by Quinn, Cari
“The kiss in the hallway. Real or a stunt?”
I tipped back on my heels. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
“Even when there’s a video?” Came a shout from the back.
“Especially when there’s video,” I replied with a shark smile. I knew how to play the game. They were going to misquote me all over the damn place. Might as well make the quotes interesting.
“So, there’s more video of you and Kennedy McManus?”
“You were caught at Miley’s club.”
I shook my head in exasperation. Tristan had dragged me in there on a dare. I certainly didn’t go in there to grind one out with Miley. Damn Tristan, he was half the reason my face was in the papers. It was usually my fee for a cooking lesson—going out with him to hit a few bars or clubs.
“What happened to Victoria Sheer? Is she back in the picture?”
My gut tightened. I didn’t want to talk about freaking Victoria. Ever. “I have lots of friends. I don’t need anyone to clean up after me, son.”
“So, you are dating the PR princess?”
“Or are you having a threesome with Jamie DuCaine and Lindsey York?”
No way was I even touching that one. Fucking assholes. If I breathed on a woman, they assumed I had to be banging her.
I spotted Wyatt and Keys on the stairs. Finally. Hudson Wyatt was a helluva lot more interesting than I was. He’d done a charity race last month that still had the papers buzzing. Bats, Owen, and Zach were heading up the rear.
“Victoria Sheer was seen with Reed Mason, your guitarist, last night. Any thoughts?”
My spine snapped straight. The lazy stance I’d perfected was long gone. What the hell? I turned around to face Bats. Instead of the ready smile and fuck off attitude, his face was blank.
My mood darkened.
I’d been trying my damnedest not to let this freaking Rolling Stone magazine thing kill my release day, but this? What. The. Actual. Fuck.
I turned back to the sea of reporters. “Does anyone actually give a shit about the album?”
When no one asked a question, I stood rock still. Alone on the dais, that fucking magazine cover my only ally. Then a cool, soft hand slid into mine.
Kenny.
Her dark eyes fierce, her wine-colored mouth stretched into a perfect smile. It was a little too perfect. Not quite the crooked one that I’d had to fight for. She lifted up on her toes, and dragged me down to meet her lips. The kiss wasn’t as wild as the hallway, nor as hot as backstage, but she didn’t hold back.
Just enough tongue to let the roomful of press know that we’d definitely done it more than once. I breathed in her orange blossom scent and tugged lightly on the ends of her silky curls that had tumbled forward. She stepped away, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she stalked back to the podium. She swiped her thumb along her bottom lip before speaking into her microphone.
“Yes, we’re dating. No, he is not taking part in any threesomes—or moresomes—with anyone. I don’t share. Now if that’s enough of the reality show drama?” She pointed at an African-American girl with caramel hair done up in an impressive twist of braids. She wore a LA Love & Paws shirt in bright orange. Her fingers were nearly bloodless around the neck of a guitar in the same color. “Shannon, can you come up?”
Her dark eyes went wide. “Um, sure.” She came up on the dais. “We were wondering if the band would sign this for the auction this weekend?”
I smiled at the girl. Love & Paws was the one charity that I dropped everything for. I didn’t recognize this volunteer, but there were so many local shelters associated with it that I wasn’t surprised. “Absolutely.”
The rest of the band came up on the dais, settling into our usual seats. Bats stayed on the far end of the table, refusing to meet my gaze.
Kenny steered the conversation to the charity and all the others that the band supported. Slowly the questions skewed to the charities, the album, and a few more still tried to steer the questions back to our love life. At least this time Wyatt was under fire as much as I was.
Being a former racecar driver, often overseas, he dealt with a whole different socialite set. One that included a lot of damn royalty. And not the LA kind.
I tried to concentrate, but the only thing buzzing in my head were her words: I don’t share. Questions still picked at my brain—the Victoria subject, Bats keeping time with my former girl, why no one told me, but I locked them out with thoughts of Kenny naked in my room later. Naked anywhere later.
