Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (4 page)

I reply with my canned answer to this common criticism. The only thing new I have to tackle is the ‘college graduate’ portion of his argument. He acts like I’ve been out of school for years and should be secure in some lofty, high-salaried position, planning for retirement. But I’m not, and he needs to be reminded of the truth.

“Yes, I graduated, not even two weeks ago, and I work at Portland’s premiere bookstore, as a department manager, which happens to be in alignment with my career track. My PSU advisor agreed with the choice, remember?”

My words do nothing towards removing his scowl, and he moves on to his next complaint. “How does this place feel about your sudden departure for an unplanned vacation?” He makes the word ‘vacation’ sound like a cardinal sin. I suppose in his mind it is, considering his propensity to work until he can hardly move.

“You might find this hard to believe, but they were really excited for me. I’ve never used my vacation time. I have a good staff, and my department is well organized. In other words, it was approved.”

He makes a humph sound and shakes his head. “Thought you were scared to go out on the open sea?”

I’d been waiting for him to throw my own words back at me and am ready with a rebuttal. “You’re right. I am scared to go out on a small craft, deep sea fishing. But I’ll be on a large, luxury cruise liner. It’s not comparable. And Robin won tickets, Dad. It’s a free trip.”I don’t mention how she won the tickets. He’s not a big fan of the music scene.

Sensing defeat, he changes the subject. “I knew you moving out with that Robin girl wasn’t a good idea. You should have stayed at home. She’s not a good influence.”

It’s my turn to sigh. I’ve heard the whole “your friends are a bad influence” ever since high school. He always makes sure to throw his opinion about Robin into any disagreement, which is often.

Following my mother’s death, my father turned into a different man. He became paranoid and took out all his frustrations on me by attempting to control my actions. He’d also liked Mitch, hoping I would marry him. When he learned of our breakup and the reason behind it, he wasn’t very supportive, half blaming me for the split.

It took Robin and Josh to convince him of Mitch’s abusive behavior. Even then, he believed I should have been more flexible in our relationship.

If my mom was here, she’d be appalled by the way he talks down to me, but sadly, she’s not. I’ve been left with a shell of the man that used to be my father.

At last, his shoulders sag, an indication he is running out of steam. “Well, Cadie, as always, you’ll do what you want, in spite of my concerns. I hope when you get home you will finally buckle down and pursue a more lucrative career and work on improving your health. I’m worried. You put on weight this past year…”

I raise my hand, stopping him. “Dad, I appreciate your concern, but I am healthy. My doctor says I’m fine. My body size isn’t your business. I’m almost twenty-three.”

His expression softens, and he changes the course of our conversation, for what I hope is the final time. He finally confirms a few of my suspicions about his developing romance. 

“I’m sorry. I just worry. And don’t forget. I want you to meet Regina. I may ask her to marry me. I know I’ve been gone a lot, visiting her. I’m sure that’s been hard on you. Did I mention she has a son? He’s a professional musician and public personality. You’ll have a brother.”

“Step-brother,” I correct, dreading the meeting and future ‘family’ merger, and I make no effort to correct his belief that his extended absences somehow upset me.

As always, my father is comparing my lack of success, in his mind, to someone else’s. Now it’s my future step-brother I’ll be competing with. And as it was with Mitch, pleasing my dad is impossible. All he does is hurt my feelings and find ways to belittle me, under the guise of caring, of course. Granted, my father loves me in his own way, but I’ll never live up to his expectations.

“Hey, girl. We’re landing soon,” Robin announces, breaking into my depressing memory.

The pilot makes it official a few seconds later, promising sunny weather in Miami.

Is there anything else but sun in Florida?

Robin downs the rest of her drink and slams the glass down on the tray in front of her, drawing a few curious glances. I’ve had one glass of champagne. I lost count how many cocktails she’s consumed. I’m not sure I want to know.

She passed the tipsy phase at least an hour ago; now it’s up to me to get her off the plane, corral our luggage, and drag her drunk ass through the airport…
fun times
.

