by Kate Stewart
“And that’s because of you!” I said as I slammed her car door. “I get that you didn’t want us together, and I see that you were looking out for me, but now you’re just damning us!”
“It’s a mistake, Stella.”
“Then it’s my mistake to make!”
She just shook her head and got back in the car. I stood stunned as she lost her cool and tore out of the parking lot.
It was going to be a long summer.
After my shift, I begged Leslie to use her office computer. Reid didn’t have internet, and that was a big problem. With all the upheaval, I hadn’t taken the time to find an internet café. My mouth dropped when I saw I had missed a few emails from Nate. My smile was instant. The first one was dated the day I had drenched his crotch with salsa.
Nate Butler
Subject: Decisions
2:32 AM
Salutations post countless beers,
I find it amusing that you work at a place called The Plate Bar. Did those idiot owners even research the name? I’m sitting on a patio at my best friend’s place, staring at the city lights, and I’m wondering where you are. I swore I wouldn’t bother you after beer one, and then decided on a formal email after beer three. But I still can’t afford you. It’s sad, really. So, the countdown begins, Miss Emerson. And though it’s just a few short months away, I find myself wanting to make one last effort to persuade you to go out with me (for research purposes of course). I have two tickets for the Ritz this Saturday.
GET. IN. MY. TAHOE.
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
Sent via Blackberry
I threw my head back and then looked up the concert I’d already missed.
“DAMNIT TO HELL!” It was Sheryl Crow.
Nate Butler
Subject: Courtesy
5:01 PM
It is my understanding that a drunken man extended a concert invitation to you last night. And while I do not condone that sort of behavior, especially from a future employer to employee, I find it extremely rude that said invitation has not been acknowledged. Teamwork is key here at Austin Speak, Miss Emerson. I can only assume you take your position seriously and are against the feminist lyrics of Sheryl Crow. My apologies. Moving forward, I will refrain from extracurricular emails, but will settle for a second interview, in my office, by 6:00 p.m. today.
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
Sent via Blackberry
My laughter continued as I realized I’d missed not only the concert but also my second interview at Austin Speak. I had to hand it to him, he was determined. The last email came yesterday.
Nate Butler
Subject: Oversight
11:11 AM
It occurred to me that you may not be receiving these emails, but I think we both know, Miss Emerson, that is not the case. And since I have no proof of this, I have no choice but to believe that you remain steadfast in your decision to not mix business with research, however disconcerting that may be due to the nature of our profession. But for the sake of office morale, I may be so inclined to have a beer at our place at around 6:00 p.m. this evening to discuss this issue.
Nate Butler
Editor in Chief, Austin Speak
Sent via Blackberry
I smiled as I pulled up my email to compose a reply.
Stella Emerson
Subject: Deadlines
9:42 PM
Dear Mr. Butler,
I am flattered by your correspondence and excited about the chance of working with you. Due to my current situation, I am unable to receive emails in a timely manner because of connection issues. I will be remedying this situation within the coming weeks. While all invitations are appreciated, I prefer to do my research alone. I am happy to report that things are rapidly progressing with my articles and they will be delivered to you in two months’ time.
Best Wishes,
Stella Emerson
Future Entertainment Columnist, Austin Speak
Sent via The Plate Bar
Minutes later, I was counting my tips and paused when I saw his idling Tahoe through the front door. I pressed my lips together to hide my smile as the heavily tinted driver’s side window rolled down.
“Best wishes, Miss Emerson?” Nate asked with a smirk.
“It’s professional, Mr. Butler,” I said, approaching him. The subtle hint of expensive and mouth-watering cologne drifted out of the SUV as I looked him over. His hair was mussed, and his tie was pulled loosely to rest on his chest. Sexy as sin, his blue eyes scoured me with intent. I was momentarily dazzled until I remembered I had a hit waiting on me.
“Nate,” I said with a sigh. “I can’t do this right now. I’m late.”
