VIP (Rock & Release, Act I)

by Edgewood, Riley

  "He comes across as a total jerk. I'm not blind."

  "But you're into him?" I keep my face molded into the least judgmental expression I can manage.

  "There is so much more to him than what you see on the surface." She pulls out a bag of chips. "Help yourself."

  I join her at the kitchen table, but am too full from the burger to eat. I wonder if I should keep asking her about Jared, or if it's too much too soon. She makes things easy and switches the conversation to BackBar and bartending and the essentials to making drinks. My gut tells me it won't be quite as easy as she makes it seem.

  An hour later she's following me out to my car to help carry my things in.

  This time when she says, "Make yourself at home," she means it literally and I blink furiously when my eyes grow hot with tears.

  But I brush them away because this is not a summer meant for tears. This summer's Cassidy is breezy and happy and not attached to anything serious.

  And I'm also—I can't help but think of Gage—ready for some serious heat.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Bartending is not easy if you have absolutely zero experience and the person you're working with apparently hates you for no reason.

  Oh, and your boss is just freaking living it up over how much you're struggling.

  Screwing the pourer on a bottle of tequila and giving a few silent three counts, I pour four shots for two slightly drunk old dudes, who, thank God, only order simple things like these shots and beers.

  But then an order for three margaritas comes in and even though I've already got the tequila out, it takes me forever to make them. I step around the huge damp spot on the ground where I've already—not once, but twice—spilled entire drinks.

  So actually I guess Clark—my co-bartender—doesn't hate me for no reason.

  The VIP patio is a million times more crowded before tonight's concert than it was for Demi Jade's. Or maybe it's just from my frenzied perspective behind the bar. And the bar. Oh, the bar. It's so much bigger than it looks from the other side. I swear I've walked five miles back and forth and back and forth in the past hour alone. Thank God Vera warned me about wearing comfortable shoes instead of the sandals I originally slipped on.

  I wipe my hand across my brow, finding it slick with sweat. I'm out of breath and I've already forgotten the next ingredient on the very short list of margarita ingredients. Oh wait. It's simple syrup. Where the hell is the simple syrup? I spin around looking everywhere, on top of the bar, below the bar—but everything just blurs together.

  This is hard. This is so fucking hard.

  I can't stop grinning.

  This is so much better than some stuffy internship.

  "Here." Clark manages to fit both a sigh and a sneer in one word and hands me a cocktail shaker. "Margaritas on the rocks already made. All you have to do is add ice to the cups and pour." He wraps his hand around my wrist to stop me as I'm about to do just that. "You have to salt the rims first."

  "Shit. Right. Sorry. Thanks."

  "Honey. You can't just stand there with a silly little smile." He pinches his pillowy lips together and cocks a well-groomed eyebrow. "You have to keep your shit together. I get that you're new, but if you make less tips, I make less tips."

  "Right. Sorry." Great. I can't stop repeating the same set of words. And I can't quite keep the corners of my mouth down, which I'm sure is even more irritating.

  "Listen." He runs a hand down the side of his short brown hair, smoothing it all back into place. "Trial by fire's the best way to learn this stuff as quickly as possible. People really only order a handful of different things. Once you have these, this'll be a breeze." He pauses. "That was not an intentional rhyme."

  I laugh. He's not so bad. "Noted."

  The next while goes by in a blur. Then after I've said, "Next?" without looking up, I hear, "Give me a beer or give me death, according to George Washington."

  Pleasure blooms through me, all melty and soft. Gage is leaning on the bar, his chin angled in my direction, watching me. "I see you took the job."

  "Yep!" The word comes out a little peppier than I intend, and I ignore the twinge of nervousness that maybe he didn't want me to take it, even though he said otherwise in the car. I choose to take him at his words—and I'm too high on the hustle and bustle from behind the bar to overthink things right now anyway. "I suck at it. And it's awesome."

  "It's nice to see your face again so soon," he says, and the nervous twinge melts into something much, much sweeter. "You'll get the hang of slinging drinks before too long."

