Playing With Fire (Grindstone Harbor, #2)

by Cat Mason

  “Bite me, Flapperella,” I mutter under my breath. “You’re not helping.”

  Tanner’s fingers squeeze my knee again, silently attempting to give me comfort while I internally kick my own ass over my uncontrolled outburst. Yes, that chick was a total bitch, but that doesn’t matter now. “Can you get this taken down?” Tanner asks, looking between Beats and Buzz.

  “Sure,” Buzz shrugs. “I can take down the link posted on our site. Nothing I can do about the video up on YouTube though, man.”

  “Son of a shitshow,” I groan, hindsight biting me in the ass like a rabid dog. “I look like a complete cunt bag.”

  “Cunt bag?” Bristol says, testing the term questioningly. “Is that like a condom? Because I think it’s safe to say—” She stops speaking the moment Tanner and I both shift to pin her with icy glares. Nodding, she settles back in her seat. “Right. I’ll save that one for the delivery room.”

  “Gee, thanks,” I sniffle, feeling tears sting my eyes. “So, I probably could’ve handled that bitchy cashier better than I did.”

  “Ya think?” Greer snorts, sarcasm dripping from his tone. “You threw some guy’s tray on the floor after screaming at a woman about biscuits.” He shakes his head. “So, yeah. I guess you can say you could’ve handled that better.”

  “Sue me, okay?” I return, not needing his bullshit since I am currently doing a bang-up job of inwardly tearing myself a new ass without any help from him. “It’s been a rough summer.”

  “Well...” Beats flashes a big smile. “You could always go on after our break and explain this one. We never get exclusive shit like this, and I’m more than happy to give you the opportunity to throw it all out there and explain. You can apologize for the outburst, or blame it on a joke gone wrong, I don’t care how you wanna spin it. Then, announce the baby news and maybe perform another song from the album to turn the focus back on the music. Can’t go wrong there.”

  “No,” Greer barks, nearly knocking over the chairs in his way to get to me. “The interview’s over.”

  “Yeah...” Pushing to my feet, I shake my head. “As tempting as that offer may be, I think I’ve stirred up enough conversation for one day without dropping a baby bombshell like someone on a bad reality show. I appreciate the offer.”

  “All right.” Beats nods, disappointment written all over her face. “Can’t blame a girl for tryin’.”

  With Tanner and Greer at my back, I follow Bristol out of the studio and down the hall where Evan is impatiently pacing the length of the room, his phone to his ear. “That’s not your business,” he says, sounding irritated. “And I told you ten goddamn times, woman, I will handle it. You dragging your uppity ass on a plane right now will only make shit worse for all of us. Especially me.”

  Bristol stops and looks my way. “Vicki,” we blurt at the same time.

  Victoria Brandwell, our very own personal pain in the ass PR liaison from Frayed Edge Records. Obviously, that isn’t her actual professional title, but I prefer it over the boring bullshit one she flaunts like she rules the world. If her flashy gold business cards were as big as her ego, they’d be the size of highway billboards.

  While the vile woman is undoubtably good at her job, she is possibly the most frigid, rancid bitch I’ve ever met in my life. Having spent years working with her, I can safely say that she has it out for every one of us. Especially, Evan. In fact, I’d bet my lucky pink guitar strap that Icky Vicki goes out of her way to call E when something goes wrong just so she has an excuse to bitch and nag at him like he is her own personal whipping boy.

  “Tell her to get laid and to have a nice day,” I snap, passing everyone up and heading his way. “Maybe if she took a dick more often she wouldn’t feel the need to be one.”

  “Quinn!” Catching up to me, Bristol bites back a laugh. “Well... Okay. That’s not exactly an untrue statement.”

  “How about you take a few calming breaths, focus on whatever the fuck it is you do behind that desk, and let me do the damn job I get paid for.” Evan’s tone hardens. “I got this. Okay? I’ll be in touch,” he grumbles into the phone before ending the call. “Icky Vicki is spewin’ fire like a pissed off volcano.”

  “Hey, Icky Vicki!” the four of us chuckle, throwing up our middle fingers. Greer looks my way, his lips twitching up in a smile, mirroring the rest of us as the tension starts to leave his shoulders. No matter how pissy we get with each other, at least some things never change.

