Accidental Rock Star (5 page)

Tyler jolted back in
the seat again. His sage-green eyes widened behind his lenses and
then narrowed. He eyed her closely, as if waiting for something
more epic than her dwindling list.

Aria strove to modulate
her enthusiasm. “Clarinet… anything…”

His suspicious
expression faded. “Okay. Drums.” He looked her up and down, and his
green eyes held a glint behind the artsy-guy glasses. A glint she
couldn’t read. “
And
bass guitar.” He said it with certainty.
As if he knew he’d get his way.

She’d said
‘
Clarinet.’
Pride made her poke back a little. “Do you even
own
a bass guitar?”

“Electric and
acoustic.” Tyler slid forward, something intense in his gaze,
something that made her heart race. “And that’s the deal. I march
in time with you. You teach me.”

She had him. Her lips
curved up. Mighty Lizard Marching Band—member number 87. Welcome.
Leaning forward, she held out her hand, holding his gaze with hers.
“Deal.”

Her favorite country
music filled the silence as Tyler’s hand dwarfed hers. Rough. Big.
Guy hand. The key-reach
he
must have. The singer on the
radio hit the chorus. Words of love, passion and sex filled the
airwaves, filled the small room, filled her. Tyler tightened his
fingers. Heat. Sparks. Tingling moved from her hands to her lips.
Oh. Her fingers curled involuntarily inward.

Tyler grinned.

Noise from the mass of
students coming in from the parking lot pulled her from the weird,
electric moment. She was just excited to get a new member. Plus, he
was cute. She shook free of Tyler, turned off the music and
followed the sound of bitching as her bandmates took their
seats.

Overheated, sunburned
faces turned her way. Aria gestured behind her and tried not to
sound smug. “Musicians, this is Tyler. Number 87. Tyler. Meet the
Mighty Lizard Marching Band.”

Her kick-ass fellow
musicians gave him a half-ass wave. Their real passion and focus
was on shaking free of their polyester uniforms.

She got it.

Aria patted Tyler’s arm
so he wouldn’t feel unwelcome. There was no give in the muscles,
and she barely stopped herself from tightening her fingers on his
biceps. The strength. The stamina. Nice. Forget bass. He’d play
drums and sax in the band before she was through with him. Maybe
tuba. “Let’s get you a uniform. I think we have one tall enough.
What are you? 6’1”?”

“6’2”.”

Oh, yeah. He could
carry any instrument. She had to keep him away from the football
team so Coach wouldn’t steal him.

***

Tyler returned Baylee’s
wave but didn’t join her. Aria was directing two guys, Ethan and
Dylan, to drag shipping boxes to the center of the room.

“It’s too heavy, Aria,”
Ethan said.

“You’re strong enough.”
Aria patted Ethan’s straining arm. “You guys are the best for
always helping out.”

Tyler tensed. Who the
fuck were they? He could lift twice the boxes those two were
dragging. She should have asked him.

Aria handed him a
folded pile of polyester and gestured to an empty seat. “Tyler, you
can sit over with the percussionists. Any seat you like.”

Tyler ignored her
suggestion. He shook out the folded clothes and checked out the
uniform. The black pants dragged the floor. Half the jacket was
black and half was green, the two colors separated by a slanted
yellow L. For fuck’s sake. The Mighty Lizard Band was not
stylin’.

Aria clapped and
addressed her band. “You’re in for a treat.”

Images flashed through
his mind, involving her, a Malibu beach, and vanilla ice cream.
He’d let the treat melt over his fingers onto her stomach which
would be bared because she wore a bikini. One she wouldn’t keep on
long. Heat. Sun. Aria. He tightened his fingers on the
polyester.

“The girls’ new
uniforms are here.” Zeal lit Aria’s voice, and she spaced out the
words, weighting them with importance.

The girls in the band
reacted with excited drama. Voices pitched high to top one
another.

Ethan grunted and
shoved a box up against one of the others. “Why do the girls get
new uniforms before us?”

Dylan kicked the corner
of Ethan’s delivery. “Why not? You big Ewok-lover.”

Ethan flipped him off.
He wore a movie-geek T-shirt and faded jeans. He didn’t have a
right to raise a stink over style.

