Turn up the Tempo (Lyrical Odyssey Rock Star Series Book 4)

by Charli B. Rose

  Brooks: Thought you were going to ignore me all day.

  Me: No. Just lost in the world of dance.

  Brooks: Say no more.

  Brooks: I’ll put you out of your misery.

  Brooks: I – I

  Brooks: N – Need

  Brooks: Y – You

  Brooks: C – Coming

  Brooks: O – On

  Brooks: M – My

  Brooks: Do I need to keep going?

  Me: I think I know what you meant. So do you need that right now?

  Brooks: Yes

  Me: I’ll order dinner for us. We’ll need our strength.

  Brooks: Can’t tonight. I have a band obligation.

  Brooks: Tomorrow?

  Me: Sure

  Another text alert chimed on my phone. I smiled, expecting it to be Brooks again. Instead it was Wilder.

  Wilder: You busy?

  Me: Just lounging on the couch.

  Wilder: I’m sorry.

  Me: For what?

  Wilder: …

  Wilder: …

  The three dots danced and danced, but no message came through. Finally, my phone vibrated with an incoming call.

  “Hey, Wilder. Tired of texting already?” I greeted.

  “No. The message was getting too long to be text appropriate,” he said sheepishly.

  “OK. I’m listening.”

  “I’m sorry for drinking too much last night. For shutting down. For passing out in your lap and trapping you in my apartment. For abandoning you without a ride home. And I’m sure for a bunch of other foolish things too. Believe me, that was not how I’d planned for our evening to go.”

  “Oh, really?”

  “No. I was hoping we’d pig out on rocky road while I turned you into a fan of Sons of Anarchy. Then we could … um … maybe …” Wilder stammered and stuttered then muttered something under his breath to himself. “What I mean is, we had a lot of fun that night after the awards ceremony. Didn’t we, my brown-eyed girl?”

  The corner of my lips tipped up at this smooth, hunk of a man getting tongue-tied over me. “Yeah, Wilder, we had fun,” I whispered. “And you know my eyes aren’t brown,” I teased, trying to lighten the mood.

  “I just wanted to say that I wouldn’t be opposed to a do over,” he finally blurted.

  “Noted,” I said with a chuckle.

  “Anyway, I feel like I owe you another night out to make up for my dickishness. How about it?” he asked, hope lacing his words.

  “I think that can be arranged. Maybe next week would be good,” I answered noncommittally. “I don’t know what my schedule is like yet.”

  “Great. And if you need anything before then, call me.”

  “You too,” I said then whispered, “Bye, Wilder.”

  Lyric scampered to the back door and whined. “I’m coming, cutie pie.” I tucked my phone into my pocket and went onto the back deck with the pup. As soon as the fresh air filled her nose, the little rascal slipped and tumbled her way into the grass. I giggled as she found a stick longer than she was and tried to bring it to me. Playing with her was a great distraction.

  “Hey, Cleo,” I exclaimed into the phone. She and I had exchanged numbers back in Vegas.

  “Hello to you too, girl. I’m coming to get you in an hour. We’re going clubbing,” she ordered. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be ready.” I needed some girl time. Needed to get out of the house. Desperately needed a break from Wilder’s hopefulness and Brooks’s broodiness. A night out with the loud, exuberant Cleo would definitely get my mind off things.

  I took care of Lyric and then dug through my clothes to see what my options were. Finally, I shimmied into a pair of white denim capris then slipped on a purple cropped sweater. Using my curling iron, I added some big, loose waves to my hair. A swipe of mascara and some wine-colored lipstick was all I had left to do to get ready. Patting myself on the back, I was downstairs, waiting with ten minutes to spare.

  Shortly, a car horn outside alerted me to Cleo’s arrival. I grabbed my purse, slipped on my wedges and then headed out to the waiting car.

  Cleo jumped up and down in her heels when she saw me come through the gate. “Dayum! You look amazing,” she gushed as she wrapped me in a hug.

  “Thanks. You’re looking pretty hot yourself.” I made a show of surveying her leather mini skirt and red corset type top that pushed her boobs up quite high.

