The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2)

by Christi Barth

  She crossed her arms below where a Riptide shirt from three tours ago was knotted at her breasts. “That’s sort of the same thing as what I want to do—make it on my own merit. Not because, good or bad, of your name and fame.”

  “Yeah. I get it. So why do you have to have sex on my tour bus with this one?” Cam jerked his thumb toward Dylan. Which was the last straw.

  He was done with being treated like a little kid, watching the grown-ups argue. Done with letting Cam even indirectly insult Ariel, no matter what their family dynamics were. They couldn’t work together, perform together, if they weren’t on equal footing. It just wouldn’t work.

  Dylan gently pushed Ariel behind him, then faced Cam full-on. “First of all, we’re not having sex on your tour bus. Secondly, it’s none of your damn business what we do together. And third, it’s not just sex. You of all people should know that Ariel’s more special than that, deserves better. She’s not a convenient way to scratch an itch. Hell, what we’re doing—hiding from all of you, hiding from the fans and the press—it isn’t convenient at all. Rebooting my solo career would be a hell of a lot easier if I wasn’t falling for your sister.”

  “Maybe you should decide if what you really want is a career or a woman. Because it’s almost impossible to have both with this lifestyle.”

  “You do it. I see you with Kylie. You two are as serious as it gets about each other. And your career’s rebounding better than ever.”

  Cam’s eyes narrowed. He poked Dylan in the chest with one finger. “Let’s get something straight. You can’t have my career or my sister, you little shit. Go find something of your own.” He stormed down the narrow hall, past the bunks, to the small room with built-in couches and slammed the door.

  Ariel opened her mouth as if to speak, then closed it again. Instead, she moved into Dylan’s arms and gave him a long, hard hug. Her embrace settled him, soothed over the temper still flaring bright into a far lower simmer. Facing the front, he could see Kyoko eyeing them in the mirror so long it was amazing the bus stayed on the road. But Dylan didn’t care if she stared. He didn’t care if Jones let loose with a drum roll while they hugged. All that mattered was that Ariel was in his arms.

  “Thank you, Dylan. For standing up for me. I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone champion me like that before.”

  “Of course.” He rubbed her back in a slow circle. “It doesn’t seem like I did anything but make things worse, though.”

  “Dylan, you didn’t do anything wrong.” Ariel turned to Jones. “Can you explain why it appears my brother’s lost his mind, his common sense and his courtesy all at once?”

  “Yeah, I can.” His dark eyes shuttered, and his usual cheerfulness was replaced with a down-tilted sadness on every feature. “Cam and I got an email from Jake’s agent this morning. It explained that things were still up in the air with Jake’s family situation. That instead of him definitely coming back in three weeks, he needs to switch to an ‘indefinite’ return date. No real details. Worse yet, Jake didn’t bother to contact us himself.”

  It didn’t add up. “But you just said you text him all the time.”

  “I do. I didn’t say that he ever answers me, though. There’s been a hell of a lot of radio silence since Jake left the tour. Cam’s hurt. He’s confused as to why his best friend won’t talk to him. This fight wasn’t about you two doing the nasty. Cam just needed to blow off some steam, and you gave him one hell of a target.”

  “Oh. That does explain a lot.” Ariel worried her bottom lip between her teeth. Glanced down the hallway. “Should I go talk to him?”

  “Nah. He’ll realize he was an ass. He’s probably texting Kylie in the other bus right now, telling her what went down. Then she’ll tell him that he was a gigantic ass.”

  A faint smile lifted her mouth. “As long as he’s clear on that.”

  “Yeah. It’s just hard. Every time he looks at Big D, he sees a reminder that Jake’s not here. It doesn’t mean you did anything wrong. Doesn’t mean you’re not balls-up talented. Don’t let what he said get to you.” Jones grinned. “Fucking ballsy, though, doing his kid sister. I like your style, D.”

  “Thanks,” Dylan said dryly. “Kyoko, you think you could talk to Tony and have us stop for gas pretty soon?”

  The driver gave him a thumbs-up. “You want Cam off the bus before he comes out here and rips you another one for putting your big, sexy hands all over Ariel?”

