4 Play

by Quinn, Cari

  “No, that was grapefruit for me.”

  She barely spared me a glance. “Right.” She beamed at Hunter. “If you need anything at all, just wave and I’ll come right over.”

  “I bet she will,” I muttered when she strutted off, an extra swing in her hips. “And I can guarantee I’m going to get pineapple juice.”

  Hunter sat back against his cushions, and folded his hands over his belly. “Nah, she’ll remember.”

  “Have you met you? You tend to make women a little stupid.”

  His dimple flashed. “Didn’t work on you.”

  Right. Because I totally kissed strangers in secret hallways. Not once, but twice.

  He propped his forearms on the table. “Or did it?”

  “You’re well aware of your superpowers, Mr. Jordan.”

  He covered my hand. “I only use them for good.”

  “And for sales.”

  “That too.” He sat back when the waitress came back, but didn’t let my hand go.

  Holly glanced at our hands, setting the coffee down right between us so we had to break apart. She set two glasses down as well—both pineapple juice.

  I laughed.

  Hunter tilted his head at me, then followed my gaze. He opened his mouth, but I just waved him off and picked up my glass and took a sip. “Mmm, pineapple juice.”

  He lifted his glass to me and I clinked mine against his. “To classy ladies.”

  “To an eventful morning after,” I said with a small smile. Holly set a plate with creamers and sugar down a little too loudly.

  Hunter tangled our fingers together. The waitress clenched her jaw and flashed the unfriendliest smile I’d seen in a month. This was LA after all. I saw them all the time.

  As Holly stalked off, I caught a flash from our left. “Telephoto lens,” I said in warning and tried to pull my hand away.

  He cupped his hand around the back of my neck and dragged me forward. I tried to relax—this was what we wanted. Hunter’s viral footprint was linked with mine for some reason.

  I wasn’t sure why anyone would be interested in me, but I couldn’t deny the results. I’d checked my phone while getting dressed. Album sales were up, our ridiculous lobby moment was trending, and the memes exploding across Tumblr and Facebook were alternately filled with girl power and romance.

  Not exactly what I’d been expecting when I checked my messages. Carter, my assistant, was fielding dozens of calls for new clients as well.

  Hunter was undoubtedly good for my career, but I wasn’t sure he was good for my peace of mind. My breath stalled as he licked my lips open. Was he giving them a show?

  Was I letting him?

  I just didn’t know anymore. Lost in the moment, I tasted the sweet juice on his tongue, and the underlying flavor that was Hunter. I’d binged on it all night.

  I already missed it.

  I was in so much trouble.

  He drew away, nuzzling my nose before he leaned back. “Think they got that?”

  I cleared my throat. “Without a doubt.”

  “Good.” He added a packet of raw sugar to his coffee and took a sip. “Should keep them talking.”

  “Right.” Just playing a role. I’d do well to remember that.

  I doctored my coffee with cream and sugar and had sucked down three cups by the time we finished our breakfast. I didn’t even want the eggs, but I knew I needed the fuel.

  I was still buzzy from my night with Hunter, but I knew the moment he was out of my airspace I’d crash. I wasn’t sure we’d managed two hours of sleep all night.

  What a way to spend an evening. Really, sleep deprivation wasn’t so bad.

  I’d just reached for the carafe when my phone buzzed. Hunter reached for his cell at the same time. Before I could get my phone out, Hunter read his.

  He sagged back against the cushion.

  “What?”

  “Guess who got a third print run?”

  I flicked my phone to life. And sure enough I had a text saying the same from Carter. “That’s amazing.”

  “Yeah. Too bad it’s not because my interview was so scintillating.”

  I moved over next to him. “I think the whole rock star thing includes sex symbol status. It’s just part of the packaging. People would wander off if the inside wasn’t just as appealing.”

  “You aren’t the one signing, ‘this manaconda is looking for a girl like you’ over your cock.”

  I had to press my lips together not to laugh.

  “Don’t laugh. That’s one of the clean ones.”

  “I wouldn’t.”

  He hauled me astride his lap. “You want to.”