  Cleo tossed her crimson-tipped, blonde hair over her shoulder. “Scandalous is what I was going for, but hot works too.” She laughed uproariously. “Come on.” She climbed into the backseat then patted the spot beside her.

  I followed her and shut the door. Cleo leaned over the seat and directed our driver to whatever club she’d selected for our night out. Once he confirmed our destination, he cranked up the radio and we were on our way to a party.

  ♪ Shake it Off by Taylor Swift

  “So how’s the little cutie pie doing?” Cleo asked.

  “She is the sweetest pup. When she’s not stealing my clothes and running off with my underwear,” I said with a laugh.

  “They haven’t broken her of that yet?” Cleo giggled. “She was doing that when she had to stay at my house before Dawson could pick her up on Christmas Eve.”

  “No. And they completely forgot to warn me about that either. So, now I need to hit up a lingerie store to replenish my panty supply since I have no idea where the little scamp stashed my stolen pairs.”

  “Oooo, I’d love to go shopping. We’ll totally make a plan to go in a few days. Anyway, how are things going with the dance studio?” She turned her body to face me.

  My eyes widened in question.

  “I saw you were tagged in a few posts on Instagram,” she explained.

  “I keep forgetting about that. I don’t use my account very much.”

  “You’ve gained quite a few followers this past week,” she informed me. “And that hottie you were dancing with is quite yummy.”

  “Things with the studio have been going well. I did the one music video for Rico that was teased on his Instagram. And I’ve been working on a few things for another artist. It’s been a lot of fun. And I’m loving the fact that I’m getting to create, not just teach.” I glanced out the window at the lights flickering by. My phone vibrated with an incoming text.

  Brooks: Wish it was tomorrow already.

  Me: Me too.

  Brooks: I imagined your taste as I ate dinner.

  My skin heated with his words.

  Me: I’ve been thinking about what you needed from me.

  Brooks: Oh, yeah?

  Me: And I wanted to say M.P.M.Y.T.A.Y.C.

  I stared at the screen, waiting for him to respond. After a couple of minutes of no comment, I put my phone away and turned back to the sights beyond the window.

  “Oh, I meant to tell you, I have a lead on another job for you. I’ve had to do a little dancing here and there for some jobs, so my agent keeps an ear open for them. He called me about something that’s just come up, and it conflicts with my schedule. I don’t have all the details, but I know enough that it might be just what you need. It’s a six-month position. The pay is great. The location is amazing. It’s a cruise ship gig. Several bands, spanning multiple genres and decades of music, are collaborating to entertain the guests on the ship each week. They have several openings. Everything from chorus dancer to female lead choreographer,” Cleo explained.

  “Wow. That sounds amazing. I’d love the audition info. Having something lined up for a few months would definitely give me some security about my future.” I was already picturing a variety of dances and costumes—poodle skirts and spandex and neon lace and daisy dukes. The hand jive, the hustle, the bus stop, boot scootin’ boogie and everything in between. Excitement buzzed in my veins.

  “I’ll get all the information from my agent and pass it along. You might want to look into getting an agent at some point just to help with finding new
opportunities. I can put together some names for you,” Cleo offered helpfully.

  “Thanks.”

  “Here we are. Looks like the place is hopping tonight.” Cleo slid out then held her hand out to me. Together, we sauntered to the front of the line waiting to get inside.

  Cleo leaned forward and whispered in the bouncer’s ear. Her fingers toyed with the buttons on his shirt. He winked then motioned us through the open door.

  Music filled the air. A flashing kaleidoscope of lights decorated our skin as soon as we stepped farther inside the club.

  “Let’s get a drink before we hit the floor,” I said.

  Cleo linked her arm through mine and dragged me to the bar. We perched side by side on a pair of stools, waiting for the bartender to get to us. My brow furrowed in confusion as I watched the bartender at the end lean across the bar and whisper into a patron’s ear.

  “Hey, isn’t that—” I started.

