The Complete Tempest World Box Set

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Shut it,” I said quickly, glaring at King.

  Lace’s smile wobbled, but she managed to right it.

  “What?” King shrugged. “It’s Lace. It ain’t like she never heard that shit.”

  “If you bitches are done joking around,” War said, “I wanna have a serious word with you, Lacey.”

  “Stop pushing me,” she said firmly, her hands fisting on her narrow jean-clad hips. “Leave me the hell alone. I’m not changing my mind about it.”

  “I’m thinking you will.” War edged closer. “Babe, you wasted way too much time and talent when you were with that asshole Martin.”

  Lace’s eyes narrowed under the criticism. “Yeah, well, I’m not wasting any more of my time with you today when you’re acting like such an authoritative jerk.” She scooped her coat off the floor and stomped down the stage-right stairs.

  “Lacey, come back. Don’t be that way,” War called out after her, but she didn’t stop.

  Her angry strides took her quickly up the aisle past the rows of empty seats. She finished buttoning her coat before she disappeared through the double doors at the top.

  “Bry.” War turned to me. “Go keep an eye on her for me, will you? You know she won’t talk to me when she gets like this.”

  “All right,” I said, realizing that Dizzy was right. The way War and Lace argued was just like old times.

  I unstrapped my guitar and placed it in the stand, then jogged after her, catching up to her at the other end of the mezzanine.

  “Lace. Hold up.” I grabbed her arm, feeling the same electrical spark I always did whenever I touched her.

  “Leave me alone, Bryan.” Jerking her arm free, she whirled around, her back as straight as a board, her chin lifted and eyes flashing.

  When she got all worked up like this, she could be a handful. I also thought it was cute as hell, but I knew better than to mention that.

  “Don’t take it out on me, Lace, just because you’re pissed at him,” I said, and when she continued to scowl, I grinned. “You know I’ve got more than a few inches on you.” I cocked a brow and took a step closer to demonstrate. “I’ll use that to my advantage if I have to.”

  “Promise?” Her lips twitched. Planting her hand in the center of my chest, she pushed me back.

  Hell yes. I’d meant my height, but she’d obviously taken my comment in a whole other direction.

  It had been too long since Lace had flirted with me like this. I missed it. Missed her. So damn much.

  I leaned into her hand, my eyes focused on hers, my nostrils flaring as my lungs drew in her familiar scent. In the past, she’d carried a tube of vanilla-scented lotion around in her purse. It had pissed War off when she got the slippery stuff on the equipment. For the past couple of years, I could never smell vanilla without remembering her and our night together.

  I lowered my voice, pouring on the persuasion. I wanted to spend time with her today—for myself, not for War.

  “C’mon, I haven’t seen you in years. We used to be really good friends. I miss that. Miss you,” I said truthfully, speaking my thoughts out loud as I reached in my pocket for cigarettes. “There’s nothing exciting going on around here until seven. Why don’t we go hang? Explore Boston?”

  “I’d like that,” she said, and then graced me with an all-out, eyes-sparkling, rock-my-world Lace smile.

  My fingers tightened around the plastic wrapping of the cigarette pack. She was so fucking beautiful when she smiled. I’d forgotten how it could affect me.

  A hundred memories of her smiles came rushing back as I basked in the radiant glow of the one she now gave me. I still wanted to do whatever it took to make Lace happy. Nothing had changed in that regard since we were kids.

  Nothing had changed at all for me with her, and I wasn’t sure it ever would.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Lace

  I sat on a bench in Boston Common with Bryan, the sun heating my back. Picnickers crowded the park, and children dashed back and forth between outspread blankets. Bostonians were out in droves enjoying the atypically warm January day.

  Staring at Bryan, I noticed his shades were pointed in the direction of a young girl with braids being chased in circles by a couple of boys.

  “I remember when you used to have braids like that,” he said. “Before your insanely annoying Britney Spears phase.” He shifted, angling his long jean-clad legs toward me.

