Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (31 page)

Gage didn’t take offense. One of his dark brows cocked; he tossed his shaggy hair from his face with a lurch of his chin; and downed another drink of the water.

It was the perfect revenge. The young vlogger was as openly smitten by him as I was pretending not to be. Her camera stopped scanning and focused on her new subject, Landon forgotten.

“How’s the water?”

If the green-eyed monster hadn’t been fucking with my head, I would have felt some empathy when the girl followed up her dumb question with a teen-like giggle. After all, I knew what it was like to be dumbstruck by Gage.

“Water’s good.” Gage replied, and I awarded him silent stars when he stationed his eyes above the gal’s neck.

Landon, whether from losing the spotlight, or from anger over the jacked water, wasn’t so accommodating. “You dick!” And then he explained to camera girl. “It’s my fucking water.”

“You boys are bad. I can see I’m going to have to edit the crap out of the audio.” She’d regained her poise and her flirty smile remained on Gage. “So is this a typical after-show party for Rattler? Ten Euro water?”

One of the others elbowed his way into the tiny space. “Hell, no. Rehab boy, get the lady a real drink.”

Gage opened the fridge and with a mannerly sweep of his hand, indicated the contents. “Can we offer you…”

My mind rambled again as he read off labels, but a minute later, I wished I’d been paying closer attention.

“…Scarlette Rose! I can’t believe it!” The video camera seemed to be a natural second set of eyes for the vlogger. When the lens swung from Gage to rest on me, I automatically recoiled.

Gage came to my rescue, stepping between me and the camera. Landon inadvertently ran interference when he could no longer take being out of the focus and demanded whether or not they were going to finish the Rattler bus tour.

“Right. But afterward, I’d love, if you’re up for it, to have five minutes of your time?” The woman addressed me. “I’m sorry I forgot myself. I’m Alexa Ardine. I’m a huge fan.”

Again, Gage saved me, spouting off something about publicist and papers and advance scheduling as Landon herded the poor girl toward the back lounge.

Alexa turned back and again to Landon’s obvious irritation, the camera turned with her. “Of course. It was just such a surprise. There you are. Right there in front of me. So, holy crap on a cracker. Are you tonight’s surprise headliner?”

I was sure the girl had been speaking to me, but the last inquiry before Landon practically shoved her and her camera and began gushing off about their gaming consoles, had obviously been directed to Gage.

Landon looked as if he had come to this hypothesis too. With another withering glare directed at Gage, he jerked at the dividing curtain and commenced playing tour guide. “And this is the privacy curtain. It’s layered with some sort of sound reducing panels.”

The moment the woman was out of earshot, Landon turned back to hiss at us. “You two with your freak show are taking the focus off the band—off of Rattler and off of the
music
.” The remaining band members moved closer, backing their original bandmate in his statement.

G
age watched Scarlette disappear up the spiral staircase. He contemplated following her but knew Landon’s furious words were likely ringing in her head. She wouldn’t want to be alone with him.

Beyond the back curtain, he could hear the drummer’s cheesy pick-up lines. Obviously giving their buddy privacy to seduce the young vlogger, the rest of Rattler watched videos on the front TV rather than retiring to their gaming domain in the back. Their tour manager boarded and took a seat at the table, flipping open his laptop.

Making his way down the aisle, Gage slid open the door to the very front where their driver was punching at the GPS device. “Mind if I sit?” He indicated the copilot chair. Over the course of the tour, he’d spent many an hour up here in various buses with various drivers to get away from either Rattler or Scarlette. At the driver’s friendly but preoccupied “okay,” Gage flopped down. He stared beyond the windshield at the activity in the parking lot and the small crowd still around their bus.

The tour was close to an end, and he had no idea what to do about Scarlette. He’d begun it, hoping to win her back. And yet, the closer he got to this hope becoming a reality, the same original doubts began to plague him. A relationship between the two of them wasn’t in the best interest of either of them. And yet, he knew now, she wanted him back as badly as he wanted her.

The hunger in her eyes fed him, satisfying a deep primal need. Sometimes, it was hard to contain himself. The lust in her look when he’d boarded the bus tonight had him wanting to take her right there in the kitchen. Lift her to the counter, spread her long legs, and feast in every way he wanted.

“We’re good to go.” Rattler’s tour manager poked his head in long enough to nod to their driver, which meant Vlog girl was gone.

What the chick had said to Scarlette replayed.
Scarlette Rose
. Why lately was her middle name coming up? Idly, he reached for his phone and brought up the browser.

S-C-A-R-L-E-T-T-E. Spacebar. R―

There it was times twenty. And that was just the first page of results.
Are you the surprise headline act?
He spent a few minutes clicking and reading before jumping up with the phone still in his hand.

Ignoring everyone’s curious looks, he strode past them and began up the stairs. “Scarlette!” Each step and skipped step twisted a tad more around the pole. “Scarlette
Rose!
” He landed on the second deck and found it quiet. “Scarlette.” He sprinted to her bunk and eased the curtain back enough to see her. Headphones plugged her ears, and he took in her closed eyes. “Hey, Scar.” Her eyes popped open, and she ripped an earbud from the ear closest to him. “You sneak, sneaky star!”