  “Gina, Maddox’s fiancée? Yeah, the one and only,” Cleo whispered.

  “I know flirting is part of the job, especially to get good tips. But I wasn’t aware kissing customers was necessary.” I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. Her tongue was in some guy’s mouth.

  Cleo just shook her head then ordered a sex on the beach for herself. She turned to me so I could add my request to her order. “Piña colada, please.”

  “Coming right up,” a handsome guy said as he started filling glasses behind the bar.

  A few minutes later with our drinks in hand, we were on the dance floor dancing with wild abandon. Cleo flirted with a few guys. I was polite, but I wasn’t really feeling very encouraging toward their advances. I just wanted to dance and have fun with my friend.

  An hour had passed before we were thirsty enough to head to the bar again. Gina was nowhere to be seen. But the bartender from earlier nodded in our direction, so I figured he’d be with us soon. The club was hopping. I peered around, just taking in the chaos. When the hunky barkeep slid our drinks in front of us with a wink, Cleo leaned across the scarred bar top and kissed him on the cheek. He whispered in her ear.

  I diverted my attention from the flirting couple and checked my phone again. Still no answer from Brooks.

  Me: I’ll give you a hint

  Me: M-My

  Me: P-Pussy

  Me: M-Misses

  Me: Y-Your

  Me: Have you figured it out yet?

  While I waited to see if he’d answer, I looked around. The TV screen in the corner behind the bar caught my attention. It was tuned to TMZ. The camera was focused on a reporter standing on a red carpet somewhere outside. Then the image panned to crowds of people behind velvet ropes as limos pulled up to the edge of the carpet. The camera cut down the street to show the long line of cars waiting to unload celebrities at some event.

  Before I could turn away, a head of silky, blonde hair caught my eye. “Hey, I know her.” I nudged Cleo, excited about my brush with fame. “That’s Giselle. I met her while I’ve been in town.” I tipped my glass to my lips and took a sip.

  When the camera angle widened, I nearly choked on the sip of sweet coconut. Standing next to Giselle like a sexy missile to my heart was Brooks. He was the epitome of rock star cool. His hands were tucked into his pockets, but it didn’t keep Giselle from having her hand wrapped around his bicep possessively. It scraped my nerves raw. Guess that was why he wasn’t answering my messages.

  “I didn’t realize the band had an appearance tonight,” I said half to myself, peering through the throngs of people on the screen to see if I could catch a glimpse of any of the other guys.

  “Oh, they’re probably not there as a band. But the movie that’s premiering tonight has the guys on the soundtrack. They usually take turns showing up for these things to represent the band. When they were first starting out, they all went. But now, they prefer to avoid the limelight when it’s not surrounding a concert. Tonight, Brooks must have drawn the short straw. Though I’m surprised he called up his old flame to accompany him. I thought they were ancient news,” Cleo said, throwing back her drink. “Maybe that changed now that the guys are back in town.”

  I followed suit, determined to put Brooks out of my mind for the night. After I slammed my glass back on the bar, I dragged Cleo back to the mass of gyrating bodies.

  Chapter 18

  Brooks

  “I can’t believe I let you talk me into going to that premiere last night. Let alone going with Giselle. It had to be the longest night of my life,” I groaned as I sat at the breakfast bar with a box of sugary goodness.

  The sound of the artificially colored crunch berries hitting the ceramic bowl reminded me of my childhood. I almost smiled. Then I remembered my night of torture.

  “At least you looked good on camera. I caught a clip of the two of you on TMZ,” Wilder said, snatching the box from me and helping himself to my cereal.

  “Hey, dude. Get your own box.” I scowled at him.

  He ignored me, dumping the last of the sugary spheres into his bowl. “The reporter seemed pretty struck by you,” he egged me on.

  “I didn’t notice.” All night long all I could think about was how I’d rather have been anywhere else but there. Anywhere that Britt was. I just wanted to be near her. Hopefully, I could do that today. Her sexy text message had only made me miss her more. When I finally was able to check my phone and respond, it was really late. I checked my phone for what had to be the fiftieth time already this morning. My last messages were still showing as unread by her.