  “Should we be expecting another house guest?” Bristol asks, arching a brow in Evan’s direction. “Because I’ll call her business casual, unwrinkled pencil skirt wearin’ ass back if I have to. Hotel Lachlan is full the fuck up. As in no vacancy.”

  “I don’t wanna share oxygen with that bitch either,” he admits, grabbing up the large duffle of equipment at his feet. “I told her to keep her ass on the west coast where it belongs. Don’t go blamin’ a guy when his super power isn’t bitch deflection.”

  “Maybe you should try to sleep with her,” Bristol snorts, slapping my arm. “That usually sends them running in the other direction.”

  “Comin’ down with a case of jealous bitchitis?” he fires back. “Hear they make a cream for that.”

  “Nope.” Bristol shakes her head. “That’s doubly inaccurate.”

  “How about we quit bickering like five-year olds and direct our attention on whatever it takes to keep Vicki from buying herself a first-class ticket to come piss in our Cheerios?” my brother chimes in.

  “It would also be a great idea if we don’t have this very private conversation in the middle of a radio station foyer, for anyone to hear,” I blurt, wanting to squash this shit down now, before it gets too heavy and heated.

  Bristol looks over at me, her brow rising. “That’s a hell of an idea. A little late now though.”

  “Just like her—” I shoot my brother a glare, silently daring him to finish that sentence. He doesn’t. Clearing his throat, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “Let’s get the hell outta here. We can discuss the shit you stepped in back at the house.”

  “Cheese and bean dip,” I hiss, scrunching up my nose as I look down at the beautiful shoes that I stayed up all night to order when the fall line came out. “Can we please find any other way to describe this situation? One that maybe doesn’t involve me destroying a perfectly gorgeous pair of three hundred-dollar boots?” Sighing, I press a hand to my chest. “I can literally feel my heart breaking.”

  “Hang the fuck on.” Tanner’s eyes drop to my shoes. “Three hundred bones? For one pair of boots? That’s one-fifty a damn shoe.”

  “Yes,” I smirk. “Can someone please get the man a cookie for his fancy schmancy math skills?”

  “Smartass,” Tanner mutters, shaking his head. “I don’t think my entire shoe collection set me back that much.”

  Laughing, I look down at his beat to hell red Chucks. “Trust me.” Meeting his eyes, I reach up and pat his face, stopping a second to let my fingertips rake over his stubble-covered jaw. A tingle runs down my spine at the thought of how good those coarse hairs would feel between my thighs. The thought momentarily pushing back all the bullshit we have currently stacking up that demands to be dealt with. His smirk mirrors my own, brown eyes burning into mine, letting me know he’s all too aware of the dirty turn my thoughts have taken. Clearing my throat, I drop my hand, instantly missing the feel of his skin. Forcing myself to shrug it off, I turn for the door. “No one’s lookin’ at your shoes.”

  After getting our gear together, Greer and Tanner help Evan load it up into the back of the SUV to make sure we get the hell out of here before any of the impending media circus Vicki swears is headed our way manages to corner us in the parking lot. Most of the ride, I stare out the window, watching the white dotted lines on the highway whip by. My mind is whirling, replaying this morning at the restaurant, along with the interview, a million times over in my head.

  Evan, Bristol, and Greer spend most of the ride back to the hous
e working out a damage control strategy that spins the attention coming our way away from me and toward the upcoming album. “This is insanity,” I huff, crossing my arms over my chest. “I called a chick out at the breakfast counter because of shitty service and her bad attitude. Hell, I know I’m not the only complaint she’s ever had.”

  “Bet you’re the only one who’s ever thrown a tray,” Tanner chuckles beside me.

  “I pushed a tray into the floor,” I correct him calmly. “It’s not like I killed anyone.”

  “It’s still early,” Greer deadpans. “Anyone got the odds on the delivery driver who brings dinner?”

  “You’re so funny,” I snort sarcastically. “For your information, pricky pants, there’s not any places that deliver to Bristol’s house.”

  “Yep,” E chimes in. “We’re too far out in the middle of fucking nowhere for anyone to deliver.”

  “Except Tage,” Bristol blurts. “He delivers all my orders personally.”