  I let out a surprised gasp and looked over my shoulder.

  “Excuse me, Miss? Over here please.”

  I turned back to him, my cheeks aching with the need to smile. “Yes, sir?”

  “Were you looking for a signature?”

  I shook my head. “I’m far more interested in the flesh-and-blood version. I don’t need a picture.”

  He pulled me down tighter. “Damn right.”

  “Seven it is,” I said against his mouth and curled my arms around his neck.

  “Fuck yes.”

  Seventeen

  Hunter

  I pressed my forehead to the stone wall outside of Enigma. I had a headache from all the neon and strobe lights. It felt like it had been days since I’d touched Kenny, instead of twelve hours.

  I wanted to go back to the rooftop café, or better yet the suite we’d spent the night in. Anywhere but here.

  “They’re looking for you.”

  I grunted at Wyatt.

  “Bats is currently doing champagne glass-sized shots of Johnny Walker Blue.”

  “Great,” I muttered.

  “And Victoria is here.”

  I pushed off the wall. “What the fuck? Why?” Indie knew not to let Victoria come to any of our functions.

  “She’s the plus one for some chick named Bethany something-or-other.”

  I frowned. The name niggled. Why did I know it?

  “Where’s Indie?”

  “Putting out fires from the radio clusterfuck.”

  “Today has been nothing but clusterfuck.” What should have been an interview and acoustic jam session had turned into a free-for-all when the station offered ten Rolling Stone magazines for some Jackass-worthy stunts to get signatures.

  Two girls actually rappelled down the building and wrote the lyrics to our new song on the window. That one had landed on Instagram on my own account.

  The rest had included hijacking our limo, bum-rushing us in the elevator, and one girl even got me in a goddamn urinal.

  Wyatt swiped a hand over his unusually scruffy face. “Agreed, son.”

  We were all exhausted and still had four more days to this hell-week aka release week.

  A roar from inside Enigma had both of our eyebrows raising. What the fuck now?

  “Oh my God. Can we get a picture?”

  I glanced down at two women—no, make that girls, and how the fuck did they get into the club? Both had magazines, cell phones out, and Sharpies.

  Christ.

  I scribbled my name over the covers. Wyatt growled behind me when the girls handed him their phones to take a picture.

  Yeah, just another day in paradise.

  I knew they got the fake smile, but I couldn’t give two shits at that particular moment. Not after what was unfolding as we went down the three steps to get inside the main part of the club.

  I looked around for Patrick and caught him fending off a catfight near the other entrance.

  No help there.

  Wyatt and I moved through the crowd shoulder-to-shoulder. “There’s a shit-ton of people in here that I don’t know, but this chick’s been mouthing off that she’s your guest.”

  I didn’t have anyone on my personal guest list except Kenny—and the girl she asked me to add. It couldn’t be the same name.

  I dug out my phone and scro
lled up to the message I’d sent Indie earlier. “Bethany Jacobs?”

  “Yeah, sounds right,” Wyatt shouted over the screams.

  I shoved my phone back in my pocket. It still didn’t explain my ex. “How did Vic get in?”

  Wyatt’s brow lowered and his jaw flexed.

  My hands clenched. “How?” When he didn’t answer me, I looked for answers inside. The main dance floor was packed. A remixed version of “Pounded” was blasting over the speakers.

  My eyes tracked the neon tubes followed the Art Deco brass sunburst pattern behind the bar. Two people in a uniform of neon pink and black flanked our guitarist as he stood on the bar and twirled two bottles of whiskey. He did some weird dance that only Reed could do without knocking over every shot glass as he filled each one. There was a semi-circle of people around the bar, all of them chanting, “Bats,” at an inhuman decibel.

  This kind of thing wasn’t so unusual at a party.

  The part that wasn’t so awesome?

  My ex-fiancée laying on one end of the bar, her mouth open for a special fill up from my goddamn bandmate. Another girl was laying the opposite way, her arms up making the rock-on gesture with each hand.

  “That would be the Bethany chick there on the other end,” Wyatt said helpfully.

  “Yeah. I figured.”