  Me: So, your pussy misses my tongue and my cock?

  Me: What about my fingers, angel?

  Me: They miss you.

  “Yo, dude,” Wilder said and tossed a blue cereal ball at me. I opened my mouth in time to catch it.

  “Next band obligation is yours. And you can take Giselle if you want to drum up some extra publicity,” I said gruffly. I spooned a heaping mound of milk-softened cereal into my mouth. Sometimes it was the simple things in life that erased the chaos in my mind. Like an amazing beat. Or a beautiful smile. Or a star-filled sky. Or Cap’n Crunch cereal.

  “No problem,” Wilder said, slurping loudly from his spoon. “So, what’s on your agenda today?”

  “Not totally sure yet. Maybe go play some. I’ve had this song eating away at my brain. I need to try to work it out.” I shrugged like it was no big deal.

  “Want some help?” he offered.

  “What? No. I’m not to that point yet,” I hastily discouraged him. I didn’t want him tagging along with me to Dawson’s.

  “No worries. I’ve got people to see today,” he said cryptically. Then he tipped the bowl up to his mouth and gulped down the blue-colored milk.

  His bowl clattered when he put it in the sink. “See ya later,” he said as he headed out the door.

  As I wheeled my bike through the gate at Dawson and Izzy’s, I peered around, half expecting Wilder’s car to be there. The coast was clear. I parked over to the side, out of the way.

  When I made my way around the side of the house to the backyard, Lyric dashed over to me, her body wiggling with excitement. I gave her a few pats on the head then marched up the steps onto the deck. A thumping reggae beat spilled from the open kitchen door. With her eyes closed, Britt danced around the space, putting food back in the fridge, loading dishes into the dishwasher, wiping the counter. Even the most mundane chore of cleaning up from breakfast had a new life to it when it was executed with Brittany’s dance moves.

  ♪ Boombastic by Shaggy

  Leaning against the doorframe, I watched, mesmerized. When she finally twirled close enough to notice me, she jumped a little.

  With a laugh, she shook her head. The smile on her lips didn’t reach her eyes. “You’ve got to quit sneaking up on me.” She wagged her finger at me in a scolding manner. She moved to stop the music.

  “No need to stop on my account. I’m just going to head down to the basement studio for a while,” I explained.

  She pa
used the song anyway. Silence echoed loudly in the air between us. “So … uh … how was your band thing?” she asked, staring at the spot on the counter she was furiously wiping.

  “Oh, it was OK. Nothing major. Just some red carpet and press thing I got roped into.” I gripped the back of my neck. “Sorry I didn’t message you back until late.”

  She waved the wet cloth in my direction. “Don’t worry about it. I went out with Cleo. I haven’t even checked my phone yet.” She had yet to meet my gaze.

  “Well, I’m gonna head down and work on some music. You can get back to your dancing,” I said lamely.

  “OK. I didn’t intend to start my dance session in here today. Izzy finally clued me in about the dance studio in the pool house. But I’ve always found that household chores go a lot faster if I do them with dancing feet.” She wiped the hair from her forehead.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to it.” I’m such a moron, repeating myself. I tipped my head in the direction of the closed door at the top of the basement stairs. As I moved farther into the house, the music started over. I resisted the urge to turn and watch what the new beat was doing to Britt, how it was making her body move, how it was making her feel.

  When I finally reached the edge of the hallway where the door was tucked away, I pivoted, unable to resist the pull of her. Brittany used dance like a siren’s seduction song, lassoing me and holding me captive. From my position, she couldn’t see me, so I allowed myself to indulge for the span of a song. Long enough for her rhythms to alter the beat of my heart. Long enough for her movements to carve lyrics in my soul.

  A song started to simmer and brew inside me. Without a sound, I slipped down the stairs and into the studio. Wasting no time, I set the equipment to record then rested my bass on my lap. I’d never heard of a song’s creation starting with a bass line before. But since I normally didn’t get much in the way of musical inspiration, I wasn’t about to question the process.