The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  Which is probably why I said stupid things sometimes. Like that very moment when I blurted out, “The money’s great, sure, but just wait until you get on tour and girls throw their panties on stage at you.”

  His smile faltered a little. “Your dad told us that it can get crazy. But it’s not that bad, is it? Like, girls don’t really do that sort of stuff, do they?”

  Poor guy, he had no idea. But I didn’t want to be the one to fill him in on just how crazy it could get. “Sometimes,” I told him. “Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll get the full briefing before tour.”

  It took him a second to catch on to what I’d said, but then he barked out a loud laugh, making the two suits in front of us turn around. The one on the right glared at Chris. Lighten up, sheesh, I thought.

  Chris apologized and leaned close to me, saying in a low voice, “What a couple of stiffs, huh?”

  I winked at him.

  “Anyway, I’m hoping it’s really not going to be that crazy,” he said.

  I was going to ask why but he said, “Girlfriend back home,” before I got the chance.

  “Ah,” I said, trying to not let my cynicism show.

  “What? What’s that expression for?” he said. So much for my poker face.

  “Going on tour is hard. Really hard for relationships.”

  He made a sour face and sighed. “I know. We had a good talk about it and discussed taking a break for the summer, but neither of us wants to.”

  “Well,” I said, reaching to grab a handful of napkins and paper-covered straws to take back with us. “If it makes you feel better, Tony won’t let things get crazy on the bus or in any hotel rooms. It’s not going to be a regular tour—the kind you hear about with trashed hotel rooms and hookers. He runs a tight ship.”

  Chris nodded. “That was one of the reasons I signed on. And I showed Lindsay the contract, so she has more reason to trust me, but...”

  “Yeah,” I said. “It’s still going to be hard. There has to be a lot of trust. A lot.”

  He nodded, his smile replaced with a strained expression. A few seconds later, he shook his head and seemed to push all those thoughts away. “So, you coming on tour with us?”

  “Nope,” I said. “I’m going to the beach for the summer.” I cringed as soon as the words were out of my mouth because they made me sound so entitled: Rich girl doesn’t have to get a job and can laze around all summer. “Ugh.”

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “Nothing. I’m...I feel like a spoiled brat because I don’t have to work for the summer and am going to the Hamptons—the snottiest place on earth.”

  “Hey,” he said, nodding toward the counter because we were up next. “If I could do what I loved for the summer without having to worry about money, I would, too.”

  I glanced at him but had to wait several long minutes until after we’d placed our order before I could respond.

  “But wait,” I said, once the deli guy had turned to go make our food. “Aren’t you doing what you love for the summer?”

  A slow smile spread across his face. “Looks that way.”

  I lifted an eyebrow.

  “The money part’s just a really nice bonus.”

  “And the panties?”

  He frowned. “Occupational hazard?”

  It was my turn to let out a huge laugh.

  After lunch, the guys all went back to rehearse while Sandy and I sat in the booth watching. Sandy was, of course, having the best time ever, but for me, it was basically torture. And it had zero to do with the music and everything to do with the musicians. Well, one musician in particular.

  When Andres looked at through the glass me for about the eight millionth time, I couldn’t take it for even one second more.

  “Let’s go, Sandy,” I said, grabbing her arm and dragging her out of the studio before she could do more than grunt in protest.

  “What was that about?” she asked as the door closed behind her, her flirty smile gone and replaced with a scowl. She rubbed at her arm where I’d just let her go, realizing too late that I’d had a vice grip on her.

  “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  She shook her head. “No, I meant about you dragging me out of there like your butt was on fire. What’s going on with you?”

  I glanced down the hall to make sure we were alone but decided even if we were, the hallway wasn’t a place to have this conversation. “Come on,” I said, leading her toward the bathroom.

  I pushed open the door and checked under both stalls just to make sure we were alone. I leaned against the counter and took a breath as I crossed my arms.

  “What is it?” Sandy asked, obviously concerned.

  “Last summer I sort of hooked up with Andres.”

  She froze for a second and then her eyes went wide as what I’d said sunk in. “What? Where? When? How did this happen? And how did I NOT KNOW ABOUT THIS?”

  “Shhhhh,” I said, glancing toward the door, but thankfully no one came busting in.

  She took a few steps toward me and lowered her voice, but her tone was no less intense. “You hooked up with Andres Castillo, the guy I’ve been drooling over all freaking year. Whose picture is over my bed! And you didn’t think it was worth telling me? Your best friend?”

  Her surprise turned to hurt in front of my eyes. “No,” I said. “It’s not like that, I promise. He...” I exhaled and turned my head away, fighting tears. Not over him, I’d done enough crying over him. This time, it was over hurting my best friend.

  “You hate musicians,” she said, filling the awkward silence while I tried to pull myself together.

