Someone to Watch Over Me (25 page)

Shane was the elephant in the room.

“You let me worry about Shane.”

“I’m not coming between you and your band. I
shouldn’t have opened my mouth to begin with. I knew it was a bad
idea from the start.”

“It’s called constructive criticism. Shane
never handled it well.” Sighing, Tate pushed a hand through his
hair. “I’ve been holding back. I used to write shit that meant
something. Now…now I’m just trying to make everyone happy. It’s not
working. Everyone knows it.”

“So what—you used me to make a point?”

“No! Jesus. No. I wouldn’t do that.”
Plopping down on the small built-in bed, Tate looked utterly
defeated. “I wanted your opinion, a fresh perspective. I knew you
would give it to me straight.”

“You want a fresh perspective: stop
listening to everyone else and write what you want, write from your
heart. Go back to the start.”

“I’m trying. Just What the Doctor Ordered
is
all my shit.”

“Minus the heart.”

“It’s just not there. I feel dried up,
stale. I mean…the music used to come to me, but I haven’t felt it
in a long time. Everything feels forced. At least it did up until
two weeks ago.”

Oh, wow.

“You make me feel alive again, Cooper.
You’re strong, smart, independent, even if it is to a fault—” Tate
grinned widely when I scowled and swatted at him. He grasped my arm
and pulled me onto the bed, somehow managing to maneuver me beneath
him. “Everything about you is amazing. Don’t ever think that you’re
not special to me.”

“Is that what you tell all your strawberry
girls?” I was a sucker for sappy words, but I was still a woman. It
was in my nature to make a man grovel whenever his past came
up.

“You’re going to make me grovel?” Looking up
from where he was grazing along my jaw, his eyes bore into mine,
smoky and dark. For a moment, I had second thoughts.

“You call me by the same name your best
friend dubbed your fangirls.”

“Carter and I have two completely different
definitions, babe,” he argued, setting back to work. Despite that
Carter and Jake were only a few feet away, he resumed nibbling at
my jawline. “He thinks of them as the many; I think of you as the
one and only.”

“That’s it? That’s your excuse?”

“What do you want to hear?”

“Come on, Tate, you’re supposed to be a
master with lyrics. I’m sure you can drum up something more
romantic than that.”

“You’re not special. You’re my everything.”
His breath rolled over my lips, warm and sweet. He had me
mesmerized. I had to blink a few times to dispel the burgeoning
lust.

“Warmer, you’re getting warmer.” Hot, he was
fucking hot. His hand slipped beneath the hem of my jeans and
inched between my thighs. With deft circles, he effectively ceased
all train of thought. My mind became a blank slate, open to his
persuasion.

“Marry me.”

“Sure,” I said, playing along.

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, we’ll fly to Vegas.”

“Obvious or unpretentious?”

“Depends what you’re talking about.”

“Diamonds, of course.”

“In that case, yes. Oh, fuck!” My body
locked up in spasms, jerking uncontrollably as he persisted to
stroke me past orgasm, the tendons in his arm standing out as I
fought to escape his overt manipulations. Tate smiled shamelessly,
drawing out a second peak.

“I plan to, strawberry girl.”

♪♫♪♫

With my arms crossed over my chest, I
watched Tate’s interview from the greenroom of the radio station.
The one Tate failed to mention that we were visiting before moving
onto the Susquehanna Bank Center. I listened to WILD 105.4 every
morning and night during my one-hour commute. I’d wanted to tour
the place for forever, so I was a tiny bit enthralled.

Ok, I was completely enthralled.

Our host, Shannon Collins, toured us through
the place before we started. Though I’m sure Tate had seen a
million stations, he allowed me the dispensation, indulging my
curiosity and barely-subdued enthusiasm.

In actuality, several radio stations shared
the building, but WILD was the largest, and the nicest of all. The
place was awesome. The entrance doors opened to an expansive
greenroom that was lit with overhead lights that changed from pink
to purple to blue and through every color of the rainbow. You could
watch the interview from the large window separating the soundproof
studio and the greenroom, or on the TV screens from the multiple
leather sofas.