  "I didn't think you were going to show up," I say. According to Jared, Gage was supposed to be here to perform on the VIP deck stage over an hour and a half ago.

  "Family emergency," he says, and must see the question I'm about to ask because he adds, "it's all good now, though."

  "Glad to hear it." I need to get back to taking—and making(ish)—orders, but I can't move on. I'm glued to the spot, too filled with the sight of him.

  "She's not too bad though, huh?" He gestures toward the deck, where Nicole is filling in for him. Her voice has come through here and there while I've worked. It's pretty and sweet. And simple.

  "You're better," I say, honestly.

  "You're biting this again." He taps a finger to my lower lip. "How am I ever going to finish her set if I can't concentrate on anything but that sexy lower lip of yours?"

  A little thrill shoots up my stomach. "Are you doing anything after work?"

  "Hanging with you," he says, like it's fact.

  Another little thrill. And another and another. "Sounds good." Sounds perfect.

  Clark snaps at me that people need drinks, nodding his head toward Gage, who leans all the way over the bar to snag a bottle of beer. "See ya after," he promises, heading toward the stage.

  When the concert starts and Jared lets me off my shift, I slump into a chair on the patio, exhausted and strangely euphoric. I made a hundred dollars in tips. A hundred dollars. It doesn't make me rich, but it does put me a step further away from relying so much on Daddy's credit card. And, according to Clark, who became much nicer after things slowed down, that's lower than the average take-in.

  When Vera finishes cleaning off her now empty tables—something I should probably offer to help with, but tonight I'm too tired to even function—I hand the cash out to her. Well, first I stuff a twenty in my back pocket. I've got to eat. "Here."

  She doesn't take it. "What's that for?"

  "Rent. Well, maybe like a tenth of rent. Or whatever you want for rent, guess we haven't discussed that yet. But part of it, anyway."

  "Cassidy, my mom covers my rent. You're my guest." She waves my hand away.

  "Then give it to her. Or take it for yourself." I keep the money out. "Plus, who knows how long I'll need to depend on your generosity?"

  "Stay all summer for all I care." Now she pushes my hand gently back to the table. "Unless you turn out to be a psycho or something, in which case you're out." But she's smiling as she says it.

  "I'll try my hardest to steer clear of psychoville." I smile, too.

  She heads to the bar, promising to return with beers and food. Which makes me realize I could probably eat a cardboard box at this point. I slide the rest of the money in my back pocket.

  A second later, Gage slips behind my chair, whispering, "Hey gorgeous," in my ear. I think he means to surprise me, but I've been hyperaware of his movements all night. Including the fact that he headed out toward the amphitheater when Fordham and Co started their set and that he came back into the patio less than a minute ago. Hmm. Maybe I need to work harder at steering clear of psychoville…

  "Hey yourself," I say and turn my head to the side, finding his nice, broad, sexy-as-hell shoulder in my line of vision. "Did you enjoy the opening act?"

  "Are you talking about last night or the band?" He gives a little tug on the braid my hair's thrown into. "The answer is yes to either. But especially last night." He whispers the last par
t into my ear and adrenaline spikes through me, swift and sensual.

  I cannot wait to get my hands on him again. To have his on me.

  In fact, if the way my heart is throwing itself against my chest in anticipation is any indication, I cannot wait another second. Forget the drinks and food. "Want to get out of here?"

  "My place?"

  "Uh," I pause, as Vera puts a beer in front of me. I don't know why the thought of his place makes me nervous, like it's a bigger step than I'm ready for. "Maybe Vera's?"

  "Cool with you?" he asks her.

  She shrugs, her gaze on my face. "My house is your house, make yourself comfortable. But if you're having a sleepover, so am I." She glances pointedly toward Jared, who's standing over by the bar.

  "But you said—"

  "I changed my mind."

  Great. Do I keep my earlier promise to Vera and stop her from bringing Jared home with her, or do I get to have Gage?