  “That’s because he’s the one giving you the tip,” I snort, rolling my eyes. “Men go the extra mile when there’s pussy involved.”

  “Yeah.” Sliding down in her seat, she props her feet up on the dash and crosses her ankles. "But, to be fair, it’s not a mile from his house to mine. Only about a thousand feet.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Vicki the Bitchtator

  Tanner

  The moment we get back to the house, everyone starts to scatter. Bristol takes off to find Moo and steal herself a few minutes with Tage before he leaves for the bar for the night. Claiming he’s initiating his own version of a full prison style lockdown, Evan decides to focus on checking the gates and fencing. This leaves me currently standing between Greer and Quinn, wondering who is going to crack first.

  And if they’re about to break Bristol’s no bloodshed in the house rule.

  “You two are doin’ this?” Greer asks, breaking the silence. His eyes shift between us a couple times, before sizing me up as if we haven’t known each other our nearly entire lives. “And you expect me to be okay with it?”

  “Greer,” Quinn warns, her stare hardening.

  “Sure as hell be easier if you were,” I admit, figuring this is about to go one of two ways. Either Greer punches me in the face and I manage to convince Quinn to spend the night kissing various parts of my body to make me feel better. Or Quinn punches both of us in the face and I spend my night yanking one out and sleeping alone in Tage’s guest room. “If you’re not that sucks, but it’s between you and me to settle that shit. Quinn has enough on her plate right now.”

  “I’m standing right here, you know?” she mutters, hands on her hips.

  “Could you do it quietly?” Greer asks, his eyes fixed on me. “My question was for Tanner.”

  “I can do it while planning your death,” she fires back, flashing him a grin.

  “Yeah.” Glancing over at Quinn, I nod. “We’re doin’ this.”

  Puffing out his chest, Greer steps closer. His fists ball at his sides and I inwardly prepare to take a right hook to the face from my best friend. It’s not the first time Greer has swung at me. I’ve put myself between him and other people plenty enough times to know when he is wound up enough about something to let one fly. It also isn’t the first time I’ve stepped between him and Quinn during a disagreement either.

  “Guess I’ll have to figure out a way to get good with it,” he says, surprising me. “As long as she’s happy.”

  “What?” Quinn blurts, sounding as shocked as I am.

  “You’re a fucking Baker.” Looking over at her, he shrugs, his eyes softening and filling with love for his sister. “You’re gonna do whatever the hell you want, Quinnie. No matter what anyone’s got to say about it.” Scrubbing a hand over his shaved head, he chuckles. “I’ll always be in your corner. Even if I know you won’t need my help beating his ass, shit goes bad and you get hurt.”

  “Well.” She snorts out a little laugh. “You’re not wrong.”

  And he isn’t.

  Quinn is by far the scarier of the Baker crew.

  Like there was ever any doubt about that.

  “First step is admitting that I’m always right.” Sidestepping me, he pulls her into a hug. “Next, we start spreading the word.”

  “Asshole.” Pulling back, she shoves his shoulder. “You’ve never been right about anything. Ever.”

  “Just because we don’t agree on anything, little sister, doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

  “Actually.” Smiling, she taps the end of her nose with her index finger. “That’s exactly what it means.”

  “You know what?” I interrupt, happy that neither of them decided to hit me. At least for the moment. “I’m thinkin’ this is probably the perfect place to end this conversation. After the apologies and hugs, but before the violence and bloodshed to the general area of my person.”

  “Okay.” Turning on her heel, Quinn looks up at me, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “Though it has to be said, I’m only agreeing because I’ve probably got a dozen missed calls and a guaranteed hour’s worth of ranting voicemails from Vicki to listen to and categorize by level of cuntiness.”

  “Don’t torture yourself with that bullshit.” As usual, when Greer gets pissed off, the top of his head turns red. I’m pretty sure it has been that deep shade of freshly picked tomato since he was born. “E can handle that bitch.”

  “Exactly,” I agree. “That’s what we pay his big ass for.”

  “E gets paid to handle our security,” Quinn corrects us both. “Not to be the buffer between us and all of the things we don’t want to deal with.” Turning for the stairs, she flips her hair, sending the long blonde strands tumbling down her back. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.”

  Scrubbing a hand over his face, Greer blows out a shaky breath. “That should go well.”

