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Beat
  • Текст добавлен: 13 сентября 2016, 19:55

Текст книги "Beat"


Автор книги: Vi Keeland



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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Chapter Four

Flynn

The place is twice as crowded as when I was here last week. The same woman is bartending, no sign of Lucky anywhere. It’s not hard to find Dylan once I’m finally inside—he’s got an entourage the size of his ego.

“What’s up, Foreplay?” Dylan shakes my hand. He motions to the men around him, some of whom I recognize from Easy Ryder. “Guys…this is Flynn Beckham from In Like Flynn. His band is going to replace Resin for the second half of the tour. Get the audience all worked up so we can slide in and finish the job.”

I smile, even though everything about this guy rubs me the wrong way.

“You want a beer, Flynn?” Avery yells from behind the bar with a warm smile.

“Absolutely.”

“Guinness?”

“Sure.”

“You’ve been here before?” Dylan asks.

“Last week. I was already here when you had to cancel.”

“Yeah, sorry about that, man. Got a last-minute proposition that was too good to pass up. You know how that is.” Dylan winks. “Had to miss my flight.”

“No worries. Worked out pretty good. Actually came back twice this week.” Avery delivers my beer with a smile. “The owner is smokin’ and pretty cool too.”

Dylan chuckles. “I know her well. She’s actually a cunt.” He takes a swig from his beer. “But I bet she’s a hot lay. She’s tight with my girl. Wonder if I can talk her into a little two-on-one action.”

If I thought the guy was a dick before, hearing him call Lucky a cunt makes me want to knock him on his ass. But I keep my mouth shut and drink my beer instead. “This place is great. It has a sixties vibe to it.”

“It’s not bad. The singing can be fucking torture though. You ready to start practicing soon?”

“Looking forward to it. Doc’s had my voice on strict bed rest the last two months to bring down the swelling on the nodule I flared from the forty-shows-in-forty-days gig I did for that reality TV show.”

“But you’re good now?”

“Voice has never been stronger. Last follow-up scheduled for the day after tomorrow.”

“Good. Because I don’t want your voice breaking and sounding like shit when you’re warming up my fans.”

“Wouldn’t sign on unless I was good to go.”

“Here comes my girl. Maybe she can hook you up with her friend.”

I prefer to arrange my own hookups, but I nod and smile nonetheless. Dylan raises his hand and yells over a crowd of people, “Babe, come here. I want you to meet someone.”

Following the lead of his voice, I turn to check out the woman walking toward us and my heart wrenches in my chest. You have got to be kidding me. There are eight million people in New York City. Her?

I blink a few times. The dimly lit bar is mobbed. Maybe it’s not her. Or maybe he’s calling to someone else. She takes a few steps closer. Fuck. There’s no mistaking it’s her now. That auburn hair, pale skin and green eyes—I’ve been seeing her face in my head for a week. She looks even better than I remember too. Green sleeveless blouse that dips to show a hint of cleavage, dozens of bracelets sparkling their way up her flawless skin. Tight jeans and leather boots that run halfway up her legs.

I’m staring, mesmerized by her every step as she makes her way through the crowd and over to us. My pulse quickens and there’s a primal urge inside me to reach out and grab her as she comes within my grasp. Wrap her into my arms so no one else can touch her. Certainly not Dylan douchebag Ryder.

But then, before I start breathing again, he’s reaching for her arm and pulling her close to him.

“Lucky, this is Flynn. He’s the new opening act for the Wylde Ryde tour.”

Seeing me for the first time, Lucky’s eyes flare. A lump forms in my throat, and I’m forced to swallow it down. I take a long pull from my beer to help wash away the bad taste.

“Nice to meet you, Lucky.” I extend my hand. I’m naturally a flirt; the last woman whose hand I shook was probably a teacher in high school. Actually, scratch that, Miss Cleary was hot, pretty sure I kissed her on the last day of school.

Lucky’s hesitant, but places her hand in mine. The feel of her soft skin makes me wish I’d taken a chance and run my lips over the silky smoothness of her cheek. Only, I know the cheek wouldn’t be enough. “Nice to meet you too.”

