Absorbed (8 page)

“Yes, of course.”

I follow at a slow pace behind her as she speed-walks in the direction of the set. Once we’re there, McBride breaks away from a group of crewmembers to come speak to me. Grinning, he claps me on the back.

“Never thought the day would come when you’d want to do something short notice but we’re all in. It’ll be the best YTS video to date,” he promises.

“Solo,” I remind him. “This is for my own album.”

He smacks his palm up against his tan forehead. “Damn, sorry. I think of you and I always automatically think the band.”

“Still with the band,” I say. “Just trying my own shit right now. Which is why we’re”—I gesture at the set, which is a simple backdrop with nothing but a high stool in front of it—“here today.”

McBride releases a noise of relief. “Then we’re ready to begin.” He glances at his watch. “Melanie?”

The assistant who came to get me a few minutes ago scurries over, keeping her eyes downcast. For a brief moment, this woman gives me a vivid reminder of my first meeting with Sienna a couple of years ago. Red had jumped at just about every word I said, had flat-out avoided me at all costs, and I’d never been more drawn to anyone in my life.

I’m not drawn to Melanie—not even close—but she sure as fuck makes me want Sienna more.

“Yes, Mr. McBride?” Melanie’s got a pen and a little notepad out, but McBride’s instructions are simple.

“Tell Christina if she’s not out of her dressing room in the next five minutes—” he starts, but I quickly stop him. That name, Christina, sounds familiar. And not the good kind of familiar but the kind that puts a foul taste in my mouth.

“That psycho who worked with me on the “All Over You” video?” I demand, and he nods. “Why the fuck would she be here?”

“Your love interest, Lucas.”

The last fucking thing I need in a music video to apologize to the woman I’m in love with is another woman crawling all over me, especially Christina. I jerk my head from side to side. “Fire her.”

McBride is suddenly just as flustered as his assistant. “I can’t just get another actress out here right away, Lucas. Not even for you. We can reshoot in a day or two maybe or even in—”

I shake my head again. “No, no actress at all. When I told you I wanted this video to be simple, I meant that. This is just me. No bullshit. And no actresses dancing around me or up on me. Just me and the song.

He backs away from me, his face a mask of confusion. At last he nods. “Melanie, sweetheart, can you get in touch with Christina’s agent?” When she immediately tells him she will, he adds, “And get me Deana.”

Another name that very familiar. I take a step toward McBride, pointing to set at the same time. “No need to discuss concepts, Karl. Everything I need to do this video is right there. You want something extra? I’ll hold up notecards or something, but that’s it.”

Karl’s shoulders slump, and the look on his face says it all—he thinks this is going to be a clusterfuck of a video—but finally he says, “Can we take thirty to get everything under control?”

“I’ll be in my dressing room.”

Even though she’s busy trying to reach Christina’s people on her iPhone, Melanie is right on my heels (obviously on McBride’s orders) as I head back to my dressing room, asking me if I need anything. When we reach the room, I stand in the doorway and bar her from trying to come inside.

“If I need a water, trust me, I know how to find it,” I say as I let myself in and shut the door behind me before she can say anything else. I’m almost to the couch on the other side of the room when the door swings open. Turning abruptly, I’m ready to tell Melanie to fuck off until they’re ready for me, but instead I face my sister. A lot of the tension I’ve been feeling seems to disappear.

“Shit, here I was thinking your ass had fallen off the face of the earth.”

But my relief to see her must show on my face because she grins. “I got your message this morning about the “Ten Days” music video, and I had to be here.” She breezes past me and throws herself down on the couch. There’s a bowl of apples on the coffee table, which she wrinkles her nose up at even as she grabs one. “Sorry it took me so long. Security gave me a hard time.”

“You were on the list.” I sit down a few feet away from her, watching her expression carefully for any signs that might point to bullshit between her and Wyatt.  When she shows none of those, I add, “They should’ve let you right in.”

“It’s the hair.” She sighs, running her hand through her multi-colored hair. “It was a different color on my ID. I need to color it back, but I’m afraid it’ll all fall out if I do.”

“Kylie,” I say, but she keeps going.