They had their own cafeteria, where on
occasions like Hautboy’s visit, they laid out a spread of food
large enough to feed an army, or a band. Shannon assured me they
normally foraged for themselves with a pocket full of quarters and
a trip to the vending machines. Needless to say, Shannon was taking
advantage of the buffet. Me, I was too excited to eat.

I watched from the best possible vantage
point available as the guys gathered around the bar style counter
in front of their own padded microphones and answered Shannon’s
extensive list of questions. She was great, as always, mixing the
monotonous, must-asks and the off the wall inquiries to keep the
interview moving smoothly. This talent for conversation also kept
from boring both the band and the listeners. Most of them. Tate and
Carter did most of the talking. Jake joined in occasionally. And
Shane, well, he didn’t even go into the studio.

“Listen, I uh, I’m sorry for what I said on
the bus.”

I looked over my shoulder at Shane, who was
lounging on the sofa, fiddling with his flask. “Thanks?”

“It wasn’t cool, what I said. He doesn’t
treat you like all the other girls…I mean…not that there were a lot
of other girls…it’s just that he didn’t bring them around…” He
looked like he wanted to stick his foot in his mouth. “I’ll just
leave it at sorry.”

“Thanks.”

“I have nothing against you.”

“Apology accepted.” When I turned back, Tate
was watching me through the glass. I gave him a reassuring smirk,
and he moved to answer a question about tonight’s set list.

“We always try to mix it up. Keep the show
fresh.”

“You must have songs that you’ve played so
many times,” Shannon supposed, “you’d rather pull a tooth than play
them again.”

“Absolutely. So we’ll focus on the newer
stuff and throw older tracks in here and there. Amp it up with some
revised guitar licks and bass lines or tone it down according to
our mood.”

“Have you been working on any new
material?”

Tate cracked a smile, uncharacteristically
demure over his work. I never would’ve taken him for humble when it
came to music. “I have. I have. We’ve taken some time here in
Philly. A little R&R. It was good. Productive. I think I have a
solid base for a new album.”

“When are you looking to release?”

“In the next year if all goes well.”

“Well there you have it folks, from the
mouth of Tate Watkins himself. Now, we’re going to commercial in a
moment, and you’re going to play us a song when we get back, but
before we go, I have to ask the question that everyone wants to
know…tell us about Cooper Hale. She’s a Philadelphia native. Are
the two of you involved?”

“Yes.”

“How did you meet?”

“Carter was tailgating her.”

“Literally, or is that some kind of pick-up
lingo?”

“I had the proper number of car lengths
between her vehicle and mine,” Carter clarified. “I always follow
the rules of traffic.”

Unable to resist Carter’s unique charm,
Shannon laughed. “Then you’re the first. Nobody follows the rules
of traffic in Philadelphia.”

“That’s me, unique.”

Rolling her eyes, Shannon moved on. “So
Carter actually started the rumor, but the girls all want to know,
are you officially off the market?”

Smile widening, Tate leaned forward, his
lips a breath away from the microphone. He held my gaze, answering
with a simple, “Yes.”

“So you’re officially dating?”

“No.”

“No?”

“We’re engaged.”

Chapter
13

“I
heard you
myself,” Carter pointed out. “You said ‘yes’ and about four or five
times. You were quite vocal about it.
Yes
,
yes
,
yes
, OH YES!
Yup, it was four times.”

“Shut up Carter.”

“Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was
rude to tell people to shut up?”

“No, she never had to. Nobody ever annoyed
me like you do.”

“You’re annoyed because you want me, and now
you’ll never know what it was like to sleep with Carter Strickland
because you’re engaged.”

Polishing off my beer, I handed the empty
bottle to Tate. “Here, fiancé, can you get me a refill, pretty
please.”

“Sure, fiancé.” Taking the bottle from my
hand, Tate rubbed my nose with Eskimo kisses and went to fetch
another beer, while Carter, Jake and Shane watched with certain
disgust.

“You’re taking this very well.”

“Carter—” I hiccupped, and waited a moment
to see if another would follow. “The deed is done. What would being
mad accomplice except to ruin my weekend?”

“Accomplish, sweetheart.”

“That’s what I said—accomplice.”

