The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2)

by Christi Barth

  But staring out at the bright lights in his swim trunks made Dylan feel so much darker on the inside. Adding large amounts of alcohol to that melancholy didn’t seem smart. Going to bed—alone—sure as hell didn’t appeal to him. He missed Ariel. Missed her sharp wit and the smile he always teased out of her.

  It’d been two days since their fight. It felt like two weeks. Two days of her creeping around, staying out of his way. She communicated with Leo, working like a dog to handle the media explosion over his dick pic. Ariel didn’t talk to him directly at all. Dylan didn’t know if that was bad or good.

  Yeah, she’d apologized. Yeah, she hadn’t actually released the photos. It was a fine fucking line to walk, though, and Ariel definitely put her foot down on the wrong side, even if only in an effort to regain her balance.

  The kicker was that he believed her. He believed that, for that split second she’d contemplated selling him out, it had been with his best interest at heart. The one thing Dylan kept telling her—after he’d gotten over his initial sulk about still having someone else pick out his damn clothes—was that he’d do anything to make his solo career take off. Anything.

  Leo’s words, that day in his office, hadn’t left much gray area. Leo said from the get-go that their goal was to make women want to fuck him. To make women see him as a grown-up. Well…showing off his package sure as shit accomplished that goal. How could he stay mad at Ariel when, even unintentionally, her actions had indeed made him trend on Twitter? On the other hand, how could he ever trust her again? Two solid days, and Dylan wasn’t any closer to settling on an answer.

  “Got room for one more out there?” Cam asked, braced against the doorframe.

  “I’m pretty sure there’s room for an entire baseball team out here.” Bottle hanging between two fingers, Dylan pointed at the lounger next to him beside the pool. “What’s up?”

  “We did a kick-ass show tonight. I’m still a little charged from it. Need to hang out and wind down some.”

  Dylan knew full well there was an extremely hot redhead waiting in Cam’s bed. And Kylie would do a perfectly fine job of winding him up and then down. He knew the older man was checking on him. But it felt nice. Friendly. God knew he’d never expected a day when rock god Cam Watson would swing by his room at three a.m. to shoot the breeze. So he’d play along.

  “Yeah. We were on fire. The audience couldn’t get enough. They love Riptide’s new sound. They’re not clapping and screaming like that because of your eight Grammys. It isn’t nostalgia. You’re not playing your old stuff at all.”

  Cam winced as he kicked his legs up onto the red cushion. “Classic, Dylan. We prefer classic rather than old.”

  “The point is, they’re going wild out there for every new song we play. Maybe everyone should go on a two-week vision quest in the woods for new music. ’Cause you guys hit it out of the park.” It could be hard talking about the relative merits of your own composition without sounding like a braggadocious douchebag. Doing it with a fellow musician was the only time it felt natural to be fully honest about how much the music rocked.

  Cam took a long pull off his own beer. “I think so, too. We knew, when we finished the camping trip, that we loved each and every one of the new songs. The only question was whether or not our fans would. Funny thing—we never worried about if our label would like them.”

  No way. That was like those people who swore they never read reviews. Good or bad, the current label or a new one you were trying to snag onto, every performer gave more than a passing thought to their label. “You must’ve worried a little bit.”

  “Did I ever wake up in a cold sweat, worried about money?” Cam hitched an elbow onto the armrest and leaned closer to Dylan. “About all of us pooling funds to finance this tour and nobody showing up at the concerts? That scared me. That we’d put all this time and effort into a new sound…and that people would hold that crapfest Triangulation against us and not give us another chance. We hated letting them down. We owed them more. We didn’t owe the label—the label that fucked us over and then tried to lay the blame at our feet—anything.”

  Cam was about as subtle with his messaging as a Super Bowl commercial. “I feel like you’re trying to tell me something,” Dylan teased, tongue firmly planted in his cheek.

  “Riptide’s been around for more than a decade. After all our fame and success, we’re more or less starting over this summer. That’s a huge risk. But we’ve all got savings. We could fall back on teaching if things got dicey. You—you don’t have as much of a cushion.”

