Starstruck (Rock & Release, Act II)

by Riley Edgewood

  No. Irritating, I mean. I find it irritating.

  "Where's your entourage?" I change the subject, gesturing down the bar. "The rest of your band is surrounded by people." More than a few of those people are looking at me right now. Well, at Luca, mostly. But me, too. Anxiety sneaks its spindly fingers through my ribs. Turns out I'm not a huge fan of this much attention.

  "I'm a bit of a lone wolf before shows. It's how I get in the mindset to perform."

  A lone wolf? Wow. I try, really hard, not to roll my eyes.

  "Well, I'll leave you to it." No wonder people are staring. I'm breaking some pre-show Luca James diva rule. I reach to grab a leftover beer bottle and start to turn away.

  His fingers circle my wrist a split second before I drag my hand from the bar. "No. Stay. This is fine. This is perfect, actually. You don't even like me."

  "I…" I can't deny that he's literally stolen the earlier thoughts from my head. "Can you blame me? You just referred to yourself as a lone wolf."

  His cheeks bunch up, kind of adorably, when he grins. "See, you call me out. It's refreshing."

  "I don't dislike you." Strangely, instead of a lie, the statement feels almost like a half-truth. Maybe even more than half. I'm a little rattled by the realization. There's just something easy about being around him—which is not what I expected. "I don't know you."

  "Let's change that."

  "Uh." Great. Very succinct, Cassidy. But is he hitting on me?

  Mention Gage. I should mention Gage. I open my mouth to do just that, but Luca beats me to the punch, answering the question I didn't ask. "I'm not hitting on you, don't worry. It's nice hanging out with someone who isn't kissing my ass for something in return. It's rare. I enjoy your company."

  "Aw, you poor little rock star."

  There is definitely not an inkling of disappointment flickering in my stomach that he's not interested in me. I don't feel a thing. Not at all.

  Nope.

  Not even the littlest flutter.

  CHAPTER TWO

  "Poor little rock star?" Luca repeats my words, his face twisting into something that's half amusement, half something else.

  "Yes," I say, straight-faced. "It must be so hard to deal with all the money and the cars and the toys and the huge house—more than one, I'd assume—and the supermodels and the fame and the—"

  "All right, all right." He throws a hand up to stop me, grinning. "I get it. You aren't impressed."

  "On the contrary." I grab a rag and wipe down the bar between us, needing something to do with my hands. "I'm very impressed. But I also think people wanting things from you is pretty par for the course. You get the perks of fame, but you have to deal with everything that comes with it."

  Someone calls his name and he turns his face away from me for a moment, waving to a girl, pretty thing, all legs and undulating dirty blonde curls down her back. I wonder if she'll come up to speak with him. She doesn't, though, and she looks at me and her face twists into an expression that tells me I shouldn't be talking to him either.

  Guess it's pretty widely known among the in-crowd that you're not supposed to bother Luca before a show. I shouldn't be so pleased he wants to keep talking to me, but I am.

  "So what you're saying," he faces me again, "is that I shouldn't complain."

  "Not to a bartender who makes in a year what you might in an hour or even thirty minutes. Hell, maybe one minute." I smile to show him I'm not really serious. I'm aware of how miserable it can be for people to assume that having some money (or, in Luca's case, oodles of it) means you should be completely happy in life no matter what. Teagan never understood when I was upset about anything in high school because she figured I could just buy something to fill whatever void I felt. It took a long time to show her otherwise.

  I'm also aware, though, that having money enough to live comfortably (or, again, in Luca's case, like a rock star) puts a person in a spot of privilege, which makes complaining about most things seem trivial. But either way, who am I to judge this guy who's turning out to be nicer than I ever would've given him credit for? I'm sure he gets it from everyone he encounters.

  Shame blows gently against the back of my neck. "I'm sorry—I shouldn't assume."

  "It's all good." He cracks a disarming smile, shrugging. "Want me to introduce you to Norris?"

  I glance at the guitarist, who's now completely making out with the girl from before. "He looks kind of busy. And anyway, doesn't that go against your whole no talking to people before a show deal?"