  He's trailing his thumb up and down my upper arm, raising a trail of gooseflesh in its wake, and my decision's made.

  "Guess we'll see you guys there," I say, instantly feeling like a jerk considering how nice she's been to me. But not enough of a jerk to change my mind about Gage. I ache for his touch in the most amazing way.

  She smiles. "Don't worry—I was bringing Jared home with me whatever you decided anyway."

  "Could've led with that," I say, relieved, handing her back the beer she's just delivered. Then I pull Gage out to the parking lot, beyond eager to find out what the rest of the night holds.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Gage arrives first, and he waits for me at the base of the concrete stairs leading up to Vera's apartment. He stands there, his hands half tucked into his jeans, his mouth parted into a disarming smile. My heart begins to beat a little harder. A little faster.

  "Hey." He smoothes a hand across my shoulder and runs it down my arm. I fight a shiver.

  Feeling bold, when his touch drops to the base of my wrist, I twist my palm and weave my fingers through his. "Hey back."

  I pull him up the first set of steps. Or maybe he's pulling me. I'm not sure. It's hard to make sense of anything, with this sudden rush of heat streaming through my veins.

  He glances at me, his eyes dancing like he knows exactly what I'm feeling. "How was your first shift?"

  "I'm exhausted, and I'm pretty sure I ruined more drinks than I didn't—but it was fun. I already can't wait until tomorrow."

  "Sounds like the perfect fit," he says, taking a step big enough to skip a few stairs and tugging me with him.

  A question flits through my mind, one I wondered about a few times tonight, but I hesitate to ask.

  Then, I do it anyway.

  "How many numbers would you say you collect in any given night?" I keep my tone light so he'll know the question doesn't spring from jealousy. I'm genuinely curious, because as tuned into him as I was tonight, I'm also well aware of how many other girls were, too.

  "I'm given," he says, glancing at me, "a few sometimes. Mostly by drunk girls. A few older women here and there."

  "Do you ever call them?" My legs, already exhausted from standing all night, are burning from the incline of the steps.

  "Not until you."

  My heart gives a little wiggle, but, "You haven't called me."

  "Twice today."

  I grab my phone from my bag. I haven't looked at it since the start of my shift. Three missed calls. One from Teagan, finally returning my call from earlier—but two from Gage. Tiny zips of happiness bring a little more energy into my steps.

  "I wanted to see what you were up to tonight, if your hangover let up enough to hang out when I got off work, but I already have my answer." He lays his hand against my lower back, his thumb stroking the fabric of my BackBar polo and I can't wait to get this thing off, to have his hand on my skin instead.

  This is new to me. This sensation. This go for it without getting caught up in thinking too much method of crushing on someone. On Gage. I like it. I really like it.

  I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning—otherwise I'd probably never stop and that would just be weird.

  "What did your parents say about you taking the job?" he asks.

  Ugh.

  Now it's easy not to grin, and my mood starts to fall. They haven't called. They haven't even texted me. They haven't—you know what? Forget it. They don't get to upset me anymore. Nope. Not tonight. Not this summer. I refuse to let sadness slip through; instead I turn and push him against the wall, standing on my tiptoes and tilting my chin up to level my mouth with his. "Who cares?"

  "I thought you might—"

  I kiss him. Hard.

  It's the new and improved way of sticking my fingers in my ears and singing "Na-na-na-na I can't hear you!"

  Only this way has his tongue sweeping through my lips, taking control of my mouth. This way has one of his hands cupping my head and weaving through my hair while the back of the other traces the length of my neck and skims across my collarbone.

  This way weakens my knees for completely new reasons.

  My nerves are on fire for the promise in the pressure of his touch, in the intensity of his kiss.

  He pulls away with the rumble of a growl in his throat. "Keep this up and we're not going to make it inside."

  Something unfurls in my chest. A lightness. A joy. A thrill.

  "So?" I draw a shaky breath and press harder against him. My mouth aches for his. "Take me."

  "Cassidy." His eyes darken, and he gives a slight shake of his head. "You little temptress."

