by T. I. Lowe
Dillon reaches over and unlocks my seatbelt, giving me a teasing wink in the process, before stretching out in one of the leather seats.
“I feel like singing,” Dillon announces, and that’s all it takes.
Mave launches into another beat with Will following behind him. The next thing I know, Dillon is crooning out lyrics in that velvety rasp of his with Logan humming and Max and Trace singing backup.
Goose bumps show up all at once as I take in this moment. I’m awestruck at how they have converted this cabin into a concert hall and I get the distinct privilege of being in attendance.
The rest of the flight goes by surprisingly fast with my nerves settling down. Maybe those guys were singing me a lullaby of sorts. It worked. I even brave leaving my seat to go in the back to color with my green-eyed Snow White. Grace’s friendship has been the easiest I’ve ever formed. She’s even spent the night with me on occasion. But my nerves frazzle completely out again when Mave stretches across the bed with us and starts coloring. We have a lovely conversation with him speaking all the dialogue and me blushing like a mute fool.
•♫•♫•♫•
California is sunshiny and swamped with people. Never have I seen so many bodies in one location in all my life. Yes, it’s been a sheltered life, but still. Wow. Luckily, the driver deposited me in a mall that is surprisingly set up like any other mall. This made my shopping task that much easier. I’m quite proud to be able to find everything on the list and luck up with a giftwrapping service right there in the mall.
I’m a well-organized kind of girl. I like lists and a schedule, so it was nothing to have one in place for today. While I shopped, the helpful driver compiled a list of grocery services. Grabbing us both an iced coffee, I lug the last load to the waiting Town Car.
“The first on the list is probably the one you want to go with, but I added a few more choices.” He hands me the list and I hand him his coffee.
“Thanks, Gary.”
After settling in the back, I dial up the grocery service and rattle off my detailed list and give them the credit card info Tate gave me. I also provide the address to Dillon and Jewel’s Malibu beach house. I may just be able to pull this job off yet.
We pull up to the house and start unloading the bounty. Tate and Blake meet us outside to help. I’m highly impressed to see the grocery delivery truck is already here, too.
Entering in a quiet space, I ask Tate, “Where’s everybody?”
“Just leave the gifts by the door,” he says to stop me.
I backtrack and place them on a teak wood bench. This place is amazing with a very breezy vibe decked out in the neatest beachy touches. We arrived last night with it twinkling in Christmas décor that Dillon surprised the kids with especially—even though we will only be here two days.
“Jewels and the kids have spent the day on the beach. The guys were with them earlier until the fans and paparazzi got a little out of hand. Jewels banished them back inside after that. They’re in the gym now.”
“Good.” I glance at the clock—two o’clock—and head to the kitchen where Blake is helping put the groceries away. “I should start preparing an early supper.”
“Sounds like a plan. We need to pull out of here by five. The guys have a magazine interview backstage before the show,” Tate says as he heads out.
Tate assured me I didn’t have to cook, but I assured him I did. It’s my form of meditation.
“You need some help?” Blake asks from the other side of the vast tiled island. He’s just the cutest guy—boy-next-door with caramel hair and matching eyes. And always wanting to be helpful.
“No thanks. I’m good.”
He looks a little wounded, but offers a small smile before ambling out to the deck.
With my earbuds firmly in my ears and my iPod cranked up to some of my favorite Bleu Streak jams to get into the spirit of the concert later tonight, I start in on prepping the vegetables. Once that’s taken care of, I set the water boiling for the rigatoni. Humming along to “Pretty Girl on My Mind” as I douse the chicken breast in Italian seasoning, I am completely in my comfort zone. This is the gourmet kitchen of my dreams and I am taking full advantage of it. All stainless steel and aqua glass tilework. It’s simply breathtaking. I place the chicken on the indoor grill.
The music switches to one of their livelier tunes and I find myself dancing along to it as I stir the pasta into the pot. After that, I turn back towards the fridge and freeze.