Forty minutes following the pilot’s update, we are officially in The Sunshine State, and I am officially dragging her drunken ass in search of our luggage.

“It’s Miami, girlfriend!” she giggles obnoxiously, coming close to knocking us both over as she staggers along beside me.

Her ankles wobble dangerously in the high heels she was determined to wear, despite my misgivings. I warned her multiple times to wear flats while traveling. As usual, she did things her way and is paying the price.

Ignoring the stares directed our way and her mindless chatter, I grip her elbow and march us through the airport, wishing again Josh was here instead of me. The bountiful booze on the ship will not be good for my best friend. She likes drinking a little too much, evidenced by her binge on the plane. She’s always kept me busy at parties, and a cruise is one big party. I was hoping to relax, but I don’t see that happening now. I should have known better. I’ve always been the one watching out for her, the certified designated driver.

At least I won’t be hiding her car keys or taxiing her all over town, but it might actually be worse. I may need to stop her from falling, diving, or jumping overboard.

Considering I’m against the abuse of alcohol and drugs, especially cocaine, the watchdog role is a natural fit for me. Cocaine killed one of my best friends in high school and is the reason I am so vigilant when it comes to Robin and Josh. I also worry about Robin’s career choice; she wants to work in addiction recovery, at the center where she completed her internship, but she can’t see that her own tendencies are leading towards trouble.

Surely the band isn’t into illegal substances, and if they are, they wouldn’t dare indulge on the cruise with so many strangers.
Would they?

“Hey…sexy!” my friend catcalls a handsome man talking on his cell phone. He shakes his head and grins.

“Robin,” I hiss. “We need to get our suitcases, and I can’t lug everything to the port by myself. I need you to sober up and not shout at strangers. We’ll find a cab in a minute.”

“You don’t have to lug anything
or
find a cab,” a woman says from behind, startling me.

I spin around, making Robin teeter. Somehow she stays upright. I find myself face to face with a woman I remember from backstage in Portland. She had been present when Robin was crowned the big winner.

“I’m Misty Simpson, Shag Steal’s personal assistant. He sent me to make sure you were escorted to the ship.” She doesn’t offer her hand.

“An escort, aren’t we special,” Robin slurs, embarrassing me even more.

“You’ll have to excuse her, she enjoyed the in-flight booze a little too much,” I explain, not sure why I feel the need to tell this woman anything.

Misty flashes a practiced smile and motions over two men that I just now notice. “If you’d just point out your luggage…” she trails off, interrupted by an incoming text.

Robin’s humungous, leopard print bag appears first. I’ve never been happier to show someone a suitcase, and with logistics taken care of, relief replaces my anxiety. I won’t have to handle an intoxicated Robin and our bags alone. I wonder if the other winners are receiving the same treatment.

I want to believe we’re somehow unique because of Shag’s interest in me, but quickly shove the idea aside. Robin is the grand prize winner. It makes sense that we are being treated special.

Twenty minutes later, we’re settled inside a spacious limousine. I lean my head back against the leather seat, watching the palm trees rush by. Robin has calmed down and is sipping a cup of coffee, and Misty is on her phone. It sounds like she’s doing her job, organizing and managing Shag’s affairs. I tune her out and focus on Miami. Compared to Portland, the sunny world outside my window might as well be another planet. A spike of something akin to excitement shoots through me, and I shiver despite the heat.

The feeling is short lived as I catch sight of Misty’s gaze, gliding over me for a second time, almost like she’s searching for something. I’m not sure why, but I get the feeling Shag’s PA doesn’t like me. She didn’t bother hiding her disapproval after a slow scan of my attire back at the airport either.

She is fashion model material where I am average with a capital ‘A’. So why do I get the feeling she’s jealous of me?

Maybe I’m just tired and reading more into her behavior than what’s actually there. It wouldn’t be the first time.

