Playing Autumn (Breathe Rockstar Romance Book 1) (8 page)

But she did mean it. If Haley had her way, she wouldn’t have been around for
this
weekend; she didn’t plan for it. “I’ll do my job this weekend, don’t worry. But please don’t ask me to do this again. Please don’t ask me to be peppy and encouraging to talented kids who will have every opportunity to do this and not be stopped by every other person in their lives.”

“Hey.” Victoria leaped up off the bed and into a position to shake sense into Haley via her shoulders. “No pity. Didn’t I say no pity? I’m not telling you to sell your belongings and sing on the street. I want you to be able to do this, even if it’s once a year, because you do it well and we need people who can connect to the students that way.”

“It hurts,” Haley admitted.

“Suck it up. It’s a weekend. And then you get good feelings that last you a year.”

To Victoria, it was only a weekend, sure. A busy one, but it truly was a break from her regular life. She had already let go of this dream and was an events-person year round. Haley needed to make that break herself, on her own, and she hadn’t yet. Being in Breathe Music every year did delude her into thinking she could be like one of these kids. She needed a clean break, something permanent, something that would stick.

“I’ll get through this weekend, but you can’t make me show up next time. I quit. I quit.”

Victoria released her and dropped back onto the bed. “You’ll feel better about this on Monday, and we’ll do this again next year.”

Chapter 10

Almost midnight, and Oliver had half a song in his head. Something about being a storm that was let in a house and then blowing it apart. He was going to need to work on the imagery.

He thought about her on the piano, sometimes singing his song, but not necessarily, because eventually the words and music became a blur and it was just her, and her talented fingers, and her eyes, and the sound of her voice. He noticed on the schedule that mentors would actually have to perform on the last day. Oliver's spine and other parts of him tingled at the thought of seeing her then.

It would be different, of course, if she took the stage. There was an intimacy to her videos, her and a tiny screen, talking directly to the viewer (to him), that he felt would be lost when he watched it from among an audience of over a hundred. Part of him didn't want to share her, which didn't make sense when her videos had already been seen by thousands. Hundreds of thousands.

There was a hesitant knock on his door, and he was almost certain that he had willed her into his room by thinking about her that much.

Yes, it was her.

“I’m
good
,” he said.

She was still in what she was wearing from the flight this morning. “What are you talking about?”

“Nothing, I…you weren’t in your room just now?”

“No. I was at Victoria’s. Can I come in?”

He didn’t know it until that moment, but yes, that was perfectly okay with him, and he was annoyed that he didn’t come up with the idea first. Because he was thinking about a song. What a dumbass.

“You and Victoria go way back?” Oliver said as Haley took small steps into the room and looked for a place for herself.

“Yes,” she said. “I met her at Breathe, the first time I ever joined. She’s awesome.”

“She gets things done.”

He watched her sort of start to go for the chair and then stop. And hover within arm’s reach of him, still standing. It was still the exact same day—he didn’t know her at all twenty-four hours ago. But now, as his mind worked to put a song together, he kept thinking of the blanks there were to fill.

“Haley,” he said.

“Yes?” Dark brown eyes, misty, overwhelmed.

What the hell. It was that kind of day. “Why are you here?”

“I have a confession to make.”

There was that familiar stomach lurch until he contextualized it and knew that anything confessed by Haley would not be as ridiculous as anything he’d heard in recent years. Like when he discovered his girlfriend and his manager were sleeping together. Or that some of his friends knew this, or expected it. (That friend unfortunately got a fist to his face.)

She cleared her throat. “I’m a huge fan of yours.”

That didn’t sound so bad. He assumed as much based on the Hot Piano Girl videos. “So…?”

“Huge. Forums, posters, T-shirts…”

“Thank you for buying the merch.”

That threw her off, and her sigh sounded frustrated. “It doesn’t bother you? You’re supposed to avoid people like me, right? Your manager would want extra bouncers around if he found out about my…history. I was like a Trey Girl. But the mailing list was called the ‘Olivettes.’ I would have camped outside for you if you were in this very hotel, and I was…thirteen years old.”

A few years ago it would have been a legitimate concern, but right now it was laughable. Especially considering the state Oliver’s career was in.

“‘Olivettes.’ That’s funny.”

She wasn’t done yet. “Oh, and I didn’t buy your last album. Yet. I mean, I haven’t bought it yet.”

“Don’t worry about it. A lot of people haven’t.”

Haley smiled ruefully. “You’re joking about this. I’m trying to say something sincere. I really…I’ve been a fan for a long time. I’m really rooting for you to get through whatever this is that you’re going through.”

“That’s why you came to my room? To tell me this?”

No, he realized—she came into the room because she wanted exactly what he did but was talking herself out of it the same way he had. Did she need this? Did he? Seemed like a bad idea, for the reasons she laid out in the beginning, like a disclaimer. She was right, and he knew that he had to agree.

Instead he placed his fingers underneath her chin and drew her in, slowly, touching her lips with his mouth, waiting for her to allow him to taste her. A whimper slipped out of her mouth as he pressed on, sliding his tongue inside. She was nice, warm, sweet, soft.

***

I can die now. God. But not before this is over.

