Beauty and the Bassist (The Extra Series Book 9)

by Megan Walker

  Nix frowns down at the floor, and Allison smiles, but it’s stiff and fake. I’m still trying to piece together what’s happening, when Allison goes on, like she’s somehow compelled to keep babbling to fill the silence.

  “I just think you two have a lot in common,” she says, and my stomach sinks. She gets through a couple more sentences about how much she thinks Nix and I will like each other before I finally cut her off.

  “Are you trying to set me up with your sister?” I ask.

  Allison stutters a bit, and Nix looks decidedly uncomfortable.

  I want to entirely disappear. “Oh my god. What the fuck, Allison? Seriously. What the actual fuck?”

  Allison squeezes her eyes closed. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I’m sorry.” Then she all but runs out of the room.

  JT steps into the empty doorway. “Dude,” he says. “That was cold.”

  I hope he’s talking about Allison and not me, because I feel fully justified in stewing in my own resentment. If she doesn’t want me, she could just say so. Despite her insistence that she wasn’t brushing me off, I’ve already got the message. I don’t need her pity and I sure as hell don’t need—

  Nix sighs. “I told her that was a bad idea.”

  “Yeah, well. Whatever. I get the message.”

  Nix shakes her head. “She likes you. She’s just scared.”

  I look at her out of the corner of my eye. “She told you that?”

  “Not exactly. But she’s my sister. I can tell.”

  She’s probably right to be scared, but I still wonder if there isn’t more to it. “Has she . . . is there some kind of trauma in her past that makes her uncomfortable about sex?”

  Nix looks up at the ceiling. “Yes. But not like you’re thinking.”

  I watch her. Nix has no loyalty to me, but she’s clearly not happy with the way Allison is handling . . . whatever the hell this is. “Want to fill me in?”

  “Yes,” Nix says. “And since Allison won’t, I think I’m going to. It’s for her own good.”

  “Works for me.”

  Nix makes a little whining sound, like she’s not sure if she’s going to regret this or maybe if Allison is going to murder her, which might be a real possibility. But I’m sick of being jerked around by this girl, and I need to know what the hell is going on.

  “Allison had breast cancer,” Nix says. “She’s uncomfortable about sex because she had a mastectomy.”

  I blink at her. “She had a—”

  “She’s missing a boob! And she’s kind of paranoid about it, so she hasn’t been with anyone since.”

  “Oh,” I say. And I’m remembering now, her not telling me what kind of cancer she had, freaking out when I ran my hands anywhere near her breasts, though I wasn’t going to, like, grope her or anything. Telling me she just wanted to kiss.

  Oh, god, those things I said yesterday about the fake boobs the girls use for the pageant.

  “Shit,” I say. “I’m an asshole.”

  Nix raises her eyebrows. “What?”

  I groan and slouch down on the couch, leaning my head against the back. “Yesterday, I was joking around with her about all the fake breasts lying around the auditorium. And I might have said—” I cringe. “I called them false advertising and asked if they were supposed to be attractive.”

  Nix blinks at me, wide eyed. “Okay, yeah. That would do it.”

  Shit. “I need to apologize to her.”

  Nix squirms. “Look, you probably do. But you should also think about what you want. I mean it when I say she really likes you. She totally fell asleep cuddling that weird stuffed dog you got her.”

  That news makes me unreasonably happy, and I try to smother a grin and fail.

  “But if the mastectomy thing is a problem . . .” Nix shrugs. “Just don’t lead her on. I don’t want her to get hurt.”

  I’m still so stunned by the news that I’m not sure how to process it. “I don’t think that’s a problem. Should it be?”

  “I don’t know,” Nix says. “I think it probably would be for some guys.”

  “Aren’t you concerned about the idea of me dating your sister? I’m assuming you know who I am.”

  “I do,” Nix says. “And yeah, I’m concerned. But I don’t know how much of your reputation is real, so I’m withholding judgment.”

