Gauge: Rockstar Romance (The ProVokaTiv Series Book 1) (11 page)

After enjoying a rare sound night’s sleep, where I actually got eight-plus hours of zzz’s, I woke up early and energized. I glanced over at Gauge, who was still sleeping, and entertained nestling in next to him and taking advantage of a lazy morning. Well, it didn’t work.

I slipped out of bed and walked over to the window. It was a beautiful day and I wanted to experience it. I decided to take a run on the beach. I tiptoed to my suitcase and pulled out my running shorts and a sports bra, plus a tank to put over the top of it. As quietly as possible, I got dressed.

Once I was on the beach, I stretched out a bit and then took off running, seeing footprints from early morning joggers. The tide hadn’t had a chance to wash away evidence of their presence yet. The sun was bright orange. I took off running toward it, having to squint a bit. It wasn’t the ideal time to think about how I should have brought my shades. “There’s no turning back now,” I said. I took off running, going at a slow, steady pace. This made for the third run I’d partaken in since taking the assignment. Not nearly enough.

Running in the sand was fun, but I couldn’t stand having my shoes between me and the squishy, chilly, and wet sand. I took them off and set them on a rock, deciding that I’d claim them on my return.

It was amazing and I found myself running quickly, feeling ridiculously happy. I even had a goofy grin as I thought of the day before. That experience with Gauge had been my favorite that we’d had to date. Everything about it was perfect. It almost seemed I’d been wrong to disregard those wildly romantic notions that so many women clung to. Wildly romantic things were actually awesome.

I saw a sign that read:
Warning, crabs in this area
along the beach and quickly turned around. I’d pass on that adventure.

Up ahead, I noticed my running shoes and started to slow down a bit. A bird squawked and I looked up. A sharp pain shot through my foot at the same time. I looked down and saw a pointy tail underneath my foot. I lifted it up and gasped. “Shit!” I’d stepped on a scorpion. My foot was on fire and stinging.

Hobbling along, I tried to go toward my shoes as quickly as I could so I could get back to the hotel and Google how to remove a scorpion stinger. Suddenly. crabs didn’t seem like a big deal. I sat down on the sand and started to put on my shoes. My foot began to swell up.

I looked around, hoping I’d see someone that I could ask about scorpions. The beach was now abandoned, no one in sight. Breathing in and getting back up, I grabbed my shoes and began to walk awkwardly back toward the hotel.

Everything started to get blurry. I felt sweat starting to drip down my forehead. It wasn’t from the workout, either. I knew I was in trouble. I stared ahead, keeping my focus on the hotel as much as possible, and kept breathing in, hoping the extra oxygen intake would keep me alert enough to get to safety. My foot was pure agony. I could barely feel my toes.

My knees gave out on me, and my hands fell forward to stop my fall. I felt knots in my stomach and bit my lip, my eyes stinging from the tears I was trying to prevent from falling. It wasn’t the time to be a baby. Then my arms gave out. I felt my cheek on the cold sand as I faded away.

I blinked, my eyes as sore as if I’d gotten sand between the lid and cornea. I tried to lick my lips, but my mouth was dry as the Sahara.

“Brynn, Brynn,” a voice said softly, compassionately.

I turned my head and tried opening my eyes again. This time I succeeded and I Gauge’s dark brown, intense eyes staring at me. He looked so scared. What was going on?

“Gauge?”

“Just stay quiet. I’ll let the nurse know you’re awake.” I blinked a few times and whispered, “Nurse? Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital.” Gauge pressed the button next to me.

Everything was blurry and fuzzy. I tried to process the how and why about me being in the hospital.

Before I could ask anything else, the nurse came in, peering at me. She was a full-figured black woman with a wide, friendly smile and grey hair. Just looking at her reassured me.

With a thermometer covered in a protective plastic strip in her hand, the nurse took control. “Open up, Ms. Morgan.” I obeyed. She gently placed the thermometer below my tongue, its plastic feeling like it was a glue adhesive in my pasty mouth. “99.9. It’s getting better. I’m going to call the doctor to come check on you.”