Dylan pulls her against his body possessively and wraps his hand around her waist before delivering more than a friendly kiss.

“Flynn here has a thing for Avery,” Dylan announces, looking at me.

Lucky flushes and I think I see what might be a hint of disappointment.

“Is that so? Well, don’t listen to anything Dylan has to say about my best friend. These two don’t get along. She’s a great catch.”

“Sure she is, if you’re into sadistic ball-breakers,” Dylan comments. “Me, I prefer sweet on the outside, with a side order of slut in the bedroom.”

Lucky elbows him in the ribs. “Dylan! What the hell is wrong with you?” She turns to me. “Avery is not a sadistic ball-breaker. I need to go give her a hand. She’s swamped again.”

For the next few hours, I try not to let my eyes wander to Lucky. But I’m fighting a losing battle. The smile on her face, the way she tilts her head to the side when she’s listening to someone, her body constantly moving in some small way to the music. Watching her is like watching a butterfly. It’s beautiful on the outside, its wings decorated with color that captures your eye, but it’s the way the butterfly flutters around, always seemingly out of reach, that makes you follow it with your eyes.

When Lucky starts dancing with Avery behind the bar, and I don’t even notice the woman standing at my side vying for my attention, I decide it’s time to get some air. I head toward the bathrooms and escape out the back door, a place I discovered this week that all the smokers seem to know about.

The fresh air feels good. It’s a warm spring night that reminds me of what’s right around the corner. Long days filled with sunlight, nights filled with women who finally have an excuse to wear little clothing. I should be looking forward to it, to getting back on tour. A different city, a different woman every night if I want it. Hell, on the road, one a night is by no means the daily limit. Yet the only thing I’m looking forward to is getting back on stage and playing my music.

“I should’ve known you were a smoker,” Avery says as she slips outside and joins me.

“Oh yeah, why is that?”

“Oral fixation. Explains why you’ve been staring at Lucky’s mouth all night.”

“I actually quit.” I inhale a long drag.

“Me too.” She pulls a cigarette from her cleavage and brings it to her lips. I light it for her.

“I only smoke one every now and then. I just bummed this one.”

“Then you haven’t quit yet, have you?”

“Close enough.” I pause. “Thanks for the heads-up that Lucky was meeting her boyfriend here tonight, by the way.”

“No problem.” Avery smiles and takes a puff of her cigarette. “I’m hoping Doucheluck doesn’t last as long as TomKat.”

“You lost me?”

“Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise. That disaster took six years to unravel. Dylan was Lucky’s teenage crush. He’s also a douche. He doesn’t deserve my best friend. She needs a new boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well. I tend to keep away from women with boyfriends. Too many problems.”

“Sounds like you’ve been there before?”

“Not intentionally. Only when they fail to mention it before it’s too late.”

“Well, Lucky is worth breaking your rule.”

“She’s also the girlfriend of the lead singer of the band I’m going to spend six months traveling with.”

“I heard. Sounds like fate to me.”

“I think you’re confusing fate with fatal.”

Nolan Blake taught me how to smoke. How to hold a cigarette so I didn’t look like a chick, how to ditch it out with my bare foot so I looked cool yet didn’t burn the sole of my foot and, most importantly, how to smoke the whole thing between my lips without using my hands. The last lesson came naturally to him, considering he needed both hands free to strum his guitar twelve out of twenty-four hours of the day for as far back as I can remember.

“You know, this shit’s your fault.”

“What are you talking about?”

“If you hadn’t taught me to smoke in sixth grade, I probably wouldn’t have developed the nodule on my throat that’s keeping us sitting in this waiting room looking like two gay guys.”

“If I hadn’t taught you to smoke, you wouldn’t have ever turned cool, and you wouldn’t have gotten to feel up Ellie Martin that summer.”

Ellie Martin. Now that’s a name I haven’t heard in fifteen years. That girl had double-Ds in sixth grade. Perfectly round, like two giant cantaloupes. I sigh, thinking back to that day. “Totally worth a nodule.”

Nolan chuckles. “By the way, if we were gay, you’d be the catcher taking it up the ass. I’d be pitching.”