  He was so handsome with his light brown hair peeking out from underneath his black knit cap. Unfortunately, the mirrored aviators he wore, though sexy, shielded his dark eyebrows and his gorgeous gray-green eyes from view. My gaze traced the strong line of his jaw and lingered on the sensual lips I continually fantasized about kissing.

  I cleared my throat. “Do you remember the time we built that stage in front of University House? And how we got the other kids to pay fifty cents each just to see us perform?”

  Giving me an amused smile, he nodded. “Sheet for a curtain. Glass bottles for microphones. You had a stuffed snake for a prop.”

  “You wore a top hat like Slash’s.” My lips tipped up as I remembered. “Where on earth did you find that ratty thing?”

  “A dumpster behind the Tuxedo Warehouse.” He reached over and gently removed a strand of hair that the breeze had blown across my lips.

  I pulled the edges of my worn pea coat together, pretending that my shiver was caused by the cold and not the feel of his rough fingertips against my mouth. “We had some good times.”

  “Some, yeah.” The little girl zipped by again, giggling, and his head turned to follow. “My mom asked about you last night. She wondered why you and War didn’t go out with all the rest of us.”

  Swallowing hard, I said, “Tell her I’m sorry.”

  I couldn’t tell him the truth, that what War and I had been doing, his mother wouldn’t approve of. That I wasn’t the good little girl his mom remembered. I wasn’t even a semi-acceptable high schooler anymore. I didn’t deserve to be around Bryan’s family, so I gave him a near truth instead.

  “War and I had some stuff to do. Tell her I’ll try to drop by to visit the next time I’m in Seattle.”

  I could feel Bryan’s gaze on me, boring into my soul from behind those dark lenses. Not moving, I kept my own gaze straight ahead, my throat tight.

  Don’t push me. Please. I didn’t want to explain, didn’t want him to know how far I’d fallen.

  “Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll tell her.” He was quiet for a moment, and I concentrated on breathing, needing every bit of that moment to compose myself. “I remember lots of things about you.”

  “Like what?” I asked, tilting my head.

  “How you used to go from sweet one minute to all-out sassy the next.” He snapped his fingers. “Just like that.”

  His teasing tone lightened my mood considerably.

  “I still do.” I managed to look at him. “It’s a woman’s prerogative.”

  “You’re unpredictable, Lace.” His lips curved up. “It’s one of many things about you that’s impossible to resist.”

  “Yeah, right. More like one of the many things about me that’s annoying.”

  I studied him, wondering if there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes behind those shades. But I couldn’t allow myself to read more into what he said. He was just being Bryan, flattering and a little flirty, the guy I’d known and crushed on since I was a little girl.

  I regretted making the suggestive quip earlier, regretted agreeing to come with him. I couldn’t deal with this, the easiness of being with him one on one. The reminiscing, the playful banter we’d once done so easily, it all hurt too much. It was dangerous for me to be around him at all anymore.

  But dangerous or not, I craved him.

  “I’m hungry.” I slapped my hands against my thighs and stood. Unacceptable craving aside, there were other ones I could indulge in. Plus, I needed to put distance between us. “I want some popcorn. I saw a vendor on the way into the park. I
t smelled delicious.”

  “Still an addict, huh?” he asked, falling into step beside me.

  I winced at his choice of words and glanced at him sharply, but his expression gave no indication that he knew about me or meant anything deeper.

  I was addicted to him, to a lot of things that weren’t good for me.

  After we each got a bag of popcorn, we strolled toward Beacon Hill, where there were supposed to be some unique shops and restaurants.

  “Do you think there might be a vintage store around here?” I asked, bouncing eagerly on the balls of my feet in my ballet flats.

  Bryan groaned. “Warning you now, I’m not up to a marathon shopping spree.” He studied me for a moment. “Sixties fashion still your favorite?”

  “Yeah. Anything from then. The short skirts, the platform shoes, the hair and makeup, the music.”

  “I’ll take that as a yes,” he said, amusement in his voice and the ghost of a smile on his sexy lips.

  “A hell yes.”

  I nodded enthusiastically, chewing on another blissful mouthful of salty buttery goodness rather than allowing myself to think about his mouth, how his kisses felt, or how he tasted.