“Can I have some water?” I asked. My voice echoed in my head, and I wasn’t entirely certain I’d even spoken loud enough for anyone to hear.

She smiled. “Sure, I’ll go get that.”

“Thank you.”

She walked out of the room. I turned to Gauge. “So, how did you find me?”

“I came looking for you, thought I’d join you. I saw you get dressed into your running gear, but it looked like you wanted to be alone.”

I glanced down to my foot and saw that it was wrapped and bandaged. It was still throbbing.

“Did they get the stinger out?”

“Right away.”

“How long have I been knocked out?”

“About three hours, more or less,” Gauge said. “Now, why don’t you stop asking so many questions and relax.”

I was about to protest. I might be under the weather, but I still didn’t like being told what to do. From the look on Gauge’s face, I saw that he didn’t have any problems whatsoever telling me what to do. Interesting. An oddly annoying observation, considering the moment.

The doctor walked in, saving Gauge. She came over to me and looked at me closely. She had sharp features, like Eleanor Roosevelt, but seemed much chillier than the nurse.

“You should be okay, but you’re foot is going to be quite sore for a few days. The longer you stay off of it, the quicker the swelling will go down.”

“Can I go home?” I asked.

“Not until that fever has subsided for twelve hours.”

“But why?”

“Just to be cautious,” the doctor said.

I opened my mouth and before I could get any words out, Gauge put his hand on my wrist, the one free of the IV drip, and answered for me. “Thank you, doctor.” I looked at him and wrinkled my nose. That was not what I was about to say.

The doctor left. Then the nurse was walking back in with a glass of water. “Here you go,” she said. She slowly extended her arm and put the glass up to my lips. I moved my mouth around, trying to get the straw, and finally connected. After a few sips, I felt so much better, everything feeling more normal and less like I’d just put myself into a dehydrator.

“Could I bug you for one more thing?” I asked, feeling high maintenance. It wasn’t like I wouldn’t be paying premium dollars for the service, though.

“Sure, what do you need?”

“Some eye drops would be great. My eyes feel so dry; it’s driving me crazy.”

“That makes sense. You have a few abrasions around them.”

I was horrified at that. I looked at Gauge and he said, “Sand.”

I nodded. Well, no shit. I took a face plant on the beach, definitely making it the number one on my list of clumsy moments. Well, number two. Stepping on a scorpion should hold the place of honor.

A minute later, I had my eye drops and the nurse left, saying, “Your boyfriend hasn’t left your side the entire time. He’s a keeper.”

She smiled brightly and my mouth dropped open. “Oh, he’s not, um…” I just shut my face. I didn’t know what to say, and didn’t want to look Gauge directly in his dark eyes, either. Through my peripheral I saw him looking analytically at me. He was getting a kick out of my blundering, bumbling words. Talk about kicking a girl when she’s down.

I was not a good hospital patient, impatient and irritable by the end of my stay. It wasn’t the staff’s fault that I was ordered to be there, and they certainly hadn’t placed a scorpion under my foot. So, by the time Gauge came to get me so I could go home, despite it being only twenty-four hours after I arrived, I was a bit edgy. Plus, I felt like a stinky pile of garbage.

Then he took me into my hotel room and my heart melted. There were flowers on the table; a dozen white roses with some swirly, sparkly sapphire blue things, a blueberry muffin, a bottle of wine, and a small box.

“Welcome home,” he said.

I smiled, touched by the gesture. It was amazing, and I felt like a princess despite my rough appearance. “Thank you. This is so great.”

“You’re welcome. Now, let’s get you set up in bed. I have your tablet nearby and the remote, too.”

“I want to take a shower, not go to bed,” I said bluntly. “I’m feeling pretty foul.”

“Unlike the hospital staff, I can handle you when you’re irritable,” Gauge said. He turned around and went over to the bed and flipped back the covers, patting the pillow.

“Well, I see two problems here,” I began, deciding to be an overly needy patient until I drove him crazy.