  Compared to Riptide’s, probably not. Compared to an average twenty-three-year-old? Yeah, Dylan had zero complaints about his bank balance—and that was after buying his mom a house and paying college tuition twice a year. “I’m okay. When you’re touring ten months out of the year, there’s not much chance for spending sprees.”

  “My point is, you’re in the same place we were. Taking a risk, starting from scratch. How big a risk are you willing to take? Because this isn’t an easy road we picked. We never claimed to be role models.”

  Was Cam circling around to asking him to replace Jake? Or telling him to go solo? Dylan swung around, planted his elbows on his knees and stared at Cam. “Are you trying to scare me straight? Talk me out of something I haven’t even decided yet?”

  “I’m asking you the hard questions we forgot to ask ourselves, well, I forgot, before the shit show of Triangulation. Because, hell, Dylan, you have so much talent it humbles me. You’re not just good. You’re great. You have the potential to be a superstar. Your voice, your talent on the keyboard, the songs you write…you’re the whole package.”

  Cam’s words were a punch to his gut in a good way. How the hell did he respond to such praise from the guy he’d idolized for years? Feeling like an idiot, all Dylan came up with was, “Thanks.”

  “You have to decide if you want to be a studio-slick machine who follows orders. ’Cause there’s no disgrace in collecting one hell of a paycheck and doing what they tell you.”

  Been there, done that, had about twenty-five 4X4 T-shirts as proof. “Or?”

  “Or do you want to be a musician? Finding your own way, being led by the music, not the label? It might mean giving up some of the fame, the perks, that you’re used to. Or it might mean getting them back a dozen times over. It’s impossible to know. That’s why you’ve got to be so damn certain in your heart that what you choose is right for you.”

  “I’m working on it.” It was hard to concentrate on the music in his heart when all he could feel was the pain of losing Ariel. “And I think you’re wrong. I think Riptide’s a great role model for me. So what if you screwed up? Everybody does. It’s what you do afterwards that matters.”

  Cam just looked at him. Then he leaned back and took another drink.

  And Dylan realized why the long silence. He heard the words he’d just blurted out, really heard them in his head. They didn’t just apply to Riptide. They fit this whole mess with Ariel, too.

  “I gave my sister this same speech.” Cam flip-flopped his hand. “Well, a version of it. The girl sings like a screeching bat. No talent in that area whatsoever. But it’s the same decision for her—execute commands, whether you believe in them or not? Or do things your own way? So you can be proud of every decision, live with no regrets.”

  “What did she say?”

  “You’d have to ask her that. Maybe you should. It’d be interesting to see if you choose the same thing. Or not.” Cam stood. “Try to get some sleep, D. Gotta be firing on all cylinders for our last big Vegas show.”

  “I will be. And Cam? Thanks for stopping by.”

  Dylan didn’t go to bed. But he did go inside to grab staff paper and a pencil. Cam’s visit crystalized things for him. Things he needed to say in music. And he hoped like hell that the right person would be willing to listen.

  The stage at Vinyl wasn’t that big. But when Dylan sat in the middle of it all alone, surrounded by totally empty seat
s in the house, it felt huge and lonely. Until Ariel poked her head around the side drape.

  “Kylie said you wanted to see me?”

  “Yeah, thanks.” Dylan’s gaze raked over her, drinking her in. Ariel wore a black dress with white polka dots that floated high at the tops of her thighs. A black leather jacket covered in snaps and zippers cut off right at her waist and gave her a rock ’n’ roll vibe. It matched his pretty well—just like she did. The only thing that didn’t look right was the worry line cutting right between her eyebrows.

  “Don’t you need to clear off the stage so they can do a final sweep before opening the doors?”

  “Soon. But the rock world isn’t exactly known for starting things on time. Nobody’s going to boot us out until I say so.”

  “I’ve been wanting to talk to you. But I also didn’t want to upset you any more until this set of shows was over.”