  I roll my eyes. “You mean how much of it is true, or how much of that’s really me?”

  “Both.”

  “It’s all true. All the stuff in the mainstream press, anyway. It’s really who I am, but it’s not, like, everything I am.” Shit. That sounded a lot like admitting to having layers. “Don’t tell your sister I said that.”

  Nix looks confused. “Don’t tell my sister you’re more than your reputation?”

  “Exactly.”

  “Okay, I guess. But if you’re really serious about her, you should probably tell her that.”

  I should. But I can’t see how that would be fair to her. “I don’t know. I’m pretty messed up. She’d be better off if I just left her alone.”

  “It’s a little late for that,” Nix says.

  And deep down, I know she’s right.

  Ten

  Shane

  I find Allison talking to Carmen in the hallway. “It can’t be adjusted!” Carmen is saying. “The swimsuit fabric is all one piece. I’ll use butt glue, I promise.”

  “Butt glue doesn’t work without fabric to glue to your butt,” Allison says firmly. “I’m sorry, Carmen. You’re going to need a new swimsuit.”

  Carmen looks horrified. “But I only have four days—”

  They both look up at me as I approach, and I’m not sure whether Carmen or Allison looks more distraught.

  “Talk to your wardrobe person,” Allison says. “If you need someone to help you track down a store-bought swimsuit, I can—”

  “Ugh,” Carmen says. “Fine.” She stalks off down the hallway.

  “God, Ally,” I say. “I’m so sorry about those things I said yesterday.”

  Allison hesitates. “What things?”

  “About the fake breasts. I was just messing around. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  Her mouth presses into a grim line. “Nix told you.”

  “Yeah. And I’m really sorry. I didn’t know.”

  Allison looks down at her shoes. They’re platform heels, which she’s paired with a purple and blue patterned dress that hugs her body just right. I wonder how much of her wardrobe she designs herself. If the stuff she wears is hers, she clearly rocks at it. But I notice that the neckline is just high enough to cover her cleavage. I think that’s been true of all of the dresses she wears, and now I understand why.

  There’s a long silence, and I realize she’s waiting for me to say something about this. I put a hand on her arm. “Hey,” I say. “It doesn’t matter. At least, I don’t think it does.” I realize I have no idea what a mastectomy scar looks like, so I guess I can’t guarantee it won’t bother me.

  But being so close to her, I feel magnetically drawn to her, in a way that has nothing to do with her chest.

  Allison shakes her head. “Yeah, you can’t know, right? And I get it. It’s not attractive, and I understand if you can’t—”

  “Ally,” I say. “You’re beautiful, and I’m crazy attracted to you. It’s not a problem.”

  She looks up at me, her lips still pressed together. “Yeah, well. I’m kind of crazy attracted to you, too.”

  There’s this heat building between us again, but I’m scared to let it ignite, afraid of what else might be holding her back. “So how much of what you said yesterday was true?” I ask. “Are you really not ready for, like, physical stuff? Or was that the only problem?”

  “Oh,” Allison says. “No, that was pretty much it.”

  I run
a hand through my hair. “What the hell was that with your sister?”

  Allison cringes. “I’m sorry. I was just scared. And she’s a lot more fun than I am. She’s a ballroom dancer, like, professionally, and I just thought—”

  “Ally,” I say. “I had fun with you yesterday.”

  “Yeah?” Her whole body relaxes, though I’m not sure why this is news.

  “Yeah. Your sister seems cool and all, but I’m not interested in her.”

  Allison looks up at me, and her eyes meet mine, and I feel myself rock toward her. I put my hands on her hips and draw her body closer. We’re standing in the hallway just outside the auditorium, and anyone could walk out here at any time, but I don’t care. I just want to be near her.

  “I’m scared, too,” I tell her.

  She nods. “But this doesn’t have to be anything serious, right? We can just go out and see how it goes.”