“And what are they?” he asked, raising one eyebrow at me.

“First, I can’t walk all that well, and second, I can’t believe you want to take care of a woman in need in a room that stinks like BO.”

“I concede this one time,” he said.

I smiled and crossed my arms. I loved getting my way.

Gauge got the shower started and helped me in. He even got out my lounging shorts and tank top. He also pulled out some panties. I didn’t have the heart to tell him they were the wrong ones, that they didn’t match my shorts.

All my determination to be independent fizzled the second Gauge slid off my clothes and helped me into the shower. It should have been strange feeling having him stand outside of it and talk to me, handing me shampoo, facial scrub, and everything else I needed, but it wasn’t. It was so nice and caring, making me feel surprisingly special. He really was a sweet guy and I didn’t mind keeping it my secret. Okay, maybe I’d hint at it in the article.

Finally, my shower came to an end. Gauge dried me off slowly and carefully, having me sit down while he dried between my toes. I wiggled the ones on my left foot. My right foot, the one that was still swollen a bit, couldn’t move around at all. In fact, I couldn’t even feel the towel on it. It was numb.

Then it was off to bed. I turned my tablet on, was given my muffin and a glass of wine, and Gauge said he’d be back to check on me in a few hours. He had to go to rehearsals. I smiled and thanked him, taking a fatherly kiss on the forehead from him, and he left.

Before checking my email, I called my parents to let them know I was okay. Gauge had been kind and called them for me, but I knew they’d want to hear directly from the source. It was a sweet conversation, but my mom seemed a bit tense, which was not like her. She always sounded relieved when I shared I was okay, even it was just a cold. That was her borderline germaphobic way.

A number from LA had buzzed in when I was talking, and I didn’t answer it right away. I had no idea who it was and if it was even a legit call. They left a message, though. I listened to it on speaker: “Hi Brynn, Jim Vega here from The Rift. Give me a call when you have a moment.” He left his number.

I was definitely curious. Jim was the Vice President of the magazine, and veeps didn’t call unless it was something big. My stomach felt like I’d just swallowed a peach pit. I took a sip of wine and punched in the number he’d left. My nerves were vibrating like I was sitting next to someone working with a jackhammer. It was completely lame to get so nervous about something I was clueless about but I was.

“Hi, Mr. Vega, Brynn Morgan here. Sorry I couldn’t catch you live.”

“Hi Brynn, thanks for calling back so quickly. Are you doing okay? I know you had a bit of an incident down there in Miami.”

“I’m good. A bit restricted, but just getting ready to work on the article some more.” That sounded good. Hopefully it didn’t sound like I was being an ass kisser, though, even if I kind of was.

“Great. I just got out of a meeting with your editor and the board,” he began. I felt my stomach jump. “We’ve been seeing more pictures of you in the online entertainment sites and some mags.”

I was quiet, knowing what he was referring to and longing to play dumb. I knew that wouldn’t be smart. It wouldn’t be me, because I didn’t back away from 99% of the situations I encountered in life. The tension in my gut was an alert that this call might be part of the 1%, the place where I chose cowardice over courage.

Jim continued talking. “I know that you’re young and in a situation where it’s tempting to be interested in everything that is happening in the life of a rock star, especially the lead singer of a band like ProVokaTiv. However, for the professional appearance…”

His words were so scorching that I couldn’t process the rest of what he was saying. I’m sure that he was beating around the bush, using some PC bullshit to basically tell me, “We can’t have our journalists making so much news with the subjects of their stories. Keep your panties on and stay focused.”

I breathed in and went into professional mode. “I appreciate you calling with the concern, Mr. Vega, but I assure you, the feature won’t be compromised at all.”

“Great, that’s good to hear. You came highly recommended, and we’re all eager to read what you’ve been working on. It’s the perfect timing for the piece and the kick-off of the magazine.”

“And I’m looking forward to doing just that,” I said.

There were a few more pleasantries after that, and then we hung up. My mind was racing so fast that I thought I could hear the blood flowing through my brain. Something was out there, and it was time I found it.

