Strung Out (Needles and Pins #1) (67 page)

“I’d like to go. To Noise City.” She jumped at the chance to visit the studio while the band did their thing. “If I won’t be in the way.”

“You won’t.” He seemed pleased she had chosen to go with him. Or maybe he was happy she was finally meeting his eyes. “I’m not sure I can sleep without a kiss goodnight.”

Smooth. He’d answered the awkward question she wouldn’t ask and had put her at ease with that one goofy line. Her feet shuffled automatically to him, and he reached a hand up, catching hers. His thumb caressed her fingers before he gently tugged, and she curled with surprising ease onto his lap.

Leaning his forehead to hers, he mused, “I wonder where we would be if we’d been best friends for several years who met up again? Instead of fighting something we felt because of a label our parents put on us?”

“Probably in this same place right here.” She whispered a fraction from his lips, desperate to feel them again.

“But sooner. Way sooner,” he agreed. His breath fanned her sensitive lips and she swallowed a groan. “I want you. So much. But even more than that, I want the full experience. The dates. The kisses that may or may not lead to more in that moment. Mostly, I don’t want to screw this up.”

It stunned her that the irresponsible rock star could be perceptive enough to realize they should hold off on sex while they were both in their own dark places. Or was he being ‘Gage the big brother best friend’ and sensing her caution and hesitance about moving ahead?

“We won’t screw it up.” Her words were as quiet as his were, but they were firm with a certainty she hadn’t felt since the kiss at the hiking trail. If there was anything she did know, it was that She and Gage were an unfinished song, one that had nothing to do with those he was teaching her on his expensive guitars.

They sealed that pact with a very hungry and very cherry-flavored kiss. She wasn’t sure how long the kiss lasted, because time fell away, and there was only him and the sensations evoked by their fused mouths. Eventually, her body ached for his touch, but he kept one hand twined in her hair and the other splayed on her back just above her waist. Her arms rested, one on each of his shoulders and gradually, her hands slid downward to rest on the warmth of his tee shirt as they exchanged a last goodnight kiss. She went up to her room, while he slept, as he had the last few nights, on the couch in his studio.

N
oise City wasn’t at all what she expected. At least, not at first glance. Gage drove past the entry, which was in a strip of businesses on a busy boulevard and after shooting down a narrow alley, parked the Lotus in a tiny lot behind the matchbox shaped building. Several other cars were already parked, and as they crossed the asphalt, she admired a couple of them, wondering if they belonged to his bandmates.

The door swung open right before they reached it, and she wondered if he had texted someone, or if there was a camera monitoring their approach. The middle-aged man held the door, greeted them, and shook Gage’s hand as they passed through. Without slowing their steps, Gage introduced her as ‘Scarla Smythe,’ and the man babbled politely that it was nice to meet her.

Gold and platinum albums and singles covered the walls on both sides of the narrow hallway. Peppered among them were photos, many of them faded and blurred with age. A few times, her eyes were drawn for longer than a swift glance, when she recognized an extremely younger likeness of an iconic figure.

Gage paused in the threshold of what appeared to be a cluttered office. Behind the desk and a dinosaur of a computer was a striking woman who leapt to her feet and squealed. “Gage, love! It’s been forever!” Mail fell to the floor when the female circled the desk in the tight confines and threw herself at him, giving him the same style peck on the lips Colt had given Scarla the day before. Paybacks were a bitch.

“Hey, Jenni. How’s life?” He released the girl and reached back to tug Scarla in front of him as Jenni quipped a polite response to his inquiry. “This is Scarla. I made her come along. If you find her wandering around bored out of her mind, can you save her?”

“Of course! Hi, Scarla.” After flashing a hasty but warm smile, Jenni turned back to Gage. “Everyone’s already here. You’re late, as usual. While you’re here though, I need to grab your siggy.” She passed him a pen and clipboard. “The auto deposit renewal. I put the original there if you want to compare and make sure I’m not putting your money into my secret Swiss bank account.” She waggled her brows.