Maverick King, clad in nothing more than earbuds and low-slung mesh shorts, stands with the fridge open, and I’ve never seen water being chugged look so enticing. I am absolutely parched just watching his throat work with draining the water bottle. A trickle of sweat catches my attention as it travels down that neck and tracks along his firm chest and then on to the perfectly sculpted planes of his abs before disappearing into the waistband of those nice shorts—spurring pure jealousy in me over that sweat.
My gaze slowly travels back up over that tight tattooed body, and I’ll be darned if I’m not busted ogling him. Those lush lips are moving, but the music is blaring in my ears. I yank the earbuds out as he does the same. Yes, my cheeks are blazing. I really need to find the off switch for that mess.
“You’re on fire, doll.”
“Huh?” Did any sound come out with the word I was able to form? Is this man flirting with me? Oh my. I just… Wow.
He points over to the grill, smirking. “Your chicken is on fire.”
Well, that snaps me right out of my lusty fog. Good gracious. I yank the chicken out of the direct flames and turn the grill down slightly.
“It smells good,” he says as he stands too closely.
I feel him by my side, so I jump like the freaked-out idiot I am and scoot away from him a bit. He chuckles at this—I guess I’m amusing.
“I won’t bite, doll. Not unless you ask nicely.” He slowly reaches out and traces the warmth of my cheek while looking me directly in the eyes. It’s as though he sees something I’m not so sure I want to be seen.
He saunters away and I decide right then and there that this man is fire. And I can’t believe I find playing with him so blame appealing. I take the time to chug my own bottle of water before finishing up supper. Luckily, the chicken is saved and nothing else gets burned.
Well, I’m pretty sure Maverick King singed me with those scorching eyes.
Chapter Five
Mave
It’s show time, suckers! Yeah!
“Dude, let’s turn Trace’s hair green and Dillon’s bright-red. They’ll be all Christmas coordinated.”
I roll my eyes at my boneheaded brother. “Open a flipping beauty salon already. Seriously, bro, you’re starting to worry me.”
“Nah. Let’s just dye your hair green. You’re definitely in the spirit of the Grinch,” he grumbles.
“Keep goofing off with Dillon and you’ll find yourself bald again. Seriously, bro. Lay off.”
Max runs his hand through his shaggy mop. I bet he’s reliving his unexpected bald faze. “What’s so wrong with goofing off some? You need to chill out.”
Little Grace dances by in some frilly get-up. Pointing in her direction, I say, “Go play beauty shop with her. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to do your nails.”
Armed with my drumsticks, I head over to side of the stage. I’m so ready. We’ve already prayed and taken our last sips of water. The opening act is wrapping things up. We’ve handpicked opening acts in each state with hopes of drawing some attention to new talent.
I’m watching these young dudes rock out when doll baby approaches me with a stick of gum and all I can do is grin at her. I have to chew gum while I perform otherwise I end up gnawing a hole in the side of my cheek. Izzy holds it out, but I want to tease her a little, so I don’t accept it. Instead, I cross my arms and dare her to speak.
Say something, doll. Anything.
I can nearly count on one hand the words this chick has spoken to me in the last fou
r days.
“Tate said to give you this,” she mumbles, making it hard for me to catch over the loud music.
I accept it, but not before dragging her hand in mine. “Thanks, doll.” I wink for the heck of it and am rewarded by catching a flash of defiance in her gorgeous brown eyes. She’s not a fan of me calling her doll. I’d knock it off, but the addiction to seeing her reaction is already too irresistible.
She yanks her hand away and rushes off.
Izzy Walker is nothing like any chick I’ve ever encountered. Women normally throw themselves at me. Not this one. Nope. This babe runs, and in only four days of knowing her, I have a wild craving to chase after her.
And the lady can cook. I mean really cook. We woke up this morning to fresh baked cinnamon raisin bread and some kind of slamming egg dish with all sorts of sautéed vegetables. Ben and Tate have been boss on finding us mainly condos or house rentals for the tour, and I so want to kiss them for making sure we have access to a full kitchen. I haven’t eaten this well in a while. Jewels says this is supposed to be some kind of break for Izzy career-wise, but the band is already trying to figure out how to make her a permanent fixture. She not only cooks like nobody’s business, she’s also taking pretty good care of us. The second concert in California, I lost my sticks—nothing new there—and she had replacements within an hour. Yeah. She’s good.