  "I meant after the show."

  "Oh. I…won't be here." I have plans with Gage. Naked, sweaty, non-speaking plans.

  Right.

  Gage.

  The beautiful boy I'm involved with.

  "Maybe tomorrow then?" Luca doesn't pout that I'm not going to watch his performance. Is it sad I wish he'd show at least a small dash of disappointment? Yes, Cassidy, yes it is.

  "Maybe tomorrow then." I repeat his words, and then, "Oh—actually that's perfect. My friend—the one I mentioned earlier, is coming up. Would you introduce both of us?"

  He bites his lower lip but can't keep a smile from spreading, and soon that turns to outright laughter.

  I stare at him. "What?"

  "I know I offered first. It's just that it's been a very long time," he says, still chuckling, "since anyone's wanted me to introduce them to someone else. It's been the other way around for…God, I can't even remember how long."

  I almost call him out for being vain—it's on the tip of my tongue, and he seems to enjoy this sort of back and forth—but realize at the last second he's not actually being vain. He's only stating the truth.

  I laugh too, a deluge of giggles bubbling up from my chest, at the surreality of this entire situation. I'm keeping a rock star entertained—and he thinks I'm more excited to get an introduction to his guitarist than I am to be hanging out with him. Which, it turns out, isn't even true. Not that I'm going to let him in on that tiny fact.

  I shake my head and run a hand over what I'm sure is the beginning of my frizzy hair. Damn humidity. I'm still smiling when I notice Gage sitting toward the end of the bar—and suddenly nothing with Luca seems as funny anymore.

  How did I not notice Gage? I'm usually so aware of him. He's watching me with an expression that's not exactly mad, but not exactly happy either. How long has he been there?

  Somehow, with Luca, I've been completely wrapped up for who knows how long, without a care in the world about anything going on around me.

  I don't mind coming back to reality, though, when it's Gage's beautiful face pulling me in. Even if he isn't the most pleased.

  I hold up a beer and he nods.

  "Be right back," I tell Luca and make my way down to Gage. I hand him the beer and smile, though behind it there's a level of guilt I don't quite understand. Yes you do. You were laughing it up with Luca James. "Zach put me on babysitting duty."

  "I can see that." Gage tone doesn't give anything away.

  Anxiety twists through my stomach. "His music sucks."

  "You aren't a fan?"

  "My parents bought me up with quality stuff. Beatles. Rolling Stones, the Velvet Underground, Jimi Hendrix—I could go on for hours… Not that I don't appreciate artists from the past decade—even pop rock—hell, I'm a proud Demi Jade fan—but Gold Rush Standard? My parents would've laughed me out of the house…"

  But now I'm thinking of my parents. They didn't laugh me out of the house, but I'm still not welcome there. And it hurts almost just as much knowing they don't listen to music at all anymore, when it was such a huge part of their lives—of all our lives—before Jason died.

  This is a path of thought I can't go down again. Not if I want to function.

  I close my eyes and breathe deep, blocking it all out.

  I think, instead, about later tonight, the way it'll feel to fall asleep against Gage's chest, the way he'll tickle his fingers along the skin of my arm, the way his soapy scent will fill my nose
when I breathe…

  And when I open my eyes again, I realize I'm biting my lower lip—and he's watching the way I tug it between my teeth. I grin at him. "See what you do to me?"

  His eyes widen slightly and he puts down the beer that had been halfway to his mouth. "There she is."

  "Who?"

  "You."

  Excuse me while I go sit in a corner and melt.

  "Well. Now that I'll be spending the rest of my night smiling," I say.

  He takes a pull from his beer. I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows and not for the first time, I want to slide my mouth along its trail.

  "Do you know," he says, when he's finished swallowing, "how much I look forward to getting you naked after work?"

  Oh, God. "Do you know how much I want to yank you across this bar for a preview?"

  "Don't tempt me." He tightens his grip on his beer, which brings my gaze to his fingers and my mind to the ways he likes to work them against me. In me.

