by Kate Stewart
“Stop it, Stella,” he said as he pecked my lips to keep up the charade and spread his thighs, putting me on full display between them.
The song ended as all thoughts of Dylan completely eluded me. I could feel Reid stiff beneath me while my heart galloped.
Dylan tossed his mic on the stage and moved toward us, and I hastily got to my feet.
“Let’s go. Take me somewhere.”
“We just got here,” Reid said with a cocky grin, his elbows on the edge of the bar.
“Not cool, Reid, let’s go. I told you I didn’t need this.” Just as I said it, I heard my name called in question behind me. Reid’s gaze fixed past my shoulder, and I turned to face Dylan. Golden brown hair and deep blue eyes peered back at me.
“What the fuck is this, Stella?” Dylan was still beautiful. He was still the guy I’d spent two months having sex with on a couch. But when I looked at him, all I felt was Reid’s soft lips and the fire in his eyes.
“This is poor form,” I said, defeated. “Take care of yourself, Dylan.”
He took a step forward. “Can I talk to you?” He paused and looked over at Reid. “Alone?”
“No,” I said as Reid stood and took my hand. “No, you can’t.”
“Really?” he said as he looked past me and swallowed.
“Yeah, really.”
“Stella!” Drew, the guitarist for Meat, called out to me from the stage, and I gave him an unenthusiastic wave. “Looking good, baby!”
“Thanks!”
Drew had been my favorite. He’d been a friend. And just as I suspected, all of my time with Dylan and the rest of the guys came back as a fresh scratch, but in just weeks had transformed into nothing more than a memory. I was no longer hurt about Dylan and felt like just as much of an asshole for what I’d just done. Dylan cupped his chin, his features twisted in confusion as he stood there, clueless.
“Let’s go,” I said to Reid, who followed me out of the bar. I let go of his hand and stuck the keys in it before I took the passenger side.
“You okay?”
Angry, aroused, and more than confused, I turned on him. “What was that in there? Why the big show? You were against this whole thing.”
“I’m not as nice of a guy as you think. And sometimes I like to play devil’s advocate.” He shrugged, starting the truck. “Home?”
“No. I’m not going home tonight. My sister is probably having sex right now on the couch I sleep on. I HATE MY FUCKING LIFE!”
Reid burst out laughing as he pulled away from the curb. “It gets better.”
“Liar.”
“I totally am,” he said, amusement dancing in his eyes as he pushed the hair away from my bare shoulder. “I know a place.”
“Let’s go.”
He’d taken me to a show a couple blocks from 6th Street. It was a metal band he was crazy about. I appreciated them to a point—metal wasn’t my favorite—but Reid seemed in awe of the lead singer and pointed out a few interesting facts about how they got together. We spent the whole show yelling back and forth while I took mental notes. He told me a label would pick them up soon, and it would be in my best interest to write about a band that was going somewhere. I spent a good part of the show telling him what an idiot he was and that Dead Sergeants had their own future and were worth writing about. It was pretty much tit for tat between us until they started playing Queensryche’s “Silent Lucidity”. And all at once, I was captured by the execution and how they made it their own. I got lost in the deep timbre of the voice that filled the club. There wasn’t a word from the crowd, even after the last trickle of acoustic notes rang out. The club exploded with applause as Reid looked at me with I told you so written all over his face.
Reid knew a lot about the city, and at the show, he’d done the hand grasp with a few local musicians. Those who approached him seemed to respect him and kept the conversations short, probably because he wasn’t a man of too many words. And I spent a majority of our time together pulling them out of him. He wasn’t shy with his opinions, and that we had in common. Still, as I stared at him, laid back in his shoulder-high bench seat, his cast on the table, and his eyes on mine, it felt like he was trying to tell me more. Even with a set jaw and pressed brows, his eyes held his world, and I couldn’t help but enjoy every second they were on me.
After the performance, we spent the rest of the witching hour devouring salty, grease-filled burgers at a little shack called Arnie’s.
“Who’s your favorite band?” I asked, sucking on the side of my chili cheeseburger to keep it from dripping down my dress.
“Haven’t thought about it,” he said as he watched me devour the double stack of meat. “God, you were hungry.”
“Not anymore,” I said as I popped the last of it into my mouth and washed it down with Dr. Pepper.
“You don’t have a favorite?”
“Nope,” he said as he gathered the rest of his fries into his fingers and popped them in his mouth.
“Influences?”
“Everything,” he said with a small smile. “I wrote a song off a commercial beat once.”
“You write for the Sergeants?”
“Most of the originals. Ben’s good at lyrics, but I’ve laid down a few.”
“You sing?”
“Not if I can help it,” he said with a shrug. “Rye does most of the backup and comes up with a good riff in minutes, and it’s always good.”
“When’s your next show?”
“They play Saturday.”
“No,” I said, standing and stretching. “Your next show.”
I almost missed his smile. “Two weeks.”
“I’ll be there,” I assured. “I have a feeling about you.”
He stood, grabbed our trash, and threw it away. “It’s late.”
“It’s early,” I argued. “So, tell me about Lia.”