“Do what?” he said with a slow-building grin.
“Anything. I have somewhere to be.”
“Get in,” he ordered. “I’ll drive you.”
I bit my lip and stared at him.
“Stella, I’m harmless.”
“I’m good.”
“Get in. We can’t have you wandering the streets in that skirt.” I had changed into my black halter-top, hot-pink leather miniskirt, and black high-top Converse with Beastie Boy’s “Sure Shot” lyrics scribbled on the sides.
“Just a ride.” I jumped into his passenger seat and buckled my belt, the air from his AC blowing the heat back to hell. “Ahhh, God, it’s been a bitch of a summer. Thank you for the ride.”
“Where to?”
“Red Eye Fly. You know it?”
“Sure. Show?”
“Yeah.” I looked his way with guilty eyes, withholding an invitation for him to join me. He didn’t hesitate as he drove out of the parking lot.
“I’m sorry I didn’t get your emails. I’m in between places.”
“Would it have made a difference?” he asked, knowing the answer. I couldn’t resist the urge to look at him. He was the opposite of Reid, not nearly as jaded, a playful light in his eyes, and full of easy conversation, which he initiated.
“How are you liking Austin?”
“Ha,” I said, throwing my head back. “At the moment, that’s a loaded question.”
He leaned over to adjust the AC, and my body tensed. His chest rose and fell in a silent chuckle. He was satisfied with his effect on me.
“Little bit jumpy tonight, aren’t we, Stella?”
“I’m late,” I said coolly.
“Well, then let’s not keep him waiting,” Nate murmured.
“It’s a band I’m writing an article about,” I said defensively. “And they are incredible.”
“Looking forward to reading it,” Nate said, slightly withdrawn, as if his suspicions were confirmed. I was equal parts relieved and disappointed that he knew where I stood. And at the same time, I couldn’t stop looking at him. His sleek jaw, the wave in his hair, the light sprinkle of hair on the back of his hands. He was gorgeous in the way that made me uncomfortable. It was as if he was too much man.
“Stella?”
We were parked outside the club. “Oh,” I said, unbuckling my belt as I glanced over at the multicolored stone building. “Thanks again.”
“Anytime,” Nate said. “And I mean that. I’m just a few blocks away, okay?”
“Okay, thanks,” I said as I opened the door and looked back at him with a smile. “See you in two months, boss.”
I didn’t look back, though I was tempted, and heard him pull away. I was just about to enter the club when I saw a cloud of smoke to my right. Maybe it was instinct, but I knew he was there, and the sight of his black boots beneath the oak tree that hovered over the club confirmed it. I looked up to see his watchful eyes on me. Ben was next to him with a group of guys I didn’t recognize. They were all smoking in a circle, talking music as Reid’s eyes stayed trained on me as I approached.
Ben saw me and gave a low whistle. “Hey, beauty, settle this debate for us.”
“She can’t tell you anything, man,” a p
unk with peroxide-lightened hair said as he looked me over.
“And sexism lives on,” I muttered as I gave Reid a shy smile, but he didn’t return it. Shit.
“What’s the debate?”
Ben started rattling on about the difference between rock genres and The Dead Kennedys.
“Afro-punk,” I offered easily, feeling myself wither as Reid crushed his butt.
“Told you,” Ben said.
“No way, man. There’s no such thing,” the guy insisted.
“You should watch Spooner’s documentary. They’re coming up with subgenres every day for rock because it’s starting to vary in degrees. Suicidal Tendencies is afro punk, too.”
“And who the hell are you?” the guy asked.
“She’s little sister,” Reid said with bite as he walked past me.
“Hey,” I said carefully and grabbed his hand. He dodged my grasp and pulled out his keys. “Take the truck home.”
I pressed my brows together, my chest heavy. “What?”
“Or stay, whatever,” he said, turning his back to me.