  “How about you?” I asked, attempting to redirect my own thoughts. “You still a big Metallica fan?”

  “Oh yeah. They’re practically my entire playlist when I work out.” He shrugged. “But I don’t get as much time to work out or just to kick back and listen to music anymore as I’d like.”

  “Yeah, I can imagine.”

  From sound check to meet and greets late at night, the tour schedule was rigorous.

  I stopped as we turned the corner. An enchanting narrow cobblestone street lined with Federal-style row houses stretched out in front of us with their red brick facades, black-shuttered windows, and wrought-iron gates.

  “This is nice.”

  “One of the roadies is from around here.” Bryan threw his half-full popcorn bag in a trash receptacle. He’d just had a small sampling, and yet he tossed it aside. I tried and failed not to draw parallels to our one night together. “When he described the area, I thought it sounded like a cool place.”

  “It is cool,” I said, though with my thoughts mired in the past, my enthusiasm waned in the present.

  “You ever take any of those classes you wanted to in fashion design?”

  “No.” I shook my head, more regret pulling my lips down into a frown.

  “Why not?” he asked, sliding out a crumpled cigarette pack from his jeans.

  “Do you really think Martin and I had the type of relationship where he was supportive of me and my silly schoolgirl dreams?”

  “I guess not.” Bryan cringed at the sharpness of my tone. He tapped out a cigarette and lit it, then his gaze narrowed as he exhaled smoke through his nostrils. “But it wasn’t silly. It was a cool idea.”

  “It was unrealistic.” I sighed. One dream among many that were never going to come true.

  No address of my own. No credit record. I could go on and on, but why bother? Excuses wouldn’t change anything, any more than wishes would.

  I crushed my empty popcorn bag, wiped my greasy hands on a napkin, and tossed everything into the same trash can he had. The window display in the shop behind us caught my eye. It had a mannequin wearing a fringed jacket and bell-bottom jeans.

  “I’m going in here,” I said. Translation: I needed a moment to regroup.

  A bell rang as I entered the tiny shop jam-packed with racks and racks of colorful vintage clothing. Hats and accessories hung from pegs on the wall, and heavy incense saturated the musty air. By the time Bryan wandered in a few minutes later, his cigarette extinguished and his cap off, I already had several things laid over my arm.

  “Is there somewhere to sit in here?” he asked with an exaggerated sigh.

  “Sure,” the shop girl with blue-dyed hair said. “Over there.” She pointed to a small velvet tufted chair against the back wall.

  Bryan dropped into the chair and scrubbed a quick hand through his already messy hair. The disarrayed look worked for him. I didn’t think there was any look that wouldn’t.

  Frustrated with myself and the fascination with him that I couldn’t seem to put to rest, I pulled a couple more dresses off the rack with a little more force than necessary.

  When my gaze drifted back to him, his shades were resting on top of his head. He wasn’t even looking at me. He was typing into his cell.

  “Do you have a dressing room?” I asked the shop girl.

  “Yeah.” She pointed to the velvet curtain near Bryan’s chair.

  “Thanks,” I murmured and swept past him into a small two-foot-square space. While changing, I heard the shop girl complimenting Bryan on his ink. He must have taken off his hoodie.

  I’ll bet that’s not all she’s admiring, I thought as I shimmied into a lemon-colored dress.

  “Hey, wait a minute,” the girl said to Bryan just as I stepped out of the dressing room. “Aren’t you the guitarist from Tempest?”

  “Yeah.” Bryan nodded.

  “You’re playing at the Orpheum tonight.”

  “I am.” He tossed a sheepish look my way.

  “The show sold out before I could get tickets. Could I get an autograph and a picture with you?”

  “Sure.” Bryan posed with her while I took their picture with the girl’s cell.

  Once more, I was relegated to the duty of photographer, only now I was officially out of the band. My stomach churned.

  “What’s your name?” Bryan asked the girl as he prepared to sign a blank piece of cash register receipt.

  “Janie,” she said.