“I definitely would not be taking your skinny little prick. My anaconda would be splitting your ass in two.” I pause. “And why are we even having this fucking conversation anyway?” We both laugh.

“Mr. Beckham,” the nurse calls.

“You want me to come with you, honey?” Nolan says, loudly enough for the entire waiting room to hear. Then, with his hand adorned with a half dozen gaudy rings, he blows me a kiss.

After an hour with the otolaryngologist and a forty-five minute cab ride back downtown, Nolan and I are finally heading to Pulse Records to sign the tour contracts. Opening for Easy Ryder is an ideal gig for us—their audience looks a lot like our audience, our play time is only a little shorter than theirs, and since we have the same record label, we were able to arrange studio time to work on our next album during the tour. Yet I have a nagging feeling that I’m about to make a huge mistake. With no real tangible evidence to support my gut, I keep the feeling to myself and just try to ignore it.

The Pulse offices are impressive: walls lined with platinum album covers, framed Billboard charts—a literal hall of fame that leads us to a large conference room that could easily seat fifty. The pretty woman with the short skirt and high heels who steered us into the inner sanctum is replaced by an even prettier woman with an even shorter skirt and even taller heels.

“I’m Heidi, Mr. Simon’s personal assistant. Welcome, Mr. Beckham, Mr. Blake.” She nods. “Mr. Simon apologizes. He’s running twenty minutes late. He asks that you please make yourselves at home. There is a green room down the hall to the left. Van Mars is recording if you’d like to pop in and listen. Or there is a cafeteria downstairs. If you tell them you’re a guest of Mr. Simon’s, everything will be on the house.”

“Which one will you join me at?” Nolan asks with his usual cocky swagger. I roll my eyes; Heidi licks her lips.

“I’m going to head downstairs and get some coffee. The guy I bunked with last night doesn’t even have a coffee pot,” I goad Nolan.

“I don’t drink coffee…why the fuck do I need a coffee pot?”

“For when I stay over, asswipe.”

“Go back to your own place in Jersey. I’m not buying a damn coffee pot for you. If I keep you happy, you might stay over more often.” Nolan turns his attention back to Mr. Simon’s assistant. “Now if Heidi likes coffee, I might have to stop and get a pot.”

I chuckle, shake my head, and leave Nolan to his morning conquest.

The cafeteria is crowded, even though it’s somewhere between breakfast and lunchtime. But I suppose most people visiting Pulse generally consider morning to begin around noon.

I came in looking for coffee, but the smell of bacon wafts through the air and my body follows on its own. Coffee turns into two eggs, bacon and cheese on a roll, an orange juice and a chocolate pudding. Actually, two chocolate puddings. Because people who pass by fresh chocolate pudding without grabbing one just can’t be trusted.

Finally at the front of the long register line, I realize I’ve forgotten to grab the damn coffee. I leave my tray and tell the cashier to take the next person. I seriously shouldn’t walk around at only eleven in the morning with no coffee and Stevie Ray Vaughan ripping in my ear buds.

The sinuous riffs of “Texas Flood” have me lost to the music and it takes me five minutes to prep my coffee because of the constant need to stop and accompany Stevie on air guitar. Oblivious, I make my way back to the register to collect my tray and pay, when a woman’s voice shakes me out of my musical coma.

“Cutting the line?” she says.

I pull the bud from my ear and turn. “Lucky? What are you doing here?” For a quick second, I actually think I might be dreaming.

She smiles. “Apparently, getting cut in line by a guy who is going to lose his hearing from playing his music so loud.”

“Sorry. I was on line, but I forgot my coffee.” I hold up my cup as if evidence is needed. The cashier apparently isn’t as in awe of Lucky as I am; her face tells me to pay and move along. I take a bill from my wallet and motion to my tray and Lucky’s. “For both.”

“You don’t have to buy my breakfast.”

“I want to.” I’d rather buy you dinner and make your breakfast the next morning. I look down and smile seeing the contents of her tray. Chocolate pudding and coffee.

“Breakfast of champions.” She shrugs.

