by F. X. Scully
CONTENTS
BECAUSE OF LUKE
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
NINE MONTHS LATER
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
FIVE MONTHS LATER
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
THE ENDING
Chapter Thirty-Two
A NEW BEGINNING
Epilogue
About the Author
Acknowledgements
More Books by F.X. Scully
BECAUSE OF LUKE
LEWISTON BLUES #1
by
F.X. Scully
This book is a work of fiction. References to real people, events, establishments, organizations, or locales are intended only to provide a sense of authenticity, and are used fictitiously. All other characters, and all incidents and dialogue, are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real.
BECAUSE OF LUKE. Copyright © 2014 by S.C.O.R.C.H All rights reserved. This book may not be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission, other than brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. FIRST EDITION
Cover Design: Scorched Designs
Editor: Tirzah Price ( True Blue Editorial : http://www.trueblueeditorial.com )
If you remember “The 90s” fondly, this one’s for you.
CHAPTER ONE
April 1991
Shannon
It doesn't make sense that I'm the older one. Not when she looks like that. Sheila straightens her tiny jean skirt and turns to the side, observing her perfect form in the mirror. She sticks one hand and then the other down her V-neck tank top to adjust her breasts.
I hate her breasts. They're the worst things about her. Besides her bright blue eyes and perma-tan. Oh, and those lips that always seem to be pink and smooth, no matter what.
I don't actually hate my little sister, just the fact that she looks five years older than she actually is. Older than me. And that body's going to ruin her. With those eyes. That skin. Those lips. She's definitely going to break some hearts. I should know. Been there. Done that. But that doesn't make her unbreakable.
"What do you think of this one?" she asks, facing me. The excitement in her eyes makes me cringe with guilt. I came up here to talk her out of going tonight. I hoped to convince her to come to the library with me instead. Maybe leave early and go for a drive around Pullman with our heads in the clouds, planning our futures. By the look on her face, that's a no go.
I should have been a better sister. I should have set a better example. But I swear it's me who taught her to be this way and I hate myself for it.
I smile. "You look beautiful." I'm lying. She's stunning and that's something else entirely. I'm the pretty one, she's the gorgeous one.
How did my baby sister turn into a woman practically overnight?
"Beautiful, Shannon? That's all you've got? God, you sound like Mom when she stuffs us in one of those puffed-sleeve numbers on Easter Sunday.
I laugh. "Sexy," I say. "You look sexy. The eyes of every person in that room will be on you."
Sheila giggles. "Now that's more like it." She bends forward, pressing her breasts together again. "What time is it? I need to get out of these before Dad gets back."
"Seven," I say, glancing up at the clock above my bed. I clear my throat and ask casually, "Are you sure you want to go to this thing? What if someone recognizes you?"
"In this outfit?" She laughs so loudly, I can't help but join in.
She's right. Reverend Carlson's daughters wouldn't be caught dead in clothes like that. And if any one of our boring neighbors actually made it out to Lewiston tonight, they wouldn't believe it was Sheila. Even if she told them. She's wearing more makeup than I ever have and she looks sluttier than I ever dared too. No one would believe the sweet soloist for tomorrow morning's service is that girl. I can barely believe it myself.
"Don't forget about your face," I say. "Dad'll have a heart attack."
"You should come." Sheila shimmies out of the skirt, then pulls the shirt over her head.
I turn away. I've got a long-standing appointment with Tony Little and a VCR and I will never pull that off. It isn't fair. And it isn't good either. Not good at all.
"I have to study," I say. "Finals are in a week."
Maybe you should come. Just ask her, Shannon. It's better than letting her run off to some pub to be ogled by a bunch of disgusting old men.
"Lame." Her voice is muffled as she passes a wet towel over her face.
"It'll get me out of this town," I reply.
"So will meeting a hot musician."
I roll my eyes. Like that'll ever happen. "I think I forgot to mention we live in Palouse, Washington. I'm pretty sure there isn't a hot musician worthy of your attention for miles and miles, sis."
She scowls at me through the mirror. "Roscoe Gold may be nobodies right now, but one of these days they're going to be legends and I'm jumping on the wagon while I still can."
"And then what? You're going to move to Lewiston and become a groupie?"
"Of course not. I'm going to marry the lead singer and have a dozen sexy rock star babies."
Ideas like that are exactly why I should stop her. Put my foot down and be the big sister. But she'd hate me. And I know it wouldn't be fair. I've had my fun. Now it's her turn.
Sheila
God, I hate the word "groupie." It categorizes an entire group of girls based on one thing: undying love for a great band.
The thing is, that seven-letter word has the worst stigma and while I normally don't give a damn what people think, when it comes to the love I have for the greatest band that ever was, I demand more respect. No way I'm going to be lumped in with the likes of tricks who are only looking to get laid by a hot guy. My dedication to Roscoe Gold is a religion. I don't want to sleep with them. I want to see them succeed.