“What?”

“You signed on with Jewelstone?”

“I recorded that song at their studio. You know. The song from the documentary. Crash To Burn.”

“Which is one of the most downloaded songs right now.”

“What!”

“And the video. Over three million views.”

“The video?” Her face blanched, and he realized she hadn’t made sense of what he was saying. The word video was still synonymous with ugly connotations.

He dropped his eyes to what seemed to be a brand. Scarlette Rose scrawled in a fancy script and a rose in full bloom as the ‘O.’

“Scar, you’re freaking famous. And not because of our video. Not because of your dad. Your song and video is rocking every chart out there.”

She reached for the phone he waved and frowned as she scrolled. “How do I not know this?” Her tone was wondrous and tinged with a touch of pride. A light tap began the video and together they watched the camera pan and zoom with various frame effects on her in the studio setting. “I didn’t know they were making a video. I mean they filmed it, but I thought that was just part of the recording process.”

After several minutes of reading comments, listening, and looking at the streaming specs, she relinquished the phone, still wearing a dazed look. “I guess some part of me knew they were going to release the song. But I didn’t expect this.”

“I can’t wait to show this shit to Landon.”

“Don’t!” She rolled toward where he still crouched, eye level with her cubbyhole, and hit her head when she rose too high on her elbow. “You can’t show them.”

He knew what she was thinking. The two of them were already the outsiders. To the others, Scarlette seemed like a spy who could rat on Landon to Jax, and it was no secret they were threatened by his experience in Fire Flight. But didn’t she see? Nothing was going to help that. So why not have some fun? The asswipe thought the recent buzz around Scar was due to both the sex video and her being rock royalty. Gage couldn’t wait to see his face when he realized Scarlette had surpassed Rattler in the music stratosphere.

“C’mon, Scar. Landon needs to be put in his fuckin’ place. They all do.”

“No. Don’t. They’ll find out at some point. I’d rather it be later when we don’t have to see them every day.”

Unable to resist, he reached, running a strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. And damned if being so close to her face, his thumb didn’t tingle with the want to touch her lips. But he mustered control. “Fine. But we’re celebrating in Paris.” His heart beat double time when she smiled her agreement.

The sudden arrival of the others gave him a start, and he realized they’d been so deep into a world where only the two of them existed, neither had heard them come up the stairs. He jerked his hand back but it was too late. The innuendos and bad jokes began and he fought the urge to crack skulls. For about three seconds. Until Landon’s “Must be true. Incest is best,” reached his ears.

Whirling, he pinned the drummer against the bunks on the opposite side. The gash on Landon’s brow from the other night jarred him enough to control his fury. “Enough fucker. Fucking enough.”

I was positive there was nothing on the itinerary for three days at which time we would leave the city of love for the next show.

Okay. Now I was not going to be able to sleep. I would toss and turn, wondering if Gage had sightseeing planned or all-day sex. Shit. And that was my last thought before I did fall asleep. Soundly!

Gage hadn’t exaggerated about early. My phone rang while it was still dark outside the hotel window.

“Hey, sleeping beauty. Up and at ’em. Don’t eat. Dress comfortable. For walking.”

“What? Is it tomorrow already?” I yawned and stretched but felt surprisingly rested with each second that passed.

“I’m going to pick you up in thirty.”

“Okay.” I stretched again, feeling a smile curve my lips and then bounded out of bed.

Thirty minutes later, I answered his knock, showered and ready for the adventure—whatever it was. With a twinge of disappointment, I wiped sex-all-day off my mental whiteboard when he didn’t push his way into the room and fling me on the bed.

Instead, he chattered all the way to the lobby about how Landon had roused him every hour or so by coming in and out of the room all night. When I expressed my sympathy, again feeling a twinge of guilt for being the only one in our camp who didn’t share a room, he waved my words off and with a flourish, beckoned me into the back of a waiting Rolls Royce.

Impressed, I took in the shadowy interior and tried to block my senses to the soapy smells wafting from his hair and skin. The same exact scents I had also showered with. Clearing my throat and my mind of shower images, I asked, “You said we’re going to eat, right?”

“First thing,” he promised.

On cue, my stomach growled and we both laughed. The first light of dawn had apparently brightened the sky during the drive over. Now, as we exited the car and followed the guide who met us down a gangplank, the palette colors of sunrise began to streak the heavens.

After Joaquin, who had relieved Jal, went ahead and then nodded us on, we boarded what could be described as a mini yacht. On the deck, we were seated at a table covered with a white lacy tablecloth. Two place settings adorned with toile-printed china waited.

We dined on fruits, breakfast crepes and, yes, French toast dusted with powdered sugar. An attendant continuously topped off our long stem flute crystal glasses with what tasted like orange juice spritzers as the boat cruised the Seine River.