Finally, Dex came up to relieve Kenny. He spoke about Ripper Records and the showcase that was coming up in three weeks. We had to pose for pictures for the next half hour, and one last fan club photo op.
My face hurt by the end of it.
An Instagram booth had taken over half the lobby. Fan club members and the band took turns in the booth to take crazy pictures. At least that part had been fun. I’d only been groped three times. It was a record.
Kenny had slipped away sometime during the parade of cameras. We had an afterparty to deal with, and the A-listers from the balcony were invited. No press. Just friends, family, and people from the label.
My head was pounding, and my skin felt too tight. I wandered out of the groups, making small talk with Jessica Travers, the head of our fan club. Happy to let her chirp on about the actors and internet-famous people who had been in the balcony.
None of that meant anything to me. Ten years in Los Angeles had dimmed that particular excitement. I’d rather be home cooking.
Actually, if one more camera was shoved in my face, I was pretty sure I was going to start swinging.
Keys tugged me off the sidelines and into the throng of people. The pure delight on the fans faces started pushing some of the disgust back. Happy conversation about our new songs, about the show, about how Hammered had gotten them through hard times—those were the things that mattered.
Wyatt clamped a hand on my shoulder. “All right?”
I nodded curtly as the last of the fans were herded out by security. “Getting there.”
I glanced at Bats, who still hadn’t come near me. He’d gone into boisterous party boy mode with a bottle of his favorite vodka close by, and an innocuous bag of gummy bears in his hand.
That was Bats’ party trick—the candies were soaked in vodka, too. And he was eating them by the handful.
Awesome.
Wyatt blew out a breath. “You know that was nothing, right?”
I shrugged. “Not the time, man.”
“They’re blowing it out of proportion. It’s what reporters do.”
“If that’s the truth, then why is he drinking like tonight’s his last night on earth?”
“That’s just Bats.”
I gripped my biceps. “By the end of the night, sure. Not during a fan event.”
Wyatt’s ginger eyebrow arched.
“He should have mentioned it.”
“Because it wasn’t important,” he shot back.
“Oh, really? Then why does he look like he got his dick caught in the cookie jar?”
Wyatt swiped his hand over his face. “Don’t do this.”
“Don’t do what?”
“Christ, even mentioning Vic makes you insane.”
“And that’s why Bats hanging with my ex-fiancée shouldn’t be a non-issue. She’s a user.” Of people more than drugs, though nothing would surprise me about Victoria. I stared at my guitarist, praying he felt the heat of my gaze. “What? Is her Twitter account too low? Not enough followers on Instagram? Needs to get her face splashed around again?”
“I can’t talk to you like this.” Wyatt shook his head. “Just don’t do anything stupid until you talk to him.”
I crossed my arms. “Not like you to play ref, Wyatt. Usually you’re wading into the fight with me.”
“This time he doesn’t deserve it. Bats might be a crazy motherfucker sometimes, but he wouldn’t go there.”
I tried to relax, but my shoulders were achingly
tight. I wanted to believe Bats wouldn’t do something stupid with Victoria, but I knew her. I’d almost fucking married her. She had a way about her—a fragility that got under a man’s skin. I’d fallen for it for years.
Too many years.
I fisted my hands under my arms and nodded. I didn’t trust myself to do anything else.
Indie crossed the room to us. “Let’s get you guys to the rooftop. Food and drink time. No press.”
“Fuckin’ A,” I muttered.
I followed her to the stairs and back up to a private hallway. A crowd of people took the back exit from the theater out to the expansive rooftop space. Normally, it was crowded with clubbers. The Ace Hotel might be one of the oldest establishments in Los Angeles, but it stayed current. It was all ours tonight, thanks to Tristan and Donovan’s connections. Night had descended, the air a helluva lot cooler than inside. Heaters that looked more like torches were lit around the pool.