  “Yeah.” Huffing out a laugh, I shake my head. “And I’m giving up guitar for the tambourine.” He laughs, his body relaxing for the first time in days. The tension between us easing considerably. “You keepin’ the room at the hotel?” I ask, knowing him stepping back like he did didn’t go over well with any of us. Even if I get why he did it. “Quinn needs you here.”

  “Evan’s already bitchin’ about going after my shit before the whole fuckin’ town is crawlin’ with photographers.” Grabbing onto my shoulder, he claps me on the back. “You know I’ll kill you if you hurt her again,” he says, his voice completely calm and even. “Even if I consider you my brother.”

  Nodding, I look toward the stairs, my chest tightening at the thought of doing something stupid and losing ground with Quinn again. “There’s never been a time when I haven’t wanted her for myself. I tried to deny it. Swallowed it down for years, pretending she wasn’t everything I ever wanted.”

  “And you never thought to tell her that?”

  “Started to a million times,” I admit. “I’ve held it back from everyone, including myself, because I was afraid of what would happen to all of us if I said that shit out loud. I sank my cock into groupie after groupie, wishin’ like hell someone could ever measure up to her.” Huffing out a frustrated breath, I drop my eyes to the ground. “They never do, man. None of ‘em.”

  And that’s the truth of it all. I fucked a different piece of ass after nearly every show, spent hours trying to deny that I wasn’t secretly wishing it were Quinn beneath me. Every time I closed my eyes, it was her face I saw. Her soft red lips panting my name.

  “You’re talking about my sister,” Greer says, sounding conflicted. “I’m not sure if I should knock your teeth down your throat, hurl on your fucking shoes, or pat you on the back for finally getting your shit together.” Quinn’s voice echoing has us both looking to the stairs again. “What I do know is that I’ve gotta come to grips with it because losing my family isn’t an option.” Chuckling, he claps me on the back again. “The bright side is I get to clock out, sit back, and have a beer with E and Bristol while you handle the afterma
th of that phone call.” My eyes shoot to his, meeting his wide smile. “Good luck with that.”

  “Quinn Baker,” she snaps, her voice getting louder. “I don’t give a shit who Ms. Brandwell is occupied with on the other line. Drop that call and put me the fuck through.”

  He laughs again, this time his entire body shakes. “Maybe you should have a beer or two first.”

  “As great as that sounds, someone should probably make sure she doesn’t kill anyone,” I say, jerking my chin toward the staircase right about the time Quinn roars with rage. Something crashes against the wall, followed by more screaming and cursing from Quinn. I wince. “Or break everything on the second floor.”

  “Suit yourself, man.” Shaking his head, he starts for the kitchen. “I’ll notify your next of kin.”

  “Well, I guess a beer couldn’t hurt.” Shaking off a shiver, I follow behind him to grab myself a beer and hopefully find something chocolate to toss at Quinn in the event of a complete emotional breakdown. Not because I’m scared of the tiny, hormonally unstable woman, currently ripping whatever poor bastard that was lucky enough to answer the phone at Frayed Edge Records a new ass while demolishing what sounds like the entire left side of the second floor of the house.

  Okay, so maybe I’m a little concerned I may take a shot to the head with a blunt object.

  Sue me.

  I’m a little attached to my face.

  Quinn

  “DO YOU INTENTIONALLY try to make my life difficult?” Vicki the thundercunt barks into the phone at me in lieu of a normal greeting. “How hard is it for you reckless idiots to just record an album and do a simple interview for some mediocre radio show?”

  “Hello to you too, sweetcheeks,” I fire back. After having listened to the numerous voicemails from her, ripping me a new ass and demanding that I call her back immediately to face what mess I caused for her to handle, I knew good and well this wasn’t going to be a call filled with pleasantries. Nothing when it comes to Vicki usually is. It’s pretty safe to say that she would rather deal with anyone other than us. It often makes me wonder if she enjoys throwing us all that attitude, or if she is miserable and hasn’t been able to toss us off onto someone else at the label. Not that I care. I have no problem giving that ‘tude right back to her. Especially since I’ve heard how she talks to Bristol and the guys, even when they work their asses off to keep it polite and professional with her. “Guess it’s safe to assume you didn’t call to chat about what colors are trending this fall.”