Someone in the background—a female someone—burst into peals of laughter. Then two other women could be heard inviting Viggo to join them in the hot tub to “score another hat trick.”
A sick knot settled in the pit of Scarlett’s stomach. She’d been here before, and she swore she’d never return.
“Scarlett—”
“I don’t want to hold you up,” she cut him off. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your big night. I’ll let you get back to your celebration.”
She could sense his frustration. “Baby—”
“It’s cool. Really. Hit me up later if it’s not too late.” She ended the call before he could protest further. Then she sat there gnawing her lower lip, trying to silence the doubts niggling at the back of her mind.
“Boy trouble?”
Scarlett glanced up to see Leo Harry watching her from the doorway. He was smoking a joint with his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed behind a haze of smoke.
“Mind if I join you?”
Scarlett motioned vaguely toward the sofa. “It’s your party.”
He blew out a stream of smoke and grinned through it. “You really know how to make a guy feel wanted.”
She couldn’t help grinning as he sauntered into the room and plopped down beside her. He was tall and Mick Jagger skinny, not an ounce of fat on him. He was wearing all black—a long black trench, a black T-shirt, black jeans and black combat boots. His shoulder-length hair was dyed raven black, and he wore dark makeup that accentuated his bright green eyes. He looked like a Goth rocker, but on him it didn’t seem gimmicky and contrived. His badassery seemed innate, like he’d hurtled out of the womb rocking tats and tossing up horns. He wasn’t boy-band handsome, but there was something intriguingly sexy about him that was hard to resist.
“So how’s it going, Drummer Girl?”
“Good.” Scarlett finished her Jack and Coke and put the empty glass on the floor.
Toking on his joint, Leo hitched his chin toward the television where another hour of NHL Tonight had just started. “I heard you were a big hockey fan.”
“Yep.” They were showing replays from the Rebels game. Her stomach knotted at the sight of Viggo scoring one of his three goals and pumping his fist in the air as the crowd erupted in celebration.
“I figured you’d wanna catch highlights after our show,” Leo said, “so I told everyone to stay out of this room so you’d have it all to yourself.”
Scarlett guffawed. “You did not.”
“Why do you think it was empty when you got here? You didn’t think it was weird that no one was in here fucking or getting high?”
“The thought may have crossed my mind.” She gave him a lazy smile. “Why would you go to the trouble of reserving a room for me?”
“Because I want something from you.” He passed his joint to her.
She took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs, then blew out three perfect smoke rings that curled toward the ceiling.
Leo watched her with a pleased grin. “Such a badass.”
She chuckled and passed the joint back to him, feeling pleasantly buzzed. “So what exactly do you want from me?”
“Glad you asked.” He took a long pull on the blunt, exhaled smoke through his nostrils and smiled at her. “I wrote a song that’s perfect for your voice and drumming style. I want you to record it with me.”
Scarlett gave him an amused look. “Don’t you already have a drummer?”
“Yeah. Your point?”
“How would he feel about this little project of ours?”
“I don’t give a shit. Your drumming runs circles around his and he knows it. Plus he’s not a singer. You are.” His eyes drifted over her face, stopping on her mouth. “You’re the total package.”
Scarlett raised a teasing eyebrow. “Are we still talking about music?”
“Of course. It’s always about the music.” He grinned and leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the sofa as he lifted the joint to his mouth and took a few lazy tokes before exhaling. “So what do you say, Drummer Girl? Ready to make a number one hit with me?”
As Scarlett watched the smoke curl from his lips, her mind flashed on an image of some bunny bouncing up and down on Viggo’s dick in the hot tub.
She frowned, giving herself a mental shake. “I’m not comfortable collaborating with other musicians.”
Leo looked baffled. “What’s the big deal? Musicians collab all the time.”
“I know. And I know it can be really successful and a great way to cross-pollinate fans. But…I don’t know. I don’t want to start doing side projects while my bandmates and I are still trying to break through.” She paused. “I guess what I’m saying is that we’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the others.”
Leo gave her a long, shrewd look before nodding. “Fair enough. How about you do the song with me, and our bands can team up on another project?”
Scarlett stared at him. “You’d be open to that?”
“I would.” He sat forward on the sofa, his knee brushing hers. “But I want something else.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she knew.
“Dude, I’m not having sex with you.”
He grinned. “I just want a kiss.”
She snorted. “Seriously?”
“What? You’re hot and you’ve got the sexiest fucking lips I’ve ever seen.” His grin spread. “I swear I’m not fetishizing you or anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do so many white boys make that disclaimer? Newsflash: Not every black woman feels fetishized by a white guy complimenting her God-given features. Do you know how many black guys have told me I have dick-sucking lips? Are they fetishizing me, too?”
