A masculine snicker made me look up. Right into Andres’s eyes. I glanced over my shoulder, but Sandy was gone, taking a seat beside Darren. Her back was to me, so there was no way she’d see that I needed help.
Everyone else was busy eating and talking. It was just Andres and me there at the table.
Crap. I turned back to face forward. It couldn’t have been anyone else? No, of course not. I sighed, resigned to make some sort of crack about it to maybe diffuse the awkward even a little. His eyes drifted down to said right boob, just in time to watch the blob of potato and mayo roll off and land on the floor.
This moment is pure perfection, I told myself. Just pretend he’s not there. I reached for a napkin and crouched down to pick up the mess. Except Andres seemed to have the same idea, crouching at the same moment and, of course, we butted heads.
Painfully. Awkwardly. Humiliatingly.
I grunted; he groaned.
We locked eyes. His crinkled at the corners, because apparently, this was all just so hilarious.
Also: stupid sexy-long eyelashes.
I wanted to shake my fists and yell up at the sky: WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME?
Instead, I dropped my eyes and focused on the potato salad on the floor. “I got it,” I said as I tried to ignore the pulsing ache in my head while also avoiding Andres’s eyes.
When he must have realized I had the mess well in hand, he finally straightened up, so all I could see in my peripheral vision were his legs clad in jeans ending at his worn black Chucks.
Understanding that I didn’t need to ensure the floor was clean on a molecular level, I forced myself to stand up and tossed the napkin in the trash bin at the end of the table.
“Uh, Vanessa?” Andres said, the amusement in his voice making me consider homicide very seriously. Or would that be musicicide? Death by being beaten with one’s own guitar?
Keeping my eyes on the table, I ignored him and turned back toward the plate I’d abandoned, deciding against the potato salad after it had so thoroughly betrayed me.
“Vanessa?” he said again.
Finally, I steeled my spine and looked up at him, ignoring his full lips that were twisted up in a smirk. His eyes were dancing with mischief. Suddenly fighting tears of humiliation, I was no longer able to deal with him at all. Not his smirks, his bedroom eyes, or his impossibly long, too-pretty-for-a-man eyelashes.
“Look,” I said, hissing past my constricted throat as I stepped closer so no one could hear. “I don’t want to hurt my father so I’m not going to tell him about you and what happened because if he did know, he would kick you out of the band. But you need to stay away from me, understand?”
All the humor drained from his face. “But I…”
I held up a hand and closed my eyes for a long second. “Not interested,” I said. “You’re not going to have to be around me very much, so just pretend you don’t know me and that nothing ever happened. All right?”
“No,” he said.
That got my attention. “What?”
He shook his head. “I can’t forget what happened between us. I don’t want to.”
The look in his eyes was intense. He didn’t blink, and I had to turn away, cursing the pounding organ in my chest that seemed to be pulsating along with what was surely going to be a goose egg on my head.
“Well,” I said, having to clear my throat before I could continue, “you’re going to have to. It never happened.” Then, because I wasn’t about to argue and he was opening his mouth, presumably to do just that, I turned and walked away, taking a spot on one of the randomly placed folding chairs, right next to my dad.
Like a coward, but whatever.
“…should move Pieces of You to be the last in the set,” Dad was saying as I balanced my plate and picked up the half sandwich I’d grabbed from the platter. “It’s a powerful song and will leave a good impression on the crowd.”
As he spoke, I chewed and watched Linda scribbling in a notebook. At the end of the day, she would type up everything they talked about so Dad could review later in the evening. It had been part of my job when I’d worked for him last summer—an important task that allowed him to stay on top of everything and keep so many balls in the air.
“Not to mention, the girls will go crazy over it,” Kiki said, pointing her fork at Dad. “Too bad you don’t have any merch ready yet. I bet you’d be able to sell out of a shipment of Wiretap shirts at this one event alone.”