  A giggle slips through my lips.

  I am in love with this new me.

  He grins his ferocious grin and grabs my hand, pulling me up the steps with him. "Come on."

  There is zero trace of tiredness in my legs anymore. Hell, I could probably sprint a marathon or two with all the energy revving through me.

  I shove the key Vera's given me into the door and fling it open, ready to go, go, go—but my shoes squeak SUPER loudly against the linoleum lining the entryway, and I nearly trip when they stick to the floor, thankfully catching myself on the wall first. I'm reminded of how many drinks I spilled tonight. My feet, my pants, my shirt, all are sticky with alcohol and mixers. I'm in desperate need of a shower.

  "Do you mind hanging out by yourself for a few?" I hope I'm not totally ruining the mood.

  "I suppose," he says. "But take too long and I'm coming in after you."

  Hmmm. Showering with Gage…sounds steamy. (Ba-doom-ching.)

  "I'll be quick," I promise. I toss him the remote control, but he sets it down on the coffee table, not using it, not dropping his eyes from mine. My mind goes blank for a second. "Uh… Are you hungry?"

  "Yes."

  I think of the chips and salsa from earlier. "I can fix you —"

  "Not for food."

  "Oh." Oh.

  The corner of his mouth quirks up. "I can't wait to taste you."

  I swallow. Twice. "Me, too… I mean, you, too. I mean I can't wait to taste you, too."

  Fucker. Could I be any worse at the sexy talk? And what does it even mean, to taste him? His mouth—or does he think I'm talking about…something else. Oh God. Embarrassment warms my cheeks. The center of my belly warms, too, but with desire. On second thought, maybe I do want to taste him, too…

  Struggling to sort through everything I feel, I chicken out and flee into the guest bathroom.

  I turn on the water and brush my teeth while waiting for it to warm. I shake my head at myself in the mirror. And to think I started so strong.

  "That was it," I whisper to my reflection. "That was the last time you get to run away from what you want." Because the night is still young, and not even a little embarrassment can kill my anticipation for what's coming.

  Thinking about what's ahead excites me. I start to take the fastest shower of my life—and then I realize…maybe I want to take too long. Maybe I want Gage to make good on his threat.

&n
bsp; Maybe I want to feel his body slip against mine, wet, with water streaming around us.

  God. Imagining it…his hands tugging through the tangles of my wet hair… My back pressed against the cool tile wall, and my legs wrapped around his waist… The way it’ll feel when he presses into me for the first time…

  Oh. Yeah.

  This is exactly what I want.

  So I stop rushing. I take my time. I shave. I deep-condition my hair. And I wait, closing my eyes against the stream of water and running my soapy hands along my body, pretending they’re his.

  And then I'm sick of pretending. I want him here. I want him now. And I'm not waiting anymore.

  Not bothering to turn off the water, or even wrap myself in a towel, I open the door to tell Gage to get his ass in here.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  Gage is sitting on the couch with his back to me and a baseball game on the TV. The sound of the shower running behind me fills the room, and his head jerks to the side when it reaches him. Slowly, with half a smile across his mouth, he twists all the way around to look at me.

  I…hide a little more than I intended behind the door and swallow around the ball of nervousness suddenly lodged in the base my throat. There's the new, ballsy Cassidy, and then there's the brazen level I haven't quite reached. Still, I say, "I've been in here a really long time."

  There. My words hardly shake at all.

  "I noticed." He walks around the couch, pausing by the arm, his half smile lifting wickedly. "Come out here and let me see you."

  Something's bubbling up through me, a nervous, excited sort of energy. I bite back a smile of my own. "I'm dripping wet behind this door…"

  He takes a step toward me. "Oh really?"

  "I've been waiting for you to make good on your promise."

  Another step. "The one where I threatened to come in after you if you took too long?"

  "Uh, yeah." As if I've forgotten. "Damn, Gage, how long is too long for you? An hour? A year? Because that's how long it feels like I've been waiting for you, needing you under the water with me."