“We’ve ordered them,
but they’re going to send them in parts as we make payments.” Bent
over the large shipping box, Aria shuffled through the folded brown
paper bags. Tyler dug the view, but didn’t care for the fact that
half the room had the same shot of her ass. He maneuvered behind
her as if to help. Aria shoved some packets into his hand, her
expression eager and intent. She bent back over. Tyler forced his
gaze away. He weighed the light bag in his hand and then tossed it
toward the bleachers. “Benita.” He called out the name on the label
as he threw, uncaring whether or not the package headed in the
direction of its owner. “Cassidy.”

They scrambled toward
the brown bags like Jerry diving for coke on a glass tabletop. He
threw out more. “Baylee.” He aimed hers. The rest he tossed two or
three at a time.

“Give it.”

“Over here.”

“That one’s mine.”

Bags crumpled. Paper
ripped. Plastic packing and the smell of new replaced the smell of
sunscreen and aloe vera spray they’d brought with them from
practice.

Gasps followed.

Then snickers.

Aria lifted her head
from the box, narrowing in on the discordant sounds.

A short girl on the end
put her hands on her hips. “Are you kidding me? Where’s the
rest?”

Aria ripped open one of
the packets herself. She widened her eyes and frowned, reaching
into the paper bag. She withdrew her hand slowly.

Boy-cut cotton shorts
dangled from her index finger.

Aria tilted her head
and pulled papers from a plastic square on top of the box. Her gaze
skimmed the packing slip. “As we pay down the bill, they’ll send us
additional pieces.” Her voice tapered off. Only Tyler heard the
last part. “This is what I get for going with the lowest bidder.”
She folded the shorts she was holding.

Tyler wanted to see her
in them. Them and nothing else. Them and nothing else on a
king-sized bed with the drapes open and the California sunshine
highlighting her skin. He attempted to stifle the thought.
Eighty-six sets of eyes would see him sneak her out of the room for
privacy. He didn’t know her well enough to know if she’d mind. His
fingers twitched. Only one way to find out.

Aria tossed the square
toward the bleachers. “These are yours, Megan.”

Megan caught the
briefs. She used all ten of her fingers to stretch the fabric and
then peered at the label. “These are panties.” Revulsion curdled
her voice. “To wear. Under the uniform pants.”

Aria’s eyes grew
shiny.

No. Was she going to
cry? He’d seen chicks lose it over less.

“They’re practical.”
Aria’s gaze rose toward the ceiling as if thinking up more praise.
Her giggle destroyed whatever she was going to say next. She
pressed her lips together and pulled on a serious expression.
“People need panties.” Her voice broke with laughter on the word.
“They’re like Spankies, like the cheerleaders wear—great for
changing on the bus and stuff.”

His heart thudded at
hearing her say ‘panties,’ at hearing her laughter, and he smiled.
Panties had winged their way to his feet all summer. Lace had to be
swept from the stage between sets. Tyler tore open a bag and
checked out the contents for himself. Heavy. Rough cotton. Sturdy.
These were as far from a thong as he could imagine. If he found
these on the floor of his hotel room… God. He read the label and
tossed them toward the chairs. “Katy.”

Aria tossed a pair
toward the wind section. “New uniforms are coming. This is simply a
first step.” She blinked rapidly, and a bizarre optimism layered
her words.

Katy pulled hers on
over her jeans. The crotch sagged and the waistband pulled high,
well above her belly button. “These are the worst, Aria, simply the
worst. And we get one pair for the whole season? One?”

Aria’s lips twitched.
Her mouth opened and closed. “They’re really strong. Guaranteed to
hold up to many washings.” Her voice squeaked on the last word. She
tried to say something else, but laughter buried the words. She
laughed so hard tears spilled from her eyes to her cheeks.

Tyler grinned and
traced the path with his index finger. Wet. Warm. She curved her
smile up to him and the laughter of the band faded until she turned
back to the room, making him jealous of the pull they had on her
attention. Though the panties were pretty funny. Half the band was
folded over in hysterics as the other half modeled the
unmentionables.

“I promise,” Aria
gasped on her laughter, “I promise that the next fundraiser check
that clears goes to getting a segment of the guys’ uniforms.”

Ethan stopped shoving a
box their way. He held up his hands. “We’re good.”

Dylan stuck his finger
into the waistband of a girl on the front row and tugged on the
heavy elastic. He shook his head and gave an expletive. “Yeah.
We’re good.”

