Play Dirty: Brooklyn Dawn Book 1

by Quinn, Cari

  But I didn’t care about the specifics. Didn’t need them to feel the strange ache in my chest. I usually didn’t let such things bother me. I liked my life the way it was—mostly.

  The twinge was just annoying.

  I climbed into Logan’s truck while the two men said their goodbyes and made plans for a future meal. Christ. So much neighborly nonsense in this town. How did Lo stand it?

  Logan hopped into his truck. “Iz left a pot of sauce on for us. At least we can eat.”

  “Not like there’s a sushi place around the corner here.”

  “Put your hostile Irish asshole back in his trunk. You’re the one who pounded on the studio door enough to crack it, not me.”

  I flexed my fingers but didn’t say a word. I’d been worried that I’d actually broken my damn hand for an hour before the swelling had subsided.

  The rage had even scared the fuck out of me. The fact that Angel had basically spit in my face like that—

  Fuck. Now I had an album nearly complete with her and it had to be scrapped.

  I wouldn’t have my name on it. Not now, not ever.

  The ride back to Logan’s house was filled with shop talk. We chatted about the possibility of rearranging some of the songs on the album. I tried to convince him we didn’t need Angel or another female vocalist, but Logan wouldn’t be swayed. Sure, it was a male vocal heavy record now, but we were running out of options.

  When I made any move to call in a few favors of my own for a few bigger artists, Logan kept pushing me off. Some bullshit about not wanting it to get around that Angel had melted down in the studio.

  I understood his stance on not letting gossip getting out. Lo had his own issues with the press and killing a reputation, but Jesus. It was already all over the entertainment papers. She’d created quite the spectacle at the airport. I hated the paparazzi and their soulless information streams, but I needed to be in the know. Just for my own curiosity.

  I took on very few artists to work with. I didn’t have to do another goddamn thing in my life thanks to my technical know-how. I’d patented a few tools that were used in nearly every studio in the damn world. I’d made enough to retire seven times over.

  I couldn’t let music go. It was as simple as that.

  Even if my past had done an insidious job of trying to steal every part of it from me. I deserved it.

  But I was a right selfish bastard. I craved the building of a song and watching it bloom or burn. It was my singular drug these days.

  The luxury cabin at the top of the steep, winding road was dark save for the porch light and one I could see inside from the window. Logan jumped down. “Lucky you, we’ll be working on putting in the door in the morning. Jacob’s going to deliver the door when it’s dried tomorrow.”

  “Goody.”

  “Such a dick.” Logan slapped my back. “Let’s put some food into us and maybe I might be able to sleep in my bed and not the guest room.”

  “How many times have you actually slept in the guest room?”

  “More than you’d think.”

  I was fairly certain that was a lie, but again… I didn’t care. They were tight, that was all that mattered. Domestic squabbles were definitely not in my wheelhouse.

  The scent of tomato sauce hit us the moment we entered the house and reminded me how hungry I was. I’d devoured three meatballs and a quarter loaf of Italian bread before Logan had finished making pasta.

  We ate in the living room with the current album playing through his hidden speakers. And we argued over deep bowls of cheese and pasta and sauce.

  We dissected the album and rearranged the songs well into the night until I passed out sometime around four in the chair in his living room. The damn thing had magical properties. I’d spent far too many nights sleeping in it.

  The sun was slanting its way across the living room and the heat index was chasing it. Warmer today than the last, that was for sure. I must have slept more than my usual four hours. Not shocking since I was at Logan’s. I blamed the air—it was too clean. Fairly poisonous for a city boy like me.

  Voices carried from out front, but I wasn’t quite up to playing the polite guest. A nose nudged under my hand. I scratched down the soft ginger nose of Bella’s massive dog. “Morning, Fi.”

  She chuffed out a whine and I buried my fingers in her fur to get to her ears. She groaned and leaned into the hard scratch. Dogs, I understood. They had simple needs. They never meant to piss people off.