Regardless, I refuse to dwell on her potential motives a second longer. I close my eyes and let myself drift.

I know one thing for sure. I’m not here to seduce rock-stars, win friends, or seek approval. I’m here to have fun with my best friend, and I damn well intend to have the time of my life while doing it.

Shag

“If you pour some music on whatever’s wrong, it’ll sure help out.”

- Levon Helm

I pace the large room, unable to relax. Another round of unfamiliar feelings batter the usual cool and in control image I present to the world. I’m anxious over something that has never worried me before―a female.

Despite my vow to forget Cadie, for the past week she’s occupied my thoughts, making every other woman seem inferior. My limited interactions with the sexy redhead have been on perpetual rewind, and I wish now that I’d crushed my lips against hers instead of giving up so easily. The way her body swayed towards mine had been clue enough to confirm her desire, even if she was afraid to admit or acknowledge the attraction.

I have no issues admitting my desires. I’m used to getting what I want. Yet with her, I’d froze, a first for me.

It won’t happen again.

By the time the Starlight Sea Queen docks back in Miami, I will have fucked Cadie O’Shea in every position known to man and then some. I will spank her ass and flood her pussy, her mouth, and her tightest hole with my cum, and she’ll love every minute of it. Once I’ve had her, she’ll be out of my system just like every other bitch I’ve banged. Then I can go back to my before-Cadie life, drinking, drugging, and fucking a multitude of women desperate for my brand of shagging.

I know she is aboard the ship, but I’ve yet to cross paths with her. I sent Misty to retrieve her and Robin from the airport, refusing to leave anything to chance. According to my personal bodyguard, Omar, Cadie hasn’t left her suite since their arrival.

Robin, on the other hand, hasn’t allowed her roommate to slow her down and is on the main deck, socializing with other contest winners and overindulging in the free-flowing liquor. I’m a level down, currently hovering by the bar closest to our assigned dinner table, hungry for a glimpse of shocking red hair, not the soon-to-be-served seven course meal.

Someone slips up behind me. My nose tells me it’s a woman wearing too much perfume. Fighting the urge to gag, I clear my throat. I’ve never understood why some women feel the need to drown themselves in flowery, headache-inducing formulas they pay ridiculous amounts of money for.

“Hey, Shag…” the woman coos, trying to sound all breathy and sexy, and failing. “Why are you hiding out down here? Dinner isn’t for another thirty minutes. Everyone’s
up top.”

I swallow my rude retort. It’s none of her fucking business why I’m ‘down here.’ If I want to hang out in a mostly empty room and obsess over the first woman to reject me, that’s my business. Eager for her to move on, I let my top lip curl up and narrow my eyes, ensuring she knows I’m not interested in answering her question or joining her and
everyone else
.

I don’t have to say a word. She gets my message loud and clear.

“You don’t have to be a jerk,” she mutters mid huff, before pivoting like she’s on a runway and sauntering off.

My eyes follow the calculated swing of her hips, watching her disappear through a side exit.

So sue me for looking. I’m a man who earned his nickname in the
trenches
. And she might stink like she rolled around in a rotting rose bush, but she has a nice ass, nowhere near as nice as Cadie’s though.

Speaking of…why the fuck is Miss O’Shea hiding?

Maybe she’s sea sick. Maybe I should check on her?
My nicer, kinder, more gentlemanly side takes a jab at the usual selfish part of me.

“Hey man, you ready for food too?” Slyder asks, appearing from another entrance. “I’m starving.”

He’s the last person I expect to see, especially without his ball and chain.

“What happened to your other half? Did you push her overboard?”

It’s no real shocker. I can be an asshole. I mean the bitch is pregnant; otherwise, a walk off the plank―pirate-style―would be a great way to dazzle our contest winners. It would also provide the one reporter who was awarded the cruise-story exclusive something outrageous to write about.

My guitar player doesn’t appreciate my sarcasm, not that I expected him to.