The girl flipped him
off, but winked at the same time.

Tyler flashed back to
the last time his stylist had brought in a trunk load of designer
samples for his band. The guys had bickered over the details. The
seams. The designers. The bling. Well, Ian and Hugh had whined.
Jerry had slumped against the wall, already out of it on whatever
he’d popped during the break.

There’d been no
laughter.

Aria’s dark blue eyes
brightened to the blue of California’s license plates. Gorgeous.
What else would make their color change? Tyler stepped closer and
dropped his hand to her soft waist. He tightened his fingers on the
thin fabric of her shirt and tried to make his hand behave. He was
sinking fast. He liked to go fast.

Aria startled and
flushed a little, but didn’t lose her grin. She turned her
sparkling gaze up to him. “You can see why we’re the envy of the
school, right?”

Tyler rubbed his thumb
over her side. The T-shirt blocked him from touching her skin, of
knowing how she felt, of feeling her warmth. He hated the shirt. It
had to go. He gave the fabric a tug.

Aria blinked. Froze.
Blushed. And then wiggled free, making his hand drop.

Tyler swallowed what he
wanted to say.
You. Me. Leave. Now.

Thoughts of where to
take her flashed through his brain. Penthouse. Tour Bus. Backstage.
The penthouse was out. He’d never take a chick back to his place.
They got ideas. They got clingy. The tour bus was out. She wasn’t a
one-night gig. He’d see her tomorrow. He wasn’t in freaking L.A. He
was in freaking Texas. And he didn’t have his tour bus here. Where
did guys in Texas take their girls? The bleachers? The barn? Back
of a pickup? Back to the trailer?

Freaking Texas. Tyler
ran his hand over his short hair. He did not know how to work this
state. Was Aria even the type to go back to his room with him? What
would it take to get her? A freaking date at least.

“Tyler?”

He must have been
staring at her like she was a new set of lyrics. He wanted her like
a new set of lyrics. More. “Hmm?”

Her voice lowered.
“What are you thinking?”

He wanted to tell her.
The laughter and the chatter in the room stopped him. Band hall.
Uniforms. Ugly panties. “I’m not sure what to do with you.” He
rubbed his eyebrow. He meant that straight up.

Her lips parted, and
her cheeks flushed. What was that sweet expression? Crap.
Realization slapped him in the face. Innocence. No. Fuck! No.

“What to do with
me?”

Her words sounded
playful and cute, not suggestive. Disappointment sank through him,
threatening to drop him to his knees faster than Gina’s rufie.

No.

“Well, I know what to
do with
you
.” Aria pointed to a chair. “Over with the
drummers, Tyler.”

Tyler dragged himself
over to the chair and sank into it. Aria didn’t want to boast to
her friends that she’d been with Sax Grayson. She’d called him
Tyler
. And he was getting the unfortunate impression that
she didn’t nail guys for bragging rights. The flush and the retreat
said she had limited experience. Limited experience with guys and
their hands. That should end this.

Tyler watched her lead
the class, passing out music, pulling up a score on the smart
board. Her expression was lively and passionate, clearly in love
with the topic. He couldn’t make a move on someone that sweet.
Aria. Aria. He drummed his fingers against his thigh.

She did want something
from him. She wanted him in the Mighty Lizard Band. And, she was
willing to give something in return. Bass lessons. He’d asked
before, at the record label, but they’d always brushed him off and
packed his schedule tighter. They wanted him focused on vocals,
performance and press.

This was his in. Her.
Him. Proximity.

He wouldn’t have to
make a move. He never did—she’d make the move.

Director Garcia chose
that moment to join them. He eyed the room of panty-waving teens,
coughed, and clapped his hands together. “No. Just… no. Take your
seats, musicians. The mundane practicalities of concert-compliant
uniforms have nothing on Mozart. Did you know Mozart was composing
at age five? You are all slackers. But you knew that already. It’s
time to learn something you didn’t know.”

***

Tyler kicked back on
the twin bed in his borrowed room and grabbed the bowl of popcorn
Aunt Joellen had popped after dinner. With it, he drank a glass of
the icy sweet tea she served daily. He’d found the iced tea
repellent at first, but now found it oddly addictive. He’d been
here a week and no one had a lead on Gina. He should be pushing to
get back to L.A., to his life. But he had enough going on here.