by F. X. Scully
"Roscoe gave up a super model for little old you. If you ask me, that means something."
"Shit."
Coco raises an eyebrow, amused by my response.
"This is bad," I say.
"How is that bad? Seems to me he's found a new ring for his finger."
I run my fingers through my hair. "I don't have room for anymore drama in my life and Maya equals drama. Remember what she did to that girl she caught Roscoe with? She ruined her life."
"That's just a rumor." Coco giggles.
"Exactly. A rumor. That's all it takes. And Maya's got the power to turn anyone's life into a nightmare. Where's Alisha now? Nowhere. That's where. She's banned from every show, she can hardly get into any clubs. She's a loser. Her social life ended before it started. All because of Maya."
“Relax,” Coco says. “Apparently she got some new modeling contract and is moving to Los Angeles in September anyway. Those two were never going to work. It’s not your fault.”
“Still,” I reply. I swing my legs back up on the chair, and lean back. With the magazine open in front of my face again, I pronounce loudly, "I'm not touching Roscoe Black with a ten foot pole."
"Should I take offense to that?"
I glance to the side. Coco has ducked her head and is doing her best to control the giggles that are bound to erupt any moment.
I cringe and lower the magazine, a plastic smile plastered on my face. "Oh hey, Roscoe."
"Hey, Sheila Carlson." He strolls over to my chair, towering over me and blocking the sun.
He's shirtless and even more delicious than usual. I've never seen him like this. I've been known to drool over his ink covered muscles a time or two. But up on stage, in the dark and the smoke, they look nothing like they do now. Impossibly touchable, practically goddamn edible.
He holds up a bottle of sunscreen and paints on a smile of his own. Only his is full of sin. "You mind?"
I swallow hard, my gaze shifting back to Coco. "Um...don't you have a pool of your own?" I ask, depositing the slightest amount of snark in my tone.
"That I do. But there are no Sheila Carlsons in my backyard."
Something shifts inside me and I push my knees together. Roscoe hands me the bottle and sits on the edge of the chair.
"A nice thick, even layer," he says. "I've got sensitive skin." He turns to wink at me. "Be sure to rub it in nice and good, sweetheart."
I cast Coco a freak-out glance over his shoulder and she covers her mouth with the edge of the Rolling Stone.
"Hope you don't mind the intrusion, Miss Rose," Roscoe continues. "I noticed you two back here and more importantly that your nosey brother isn't around. Thought now would be a good time to lay down some plans for this tour. Just a few weeks now."
Coco nods. "No problem."
I squeeze a pool of lotion in my palm and take a deep breath. As my skin meets his, it's all I can do not to let out a little moan. Instead, I mouth an “h my God’ to my friend, press my lips together, and dive into a fantasy three years in the making.
Luke
It's the second time in a two week span I've denied a girl. My brother would be disappointed, but I'm kinda proud of myself for sticking to my rule. To sleep with her would be pushing me one step further to something I can't do right now. Not while I'm about to hand Roscoe my soul for three months. Maybe when I get back. I smile to myself. Definitely when I get back.
I'll take her on a real date. We'll eat at a table, before drinks, before a hot make-out session. I'll really get to know her. Because despite every other guy I know who'd jump in the sack at a moment's notice, I'm determined to do things differently. When I get back, I'll call her. And after a few solid dates, I won't deny her a thing.
Shit.
I drop my pencil and it rolls off the table and onto the floor. I push the chair back and it scrapes against the tiles making a god-awful sound. Warding off a few glares and a suspicious glance from an invigilator, I scoop it up and settle back behind my desk, doing my best to concentrate on the last essay question.
But I can't, because I've just realized that I have no way of reaching her. That date on the roof was supposed to be sort of a goodbye. And I guess it was. After we made out for a little while longer, we finally ate dinner, chatted about the music from the bar next door and said goodnight. But I never bothered to get her digits.
