by Kelly Oram
by Kelly Oram
Also by Kelly Oram
The Jamie Baker Series:
Being Jamie Baker
More Than Jamie Baker
Serial Hottie
V is for Virgin
The Avery Shaw Experiment
The Supernaturals Series:
Chameleon
Ungifted
Published by Bluefields Creative
Copyright © 2014 by Kelly Oram
Edited by Jennifer Henkes (www.literallyjen.com)
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
ISBN 978-0-9914579-4-6
For the fans!
The music in the club stopped and a spotlight blinked on, momentarily blinding me as my eyes adjusted to the unexpected light. I wasn’t surprised when I found myself staring down the world’s biggest cake, but I acted the part anyway. Adrianna had gone to a lot of work to throw me this party. I wanted her to know I appreciated it.
“Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday, dear Kyle! Happy birthday to you!”
I’ve spent my whole life performing for other people. It was nice to have them all sing to me for once.
“For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow! For he’s a jolly good fellow, which nobody can deny!”
An arm slipped around my waist and Adrianna’s soft lips brushed over my cheek. “Make a wish, birthday boy.”
“Why would I need to do that?” I asked her. “I’ve already got everything I’ve ever wanted. Fame, money, a beautiful woman crazy enough to marry me…”
Adrianna gave me a look that sent shivers down my spine. “If you don’t make a wish, then how can I make it come true later tonight?”
The crowd of people around us laughed and jeered. I grinned at them. “I think my birthday wish list just became endless.”
I swooped Adrianna into my arms and dipped her low. The kiss I planted on her hinted at exactly what I wanted from her for my birthday. After I set her back on her feet I finally blew out the candles—all twenty-five of them in one breath—and took a bow for the cheering crowd.
“Speech! Speech! Speech!”
“What can I say?” I asked, smirking for my friends. “It’s good to be me!”
And that was the truth.
A lot of celebrities grumble about the inconvenience of fame—the lack of privacy, people only loving you for your money and connections, the constant hounding by fans and the paparazzi. I can’t say I agree with them. If ever someone was meant to live the life of a celebrity, it was me.
I got my first taste of fame when I was eighteen and my band, Tralse, got our big break. Our song “Broken Passion” topped out at number one on the charts and our debut album went platinum. Our follow-up album, S is for Sex, went triple platinum, won six Grammys, and turned me into an international superstar.
For the last three years people have worshipped at my feet, and I’ve yet to tire of the attention. I’m never without friends or something to do, I always get everything I want, and I’m treated like a king wherever I go. I’m not ashamed to admit that I love it.
As someone started cutting the cake, the birthday guests began chanting again. “Song! Song! Song! Song!”
Like with the money and attention, I never get tired of being asked to perform. I love being on stage, and now, ever since the band broke up, I don’t get the chance to do it often enough.
Tralse got its start in my friend Reid’s garage when he got a drum set for his birthday and called his four best friends to come have a jam session. We were all twelve years old. Shane and Dustin already played guitar, and I could sing. After that first night we forced Jeremy to learn the bass guitar so that we could be a complete band, and the rest was history.
About a year ago, Reid died of a drug overdose. The five of us were like brothers, and Reid’s loss was devastating to all of us. The band didn’t survive it. I stopped writing songs after that and haven’t sung for an audience much since. But it was my birthday, and it was a great one so far, so I happily climbed up on stage.
The singer of the band Adrianna had hired for the night handed over the microphone with enthusiasm. “This is awesome, man,” he said. “Tralse was our inspiration. We play a lot of covers, so the guys know all of your songs.”
The thought of singing one of Tralse’s songs without the guys to back me up felt sort of like someone trying to rip off a band-aid that had been fused to my skin for a year, but I saw the excitement in my fiancée’s eyes and couldn’t refuse.
Adrianna is, without a doubt, Tralse’s biggest fan. I’d met her on the European leg of the S is for Sex tour. She and a group of her girlfriends followed us around the continent, sweet-talking their way backstage show after show. One night, I finally gave in and invited her to my tour bus after the show, and then I surprised everyone when I kept inviting her back. It took her six months to convince me to be exclusive, but we’ve been together ever since. For her, I could sing one of my old songs.
“The band says they know my stuff,” I told the waiting audience. “What do you guys want to hear?”
As people started shouting out song titles, Adrianna took the microphone from me. “Oh no, you don’t,” she said to everyone. “He’s my fiancé. This is my pick.”
I laughed. “Anything for you, babe.”
The look Adrianna gave me in response was a challenge. “I want to hear ‘Cryin’ Shame.’”
The “surprise” party hadn’t been a surprise, but now I was shocked. She may as well have kicked me in the sac. The request was below the belt and she knew it. How could she ask me that? And in front of all of our friends?
The second I hesitated I knew I’d failed some kind of test. “Babe,” I whispered, a sick feeling settling in my gut. “You know I don’t sing that song anymore.”