  I nodded and then turned back toward her. “I do. And he validated exactly why. He...” I sighed and shook my head before continuing. “I thought he was different. He seemed really nice and not caught up in it, you know? He knew he was a good musician, but in a confident way, not an arrogant one. But then I caught him making out with someone else, and he didn’t even get why I was mad.”

  Sandy flinched. “Really? He didn’t get that?”

  “No,” I said. “He invited me to join in.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Wow, he is a jerk.” She closed the gap between us and put her arms around me. “I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you tell me? I would have pulled that poster down and ripped it into a million pieces.”

  I pulled back and reached for a tissue from the box on the counter. “Uh, slightly embarrassing, don’t you think, Sandy?”

  “No,” she said decisively. “Not for you. Embarrassing for him because he’s a douche.”

  I smiled at her. “So yeah, do you understand why I hate musicians?”

  She cocked her head, considering. “No,” she said finally. “I understand why you hate him. They can’t all be that bad.”

  “They are,” I assured her, tossing the tissue into the bin and turning toward the mirror.

  She frowned toward the door, beyond which was the studio. “All five of them? Did the others make a move on you or something?”

  “No,” I clarified. “But all musicians are like that. Entitled and arrogant. If they aren’t yet, they will be after the first time a crowd of fangirls screams at them. They’re still in training.”

  “Pretty cynical, Nessa.”

  I shrugged. “Realistic.”

  She looked at me long enough that I began to fidget, so I dropped my eyes and made my way toward the door. “You ready to go?” I asked, hoping she didn’t want to stick around.

  “Does your father know?” she asked, making me turn back to face her.

  “No.” I gave her a pointed look. “And he never will.”

  She held her hands up in surrender. “I’m not about to tell him, but Andres could use it against you somehow.”

  I’d already thought about that (more than I would have liked to admit) but shook my head. “He w
on’t. Dad’s already read him the riot act about bad behavior, and if he found out what Andres did to me, he’d kick him out of the band. He needs my dad more than he needs to humiliate me.”

  “That makes sense,” she said with a nod.

  “So,” I said, reaching for the door handle. “Can we go? I want to get out of here.”

  She nodded, and I pulled the door open. “I just want to talk to your dad for a minute first. I have an idea that I want to run by him.”

  I stopped in my tracks, causing her to run into my back with an “Oof.”

  “Sorry,” I said, moving out into the hallway and starting slowly toward the booth before asking, “What kind of idea?”

  She bit her lip and then said, “Don’t get mad, okay?”

  Why do people not get how bad an opening that is? I stopped again and narrowed my eyes at her. “I’m not making that promise. What is it?”

  “Well,” she started and then swallowed loudly. “You know how I’ve been vlogging about music and bands and stuff?”

  I’d actually forgotten about it since I’d been so focused on my equestrian training and the busy term I’d had so far, but I nodded and crossed my arms. “Yeah.”

  “Well, what if I did like a series on the guys?”

  I shrugged. “He wouldn’t mind. There are a million music vlogs out there.”

  “No,” she said with a shake of her head. “I mean like be their exclusive vlogger. On tour. Sort of like a making of the band series.”

  “Wait, you want to go on tour with them?”

  Her eyes widened like she couldn’t believe I was even questioning it. “Are you crazy, I would LOVE to go on tour with the band. Do you think your dad would be into it?”

  Whether he was or not, I wasn’t into it. Plus, what about our summer, the one we were supposed to spend together in the Hamptons? “I doubt it.”

  Her face fell. “Really?”

  I instantly felt bad, I was crushing her dreams and being selfish. But she had to understand this was a huge deal and not just a garage band. “Sandy, this is big time. He’s going to do a major media push and spend thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of dollars on press. No offense, but your little vlog...”

  “Has over two hundred thousand subscribers,” she said defiantly, her hands on her hips. “It’s not so little, Nessa.”

  I blinked at her. “What?”

  She grinned and squealed, bouncing a little on her toes. “I have over two hundred thousand subscribers.”

  What? “As of when?”

  She shrugged, giving me a coy smile. “That one I did on Zen Garden has started to go viral. I guess the band liked it and shared it while I was at the spa over the weekend.”

  “Really?” I asked, suddenly super excited for her. “That’s awesome. Why didn’t you tell me something that’s such a big deal?”

  She gave me a withering look, which made me laugh. “Okay, I deserved that,” I said, dropping my voice to add, “But not telling you about Andres was because I was embarrassed. This is really exciting news!”

  She smiled. “It just happened. And anyway, you don’t care about my ‘little blog.’ I know you never watch it.” She waved her hand dismissively like it was nothing, but I knew it was a huge deal to her.

  I cringed. “I’m sorry. I...I have no excuse other than I’ve been really busy...” I sighed. “No, I’m just a bad friend.”

  She slid her arm across my shoulders. “You’re not a bad friend. You just really hate musicians.”

  I glanced over at her. “I really do.”

  “Well after that story you just told me, I understand a little better why. I mean, you’ve grown up with them, so, of course, you know better.”