“Dude, that’s fucked up. She’s carrying my baby. I can’t believe you said that about my wife.”

Thank God he couldn’t hear my put-her-on-the-plank thought. “Shit, Slyder. I’m sorry. She just…”

He raises a hand. “I know. I get it. Chloe can be a little hard to deal with sometimes.”

A little…sometimes?

I don’t respond. The fact he’s admitted to her less-than-perfect behavior is a miracle. Most of the time, he defends her, no matter how out of line she is.

Ready to change subjects, he shifts to a safer topic. “So, you wanna write a couple songs while we’ve got some downtime? The label needs our album in eight weeks.”

His words remind me that our job is never finished, not even in the middle of an ocean.

Did I mention Slyder and me are the band’s primary song writers? Everyone contributes, but we’ve always been the ones to get the process started. He’s a genius when it comes to putting music to my lyrics, and as Crude Elements’ two original band members, everyone looks to us for inspiration, something that’s been harder to come by in recent months.

We clawed our way to the top, becoming one of the biggest music acts in the world, with five Grammys and four AMA awards lining our studio’s shelf. We can buy anything we want, fuck anyone we want, go anywhere we want…but suddenly, I’m bored and dissatisfied. No wonder Cadie O’Shea intrigues me. She’s different. She doesn’t worship me like the rock n’ roll god some people seem to think I am. In fact, she doesn’t even like me.

Until recently, I’ve been more than happy to lounge in our lavish lifestyle. Now, I want something more. I’m not sure exactly what ‘more’ I want, but the sweet Irish girl is definitely on the list; in fact, she might be
the list
.

* * *

Cadie

Facing the suite’s massive mirror, I stare at the woman looking back. It’s hard to believe the woman is me.

Dressed for dinner in one of my new outfits, a form-fitting black dress that hugs my breasts and puts my cleavage on display, I look like someone else, someone sensual and confident. Someone a rock-star like Shag might want on his arm, or at the very least, in his bed for a night.

My cheeks flush at the image of our limbs tangled and our bodies pressed together, my soft curves and his hard muscles, meeting and moving, creating waves of unrestrained passion. Goosebumps dance across my skin, making my nipples tighten almost painfully, and I graze my palms over them, seeking relief.

Enough!
Get it together, O’Shea.

Twisting to the side, I silence the maddening inner dialogue and examine my form instead.

I am amazed by the way my body-shaper actually molds my body just as the packaging promised, giving my ass a lift and my tummy a tuck without any expensive surgery.
Who knew undergarments could work such magic?

Robin did, apparently.

For once I’m glad she’s a shopping maven and that I listened to her advice on the shaper, amongst other things.

Before disappearing poolside, she advised, more like commanded, that I take advantage of the hair and makeup artist assigned to us as part of the grand prize ‘package.’ I heeded her advice, somewhat reluctantly, but from what I see in the mirror, it is obvious I made the right decision.

The stylist, Anthony, AKA Tony, breezed into our presidential suite ninety minutes ago, just now leaving me to admire his work. Sassy, bossy, and unquestionably brassy, Tony is a gay man who is more than happy to share his crazy escapades. He embraces his identity with unshakable zeal. In his early fifties now, he remembers when a considerable number of gay men spent their time cramped in-the-closet, afraid to come out.

Tony Coleman wasn’t one of those men. He made sure to tell me how he refused to hide who he was regardless of the consequences, never once allowing society’s prejudices to limit him. He admitted that it hadn’t been too difficult to rise above the prevailing judgment and fear during that time, simply because he’d found a niche amongst Hollywood’s elite as a sought out stylist linked to a long list of respected A-list actors, musicians, models, and industry moguls. In the years since, he’s become a legend of sorts.

According to him, Crude Element is willing to pay an exorbitant sum to keep him on call and offered him a huge bonus to join the cruise on short notice. He refused to tell me how much, despite my best efforts to lure the information out of him.