  She tried to climb into the chair, and I grunted when she missed my junk by an inch. She plopped her ass down on my lap and laid her head down on my arm. I laughed and allowed myself to act as her personal couch. She was well over one hundred pounds and had never learned the words personal space.

  I tipped back my head against the chair cushion and soaked up her warmth. Not a terrible way to start the day.

  I closed my eyes and dozed again.

  “What the hell is he doing here?”

  My eyes shot open at the question. I must have drifted off and dreamed it. There was no possible way that voice was real.

  “You’re a bastard, Logan.”

  “Why?” Logan sounded honestly puzzled. “I thought this would be a good thing. You guys worked so well together at the festival.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut tighter, but it was no use. Her voice was real, all right. Instead of the dreams I could forget about after a few minutes, this was a live-action nightmare walking into my life.

  Lindsey-goddamn-York. In the flesh.

  “Son of a bitch.”

  Eight

  No freaking way.

  No way on this earth.

  Alexander Nash was sprawled in my favorite chair in the middle of Logan’s living room with Fiona curled into him as if he was the king he believed himself to be. He was unshaven and his inky hair was tousled with sleep.

  Soft.

  Almost approachable.

  Almost human.

  Not the unforgiving man who’d invaded every part of me in that dive bar.

  Instead, he seemed more like the man who intrigued me all those years ago. When I first met Nash at the summer festival, he’d played the piano like a demon. All that passion mirrored my own.

  I’d been so light and carefree back then, a few months before we’d finally nailed a hit single. Fame had pushed Brooklyn Dawn along like a cork in a raging river. Bigger venues, bigger stages, bigger dreams. Jamie had been given the opportunity to create a line of custom instruments with Gibson. Oz and Zane had been visiting the Fender warehouses to create one-of-a-kind guitars.

  We’d even added a new member to our family recently. Teagan had settled into the band as if we’d been waiting for her all along. Even the entertainment magazines loved us.

  My life was good. Way more amazing than I deserved some days.

  But sometimes I missed the girl at that festival. No glitter and glam, just the piano and an intimate crowd. A man staring at me for the handful of songs we’d performed together as if I was his personal oasis. His raspy voice was jagged and imperfect. It had slayed in ways I still didn’t understand. I was fairly sure he didn’t either.

  Those moonlit eyes had excited me. A blue so light it reminded me of the wild, eerie eyes of a Husky. They’d been hungry and had made me dig deeper inside of myself for emotions I’d locked up. I couldn’t afford them when I was trying desperately to get my band seen and heard.

  All those emotions and memories battered at me now. For a moment, it seemed as if our night in the darkened piano bar in New York City was utterly separate from those two people in a sawdust-scented barn.

  I wasn’t sure which one was the real me.

  Maybe neither. Maybe I was still figuring myself out.

  As for him? I wasn’t going to go there.

  I twirled on my booted heel and stalked out of the room.

  “You didn’t even talk to me about this?” Nash’s raspy, Irish-tinged voice filled the air.

  All my mixed
up emotions arrowed into disgust. For an instant, he might’ve seemed like the fascinating guy from the festival, but the obnoxious edge to his tone echoed exactly how he’d been in the dim little bar.

  Biting and nearly cruel.

  My nipples tingled at the memory. Why the hell that should turn me on, I had not one clue. I didn’t even understand that girl from a handful of years ago. The one who had followed that danger into the corner. Even with the obvious anger coming off him in waves, I’d chased it. Chased him. And then I’d run like a coward.

  “Fuck.”

  “Oh, that’s not good.”

  I turned toward Bella’s voice. I winced and glanced around.

  “Don’t worry, the kids are at a playdate.”

  I shut my eyes. “Sorry.”

  “A bit early for wine, but this will help.” She held out a bottle of flavored water.