  “I was gonna say we might want some fresh mountain air and maybe let him go see Kylie, but yeah, your suggestion works, too.”

  She grabbed for her phone. “I’m on it.”

  “Are you okay?” Dylan asked, looking down into Ariel’s eyes, which sparkled with discernible moisture at the corners.

  She knuckled away the almost-tears. “I will be. Once Cam apologizes. I hate fighting with him. We go so many months without seeing each other, I hate to waste the time we are together being at odds.”

  At odds. That was a great way to describe the dynamics that had just shifted with all of them. Something everybody went through. Dylan thought he could write a song about it. Then the last ten minutes wouldn’t be such a complete loss. “Want to help me write a song? Maybe it’ll get it all out of your system if we put it on paper.”

  “I’d love that. The music is the best part of my job.”

  “Really?” He pointed down at her feet, in yet another pair of what had to be designer sandals with thick wedge soles. “I thought it was getting up close and personal to shoes of the stars.”

  “That’s my second fave,” she deadpanned. “No, I only rep musicians. Not actors or directors or politicians. I do it because I love rock music so much that I want everyone else to realize they love it, too. There’s absolutely nothing like getting lost in the music. It is feelings brought to life. Its heightened reality and an escape from it at the same time. Music is everything.”

  Holy shit. He couldn’t have put it better himself. And Dylan had damn sure never been so in sync with anyone he’d dated. Ariel wasn’t just his dream girl anymore. It turned out she was the perfect fit for him.

  So now, with their secret out in the open, Dylan sat next to her on the long couch, paper in hand and keyboard on the other side. Music, Ariel and hours of open road. This day wouldn’t be a loss after all.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Ariel froze in the dark wings of the university’s theater, staring at her phone. The only thing worse than being yelled at by your boss in person? Getting that same dressing down over email, when you couldn’t defend yourself or try to argue back. She sighed.

  “Hey. A general rule for sneaking around trying not to get caught—don’t stop where it’s still easy to be spotted.” Dylan gave her a gentle nudge with his elbow.

  “Sorry.” She pocketed the phone and followed him across the shadowy backstage area to a narrow ladder on the cinderblock wall.

  “Want to tell me what that was about?”

  Yes. Ariel kind of desperately did. Talking to Dylan was so easy. He actually listened, unlike so many of the Hollywood types she had dated who only talked…and only about themselves. But she didn’t want him to think of her as whiny, either. “Won’t talking about real life ruin our naughty secret-sex vibe?”

  “We haven’t started the sexy part yet. And if you’ve got something bothering you, I want to help. Up you go.” Dylan slapped her butt to get her moving up the ladder. The thin rungs weren’t the easiest things to grasp or keep her footing. Maybe talking would distract her from the thought of plummeting from the fly space down to the stage with a big splat.

  “It was an email from my boss. While Bart loved that I raffled you off at the Boulder and Denver concerts, he thinks it wasn’t enough.”

  “It sure felt like enough to me. Being stuck with three strangers three nights in a row was some of the hardest work I’ve ever done. Especially keeping them from pawing at me.”

  Only Dylan would complain about beautiful women wanting to make out with him.
It cracked her up. “Oh, you poor, too-hot-for-his-own-good rock star. Whatever shall we do about harnessing all that sexual chemistry you throw off?”

  “I’ve got some good ideas.” Dylan ran a hand up the inside of her bare thigh, making her squeal. “What about those pics of me at the brewery in Glenwood Springs?”

  They’d made a special stop just for a photo op. Dylan embracing the giant kettles where they brewed the beer. Then all of Riptide went over to the hot springs and splashed around with growlers of the beer. It was nobody’s idea of a good time to sit in a hot spring in the middle of summer, but the pictures were great. Fun. Totally sexy, with all the guys showing off their bare chests, dripping water. Well, two of them were sexy. Ariel refused to look at her brother like that, even with her official publicist hat on.

  “Bart called it a start. A slow start, actually.”

  “Why do I get the feeling your boss won’t be happy until I get arrested and he’s got a mug shot of me along with a promise of the inside story of my night behind bars to sell to the highest bidder?”