“I brought you your award.” She reaches into her oversized bag and plunks a statuette that’s shaped like a giant guitar pick on the coffee table beside the bowl of fruit. “I was going to keep it, but figured you’d keep hounding me if I didn’t give it back.”

If I wasn’t so worried about her—or still focused on nothing but the video shoot—I would have missed the ring. But I see it—fuck, it’s impossible not to see it. And I feel all my muscles tighten up. “I’d be dumb as fuck if I asked if that was a purity ring or whatever the hell they call them, huh?”

Placing the partially eaten apple onto her lap, she brings her hand to her chest, covering her ring finger with her other hand. “If purity means married then I guess you’re not so dumb after all.”

“He proposed to you?” I demand, but she shakes her head. I’m about to ask her if someone else proposed, but she clears her throat.

“We, ah, sealed the deal in Vegas. I’ve been meaning to tell you, but I know you’ve been busy with all the band stuff.”

Too busy to give a shit about something like this? “Kylie,” I groan, but she holds up her hands defensively and leans in close.

“And before you even ask, no, I’m not pregnant.”

Because our conversation is just getting started, it suddenly has to come to a close because there are a few timid knocks at the dressing room door. Melanie peeks inside and Kylie and I both glance over at her.

“Mr. Wolfe, we’re ready for you again.”

Lucas Wolfe

No matter how much time passes by, I don’t think I’ll ever get used to that motherfucker Wyatt being married to my kid sister.  I should’ve known it would happen, but maybe I’ve been so wrapped up in my own shit to notice what was happening around me. 

 Then again, I should’ve been expecting her to quit on me too. But while I was getting ready for the tour and the launch of my own stuff, I failed to see that one coming. She breaks the news to me about a month after her crazy ass Vegas stunt, and for someone who isn’t easily surprised, I’m fucking stunned. 

“I should make your ass pay for lunch,” I tell her. She’d convinced me to take her to some new Italian restaurant that had ended up being shit—plus I spent half the lunch signing napkins and tits for a group of fans that had noticed me. “Really, Kylie? Right before the goddamn tour?”

She presses her lips together into a thin white line. “Have you listened to a single word I’ve said, Lucas?” 

I down the rest of my beer, which is lukewarm and flat. “I heard Wyatt, New Orleans, and sorry. Did I miss something?”

“You’re being a dick.” She digs her fork into my spaghetti, eats it, and makes a face at the taste. “Okay, that is gross. Sorry, Lucas.” 

I shrug. “I’m more worried about you and McCrae picking up and moving to Louisiana. Fuck the shitty food.” I signal our waitress and mouth a request for the check. “You sure you going to be okay, Ky?” 

“I plan on keeping you in line even from New Orleans. I would never quit on you.”

“But are you going to be okay?” I repeat.

“I wouldn’t be going if I didn’t think I’d be okay.” She grabs the bill the moment our waitress sets it on our table. “Don’t worry, I got this one.”

Yeah, probably out of her business credit card. I watch her carefully as she digs in her wallet for a credit card, and I’m surprised when she uses cash. “So, why the move?”

Sliding the money to the edge of the table, she lifts her shoulders. “New start. We’ve got so much baggage around here, and so much good history there, that it seems smart. And you’re only a few hours away by flight.” When I just stare at her, she heaves a sigh. “If you had Sienna back in your life right now—if you could have that new start—wouldn’t you pick up and leave?”

Of course I would. “Without a fucking doubt.”

A slow smile builds on my sister’s face. “So you understand where I’m coming from?” When I give her a little gesture that isn’t a negative or a positive, she adds, “You accept this, right? Because I feel like I need that from you before I start telling everyone else what I’ve done.”

When Kylie talks like this, it puts me in a shitty place. She has to know that. I wait until after our waitress carries off the bill and cash to tell her, “I accept everything that makes you happy.”

She sinks back into the booth. “Good. Like, incredibly good. Hell, Lucas, I was more afraid of dealing with you than I was of Dad.” 

“You should be.”

As we start to leave, she looks into her bag and hands me a folded up piece of paper. “Thought you’d be interested.”

“I’m not upping your salary.”

She laughs, backing away. “Just think about it. It’ll be good for you.”