As for the other winners, they can access his expert services, for a hefty fee; but Robin and I come first. He went so far as declaring me his new pet project, raving about my old-school, Hollywood figure, amazing skin, and hair to die for. He also explained his goal isn’t to change me, but to enhance the assets I already posses.

Who would have thought? Me…with a personal stylist!

A giggle escapes, and I slap a hand over my mouth. More laughter bubbles up when I realize how silly I must look. There is no one here to see my antics, thank God.

The next sound is my stomach’s rumbling growl. It sounds like a ferocious beast has awakened from hibernation, ready to feast. I’ve avoided the food stocked in our private pantry so I can fully enjoy my first meal at sea. If my lipstick didn’t look so amazing, I’d give in to my ravenous hunger.

Resisting, I appraise myself a final time, gathering additional courage for my public unveiling.

Tony managed to pile my rebellious hair on top of my head, in some twisty thing that is utter sophistication. He left a few pieces loose around my face and down my back, seasoning my classic look with a dash of wildness. My eye shadow is dark and smoky, my eyelashes long and thick, and he found a way to make my eyes’ green shade stand out even more, promising the makeup he used wouldn’t irritate my contacts.

So far, so good.

He went easy on the foundation and powder, explaining that my skin was too fabulous to mess with…his exact words.

I can’t deny his praises boosted my confidence, elevating my normal, floundering self-esteem to a whole new level, where I feel sexy and desirable.

If only my stomach would shut up!

Grabbing my sequined clutch, I stuff my keycard inside and give our expansive suite a final glance.

Look out everyone. The new and improved Cadie O’Shea is on the move.

As if voicing its agreement, my belly lets out another obnoxious roar, begging me to feed it. I am reminded that I might appear elegant, but I’m still just a Portland girl with a big bottom and even bigger appetite.

* * *

Shag

In the last fifteen minutes, the fancy dining room has turned into the ship’s place to meet and mingle. With delicious aromas drifting from the kitchen, our guests are drifting in, their noses leading the way. Most have changed into more formal attire. I’m wearing my favorite jeans and one of our old band shirts.

Still no Cadie O’Shea.

Fuck.
What if she doesn’t come down for dinner?

I’d stockpiled her and Robin’s pantry with an overabundance of everyday snacks. Now I wish I hadn’t been so damn thoughtful, because starving her out is no longer an option.

Robin is already present, seated between Stix and Marx, laughing at something one of the twins just said. She’s clearly been enjoying her afternoon and is straddling the thin line between intoxicated and sloppy drunk. The twins don’t seem to mind. Considering the way Stix nurses his bottle of Jack Daniels, Cadie’s roommate might have met her match. 

“Hey, you look lost. Can I get you anything?” Misty asks, tilting her head and making sure to bat her lashes.

Misty might be an awesome PA, but she’s a horrible flirt. Her over-exaggerated efforts make me want to laugh; but, in all seriousness, I made the mistake of letting her suck my dick a time or two too many, and lately, she’s been pushing for more.

I know better than to mix business with pleasure. I might be the ultimate man-whore, but I make every effort to avoid situations like the one standing right in front of me, staring me in the face. She even went so far as to comment on Cadie’s appearance after the final concert, calling her a fat mousy sow in that clipped British accent I used to find so sexy.

I should have defended Cadie, but didn’t. I was more worried about how Misty would behave towards her if she was aware of my attraction, which she seemed to sense anyway. She puts up with the never ending parade of groupies, but if she thought I was interested in a ‘normal’ woman…fuck, maybe it’s time to hire a new assistant. I’ve got enough complications without adding Misty’s head games.

Shooting her a cocky grin, I brush her off with a half-hearted compliment. “No, I’m good. Why don’t you sit down and relax. You work too hard.”

“That’s what you pay me to do,
boss
. Speaking of work…” She digs through her ever-present leather satchel until she finds what she’s searching for. “I forgot to hand this out earlier.” She circles the table, dropping a paper on each band member’s empty plate.