Everyone knew I didn’t sing that song anymore. I’d written it for a girl, and, well, long story short: I didn’t perform that song anymore. I hadn’t since the first concert of the S is for Sex tour.
Taking my most popular song out of the set list had pissed off a lot people and disappointed a lot of fans, but I didn’t care. I swore I’d never sing it again, and I intended to keep that promise. The guys were the only people who’d ever backed me up on that decision, until I’d met Adrianna. She’d always been supportive of me. I didn’t understand why she was doing this now.
Adrianna put on her best pout for our audience and said, “Please, baby? It’s my favorite. It was the first song of yours I ever heard, and the reason I fell in love with you. Won’t you sing it for me just this once?”
I couldn’t. She knew I couldn’t. “Why are you doing this?” I whispered.
My heart physically hurt as I looked into her eyes and saw inexplicable anger there. I had no idea what I’d done to deserve this. “You love me, don’t you?” she asked.
I wasn’t sure why, but I started to feel panicked. “Of course I do.”
Adrianna scoffed. “But you loved her more, didn’t you? You can’t sing that song for me because you never got over her. I’m just second best.”
For the first time in my life, I wished I wasn’t in front of a hundred curious people. The entire room was quiet, waiting to see what I would do. I could barely think, blindsided as I was by Adrian
na’s actions and the surprise resentment she held for my past.
When I looked back at Adrianna, her mouth curved into the tiniest smirk. It reeked of bitterness, but what pissed me off was the satisfaction in her expression. She was enjoying this ambush.
I pushed aside the hurt I felt and let anger take over. “I have always been faithful to you,” I hissed, low enough that I hoped the whole room couldn’t hear. “I’ve given you everything, including my heart. I don’t deserve this. If you had a problem, you should have just talked to me about it.”
I turned to the crowd and tried my best not to scowl at all my friends. “Thanks for the party, guys. Drinks are on me for the rest of the night.”
I hopped off the stage and headed for the bar before everyone else in the club realized what I just said and made a mad rush for the booze. The only person in the club brave enough to approach me after that was Shane Leopard.
Shane used to be in Tralse with me and was my best friend. Shane, Reid, and I had been best friends since elementary school, and Reid’s death hit us harder than the other guys. Since Reid’s death, things were different between Shane and me. We barely spent any time together anymore. We were still best friends—brothers to the end, in a way—but hanging out was sometimes difficult now that our third amigo was missing.
“That was cold, man,” Shane said as he slid into the chair next to mine and sipped a beer.
“No kidding.”
A comfortable silence stretched out between us. Shane gave me fifteen minutes to drink in peace before he broke the silence. “So…maybe you should sing the song. I’ll play for you, if it would help.”
The offer was as huge as the request. I may have sung a song or two in the last year, but I don’t think Shane had played for an audience even once since we buried our friend.
“You think I should just give her what she wants after that?”
Shane took another sip of his drink. “You love her, don’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“Then you should do it.” When I looked at my friend, he shrugged.
“I shouldn’t have to. She has no reason to be jealous.”
Shane laughed. “Women don’t need a reason to be jealous. Hell, the only steady girlfriend I ever had besides Cara was Rebecca Carlisle back in high school. It only lasted about three months, but I lost my virginity to her and now Cara hates every woman in the world named ‘Rebecca.’ Her own niece is named Becca, and Cara got the whole family to start calling her by her middle name.”
I smiled at that. Shane’s fiancée Cara was a pistol of a woman. I couldn’t imagine what she’d do if Shane even dared to look at another female. Which he never did, of course. Shane was the most pathetically whipped sucker on the planet.
“Women are always insecure about their boyfriends’ past relationships,” he said. “With one as notorious as yours, well…I can’t blame Adrianna for being a little crazy about it. If you don’t want to lose her, you’re going to have to give her what she needs. Even if it means singing that song to prove you’re really over it.”
Singing that song again went against everything inside of me, but Shane was right.
“It’s just a song, man. You can do it.”
I sighed and then downed the rest of my drink. It wasn’t just a song and Shane knew that better than anyone, but I appreciated the BS pep talk anyway. “Fine.”
“That’s my boy.” Shane slapped me on the shoulder and got to his feet. “Let’s go get this over with.”
“Look, dude, this is my problem. I can handle it. You don’t have to play for me.”
“Don’t worry about it. You know I’ve got your back.”
I nodded, unable to tell Shane how grateful I was, but he didn’t need to hear the words. He knew.
We waited until the band finished their set before we climbed up on stage. They were actually a pretty sweet group. “Hey, you guys are awesome,” I said, shaking hands before I asked them to do me a favor.
“Especially you,” Shane agreed, singling out their lead guitarist. “You kill it on that thing. What’s your name?”
The guy’s eyes lit up at the compliment. “Thanks. I’m Embry Jacobs,” he answered, shaking both our hands with a little too much zeal. “I’m a big fan.”
“You’ve got excellent taste in guitars, dude. You mind if I borrow that for a minute?”
Embry’s eyes bulged. “You’re going to play?”