I know I probably shouldn’t, but I just can’t help myself. “Eat with me.”

She looks at the time on her phone, then back to me, and bites her bottom lip. Without thinking, I reach up and tug the flesh from between her teeth. “You’re going to bruise this pretty mouth.”

She flushes but agrees to have breakfast. I direct her to a quiet corner of the room. “What are you doing here?” The minute the words leave my mouth, I realize she must be here with Dylan. Fuck. I’m an idiot. Any second, he’ll be joining our table. Great.

“I work here.”

“You work here? I thought you owned Lucky’s.”

“I did. I mean, I do. Avery and I are partners now and she runs it. My last night managing it was actually the night you first came in.”

“What do you do here?”

“I’m a vocal coach.”

“I thought you said you don’t sing?”

“I don’t…not in public anyway, anymore.”

“You used to sing?”

“A little.” She seems anxious to move the conversation from her. “What brings you here today?” Her spoon dips into the chocolate pudding and rises to her mouth and I follow it with rapt attention.

“We’re signing the contract for the Wylde Ryde tour.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. About that. Sorry about the other night. I didn’t know you were with Dylan.”

She shrugs. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, but I wanted to.”

Her cheeks pink up again. God, I love the color of her skin. The way it doesn’t allow her to mask any of her emotions, even if she tries.

“Well. It all worked out anyway. Avery is incredible.”

“Avery?”

“I thought you were interested in her.”

“I actually said I was into the bar’s owner.”

She looks confused, and then her mouth forms an O. Right before her cheeks flush again.

“Don’t worry…Dylan just assumed I meant your friend.” An awkward silence falls. “So how long have you two been together?”

“A little less than a year.”

I nod. “You eat chocolate pudding and coffee for breakfast often?”

She giggles. “I have every day since I started here. I just can’t seem to pass the damn display.”

“I know what you mean.”

“I better watch myself. I have no self-control around chocolate, and between not running around the bar all night and having a cafeteria with good food in the building, my ass is going to bear the brunt.”

“I’ll watch your ass for you. Make sure it stays in top form.” I wink.

“How chivalrous of you.”

“I’m good like that.”

She shakes her head. “So are you excited to go on tour?”

“I’m excited to play in front of an audience again.”

“You took a break?”

I nod. “Not by choice. Nodule on my throat.”

“Sorry. Strained from too much singing?”

“That’s what the doctor said.”

“Well, there’re a lot of things you can do to keep it from flaring up. Have you been to a voice coach?”

“No.”

“I’ll give you my number. Call me if your voice starts to show signs of strain. I might be able to help.”

I nod, lift my phone, and snap a picture.

“Hey. I’m eating. Why did you take a picture?”

“To go with your number in my phone.”

“And you needed it to identify me because you know a lot of Luckys?”

She has a point. “What’s your number?” I ask.

“Let me see the picture or I’m not giving it to you.”

I arch an eyebrow. “You’re going to injure my voice and most likely ruin my career because of one bad picture of you with chocolate pudding on your lip?”

Her eyes flash. “I have chocolate pudding on my lip in the picture?”

“Maybe.” I smile.

Lucky grabs for my phone, but I pull my hand back just as quickly.

“Let me see the picture!”

“Okay. But only if you give me your phone number first.”

“Is there really even chocolate on my face in the picture?” She licks her lips.

My eyes fall to watch her tongue. There’s a drop at the corner of her mouth. I lean forward and swipe it with my finger. Her lips part. Then I lift my finger to show her the tiniest of smudges…right before I bring it to my mouth and lick off the pudding. “Delicious.” Chocolate pudding and Lucky. My new favorite flavor.

“I shouldn’t even give you my phone number now.”

“Why, because I gave you a compliment?”

“What was the compliment?”

“I said you were delicious.”

“I thought you were talking about the pudding.”

A wicked grin on my face, I slowly shake my head back and forth.

“You’re dangerous.”

“Thank you.”

“That wasn’t a compliment.”

“Think you need to work on the difference between compliments and insults.”