  When Bats got to Victoria, she threw her arms around his neck and shared her shot.

  “Hunter, it’s not worth it, man.”

  That was pretty much when I saw red.

  I crashed through the throng of people. I didn’t care who I pushed out of the way. The only thing that mattered was me getting to that bar and kicking Reed’s ass.

  I took a running start, climbed on one of the nearby square tables and skidded onto the bar. My fist was swinging even before my brain registered what I was going to do.

  His head snapped back. His arms windmilled, but instead of falling, he straddled the bar and back counter, crashing into a shelf of wine glasses before he caught himself.

  Vic scrambled out of the way, her eyes huge as she cowered behind the bar.

  “What the fucking fuck, Bats?”

  “She’s not your girl anymore, man.”

  “That’s not the point, you ass! She was my fiancée.” I swung again and he ducked, staggering off the back counter and back onto the bar.

  He held up his hands. “Just listen, man.”

  “Listen?” Was he fucking serious?

  “It’s not what you think.”

  “Oh, really? It looks a lot like you were about to deep throat Vic.”

  Reed jumped off the bar and headed into the crowd. I followed, plowing through people until I could reach his jacket. A circle formed as I jerked him back. He was a few inches shorter than me, but Reed had always been a scrapper. He wiggled out of his jacket and wrapped it around my head.

  I tried to back up, but Reed never played fair. There was a reason why we called him Bats. He plowed his fist into my solar plexus and I bent at the waist to drag in a breath.

  “If you’d get your head out of your ass, you’d know I would never be so stupid.”

  I swung out and hit something.

  Reed groaned. “Fucker.”

  I pulled the jacket off of my head just in time to see Reed’s fist coming for my face. There was no time to duck. I took it square on the goddamn chin and saw stars.

  Reed swung again and connected. I took a knee, praying the room wouldn’t go dark. I shook my head. “She’s going to fuck your head up, man. Wasn’t one of us enough?”

  “Stop it!”

  I groaned. Of course she was going to get in the middle of this. Classic Victoria bullshit. “Back off, Vic.”

  “I don’t want you two fighting over me.”

  “That’s exactly what you want,” I roared as I slapped the floor. The pain ricocheted up my arm until I could see clear again. I peered up at her, all golden hair and gold jewelry over a pristine white dress. She was flawless, even after being spread eagle on a damn bar. Her eyes tracked the crowd before she turned for the flashbulbs and discreetly pushed out her chest as she crouched over Reed.

  She cupped his head against her chest, her eyes starred with tears. TMZ, TV Line, US Weekly—it didn’t matter which one. I knew what the headline would be.

  Hammered guitarist Reed Mason and singer Manaconda fight over Victoria Sheer at a downtown LA club.

  Because I didn’t have a goddamn name anymore. Just Manaconda.

  Fuck, my jaw hurt.

  I rolled onto my hip and swiped the back of my hand over my mouth, disgusted at the blood. Sucker-punched. The topper to my week for sure.

  I staggered to my feet and swore. Kenny stood by the DJ, her flame-red hair cascading over one shoulder, a purple dress hugging every blessed curve. Her face was colorless, and her eyes huge with embarrassment.

  At her side was the girl who had brought this entire mess to my door. I pointed at Bethany with her white-and-silver hair that matched her silver dress. “You.”

  She cowered behind Kenny, her gaze darting from the scene with Vic on the floor, to my face, to the exit.

  “You started all of this.”

  Bethany shook her head.

  “That’s enough,” Kenny said and pushed me back a step. “She didn’t do anything.”

  Exasperated, I turned to Reed and Victoria, then back to Kennedy and Bethany.

  A hand clamped on my shoulder and I turned around, already swinging. When my fist connected with a stone jaw, I swore.

  Patrick’s eyebrow rose, but otherwise he didn’t look fazed at my punch in the least. Sadly, he’d seen worse from us in the past.

  “Looks like you need help.” He flexed his jaw. “Time to get you back in the gym. Keys throws a better punch.”

  I blew out a breath. “Sorry, man.”