A door opened from farther down the hall and two men, both with shaved heads and scruffy jaws headed their way. Gage was concentrating on the paperwork and didn’t immediately look up when they slowed to all but a stop in passing.

“The lesbian-hating loser in the flesh.” One of them drawled with a mocking glare at Gage’s profile. “Jenni, keep your distance from that asswipe, baby girl. No respect for your sweet cheeks.”

The change of emotions on the other girl’s face reflected exactly what Scarla herself felt, only Jenni was processing more quickly. Scarla spent several seconds in the stunned phase before moving into rage. In the meantime, the two men chuckled between themselves and carried on with the hateful words.

With the pen poised, Gage stared blankly at the clipboard before lifting his gaze to Jenni. His eyes softened, and a flash of pain glimmered as he took in her reaction. “Dooley, you motherfucker. Apologize to Jenni.”

“You need to apologize to our resident lesbian and to all―” Automatically, her brain tried to block the obnoxious term he used for that particular sexual preference, and the onslaught of ugly words made her queasy. The one Gage had referred to as Dooley went on to say all the things he hoped happened to Gage when he found himself locked up for his crime.

The older gentleman who had welcomed their arrival appeared and attempted to intervene. Another door opened down the hallway and Colt, followed by a few other men spilled into the hallway. At first, she didn’t realize what had happened when Gage doubled over, until he straightened and swung the clipboard until it collided with a thwack against Dooley’s skull. It was then she realized the other guy had thrown a punch first.

The pair ricocheted off the walls, bringing pictures down for several of the longest seconds she had ever experienced before the other men managed to break them up.

It was the fucked up part of the rock and roll world that she remembered. She’d lost count of the fistfights she’d witnessed when her mom dated these same types of losers. The revulsion she felt was trumped by her concern for Gage. Outwardly, he appeared to have come out of the brawl without a scratch. But she knew he’d taken quite a punch to his midsection.

The two were ushered out. Gage dropped to a chair inside the room his band had appeared from. Everyone who hadn’t seen the start of the fight wanted to be filled in, and Jenni provided them with an explanation. It was several minutes before the talk between the guys died down, but Gage had said nothing. He’d nodded when asked if he was all right and drained a water bottle before he finally spoke. “My axe make it out of that alive?”

“It’s in there.” Colt indicated the room beyond a wall of glass.

Gage relocated to the next room and extracted his guitar from its case. Scarla breathed a sigh of relief when after a cursory examination, he began to strum.

Colt and the rest of the band included her in their conversation while Gage lost himself in whatever he was playing.

A man had left the room directly after the fight, and now he returned, settling at the soundboard. She wasn’t introduced, but deduced him to be the producer Gage had mentioned would be at this meeting. He was in a foul mood and laid into Gage for the altercation in the hall.

“Can we just get on with it?” Gage leveled a stare so dark, the other man was unable to hold it.

“This is a thot free zone.” The guy didn’t look up from the soundboard as he spoke.

At first, Scarla was sure she had misunderstood. But Gage’s reaction—and even Colt’s—told her she had heard correctly.

Gage came up out of his chair and Colt moved in as well. Although, penned in by the two men and the equipment, the guy didn’t back down. Nodding her way, he gestured. “That’s your cue to leave, baby doll.”

“You fucking idiot.” Gage raged. “Have I ever brought anyone to the studio? That should be your first clue she’s not just anybody!”

Colt snickered. “Seriously. If you knew who you just dissed, you’d be shitting your pants.”

At this, Gage’s angry gaze washed over his bandmate in a warning, and Colt pressed his lips together, but they remained curled in amusement.

“I don’t care who she is, but fine. She can stay. And I’m sorry I assumed.” His wise but grudging apology had Gage and Colt backing off. She didn’t acknowledge she’d even heard. Despite his dismissive words, the guy continued to flick curious eyes her way through the rest of the session.

