come across as bragging every time I’d been excited to share their newest accomplishments, like making it into the Rock & Roll Hall of Fame, which had led to snooty, jealous bitches bullying me in an attempt to knock some of that happy pride from my system.
“You don’t like Non-Castrato?” I’d asked Tucker, sure I’d misunderstood him, because how could anyone not like them? Even if someone didn’t prefer most of their songs, their music was so diverse, people usually liked something they created.
But Tucker had shaken his head insistently, still wincing at the logo in my locker. “Hell, no. I’m pure country, through and through. Luke Bryan, Kenny Chesney, Florida Georgia Line, Jason Aldean. Now those are my people.”
I had continued to stare at him as if he’d lost his mind. I had nothing against any of the artists he named, but my true love was that hard rock beat, loud drums, fast tempo, screaming your emotions in angst and righteousness. I bled rock and roll.
And besides, no one knocked my family. Ever.
“Then I guess we’re done here,” I had announced before slapping my locker closed and turning my back to him. “Later, Nashville.”
“Wait!” He’d hurried after me, laughing as if it were all a joke to him. “That’s it. Just because we like different music?”
“That’s it,” I returned, waving over my shoulder at him and striding away.
To this day, I pretty much still regretted doing that to him. But I was full of all that stupid pride stuff, and I couldn’t back down to take it back.
So, sadly, we’d become mortal enemies instead of, you know, what I’d hoped we might become.
And I’d never connected with anyone else at Albright the wa
y I’d connected with Tucker that first day.
Narrowing my eyes at him, I sniffed. “Of course. I should’ve guessed you’d be slinking outside my door, trying to get a jump on the competition.”
One thing I’d come to learn since meeting Tucker: he was as passionate about music as I was…just a completely different genre of it.
He sang at school assemblies, played for people at lunch, wooed girls with his songs. And he wasn’t half bad. If I wanted to be perfectly honest, all egos aside, I was probably better. But I’d grown up in the business around professionals, taught techniques by some of the best trainers there were. Music was the only thing I knew. From what I’d discerned about Tucker, he was basically self-taught. So his raw talent was pretty damn impressive.
But that didn’t mean I was happy about seeing him here. He was the only person who might give me any kind of competition tonight.
“You wish, sweetheart,” he smarted back as his gaze slid over my outfit where he paused at my knee and sniffed derisively. “Nice hole in the pantyhose, though. Going for the hobo look?”
Embarrassed heat stained my cheeks, but I’d die before I let him see my mortification. Slapping my hands to my waist, I scowled back. “Nope. I was trying to match the gaping hole in your brain.”
“Ah, baby,” he murmured, snickering. “If you keep thinking about me so much and trying to match me, people are going to assume you’re obsessed and secretly in love with me.”
“As if.” I rolled my eyes and cocked my hip as I crossed my arms over my chest. “Your delusions are frankly concerning, Holt.”
He shrugged and stepped past me. “Keep living in denial if you like. It’s no skin off my nose.” And he started down the hall away from me, calling, “Hey, but good luck tonight.”
I made a face at his back, calling, “You too. You definitely need it.” Then my gaze dropped to check out his butt, because come on, even jerks could have really nice butts that needed to be ogled.