  Dylan had a whole thing planned out, but curiosity got the better of him. “Okay. Shoot.”

  “I quit.”

  That was not at all what he’d expected. And it didn’t bode well for his plan. “You quit being my publicist?”

  “That’s up to you. I quit my job at PKCL. What Bart did wasn’t just over the line. It was flat-out wrong. Hurtful to you. I won’t work for someone that not only thinks that behavior is acceptable, but expects me to do the same. I’m only sorry that I didn’t do it before this whole thing…exploded.”

  God, he was proud of her for taking a stand. “What about your fear of nobody else picking you up?”

  “I found a work-around. Because you were right, Dylan.”

  “You’ve got my attention.”

  She looked startled by his joke. Were they really that far apart now? “If I work for Riptide, people may very well call it nepotism. Say I only got the job out of pity. But all it takes is time to change their minds. I’m going to keep excelling at this—my way. My rules, my ethics, my choices. I know I’m young to go out on my own. I know it’s risky. So yes, I’ll take the leg up of becoming Riptide’s publicist. Then I’ll go on to wow everyone.”

  “I’ll bet you will.”

  “I wouldn’t have thought it was okay to take this leap without your encouragement. Without you talking sense into me. Getting me past my stubborn pride. Thank you.”

  Her choice of words kick-started the music in his heart. They truly were so damned alike. “You’re welcome. I don’t suppose you’re grateful enough to keep me on as a client—at a reduced rate?”

  The first smile he’d seen out of her in three days nipped at the corners of her mouth. “That’d be bad business. If I only have two clients starting off, I’ll obviously need to charge them full freight.”

  “It was worth a shot.”

  Biting her red lips, she asked, “Do you really want me to keep representing you?”

  “I do.” Now they’d get to his presentation. Dylan felt nerves like he hadn’t felt since his first arena concert nine years ago. “But before you answer, let me point out a few things. It’ll be one hell of an additional risk.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Because I’m going to stand my ground with the label. No focus group. They have to let me do all my own music, or I walk. The only way I can expect them to believe in me, expect the fans to believe in me, is if I start the ball rolling by believing in myself enough to go for it. Balls to the wall, as Jones would say.”

  With a tilt of her head, Ariel asked, “And if they say no?”

  “Then I pedal my new, amazing songs to another label. And another. If everyone turns me down, I’ll put them up on YouTube. I hear I’ve got a good track record now of going viral.”

  Ariel giggled, caught herself and clapped a hand over her mouth.

  “It’s okay. You can laugh about my dick being the biggest thing on the Internet. I’m mostly over it.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah. I’m not blameless in this whole mess.” Not by a long shot. Dylan couldn’t let her keep carrying the entire guilt load on her shoulders. “Deciding to get naked on a catwalk of a major university was my decision—and it was one hell of a bad one. We’re young. We’re going to make mistakes. Making the mistake for the right reasons is what matters. Trying to fix it is what matters. In the long run, you did me a favor. You made it easy for me to decide to turn down that reality show offer. I discovered I don’t like being that, ah, exposed to the world.”

  Quirking an eyebrow, she said, “I’m glad you found the silver lining.”

  Yeah. That, an offer for the cover of Playgirl and three underwear-modeling contracts. The modeling gig might not be so bad. Because at least he’d be wearing something and make a ton of money that he might need to finance his own no-frills bus tour like Riptide’s. “The other risky decision you’ll have to work around is that—if things go south with Jake and I’m offered a permanent spot with Riptide—I’ll turn it down. I’ve agreed to tour with the group for the rest of their scheduled dates. Or until Jake returns. But once this tour ends, I’m going solo for good.”

  Ariel clasped her hands together and just beamed at him. “You decided that making the music matters more than just performing.”

  Her obvious approval was as good as a big scoop of guac on top of already loaded nachos. “For right now, yeah. Your brother said something that really resonated with me. About living with no regrets. That means I’ve got to at least try this. No safety net. No group. Just me and my music. Otherwise, I’d always wonder, always regret not taking that leap.”

