Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (70 page)

“Fuck off.”

“Maybe I don’t want to.”

“The topic of who I’m doing what with is off limits. None of your business. Just like it’s none of mine what you’re putting up your nose and how much.”

“Whatever. Jeezus, you’re a turd. I’m just making friendly conversation.”

Yanking a clean shirt from his luggage, he mentally debated on his options of places to get away from the bandmate he always seemed to be stuck with.

He needed to be alone with his thoughts. Hell. Scarlette had practically admitted she loved him. It was a game changer.

As if that thought had conjured her up, his phone beeped, and seeing her name on the text preview caused his pulse to jump. With one shirt shrugged off and the other on, he snagged the phone, glanced at the text, and pocketed the cell without a reply.

He didn’t feel like fighting with her anymore. The way he’d used Logan was shitty. Would he do it again? Maybe. So what was the point of arguing?

Downstairs in the lobby, he perused the newspapers and picked up a copy of ‘The Florentine,’ which was the only paper in sight printed in English. He left on foot. The only familiar landmark in his mind was The Pastry Shoppe he’d seen from Scar’s hotel window, and that’s where he ended up.

He was sitting at a table in the corner with a coffee, skimming news headlines without reading them when he felt her. Looking over the paper, he saw her standing just outside the glass and staring in. Her eyes narrowed, and as always, he was taken with her beauty even when she looked furious. His hand closed around the bulk of the phone in his pocket as if he could make it right by texting her back too late.

The bell tinkled over the door when she entered. Throwing one more look his way, she strolled to the counter. He watched, mesmerized, and listened, soaking up her sultry voice as she ordered—in a deceptively cheerful manner. Her public sunshine-and-roses persona. As she waited, the thin strap of her shirt slipped from her shoulder, and she shrugged it back into place. The neon pink against the buttery, barely-there tan of her skin made his mouth water.

The server was clearly smitten too. He slid a large coffee mug and a pastry across the countertop to her, and she shook her head. It took a moment of honing in on the conversation to realize she was protesting the order of the sweet treat and the young man was insisting it was his treat to her. With typical Scar graciousness, she accepted it with a sincere thanks and warm smile.

And then she pivoted and her smile slipped away.

“How’d you find me?” He headed her off the moment she came into range and those luscious lips parted, likely to dress him down.

“Why are you hiding from me?” She countered, dropping into the seat across from him.

“I’m not.”

“I texted you.”

“I know.”

“I saw you from the window of my room.”

He inclined his head accepting the bad luck—or was it good luck—of that and took a sip of his now-lukewarm coffee. “I’m sorry for not answering. I didn’t want to fight about things.”

Her purse strap diagonally bisected her body, pulling the material of the stretchy cotton shirt tight against her generous tits. His palms tingled, retentive of their weight and the tickle of their tips. Her hand delved beyond the zipper of the bag. When it emerged with her phone, she dabbed at it with her fingertips and passed it over the table to him.

Seeing the name winking at him, he looked away. “I told you, no. I swear to you we can hash this out later. But please, not today…” His gaze was drawn to the way the silver cross of her necklace disappeared into the hint of cleavage at her neckline. Were her nipples still red and chaffed from all the attention he’d given them just hours ago?

“It’s not him. He’s not the one who called and texted a hundred times since yesterday afternoon.” The urgency in her tone had his gaze riveting back to the screen and the sixteen missed calls from Logan. “I called back, and that snake Wayne Ketchum answered.”

“What!” Gage grabbed the phone, distancing it from her as if that could keep her safe.

“He said it was ‘about time I checked in’ and said my payment was late.”

“Fuckin’ son of a bitch.” An overwhelming urge to protect her had him relocating to the seat beside hers. “I’m lost. How is it that Logan’s number is showing up if it’s him?”

“That’s what we need to find out—now.” Her face was ashen, and she admitted, “I hung up on him. Without saying… Without
asking
anything. And I’m too afraid to call back.”

Of its own accord, his thumb jabbed at the ‘return call’ icon, and she immediately clutched at his wrist in a clear panic. He held up his hand as it began to ring. When the call was answered mid-ring before the third ring, he simply listened at first.

“Daughter of mine. I hope you’re calling with the transaction confirmation number.”

“Listen here you stupid pussy. Don’t you ever contact her again. And if you―”

The ‘call ended’ tone sounded. He stared at the phone, his mind turning. Slipping his own from his pocket, he dialed Mike and left an urgent voicemail with his security detail. Feeling Scar’s gaze, he finally met it after he searched his contacts for the next number he needed.

“Hi there, Leah?” When the female on the other side of the world predictably asked ‘Who wants to know?’ he explained. “Logan works for me. He gave your number as an alternate contact.” Emergency contact. But he adjusted his wording. “I’ve been trying to reach him and was wondering if everything is okay.”

“He just left. I can give him a message. His phone was stolen he thinks. He’s working it out with his carrier now at the store.”

“Stolen? But he’s okay?” He switched the speaker on so Scar could hear. Even in these circumstances, her face so close to his as she leaned in to listen was making him hard. He thanked the heavens and cursed inwardly at the same time when she moved back into her own space.

“Yeah. He, thought he lost it last night at that bar where he’s doing some part time work. Wasted some time trying to track it. But today when he figured out the tracker was off, he knew it was stolen.”

“Thanks, Leah. I’m not in the country. So tell him not to worry about calling me. Just ask him to text me. I’ll give him some time to get his new phone activated and call him.”

Scarlette blew out a relieved breath the second the call disengaged, and he ran a comforting touch down a strand of her hair. A movement behind the pastry counter caught his eye. But the worker was seemingly oblivious to them and he wondered if he’d imagined the cell phone camera. Paranoia from days gone by, possibly.