  Patrick pushed me back into Wyatt as he waded into the fray. Our security expert—and babysitter—hauled Bats off the floor. He pushed him toward the side entrance before gently maneuvering Victoria after him.

  I shook out my throbbing hand. Where the hell had Kenny gone? I spotted her leading the Bethany chick out of the club just as six uniformed cops crashed the party.

  “Indie’s going to kill us,” Wyatt muttered.

  “Well, fuck,” I said.

  Eighteen

  Kennedy

  I rushed Bethany out of the club. We threaded our way through the paparazzi vying for a picture.

  “Keep your head down,” I said.

  “But the action’s back there. I think I saw Perez Hilton.”

  I rolled my eyes. “You didn’t see Perez Hilton.”

  “You don’t know.” She tried to pull away from me and go back to Enigma. “He loves the Manaconda craziness. I wouldn’t doubt he was here.”

  “Bethany, you are already on probation. Did you perhaps notice the five squad cars that pulled up?” I’d been trying to temper some of the twenty-two-year-old’s crazy partying. I thought tonight would be a great way to get her seen without the drama.

  What had I been thinking?

  Oh, that’s right—not thinking was my new perpetual state. I was obviously still in some lust-haze over Hunter. And he was fighting with his bandmate over Victoria Sheer.

  Just phenomenal.

  Me playing his girlfriend—that was a laugh. And totally not happening now. No way was I wading into that madness. It was bad enough that I’d actually contemplated more than a one-night fling with Hunter.

  Now it looked like I was part of a triangle.

  How was this my life? I was the one who put out these fires, not became the star of them.

  Bethany tried to break away from me again, and I clamped my hand around her arm. “What were you thinking?”

  “I was having fun. I did the TV Line interview you set me up with—thanks, by the way. My Instagram account totally blew up when I leaked that shot of me and Austin on set. Then I got fifty-thousand more followers when I posted that I was going to the Manaconda party.�
��

  I sighed. “Bronze party.”

  “Whatever. You know people only care about that Manaconda thing.”

  It pained me to admit that she was right, but the phenomenon was fairly obvious at this point. I quickly steered her toward an Uber car stand and opened the app on my phone.

  “Then I was in Starbucks. You know how I like my macchiato.”

  “Everyone does,” I said and collapsed against the stand. Bethany had a post for her daily drink, and even a hashtag. Half her fame was her Starbucks shilling.

  She smiled and rubbed her arms. “I forgot my coat at the club.”

  “The car will be here in a minute.”

  “Cool. Anyway, I went in for my macchiato and I met Victoria Sheer. Can you believe it?”

  My heart sank. “What a coincidence.”

  “I know, right? She’s totally a Caffe Luxxe person. At least from what I heard anyway. She might even be their spokeswoman for the fall. Anyway, she was totally in my Starbuckies. We hit it off, spent the day shopping, and I just had to have her come with me to the party tonight.”

  “Oh, Bethany.”

  “What? We had a blast at the party. She introduced me to Bats—you know Reed Mason. Man, he’s hot. Not as hot as Hunter, but I think he was packing some goods too, you know?”

  The story was just getting worse.

  “Right, you know. High five on the hookup with that hottie.” She held up her hand. When I didn’t slap her five, she shrugged. “Oh, are you pissed because of the Vic thing? She says he’s the love of her life. I mean, I can see why. You got a taste of that Manaconda, right? I wouldn’t want to give that up either.”

  Listening to Bethany on a roll was like trying to understand a drunk toddler. It was just best to let them babble it all out. And if I hyperventilated a little, she wouldn’t notice.

  “Anyway Reed—personally, I like his nickname Bats, but Vic hates it—Reed seemed surprised to see us. They had a little fight, but then they made up and we were doing these crazy shots called A Kick in the Crotch. Oh my God, they’re delicious. I think I had like four.”

  “But like out of nowhere Hunter came in and there was this epic battle on the bar. But you saw that part. Wasn’t that awesome? I got some really cool shots.” She pulled her cell out of her pocket. “My phone’s been blowing up since I posted them.”