I tap the pencil on my paper. It's cool. She works at the Registrar's Office. I'll just pop by there like I did the other day. Assuming she still works there by the end of the summer. But why wouldn't she? Unless she has plans to go away too. What if she's not working there after the summer? What if I can't track her down? The University of Idaho isn't that big, but it's big enough.
There's always the library, where we first met. I know her usual spots. I could just show up there.
But wait. She's in fourth year. She won't be back. She said something about getting a job at a pharmacy. What pharmacy?
Someone clears their throat and I glance over at a girl who is staring hard at my dancing pencil. I stop it mid-tap and take a deep breath.
Concentrate, Luke. You can figure this out when the exam's over.
By the time I hand in my final, I know what I'm going to do. It was never a part of the plan. It goes against everything that makes sense right now, but it's worth it. I'm going to stand in line, just like I did the other day and ask her out. One more time.
She notices me right away this time, standing at the back of the line. It's almost like she's expecting me. And this time she doesn't make me wait. Shannon whispers something in the ear of the girl standing next to her and disappears from the counter. A few seconds later she's coming out the side door, headed in my direction.
"Are you stalking me, now?" she asks as she approaches.
I lean back, casually, crossing my arms. "What makes you think I came to see you?"
She looks slightly offended, but narrows her eyes when she catches a glimpse of the smile on my face.
"You on break?" I ask.
"I am now."
"How long?"
"Not long enough."
My gaze follows the length of her body. She's in one of those turtlenecks again, paired with black cords. The shirt is blue, like the one from the other night and form fitting. An excellent choice.
"Aren't you hot?" I ask.
She smirks, then tugs on the sleeve of my leather jacket. "Aren't you?"
I shrug. Taking ahold of her elbow, I lead her away from the line, out the office.
"I was thinking," I say, as we stroll down the hallway. "I'd like to see you again, before I go."
"Is that right?"
I nod. "A real date this time though."
"Our last one wasn't real?" She quirks an eyebrow.
"It was...I thought maybe we could be a little more old fashioned this time. You know, dinner, dessert, that kind of thing. No confusing romantic rooftops. No funny business required." She snickers and I grin down at her. "What do you say?"
"No funny business, huh? Just dinner?"
"Just dinner. I swear. You'll go home at the end of the night, like the good girl I know you're not." I wink.
Shannon glances behind me, drops her gaze, then locks it with mine again. "Okay. Is tomorrow night okay?"
"Tomorrow's perfect."
"Okay. Tomorrow." She turns to go then stops in her tracks. "But you can't pick me up. I'll meet you here. In the parking lot by the library."
I can't stop the grin from creeping onto my face. "I think I know the spot. See you then."
As I watch her walk away, I consider my promise and can't help but wonder if I'll be able to keep it. She turns to wave one last time and I nod back, my heart beating fast.
Just dinner. I'll try my damnedest.
CHAPTER SIX
Sheila
I clutch my suitcase and force myself to calm down.
"You sure you're going to be okay over here?" Cole asks.
I flash him a smile, even though t
he only thing I want to do right now is cry. Mr. Rose came home an hour ago, which meant Cole had to sneak me out. These new living arrangements are my only option. And I probably should have seen it coming.
How can I be nervous about staying here, when I plan to ride around on a bus for three months with these guys? It's stupid.
I nod, but I'm not sure he's convinced.
"Sheila." Cole takes my suitcase from me and places it on the grass beside him, stopping me mid stride. "You don't have to do this. Just go home. Talk to your parents. I'm sure you can work something out."
The moon is shining off his bald head, and normally it'd be grounds for jabbing him about trying to look like Michael Jordan or asking him to lead the way with his oversized flashlight, but I'm not in the mood to joke. I'm terrified. Sick. But I can't let on.
"If I go home, I'm done. They won't let me go on tour and I'll end up in Sagle for the entire summer. Or worse, they'll ship me off the second I get home."
"But you'll be eighteen in a few months," he reminds me. "Then you can leave anytime you want. And you and I both know that'll be at the stroke of midnight," he adds with a chuckle.
"I'll be fine. I want to do this. It's not every day you get hired to be a tour manager for a hot band."