He wished Mike would hurry the hell up and call back. He wanted security on Scar here for the duration of their time in Europe, and Mike would be able to set that up.

“Who’s Leah?” Crossing her legs, she tilted her head so that her hair was no longer in his fingers.

“His sister or cousin, I think.” Seeing the familiar set of her jaw, he added firmly, “A family relation.”

There it was again. A phone aimed their way. Seeing he was busted, the young man who had served Scar put it away and his accent was heavy when he called over, “Need anything? Refills?”

“No thanks.” He folded the newspaper and replied to the negative at the same time Scar smiled and accepted. “Yes, please.” Settling back into his chair, he resigned himself to another twenty minutes because he wasn’t leaving her side until she was safe back in her room—and maybe not even then. “Could I get it to go?” She added.

Yes! Thank you
. It wasn’t that he begrudged another half-hour with her. But he was exhausted. Mentally from the mind games consistently playing out between them. And physically from their all-night workout. A nap was on his late afternoon agenda.

The server delivered the large paper cup to the table and lingered, asking her about the untouched pastry. Scarlette was polite as ever, making an excuse of an already full stomach and promising she’d eat it later. This led to their forced linger of another few minutes when the guy insisted on fetching a to-go wrapper.

Gage identified the behavior. The guy recognized Scarlette. As far as he knew, she had been undetected on this tour until now. His hackles rose, wondering if the other man knew her from their Cabo video exposé or American paparazzi tabloids.

“We need to go.” Straightening from his seat, Gage collected the wrapped pastry and leveled an urgent stare onto her features.

Like most shy fans, this one grew bold when he saw his window of opportunity closing. “You’re Scarlette Rose, right?”

Scarlette seemed caught completely off-guard, and her eyes widened a bit in disbelief before shuttering her private self and putting on her public persona.

“I’m your biggest fan.”

Of? Her naked body?
Gage’s fist curled.
Or snapshots of her on the red carpet?

“That’s really sweet of you to say so...” And here, Scarlette inadvertently schooled Gage on being a gracious celebrity. Looking at his nametag, she finished that sentence with his name, and he beamed.

Gage waited, unrecognized himself, as the two of them smiled for a selfie and she flipped to the back blank side of one of the shop’s flyers. Poised with her pen, she asked, “How should I sign it?”

“Scarlette Rose is fine.”

Her brows furrowed a bit, but she again eyeballed his badge and printed out his name, a salutation, and then signed with a flourish the requested ‘Scarlette Rose.’

“So weird that he knew
my middle name.” She mumbled as the pedestrian sign changed from ‘Avanti’ to ‘Alt.’

“Yeah. Well he probably knows the name of your childhood cat and your favorite everything too.” Sarcasm oozed from his reply as they herded across the street.

“You’re so jaded.”

“Not anymore.” He stepped up onto the curb and automatically offered his hand.

Her lips moved as if she were about to retort and then clamped closed and she darted a sideways look toward him. In that moment, he knew she’d figured out what he hadn’t until this second. The lack of his former fame had embittered him.

His phone buzzed, and he retrieved it from his pocket, thankful for the interruption of that awkward moment. “Hey, Mike. Thanks for getting back with me so fast. Listen, we have a situation…”

Scar kept walking and he blindly followed while talking. When the call ended, he was standing in the middle of her hotel room and she’d stretched on her bed with a soft drink. She was fully clothed—correction, wearing a pair of the short shorts that made him crazy and the skimpy pink top he’d already noted earlier. And the bed was so tightly made, he bet a quarter would bounce on it. The sight was a stark contrast to this morning and yet again—how many times was it now in the last hour?—his cock twitched.

“So. You’re arranging a bodyguard?” She waited until he’d made his own selection from her minibar and was settled in one of the chairs.

“You need one.” He twisted the top of the bottled water and steeled himself for an argument.

But she only dropped her gaze to the aluminum can in her hand and had one word. “Thanks.”

“I was getting ready for a debate.”

“He creeps me out. A lot.”

With good reason
. The man should be slinking away now that he knew his jig was up. Why was he still making contact? And stealing cell phones to do it? He trusted Mike to know at what point to turn to the local authorities. For Scar, he played it down. “He’s just trying to bully you. Scare you into giving him the money at least once. But just in case he tries something, you need protection.”

She nodded again, somehow managing to strum her guitar, drink, and channel surf. “Look!” Excited by what she’d found on TV, she let the guitar slide away.

The gray shadows of evening filled the room when he woke. City lights cast their reflections on the window. ‘Spiderman’ was over and another movie played out on the screen. He barely remembered moving from the chair to the bed. Reaching over a sleeping Scarlette, he eased the remote from beneath her arm and muted the sound.

His phone lay between them. A few texts blinked—one from Colt who offered advice and encouragement now that Scarlette knew the truth behind the ‘boyfriend caper.’ He hadn’t realized she was still in touch with Colt, but for the first time it didn’t bother him that his friend knew their business even when he hadn’t been the one to tell him. Mike had found muscle who could integrate with the tour schedule. The guy was experienced with bands and had his own sleeper vehicle available for when they traveled by bus. Logan’s text repeated the account of his cell phone theft.

Curiously, he looked toward Scarlette’s purse. However, despite being a jealous ex-boyfriend who had elaborately schemed behind her back, he couldn’t bring himself to violate the privacy of her purse, even when he desperately wanted to check her messages for any of Logan’s real ones.  

Easing back onto the bed, he watched her sleep and played with her guitar, plinking the strings without turning on the amp. When he tired of that, he set it aside and turned the television volume on low. She curled her arms into her chest as if cold. He raised enough to flip the part of the blanket and spread he was sitting on over her and settled again, dozing.