  “Here you go, Janie.” He handed it back to her when he’d finished. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Absolutely.” Janie nodded.

  “Use my cell to take a picture of Lace and me. She’s an old friend, and I’ve missed her.”

  “Oh no, Bry,” I said, though a little needed warmth filled my chest. “I look terrible.” I covered the bruised side of my face with my hand.

  “Bullshit. You’re gorgeous as usual.”

  Bryan pulled my hand away and tucked me in front of him, wrapping both his arms around me from behind. His chest against my back, enveloped in his heat, I inhaled the familiar crisp undertones of his cologne. A wave of memories washing over me, I acknowledged now, just like I had back then, that there was no place else that I felt as safe. I laid my hands on his inked arms and melted into his embrace.

  “You two make a beautiful couple,” Janie said as she snapped the picture.

  If only . . .

  I stared at the picture when Janie handed his phone to me. No way did I want Bryan to see it. The look of longing on my face was as obvious as it was pathetic.

  He didn’t want you, Lace. Well, not longer than one night, anyway. Don’t forget that.

  “Hey.” Bryan leaned over my shoulder. “Give me my phone back. I wanna see the picture.”

  “Oops.” I slid my finger in a deliberate motion over the screen. “I accidentally deleted it.”

  “You’re such a liar, Lace Lowell.” He frowned at me when I handed him his phone.

  “Right back at ya, Bullet,” I said airily, returning to the dressing room and snapping the curtain shut.

  After the third outfit I modeled, I noticed Bryan getting fidgety. He’d lasted a lot longer than I’d anticipated, but I heard him mutter under his breath, “War owes me big-time for this.”

  “Spending time today with me was all War’s idea, huh?” I asked, my lips turning down.

  “Yeah,” Bryan said hesitantly, picking up on my vibe. “You know how he worries about you.”

  Even though I suspected Bryan had been ordered to watch me, disappointment stabbed my chest.

  Stupid, Lace, as if Bryan “Bullet” Jackson, famous Tempest guitarist, would choose to spend the day with you if War hadn’t put him up to it.

  Bryan probably had scores of groupies lined up and waiting for him to ge
t them off back at the venue. I shouldn’t have let down my guard with him today. It was too easy, though. It always had been.

  I thrust my arms violently back inside the sleeves of my top and my legs back into my jeans. When was I going to learn to stop reading more into Bryan’s attention than there was?

  “You done in there?”

  His sudden question startled me.

  “Give me just one more minute.” I leaned my forehead against the cold glass of the mirror and closed my eyes tightly, willing my emotions back under wraps.

  “Okay, but heads-up. War just texted. I gave him the address here earlier, and he’s on his way over. Wants to grab something to eat with us before the show.”

  “Great,” I muttered, not bothering to hold in a curse.

  “You’re not still pissed at him, are you?”

  “I just hate being pushed around,” I grumbled, throwing open the curtain, dresses rehung and lying across my arm.

  War was stubborn and possessive. Grandiose heart-warming gestures aside, the day-to-day getting along, the necessity of breathing room, and compromise seemed to escape him.

  “He means well.” Bryan stood and lazily stretched his arms over his head.

  “Really?” I snapped, mad at War and irritated with myself that just a tiny glimpse of Bryan’s abdomen made my pulse leap. “Did he mean well negotiating a deal with RCA that didn’t include me?”

  Bryan’s eyes widened, but he didn’t respond. There was no getting around that horrible truth. I could feel his gaze on my back as I stomped across the store, returning the clothes I’d tried on.

  “You didn’t want any of them?” Janie asked me with a puzzled look.

  “No. They’re beautiful, but I can’t.” I shook my head, hiding my disappointment.

  I would have really liked to have bought the hot-pink dress with the geometric design, but I couldn’t afford it. I needed to be careful with the money I had left, which wasn’t much after buying the bus ticket. I shouldn’t have tortured myself by trying on any of the clothes.

  After thanking Janie, I exited the shop with Bryan on my heels.

  He immediately spun me around as soon as we were outside. “The way the whole thing went down with RCA was bullshit.”