Текст книги "Beat"
Автор книги: Vi Keeland
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Flynn
After rereading her text for the hundredth time today, I walk into Lucky’s with Nolan. She’s miserable. I’m miserable. This is just fucking stupid. I know she loves her new job, but she’s talented—any record label would be an idiot not to hire her. In fact, now that I’m in search of a new label for In Like Flynn, maybe we can set up a two-for-one deal.
My newfound fame delays my entry and I sign a dozen autographs as I try to make my way inside. Scanning the bar, my eyes find Lucky coming in from the back hallway. At first, I feel an overwhelming sense of relief just being in the same room as her. But then I squint and the sadness in her face comes into focus. It looks like she’s been crying.
Brushing past the women swarming me, I’m focused on only one thing. Getting to Lucky and making her feel better.
Which is probably why I don’t see the first punch coming.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Lucky
It all happens so quickly. One minute I’m walking back into the bar, Dylan a few angry steps ahead of me, then next I catch sight of a man I’ve been dying to see, yet suddenly dread being here. I watch the whole thing unravel, unable to stop it. My screams go unheard over the sound of the karaoke song blaring from the speakers.
Flynn registers me, but unfortunately doesn’t see Dylan coming. The first punch lands square on his jaw, and I watch in horror as his head whips to the side from the force of the blow.
He staggers back, his hand going to his face, momentarily confused.
“You two fucking deserve each other. A whore who belongs on stage but doesn’t have the balls, and a wannabe who has more balls than talent.”
“Say what you want about me, motherfucker.” Flynn’s voice is eerily flat. “I probably deserved that first punch. But don’t talk about Lucky that way.”
Finally pushing past Dylan’s hulking security, I scream again for them to stop, just as Flynn’s fist connects with Dylan’s nose and blood sprays everywhere.
The security team that was just standing there watching the chaos ensue finally jumps in when they see their guy get hit. Mayhem erupts and there’s screaming and shouting, but the two men are at least separated.
“Get out!” I point in the direction of the door and scream at Dylan.
“No problem,” he sneers, and wipes his nose with a towel one of his security got from somewhere. “Enjoy your fucking unemployed boyfriend, whore.” He storms away, flanked by his guards.
Flynn’s chest is heaving, but his eyes are glued to me. I don’t know what to say or do. What other havoc could I bring down on this wonderful man? “I’m sorry,” I whisper.
“Cell phones are snapping pictures a mile a minute and the cops are probably not far away.” Flynn’s friend Nolan tugs at his arm. “Let’s get out of here.”
“Wait,” Avery shouts. I didn’t even realize she was next to me. She tosses something to Nolan and he catches it. “Lucky’s place. She’ll meet him there in a half hour.”
Flynn looks at me. He’s hesitant to leave, so I give him a nod of assurance. “Go. I’ll meet you there.”
Only fifteen minutes later, the bar returns to normal, although there’s still a buzz in the air and lots of whispering and staring at me. At least the cops didn’t show up.
Avery hands me a shot of a gold-colored liquid. I don’t bother to ask what it is. “This is for your nerves.” She holds it up and tips her small glass in my direction. I return the sentiment. As soon as the burning in my throat calms, she takes the glass from my hands and looks me in the eyes, speaking with a stern tone. “Go home.”
I pull her in for a hug, and afterward, she holds my shoulders, her voice apologetic. “I had no idea Dylan would show up.”
“I know.”
“Now go home and fix things with that mouthwatering man.”
I smile and finally take my best friend’s advice.
My hand shakes as I put the key into the lock of my apartment door. It’s dark, and for a split second, I think he might not have showed. But then I hear his voice.
“So I take it you’re not engaged anymore?”
I turn the living room light on and my heart leaps into my throat seeing him sitting on my couch. There’s a bruise on his cheek and his jaw is already swollen. “Let me get you some ice.”
Seeing as I don’t find myself injured often, I don’t have an ice pack. So I grab a bag of peas and sit next to Flynn on the couch, holding it to his face. He hisses at the contact. “Hurt?”
“I’ll live. Nolan punches harder, and he loves me.”
