She returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. “This should help.” She passed me the glass and handed me two pills.
“Thanks.” I tossed back the painkiller and downed the entire glass of water. Luckily my stomach didn’t protest. By the time I was finished, she was under the sheet, her bra no longer on her.
She didn’t waste time sneaking her hand under the covers. It brushed against my dick. I jerked away, putting several feet between us.
Her lips curved into a seductive smile and she scooted closer. “I thought now that you’re sober, we can finish what we started.”
“What exactly is that?” “Sober” was the last word I would’ve used to describe my current state.
She moved her hand to my nipple and pinched it. “What do you think?” she purred.
Her previous words echoed in my head: We can finish what we started.
“So we never actually fucked last night?”
“No, you were too . . . um . . . out of it.” Translation: I couldn’t get it up.
She slid her hand down my chest again. I grabbed her wrist. “Sorry, I have plans.”
That much was true, even if I did want to go back to sleep and wake up once this hangover was over. My family was expecting me in a few hours. Sure, we had plenty of time for what she had planned, but I wasn’t interested in going there.
That wasn’t to say I wasn’t into sex with groupies. Like the other guys in the band, I had taken advantage of what was offered. Not a lot, mind you. I wasn’t a manwhore like Mas. Maybe another time, back before I’d bumped into Callie, I might’ve been interested. Now I couldn’t get excited about the prospect of screwing around with this woman.
A glimpse of the dream from last night repaid me a visit. I shoved it away, telling myself the dream had nothing to do with my decision.
The girl, whose name was a complete blank to me, pouted. Now I vaguely remembered seeing her red-coated lips last night; the color had since faded. Her dark eye makeup was still in place, although now it was smudged. She didn’t look bad, but she did look like she was about to do the walk of shame—even if she had nothing to be ashamed of.
She stroked her fingers against my chest. “I can make it worth your while.”
I released her hand and shifted away from her. “I’m sure you can, but I really do have to be somewhere important.” I gave her an apologetic smile and waited while she gathered her clothes. I had tons of questions about last night but decided to save them for Kirk. She had already answered the big one I’d had. The rest could wait.
I offered to call her a cab. She shook her head and called a friend instead. She did, though, ask for my autograph. After everything, that was the least I could do.
Even though she insisted she was fine waiting on her own, I escorted her downstairs and waited with her.
“You know, you don’t have to do this,” she said as we stood inside the lobby, watching through the glass wall.
“What? Wait until your friend arrives? Sure I do. My mother raised a gentleman.” Although I was sure Mom would’ve had a different opinion of what I’d been last night.
“Your mom sounds like a great woman.”
“She is.”
We didn’t have to wait long before her friend’s black Ford Escort pulled up in front of the building. The girl quickly kissed my cheek. Before I could say anything, she was out the door and climbing into the front passenger seat of her friend’s car.
I returned to my apartment and drank enough water to help rehydrate me, but not enough to cause me to puke. Then I had a long hot shower to remove the stench of beer that I was positive seeped from my pores.
By the time I left for my parents’ place, I looked a lot better than I had when I first woke up. That’s not to say I felt a hundred percent, but it was enough to keep Mom from guessing about my night. As supportive as she and Dad were about my career choice, I knew my playing in a rock band still worried them. They’d heard the stories about all the booze, drugs, and women that came with the territory. It was hard to miss when those three things had led to the demise of so many other bands.
At their house, I parked in the driveway and walked up the flagstone path. Unlike Callie’s parents, who’d moved closer to Callie’s father’s new job shortly after Alexis aborted our child, my parents had never had the desire to move. This place held many great memories. I swear, if my father ever had to move for his job, Mom would’ve found a way to take the house with her.
The front door swung open and my father stepped to the side to let me in. “So, you up for this?”
I grinned at him. Fortunately, my head didn’t hurt so much now. “You better believe it.”
“Good. Lunch is almost ready, then it’s just you, me, and the gazebo.” He said it in a low, conspiratorial voice. I chuckled. I had no doubts whatsoever Mom already knew what we were up to. And if she didn’t, she would find out soon. There was no way could we hide from her that we were building a gazebo. Not unless he had convinced her we were building another tree house, but if there was one thing Mom wasn’t, it was naive.
In the kitchen, Mom was busy laying out the food. A large vase of white tulips sat in the middle of the glass-top table. “Lunch is ready.” She hugged me, and we all took our usual places. “How’s the band doing?”
“Everyone’s doing great. We had the radio station event yesterday.” I filled them in on the day, minus the part about groupies groping me. There were just some details my parents didn’t need to know.
“I can’t believe you’re touring again so soon,” she said. “It feels like you just got back.”
“I know but it’s part of the job. Plus it’s great to be out there and playing to the fans. That’s what it’s all about.” Never mind the part where some of those said fans loved to fling their bras and panties at us.
“I know. It’s just . . . well, how are you ever going to have a family if you’re always on tour?”
“What, Emma isn’t enough for you?” Emma had recently discovered the fine art of walking, and kept Mom on the run whenever she babysat my niece.
“I want more than one grandchild.”