I don’t open the paper until I get back to my Jeep, and when I do I can’t help but laugh and shake my head. It’s a real estate listing for a cabin in the Tennessee mountains.  It’s so fucking typical of Kylie, and across the top of the sheet is a message written in her neat handwriting. 

Since you lost the last one, thought you’d be interested in taking a look at this one before you win Sienna back. Don’t give me shit about the price, either. I Googled your celebrity net worth.

I’m still shaking my head as I watch Kylie’s little compact drive past. Even though her window is up, I know exactly what she’s saying when she turns her head toward me.

“Don’t let me down.”

***

Over the course of the next month, I reshoot the “Ten Days” video with McBride two more times. I don’t actually watch the full run-through of the newest version until the day before it’s supposed to air when Kylie emails me the file. I watch it by myself in the living room of the cabin I let my sister talk me into buying. It’s nothing like any video I’ve ever done with the band, but for what I need to get across, it’s right. Stark and honest. Right. 

A few minutes after the video ends, I get a text from Kylie wishing me good luck. Asking if I still plan on going through with going to Sienna tomorrow night. When I respond that I’m not a fucking quitter, Kylie wishes me good luck one more time. 

When I go to bed much later after going to a nearby bar, it’s no surprise that my last good memory of Sienna dominates my thoughts. In these memories, she’s coming out of the bathroom of that hotel room in Atlanta, wearing that little black lace dress that had instantly made my cock harden. Instead of her blue eyes staring at me like I’ve ripped her heart to shreds, she’s looking at me with that type of emotion that most motherfuckers wish they could find. 

“When we’re done tonight,” I say, yanking her to me, “I’m going to rip this goddamn thing to shreds, and tie you to each fucking corner of that bed over there.”

Even though she’s already familiar with all of the four posters of the bed, she still casts a quick glance behind her. “You don’t really want to tear my dress,” she breathes against my mouth.

I glide my tongue around her soft lips before dropping my lips to her neck. “Why the fuck not?”

“I won’t have anything to wear if you go around ripping all of my clothes.”

I growl against the center of her throat. “Then I’ll buy you another.”

“And probably pull the same crap,” she says, gasping when I jerk the lacy dress up around her hips and come down on my knees in front of her. “What are you doing?” she demands, her breath hitching.

“I want to fuck you right now.” No, that’s not right. I need to be inside of her right now. We’ve surpassed want. I need that escape that I find only with her.

“Lucas,” she starts, and I grasp her ass, causing her to suck in a deep breath between her teeth. “Cilla’s party,” she reminds me. 

I know she cares about Cilla’s party as much as I do, and right now I give zero fucks. Her long legs have already started shaking violently. She’s digging her fingertips into my shoulders as I shove her panties down. And she’s moaning my name even before I pull one of her legs over my shoulders so I can skim the tip of my tongue over her pussy. 

She yanks at my hair. 

“Calm down.” When she pulls harder, my hand meets her ass, causing a sharp noise in the room. She shivers and loosens her grip. “God, you taste so good.” 

“What about you?” she moans.

I blow against her clit, lick, and repeat. “What about me?” 

“I want to make you happy. I want to—” But I cut her off by lowering her to the floor, my tongue never loosing her. I wait until she’s gasping, practically singing, and then I stop. I cover the sounds she’s making with my mouth, shoving my tongue in between her lips, letting her taste herself as I drag down my pants. When I draw away from her—and it’s fucking hard to do—she drops her blue eyes down to my cock. “I didn’t even realize you were putting that on.”

I follow her gaze to the condom and grin. “Multi-talented.” She starts to respond, but I shake my head. “Bend over, Si.”

But she moves her head from side to side, too. The motion quickly changes to a shudder as I rub my thumb over her clit. “Please, I-I want to see you,” she pleads.

I stare down at her for a minute, watching as she grinds her teeth, and her hips, before I give her a nod. “Then come here.”

I wake up then in a cold sweat, but I know how it ends. I know how she felt, how she tasted. And how she told me over and over how much she loved me—me, a fucked up man who had screwed her over. 

And of course, as I drink a Sam Adams even though it’s 3 in the goddamn morning, I force myself to remember how the night ended—how I fucked her once again.