My thoughts seem to produce her, because she’s back to standing beside me as the opening act takes their leave. I high-five the kids as they pass by me.
“Show time!”
“Break a leg,” Izzy murmurs, surprising me.
“Sweetheart, we never, and I do mean never, say that to Mave. Dude is liable to pull it off,” Trace says as he walks by.
I smirk down at her. “He’s right, but thanks.” Taking a moment to appreciate the Bleu Streak tee she’s rocking and how those well-worn jeans hug her, I offer up another wink and walk away.
Moments of madness later, my drums are set up and I’m perched behind them. The sound guy gives the signal in my earpiece as the lights come up on only me. I open the shows being that I’m the one to set the beat with my drumsticks.
Oddly enough, the song we are covering doesn’t normally start with a drumbeat, but we’re Bleu Streak so of course our version does.
The beat is set so the light slowly illuminates Trace as he joins to the rhythm with his keyboard. Max is lit up next as he strums his guitar, followed by Logan, who sets into plucking a bluesy melody. From my perch, which is elevated behind the rest, I see it all—my guys losing themselves in our music and the crowd finding whatever moves them in the lyrics.
The trove of fans doesn’t see him yet, but I do. He’s one brave—or maybe one stupid—man to pull this stunt. One of these days, his luck is gonna run out and he’s gonna get mauled.
A giant Santa saunters right through the unsuspecting crowd and makes his way to the stage. Luckily, six strategically-placed bodyguards are standing near the front, because just as soon as Santa sings the first line of “Blue Christmas,” the place loses it. The big guys help him get on stage just in the nick of time.
Dillon croons out the lyrics in his edgier rock style and the fans go mad. The place is close to out of control in hysterics when he strips the Santa hat and coat and flings them toward the audience.
Jewels has only allowed him three sets of this Santa gear and made him promise to only pull this stunt in the smaller venues. Tonight is the third show here in Arizona, so our man was itching to do it. Brave or stupid—I’m not so sure.
It is a pretty epic and sly way to start things off, though. The energy of the crowd is infectious after this, and I get lost in our songs that follow.
Will joins me halfway through the set and we give this crowd our own show. Both drum kits are specially designed to light up and these babies look like Christmas—twinkling and changing color with our beats. We only light ‘em up for the duets. Again, the crowd loses it.
The adrenaline coursing through me is something indescribable. It’s the purest of highs and I crave it. Behind my drums on a stage—yeah, it’s where I belong.
It feels like the show is over before it begins. After two encores, we all exit the stage, leaving Dillon perched behind the grand piano. The dude is about to kill it, and I eagerly stand to the edge of the stage to catch it. I sidle up beside Izzy and Jewels, who seem enthralled, too.
The stage lights lower until only one spotlight remains and is trained on Dillon. The man owns any instrument placed in his hands, but I think his home is behind a piano. He serenades the crowd with his own rendition of “Hallelujah.” Head bowed to the keys, Dillon’s lyrics tell the Nativity story and keep on all the way to the crucifixion of our Savior. His voice rings out in hallelujahs of Jesus doing it for all of our freedom from sin.
Halfway through the song, Izzy’s sniffles catch my attention. Glancing over, I’m blown away. This woman isn’t glued to the rock star on stage. No. Her eyes are closed and her head is tilted towards heaven, leaving no doubt that she is worshiping God in this moment and not idolizing a musician.
I swear Izzy Walker just stole a part of me without my permission.
•♫•♫•♫•
The plane is pretty quiet this late hour. After the show, we only had time to grab quick showers before it was time to board. I glance over at my quiet companion and watch on as she seems engrossed in reading. Whatever it is, it looks to be irritating her. I’m about to bug her about it when Jewels plops down on the edge of my seat, making me scoot over to accommodate her. This brings me closer to Izzy, so I don’t mind at all.