“I’ll be sure to tell Kristen.” I winked at her.
Mom gave me her standard this-discussion-is-far-from-over look, and I laughed. Dad also laughed. We both knew Mom just wanted me to be happy and would support whatever I decided to do. Even more so if it resulted in grandchildren.
“So, what’s going on with you and . . . Tiffany these days?” she asked.
“Nothing that will give you grandchildren—I can guarantee that.” I bit into my BLT sandwich.
“But you’re still seeing her?”
I shrugged. “We’re not currently dating. I agreed to be her date to an upcoming event in L.A., but that’s just as a friend.”
Needing to change the current line of questioning, I blurted out, “Hey, you’ll never guess who I bumped into yesterday. Callie Talbert.”
“How’s she and her family doing? I can’t remember the last time I spoke to her mom. Not for a few years at least.”
“Good, I think. Callie has a son now.”
Mom’s eyes widened. “She’s married?” She quickly recovered and laughed softly. “Of course she’s married. Just because she was a tomboy as a kid doesn’t mean she didn’t become a woman.”
“She’s not married.”
“Engaged?”
I shook my head.
“But the child’s father is still in the picture, right?”
Brilliant move, asshead. I had meant to distract Mom from her line of questioning about me providing her with more grandchildren. I hadn’t meant to freak her out about Callie and Logan and their well-being.
“I don’t think so.”
“Is there any guy in the picture to take care of them?”
I shook my head even though it would’ve been a better idea if I had lied and told her that there was. Or, better yet, if I had just kept my mouth shut to begin with. “But
you don’t have to worry about her. She’s doing fine.”
“How could she be fine looking after a child on her own? The boy needs a father.”
“I’m sure her own father is doing a great job.”
“Jared’s right,” Dad said. “Gary and Violet aren’t the type of parents who wouldn’t step in and help out. They’ll be a great role model for the child until Callie can find the right man for her and her son.”
Reluctantly Mom agreed. Dad had a point. “So you and Callie are friends again?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I haven’t decided if I’ll see her again . . . as a friend.” I hastily added the last part before Mom got any ideas. “We’re both busy with our own lives, and we’re different people than we were back when we were kids.”
“It wouldn’t have anything to do with her being a single mom, would it?” Mom said, her gaze piercing my soul. I loved my mother, but she had a way of wringing the truth out of you with just that look.
“No, I really am busy with the band.” And there was also that matter of Callie not wanting me to be part of her and Logan’s life.
“What are the touring plans this time?” Dad asked, and I could’ve hugged him for the change in topic.
I spent the next few minutes explaining everything the band’s manager had told us so far about the next couple of months. We still didn’t know, though, which band we were opening for. The label was being very hush-hush about it.
Mom didn’t bring up Callie or Logan again, maybe realizing I really was too busy for them. And maybe realizing that being in a band wasn’t conducive to having a family—not that I planned on becoming a family with Callie and Logan.
After lunch, Dad and I disappeared into the backyard and began constructing the gazebo. It was hard work, but both of us were in good shape, which made the job a little easier. Any talking between us was kept to a minimum, our attention focused solely on building the large wooden structure. I didn’t have a chance to let my mind drift to Callie.
By the time we finished several hours later, we were covered in sweat and our muscles ached.
“What do you think?” Dad asked as we stood in front of the gazebo, studying it.
“Looks good.” I wasn’t just saying that. Like everything we worked on together, we had taken our time to ensure it was perfect. My father and grandfather had taught me the value of working hard and not settling for less—a lesson I put to good use when it came to writing songs.
We were still examining the structure when my sister and brother-in-law joined us. Kristen was lugging three bright green cushions with daisies embroidered on them. Craig had a bottle of beer in each hand and handed them to Dad and me. The hangover from this morning had long since been sweated away, and the cold beer couldn’t have been more welcome.
“Wow, it looks amazing,” Kristen said, after arranging the last of the oversized cushions. Between the large, dark-wood coffee table and Kristen’s decorating know-how, the gazebo resembled one straight from a home-style magazine. She was right. It did look amazing.
Mom walked out of the house, carrying Emma. The smile on Mom’s face made all the hard work worth it. “What do you think?” she asked her granddaughter.
Emma hugged the bear I’d given her a few months ago and flashed me my favorite grin, complete with the dimples Kristen and I had inherited from Dad.
“Hey, pipsqueak.” I ruffled the fine dark hair on her head. I was rewarded with my favorite giggle.
After excusing myself, I disappeared into the bathroom and showered. I’d missed a lot of things while on tour, but the weekly Sunday dinners with my family ranked at the top of the list.
I returned a short time later and placed a gift bag next to where Emma sat, sandwiched between her mom and grandmother on the gazebo bench. “This is for you.”
My sister sighed. “You don’t have to spoil her, you know.”
“Sure I do. I’m her uncle. It’s in the job contract.” I helped Emma remove her gift from the bright-colored bag.
With a little encouragement, she ripped off the tissue paper the salesclerk had wrapped it in, revealing the toy guitar. She then patiently waited while I removed it from the box. The way the toy was packaged, you’d had thought it held important FBI secrets. Eventually I freed it and demonstrated how to use it. Designed for a toddler, it was nothing like my guitars, but it did make musical sounds when played—loud musical sounds that Emma enjoyed making every time she pressed the buttons.
