The table went silent.
Scarlett cocked an eyebrow at Traeger. “Seriously, dude? Ungrateful much?”
“I’m not being ungrateful. Just stating facts. We’re better than them and you know it.”
The others exchanged glances but didn’t say anything.
“See?” Traeger crowed to Scarlett. “They know I’m right.”
She frowned. “Even if you are—”
“I am.”
“—it doesn’t matter. It’s their tour, not ours. We were lucky to get invited, last minute or not. Show some gratitude.”
He gave her a surly look.
“You’re right, Scar,” Gage conceded. “But I know where Traeg’s coming from. Black Kross is a great band, but we’re better. Way better. Watching them tonight, I couldn’t help wondering how they got more popular than us.”
“Exactly,” Traeger said vehemently. “It’s fucking unfair.”
Scarlett shook her head. “What’s the matter with you guys? We just put on a kickass show, sold a bunch of merch and scored an interview with Soundcheck! How can you still find shit to complain about?”
“Because I’m tired of not getting the recognition we deserve,” Traeger fired back. “We’ve released two killer albums and toured around the world. We’re crazy talented and we work our asses off. We should have made it big by now.”
“Says who?” Scarlett challenged. “You know how hard it is to make it in this business. No one is guaranteed fame and fortune. Hell, we’re way more successful than a shitload of bands out there. No, we don’t always draw the biggest crowds. But, hey, at least we can say we’ve got a pretty large fan base over in Europe.”
“So does David Hasselhoff,” Zander quipped dryly.
Scarlett shot him an Et tu, Brute? look.
He laughed. “Just sayin’.”
“Whatever.” She picked up her beer. “You guys know I’ve always been a glass-half-full kinda person. If you ask me, we’re doing pretty damn well. I mean, yeah, we’re not gracing magazine covers or racking up Grammys. But we’ve won a few indie awards, and last I checked our second album is selling well enough to have three songs on the Top 100 Alternative Rock chart.”
“Facts,” Ryu said.
Scarlett gave him a grateful little smile. At least someone was on her side.
“Anyway,” she continued, looking around the table, “whatever happened to ‘Fuck the establishment, we don’t need their awards or record deals to validate our existence’? Whatever happened to not being a sellout? Didn’t we name ourselves Off The Grid to reflect our nonconformist values?”
The others muttered and shifted in their chairs, avoiding her gaze.
“Hypocrites,” she pronounced with a snort of disgust. “All it took was a taste of stardom to corrupt you.”
Zander grinned sheepishly, glancing around the table. “ScarWar’s right.”
In the vein of “ScarJo”—Scarlett Johansson’s nickname—he’d started calling Scarlett “ScarWar.” He thought it was cute. She didn’t, but she tolerated it.
“We do sound like a bunch of whiny ass bitches.” He pointed his beer glass at Traeger. “Especially you.”
Traeger flipped him the bird. “Fuck you, dickwad.”
Zander snickered and chugged his beer.
Two pretty blondes at a nearby table were whispering and staring at Traeger, clearly hoping to catch his attention. They were both wearing NYU sweatshirts. When Traeger glanced their way, they giggled and ran their fingers through their hair.
He winked, making the girls swoon.
Scarlett rolled her eyes and took a swig of beer.
After a few moments of flirting, Traeger returned his attention to the group. “You know what we need?”
“A new bass player?” Zander suggested.
Traeger ignored the barb. “We need a rich benefactor. Someone with deep pockets to finance our expenses so we can just focus on making music.”
The suggestion drew amused guffaws. “A rich benefactor? Seriously?”
“Until we get the backing of a record label.” Traeger was totally serious.
Playing along, Gage drawled, “Ryu’s parents are loaded. Why don’t we ask them to be our benefactor?”
“As if,” Ryu snorted. “Did you miss the part where they practically disowned me for not becoming a surgeon or a scientist like my siblings? They’ve never even come to any of our shows.”
Sympathetic mumblings went around the table.
“Scarlett’s old man has money,” Zander pointed out. “Isn’t he some bigwig executive at Boeing?”