“Possibly.” Leo moved in quick and smooth, kissing her before she had a chance to react.
She wasn’t really surprised. She’d known on some level that they would end up here before the tour was over. It was practically a cliché, two lead singers hooking up while on the road together.
Leo wasn’t a half bad kisser. He clearly knew what he was doing. But her heart wasn’t jackhammering in her chest. Her nipples weren’t throbbing. Her thighs weren’t clenching. She wasn’t gasping with pleasure and begging for more. She didn’t feel like she might die if the kiss ever ended.
As Leo cupped her cheek with his free hand, she thought of Traeger calling her a prude. She was a female drummer and the frontwoman of a rock band. She was used to defying convention and kicking down doors that others tried to slam in her face. She bucked the norm in every area of her life but one: sex. Try as she might, she just couldn’t be as cavalier about sex as guys were.
She wished she could be. She wished she could enjoy as many random hookups as her bandmates did. But she just wasn’t wired that way. And she realized that the only man who could even tempt her away from Viggo was…well, Viggo.
So after about ten seconds, she put her hand on Leo’s chest and firmly pushed him away.
He must have been really into the kiss because his eyes were slow to open and he was breathing pretty fast.
She patted his chest and smirked. “You got your kiss. Now I want my collaboration.”
He stared at her, confusion in his eyes. “Huh?”
“Dude? You there?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, causing him to blink. “I’m talking about our band collab. Black Kross and Off The Grid. Remember that?”
He glanced down at the half-burned joint dangling between his fingers. “Let’s do our song first—”
“Nope. The other project first, then our song. And both will have to wait until we complete our next album.”
Leo lifted the joint to his mouth and drew in a deep drag, then slowly blew out the smoke and gave her a crooked half grin. “You’re something else, Drummer Girl.”
She smiled prettily. “I’ve been called worse.”
He chuckled, his eyes drifting to her mouth
again. “How about another kiss? Longer this time.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ah, c’mon—”
“I’m seeing someone.”
He smirked. “The same someone you were moping over when I got here?”
Before Scarlett could respond, she heard laughter and voices whispering outside the room. Then Gage appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto her face.
“I’m heading out,” he said gruffly. “Wanted to see if you were ready to go.”
“Yes.” She smiled at Leo and briskly patted his knee. “I’ll have our manager call yours.”
“Uh-huh.” He leaned back against the sofa and winked at her. “Be seeing you around, Drummer Girl.”
When Scarlett walked up to Gage, he draped his arm protectively around her shoulders and pulled her next to him. Then he glanced back at Leo and gave him a brusque nod before steering Scarlett out the door.
As they started down the hallway together, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Gage.”
“Anytime, baby girl. Anytime.”
* * *
Her phone rang shortly after three a.m.
She was already awake, staring out the window at the twinkling lights of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Rolling onto her other side, she pulled the phone out from under her pillow and stared at the glowing screen. She’d saved Viggo’s number to her contacts, identifying him as The Swede.
Seeing that name on the screen wreaked havoc on her heartbeat. She took a deep breath, pressed the button to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi.” His voice was low and soft. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m up.”
“I know you’re two hours ahead in New York—”
“It’s fine. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I,” he murmured. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”
“Me, too.” She swallowed. “I hope I didn’t mess up your big night by acting bitchy. I just…I didn’t—”
“You didn’t want me hanging out at a party with a bunch of bunnies.”
She bit her lip, heat rising up her cheeks. “I guess I didn’t.”
“I understand.” His voice was grim. “I felt the same way about you partying with a bunch of rock stars and groupies. I was jealous as hell. If I could have teleported myself to that party and carried you out of there, I would have in a New York fucking minute.”
His words made her belly flip-flop. “Viggo—”
“I’m so fucking serious, Scarlett. The way I feel about you…honestly, it scares the shit out of me sometimes.”
“Why?” she whispered.
There was a long pause. “Because I’m not used to feeling this way about anyone.”
The words hung between them, reverberating across the distance that separated them. Scarlett closed her eyes, her heart pounding like an erratic drum she couldn’t control.
“I’m feeling pretty scared myself,” she quietly confessed.
Viggo didn’t say anything for a few moments, letting her words sink in. Then he pushed out a deep, ragged breath. “Would you think I was an asshole if I asked you to skip the rest of the parties?”
A small smile flitted over her lips. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you plan to stop going to parties as well. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“Of course I’ll stop going,” he said gruffly. “The only reason I went tonight was because it was Dmitri’s thirtieth birthday and I had already promised to show up. I love the guy, but his party was the last place I wanted to be tonight.”
That made her smile. “So you didn’t score another hat trick with any bunnies?”
“Fuck no.”