  “That about sums it up. My old company—the one that fired me for being too close to an ethical scandal—would never play so dirty. But my new boss does. He’s sort of famous for lowering the bar of good standards in the industry.”

  “And you like working for him?”

  Not in the slightest. “I like working. After looking for a job for a year straight, I couldn’t afford to be picky.”

  “But in a perfect world, that wouldn’t be your style?”

  “No. Absolutely not. I’ve been on the inside for too long. Seen how intrusive the paparazzi can be. Seen how horrible and mean tabloids can be. It’s amazing how ruthless people are when they’re hidden behind a fake name on the Internet. You know the adage there is no such thing as bad publicity? I don’t believe that for a second. However, it’s practically my company’s motto.”

  “You’re stooping to their level.”

  Yes. No matter how much she hated herself for it. Staking out the moral high ground didn’t buy a girl sassy shoes. Let alone pay the rent on a condo in Santa Monica. “I’m earning a living. Supporting myself . Taking responsibility for myself.”

  “Ah. You mean instead of riding Cam’s coattails?”

  “Exactly.” Because Ariel had her pride. “He offered me a job, you know, after I got fired. I said no way. Then I dropped my swanky gym membership to save money. Running along the beach is way, way harder than it looks. And free.”

  “Why would you turn that down?”

  “Because the world would see it as nepotism. They’d never take me seriously.”

  “That’s not true. Well, sure, they’d see it as nepotism at first. Until a few months went by and you proved yourself. Doing a good job every day, making an impact for the right reasons, that’d change their minds.”

  “Hmmm. I never looked at it like that.” Maybe she’d been too focused on proving her independence. Riptide used a publicist, after all. Why did it have to be PKCL? Why shouldn’t it be her? Could it really be that simple? That, like a ton of people fresh out of college, she’d been so intent on forging her own path that she’d ignored the easier, already paved one? The idea wasn’t solid enough to make her email off her resignation. But it’d definitely be something to mull over the next few weeks. As usual, talking to Dylan had lifted her spirits.

  “Meanwhile, you’d answer to a far more reasonable boss—notwithstanding your brother’s epic meltdown on Monday.”

  After a few hours of silence—and she presumed sulking—Cam had made the rounds. He apologized to everyone on the bus, one by one. Privately. Then again at dinner that night, a public toast and apology, calling Ariel the most tolerant sister in the world. He’d thanked Dylan for sharing his talent with Riptide. And then he’d begged him to at least keep their sexcapades to whatever bus Cam wasn’t on.

  “That was the first real fight we’ve had since…well, since Cam stopped living at home and squeezing the toothpaste tube from the middle.”

  “Wow. I’m amazed you still talk to the guy. Toothpaste-tube etiquette is a serious relationship deal breaker.”

  “I know, right?” She stopped at the top of the ladder, looking at the narrow metal grating ahead. “What are we doing up here?”

  “The last time I was in Flagstaff, 4X4 played the Skydome here at NAU. Gotta love looking around a football stadium and seeing it filled to the rafters with screaming fans. But afterward, when we were partying, one of the seniors who escorted us around told me to check out the college’s auditorium.”

  “Why would you want to perform at a smaller venue?”

  “Not to perform.” Dylan spread his legs, caging her in against the waist-high safety bar. “He told me it’s a tradition for the music majors to climb up to the catwalk and have sex.”

  “What? Here?” Ariel looked down at the wide holes in the metal grating. Not to mention the rows of chairs at least twenty feet below. Down below…where anyone could walk in at any time. “You have to be joking. That’s why you brought me up here?”

  “I never got to go to college. Missed out on toga parties. Cramming through all-nighters.”

  “I’m sure you’ve pulled a few all-nighters of your own over the years.” His goody-two-shoes rep in 4X4 didn’t mean he hadn’t done stuff. Just meant he hadn’t gotten caught.

  “I’m just saying I’ve always wished I could have a few typical college experiences. I would’ve majored in music, if I’d gone. I always promised myself that if I came back through Flagstaff, I’d try to make it happen.”