Scarlett laughed. “Don’t bring my pops into this. He’s given us more money than anyone we know. Time to tap another well.”
There were grudging murmurs of agreement.
“It won’t be my mom,” Gage said gruffly. “She almost went broke putting me through Berklee. No way am I asking her for another dime.”
Zander grimaced, sitting back in his chair. “My folks are tapped out, too.”
The others nodded understandingly. No one brought up Traeger’s father. They knew better.
As Scarlett finished her beer and placed the empty glass on the table, Zander gave her a considering look.
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
“You’re a beautiful woman, ScarWar. Dudes hit on you all the time.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Your point?”
Zander grinned. “Why don’t you use what God gave you and get us a Sugar Daddy?”
“Oooh, now why didn’t I think of that?” she cooed in dulcet tones. “Maybe I should just strut down to the corner, stick my leg out and flag down the first creep who drives by in a tricked-out Maybach?”
Zander and the others exchanged considering glances. “That’s actually not a bad—”
“Assholes!” Scarlett flipped them the double bird.
They erupted into laughter.
She rolled her eyes in disgust. Sometimes she really hated their guts.
Traeger leaned forward, tattooed arms folded on the table, amused blue eyes probing hers. “What about the dude who sent you those flowers? Could he be your Sugar Daddy?”
Her face heated. “I already told you the flowers were from—”
“Your parents. Right.” Traeger gave her a little smirk. He didn’t believe her.
“Whatever.” Feeling her face grow hotter, she turned away from him to glance around the small restaurant. It stayed open pretty late, so several tables were still occupied. One of the televisions was tuned to a rebroadcast of the New York Rangers game. Henrik Lundqvist had just caught the puck in his glove to stop the Ottawa Senators from scoring.
Watching hockey made Scarlett miss Viggo even more. When she checked her phone a while ago, she’d been disappointed to see that he hadn’t responded to her last two messages. She wondered where he was, what he was doing and who he was with.
Unable to resist, she pulled out her phone again to see if she’d somehow missed a text from him. Sadly, the only text she’d received was from her mother, who was still moping over her unplanned departure. She’d sent an animated gif of a scene from the movie My Big Fat Greek Wedding. The scene featured Toula getting a lecture from her father and the gif was captioned: Why you want to leave me?
Scarlett could only chuckle and shake her head. No one did guilt trips better than Sherise Warner.
Ryu hitched his chin at her. “So how was the engagement party?”
“It was good,” she said, tucking her phone away.
“Yeah? So your cousin’s really marrying that hockey player?”
“She sure is.” Scarlett smiled. “They’re really good together. Totally soul mates.”
Traeger shook his head at her. “Don’t go getting any ideas about hooking up with a hockey player.”
“Seriously.” Zander made a face. “Hockey sucks.”
Scarlett threw up her middle finger. “You know what they say about opinions.”
“I know, right?” Ga
ge loved hockey as much as Scarlett did, so he was equally offended by Zander’s insult.
Ryu grinned at Scarlett. “Are you jealous that your cousin bagged a hockey player before you?”
“Huh? Why would I be jealous?”
Ryu chuckled. “As much as you love hockey, we always figured you’d be the one dating an NHL superstar, not Nadia. She doesn’t even like the sport.”
“She does now,” Scarlett said with a grin. “And I’m stoked because we can finally go to hockey games together and act a fool.”
“Just don’t become a puck bunny,” Gage warned teasingly. “I’ll lose all respect for you if you do.”
“Boy, please,” she snorted. “I’ve been watching hockey since I was four. If I haven’t become a puck bunny by now, it ain’t gonna happen.”
“Atta girl.” Gage grinned and tweaked her nose.
As she cheerfully plucked a pepperoni off the remaining slice of pizza and popped it into her mouth, Traeger glanced around the table with a frown. “Am I the only one who thinks it’s fucked up that our manager isn’t even here?”
“Seriously?” Scarlett stared at him in disbelief. “I told you guys Cara couldn’t join us till Wednesday. What’s the problem?”