“Jesus Christ. Every time I think it’s safe to go into the water with you . . . No, I’m not talking to you about Lia.” Pushing through the glass door, he pulled a cigarette from his pocket.
“You’re not really a smoker.”
He lifted his cigarette and took a deep drag. “I would say I’m really smoking this.”
“You know what I mean,” I said as I stepped up on a curb and balanced my way over it in my heels, arms stretched as if I were on a high wire.
“I smoke when I feel like it.”
“Why don’t you just quit?”
“Why don’t you just let me smoke?” he said as he watched me execute a heel turn.
He shoved his cigarette between his lips and did a slow clap, and I gave him a wink.
“So, what’s your type? You obviously like blondes.”
“Women who don’t ask a lot of questions.”
“Har, har,” I said as I leapt into him, purposefully knocking the cigarette out of his hand.
He let out a grudge-filled chuckle. “You little asshole.”
“Seven minutes of your life I just saved you, Crowne. A cigarette takes that much off your heartbeat, buddy.”
“That’s a myth, pal,” he said, opening the passenger door.
“What if it’s the best seven minutes of your life? That’s two songs. I saved you two songs, Reid Crowne. Someday, you’ll thank me for it.”
He shut the door and took the driver’s seat, as if it was the most natural thing. I stared at him across the seat. “Well, I’m sorry if she hurt you.”
He sighed as he started the truck. “We hurt each other.”
“What happened?”
He sat back and winced, as if he was trying to see something through the wheel. “It was good and then it was bad. Too much static. Too much chaos. I got tired and she got pissed.”
“You really loved her,” I said as I watched him trace the steering wheel with his finger, touching every groove.
“There was love. There were a lot of things.”
“And then?”
“We crashed.”
Despite my
protest, Reid drove us back to the complex and parked Neil’s truck.
“Wait here, okay?”
He nodded as I made double time up the stairs and opened the door to silence. I made quick work of dumping Neil’s keys and changing into a T-shirt, shorts, and Chucks. I grabbed four beers from the fridge and walked back down the steps, motioning for him to join me on a large patch of grass on top of a hill between apartment buildings.
“I’m not tired, you?” I asked as he shook his head, followed me into the grass, and sat next to me. I popped a beer and handed it to him.
“God, I hate this heat,” I said as I piled my hair on top of my head and fastened it before I downed the beer. Reid glanced around the complex and then back to Paige’s apartment.
“You scared of my sister?”
“Only when she’s pissed,” he said with a chuckle.
“I agree. She’s scary. She shrieks.”
“I’ve only seen it once. I’m good with only seeing it once.”
We laughed and clinked our beers.
“You met at work?”
“Yeah,” he said as he leaned back on his elbows and crossed his boots. He surrounded me with his length.
“You two are nothing alike,” I told him.
“I like being around her. She’s grounded and she smiles a lot. She’s easy.”
I couldn’t help but take offense. “Opposed to the big mouthed sister who’s loud and opinionated.”
“Most definitely,” he said smugly, “but don’t go changing to please me.”
“Oh, I won’t,” I snapped, taking the beer from him and drinking it. He took another one from the pile and popped it.
“So, that’s it, a quiet woman who smiles a lot? That’s your dream woman?”
“Guess so.”
“Never pegged you for simple.”
“Now there’s a word. Simple. My favorite fucking word. I’ll take that.” I heard the sad edge of his words and nudged him.
“You’ll have that cast off soon, and then you can make life your bitch. Two weeks.”
“Let the countdown begin.”
I lay on my back and looked up at the few stars the night sky allowed us. “I thought it would be different, moving here. I thought it would be more exciting. Real freedom, you know? But I have since learned being free involves its own chains. My sister acts like a ninety-year-old woman. She cooks dinner at eight o’clock and is in bed by eleven. What the hell is that, Reid?”
He looked over at me as I stuck out my lip. “This is totally boring.”
“She got it all out of her system, I guess.”
“They’ll get married. I know it.” I studied Reid. “She’s going to marry Neil. And then what?”
“And then whatever they want,” he said as he took a long swallow and laid his head next to mine.
“Not me. I’ll have take-out every other night, stay up past midnight every day, get my passport stamped, eat weird shit, do things that scare me. I want to burn out.”
“You don’t say,” Reid said, a huge grin spreading across his face.
“Hell yes! I want to do something amazing, something groundbreaking. And I’ve already set the timer.” I turned on my stomach, forearms perched as I looked down at him. “I will do the impossible by the time I’m twenty-nine.”
“What’s that going to be?”
I gave him my biggest smile. “Wait and see.”
Chapter Thirteen
Umbrella: Rhianna/Jay-Z
“Are you ready to order?” Reid asked a four top that had taken their sweet ass time, despite his attempt to turn his tables. I could see the older man’s face transform to indignant when he looked Reid over. Not an ounce of empathy for his broken arm, which was actually his wrist, Paige had told me.