“He just gave me a ride,” I piped as I showed my ID to the doorman, who barely glanced at it before he circled my wrist with a paper bracelet.
“It’s good you’re making friends,” Reid said, his voice cool, indifferent.
“Yeah,” I said, unwilling to entertain his shit another second. “Have a good show.”
“Thanks.”
We separated at the bar. I sat on my stool and watched the whole show, my grudge against him disappearing song by song. He lost his shirt, tucking it in his back pocket on the second set. Seduced by the sweat dripping from his hair, the movement of his body, I watched, my reaction the same, the warmth spreading as I kept my eyes glued while a group of girls screamed at the foot of the stage. The club was sweltering and packed beyond its limit. Ben shrieked out the lyrics to one of their originals, “Even”. It was a song about a little boy who was left alone in a dark house, screaming for his mother. It was dark, and it reeked of Reid. I shuddered at the thought of that happening to him. That night there was something different in the way he played, and it radiated off him. He didn’t look up, not once. Not even when Ben tried to engage him. He felt so far away as the fans screamed for them. After the show, Reid made a beeline for me, and we drove home in silence before he retreated to his balcony.
I slept alone.
Chapter Twenty-Two
10,000 Emerald Pools: Borns
It’s crazy how a small stroke of luck can turn things around. And I knew without a doubt that Reid needed something more to keep him going, and that something more turned out to be an invitation to play weekly at a couple of clubs and get paid for it.
“It’s starting,” I said with a smile as he gave me my phone back. Ben had called me because Reid’s had been disconnected a few days before.
“It’s not much at all.”
“It’s money to play drums!” I said with a broad smile. “You are a paid musician now, Crowne,” I said, traying an order of enchiladas as he stood next to me, loading up his own. He couldn’t hide his smile, and that time I caught the full dimple.
“Let’s go out tonight and celebrate,” I suggested, hopeful.
“Yeah,” he said. “We made plans to meet up later.”
“Oh, well, if it’s a group thing, I get it. I can get a ride from Leslie.”
“No, you can’t.” Leslie popped her head out of her office. “I’m your boss, not a taxi service, Stella. And, Reid, you better make damn sure you clear those nights with me.”
He gave Linebacker Leslie a salute then walked his tray out of the door.
“I’ll work all those shifts to cover him,” I offered. “Every one. Even if it means doubles.”
“I would take you up on that, except you’re a horrible waitress.”
I drew my brows together. “What? I am not!”
Leslie nodded toward my tray. “That order went in ten minutes after you took it. I watched you, and now those enchiladas are freezing.”
“I’ll do better.”
“I doubt it,” Leslie said as I made a face at her turned back. “I have a rearview mirror in here.”
I’d always romanticized being around a rock ‘n’ roll band. What could be more rewarding than hearing creative conversations fly in a cloud of smoke, tattoos, and cheap beer? It’s not every woman’s fantasy, but as Reid slung his arm around me, his fingers lightly brushing my shoulder as he spoke, I couldn’t help but to feel the exhilaration that came with sitting in the dark black booth as one of them. A silent cheerleader. For once, I just sat back and watched, and kept the questions to myself. And that’s when I saw the true magic. The starlit eyes of four guys who were on the same edge of something. Even Reid’s prominent skepticism was on the back burner. I melted into his hold, his fingers never stopping. I caught Ben’s eyes on his fingers once or twice before he winked at me.
“Fuck, man, if we can get a few more gigs, we can quit our jobs,” Rye said enthusiastically.
“Says the guy who just needs enough money to play video games on his mother’s couch. This isn’t real money,” Ben said with an eye roll. “But, damn,” he said, raising his glass, “I’ll take the steady gigs.” They all toasted, and I raised my glass. They got busy talking about new songs, the energy around the table flowing through all of us. I texted Lexi and saw Reid frown at me. “Lexi.”
He nodded and laughed at something Adam said before he turned back to me while I put my phone away.