“The problem is that she’s our manager,” Traeger retorted, “and one of her responsibilities is to go on tour with us to make sure everything runs smoothly. If she can’t handle that, then we seriously need to think about hiring a tour manager.”
“With what money?” Ryu challenged. “We’re already paying a sound guy and a roadie, plus a manager. We can’t afford to hire any more staff.”
“And we don’t need to right now,” Scarlett insisted. “Cara—”
“—promised to take us to the next level and get us a record deal,” Traeger interjected. “But that hasn’t happened yet. So what the hell are we paying her for?”
There were mutterings around the table.
Scarlett glared at Traeger. “I can’t believe you just asked that question. Cara works her ass off for us—”
“Of course you’d defend her,” Traeger jeered. “You girls gotta stick together, right? Because feminism.”
“Fuck you,” Scarlett hissed. “This isn’t about feminism. It’s about calling you on your bullshit. Cara’s done a lot for us. I think it’s pretty shitty of you to claim otherwise.”
Traeger scowled. “I didn’t say she hasn’t done anything for us.”
“Sure sounded like it!”
“C’mon, guys,” Gage intervened. “Chill out.”
Traeger muttered something into his beer before chugging down the rest. Then he banged the empty glass down on the table and hunched over it, tense and brooding.
“Sometimes I think we would have been better off if Myles was still our manager.”
The name slammed into Scarlett like a gut punch.
Total silence fell over the table.
Too late Traeger realized his mistake. “Shit,” he muttered, his eyes flashing with remorse as he met Scarlett’s wounded gaze. “I didn’t mean—”
“You’re such an asshole.” She shoved away from the table and stalked off.
She heard chairs scraping. “Scar, wait—”
“Fuck off!” She was out the door before anyone could stop her.
Chapter 10
Scarlett
Living Room Flow
* * *
Fuming, she stormed off down the street. The cold night air stung her face and seeped through her leather jacket, but she was too upset to care.
Myles Katsaros.
The name reverberated in her mind. She could see him with painful clarity—handsome, charismatic, always sharply dressed and ready to impress. He’d seduced her, promised to make all her dreams come true. Then when she least expected it, he’d stomped all over her heart and humiliated her in the worst way imaginable.
How could Traeger utter that bastard’s name to her face? How fucking dare he?
“Son of a bitch,” she hissed, blinking back tears of hurt and fury.
She hadn’t gotten very far down the street when Gage, Ryu and Zander caught up to her, surrounding her like her own personal security detail. Even in her anger, she couldn’t outpace their longer strides.
“Where are you going?” Gage asked.
“Where do you think?” she snapped. “I’m going back to the hotel.”
“C’mon, Scarlett, don’t be mad,” Ryu cajoled. “You know Traeger didn’t mean to offend you.”
“Yeah,” Zander chimed in. “You know how he is. He’s not happy unless he’s miserable about something.”
“It’s more than that,” Gage said grimly. “He had a fight with his old man before we left Boston. It was pretty bad.”
This took some of the edge off Scarlett’s anger. They all knew about Traeger’s troubled relationship with his father. He’d almost dropped out of college because of it. If they hadn’t intervened, God only knows what he’d be doing with himself these days.
“I’m not making excuses for him,” Gage went on. “He was dead wrong for what he said, and he knows it. Believe me, Scar, he feels like shit right now.”
Scarlett looked over her shoulder, scanning the faces of the pedestrians walking up the busy street. “Where is he, anyway?” she grumbled.
Ryu chuckled. “We made him stay behind and pay the bill.”
She snorted. “Serves him right.”
“Sure,” Zander muttered. “Except he’ll probably hook up with those hot blondes who were flirting with him. So, yeah, we really showed him.”
His envious tone made Gage and Ryu laugh. Even Scarlett cracked a smile.
By the time they got back to their hotel, she’d banished all thoughts of Myles Katsaros from her mind. She’d moved on with her life a long time ago. She refused to expend any more emotional energy on someone so undeserving.