I Googled images of Gauge Bronson, and ten seconds later, a series of images showed up on the screen. There was Gauge and I talking, laughing, my arm looped through his. And then there was,
wow, OMG
, Gauge and I in a fairly compromising position on some rocks in the middle of the ocean. Thank God we weren’t having sex, but you could see my bikini top slung casually to one side, my arms around Gauge’s neck, and his lips on mine. I wanted to die.

Even though he was practicing, I quickly texted Gauge with a large, bold URGENT typed in red letters, followed by “call me!”

There was no immediate response. I did another search of Gauge’s name and all sorts of blogs popped up, talking about what he was up to and who he was up to it with. Only two of the ones I reviewed even mentioned my name, but that was two too many.

Next I searched my own name. A few of my honors and articles I’d written used to come up first on a Google search of my name. Those achievements were all reduced to the second and third page. The first page was devoted to my “achievement”—“landing” a rock star. I felt like a shallow pit of a person at that moment. The searches made me feel ashamed. Did I do anything wrong? No but they made me feel like a slut, and that pissed me off. I was a twenty-two year old woman who was entering into a career where I’d meet a lot of high profile people. It only made sense that I might date one or two of them.

I was so engrossed in my digital torture that I barely noticed my phone ringing.

“Hello,” I mumbled.

“Are you okay?”

It was Gauge. “I just saw these pictures, these stories,” I started ranting. It didn’t make a lot of sense, but I couldn’t stop talking.

“It’s no big deal,” Gauge said.

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?” I asked incredulously

“Look, I knew you’d find out in time. I just wanted you to focus on feeling better.”

“I…”

Gauge cut me off, saying, “Look, I’ll be there in an hour or so and we can talk about it face-to-face, okay?”

“Sure, okay,” I said. Face-to-face was good. That way I could see how he was really feeling about it. I didn’t know how I was feeling yet, and I had to figure it out.

Creating a list of questions always helped me process through things that I found too big to tackle. I wrote down every question I could think of in regards to Gauge.
Do I want more with him? Do I think he wants more with me? What would this relationship do to my career, help it or hurt it?
Those were the three main thoughts I needed to ponder. I didn’t write down the one that probably mattered most.
What does my heart want?
The reason I didn’t was because I was pretty sure my heart wanted a relationship with him but I wasn’t so sure I was ready to let my heart be my master and ruin what I’d worked so hard to achieve.

There was a knock on the door. Gauge announced it was him, then swiped his key and came in. I’d been sitting on the bed and made sure I’d hid away my questions so he wouldn’t accidentally stumble on them. That would be hard to explain.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting down next to me.

“I’m freaked out and embarrassed about this. I’m afraid it’s going to cause me problems, Gauge.”

“Like what?”

“I got a call from the veep at The Rift,” I said. “He beat around the bush, but I found the warning between the lines.”

“So, what are you saying?”

“I’m saying that I have to be more careful. I’ve had so much fun with you, but I’m concerned that our fun will implode my career if I’m not careful.” I felt ugly when I said those words. I wasn’t someone who liked to let any path of mine be dictated by others. The thought of having my personal life dictated by others seemed completely asinine. Their ignorance was not my bliss; it was my likely demise.

“Okay, I got it,” Gauge said.

He got very quiet and I grew frustrated as a result. It was time. I had to ask. “What do you want from all this?”

“I want you to be happy,” he said. Then he stood up from the edge of the bed and said, “Look, I’ve got to get back to practice and then ready for the show tonight. Do you need anything right now?”

“No,” I said softly.
Damn it!

“Okay. I’ll check on you after the show.”

“Thanks.”

“Bye.” I watched Gauge walk out the door and not even turn around and smile. Why did I feel like the bad person in this situation? Now I was more confused than ever. I didn’t know if I’d really hurt his feelings by what I’d said. Maybe he was already thinking I was too complicated and messed up to even deal with any longer. So much for my big expose and journalistic distance.