Cole rolls his eyes. "We're talking about Roscoe Black here, not Mick Jagger." He pulls me into a half-hug. "I do believe you're better than that."
That's why I love Cole. He always knows how to lighten a mood. Sometimes I wish he'd act like this when Coco was around, but when it's me and her, he's nothing but a jerk. He teases me just as bad as he does her, but coming from an LL Cool J knock-off, I take it like the woman I am.
"Maybe," I say. "But I've got to start somewhere."
"I just...I don't feel good about this," he says, as I wriggle out of his grasp and pick up my suitcase again.
"That's because you're a cop. Suspicious by nature." I nudge him with my elbow and continue my way to the house next door.
Cole takes my suitcase from me again and carries it the rest of the way. Once we're at the foot of the steps to the back porch, he pulls me into his hard chest. This time with both arms and tighter than the hug before. "Take care of yourself, okay? And don't let those losers change you."
"Into what?" I grin up at him. "I'm already a groupie and a runaway."
He wrinkles his nose. "Just be you. If you need anything at all, call me. I've got your back, okay? Remember," he adds with a wink. "I've got a gun and badge now."
"How could I forget?" I pick up my suitcase, and start up the stairs. "Thanks, Cole."
I'm not surprised when he doesn't follow me. Cole and Coco may fight like cats and dogs. But according to her, Cole and Roscoe are like oil and water.
"All right," he waves. "That's my cue. I'm not in the mood for any of those guys tonight. Later, Sheila."
"Bye."
I knock on the door and wait patiently for a response. Roscoe said to come right over. That the door would be open, but it feels weird walking into someone else's house. Especially if you've never been there before. A minute or so passes, so I knock again.
After several seconds without an answer, no light or even the sound of footsteps. I start to panic again.
"Okay, Sheila," I mutter. "Calm down. It's fine. You talked to him like ten minutes ago. He knows you're coming. Just relax. Be cool. Stop acting like a loser. Just...do what he said."
I place my hand on the doorknob, holding my breath as I turn it and push forward.
The entire space around me is dark, and the only reason I know I'm in the kitchen is because there's a clear view of it from Coco's place. I pull my suitcase behind me and close the door.
"Hello?"
The house is silent and it's doing very little to help me feel any more in control of my emotions. I just need to unwind. Get into whatever room they have set up for me, into my pajamas and under the sheets. Once I get a goodnight's sleep, I'll be fine.
God, hopefully there's a room! What if there isn't what if they make me sleep on the sofa?
I clear my throat. "Roscoe? Luke? I'm...it's Sheila," I call. "I'm here," I murmur into the silence.
Still no answer.
In an instant, I regret coming over. Maybe Cole is right, maybe I should just surrender now. I close my eyes and let out a heavy sigh. The thought of going home and facing them is suffocating. But if everything in my blurry future is going to be as unpredictable as this, is it worth staying?
Yes. The answer is deafening and so obvious I almost can't believe I asked the question in the first place. This is where I belong. I've stifled everything about who I am for long enough. It's my turn to live. On my terms.
I let go of my suitcase. "Find a light, find a bed," I say to myself. Maybe even a phone. I'll deal with the rest in the morning.
As my hand shoots out in front of me, it hits something soft, but firm. I skitter my fingers across whatever it is, quickly recognizing the contours of someone's chest.
Before I can say anything, something is pulled over my head as I'm grabbed from behind.
I scream, my heels digging into the floor as I struggle to get free. All I register through whatever the hell it is that's darkened my vision and muffled my hearing is the defined sound of male laughter.
I've been blindfolded for twenty minutes. I know, because in the seconds it took me to calm down after I was grabbed, I counted to sixty twenty times. I also know I'm in a moving vehicle.
And I'm seriously pissed off.
At least I know who my captors are, but it doesn't make me feel much better. It just makes me worry even more about what the hell I've gotten myself into.
"Where are you taking me?" I ask for the hundredth time. I've gone from screaming to calm, but I'm still pissed.