When they entered the hotel lobby, the boys wandered off to the bar while she headed up to her room. The hotel was an upgrade from the flea-bitten dumps they usually stayed in when they were on the road. Yet another benefit of touring with a more successful band.
Scarlett had just stepped into the elevator and pushed the button for her floor when she was joined by a tall guy with two bimbos, one under each arm. She immediately recognized him as Leo Harry, Black Kross’s charismatic frontman.
He pressed the seventh floor button and then blinked at Scarlett like a meth-head surfacing from a hallucination. Then a slow grin crawled across his face and he slurred, “Hey…Drummer Girl.”
Scarlett smiled. “Hey—”
“Wait. Don’t tell me.” He snapped his fingers. “Scarlett, right?”
“Right.”
He nodded a few times. “I’ve heard you play. You’re really good. Fucking talented, actually.”
“Thanks,” Scarlett said warmly. “So are you.”
“Isn’t he?” the bimbos cooed, gazing up adoringly at their rock god.
He kissed each one on the forehead before giving Scarlett a lazy grin. “We should collaborate sometime.”
“Really?” She got a little excited. “We’d love—”
“Not the guys. Just you.”
“Oh.” Her bubble of excitement deflated, and she felt herself frowning. She wasn’t doing any collabs without her bandmates. They were a package deal.
Before she could say that to Leo, the elevator doors opened on the seventh floor.
Leo got off with his simpering groupies, winking at Scarlett over his shoulder. “Be seeing you around, Drummer Girl.”
She smiled lamely. “Yep. You will.” Obviously.
When the elevator reached her floor, she got out and made her way to her room. Once she stepped through the door, she saw the bouquet of gardenias that she’d brought over from the Knitting Factory before dinner. The delightful fragrance filled the room, bringing a smile to her face and lifting her mood.
She went over to smell the bouquet, smiling some more as she touched the soft petals and thought
of Viggo. Pulling out her phone, she took a picture of the flowers and texted it to Nadia with the message: Look what #19 sent me.
She knew Nadia was probably cuddled up somewhere with Reid, so she didn’t expect to hear from her until tomorrow morning. But to her surprise, Nadia wrote back almost immediately: OMG! What gorgeous flowers! I told u that man is smitten!
Laughing, Scarlett responded: Don’t know abt all that. Hvnt heard from him since he texted to make sure I got here safely. That was hrs ago.
Stop worrying, Nadia admonished. He prbly went out with the fellas and lost track of time. How was the show???
Awesome, Scarlett enthused. Check my IG pics. But I wanna hear more about the chateau u found for the wedding. The pics look amazeballs!
IKR! Nadia gushed excitedly. We fell in love at first sight! It’s perfect for us. Can’t wait to show u!
Scarlett felt a sharp pang of homesickness as she typed: Can’t wait to see it. Where’s Reid?
She pictured her cousin grinning wickedly before answering: He went to get us some water. We just had an intense…workout.
Scarlett laughed. I bet you did, hussy!
A string of angel emojis followed that had her laughing even harder. Then Nadia wrote: He’s back now so…
Scarlett grinned lasciviously. Go drink that water, gurl! Slurp it up!
Nadia responded with laughing emojis. I’ll call u tomorrow!
Still grinning, Scarlett tossed her phone on the bed and instructed her Echo to play Jhené Aiko. As the opening notes of “Spotless Mind” poured out of the black cylindrical speaker, she headed to the bathroom to take a hot shower.
When she was done, she brushed her teeth and smoothed on some papaya body butter. Then she padded naked from the bathroom to reach her suitcase on the table by the window.
She’d packed Viggo’s old jersey, one of the best Christmas gifts she’d ever received. If she couldn’t be with him, wearing his jersey seemed like the next best thing. Well, not quite. But close enough.
Smiling to herself, she tugged on a pair of zebra-striped boy shorts. Then she slipped the jersey over her head, relishing the feel of it against her bare skin. The fabric was soft and warm, perfect for a cold winter night in New York. Not as perfect, though, as the lazy stroke of Viggo’s rough palms caressing her body. She wished she could feel those callused hands all over her right now.
The Swede Page 13