I smile. But when our eyes meet, I see his wariness. “I was never engaged.”
His brows furrow. “I saw the pictures. Looked like a proposal and a celebration to me.”
“It was. But it wasn’t.”
He waits for me to explain, rightfully confused.
“I was devastated that you were gone and told Dylan I was leaving. He asked me to have dinner with him to talk. So I did. I felt like I owed him that much. I was beyond shocked when he got down on one knee. I panicked. The entire restaurant was staring at us and he was waiting for an answer.”
“So you said yes.”
“No.”
“Looked like it on the news.”
“I actually just pulled him to standing and he hugged me. I never actually responded—but I didn’t clarify I was declining either. At least until two hours later when we got somewhere more private.”
“So you were really never engaged?” he asks again, like he can’t believe it.
I shake my head.
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“Because Dylan told me he’d have you kicked off the tour. I didn’t want to hurt your career.”
“That was my decision to make.”
I chortle. “You sound like Avery.”
“Knew I liked that woman.”
“And I guess you didn’t contact me because you thought I was engaged.”
He stares at me and shakes his head. “I wouldn’t have let a ring stop me. Dylan told me he’d make sure you lost your job if I contacted you.”
I nod. Guess we’ve both been manipulated.
Dylan’s parting words finally register with me. I was so frazzled, I didn’t stop to think what it meant when he said to “enjoy your unemployed boyfriend.” “I’m sorry. I guess you lost the Easy Ryder tour?”
“Honestly, it’s for the best. Even before we met, the guy had it in for me.”
I take the frozen vegetables from his face and touch his cheek as I look deep into his beautiful blue eyes. “I’m so sorry. What a mess I’ve caused.”
“I’m not sorry. I don’t give a damn about the tour or the punch. All I care about is you.” He brushes his knuckles along my check. The simple contact feels so good, I shut my eyes and breathe in a sigh of relief. If I were a cat, I’d purr. “Where does this leave us?” he asks.
My heart fills with hope. “Is there still an us? You left the bar with someone the other night. I thought maybe you’d moved on.”
“Nothing happened with her.” He weaves his fingers with mine and looks down. We’re both quiet for a long moment. “How could anything happen with anyone else when I’m in love with you?”
My eyes jump to his. “You are?”
“I am.”
Time stands still all around us. “I love you, too.”
That slow, lazy, dimpled smile breaks through the last barrier of my heart. “You gave me my first screaming orgasm, I’m going to give you your last.”
“Is that so?” I grin.
He stands and scoops me up off the couch. “We’re never hiding again. And this time, there’ll be no hand covering your mouth—I want to hear you moan my name while I lick every inch of you.” He kicks open the door to my bedroom with his foot.
Setting me down on the center of the bed, he stares with a look that I can only describe as ardor. His voice is so soft, so heartfelt, so pure when he speaks again, I almost liquefy.
One step at a time, back behind the line
We can’t stop it, no, doesn’t matter we try
Walk to the blur, yes, you’re gonna be mine
Say we’re still friends, we all know that’s a lie
You doubt it’s true, but it’s too late to turn
The minute I touch you, our bodies align
You’re like fire, yet I run toward the burn
We’ve crossed the line, now you’re forever mine.
“You finished the last verse.”
He smiles. “Now do you believe me? There’s no going back once you’ve crossed into the blur.”
“I don’t want to go back. I want to go forward.”
“Me too, baby. Me too. But right now, I’m going to go up and down.”
Epilogue
Lucky
“I remember when my coffee used to be ready for me when I woke up,” I tease as Flynn saunters into the galley area from the bedroom. He’s shirtless, sweats hanging low on his waist. Seriously, the sight never gets old. Not for a minute.
He pours himself a steaming mug and refills mine before sliding in across from me. “What are you working on?”
I close the notebook I’ve been scribbling in all morning. “Nothing.”
His eyebrows arch. “Nothing, huh? Then let me see.”
“No.”
He reaches and I swat his hand away.
“Why can’t I see?”
“You’ll see. Just not now.”
He pouts.
