Catch Me (13 page)

As if hearing my thoughts, my phone rings in my hand as I walk into the Harmon building. I glance down at my screen and see a text message from Sarah. I swipe it to read the entire thing, which is a thank you and a picture of Melody with the American Girl doll we bought when she was here. I smile, replying to her quickly and stuff my phone in my purse. I’ll just go up and see Shea on my way to my office.

The elevator ride is, as usual, eternally long with all of the stops it makes on the way up. I’m fidgeting with the mustache scarf I wore today when we finally reach the forty-fourth floor. It’s a half-day for me today, so I dressed casual. It’s not really a half-day of
work
, just a half-day of work in the office. I have a meeting with a band later today, but because I’m meeting them at a pub for lunch, I figured I would dress down.

“Heeey, look at you,” Shea says as he holds the door open to the studio.

I smile and pick up the pace as I walk toward him, wrapping my arms around his middle to hug him. He smells of strong cigarettes so I know he’s just coming back from a break.

“Yeah, I’m meeting some guys later,” I explain, stepping out of the hug to look at him.

As usual, his dark hair is messy but sexy. His eyes are exhausted, but look happy to see me, which in turn makes me happy to have come by.

He leans against the door, pushing it further open and waits for me to walk past him. The scripted tattoo on his wrist catches my eye and I sigh. Every time I see it I remember the day he got it.

“I’m getting your name tatted on my chest,” he joked.

“No, you’re not!” I squealed, turning my naked body away from his.

“Yes, I am. I never want to let you go,” he’d said before bringing me back to face him and kissing me into silence.

He did get the tattoo, which may be a reminder of me, but is mainly a stamp to remind him of his roots and where he came from.

“You always did like it,” Shea says, smiling when he catches my eyes.

I smile back. “You did say it was for me, didn’t you?” I joke.

He laughs his throaty laugh and ruffles his hair a couple of times. “It was a joke when I said it, but don’t think it doesn’t remind me of you every time I look at my hand.” His voice is serious even though he’s smiling, and I can feel my conflicted emotions brewing.

“Hey, Brooklyn,” Nick says, his husky voice snapping me out of my reverie.

He’s standing beside the bathroom door, stretching his arms over his head, letting the faded black Led Zeppelin shirt he has on ride above the dip of his ab muscles. Victorious V, Nina calls that. She says that as soon as a guy takes off his shirt and exhibits the Victorious V, you’re done for. Usually I laugh at that, mainly since I’ve been with guys that have it. Shea sort of has one, but he’s thin. Nick’s is the meaning of a Victorious V. My mouth is watering just thinking about tracing it and the defined muscles above it with my tongue. He has what I like to call washboard abs. With that and his golden tan, ocean blue eyes, and dark blond hair that he styles into the perfect faux hawk he looks like he could be on the cover of a magazine.

“I like your style today,” Nick adds, his lips stretching into a knowing smile, like he knows exactly what kind of dirty thoughts I’m having of him. I blink rapidly and swallow my desire for his arrogant ass and smile.

“Hey, Nick,” I say, smiling back. “What is your tattoo of?” I ask, pointing at his now covered ribcage.

“You seem to really like that tattoo, huh?” he asks, pressing his lips together to contain a smile.

“BK loves tats,” Shea says, stepping in. “She has some nice ones … but they’re in very private areas,” he adds in a tone that leaves no question as to if he’s seen them, which makes my face instantly hot.

Nick’s face darkens at this, his jaw tensing as he looks away toward the soundboard before looking back at me. “I’m sure they’re very nice,” he says, clearing his throat.

I almost call bullshit because they are not in very private areas. I have one on my pelvis, the other one is by my ankle. I don’t correct Shea, though, for some reason I kind of like seeing the look on Nick’s face when Shea pushes my buttons, even though I don’t know why the look is there to begin with.

When Nick takes a seat in front of the soundboard and busies himself, I shoot Shea a dirty look and punch him in the arm.

“What?” Shea asks with a laugh. “What’d I do?”

“You’re an asshole,” I huff.

Shea laughs, plops down on the couch and takes out a Philly wrapper and some marijuana.

I gape at him. “You’re seriously going to roll a joint in here?”

Shea shrugs. “You act like the people in studios one through eight aren’t coked out.”

My mouth drops open, but I pick it up quickly because it truly doesn’t surprise me that they are. “Is that all you’re doing?” I ask quietly. I don’t have to specify what I mean by that because he knows exactly what I’m asking him.

Shea stops rolling and narrows his eyes at me. “Of course it is!”

I shake my head. “Just asking.”

“A little weed never killed anybody, Brooklyn,” Shea says in a defensive tone.