“Hey,” he whispered. “You feeling okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Why?”
He grinned wide. Beautiful. “I didn’t think you were capable of being quiet.”
I shrugged. “Just watching you shine, Reid Crowne.”
He shook his head. “Stella, it’s just a gig.”
“It’s two gigs, and soon it will be three and then more. Reid, you guys are filling up clubs. This isn’t small shit anymore.”
“Hell yes, we are,” Ben said as he motioned to the waitress. “Hey, beautiful, a round of shots.”
She gave him a shy smile and a nod. Ben’s charm was disarming. I couldn’t wait to watch him work his magic on Lexi.
I smiled at the thought and then felt fingertips brush my jaw before persuasive fingers turned my face. There was a brief flash in Reid’s eyes as he dipped in and took my lips. I knew it was supposed to be a brief kiss. I felt his intent to withdraw before he gripped the back of my head, the hand on my shoulder now fisting in my hair. He molded us together, fire chasing fire. I felt the groan in his mouth but couldn’t hear it as he ignored the objection of Adam and Rye, and the peanut shells tossed at us. Reid made it last, and I clutched him to me, feeding, feeling, flying while he gave me my Sissy/Grenade kiss. The one I’d been hoping for my whole life. He slowed it and pulled away as I stared up at him in a daze. Duran Duran’s “Ordinary World” filtered the noise of the bar as he pressed in once more—his decision of us—against my lips. But my heart had declared it long before his own.
Ben sat on the other side of the booth with his arms folded and a huge shit-eating grin covering his face, while Rye and Adam sat shocked at Reid’s public display. No one was more surprised than me, and I was sure it showed on my face. I cleared my throat and braved a look at Ben, who had his head tilted with a believe it, woman look on his face. I giggled like a giddy idiot and buried my head in Reid’s chest.
“Looks like we’ve just earned ourselves a Yoko, boys,” Adam said, as Reid glared in his direction right along with Ben.
“No,” Ben said before Reid could utter a word. “Shut the hell up, Adam. Our Yoko’s behind us,” he continued as he passed out shots, no doubt referring to Lia.
I reached out and double tapped Adam on the forehead. He jerked back, spilling half his shot. Reid chuckled. “And this one can take care of herself,” I announced as I glared at Adam. “Take that back!”
“My apologies, my lady,” Adam said sincerely, as he tapped hi
s glass with mine. We took the shot and the rest of the table followed.
That night, while Reid was in the shower, I peeked at some of his lyrics. I couldn’t help myself. His library was vast, and I was buzzed, so it sort of, kind of, gave me permission to make shitty decisions. I grabbed the book he’d been scribbling in, anxious to get inside his head, and my heart stopped. Heavy tears fell as his words blurred, and I wiped my face to soak them in. Some of them were just random whispers and incomplete thoughts. Rage littered several pages, and I could see he wrote them heavy-handed. And the most recent pages were songs.
Three songs about suicide.
Two songs about sex.
And the last song was about abandonment.
It read far too obvious between his desperate lines; he was battling demons I’d never met.
“Stella?” Reid’s voice was low as I dropped the notebook and scrubbed my face with my hands. “I’m sorry. But I get it now. I get how personal it is, okay? I’ll never do that to you again. I won’t push. Just give me the chance to prove it.”
I couldn’t look at him. I had violated him in a way that I couldn’t take back. I was done at that moment, done pushing. The aspiring journalist in me was disgusted; the woman who was in love with him was terrified.
Reid stood over me for a moment and then pulled me to my feet.
“You’re telling me that’s the first time?” Shocked at the even tone of his voice, I met his stare and eagerly nodded.
“I fully expected you to have gotten through half of them by now,” he said with a twist of his lips.
I couldn’t find it in me to smile, not with the flash of his angry soul floating around in my head.
He gripped my chin and forced me to look at him. “I told you I was in a fucked-up place.”
My lips trembled. “You said you were still there.”