Okay, so maybe that mostly has to do with the fact that I'm a virgin. Would I sleep with Roscoe Black? I'd be crazy to say no. But even after that kiss, I doubt he knows who I am.
The reality is every girl wants Roscoe. And I don't want to fight every girl to get him. Plus, he has a girlfriend, and there's nothing worse than a girl who doesn't take up issue with stealing someone else's guy. That's trashy. And I'm anything but.
But his brother on the other hand. Until this very moment, I don't think I realized what I was missing. Roscoe loves the ladies. It's almost like he exists to please us. Stripping down on stage, winking, making us all swoon and clamber to get in line and pine after that coveted kiss. He makes us all look like pathetic...well, groupies.
But Luke? He's another story. When he's on stage, he doesn't have to do anything special to turn all the attention his way. All he has to do is sing and strum that bass guitar. Then again, that is pretty damn special to watch. But at the end of the night, instead of indulging in his fame
, like the rest of the band, he always does the same thing: packs up his guitar and walks out the door.
I can't help but wonder where he goes—in his mind, on stage, and once he leaves us all behind. Wherever it is, I'm going to make it my mission to find out.
Yes, I've definitely changed my mind. As I lean against the stage and stare directly up at him, I'm instantly in love. And even if it isn't love, I can make it work.
Luke Black stares back at me and considering how long I've been following this band, I don't understand how I've never seen it before. Just how perfect he is. Just how perfect we are for each other.
The song finishes and I push away from the stage. Standing tall so Luke can see exactly what I have to offer. There are only two more hours until curfew, which means Shannon will only be able to cover for me for so long until I have to be fresh-faced and ready for church in the morning.
Luke's eyes don't leave my face though, and it annoys the hell out of me. I spent far too long putting this outfit together for him not to notice anything from the neck down. His brother would notice the low neckline and stretchy fabric. But it's almost like he's immune. Or simply doesn't care.
"Come on." My best friend Cocanda grabs my elbow, tugging me to the other end of the stage. "Roscoe."
That name used to bring me out of any stupor but now all I can think about is someone else.
"Go ahead," I say. "I have to..." I don't know what I'm going to do, but it doesn't matter, because I have a feeling the moment I'm in this man's presence, I'll figure it out.
"What do you mean go ahead?" She stares back at me like I've lost my mind. "Do I need to remind you what happened the last time you stood in that line?"
The kiss. Okay, so more of a peck on the cheek, but still a pretty big deal.
"The peck leads to the kiss," Coco reminds me. "And the kiss to so much more."
"Yeah, I'm not so sure I want it anymore."
Coco's eyes bug and she shoves me, as if trying to snap me out of it. "Please. I grew up next door to that man, I know all his dirty little secrets, I've known his girlfriend since I was two. I remember what he looked like with headgear. And I still want it. Everybody wants to hear him say it."
She's right. And a few days ago, hell, on the drive over here, I wanted to hear it to.
What are your plans tonight, sweetheart? The question that means only one thing. Let me take you home. But tonight, I don't want to hear it from Roscoe. Tonight I've set my eyes on someone better.
"Go ahead," I tell her again. Then I pull away, unable to register whatever it is she says to try and stop me, and take one sexy step at a time toward the gray eyed guitarist bending over an open case, all by himself.
"Well," I say, as I approach. "This doesn't seem right."
"What's that?" He doesn't turn to look at me.
"From what I can tell you're the talent in this place. Yet here you sit all by your lonesome after one of the best shows you've ever played."
"The best?" He snaps his guitar case shut, then takes a swig from a half empty beer bottle. "Says who?"
"Why don't you turn around and find out?"
As our eyes meet, I extend my hand. He doesn't take it. Instead his gaze travels from mine down the length of my body.
Finally.
"And just who the hell are you?" He moves to the edge of the stage and swings his legs over. They dangle, wide open, in front of me and I am bold enough to take a step forward.
"Wait," he replies. "Don't answer that. The cute one at the front eye-fucking me all night."
The way he licks a drop of beer off his lips makes me step even closer until we are almost touching.
"You were watching me too," I say, as seductively as possible.
"And last week," he rests the beer bottle next to him and jumps off the stage. We're chest to ribs now, actually touching and my heart is beating so fast I know he can feel it. "You were watching my brother," he finishes, peering down at me.
I glance across the stage at Roscoe, and the dozens of girls swarming him.
"Greener pastures," I say.
Luke rolls his eyes. "Not interested, sweetheart." Then he slips away, leaving me cold.
Luke
The bed shifts beside me and seconds later my bedroom door closes. I open my eyes to two of the roundest tits I've ever seen. For a few moments--the ones before I start cursing my brother and get this girl dressed and out of my room--I admire the view. My gaze travels up her slender neck, that's draped by bleached blond hair, and lingers on her full lips. History has taught me that if I was desperate enough to indulge in my brother's leftovers, I could wake up to a happy ending every single day. But not only am I better than that, I made a promise to myself and I intend to keep it.