Kristen laughed. “So instead of having your own kids, you’re going to turn mine into mini-Jareds?”
“Damn straight.” I purposely avoided looking at Mom. As much as she longed for grandchildren from both Kristen and me, I just didn’t see that happening. At least not anytime soon.
9
Callie
Wednesday, during the lunch rush, I placed the order of fries and the cheeseburger in front of the bald-headed customer. His shirtsleeves were rolled up, revealing a tattoo on the inside of each forearm.
“I like your tattoos. What do they mean?” I smiled at him and his friend. At least I hoped it resembled a smile. My energy level was at an all-time low. Just curving the corners of my mouth up asked a lot.
“This one”—he pointed to the tattoo consisting of four overlapping circles with a fifth circle in the middle—“is the Celtic fivefold. Each of the outer circles represents an element or energy: earth, fire, water, and air. The middle circle unites them, with the goal to achieve balance between them all. Much like we attempt to balance everything in our lives.”
Maybe I could get it tattooed on me, to help me balance my life and my energy levels.
Inwardly I sighed. If only it were that simple.
He indicated to the elaborate cross on his other arm. A circle, with the same intricate design, was tattooed around the center of the cross, with plainer, much thicker circles beyond it. “This one has several meanings, such as hope, balance, transition. Some people believe the vertical crossbar represents the past and the future. The center is the present, the point of transition between the two. The outer circles could represent the moon and the sun. When the sun sets in the west, it’s saying goodbye to what has been done. The rising sun is a harbinger of newness or possible change.”
“Wow, that’s so cool.” Until now, I hadn’t realized how much meaning existed behind Celtic designs. Not that I had given it much thought either.
He chuckled. “I’ll agree with you there. Celtic culture is a passion of mine.”
“I can see why. Can I get you anything else?”
“No, sweetheart, we’re good for now.”
While I’d been busy talking to them, the hostess had seated a group of college-age girls at the next table. Their clothes were trendy and high-priced, their skirts short. I glanced at my ugly brown uniform that was two sizes too big and did nothing to help my tips. I’d been working here for the past three years and I was still waiting for them to get my size.
“Hi,” I said, a little too brightly. It sounded to me as fake as it felt. “Are you ready to order your drinks?”
The girls looked me over, their disgust at my outfit clear. It wasn’t like they were forced to wear it, so I figured they’d get over it soon enough. What my uniform lacked in fashion sense, the food more than made up for.
“I’ll have a Diet Coke,” the girl with long dark hair said. Her friends ordered the same.
I returned with their drink order.
“You mean the Jared Leigh?” a girl at their table asked as I parked her drink in front of her. I startled at the name. “What was he like?”
“Amazing. He does this thing with his tongue that’s to die for. I actually thought I was going to die when he made me come.”
I set the glass down but accidentally placed it on the fork’s edge. The glass tipped over, spilling Diet Coke and ice on the table.
“Sorry,” I said, grabbing the available napkins.
“Are you going out with him again?” her friend asked
, more interested in the dark-haired girl’s sex life than the stream of soda headed toward her.
“Maybe.”
I quickly mopped up the mess and left to get a damp cloth and another drink. I deposited the new glass on the table, taking care not to spill the contents this time. She just nodded in thanks, too engrossed in her friend’s sexual escapades to give me or the drink much thought.
“You’re so lucky,” another girl said as I continued cleaning up the mess. “I can’t believe I went to a lame hockey game with my boyfriend. I could’ve gone with you on Saturday and met the band. Did you get their autographs?”
Jared’s “friend” removed a piece of paper from her purse. I recognized his signature. Not his real one—the one he used to sign for fans. None of the other guys had signed it. “I didn’t have a chance to get the rest of their signatures. I got Jared’s before Amy picked me up at his apartment.”
So after he’d come over and helped Logan and me celebrate Sharon’s birthday, he’d gone out and gotten laid. Nice.
I took their orders, a pleasant smile painted on my face, even when the dark-haired girl demanded all kinds of changes to her order. As if tormenting me with information about what Jared had done with her last Saturday night hadn’t been enough.
I busied myself with my job and avoided the girls’ table as much as possible. I wasn’t too keen to overhear any more details about her more-than-satisfying night with Jared. Even when I brought them their food, I did my best to escape as fast as humanly possible.
“Is there anything else you need?” I asked, after picking up the last of their empty plates. I might as well have asked a brick wall. None of them were paying attention to me. They were busy staring toward the main entrance.
“Oh my God, Courtney,” one girl said, her voice hushed yet overly excited, “he must be crazy about you. Why else would he be here?”
“Did you tell him you were gonna be here?” another girl asked.
Without meaning to, I turned to the door. Jared stood there, surveying the area. I gasped and hightailed it to the kitchen. If I was lucky, he and his new girlfriend (or whatever she was to him) would leave before I had to check if the table needed anything else.
My Song For You (Pushing Limits Book 2) Page 6