I glanced over at Dave, who was staring at Kiki, incredulous, and it wasn’t over her look, either. He’d had plenty of time to get used to that. He simply had no idea just how much stuff a popular boy band could move: shirts, posters, keychains.
Just then, I felt eyes on me. Not Andres’s, thankfully, as I’d kept tabs on him in my peripheral vision and knew he was sitting to my left. No, these eyes were coming from in front of me on the right. I looked up and discovered Max, the broody guy, staring at my chest. Not looking, not peeking. Staring.
I narrowed my eyes at him, which seemed to grab his attention because his gaze snapped up to mine. His eyes widened a little and his cheeks instantly reddened. It would have been cute if he hadn’t been zoned in on my chest like it was an oasis in the desert.
What the hell? I had never had the kind of assets guys stared at. Not like that. And it’s not like I dressed to show them off—I was wearing a well fitted (but not tight) uniform blouse with all but one button done up. I glanced down, and it was only then that I remembered I’d been so caught up in cleaning the potato salad off the floor that I’d neglected to clean it off myself.
Yep, there it was: a big smear of yellowy goop running down my right breast. Classy.
I turned toward Andres and flicked my gaze pointedly down to my blouse and then at him. He must have known right away what it meant because he just shrugged and cocked his head helplessly. Apparently, that was what he’d been trying to tell me when I’d shut him down and walked away.
I glanced over at Sandy, but she was watching Dad, engrossed in what he was saying. There was no way to get her attention.
I was on my own. Again.
Ignoring Andres, I stood, calmly put my plate down on my chair and walked toward the girls’ locker room as though it was no big deal.
Potato salad happens every day.
Stains happen every day.
No big deal, Nessa.
Or so I told myself as I sat in a toilet stall and bawled my eyes out.
I got over myself, cleaned up my blouse, and went back out into the gym to find Sandy saying goodbye to everyone as she had to return to afternoon classes.
The boys started in on their set again, sounding even tighter after Dad’s lunchtime feedback and encouragement.
There was a tripod set up with a video camera, and Rex was moving around the stage, taking still shots, which the guys were finally starting to be able to ignore.
“How are they going to handle a crowd of screaming girls tomorrow?” Ginny said.
Dad grinned. “They’ll freak out, stumble a little, and then they’ll realize the girls are screaming for them, and they’ll ride the high of it. Well, all but Andy, who’s used to it. Not that I’m sure he won’t enjoy himself.”
I snorted, making Dad turn and look at me, eyebrows raised. I covered it up with a cough. “Sorry,” I croaked, pointing at my throat. “Tickle. Must be dry in here.”
After a couple more hours of playing (during which Kiki and I did two more coffee runs) the guys were sagging with obvious exhaustion, so Dad called an end to rehearsal. To my surprise, a glance at the clock told me it was almost four pm and the guys had been working hard all day. I was tired just from watching, so couldn’t imagine how they felt.
“Let’s hit the hotel for a break,” Dad said as he pulled out his phone to summon Gary and Ken back to pick everyone up. “I’m fried and want a shower and some food; I imagine everyone else does, too.”
Once he was done with his phone, he hauled himself out of his c
hair and put up a hand, stopping the boys. They were already well-trained to watch for his cues and all looked at him, waiting for direction.
“We’re done rehearsal for the day,” he said. “We can do a bit more tomorrow, but I want you boys to get a good night’s rest. The bad news is we still have work to do back at the hotel.” He smiled at Ginny and Kiki. “Once we get back there and fill our bellies, I’m going to review the video of today’s practice while handing you over to these capable ladies who are going to make heartthrobs out of you.”
Kiki laughed. “Look at them, Tony,” she said, gesturing toward the stage with a sweep of her arm. “We’re just going to dress you and tidy you up, boys. You’re already heartthrobs all on your own.”
“Shhhh. Don’t feed their egos,” Dad said in a stage whisper.
Yeah, especially Andres’s, I thought.