  My mouth goes dry and my knees go tingly. "I gotta get back to work or…I don't know…take a cold shower. You're killing me."

  He shakes his head, a sexy growl humming at the back of his throat. "Goes both ways, Cassidy."

  With the greatest of reluctance, I turn toward Luca.

  Polly's next to him, whispering in his ear.

  And damn.

  I still find him appealing.

  I almost look back at Gage, to reassure myself that he's the only one I want, but I'm afraid of what he'd read in my expression.

  Needing a moment to compose myself, I look out across the patio. People are talking, laughing, eating. Jared's messing with some wiring by the stage deck. Nicole's sweeping by the bathrooms. A server I don't know walks by, carrying a tray heaped with fries and nachos and sandwiches. The scent of the food tugs at my stomach and I realize I haven't eaten all day.

  Maybe that's my problem. Low blood sugar or something.

  No. It's definitely Luca. I'm still not ready to look at him again.

  Instead my eyes settle on Zoey, by the food counter.

  It's like she can feel my gaze, because she looks over, catching me staring, and it's about a million and a half degrees of awkward. She doesn't glare at me, but she doesn't smile either. Actually, she looks sad—and suddenly I feel sorry for her. On top of everything else.

  God. Why can't I avoid tangled feelings wherever I go? No matter how hard I try.

  I'm the first to look away.

  I can ignore this. Feeling sad for her. Feeling anything about her.

  Just like I can ignore the annoying spark in my belly toward Luca. I mean, finding someone appealing doesn't mean I have to jump his bones. Confident with that realization, it's easier to face him.

  He's laughing at something Polly's said, and I wonder if there's something going on between them. Which is stupid. It's none of my business and I shouldn't care, anyway. I grab his empty water glass and refill it, adding a slice of lemon. When I hand it back, his fingers brush over mine and the touch sends such a jolt up my arm that I jerk back—and knock over the glass.

  Water.

  Soaking through the belly of my shirt.

  Streaming every direction over the bar.

  Heading straight toward Luca James.

  I scramble for a rag, knocking over the container of straws in my way, and manage to dam the flow just in time.

  "Sorry." I want to duck down, to hide.

  Luca snorts, and I can tell he's holding back straight-up laughter. Polly doesn't hold back at all, laughing outright—and kind of snidely.

  "No big deal," Luca says, "a little water never hurt anyone."

  Though…I'm beginning to think it might make Polly melt if I hit her with it. She lifts an amused eyebrow, knowing too easily what I'm feeling. She trails her fingers across the back of Luca's shoulders, whispers one more thing in his ear—her eyes never leaving mine—and then she walks away.

  I drum a finger on the still-slightly-damp bar and watch her go.

  She's trying to make me feel insecure.

  Successfully.

  "Let me try this again," I say, managing half an embarrassed smile and grabbing a fresh glass for Luca.

  "Hey." He takes the water when I hand it to him, watching me with those dark, dark eyes. "Polly's like a sister."

  "She seems nice." When I served her drinks earlier she did, anyway. Now, not so much.

  But…did Luca just clarify his relationship, or lack thereof, with Polly? Is he concerned about what I think?

  Ugh. My thoughts are turning into excited little fangirls and I'd be irritated with myself if I wasn't too busy enjoying the tiny, vapid butterflies currently flinging themselves around in my stomach. Stupid Luca James.

  Stupid me.

  I turn to hide my face and grab a fresh packet of straws, sweeping the spilled ones in the trash.

  "Gotta go; Polly told me they're about to let in the masses," he says when I face him again. "See you tomorrow?"

  "Yep!" Not cool. Too excited. I clear my throat. "I mean, I'll be here. Bartending. If you want more water, or whatever."

  God. If you want more water, or whatever? I'm a freaking disaster today.

  "Later, Cassie." Luca slings a final knee-weakening smile at me.

  "Cassidy," I correct him. Cassie was a girl I knew in high school, a total bitch. I've never used the nickname.

  "Whatever you say, Cassie." He reaches across the bar and tucks a strand of my hair behind an ear, before walking away.

  What an ass.