  I feel like the floor has dropped out from under me, and I nod, too quickly. “Yeah,” I say. “Yeah, that’s fine. If that’s what you want.” I should want that. I don’t get serious, because I learned a long time ago that, for me, it’s a recipe for heartbreak.

  No way is any woman going to stick around and put up with my shit, especially someone like Allison.

  She’s studying me, like she sees more of how I feel than I want her to.

  “Did I just make it better or worse?” she asks.

  “Worse. But it’s fine. I’m not trying to pressure you, and I get how lucky I am that you’re even willing to give me a chance.”

  I sound desperate, in no small measure because that’s how I feel.

  Allison shakes her head. “I thought that’s what you would want. To keep things casual.”

  I should. But the way I feel about her—it’s anything but casual. “What do you want?”

  “Well,” she says slowly. “I want to date you. And in an ideal world, neither of us would be dating other people.”

  I smile. “You know there’s a word for that, right?”

  Allison looks like she’s about to hyperventilate. “I mean,” she says, “I don’t, you know, I—”

  I lift my hands, about to tell her that I don’t expect any kind of commitment, but she finally stumbles over the words.

  “Would you be okay with that?”

  I laugh. “With you being my girlfriend? Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “Okay,” Allison says. “I’d like that, too.”

  We blink at each other, and I’m not sure how this could possibly have happened. I’m a mess, and she’s going to find out, and she’s going to leave me, and it’s going to hurt like hell.

  But she reaches up and brushes my hair out of my face, and I feel like there’s a forest fire happening between us. Like I could easily fall into her arms and lose all control. The point of no return is behind me. I’m not going to walk away from this girl. I don’t want to.

  Carlyle yells something in the auditorium, and Allison winces.

  I can do this. I can be responsible when I need to be. “We need to get to work,” I say. “But practice is over at four, right?”

  “Right,” Allison says.

  “So, what should we say, four-fifteen in the green room? You and I are going to make out like crazy.”

  “Yes,” Allison says. “Please.”

  I smile and press my lips to her forehead. Her body is so close to mine, and all I want is to draw her closer, to be with her.

  Damn. It doesn’t feel like I’ve had enough time with her to already be in it this deep. “I may also have admitted to your sister that I have at least one layer,” I say against her skin. “But it’s a very shallow layer, and there aren’t any more underneath.”

  “Mmmm.” Allison presses her face against my chest. “You have more layers than you think.”

  I lay a hand on her back, holding her gently, as if she might break. “Isn’t that what girls tell themselves to justify dating bad guys?”

  “Maybe,” she says.

  I close my eyes and wonder how long that justification is going to last.

  Twenty minutes later I’m up on stage, listening to Carlyle harass the girls about the way they bring their props on and off the stage. Turns out it was a good day to be late; after the disaster yesterday, Carlyle has started the day trying to get the girls to run props without anyone threatening to litigate. The marimba is massive but looks unharmed from yesterday’s debacle, and the chick with the camellias only throws shade, not any props or pieces of set. I see the dog trainer girl, but not her dogs. Probably she wisely decided to keep them kenneled backstage until it’s her turn.

  Carmen keeps looking suspiciously from me to Allison, like she thinks something’s going on between us. That’s when I remember that both contestants and crew probably think we took a sex break yesterday, especially given how obvious it was that the lights were off in the green room.

  In fact, several of the girls are sitting close to Allison and whispering, while nearby, Collette sits next to her boyfriend—a wiry guy with a buzz cut and a sour look on his face—and doing her wax on move at my genitals again.

  “How’s my aura today, Collette?” I call as Speed-painting Girl moves her canvas (still blank, because she’s not actually doing the painting today) off the stage.

  “Healthy,” Collette responds. I’m not sure what exactly that means—am I virus-free, or is she referring to my libido? Because that’s sure as hell roaring after being in the hall with Allison.

  “Thanks,” I say.

