Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (29 page)

“No thanks.” He folded the newspaper and replied to the negative at the same time Scar smiled and accepted. “Yes, please.” Settling back into his chair, he resigned himself to another twenty minutes because he wasn’t leaving her side until she was safe back in her room—and maybe not even then. “Could I get it to go?” She added.

Yes! Thank you
. It wasn’t that he begrudged another half-hour with her. But he was exhausted. Mentally from the mind games consistently playing out between them. And physically from their all-night workout. A nap was on his late afternoon agenda.

The server delivered the large paper cup to the table and lingered, asking her about the untouched pastry. Scarlette was polite as ever, making an excuse of an already full stomach and promising she’d eat it later. This led to their forced linger of another few minutes when the guy insisted on fetching a to-go wrapper.

Gage identified the behavior. The guy recognized Scarlette. As far as he knew, she had been undetected on this tour until now. His hackles rose, wondering if the other man knew her from their Cabo video exposé or American paparazzi tabloids.

“We need to go.” Straightening from his seat, Gage collected the wrapped pastry and leveled an urgent stare onto her features.

Like most shy fans, this one grew bold when he saw his window of opportunity closing. “You’re Scarlette Rose, right?”

Scarlette seemed caught completely off-guard, and her eyes widened a bit in disbelief before shuttering her private self and putting on her public persona.

“I’m your biggest fan.”

Of? Her naked body? Gage’s fist curled. Or snapshots of her on the red carpet?

“That’s really sweet of you to say so…” And here, Scarlette inadvertently schooled Gage on being a gracious celebrity. Looking at his nametag, she finished that sentence with his name, and he beamed.

Gage waited, unrecognized himself, as the two of them smiled for a selfie and she flipped to the back blank side of one of the shop’s flyers. Poised with her pen, she asked, “How should I sign it?”

“Scarlette Rose is fine.”

Her brows furrowed a bit, but she again eyeballed his badge and printed out his name, a salutation, and then signed with a flourish the requested ‘Scarlette Rose.’

“So weird that he knew
my middle name.” She mumbled as the pedestrian sign changed from ‘Avanti’ to ‘Alt.’

“Yeah. Well he probably knows the name of your childhood cat and your favorite everything too.” Sarcasm oozed from his reply as they herded across the street.

“You’re so jaded.”

“Not anymore.” He stepped up onto the curb and automatically offered his hand.

Her lips moved as if she were about to retort and then clamped closed and she darted a sideways look toward him. In that moment, he knew she’d figured out what he hadn’t until this second. The lack of his former fame had embittered him.

His phone buzzed, and he retrieved it from his pocket, thankful for the interruption of that awkward moment. “Hey, Mike. Thanks for getting back with me so fast. Listen, we have a situation…”

Scar kept walking and he blindly followed while talking. When the call ended, he was standing in the middle of her hotel room and she’d stretched on her bed with a soft drink. She was fully clothed—correction, wearing a pair of the short shorts that made him crazy and the skimpy pink top he’d already noted earlier. And the bed was so tightly made, he bet a quarter would bounce on it. The sight was a stark contrast to this morning and yet again—how many times was it now in the last hour?—his cock twitched.

“So. You’re arranging a bodyguard?” She waited until he’d made his own selection from her minibar and was settled in one of the chairs.

“You need one.” He twisted the top of the bottled water and steeled himself for an argument.

But she only dropped her gaze to the aluminum can in her hand and had one word. “Thanks.”

“I was getting ready for a debate.”

“He creeps me out. A lot.”

With good reason
. The man should be slinking away now that he knew his jig was up. Why was he still making contact? And stealing cell phones to do it? He trusted Mike to know at what point to turn to the local authorities. For Scar, he played it down. “He’s just trying to bully you. Scare you into giving him the money at least once. But just in case he tries something, you need protection.”

She nodded again, somehow managing to strum her guitar, drink, and channel surf. “Look!” Excited by what she’d found on TV, she let the guitar slide away.

The gray shadows of evening filled the room when he woke. City lights cast their reflections on the window. ‘Spiderman’ was over and another movie played out on the screen. He barely remembered moving from the chair to the bed. Reaching over a sleeping Scarlette, he eased the remote from beneath her arm and muted the sound.

His phone lay between them. A few texts blinked—one from Colt who offered advice and encouragement now that Scarlette knew the truth behind the ‘boyfriend caper.’ He hadn’t realized she was still in touch with Colt, but for the first time it didn’t bother him that his friend knew their business even when he hadn’t been the one to tell him. Mike had found muscle who could integrate with the tour schedule. The guy was experienced with bands and had his own sleeper vehicle available for when they traveled by bus. Logan’s text repeated the account of his cell phone theft.

Curiously, he looked toward Scarlette’s purse. However, despite being a jealous ex-boyfriend who had elaborately schemed behind her back, he couldn’t bring himself to violate the privacy of her purse, even when he desperately wanted to check her messages for any of Logan’s real ones.

Easing back onto the bed, he watched her sleep and played with her guitar, plinking the strings without turning on the amp. When he tired of that, he set it aside and turned the television volume on low. She curled her arms into her chest as if cold. He raised enough to flip the part of the blanket and spread he was sitting on over her and settled again, dozing.