“The pout isn’t going to work either.”
“No?”
“No.”
He grins and leans forward, as if he’s going to tell me a secret, then I feel his hand under the table slip inside the leg of my shorts. “How about this?” Truly, the man has magical fingers. And not just on the guitar and keyboard. His thumb presses into my clit and for a few seconds I succumb to my weakness—his touch. But then I realize his other hand is slowly slipping the notebook from my loosened grip.
“Not gonna work.”
“Oh, it’s gonna work. Give me a minute.”
Dear lord, I’m in trouble when he pulls out the big guns—the cocky half grin and full dimples. His dexterous fingers dip below my panties and he runs two fingers up and down my center.
“Feels like it’s already working.”
I shake my head but don’t try to push his stroking fingers away. When he lifts the fingers that he just coated with my moisture to his mouth and obscenely sucks them, I’m near opening the damn notebook and reading him what I was working on. Luckily, he’s quickly forgotten the notebook, too.
“Spread your legs wider.” He leans across the table so our mouths are lined up, but he doesn’t kiss me.
Fortunately, I hesitate, because otherwise Nolan would have caught Flynn’s fingers back inside of me. When will we learn to control ourselves?
“Mornin’,” Nolan grunts.
“How many times do I have to tell you, put some fucking pants on before you come out here?”
He looks down, confused. “I do have pants on.”
“No. That’s underwear. And you’re sporting morning wood.”
Nolan scratches his head and looks down again. I turn my head, but only after getting an eyeful. “Oh. Sorry, man. I’m just grabbing some juice.”
I take the opportunity to pack away my notebook and laptop, hoping out of sight is out of mind.
“We’ll be there in about an hour,” Flynn says. “Don’t forget I’m crashing at your place tonight.”
“Fine. But I’m not putting pants on in my place. You get to make the rules on the tour bus, I get to make ‘em in Chez Nolan.”
Flynn grumbles and Nolan goes back to his bunk. “You know this is ridiculous. Kicking me out of our place.”
“It’s tradition. The groom isn’t supposed to see the bride before the wedding.”
“Since when are we following tradition? I proposed in front of fifteen thousand people, and that little peanut growing in your belly isn’t because you’re a virgin.”
I crinkle the napkin on the table and throw it at his nose. Flynn’s not wrong. We haven’t exactly taken the traditional route to get to where we are today. The day after the incident at Lucky’s, our lives turned into a media circus. Pictures of the fight between Dylan and Flynn were sold to tabloids and our faces were flashing on TV for days. While it gave us an excuse to stay holed up in my apartment, I was nervous about what it might do to Flynn’s long-term career. He, of course, was not. Unlike me, the man could seriously shrug off almost anything. He stayed true to his “everything happens for a reason” mantra and kept doing what he always did—writing songs, playing music and enjoying life day by day.
Not long after, the reason everything had happened came to light. Apparently, the old adage that there’s no such thing as bad publicity is true. In Like Flynn’s album sales doubled the week after the media frenzy, and within a month the band had its first Billboard Hot 100 top-ten hit. Things steamrolled from there. Instead of dumping In Like Flynn, Pulse Records asked the band to headline its own tour. It started out slow…twenty-two shows in smallish arenas…but with each city they visited, another two were added. By the time the band finished the last show yesterday, they’d played one hundred and eleven shows, and the last ninety were consecutive sell-outs.
Billboard just posted its predictions for the top-grossing tours of the year. In Like Flynn is slated to come in at number three—one rung above Easy Ryder. Speaking of which, four months after our split, Dylan Ryder wed a retired porn star—Jamie something—in a shotgun wedding. It wasn’t confirmed how far along she was, but from the looks of her belly at the wedding, I’d guess she was already pregnant when we broke up. Everything happens for a reason.