You would think that Haley, after everything, would slip into “Oliver Fantasy Mode” and choose a previously recorded fantasy to step into and live out. Maybe her brain had short-circuited already from the overload of emotional uncertainty.

“Oh my god,” was all she said when she could talk. She never was much of a songwriter.

He laughed at that and dipped again to capture her mouth, and he was kissing her. Still kissing her. It was absolutely fine; she didn’t want him to stop. Her arms went around his neck for practical reasons, because she needed to hang on to something. His hands were on her face now, cradling her, gently turning her slightly so as his tongue found hers and teased it into responding.

He slowed down to catch his breath and she took that opening. Bracing herself against his broad shoulders, she kissed him back, going for it deep when he groaned into her mouth. She liked that sound. She felt it on her tongue and everywhere else as it passed through her.

Their bodies shifted as she pushed toward him, and he pulled back, opening up, and she felt his hands leave her face, reconnecting around her waist. She gasped a little when he nudged her up, closer, her insides all stirred up by his heat.

Right, hands. She remembered where hers were, and where else they could be, and she ran them down to his shoulders. One of his hands traveled up her back, once, and then a second time, taking the same path up her spine but getting past the material of her shirt.

They could do this all night.

They could do more than this all night.

“Hey,” she said, and it was so soft the first time that he didn’t even hear it. She found one of his hands near her hip and covered it with hers. “Hey.”

The heat of him left her mouth and pressed gently somewhere over her forehead. “Yeah. Too intense?”

In every way that felt good, and she
wanted
to feel good. He probably wouldn’t even realize what this could mean to her. But it didn’t seem right…

“I get it,” he said before she could put it into words. “There’s too much going on.”

“Yeah,” she said, almost apologetically. “But I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m happy to be home,” he said.

He can’t mean that,
she thought as she retreated to the room next door. But it was nice of him to say so.

Chapter 11

Friday

According to the schedule, he had to be done with breakfast by eight a.m. No big deal. He wasn't one for morning meals anyway, and grabbed a mug of coffee. The hotel café, which also looked like an extension of a library, had huge glass doors that opened out onto the garden and a swimming pool. It was starting to get cooler—for Texas at least—and the pool was empty that morning. He didn't spot Haley anywhere, so he took his coffee and stepped out onto the lawn.

“Is that a new one?” Trey had come up behind him, holding a mug of his own, and Oliver realized that he had been humming under his breath the whole time.

“Maybe,” Oliver said. “Won't be surprised if it's a false alarm and I actually have nothing. Is that ginger?”

“Ginger and ginseng,” Trey confirmed, raising his mug.

Trey looked as bright and early as the morning. Oliver did not remember being cheery at this hour at that age, at any stage of success. It made him feel old, and Oliver normally carried himself like he was the opposite of that. They both stood out there, looking at the pool, sipping their morning drink, but Oliver felt the taller, younger, newer model draining
something
away from him.

“So you know Haley?” Trey said. “You arrived together at the meeting last night.”

Oh no you don't.
Oliver cleared his throat. “Yeah, a little.”

“She's awesome. She's Hot Piano Girl, on the Internet. Did you know that?”

“I knew that.”

“She wasn’t Hot Piano Girl yet when I met her. But she was…well, you know what I mean. Everyone wanted to be mentored by her.”

Oliver grunted into his coffee.

“But this year
I'm
a mentor too,” Trey said, like that was supposed to mean something. “Obviously she wouldn't have wanted to get in trouble back then.”

Trey was, from the looks of the mentor group, the biggest name on the ticket. It was a list that had Haley, Oliver, celebrated jazz musician/producer/label owner Arnie Bolton, some radio personalities, a handful of composers, and other industry “stakeholders” as Victoria described them. And Trey was nineteen years old. He would have no problem charming anyone not living under a rock. Even the rocks would be charmed.

Trey Lewis is going to be at the festival in Houston, Oliver.

So?

So. It’s mostly a closed-door weekend, but it’s beginning to draw big names. Like Trey. Like you.

Is this a blind fucking date you’re sending me on?

You’re going to be in a small hotel for one weekend with the biggest pop star in the world. Do something. Get him to work with you on something.

Get the guys to actually produce my record, and you’ll have something to talk about.

It has to be bigger than you, no offense. You know we need this. And when I say “we,” I mean you too.

No, Oliver didn’t know that until that very moment.
Tomorrow’s Talent
performed their obligation to him as a winner and then barely spoke to him again. He had suspected that the ratings weren’t great but was spared the usual stunts they had to pull to be kept off the network’s chopping block.

This year, however, it was his turn, he guessed. To be the stunt. It was a sign of how desperate they were that they had turned to him, because they never had before. For anything.

Oliver wasn’t opposed to going to Breathe Music in general, anyway. Former manager Rob had been telling him to ignore the invitation for years, but seeing the circle of mentors reminded him that he needed this. He needed to know more people.

He had always been ill-equipped at finding those breaks for himself, but maybe this was the place to start?

Chris wanted him to do this, in any case, because he apparently knew Victoria from their neighborhood. The
TT
people ran the idea by him for sure. What the
TT
folks hadn’t realized, and what Chris knew but was nice enough not to say, was that Oliver would rather eat shards of a broken CD than beg Trey for career scraps. They would like to think though that Oliver was more of a survivor than that. That he would suck it up.