I crawl off the bed and head straight to the bathroom. I'm harder than ever and I need to relieve myself before this stranger offers to do it for me. And no doubt she will.
I open the bathroom door five minutes later and happen upon a scene I've witnessed more times than I care to count. Maya, my brother's leggy, pissed off girlfriend face to face with the blond from my bed. They stare at each other, their expressions resembling cocked and loaded guns.
In the game of who's got more class, Maya wins hands down. She's dressed in a pair of stretch pants and a cut off KISS t-shirt that hugs every inch of her upper body like skin does bones. Her long, dark hair is pulled up tight on the back of her head and she's got a pair of Nikes on her feet. Sweat glistens at her chest and brow. Her counter-part is draped in one of my old t-shirts—probably from the pile of dirty laundry. It barely covers her ass and her hair is a tangled mess, black smeared at the corners of her eyes.
"I asked you a question," Maya is saying. Her shiny pink fingernails disappear into a fist at her side. "Where the hell did you just come from?"
The blond glances over her shoulder at my room, then smirks and focuses a mischievous gaze on the door to Roscoe's.
Maya growls. "I swear to god if you--"
"She's with me," I mumble, assuming the usual position beside her, an arm draped over her shoulder. "I told you to wait on me. Bathroom's free now. Go get dressed and I'll drive you home."
She scowls and Maya raises a suspicious eyebrow.
"Go," I say, my tone a bit rougher. "You deaf?"
After Blondie shuts the bathroom door behind her, Maya clears her throat, crossing her arms and cocking her head.
"What?" I ask.
"You expect me to believe--"
"What? That I entertained a hot chick in my room last night? Hell fucking yeah, and you should see the things she can do with her tongue. She's pierced you know, Rebeka."
"Jessica."
"Huh?"
"Her name's Jessica. We went to school together."
I shrug. "Whatever."
She narrows her eyes. "That's the third one this week, Luke. That's a hell of a lot. Even for a--"
"Hey, baby," Roscoe calls from bottom of the stairs.
Maya's gaze shifts to him then back to me. "Where--?"
"I thought we were doing breakfast this morning."
She frowns a little. "We were...we are...I was just--?"
"Checking up on me?" He smirks then bows over her, kissing her right in the center of her forehead. "You caught me. I went for an early morning walk. Thought I might catch you mid-run. Guess we missed each other."
Maya huffs, then looks back at me. "I wasn't checking up on you. I was..."
He wraps his arms around her from behind and buries his face in her neck. "It's all right," he mumbles. "You can't help it if you love me so much. Come on." He drags her toward his room. "Why don't you show me, then we can eat."
I shake my head as I watch her squeal and giggle like the gullible idiot she is. Following him blindly into the same room he ravaged her nemesis in all night long.
Jessica enters my bedroom a short while later. I'm fully dressed and ready to leave yet another ridiculous drama-filled morning behind.
"Where're you
headed?" She leans up against the door, peeling my t-shirt off her body, slowly. She pushes out her chest and bends her leg to press her sole up against the back of the door.
The view is magnificent. Her skin flawless, muscles taut. Her nipples hard and ready. And I was right, she's pierced—her belly button and I swear I see a hint of something glinting between her legs. She's got a tattoo that trails from the side of her hip up to her ribs. If I got just a little closer, I'd be able to tell what it is. And damn, do I want to get closer. Every nerve ending in my goddamn body is aching to get closer.
But I ignore the throbbing and pick up my back pack, looping it over my shoulder.
I notice a pile of pink and blue on my desk chair and seize it with one hand. As I approach, she smiles. Instead of letting those plump pink lips and bright green eyes get to me, I thrust her clothes toward her.
"Get dressed. I need to go to class. If you want a ride, be downstairs in ten minutes." A hand on either shoulder, I gently move her to the side and reach for the door knob.
"What happened to the badass from the hallway?" She snickers.
I just shake my head and brush past her. What most people don't know is that guy has never really existed.
I slam my cup down on the table and scowl at my brother. The grin on his face only gets wider and he reaches forward to tousle my hair.
"We're in the big leagues now, baby bro. Going all the way."
I push away from the table, sending the chair flying backwards and stalk toward my room.
"What the hell's your problem?" Roscoe yells. "You're supposed to be celebrating."
"Fuck you."
"Dude." He follows after me, draping an arm around my shoulder when he catches up.
We stop just outside my bedroom door and, as I reach for the doorknob, I pause turning to face him. "You could have asked, you know. What the hell makes you think you can just go around making decisions for me? About my goddamn life?"
Roscoe drops his arm and his expression hardens. "Are you seriously, ragging on me about this? You know how long we've been waiting for this kind of opportunity to come around!"