My question is only met with laughter and now I really wish I'd taken Cole's advice.
I can't tell whose voice is whose, but someone says, "Almost there. Just hold on, Sparkles."
I clench my teeth and let out a little growl, which only results in more laughter.
Five minutes later, my question is answered when I'm guided out of the truck and my blindfold is finally removed. I'm standing in the middle of Chagrin's. The pub where they play every Friday night, the one I usually have to sneak through the kitchen to get into.
"What are we doing here?" I suspend my anger for a few seconds as I run my fingers through my now tangled hair and blink the stars from my eyes.
Roscoe throws an arm around me and plants a hard kiss on my cheek. "Welcome to the band, sweetheart. Consider this your hazing."
"My what?" My gaze darts from one idiot to another and just like that I'm pissed again. "You jumped me, blindfolded me and dragged me all the way out here as a joke?" I ball my fists desperate to punch something.
Roscoe only laughs, the others joining in. Even Luke does his best to hide a tell-tale smirk.
Luke. Oh, no. I was screaming my head off. He must thing I'm an idiot. I can't even imagine what messed up state I'm in. There's no way my make-up doesn't look like hell. The strap on my sandal is busted and my clothes are twisted and bunched up.
I tear my gaze away from him and straighten my shirt. Then I shrug out of Roscoe's grip and shove him hard. "What the hell? For a second I thought I was gonna die."
This only makes him howl louder and he nods to Dash who makes his way toward the stage.
"We've got one task for you, Sparkles," Ryan says.
"Sparkles?" I wrinkle my brow.
He nods, first to Roscoe then to Luke. "That's a good nickname, right?"
"I still don't get it," Luke replies with a shrug.
"She's small and cute. Kind of reminds me of one of those baton-twirling chicks who wear the sparkly outfits. Sparkles."
Is he high?
Luke laughs, muttering something under his breath as he turns and heads in Dash's direction.
"I think I'll stick to Carlson, dick-wad," Roscoe says as he bats Ryan on the back of the head. He drapes h
is arm across my shoulders again. "One task, is all we ask. Then you're in."
"What kind of task?" I suddenly get the feeling the whole abduction thing was the easy part. "And aren't I already in? You hired me, didn't you?"
"Relax," he says, leading me toward the stage. "I'm not going to ask you to kill anyone."
Dash is flipping buttons and messing with lights, while Luke and Ryan sit on the floor, center stage.
"Where's the owner?" I ask. "Tell me you guys didn't break in here too."
"Bryce and I go way back. He knows we're here." He's leading me up to the stage now and I'm getting more and more nervous by the second. "What's your flavor? Classic Rock, R&B, Show Tunes, maybe a little of the hard stuff?"
I frown. "What are you talking about?"
"Speaking of the hard stuff. Ryan," he calls, "you bring any of that liquid courage? I get the feeling Sparkles is going to need it."
"For what?" I ask.
The stage is completely lit up now and when Roscoe turns to me with a mischievous smile, I take the flask from Ryan, unscrewing it gratefully and tipping it to my mouth.
What the hell are they going to make me do? Why the hell do guys even do stuff like this? Hazing? Really? It's a band, not a fraternity.
And I'm not even really a member. I'm just the manager. The freaking tour manager for a three month tour. What. The. Hell?
Whatever's in the flask hits me hard. It burns going down and smolders in my belly. But I quickly start to relax and when Roscoe takes my hand leading me up onto the stage with him, the urge to run in the other direction has subsided significantly.
"You get to choose one. Anyone," he calls out dramatically, "the choice is yours." He gestures to the floor. "On this side, we have Luke Black. The voice of an angel with softer balls than Richard Simmons."
"Fuck you!" Luke calls out.
"And to the right, we have Ryan Harris. A ballsy rich kid who can't sing for shit. But put him on those keys and you've got instant gold."
"Boo," Dash calls out. "Pick me!"
"And then there's Dash Martin. Who’s got a fucking log up his ass, but he can beat up those skins like it's nobody’s fucking business."