The rest of the band eyed her too, and she knew they would be questioning Gage and Colt later about her identity. The more immediate problem though was the asshole’s reaction to the composition Gage had worked on and Colt had been sure was ‘the one.’ The producer shook his head so vigorously and so much, she hoped he would get whiplash. Gage grabbed up the guitar again and played some variations, and their drummer hopped behind the set to change the beat up a bit. But the man declared it a waste of his afternoon and even lobbed the thumb drive into the trash for emphasis. When he began to suggest a publisher to work with, Gage went ballistic.

“That’s what this is really all about isn’t it? Credits on what you know will be a platinum album. You owe someone a favor—or want them to owe you. Well fuck you; no one is riding this gravy train!”

“Word is you may not be riding the train much longer yourself.” The words were a mutter, but distinct enough as the guy swayed cockily in his chair.

“What did you say, motherfucker?”

“I think you know.”

Gage bent, fitting his guitar into its case, snapped it closed, and snatched it up. He made a silent exit. Scarla jumped from her seat and followed, her mind still reeling with everything that had gone down in little more than an hour.

He was quiet and once they were on the freeway, she asked, “You okay?”

“Yeah. Thanks. He’s a dick. I don’t want to talk about it.”

He texted his father and drove a bit until exiting and maneuvering through traffic. The restaurants’ valet parking took the car. Another young man manifested and escorted them away from the main entrance and in through a private door. They made small talk with their host during a quick elevator ride. The metal doors pinged open into a hallway and they were shown into a private dining room. It was an elegant setup. A chandelier hung above a formally set table and a fireplace took up one wall. Another wall was glass and looked down into the main dining area of the restaurant.

They were fixed up with drinks from a galley off to the side. After fussing over them, taking appetizer orders, and offering music, television, or a movie, the server pressed the electronic tablet in his hand and the screen behind the bar came to life with a muted baseball game. The television remote and a server call button was left near Gage and they were left alone.

“So this is how the rock stars dine.” She swirled her wine and watched him sip his water.

“This is how Dad dines,” Gage corrected, but he was enough at ease with the routine for her to be skeptical.

“Can they see up here?” She eyed the hive of activity beyond the glass on the ground floor.

“No. It’s a mirror from that side.”

They didn’t talk much. Mostly he watched the game with his ankle hooked around hers beneath the table. Sometimes his eyes seemed somewhere beyond the television screen, and it wasn’t hard to guess with everything that had happened that afternoon, what was on his mind.

It was at least a half hour before her former stepfather was ushered into the room, and she stood to greet him. He seemed ecstatic to see her, and she felt the same. During the time he had fulfilled the role of paternal parent, she had felt closer to him than to her own mother.

“You look good, son.”

Father and son embraced in the typical man handshake-slash-hug. They ordered dinner, and after a bit of small talk, she listened quietly as the two men spoke of Gage’s legal difficulties. Both had an identical furrow between their brows. Gage randomly played footsie with her, and she wondered if he was drawing comfort from the contact or if it was an unconscious nervous gesture.

She had taken the last bite of lobster ravioli and had folded her napkin beside her plate when the attention shifted unexpectedly to her.

With a smile of empathy, her former stepfather asked, “Gage tells me you’re going to hide out in Big Sur until the insanity phase is over?”

She looked to Gage, wondering if Big Sur and Arrowhead Woods as he’d recently called his lake cabin destination were one and the same.

“Arrowhead, Dad.”

“Oh. Well, I think it’s a great idea,” his dad replied, and she wondered how many second homes they had between the two of them.

A server appeared, swept away their plates, and another offered a dessert cart for their perusal. To her surprise, Gage accepted a cherry cheesecake slice and she had to bite her tongue to keep from teasing him that the cherry topping wouldn’t get him out of drinking his bedtime cherry drink.