S
houlder to shoulder, I stood with the winners of VIP passes to the West Stage of the festival. Rattler was on the last song in their set, and I was indulging my favorite pastime lately—watching the sweat glisten on Gage’s cut and inked body.

A smile still hovered on my lips from Gage’s wink a few verses ago. Almost two weeks had passed since he’d roused me that last night in Milan, insisting I not miss out on a bit of fun—outside the room. We’d danced the rest of the night away in the clubs in the Navigli district and had scored souvenirs—our favorite Marvel comics in Italian from a huge comic book shop tucked among the clubs on the canal.

In the dark morning hours afterward shrouded in the backseat of the cab, we’d kissed. Those long luscious rock star kisses I couldn’t get enough of. Then, with a respectable distance between us, we’d entered the hotel, ridden up the elevator, and separated to our respective rooms.

We’d had mini dates and had kissed a few times since when we could sneak away without raising eyebrows. Neither of us spoke of what this meant. It was as if we didn’t want to break a spell. I tried to remain in a mindset of enjoying these spontaneous moments as they came without analyzing them to death—and without guilt.

A phone call with Logan had officially ended a relationship between us that had never been. That’s how I felt anyway despite Logan’s claims of true feelings in a trapped situation. He’d apologized and even though my traitorous body and heart had absolved Gage before we’d left Milan, it had been three calls and several texts later before I’d been able to accept Logan had been in an impossible situation and forgiven his part.

As the last song wound down, I made my exit. If watching Gage perform was one of my favorite things in the world, then watching groupies throw themselves on him was my least favorite thing. It was best I wasn’t around. I paused at the hospitality tent to grab a cold drink and a couple of snack bags. When I offered the same to Jal, a giant of a man who was now my shadow, he shook his head. Afterward, I texted for a runabout cart to carry us to the bus.

If I remembered the tour itinerary correctly, we were leaving around dark and traveling through the night. We’d worked our way gig to gig by bus for the better part of this week.

The afternoon was muggy, and I considered for a second before remembering we were in Amsterdam. When Landon had bemoaned the heat at one of the recent festivals, Gage had sarcastically told him he’d have fond memories of the heat when he experienced the humidity of The Netherlands. Landon had snarked back something about Gage always flaunting the fact that he was a tour veteran.

The cart slowed as it approached the sleek row of tour buses. VIP wristbands adorned the arms of the group milling the area. Several burly security personnel, dressed in black with white identifying letters kept the group corralled.

The fans stirred when my giant shadow and I alighted from our transport, and I made my way toward Rattler’s bus.

“Scarlette!” One cry was quickly followed by another and then another. This had occurred a couple of times since Milan. Word of me tagging along on the Rattler bill must be making its way around the internet. I waved, and as unobtrusively as possible hid my face behind a curtain of hair.

Maybe it was again time to go all out rock star with glasses and a hoodie. After the first several frenzied months of my re-debut into rock society as Scarlette Conterra Rock Princess, the following months of peace had been nice while it lasted.

The security near Rattler’s bus nodded politely to me and, along with Jal, positioned protectively in front of me as I punched the code in. The cool air when I pulled the door open refreshed my face. I stood for a moment in the empty living area, acclimating and enjoying the peace. Carrying my snack, I paused in the galley.

First, I made sure the cherry mix was in the fridge, which would ensure the guys could wind down when they returned ready to relax or sleep. Next to the cherry chill as Landon had dubbed it, was energy booster bars I’d baked the morning before.

I considered relaxing downstairs, but knew soon enough one or more of the guys would return, and I didn’t feel like talking. After washing up in the tiny bathroom, I climbed to the top story and folded into my bunk.

Propped on one elbow, I maneuvered enough to plug my guitar in and settle headphones on my head. After adjusting the airflow into my area, I drew the thick accordion privacy curtain. Lying down, I positioned the guitar across my stomach and began to play. My eyes drifted closed while I strummed, and I lost track of time.

I woke to noise inside the bus. It took only a second to register we weren’t rolling yet, so I hadn’t been asleep long. Removing my headphones, I heard more than one giggling girl.

And…

My ears strained…

Landon…

And…

No other voices. But that didn’t mean anything. Parting the curtains, I peeked outside my bunk and found all the other bunks darkened. But that didn’t mean anything.

I checked the time on my phone while fighting the urge to pee. Apparently, I’d been asleep less than an hour. After squeezing my legs together, I gave up and went to the upstairs facilities. And as long as I was already up and about, I crept down the stairway. A part of me was very curious if Gage was downstairs with women draped all over him.

“Right there, hold, hold…” Landon’s voice, crooning, and before I could run back up, certain I was about to get an X-rated eyeful, he yelled, “Yes! Holy fuck. That’s good stuff! Have the rest.”

And I gaped at the sight in the front lounge.

Landon was offering a ‘straw’ in the form of rolled currency to a topless young woman who all but sat in his lap. The gal took it and bent to the white bump lining the spine of the human table in front of them. I shuddered to think how dirty the bus floor was and wondered how drunk the nude woman must be crouched on all fours with no thought of the germs.

“Okay, your turn.” He motioned the gal wiping her nose down, and the gal on the floor up.

I backed without a sound up the stairs, and the horrific scene disappeared from my vision, but the audio continued.