Time flies, both our trays are long empty, and I’ve been gone for close to an hour, even though Heidi told us Simon would be only twenty minutes late. But I just can’t bring myself to walk away from her. She tells me a little about Lucky’s and her new job, and I’m actually enjoying the conversation—maybe even as much as I enjoy looking at her. There’s an odd familiar feeling that I get when we talk. It was there the first time we spoke, even more so today. It feels like I can finish her sentences, yet I don’t want to interrupt her because the sound of her voice slides over me in a way that I can’t describe. I just know that I like it. A lot. I like her. I like the way I feel when I’m around her.

“Shoot. I didn’t realize how much time has gone by. My next session is probably waiting.” She stands, but it looks like she doesn’t really feel like leaving yet either. “Umm…let me give you my phone number. In case you have any problems with your voice.”

“That would be great.”

I hand her my phone and she punches in her number. “That’s an awful picture of me.” She hands back my phone.

“There’s no such thing.”

She smiles and shakes her head. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

My brain has every intention of giving her my hand. But it doesn’t catch up to my body before I have one hand cupped behind her head and my mouth is closing in on her cheek. I suppose I should be grateful my body compromised and went for the cheek, rather than the mouth. Feeling the softness of her skin under my lips makes me want to run my lips along other places on her body. Every place on her body. “You know, I’ve been thinking a lot about something you said the first night we met.”

“Oh yeah. What’s that?”

“You said if you strip a woman down to her underwear, you can learn a lot about her. Since you have a boyfriend and I can’t do that, I think it’s only fair you tell me what kind you wear.”

The pink on her cheeks is definitely my new favorite color. She shakes her head and I think she isn’t going to give me an answer. But then she surprises me by leaning in and whispering, “Lacy boy shorts…unless I’m wearing leather pants.”

“What if you’re wearing leather pants?”

She smirks. “Commando.” Then leaves me standing there with my mouth open, staring at her ass as she walks away.


Chapter Five

Lucky—

Twelve years earlier,

age thirteen

The green neon script sign behind the bar makes me feel like what Dad keeps telling me is true—Lucky’s is ours.

“Get used to it, princess. Your name is going to be in lights much bigger than just our little sign.” Dad pulls me close to him and kisses the top of my head.

“Don’t you think someone whose name is important enough to be lit behind the bar should be able to watch the show tonight, Daddy?”

“She is pretty important, you know,” my friend Avery chimes in.

My father groans. “Girls. You’re going to get us shut down before we even get through opening night.”

“Please, Daddy!”

“Please, Daddy!” Avery follows my lead, her hands steepled like a communion girl’s. “We’ll stay off to the side of the stage near the hallway to the back. And if the man walks in, we’ll run into the back room before he sees us. I promise.”

“The man?” Dad asks.

“Yeah, you know. Five-oh. The fuzz. Flatfoot. Smokey. Doughnut disciples, the po-po,” Avery offers.

Dad shakes his head, but smiles. “I know I’m going to regret this, but fine. You girls can watch. But only the first show. You are not staying in the bar all night.”

I still can’t believe my mom scored us one of the hottest bands around. The lead singer is gorgeous. His poster hangs on my wall, perfectly positioned so I fall asleep every night with his sky blue eyes staring at me.

And now he’s about to be ten feet away. I really hope I don’t pass out. The lights dim and my dad hops up onto the small stage and delivers a quick introduction, not that any introduction is needed. Then the room, which is filled to capacity—a line of hopefuls running all the way around the block—erupts in screaming, and the guy who makes my knees weak appears from the parting crowd.

A black tee shirt, worn jeans, black boots—both his arms already covered in tattoos at age twenty-three. Simple, yet simply perfection. He stands on the stage like he owns the place, looking like the rockstar that he is. Then he smiles and every woman in the place goes wild.

The shirtless drummer pounds his sticks on the drums a few times to start the song. He’s good-looking, but not in the same league as the lead singer. And then I hear that voice. It’s beautiful—filled with an intensity so hot, I fear I’ll melt standing this close. Is it possible to fall in love with a man who doesn’t even know I exist? In that moment, I’d swear it is. Because I’m head over heels in love with Dylan Ryder.


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