  Her boyfriend looks from her to me. “What the hell are you talking about?” he asks.

  “His aura,” Collette says.

  “Well, I don’t like the way you’re looking at him.”

  “I’m not looking at him like anything,” Collette says. “I’m just reading his aura.”

  “I don’t want you touching his aura,” the boyfriend says.

  Allison glares over at the guy. I know he bothers her because he keeps hanging around where he isn’t supposed to be, but listening to him bitch at Collette, I wonder if there might be more to it.

  The girl with the camellias is on stage now, arranging her flowers in vases and running through her lecture on what it takes to grow, care for, and arrange prize-winning flowers. She’s not supposed to be running through her whole talent, but Carlyle doesn’t seem inclined to interrupt her, so I wonder if he’s given up on the idea of doing a quick prop run and just wants to let each of them have their time so they’ll all calm the hell down about whose props are touching whose.

  “Why do you get to date him?” Marimba Girl says. I’m trying to remember if her name is Becky or Gwendolyn.

  “Because I’m not a contestant,” Allison says. “And what’s going on between me and Shane is none of your business.”

  “You’re dating him?” Collette asks. “Oh my god, I knew you guys were going to reunite. That’s so romantic.”

  Collette’s boyfriend scowls at her while the rest of the girls crowd around Allison, asking a cloud of questions. Allison looks like she’s about to hyperventilate at the center, so I grab the mic stand and pull the microphone close to my mouth.

  “Hey,” I say. “Back away from my girlfriend.”

  The girls all look up at me, and a wave of giggles spreads through the crowd. Then they all scatter to their various cell phones.

  “Ladies!” Carlyle calls. “Quiet, please.” Allison fends off the last of the girls and gives me a beleaguered look. Girls are tapping their phones all over the room, and one of them lifts her phone, clearly taking my picture.

  Oh. They’re putting this all over the internet. Of course they are.

  Three minutes later, Carlyle and Camellia Girl—whose name is Becky, making Marimba Girl Gwendolyn—are arguing about how long it takes to get her flowers safely off the stage after her talent. Car
men, now wearing a long robe that drags on the ground as she walks, prepares to come on stage to perform an aria from Die Zauberflöte. Becky is most of the way off the stage when Nix comes storming into the auditorium, holding out her phone.

  “I was like ten feet away!” she says to Allison. “How did I find out about this on Facebook?”

  “Sorry, Nix,” I say into the microphone. “That was my fault.”

  “Mr. Beckstrom,” Carlyle says. “Is it possible for you to refrain from using this public forum for your personal drama?”

  I raise an eyebrow at the idea of me being the main source of drama in this room, but Allison shakes her head at me, so for her sake, I don’t start anything. I announce Carmen like I’m supposed to, then climb down off the stage and walk over to Allison and Nix.

  “Sorry,” I say to Allison. “You’re going to learn this about me, but I don’t generally think before I speak.”

  “It’s okay,” Allison says, and she really looks like it is, which makes me want to scoop her up and spin her around right here and kiss her in front of everyone.

  “Oh my god,” Nix says. “Mom put a shocked emoji on it. She must have learned how to do that just for this post.”

  Oh, shit. I hadn’t thought about Allison’s family seeing it. Sure, the press will get a hold of it, but that doesn’t really have consequences for me. We didn’t actually talk about whether or not we were being public, although she didn’t ask me to keep it a secret.

  Allison reaches over and turns off her phone.

  “Um,” I say. “How much are your parents going to hate me?”

  “They’re not going to hate you,” Allison says, at the same time Nix says, “Probably a lot.”

  I groan. “I’m sorry.” I remember now how much time I spent apologizing in my last relationship. Obviously nothing has changed, and I wonder if Allison is already regretting this.

  “Hate is a strong word,” Allison says, glaring at Nix. “They’re going to be concerned.”

  “How concerned?” I ask. “On a scale of one to ten.”