  “Thanks.” I cracked the seal and took a long sip. I really wished it was infused with vodka instead of Honey Crisp apples. First class in an overnight flight and a ninety-minute drive with a perfectly comfortable car service could not combat the fact that I’d crossed far too many time zones.

  My stomach said wine, even if my watch said morning. It was going to be a hell of a long day. Jet lag lured me into wanting to find my guest room, but it would be a mistake. Especially if I was expected to sing at all tomorrow or tonight.

  Probably tomorrow.

  God, I hadn’t even asked if the song was already written.

  I slumped into a chair at the dining room table.

  “Hungry?”

  I slid my hand over my twisting belly. “Not sure.”

  “Been there. I can’t believe Logan dragged you here from Hawaii.” She moved to the fridge and pulled out eggs. “Actually, I can’t believe you came.”

  I took another long drink from my bottle. Flying always dehydrated me. I’d need to drink my weight in water and dip myself in a vat of lotion after I showered off my flight. “Moment of weakness, obviously.”

  “He knows he can always count on you.”

  I waved her off. It was hard to find people in the industry who were true friends. The Kings were among the few I’d do anything for. Well, other than my band, of course. Logan’s wife and I got along very well. We’d downed more than our fair share of wine together over the years, commiserating over the stupidity of males and the unrelentingly vicious press that chased both of us.

  Her, because of her famous husband and the drama that had unfolded in Winchester Falls a few years ago. Me, because my life was lived in front of a camera, whether I liked it or not.

  But she also knew me too well.

  Not like Jamie, not like the rest of my band. But well enough for me to wince and try to shut down the reactions probably flashing over my stupid face. I was usually better at hiding my emotions. Winchester Falls had something in the air that always allowed me to forget about the invisible barrier I cloaked myself in all the other days of my life.

  Here, I didn’t have to be on. I could just be me.

  She set a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me. “ Nash, however…”

  I tucked a flyaway strand of hair behind my ear. “It’s fine. I was just surprised.”

  She grabbed her coffee, sat down across from me, and laced her fingers together around the mug. “You don’t drop the f-bomb with that kind of fervor unless there’s something more going on. Something of the naked variety.”

  My gaze whipped to hers, the fork halfway to my mouth. “No.”

  She snorted. “Man, you suck. That no is actually a yes with neon lights.” She sipped from her mug that said crazy in large type.

  I shut my eyes. “Crap.”

  “That was just a guess. Does Logan know?”

  “Obviously not.”

  “Well, he can be clueless, but yeah, he probably wouldn’t have dragged you into this mess if he’d known.”

  “Yeah, well, it was just a one-night thing. Not a huge deal.” Not even a bed included.

  “Says the man with his ass on fire, flying across my house.”

  I scooped up my eggs. I was ignoring that comment, thank you very much. “What kind of mess are we talking?” I asked around the perfectly cooked, dill-flavored scrambled eggs.

  She tapped her fingers against her mug for a minute.

  “That good?”

  Bella sighed. “It was an ugly scene. Logan and Nash have been trying to figure out a solution.”

  I raised my fork like a flag. “Stick me in, Coach?”

  “Pretty much.”

  I grimaced at the raised voices and the slamming door from the front of the house.

  “Everything all right?” Bella’s gaze met someone’s behind me. Since my entire neck wasn’t pricking with fire, I guessed it was Logan.

  “You didn’t mention he would be here.” I set my fork down.

  “I didn’t realize you guys had a beef.”

  I shrugged. “We don’t.”

  Logan grunted and sat down next to his wife. “Do I want to know?”

  Bella patted his hand. “No.”

  He sat forward and thunked his head on the table before slumping back in his chair. His usually sparkling green eyes were red-rimmed, and there was a deluxe set of luggage under them as well. “Is this going to be a problem?”

  I rose and put my dish in the dishwasher before I refilled my bottle from the filtered spigot on the fridge. If this wasn’t for Logan, I’d be driving to Brooklyn right now. “Nothing we can’t handle. We’re all adults.”

  “Well, some of us are.”