Back Seat Confessions
I woke with a start and a gasp, taking a moment to place where I was. When I realized I was in the back of my father’s limo, and it was dark, I remembered Dave and I were heading back to our respective campuses.
Speaking of Dave, I turned to look at him sitting beside me, expecting him to be passed out too since my long day must have been like an eternity to him, but instead, he was smiling at me, his eyes twinkling in what little light there was in the back of the car.
“You okay?” he said softly.
I took a deep breath and nodded. “Bagged.” And as though my telling him wasn’t evidence enough, I yawned, belatedly covering my mouth with my forearm. “Sorry.”
He shrugged.
I looked out the window and spotted the Dairy Queen. That meant we were about five minutes out from Rosewood—not worth allowing myself to slip back into sleep, despite how badly I wanted to. It would just make it harder to wake up and haul my butt up to my dorm room. To keep myself awake, I glanced over at the boy beside me. “Why don’t you look as tired as I feel?”
His lips spread into a grin. “Oh, I’m tired; maybe I’m just too amped for it to show.”
“It was a good day,” I said. “You did great, you know. My dad was really impressed; that says a lot.”
He nodded and was silent for a long moment before he blurted out: “He asked me to go on tour with them.”
I wasn’t surprised that Dad had asked, only that he’d done it already. And maybe that I hadn’t seen him do it—it must have happened when I was so busy avoiding Andres. “Oh yeah?” I asked, playing dumb.
“You knew,” he said, not a question.
“I had a feeling,” I said, lifting just my left shoulder.
He nodded again and looked straight ahead as though out the windshield, but I doubted his eyes were tracking where we were going.
It was impossible to know what he was thinking, but he was obviously thinking about something. “You’re not mad that I didn’t tell you, are you?”
“No,” he said quickly as his head swung back to me. “Not at all. I understand it had to come from him.”
I realized then that he hadn’t said what his answer had been. “You going to go?”
He looked away again. “I don’t know.”
That shouldn’t have been a surprise, since he’d turned me down so many times before when I’d tried to get him to audition, but while he’d refused me, no one ever refused Tony Capri. “What’s wrong, Dave?”
He opened his mouth and then closed it. Took a breath, started again. “I’m just not sure I want to do it.”
For some reason, that made me instantly mad. This was the opportunity of a lifetime, the kind hundreds of guys like him begged for a chance at. Didn’t he understand what this could mean for him? How this could be his ticket?
“Why not?” I demanded, my tone clipped and loud in the back of the quiet limousine. I glanced forward; Gary’s eyes were on the road, though I was sure he was listening. Not like he hadn’t heard a lot worse than a couple of kids talking about going on tour.
“It’s complicated,” Dave said when I looked back at him.
“I’m pretty sure I can follow. Just don’t use any big words,” I said.
He looked down at his hands, fidgeting. “I wasn’t insulting your intelligence, Vanessa. And I know this is huge—a dream come true. What I meant was that it’s complicated for me.”
He sighed, but didn’t continue, so I tried a different tack. “How long did he ask you to join the tour for?”
“He didn’t give me an exact time period. I think his words were, ‘for the foreseeable future. Until Chris gets better.’”
“So it’s not a long-term commitment,” I pointed out. “Why wouldn’t you want to do it?”
He looked up at me, into my eyes. “It’s a total rush,” he said. “Playing, I mean. And I bet it will be even more of one when I’m on stage tomorrow. I love music; love playing. More than anything, actually. And the guys are awesome, so yeah, it’s a dream come true. But this is such a big deal—playing to huge audiences, traveling around for the summer.”
He paused for a long moment and then said, so softly, I almost didn’t hear, “I’m just scared. I don’t want to get caught up in it, you know?”
“Are you worried you’re not good enough?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No. I mean, not to be conceited or anything, but your dad wouldn’t have offered if he’d thought I wasn’t. Maybe at first I was a little insecure, but no, it’s not that. It’s…” he sighed.