  That stung. More than a little. “So I’m just a convenient partner. If I wasn’t here, you’d go round up another willing female in less than an hour to do it.”

  He stepped back, arms up. “Where’s this coming from?”

  No denial. Typical. Ariel let all the bitterness stored up from years of being casually discarded come flooding out now. Because it was worse coming from Dylan. Since he’d almost had her convinced that he was different. “I know how you all work. You screw and scram.”

  “‘You’ who, exactly?”

  “Rock stars. In my experience, they’re all the same. They see women as interchangeable. And, like flowers, prefer fresh ones every night, every city, instead of taking just a modicum of care of a perfectly pretty bouquet already in their dressing room.”

  “Whoa. You’re painting with a brush broader than the Grand Canyon right now. I’ve seen Cam and Kylie together. They couldn’t look more solid and long term. Are you saying he’s a serial dater?”

  “Not now,” she said begrudgingly. “But he used to be. All of Riptide. All their friends. How do you think I know?”

  Dylan tilted his head and stared at her. Really stared, as if she were under a spotlight instead of standing atop all the lights aimed at the stage. “I think you know because somebody—maybe a few somebodies—was an asshat to you.”

  “That’s fair to say. Let’s say I’ve done the clinical research. Gone out into the field on experiments. And every time, rock stars treated women like crap.”

  “What about the female rock stars?”

  The thoroughly logical question cut right through her righteous indignation. “Um…I don’t know. I never noticed. Or thought about it.”

  “Right there proves my gender might not be the only one at fault. So now that you’re not holding my being a man against me, let’s move on to the rock-star part. Haven’t I been up front from pretty much the moment we met that I want you? Not a hot piece of ass in my bed, not arm candy for the paparazzi, but you, Ariel?”

  “Yes. But—”

  He cut her off by pressing his hand over her lips. “Hear me out. Have you ever been to See’s?”

  Ariel waggled her eyebrows until he removed his hand. “The chocolate store? Sure. They’re everywhere. Soooo good.”

  Shifting from one foot to the other, Dylan finally said, “My mom used to work there.”

  She thought about the uniform white dres
ses and hairnets and the long hours spent standing, cramming chocolate into boxes. It wasn’t easy. And it couldn’t pay too much above minimum wage. “Seriously? Your mom worked candy retail? How did she support you?”

  “She scraped and clawed.” He shoved his hands in the back pockets of his black jeans. “My dad was a trucker, but his salary barely made ends meet for all of us. Then he had trouble stopping on a rainy night up near Tahoe and rolled his semi. The insurance just covered his funeral. It was hard. All kinds of hard. It’s why I went to a cattle call for singers at the mall. Not because I loved singing so much. I mean, I do. I always have. But I went to that audition because I knew I was good at singing and hoped I’d get a job that paid enough so that my little brother could quit his paper route.”

  “That’s very admirable.” Her words felt empty. They were a pale translation of the respect brimming in her chest for him.

  Dylan shrugged off the compliment. “It’s not like I scrub toilets for a living. No real hardship touring the world and doing what I love.”

  “Don’t downplay your sacrifice. You support them now, don’t you?”

  “Of course. That’s a gift. I get to give back to the people I love. It’s why I think I understand Cam offering you that job. It wasn’t just out of a guilty conscience for getting you fired. He wanted to share everything he had with you, out of love.”

  Ariel rubbed her thumb along his temple. “How’d you get so smart?”

  “Skipping college?” He gave her that grin that lightened every single corner of her heart. “You didn’t let me get to the point. When you start working at See’s, they let you eat all the chocolate you want for the first week. For free. By the end of the week, you’re so sick of it that you’re never tempted to sneak a piece.”

  “I don’t get it.”

  Dylan laced his fingers through hers. “I spent my teenage years having, yes, hundreds of girls throw themselves at me. Yeah, I grabbed my fair share. Eventually, I got sick of it. Now I know what I want. I don’t want everything I can get my hands on. I want the one, exquisite, perfect woman who will satisfy me like nothing else. I want you. Damn it, what’s it going to take to get you to believe that?”