“We will order when we are ready,” the guy snapped. I hung my head as I watched Reid eat shit and retreat back to the kitchen. Our manager, Leslie, had refused to give him more tables, and I knew he couldn’t have made more than twenty dollars. Thinking fast, I took a few of the bills from my tips and slid them into the books of two diners that had just left. I knew Reid would buy it. He’d had quite a few pity tips from other tables.
I had enough saved for a down payment on an apartment. Waitressing had turned out to be decent money, which was both surprising and infuriating because I hated it with every fiber of my being. I was looking forward to the extra money I made that night, planning to stash it away for other crap Lexi and I would need. But just that once, I could help him without hurting his pride. I brought lunch to his apartment most days—and was met with a glare—and saw him eating once or twice at the restaurant with our half-off discount. Still, his situation wasn’t getting any better.
A few minutes later, I saw Reid check the ticket books and the mild surprise that crossed his face.
“Excuse me, we’ve been waiting,” the man said as Reid stared at him dead eyed before returning to the table. There were two guys, older and dressed in suits. I was seething when I noticed one of them was Nate Butler. Any happiness I had about seeing him dissolved when he made some snide comment that had them both laughing as Reid walked away. Fuming, I grabbed two waters, and some chips and salsa, then burst out of the kitchen door, full speed ahead. Nate saw me seconds before I faked a fumble and threw the tray at them both. It was a bit overkill as they were hit with a tidal wave of water and salsa.
“Oh my God,” I said in mock surprise, and without an ounce of sincerity. “I’m so very sorry.” The guy sitting with Nate glared at me while Nate stared at me open mouthed. “Stella?”
“Nate,” I said with a hand on my chest. “I’m so sorry. There must have been something on the floor. I . . . just . . . tripped.”
He narrowed his eyes, his crotch covered in salsa, as he looked over to the guy who was cursing under his breath while he stood in a pool of ice water, his pants dripping.
“Let me go get something to help clean this up,” I said as I looked up and saw Reid at the hostess stand, his jaw turned to steel. Nate followed me toward the kitchen. “I’ve been meaning to call you,” he said playfully, “but I can see you’ve been trying to make it as a busboy.”
“Funny,” I said with bite. “I can see you’ve been trying to make it as a prick.”
“Whoa,” he said as he stopped me before I hit the swinging door. “What’s gotten into you?” I turned to fully look at him and felt the familiar pang of what it was like to look at perfection. His devilish grin and neon blue eyes blinded me, and for a single moment, I felt that smile to my toes. “Seriously, you just sat there while that dick was rude to a waiter with a broken arm?”
“That dick just paid for two months of circulation,” he pointed out.
“Whatever, it’s disgusting,” I said as I pulled my arm from his grip.
“God, you’re pretty when you’re pissed. You’ve got to let me take you out and piss you off some more.”
Reid pressed past me through the double doors a moment later as Leslie rushed to the table to help the man who was still wiping at his pants.
I kept my eyes on smooth-talking Butler, who appeared to be anything but pissed. His hair looked a bit longer and was mussed up and sexy as hell. “Better get back before you lose that account. And lose my number.”
“Hey, hey,” he said as he gripped my hands in his. “I’m really happy to see you. Let me make it up to you. I’m sorry if he was rude to your friend.” He hesitated. “Boyfriend?” he asked with perfect lips and an arched brow.
“No,” I said, but felt a tug of senseless guilt with my answer.
Even with salsa on the crotch of his suit and a newly pink-tinted shirt, Nate was incredible to look at. I lingered a minute too long and he took it as a sign.
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Lunch in five months,” I said with a grudge-filled grin before I nodded toward Reid, who was taking a new order. “And you better tip the hell out of him.”
Apparently, we were in negotiations, because Nate le
aned in closer. “Lunch tomorrow, dinner in five months.”
“Five months, Nate. I don’t think you know what this means to me,” I said carefully. “I’m working on those articles every day.” Nate sighed and stepped away. “I’ll up the ante. Have the set ready in three. Austin City Limits is coming up, and if this works out, I’ll let you cover it.” Austin City Limits was a three-day festival filled with some of the biggest names in music. Going as a fan was one thing, but going as the press was an entirely different experience. I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.
“You’re serious?”
“Yes,” he said pointedly. “But I’m serious about my paper.”
“I know. And I’m serious about Don Henley.”
“W-w-what?” he said with an incredulous laugh, his brows pressed together.
I didn’t have time to explain my fascination with the Eagles’ drummer. I had tables waiting.
“Just three months?”
Nate nodded. “Three. I still can’t afford you.”
“Okay,” I said with a little bounce in my voice.
“Okay,” he said with a wicked grin. “Now, please excuse me while I go wash my balls free of cilantro and onions.”
I burst out laughing just as Reid came back through the door with a tray full of drinks. Nate approached him as I ran into the kitchen, screaming for Paige. My excitement was stifled by the bark of my name. “Stella.” Leslie, our manager who looked like my old softball coach with the shoulders of a linebacker, marched over to me.
“Yes?”
“Is there a reason you hurled a bucket of ice water and chips and salsa at our customers?” Reid was back in the kitchen, traying two plates, and I could see the smile on the side of his profile.