Something like sympathy came over me, making me reach for his hand and squeeze it. But as soon as I realized I’d touched him, I quickly pulled back. “What is it?”
I wasn’t sure he was going to answer, but then he finally did. “I don’t know if you’ll know about this—your dad will, I’m sure—but back in the 70’s there was a band called Legion Thunder.”
While they were from before my father’s time as a producer, Legion Thunder was definitely stuff of legend, so much so that I’d heard of them and some of their music even though they probably hadn’t played in decades. Their stuff wasn’t to my tastes but was finding a new audience among retro-loving hipsters.
“Okay,” I said, starting to get a sinking feeling where this was going. With a glance out the window, I was also worried that we were going to run out of road before he told me the full story.
“My grandfather—the one who just died—was one of the band members.”
“Wait,” I said, remembering seeing the one-line news story a little while back, obviously not making the connection before now. “Your grandfather was Strutts Dempsey?”
He seemed a little surprised that I knew, but Dad had mentioned Strutts over the years—he’d been something of a phenom back in the day.
“No one around here knows the relation,” Dave said. “We kept it pretty quiet, and my mom changed her name even before she got married. He never wanted us to suffer because of his past.”
I let that sink in, realizing that Emmie—who he’d dated—probably didn’t even know. I waited for him to continue, seeing that even just the telling was hard for him. Surely his grief over his grandfather was still fresh. But this was more than that.
“I’m really sorry,” I said softly when he seemed to be struggling too much to go on. I wondered if he’d had anyone to talk to about it and figured probably not, definitely not around here if no one knew who he was.
He nodded and then said, “Being in that band pretty much ruined his life.”
“In what way?” I prodded gently, though I could probably guess.
“Life on the road,” he said. And while he didn’t need to elaborate on that, especially for me, he did. “Drugs, groupies, more drugs, bad decisions. He married my grandmother—a groupie—on the road when he got her pregnant. Then he basically dumped her at home while he went on tour again and pretty much forgot about her. He had other kids, too—only a couple I’ve met. I don’t even think he knew all of them.”
I bit back a few choice words, not wanting to add insult to injury. Instead of letting o
n how I felt, I looked toward the front seat and leaned forward. “Hey, Gary, can you drive around for a bit? Just like an extra ten minutes?”
“Sure thing, Nessa,” Gary said over his shoulder.
I didn’t want Gary to think we were making out in the back (which would filter back to my dad), so I left the partition down. But I kept my voice low when I turned back to Dave. I grabbed his hand again, this time holding onto it. “What else? You can tell me; it’s in the vault, I promise.”
He looked up at me, anguish in his eyes. “Four ODs. Six trips to rehab.”
“Did any of it take?”
“The last stay did, thankfully.” He squeezed my fingers and then let me go, which hurt a little, but I reminded myself this wasn’t about me.
“I don’t want you to think he was a bad guy. I…I feel weird telling you all this awful stuff because by the time I really knew him, he was clean and had been for a while. He was a good guy who did a lot to give back. He had a lot of great stories—and some really scary ones, too. The worst ones he didn’t tell me himself.” He let out a humorless chuckle. “Do yourself a favor and don’t Google your loved ones.”
Not like I needed that tip.
It was dark in the car, but I saw the shine of tears in his eyes. “I miss him already,” he said.
“Of course you do,” I soothed, rubbing the back of his hand with my thumb.
“But that doesn’t mean I want to live that life. He spent years trying to make amends, though my mother never forgave him for what he did to her and my grandmother. She only came to the hospice one time so he could say his piece, but even that wasn’t enough for her. He…at the end it was pretty much just me and one of my half-uncles who were with him. He was so alone, though he never blamed them.”
So sad, I thought, fighting my own tears. “At least they didn’t keep you from having a relationship with him.”
“At first they did. But when he proved that he was clean and away from that life, my parents let me meet him. They still don’t know how close we got. But we had a real connection, you know?”
Along for the Ride Page 9