Smiling harder, Scarlett rolled onto her back and sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I spent most of the party holed up in some room watching hockey highlights.”
“Yeah?” Viggo tried not to sound too pleased, but she knew he was. And that made her smile even more.
“By the way,” she said warmly, “thank you so much for the pregame shout-out. That was a wonderful thing you did for me and my band.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You know how much I love your music. I was just spreading the word.”
She smiled. “Word of mouth is an indie band’s best friend. Who knows how many new fans we just gained because of you?”
“Lots, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.” She turned her head on the pillow and stared out the window for a few moments. “About the parties…”
“What about them?” Tension had edged back into Viggo’s voice.
She sighed. “As much as I’d love to order you to stay the hell away from parties filled with bunnies, that probably wouldn’t be very mature of me. I don’t want to smother you or dictate your comings and goings. You’re a professional hockey player and I’m in a rock band, so we’re gonna be spending a lot of time apart. If we’re gonna make this work, we have to be able to trust each other. That means you should be able to hang out with your teammates without me obsessing over some hobag riding your dick in the hot tub.” She had to grit her teeth before finishing, “And I should be able to go out with my bandmates without worrying about you showing up out of nowhere to drag me away like some caveman.”
Viggo got super quiet.
She held the phone closer to her ear, gnawing her lower lip. “I’m really trying to be mature here—”
“Maturity is overrated.”
She let out a small laugh that sounded a little choked.
“If you’re gonna be partying and clubbing when we’re apart,” Viggo growled, “it’s probably best if you don’t tell me. The less I know the better.”
Scarlett nodded slowly, even though he couldn’t see her. She was already having second thoughts. She’d practically given him the green light to party with hockey hookers. Was she out of her damn mind?
Swallowing hard, she stared at the ceiling and whispered, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and swallowed again. “I hope you won’t.”
He didn’t say anything.
She waited, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Scarlett,” he said quietly. “That’s the last thing on earth I’d ever want to do.”
She licked her lips. Her eyes felt suspiciously moist.
He let out a heavy breath. “Anyway, it’s late and I don’t want to keep you up much longer. Rhode Island is, what, three hours from New York?”
“Something like that. Gage is driving.”
“He’s your lead guitarist, right?”
“Right.” She smiled. “He usually does most of the driving. It’s kind of a control thing with him.”
Viggo chuckled. “I look forward to meeting your bandmates.”
Her smile softened. “I want you to meet them, too. Very much.”
Silence lapsed between them. Neither wanted to let the other go.
“Scarlett.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
Viggo was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was so low the words were barely audible. But not only did she hear them, she felt them in her soul:
“You’re not the only one who’s afraid of getting hurt.”
Chapter 12
Viggo
Bad Blood
* * *
Viggo’s heart was pounding as he skated into the faceoff circle.
There were only twenty seconds left on the clock and his team was down by a point. He was the captain, so everyone was counting on him to tie the score and send the game into overtime. He couldn’t let them down.
He crouched low to the ice, bringing himself almost nose to nose with his opponent Jöran Axelsson.
Jöran sneered at him from behind his visor
.
Viggo sneered right back. He hated Jöran’s guts, and the feeling was mutual.
The referee dropped the puck.
Viggo and Jöran pounced, hacking and whacking at the puck.
Viggo won the faceoff and sent the puck to his right winger, who took off like a shot. Viggo charged after him, laying a shoulder into Jöran to knock him off balance.
He could feel the clock ticking, could feel his pulse roaring in his ears as his wingman passed him the puck. He scooped it up and raced up the middle of the ice, skating for all he was worth. After deking the opposing defenseman, he pulled back his stick and fired the puck toward the left corner of the net.
But his aim was off and the shot went wide, hitting the post with an agonizing clang!
As the buzzer sounded, the other team and their fans burst into celebration.
Viggo stood there stunned.
The game was over. His team had lost. He’d let everyone down.
His parents would be disappointed.
Farfar would be furious.
Jöran skated past, bumping Viggo’s shoulder with a triumphant smirk. “Better luck next time, loser!”
Viggo gritted his teeth and choked back the tears that clouded his vision.
Not daring to look toward the stands, he hung his head and skated off the ice, following his dejected teammates into the locker room.
He sat through Coach’s postgame speech without crying. The pep talk only made him feel worse, and he couldn’t look anyone in the eye.
When Coach dismissed them to go home, Viggo took his time getting dressed. He was still there when the last of his teammates left.
Stalling some more, he sat on the bench and started unwrapping the tape from his hockey stick. That’s when he heard voices on the other side of the lockers.
His grandfather and Coach were talking. About him.
He broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach started churning and he wanted to throw up.
Coach didn’t allow parents in the locker room. But he always made an exception for the great Olof Sandström.
The Swede Page 18