“What’s up with Bleu Streak and blonde chicks?” I yank the end of her long dark-blonde hair. “You, Jen, Logan’s woman Brooke, and now this doll beside me. All blonde.”
Jewels rolls her eyes. “Because you guys own the color wheel when it comes to hair. Black, brown, red, blond, green, blue, orange…” We laugh and Izzy actually joins in. “We blondes tame you guys down.”
“We’re pretty boring at the moment with no orange or blue or green.”
“True.” Jewels grins. “Although, it wasn’t too long back I do believe you were rocking an awesome shade of lavender.”
“Against my will.” My fingers tap a beat on top of my legs. “What’s up?”
“I’m bored.” She pulls my arm out so she can get a good look. Pointing to the abstract ink forming an eagle in the crook of my arm, she says, “Tell me a story.”
I meet her green eyes and shake my head. “Pick another.” A quick glance to my right conveys to my dearest friend that this isn’t a story I’m ready to share with Izzy. Jewels gives me her look that says just this once.
She walks her fingers along my arm until they rest on the pocket watch with no hands to indicate a time. Ah. Now that’s a flood of memories right there on my forearm.
Izzy is now leaning over my arm to check it out with the ends of her soft hair tickling me. I breathe in the warm cinnamon scent of her, causing my mouth to water. Not a bad way to spend a flight—two hot blondes checking me out! I’m so rubbing this one in Dillon’s face tomorrow. They are close to looking like twins—both sporting Bleu Streak hoodies and stretchy pants that are supposed to be for yoga, I think. For now, I lean in and enjoy the attention.
“This one I got back when we signed our first recording contract. We’d already lived a hard life and we were emerging into an adventurous one. I wanted something to remind me to live no matter what. We don’t know our last beat on the time clock, and I want it all to count. It’s my life and I want it all to sum a substantial journey. Stupid curiosity made it hurt like a nightmare for a while, but, all in all, I can say I’ve lived.”
A few beats pass, with Izzy absently tracing the edge of the clock. I don’t even think she realizes she’s touching me.
“If the clock stops now, I’ve lived.” I look up and see tears shining in this woman I call sister’s eyes. There may be no blood shared in our veins, but we are in each other’s
souls—no doubt about it. Jewels knows everything about me and man does she so rock for accepting and loving me anyway.
“I’m glad that clock is still ticking.” Jewels places a kiss on my cheek as she stands and heads to the back of the plane.
Izzy settles back down in her chair to read. It’s not long before she goes back to huffing.
“What’s the matter, doll? The prince ain’t rescuing the princess fast enough?”
She turns those brown eyes towards me. “What?”
I tap the screen of her iPad. “Your romance not working out?”
Those stunning eyes now roll at me. “I’m not into chick lit. I like a good mystery suspense.” She waves her device in the air before plopping it in her lap. “But not when I figure out who did it not even a quarter of the way in.”
Well, that’s impressive, if I do say so myself.
“How about you? Do you like to read?” she asks in that quiet voice of hers.
“Sure. I read the Bible most every day.” My shoulder lifts in a slight shrug. “And I really dig poetry. I keep books by C.S. Lewis, William Blake, and Walt Whitman with me.”
“Really?” She looks a little skeptical and maybe impressed.
“Yeah. I’m hooked on how the words spell out one thing but mean another. It reminds me of lyrics.”
Izzy nods her head like she gets it, but doesn’t say anything.
“Say, doll, what’s up with all this shyness? A beautiful, accomplished woman such as yourself shouldn’t have a bashful bone in her body.” I nudge her arm to get her attention back to me and have to dip my head, forcing her to meet my eyes.
“I always have been.”
“But why?”
“I’m not sure exactly. My jaw just locks up and I can’t… I don’t know.” She seems just as baffled by it as me.
“Well, we are all born different. I mean, look at my idiot twin. Max is a nut job. Just is.” I shrug again, causing her to snicker.
“I heard that, jerk,” Max says from across the aisle. “I guess you’re just born to be an accident waiting to happen.”