Shane hid his distress better than I did. No one would know by the smirk on his face how hard this was for him. “Kyle’s got a song to sing. Can’t let him go it alone.”
Embry happily handed the instrument over.
I took a deep breath as Shane pulled the strap over his head and slid his fingers over the strings. We looked at each other, our expressions identical: We were really about to do this.
Every member of Embry’s band gaped at us. “You’re really going to sing ‘Cryin’ Shame’?” Embry asked.
I glanced at him and then his bandmates. “You guys know it?”
They bobbed their heads, too stunned to reply vocally.
“Then I guess I’m going to sing it. Gotta give the woman what she wants.”
I was sick to my stomach, but I felt a thrill of excitement as strong as my nerves as I stepped up to the mic. I loved this song as much as I hated it. “Hey, everyone!” I shouted, getting the attention of the entire club. I cleared my throat even though there was nothing stuck in it. “The lady asked for a song. I haven’t sung this one in years, so, uh, bear with me if it’s a bit rusty.”
I waited for Adrianna to make her way to the stage but didn’t see her.
“Adrianna, get up here. If I’m going to sing this for you, then I want you front and center.”
The crowd fell silent when I got no response. “Adrianna? Babe?” A nervous laugh escaped me. “Has anyone seen my fiancée? I can’t do this without her.”
Heads twisted and turned, everyone searching for Adrianna, and I started to get a bad feeling. Shane must have felt the foreboding atmosphere too, because he stepped next to me just as we started hearing gasps.
The crowd parted like the Red Sea from the stage where I was to a booth in the back corner of the room where two people were locked in each other’s arms. It was too dark to see anything other than their silhouettes, but the shock of the crowd told me enough.
The two dark outlines pulled apart, and though I couldn’t make out her face, I could feel her stare burning into me. I knew I’d feel the sting of betrayal later, but right then I felt nothing. I was numb.
“Well, so much for that,” I said into the mic. “Glad I didn’t just make an ass of myself or anything.”
I felt a hand come down on my shoulder. “Dude, let’s just get out of here,” Shane whispered.
I shrugged his hand off. “In a minute. I owe the woman a song first.” I whirled around and looked at the nervous band behind me. “You guys know my song ‘Giving You The Middle Finger’?”
Embry was the first to respond. His lips quirked into a smile and he took his guitar back from Shane. “Hell yeah, man.”
When I woke up, I knew I was in my own bed. Thousand-thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets don’t lie. What I didn’t know was the identity of the bombshell brunette sleeping in my arms.
I was seriously hungover. I’d been worse off before, but not by much and not often. I tried to think back to the previous night’s activities, but things were a bit hazy. Something about a Lakers game and body shots with tequila.
Why I brought this woman home was beyond me. Don’t get me wrong, I know exactly why I’d gone to bed with her—now that I think about it, I’m pretty sure she was a Lakers cheerleader, which, hello, yes, please—but why had we come back here? The rule was: always take women back to their place. It’s easier to escape that way and seriously reduces the risk of psychotic stalkers breaking into your house.
Oh well, what was done, was done. Now I needed to figure out how to kick her out without se
eming like a total douche. Maybe I’d offer to take her to breakfast before driving her home. First things first, though—coffee, Aspirin, and a nice, hot shower.
Gently, so as not to wake her up, I picked up her hand from my chest and slid away from her. My back bumped into something warm and solid. A soft moan sounded behind me and an arm slid around my waist. I wasn’t alone in this bed. I mean, aside from the brunette.
I looked over my shoulder and was met with a sultry smile. Apparently, I had a hot blonde accessory to match the brunette. Two women at once wasn’t a first for me, but it was rare.
“Morning, gorgeous,” Blondie said, snuggling up to me.
Brunette stirred at the noise and snuggled in as well, placing a soft trail of kisses on my bare shoulder. One was bad enough. How the hell was I supposed to get rid of two of them?
“That was a wild night, huh?”
“Mmm,” I agreed. It must have been, considering the significant lapse in memory. Maybe one or two less shots last night would have been better. “You two ladies sure know how to show a guy a great time.”
“Just the two of them?” a third sleepy voice asked.
Three? Seriously?
A sexy redhead sat up and gave me a seductive pout.
Damn. That was new even for me. “I feel like I’m starring in my own personal joke. A blonde, a brunette, and a redhead wake up in your bed…”
The women all giggled, and the blonde tried to start a reenactment of whatever had happened last night, but I wasn’t feeling it. My head hurt, I was cranky, I was pissed at myself for bringing them back home—and even with all three of them here, I couldn’t shake the hurt from Adrianna. I just wanted these women to leave.
My prayers were answered in the most ironic way when my ex-fiancée burst into the room. “Playtime’s over, sluts. You have thirty seconds to get out of my boyfriend’s bed before I throw you out.”
My guests weren’t thrilled with the threat, and I really didn’t want to indulge Adrianna’s tantrum, but at least she’d solved my problem. “Sorry, ladies, it looks like the ex and I need to have a talk.”