Bats was surrounded by women, bottle in hand. He’d stripped down to an eye-searing canary yellow speedo that I could not unsee, and cannonballed in. He emerged from the water, shaking like a dog. “Body shots!”
I turned away with a shake of my head. Patrick would have his hands full tonight.
Bats’ behavior made the skin between my shoulders band even tighter. The more out of control he was, the more he’d usually fucked up.
But I couldn’t think about that now. I wouldn’t. Not when my night had the opportunity to end on a much higher note. One with a distracting redhead with lips full enough to give the most pious of men fantasies. And no one ever took me for a saintly man.
I passed the liquor stations in favor of a craft beer. I didn’t want to get obliterated tonight.
I wandered away from the laughter and the noise. I needed to shake off my mood. The view of Los Angeles below helped. From up here it didn’t seem quite so plastic and false. Today had revealed a pathetic level of both.
One of the thousand reasons I didn’t live in the city anymore. I needed the mountains and the distance to keep the love alive. Looking out at the city from my house in the hills helped. So did staying out of the nightlife that had ruled my world for years. Luckily I didn’t fall into the Tristan trap all that often.
The rough cement of the half wall dug into my palms. I counted to twenty, forcing my limbs to relax, my muscles to unravel. Tonight was about my band and my friends. It wasn’t about the past, and it wasn’t about the stupid Rolling Stone cover. I needed to put all the bullshit aside.
“Hello, brother.”
I twisted away from the view. “Christ, Noah. You made it.” I pulled my big brother in for a hug, slapping his back before my grip firmed on his shoulders.
“Wouldn’t miss my baby brother’s big day.” He slapped my back in a return hug before stepping back.
“When did you get in?”
“I got here at the tail end of the press thing.”
My eyebrows lowered. “Great.”
“What a fuckin’ circus. They were out for blood, man.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
He stole my beer. “Cheers.”
“Dick.”
A pale eyebrow arched. “I believe your dick is the one in question.” He took a sip. “On all the things. And all the picture, and topics…”
“Fuck off.” I laughed.
His eyes were bluer than mine, a hell of a lot more rested, and practically gleamed in good humor. My brother was the laidback sort, when he wasn’t working anyway. He leaned against the half wall next to me and jerked his chin at the revelry. “Doing well for yourself, I see.”
I shrugged. “The label is happy with our current sales, that’s all.”
“Yeah. That’s all. I can’t turn on the television without seeing some form of picture of your junk, bud. I know the Jordan men are blessed, but they put the wrong man on the cover for that particular description.”
I snagged a beer from a passing waiter and chucked the cap at him. “I hate you.”
Noah grinned and surveyed the party. I tried to see it from his perspective. Women wandered around in bathing suits that probably wouldn’t see water—unless Bats got to them. Men in swim trunks with their perfect gym bodies mingled with the suits from the label and a ridiculous level of beautiful women were peppered around the deck. There were a few famous faces that I knew by name, and others I knew by reputation. It was a strange mix of the LA set, the trendy, and the normals.
Bats was holding court in the pool, Wyatt at the bar, Keys was flitting from group to group with her usual charm and laughter. The head of our fan club, Jessica, had her camera at the ready, but she was more interested in the famous party crashers than recording anything.
Zach and Owen had their guitars out, jamming with a handful of actors who fancied themselves singers. A female country singer sitting in with them lent an earthy flavor to the cover songs.
Indie was finally relaxing for the first time all week. I was pretty sure she was holding a glass of wine that could be a decanter, but I was glad she was loosening up. Even the stoic Patrick was chatting up a girl. Everyone was having fun. And I should have been in the middle of it, but I couldn’t make myself wade in.
My brother’s gaze locked on something across the space. I followed his line of sight past the lights, the laughter, and the glitter. I wasn’t really aware of the growl until my brother laughed.
Noah’s lips twitched, and his dimples dented his cheeks. “Know her?”
Kenny stood just outside the theater entrance to the patio.
“Back off, brother.”