  Plus, I liked my hair exactly where it was.

  Why the hell am I still smiling?

  I glance at Gage who, for the record, is very much not smiling. I slide another beer down to him, following its trail with a rag to wipe the bar. "Oh, come on. You're not jealous of Luca James, are you?"

  "It's been a while since I've seen you laugh. It's nice, what it does to your face, what it does to the tension in your shoulders," he says, grabbing his beer. "Thanks for this."

  "Hey, wait," I say, but when he turns toward me again, I come up blank. Say something. Stop feeling guilty about Luca.

  "I'm on." He gestures to the stage behind him.

  "You still coming over after?"

  "If you still want me." His tone is light, but his words are loaded.

  It's easy to answer. "Like you even have to ask."

  Finally, he smiles. It's small, but I'll take it.

  Then Jared opens the VIP entrance, and we're so slammed I don't have time to think for hours.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Vera stays with Jared to watch the concert, so it's quiet when I get home. And when Gage arrives, it doesn't exactly pick up in volume, either.

  I offer him a beer. He accepts.

  I ask if he wants to sit down—hoping he'll say no and pull me into the bedroom to make me forget everything but the feel of his skin rubbing against my own. But he sits, and my stomach sinks because his mannerisms, so stiff, make me think he wants to talk. I join him, but I sit down with far more distance from him than I've ever left before. An entire person could fit between us.

  He asks how the rest of my shift went. I tell him great. Made good money. Got to hear his beautiful voice in the air while he performed.

  He shrugs at the compliment.

  The air is heavy with tension, and finally, I can't take it anymore. I inch a little closer. "Please don't tell me you were jealous earlier at the bar."

  "I'm not allowed to be jealous. I'm not your boyfriend." His features are carefully relaxed, but he responds so quickly it's obvious he's upset.

  His words sting me. "Gage—"

  "It shouldn't matter to me that you were flirting with Luca James." He cuts me off. "But it does."

  "I was trying to keep him entertained, because it was my job. Zach told me to. That's it. I don't even like—"

  "His music. I know. Vera told me."

  "You spoke to Vera?"

  "She wasn't very happy not to get an introduction.
"

  Oh, man. I'm so damn selfish sometimes. I can't think of a response that doesn't sound like an excuse. "I don't know what came over me today. Really."

  There's so much he wants to say, or maybe yell. I can see it in his eyes. The frustration. The anger. It's there, hot and sharp.

  But I can see when he reins it in, too, smothering it with a clenched jaw.

  "It was nice," he says, "seeing you relax like that. I wish you still did it with me."

  Guilt is a monster, rearing its ugly head, rushing through my veins, making me spring up from the couch and snap, "Come on, Gage. What do you mean 'still'? We've known each other like a month and a half."

  He stands to join me, anger back in his eyes. "Real nice, Cassidy."

  Those were definitely not the words I meant to say. My stomach curves in on itself. Why am I so defensive with him? God. Get a grip.

  He's right. I was able to relax around him not too long ago.

  But he was supposed to be a light, summer escape. He's somehow on the verge of becoming so much more.

  He makes me want to open up—and I just can't. Which means that no, I can't relax around him.

  "I'm sorry." It's all I can say.

  "What happened last week?" he asks, making my stomach tighten even more. "I thought we were…" He shakes his head. "It doesn't matter what I thought. But all you've done is push me away ever since. What happened? What changed?"

  "Nothing." It's a lie. "I don't know." Also a lie.

  Last week, he talked me into going out to lunch. And then, because it actually wasn't sweltering for a change, for a walk around a park near the restaurant.

  Blue skies. Birds chirping. Hand-in-hand with a stolen kiss here and there.

  Laughing.

  It was perfect.

  Like a freaking cartoon fairytale.

  I went home, sticky sweet with nostalgia, and almost called my parents.

  My parents. People I have no desire to speak with. I snapped out of it before hitting the call button, but only barely. And then, I actually did call Jason, needing to hear his voice even just on his voicemail.

  But someone else answered.

  His number's been put back into population.

  It crushed me.