Three months ago, Flynn proposed to me in front of a sold-out crowd in Miami. At the close of the show, I was standing stage-side when he told the audience that the American Airlines Arena was a very special place to him. His words were cryptic; he spoke of a fearless city and how the city had given him his first real kiss. Only I knew he was referring to me conquering my fear and walking on stage for the first time, and the first kiss we’d shared right in the very place he was standing. Then he treated the audience to an exclusive first—I hadn’t even known he’d set the “Blur” lyrics we’d finished together to music. By the time he was done playing the song, I was an emotional mess. I was just so overwhelmed with love for the man and so joyful that I’d found him, I didn’t realize what he was doing when he asked the audience for quiet and began speaking. I’m not sure who was more shocked when I ran onto the stage to accept his proposal…him or me. Who knew I was ready to make the final leap and walk on a stage in front of an arena full of people? Flynn, that’s who.
I’m still not ready to sing on stage in front of a large audience. But I’ve made progress. Flynn and I even recorded a duet, which Pulse is producing and hopefully will be released in a few months. Step ten, Dad. I’m almost there. With Flynn beside me, I have no doubt step twelve is not too far away. Who knows, maybe I’ll be standing next to Flynn when I finally stand on stage again.
Three weeks ago, I found out I was pregnant. It wasn’t something either of us planned, but seeing how much Flynn adores his niece, I knew he wouldn’t be upset. Turned out, he was the opposite of upset—completely over-the-moon ecstatic.
Neither of us wanted a big wedding, so we decided to do it as soon as the tour ended. That brings us to tomorrow.
“I don’t remember you complaining when I told you last week. Avery is sleeping over.”
“When did you tell me?”
“We were at the Emerson Hotel.”
He leans back, sipping his coffee. “You had just flown in and we hadn’t seen each other in two weeks.”
“So?”
“Were you wearing black lace boy-short underwear, a T-shirt and no bra?”
“I don’t know. Maybe?”
“I wasn’t listening.”
“What?” I’m thoroughly confused by this conversation.
“Your nipples were poking out through your shirt and I really love the black lace boy shorts.”
“So?”
“I wasn’t paying attention. I would have agreed to anything.”
I chuckle. “I’ll have to remember that for the next time we’re arguing over something.”
Taking my place at the back of the small aisle in the chapel, I pause for a moment. My dad should be giving me away today…walking me down the aisle. It’s only about a thirty foot walk, but it seems I won’t be making it alone anyway. I shouldn’t be surprised when my barefoot husband-to-be walks to me and offers me his arm. Just like every day since the day we met, he’s stood beside me. It’s probably what made him the most irresistible to me. He doesn’t want to carry me, he wants to walk side by side.
With Avery and Nolan as our witnesses, along with a small circle of close friends and family, including my Mom, we walk to the altar and stand in front of the minister, ready to become husband and wife. Beaming at us is the most adorable flower girl, in a tiny version of my dress.
We didn’t discuss our wedding vows, so Flynn is surprised when I tell the minister I wrote my own. In sonnet form, I pour my heart out in fourteen lines of ten syllables. When I’m done, he wipes my tears and kisses me on the lips.
“Uncle Sinn.” Laney tugs at her uncle’s jacket and whispers loud enough so the rest of the room can hear her. “You’re supposed to wait until he says you can kiss the bride.”
Everyone chuckles, including the minister. But my soon-to-be husband leans forward with his usual cocky arrogance and reminds me, “Now that you’re legally mine, I’ll kiss the hell out of you in public, wherever and whenever I want.”
Finally.
I found the man of my dreams. Only this time, he was real.
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Acknowledgements
Thank you to all of the amazing bloggers that have dedicated your time to read my books and help share your experience with reviews. Without your voice, it would be difficult to find new readers.
A special note to some people I am incredibly thankful for—
To Penelope – Thank you for finding a productive use for our hours of chatting. How did I function before finding the other half of my brain?
To Julie – For being an opinionated New Yorker and always being honest—even when the truth sucks.
To Dallison – For reading my words, especially when the content isn’t your favorite subject.
To Lisa – For organizing some amazing releases and telling it like it is.
To Sommer – for making this absolutely stunning cover!
To all my readers. Thank you for allowing me to tell you my stories. It is truly a gift and an honor to occupy your mind for a few hours. I love your emails and reviews, so please keep them coming!
Much love,
Vi
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