Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (57 page)

But once they arrived here to her apartment, he walked her to the door, sometimes stayed for a soda or beer, and never treated her as more than a friend.

“Coming up for a bit?” She invited with a tip of her head toward the stairs.

“I can’t. Got an exam to cram for.” He shifted his weight from one high top to the other.

And then, with a swoop of his mouth, he caught her on the lips!

“See you later,” he mumbled, straightening. Leaving her bewildered, he hopped over the steps and achieved a graceful landing on the walkway. He waved just before ducking into his car.

From inside the house, she paused before going upstairs to watch his taillights through the window. Were they? Actually dating now?

She was in bed later that night, surrounded by her study notes when a text confirmed it.

Of all the men in L.A. and beyond, how could she have let this happen? It didn’t matter how much he made her laugh or how sweet he was. He worked for Gage and that nth degree of separation was too close for comfort. She could easily put an end to it right now with one simple text or even the lack of a return text.

Instead, she found herself replying.

“W
here’re you going?” Gage lifted his cheek from the comfort of the pillow, cracking his eyes enough to watch Allison pull on the red thong and black skirt she’d been wearing when she arrived.

Ignoring her bra, which was dangling from an empty guitar stand, she poked her head through her shirt. “Home?” Cocking her head, she curved a smirk. “That’s still the rule right? And you know me. I always play by your rules.”

Rolling onto his back, he lay, letting the breeze from the fan brush his bare skin while perusing her tousled, half-dressed appearance. “Yeah you do. I outta spank your ass though for leaving without making sure everyone else does.”

“Speaking of?”

“That Trish or Tonia or ‘whatever her name was’ friend of yours. Stuck around too long.”

“Almost a year ago? You do hold a grudge, don’t you?” She wedged her bare feet into some kind of boot and sandal mutant shoes.

“Nah. I just collect my debts, no matter how old,” he retorted suggestively.
Good God. Had it been almost a year since the night Scarlette had first walked through the door of this house?
How did the thought of her still hurt so much?

Allison moved closer, bending to the nightstand for the cigarette in an ashtray. Lighting it, she sat on the edge of the bed and put it to his lips. “Well, I like a good spanking as much as the next girl, even if it is a year old. But just so you know, that twat was no friend of mine. She wanted to meet the great Gage Remington and she had enough party favors to convince me.”

Shutting down his body’s twitch of response to the mention of lines and lines of snowy coke, he breathed in another hit and passed the smoke back. “About the rules. What if I said they don’t apply to you anymore?”

Whipping her head around in surprise, she eyed him with a startled look and then collected herself. “Fall asleep with Gage Remington? Stay—all night with Gage Remington? As in wake up—next to Gage Remington?”

“Fuck. Shut it before I take it back.” Inwardly though, he was laughing at her antics. And it felt as good to enjoy a woman’s company, as it felt crappy.

“Am I the first to be so privileged?” She continued her taunts, and his chest constricted painfully, as he remembered waking each day to Scar’s rumpled hair and sweet, makeup-free face.

Jackknifing up, he dropped the smoke to the ashtray, and twisted enough to pin Allison face down onto the bed. Bunching up her skirt, he paused to admire the two globes separated by a red strip of material. Fisting a hunk of her hair, he bent close to her ear. “You serious about that spanking?” His other hand tunneled between her thigh gap, and he curled two fingers into her. When her consent came out as an indistinct moan of pleasure, he withdrew his fingers from beneath her thong. “Yes or no. Say it so I know you mean it.”

The moment a clear yes sang from her lips, his hand drew back. The sting of his fingers against her ass was gratifying. Again. Again. Until the skin of his hand burned, and her pale skin gradually blistered from pink to red. The sound of each smack and her occasional muffled screech drove him on. Or was it the image of Scar, naked and writhing beneath a Belizean prick that fueled each swing?

The imprint of his fingers on her butt cheeks evolved into a blur of splotchy crimson. Damn. That had to burn. He was breathing hard with the intensity of his emotions, and he let his hand rest on her waist. With one last look at his handy work, he rolled on a condom, positioned between her legs, and in three seconds had her purring in pleasure rather than pain.

It was Scar’s sweet hide he wanted to tan for turning him inside out… For hanging him out…

“H
e’s here!” Derrick’s excitement carried through the phone speaker.

Scarlette roused herself, blinking the sleep from her eyes and crackling the pages in a spiral notebook as she pushed to one elbow. “Who?”

His words ran together in his haste to get them out. “The man from the white car. Remember, I told you I’d seen him before? He’s here! At the hotel.”

Derrick had worked at an elaborate tourist resort since before his freshman year in college. She presumed that to be the hotel he was speaking of, but she blinked the last vestiges of sleep from her eyes and wiped a hand down her face as she clarified. “Your hotel? How do you know it’s him?”

“The flame tattoo on his neck is pretty unique. Plus, I checked the reservations and he’s from L.A.”

“What name is he registered with?” Her heart pounded, and she held her breath, knowing she’d never given Derrick the paparazzi stalker’s name.

“Wayne Ketchum.”

Her air expelled in a whoosh, and the thumping of her pulse became painful. The mysterious man had been creepy enough outside her home. Turning up in the city she’d spent several of her growing up years in was taking stalking to a higher level.