She’d changed. Instead of the buttoned-up suit, she was wearing a little slip of a dress that shimmered in the torchlight. The LA skyline was cool blue and white and she was all flame. From her hair to the shimmering wine-colored dress, she was nothing but heat. All her curls had been tamed and yet teased at the same time.
I wanted to fist my hands into all of it and drag her into me until there was nothing but skin.
“You going to introduce me to her?”
I frowned. “Hell no.”
“You’re just afraid she’ll like the superior Jordan brother.”
“You’re delusional.”
He rubbed his fist against his chest. “I’m wounded.”
“You will be if you don’t stop looking at her.”
“So, that’s the way of it, huh?” Noah grinned around his bottle before he took a sip.
“Fuck off.”
“You lose your quippy comebacks when you’re twisted up about a girl.” His smile faded. “Don’t get too bent, brother.” He stood up straighter and clamped a hand on my shoulder. “Promise me.”
I finally caught her gaze and any assurance I might have tried to make dissolved on my tongue. “Not sure I can do that. I don’t break my promises to you, Noah.”
He sighed. “Man. Well, there’s always a beer in the fridge for you in Colorado.”
I hoped I wouldn’t need it, but I nodded. “How long you here?”
“Got a job in town for the next two months.”
My attention swung back to Noah. “Really? And you’re just now telling me?”
He shrugged. “Figured I could crash with you, but maybe I need to find my own place.”
I shook my head. “You know the code at the house. There’s plenty of room.”
Noah’s gaze wandered over my shoulder. “Soundproofed?”
I shot a look over my shoulder. A woman with dark hair and darker eyes smiled warmly. I slapped his arm. “I’ve done some remodeling since your last visit. You’ve got your own wing.”
“Damn, I love visiting you, little brother.” He set the beer on the ledge and pushed off. Noah relieved a waitress of two glasses of champagne with an easy smile and made a beeline for the brunette who had captured his interest.
I turned my attention back to Kenny and caught her talking to a slim blonde woman in an ice blue suit. I recognized her, but couldn’t quite pull her name into m
y head. She was Donovan’s version of Pepper Potts, minus the naked time. Lila something or other. When Dex came up to meet them, I groaned.
I really didn’t want to wade into that conversation. Then again, everything I’d been thrust into tonight had been against my better judgment.
My balls tightened. Well, except Kennedy McManus.
I’d be thrusting into her balls deep, even if it was the worst idea in the history of ideas.
Ten
Kennedy
Dex clinked his ice cubes before taking a sip of his whiskey. “That was inspired, Kennedy. Is that how your PR firm works? Fuck the clients? Then put a spin on it?”
I gripped the small purse dangling from my wrist, resisting the urge to twist. Showing any sort of weakness in front of Dex was a mistake. His sharp obsidian eyes were looking for an angle. I wasn’t sure if it was to move up the ladder at Ripper Records, or to show up Lila—whatever it was, I didn’t want any part of it.
Lila Shawcross’s elegant blonde brow arched. “Don’t be crude, Dex. She minimized an escalating situation. The press smelled blood in the water—which I wouldn’t put past you to have chummed yourself.”
Dex gave a dismissive shrug. “Bad press is even better than good press for sales.”
“That’s not how we do it at Ripper, and you know it.”
“You don’t know the Donovan I do. He plays dirty with the best of them. Believe me.”
Lila lightly twisted the stem of her wine glass. “That may be so back in your London days, but it’s not how we do it now. You’ll do well to remember that.”
Dex rocked back on his heels a moment before taking another sip. “I get results.” He lifted his glass then seemed to have spotted someone over our shoulders. “Cheers.” His wide smile was firmly in place as he sauntered off.
My wristlet was cutting off my circulation before I realized I’d been twisting it subconsciously.
Lila plucked a glass of wine off a passing tray and handed it to me. “Dex is as obnoxious as they come, but he’s right. He does get results. I just don’t particularly like his methods.”