Snickering, Jake looked away, focusing on
the globular bulbs above the vanity. Shane picked at his chipped
black nail polish.

“I have a babysitter for the entire
weekend!” Jumping up from the sofa, I paced the room, unable to
curb my enthusiasm. “I’m gonna see Hautboy in concert tonight! Do
you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten to spend the night
out and see a good fuckin’ band without having to wait tables while
doing it? Four years!” I held up the equivalent number of
fingers.

“You’re holding up
three
fingers,
Coop,” Carter pointed out.

I looked down at my hand; sure enough, I had
my thumb folded over my pinky. I loosened my thumb and let my
fourth finger shoot upright. “Four years! So I refuse to spend a
minute of tonight pouting over something so silly, because tonight,
I’m going to PAR-TAY!”

“Oh my God,” Jake murmured, “she’s out of
control.”

“You better eat something,” Carter
suggested. “That beer you’re drinking is twelve percent. You need
something to soak up the alcohol.”

“I
know
that.” Obviously, Tate
agreed. He returned with a tray of food and a bottle of water in
addition to the second bottle of Dogfish Head. “I ate at the radio
station, you know.”

“You had the smallest salad I’ve ever seen,”
Shane pointed out. “And that was hours ago.”

“Narc.”

“Eat something, babe. We’re going on in a
little under an hour and I don’t want you passing out or puking
your guts up on the bathroom floors here. It’s not something you
want.”

“My God, all you guys need to chill. I’m not
a kid.”

“Night’s just starting. We have two hours of
concert, an hour of rest, another hour of meet and greets, and
autographs to sign with whatever fans we pass on the way out.”

“I usually do all of that while carrying
trays of food around at the same time.” To appease him, I sat down
and picked at the burger and fries Tate brought me. Really, I just
pushed the stuff around my plate, while he and they guys began
discussing the set list.

On top of the station interview, they’d also
sat through a schedule of promotional obligations like press
interviews, phone interviews and television interviews. They—and by
‘they’ I mean Tate, because he did most of the talking—handled it
with infinite patience.

I, on the other hand, had to wait in the
dressing room after the second interview. It seemed everyone and
their mother had heard the interview on WILD this afternoon, and
they all wanted their own exclusive morsel of gossip on our
unexpected marital engagement. My reactions to their line of
questions wasn’t consistent with Tate’s euphoric, yet concise
replies, so I decided it was best if I weren’t there to witness
them.

In two short little weeks, he had completely
commandeered my life.

That, I refused to dwell upon. I pushed the
thought to the back of my mind and crammed another crab fry into my
mouth. I was here to have fun. I was going to eat and drink, rock
and roll, and drink some more, and then pass out naked in the body
bag with Tate Watkins.

My fiancé.

“Cooper.” I looked up to find Tate standing
over me, holding a pair of shot glasses in his left hand, and a
bottle of whisky in his right.

“At least she’s smiling this time,” Jake
voiced.

“I wonder where she goes, though,” Carter
marveled. He was staring at me like a science experiment or some
exotic animal that didn’t quite warrant bars or a thick pane of
glass.

“I don’t know,” Shane added. “But I wish I
could go there too.”

“Dude,” said Carter, shaking his head. “What
the fuck are you talking about? You’re in la la land ninety-nine
percent of the time.”

Gathering my attention, Tate passed me one
of the shot glasses. He uncapped the bottle and filled it to the
rim. “It’s tradition, a pre-show ritual. We always have one last
shot before taking the stage.”

“Here’s to Hell!” Shane began. “May my stay
there be as much fun as my way there!” He tossed down his drink and
placed the shot glass on the table.

“To being single, seeing double,” Jake said
second, “and sleeping triple.”

“Here's to looking like movie stars,
partying like rock stars,” Carter drawled with a crooked smile.
“And and fucking like porn stars.”

Last, Tate planted a kiss on my lips and
lifted his glass. “Babe, may all our ups and downs be between the
sheets.”

“In that case: May you have the hindsight to
know where you've been, the foresight to know where you're going,
and the insight to know when you're going too far.” Lifting my
glass to my lips, I downed the whiskey with more dignity than I
could’ve hoped.