But it was Belize. She talked herself down. A common tourist destination. Regardless, she called Mike. He had become her middleman with the security team the Remingtons—and lately she—employed.

He assured her of a contact in Belize who could have answers for him in a matter of hours. Sure enough, late the next evening, he phoned with answers that led to more questions.

“Ketchum had dinner with your mother.”

She felt as if a hammer had come down on the bridge of her nose. He followed with a few details and inquired if she wanted to probe further. When the call ended, she dialed her mom while finishing the stir-fry she’d been cooking up. The call went to voicemail, and in that same minute, Ivy rang from the gate. Without leaving a message, she interrupted her mother’s voice recording with a jab of her thumb and switched over to let Ivy in.

By the time her friend made it upstairs and inside the apartment, Scarlette had dished them each up a plate. After they exchanged greetings, she set the food on the tiny table with a flourish.

“Smells delish’.” Ivy sat and picked up the fork at her setting.

“Caroline had to work late and couldn’t make it in time, but she said she was going to try and stop by in an hour or so.” Scarlette spoke as she pulled out a chair.

The fork froze midair, and Ivy whipped her attention from the food to Scarlette’s face. “I didn’t know Caroline was coming.”

Scarlette returned the skillet to the stove and regarded Ivy’s semi-horrified features. “She’s really cool. We’ve become pretty close over the last several months.”

“I didn’t know.”

Was her friend jealous? Guardedly, Scarlette reminded, “You’ve been out of town a lot.” Reaching for the cooling bread loaf wrapped in foil, she explained. “Mostly we only text back and forth, same as you and me. But I thought as long as I was cooking, it might be fun to have a girl’s night.”

“Yeah. Fine by me. I was just surprised.” Swallowing her current bite, Ivy moaned in appreciation and used her fork as a pointing stick to the food on her plate. “Good!”

“Thanks.” Scarlette tore them each a section of the bread loaf and eyed Ivy’s golden skin.

“Is that a mist tan or the real deal?”

Ivy scooped another bite into her mouth and eyed one of her bare arms. “Real. Gotta love Cali.” Scarlette’s gaze went to her own skin, and her friend lifted a brow, advising, “Work less. Sun more.”

“We’ll see if you’re singing the same tune in ten years.” Scarlette joked. But she speculatively eyed the heightened color in Ivy’s face. Ivy hadn’t emerged from the summer with this much color. The deep tan was a product of the last few weeks, and she wondered if it was a physical adjustment her friend was doing to accommodate her current movie role.

“You’re quiet.” Ivy forked the last piece of asparagus from her plate.

“When Derrick was here…” Scarlette began and then trailed off. By nature, she was private, and she reconsidered whether or not to tell Ivy the paparazzi stalker story.

“Oh, sweetie. Don’t let Gage make you feel guilty about Derrick. You know better than anyone. An addict does what they’re going to do and then blames the rest of their world.”

Scarlette abandoned what remained on her plate and stared over it. “What are you talking about?”

“I thought
you
were talking about it. Gage getting drunk and almost getting run over.” Scarlette felt her eyes widen, and Ivy continued. “New Year’s Eve. He flipped out and ended up drunk in some dive on Sunset.” With each sentence, Ivy waited as if it would prompt Scarlette’s memory—as if she’d forget something of that magnitude. “Fell off a curb in front of traffic. Told Colt he was torn up because you were with an old boyfriend. You didn’t know this?”

Shaking her head, she asked, “So, he’s using again?”

“No, no. Just alcohol. And only that one time, Colt is pretty sure.”

“How do you know it was just the one time?” A shroud of smothering guilt settled over her. She knew Ivy was right. Blaming herself was ridiculous. But she clutched onto the possibility it was one backslide and not total.

“Colt said Gage was furious with himself. Said he believed him when he said it was the only time he’s had a drink since rehab.”

Jumping up, Scarlette grabbed their plates and dumped them into the sink. Pivoting on a socked heel, she wondered, “When do you talk to Colt?”

“In the course of exchanging kids. Seth and Jeter are always together.”

“Oh.”
Of course
. Even though the explanation was plausible, Ivy seemed off. She was suddenly the one to jump up and insisted on loading the dishwasher. “Everything okay with you these days?” Ivy nodded, and Scarlette couldn’t glean much since she was facing the sink. Her friend had been upset a while back over an Australian actress she felt was making a play for Bradley. Now Scarlette realized she and Gage had broken up around that time, and she hadn’t noticed when Ivy never brought that worry up again. “You and Bradley are doing okay?”

Ivy nodded again and ran a sponge over the granite. “You ever figure out if you and Logan are dating?”

“He kissed me.”

Dropping the sponge, Ivy whirled around. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“It was a peck. No tongue. It was… strange. I’m not sure it would work between us for long.”

“Because of Gage?”

“Well, yeah.” Scarlette shrugged and then admitted. “And I’m not attracted to him like…” Wandering a few steps into the main room, she picked up her guitar and dropped to the couch. “I won’t find anyone else like Gage, will I? We just have one of those in a lifetime, don’t we?”

Ivy curved a sad smile. “I hope we get at least one. I’m still waiting.” She crossed in front of the couch and picked her purse up from the sofa table. “Damn, girl. You’re getting good.”