  “You’re brave.”

  “It’s funny that you put it like that.” Dylan got off his stool and walked over to the keyboard on its stand. “The reason I asked Kylie to get you in here was to get your take on a new song.”

  “Okay?” Her voice rose at the end, like his request confused her. Like she wasn’t sure if they were totally back to normal. Dylan could’ve made it clearer. Explained more. But he wanted the song to do that.

  He turned on the power. Closed his eyes as his hands dropped into place on the keys. And then he let the music in his heart out.

  I look in the mirror,

  I see you looking back.

  Your beautiful face is different,

  But our hearts perfectly match.

  You make me braver, stronger, smarter

  You fill me with songs and joy and I want you so much harder

  Than anyone before.

  So take a leap with me. Be brave with me.

  If we do it together, we’re bound to succeed

  In laughter, in love, in passion and fun.

  I don’t promise perfection—couldn’t if I wanted to

  But I can promise my heart to you.

  Dylan played the closing chords, then looked up to see tears streaming down Ariel’s face. “What’s wrong?” God, he’d pushed too hard, too fast, too much.

  She shook her head back and forth. “I wasn’t done apologizing.”

  “What?”

  Ariel did that one-fingered girl-swipe beneath her eyes. “I need to apologize to you about twenty more times before there’s any way we can move past my giving my boss the opportunity to put your penis on the Internet. I planned to grovel. To beg for forgiveness. To send you funny notes and home-baked cookies.”

  That didn’t sound like Ariel’s style. Dubious, he asked, “Can you bake?”

  “No, but I was going to figure out how in order to give you a proper apology. And instead, you went and wrote that beautiful song that totally undercuts and tops any apology I could possibly make.”

  “Maybe I’m just honing your competitiveness.” He walked around the keyboard to kiss away the last tear trailing down her cheek. “I always had this fantasy of you. You were my perfect dream girl. But the messy, wild reality of falling for you is a million times better.”

  “I didn’t want to be with a rock star again, after my bad track record with them. I finally figured out the problem. All those guys were nothing more than their stage persona. All fla
sh and no substance. It doesn’t matter how famous you are. I’ve fallen for the passionate man who writes beautiful songs because it’s what he loves to do.”

  “Hopefully, it matters a little how famous I am. Because I’m serious about keeping you as my publicist. Dating me isn’t a requirement for the contract, I promise. I want all that focused drive of yours to keep me in the public eye…for the right reasons. So will you take the leap and be with me?”

  Ariel jumped up in the air, throwing her arms around his neck and latching her legs behind his back. “You may not want the world to see you as perfect anymore, but you’re perfect for me, Dylan. You bet I’ll leap with you.”

  Thanks for reading The Reverse of Perfection, book 2 in the Bad Decisions trilogy. Look for book 3, The Other Side of Wrong, coming soon. And if you haven’t read book 1, The Opposite of Right, grab it here!

  To learn of my next release, please sign up for my newsletter: http://www.christibarth.com/home/contact/

  Finally, to see other books I’ve written, turn the page!

  UP TO ME

  by

  Christi Barth

  “Come do yoga with me tomorrow.”

  “I’m a guy. We’re all about being hard and stiff, not soft and bendy.”

  Ella blinked rapidly to clear the images of a naked, hard-muscled Gray that popped into her mind. And hardness…other places. “Don’t be so close-minded. Didn’t you end up enjoying the massage I gave you?”

  “Yes.” He sounded adorably sulky at being forced to acknowledge it. Why was it that men found it so hard to admit when they were wrong? Definitely a topic of discussion for her next margarita night with the girls.

  “See? You can’t dismiss something out of hand without at least trying it.”

  Gray wrinkled his nose. “Do I have a choice?”

  “No.” Ella brought up her other hand to cup his face. “You deserve to be looked after. It’s not much, I know, but let me help you in the only way I can.”

  “I’ll do it—”