  That was the thing, I did know better, but I’d still gotten caught up in it with Andres. I glanced over at my friend. Did she really think she’d survive on tour with a bunch of potential heartbreakers? “I do. Which means I don’t think it’s a good idea, Sandy.”

  “But what would your dad think?” she asked, obviously determined.

  I saw the hope in her eyes and pushed my own crap out of my head. “Only one way to find out.”

  It turned out Dad did like the idea, much to my surprise, but he wanted to talk to his publicity team about it. He explained to Sandy that a lot depended on the marketing plan for the band that he hadn’t even seen yet, so while he was encouraging, he was also very careful not to commit to anything.

  He also let her know it could be weeks before they’d have any sort of answer, which I could tell she wasn’t happy about, but that was the business.

  As we left the studio to go shopping, I tried not to be a dream-crusher but was worried she was setting herself up for disappointment. “It’s a great idea, Sandy,” I said as we stood on the curb, waiting for Gary to arrive. “But you know it’s a long shot. I just don’t want you to get your hopes up.”

  She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up a hand to stop her.

  “I know, but it is what it is. He liked the idea, but like he said, it’s not completely up to him. It’s a business, and they have to do what’s best for the band.”

  Her shoulders slumped a little, but she nodded. “I know.”

  “But if nothing else, you’ll get tickets to some of the concerts and backstage access to at least do a really kickass vlog.”

  She sighed. “I know, it won’t be the same as being on tour with them.”

  “No,” I agreed, stepping toward the street as Gary pulled up, thinking that was probably a good thing.

  Back to the Grind

  The rest of spring break went mostly how I’d hoped it would, except for two more trips to the studio which Sandy said were ‘research.’ She wanted to put together a report to send to my dad that he could take to the publicity team to help make her case. It hadn’t been his idea for her to do it, but I had to admit it was a good one—if she could prove that she was a pro and not just a groupie wannabe who wanted to hang out with hot celebrities, she’d have a much better chance of getting the gig.

  Not that I wanted her to, of course. But I was being selfish and needed to get over myself. If she really wanted this and knew the risks, a best friend would do whatever she could to help make it happen.

  Even if it included more trips to the studio so she could get to know the guys. At least with her knowing about my history with Andres now, she didn’t push me into interacting with the band, which was a relief. But she did get sort of caught up with them, flirting and going a little over the top to ingratiate herself with them. She probably thought they would have a say in the decision of letting her go on tour with them.

  Which they absolutely wouldn’t.

  But she was having fun, and it was her spring break, too, so I let it go. Plus, she gave my dad a lot of feedback about the boys which he’d been struggling to get out of me, so it actually got me off the hook for that.

  Win, win, I suppose.

  Eventually, it was my turn to pick stuff to do so I dragged Sandy out of the studio and around New York so we could play tourist, shopping and lunching and even taking a horse and carriage ride through Central Park.

  I never did hear back from Dave again but hardly thought about it with how busy we were with everything.

  We were actually so busy that by the time Gary drove us back to Rosewood on the Sunday, I was exhausted to the bone.

  That Sandy fell asleep in the car told me she felt the same.

  Despite the whole Andres thing, it had been a good week.

  We quickly fell back into our routines and with how busy school got with term papers, events, volunteer hours, and my equestrian practice, I might have forgotten about Sandy’s bid to follow the band around on tour if she hadn’t mentioned it.

  Every.

  Single.

  Day.

  At least she’d taken the picture of Andres down off her
wall, which I really appreciated. She’d left up all her other band posters after she’d asked me if I’d fooled around with anyone else on her wall.

  “No,” I said, narrowing my eyes at her. “Just the one.” Though I guess she had a point since I had kept the Andres thing from her.

  Two weeks after we’d returned from spring break as we got ready for a dance, we were standing in the bathroom, both at the mirror doing our makeup.

  “So, when do you think your dad is going to decide?” she asked casually.

  I smudged mascara onto my eyeball. I swore and dabbed at my eye with a Kleenex before I looked at her in the mirror.

  “For the eight millionth time, Sandrine, I do not know.”

  “Fine,” she said with a cluck of her tongue. “Just asking.”

  I looked back at myself in the mirror, but I could feel her eyes still on me. “It’s not going to work,” I said, not making eye contact.

  “I’m not doing anything,” she said, though her laser-eyes were boring into me.

  “You can’t pressure me.” I grabbed the mascara and gave it another go. She kept her mouth shut this time, so I was successful.

  “So...,” Sandy said a few moments later.

  My eyes slid to hers, and I saw her smirk as she knew she’d trapped me. “Please,” she said.

  I exhaled out a gusty sigh and grabbed my phone. “Fine. I’ll call him. But I told you it could still be weeks before he knows.”

  Three minutes later, I hung up the phone and turned to my roommate, giving her my best sympathy face.

  Her expression began to crumple, so I put her out of her misery. “You’re in.”

  She blinked as it took a second to sink in. But then, as expected, I got hug tackled.