  I snorted. “Except the one who threw a tantrum and went out the door?”

  Logan sighed. “He just needs to walk it off.”

  “He’ll be walking for miles.” I saluted Logan with my bottle. “Gives me time to shower off the airport. My usual room?”

  Logan rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, um...”

  I laughed. I mean, what else could I do? “Wow. Even gave him my room?”

  Logan shrugged. “With two kids, not as many party rooms as we used to have.”

  “So domesticated.”

  Bella stood. “I’ll show you.”

  “No, it’s okay.” I needed a second to come to terms with all this new information. And to put all the shit back in its box. And here I’d thought mistakenly seeing him at the wedding was going to be the worst thing about my week. “I’m assuming Zeke’s room?”

  Bella laughed. “He does have the best view. Well, besides the room you usually like.”

  “It’s a gorgeous house. There’s no bad views here.”

  “And I fumigated out the stinky boy.” Bella leaned her head on Logan’s shoulder. “We love Z, but him and his dog love the outdoors too much.”

  Zeke, Logan’s bandmate and professional flirt, stayed with them often. At least when he wasn’t riding waves in random countries. “Do I have to move for him too?”

  “No, Z is in Bora Bora, I think.”

  “Lucky guy.”

  I left the room and backtracked to retrieve my luggage. My bag was still in the front room. I grabbed my hard-sided pink suitcase with the blinged out handle. Way easier to find it in baggage claim. And well, I liked the bling.

  The door creaked open. Barely enough warning. “Duchess.”

  My shoulders immediately went up. I curled my fingers around the handle a little tighter and rose to my full height. “Forget something?” The bottle in my hand crinkled a little and I forced myself to relax my fingers. “Manners? Dignity?”

  “I wasn’t the one running.”

  I looked up and our eyes locked. A brisk wind followed him in as rain slanted behind him. His stood with his legs apart, his Doc Martens caked in mud, his black jeans splattered with dirt and rain. His white thermal shirt stuck to him, and water dripped from his obsidian hair.

  But Jesus, it was always his eyes that got me.

  Direct.

  Unwavering.

  Hard.

  I
was glad I was already in Winchester Falls-appropriate gear. Jeans and a flannel were standard fare for my trips here. Otherwise there’d be far too much proof as to how my body betrayed me when it came to this man.

  My arms were tingling with goosebumps, and my nipples were so damn hard they hurt.

  Why?

  Why did it have to be this man who set everything jangling inside of me?

  “So says the muddy boots.” I snapped out my suitcase’s telescopic handle.

  He slammed the door, tracking in mud.

  “And you’re an animal to boot. Charming.”

  He bent to unlace his boots. “Only when you need me to be.”

  My molars clicked together. Memories threatened to drag me under. I still couldn’t listen to that Aerosmith song, for fuck’s sake. “I don’t.”

  He flipped his shaggy, wet hair out of his face. “Liar.”

  The soft rumble of the word felt like it had more than one meaning. I didn’t like it. I didn’t like him.

  Liar.

  I shook my braid over my shoulder. “We have to work together.”

  “We don’t have to do anything. Run along. It’s what you do, right?”

  I had run. I hated that he was right about that one thing. But I wasn’t that young girl anymore. It had only been three years, but in the business we were in, it might as well have been ten.

  Hell, twenty. I’d seen way too much and fought too hard to let an impetuous mistake control me.

  Even if you liked it.

  Still craved it.

  It was still a mistake.

  I took a deep breath. “I don’t run out on my friends.”

  “Is that what you call him?” His accent was sharper than normal. Languid with Ireland and yet cutting at the same time.

  “Look, don’t make this any harder. We’re professionals.”

  “One of us is.”

  I launched my water bottle at him. He caught it with a laugh.

  “Don’t tease me, duchess. I like when you’re wild, remember?” He walked more fully into the room in dark socks. Somehow it made it worse that he was so effortlessly comfortable here.