I roll my eyes. “Save it for somebody who hasn’t been to-” I stop short, remembering that we’re not alone, and look over my shoulder to find Nick watching me intently. “Whatever. What did you need to talk to me about?” I ask Shea.

“Oh. I want you to go on tour with me,” he says nonchalantly.

I hear Nick drop something loud behind me, but I’m too struck by what Shea’s just asked me to look back.

“What?”
I ask, completely bewildered. When Shea lights up his joint and takes a drag, looking at me like he doesn’t understand why I’m shocked, I know he’s serious. That’s when I start laughing hysterically. “You are completely out of your mind.”

He blows out smoke, the powerful smell of freshly cut wet grass filling the air immediately. “Why? It’ll only be for a few shows. I’m doing you a favor,” he says.

My eyebrows crinkle. “How?” I ask, picking up my long hair and holding it away from my face, hoping that I don’t smell like a pothead when I get out of this room, but knowing that I’ll most likely smell like Bob Marley himself.

“Because,” he says, inhaling and exhaling again, “we have a lot of opening acts that are unsigned in some of our shows.”

I shake my head in disbelief. “That makes no sense.”

“It’s true,” Nick says. I turn around, crossing my arms against my chest, waiting for him to continue. “There are a couple in California.”

I nod. “There’s talent everywhere, though. Why would I travel to California when I just came from there? I know about a lot of them, they’re good … but not good enough.”

Nick shrugs with one shoulder and turns back to the turntable, dismissing me. I let out a breath and look at Shea again. His muddy green eyes are becoming glossy and content. I mumble my goodbyes and walk toward the door.

“You haven’t heard of Slate,” Shea says, effectively stopping me from walking out.

My shoulders slump and I let go of the door handle. “I’m listening.”

“There’s a group of guys out there—they’ll be in our show in San Francisco,” Shea starts. I stiffen and immediately shake my head. There’s no way in hell I’m going there. “Hear me out, Bee. Please,” Shea pleads quietly. I jump at his proximity. I was completely unaware that he’d gotten up and walked over to me.

“I can’t, Shea.” My voice is wavering as I say the words.

Shea turns my body to face him and wraps his arms around me, pulling me to his chest. The smell of weed doesn’t even bother me as I inhale. Because I’m wearing flats I’m eye level to his cheek. None of the guys I’ve been with are much taller than me. My eyes are filling with tears as he holds me so I begin to blink rapidly, unwilling to let my feelings show, but it’s too late, I realize as I look over his shoulders and into Nick’s eyes.

I can tell he’s uncomfortable with this. His eyes are unreadable, but I can see it in the way he’s sitting. His posture looks stiff. His forearms are clutching the sides of his seat as if it’s the only thing from keeping him there. He frowns at me, silently asking me if I’m okay. That’s when I decide this is too much for me. I cannot allow myself to cry in front of them.

Clearing my throat, I step away from Shea’s arms. “I’ll think about it, okay?”

Sighing loudly, Shea pulls on the ends of his hair. “You’re not gonna go. I know you.”

“I’m sure they’ll perform somewhere else,” I counter.

“No, Bee, they won’t. Not everyone has the luxury of traveling to perform. You know that,” he insists.

I throw my head back with a groan. “I’ll let you know by tonight. I gotta go. I have things to take care of before I meet with this band today.”

Shea pulls me into a tight hug and lets go quickly. “You know you’re my girl, right?” he says.

“Shea, let’s get moving,” Nick booms, interrupting my reply.

I walk out of the studio and go upstairs with my heart in my throat, unsure of what to do. If Shea is insisting that I see the artists, it means they’re good. He knows how picky I am. And I want to get as much new talent as I can. I just don’t know if I’m willing to open old wounds in order to get them.

“I can’t just go,” I protest to Nina over drinks. I called her when I got out of my meeting with the band, who seemed very enthusiastic to meet with me and give me their demo. I promised them I would call them in a couple of days, and I tried to give them my full attention throughout our meal together, but my mind just wasn’t there. The only thing I’ve thought about all day is my conversation with Shea.

“I actually agree with you,” Nina says, picking at the shrimp appetizer we’re sharing. “What are you supposed to do? Stay on the bus?”

I shrug. “I don’t know—we didn’t talk specifics.”

Nina’s brown eyes go wide. “That’s the first thing you need to do. Set boundaries and shit.”

I let out a laugh at her “and shit” because those ugly little words hold so much promise in them. I know she’s right, though.

“He wants me to go to California with him,” I say under my breath, half hoping she doesn’t even hear me.

“Aha?” she probes.

I let out a breath and close my eyes. “He wants me to go to San Fran … specifically.”

Nina gasps and drops her fork. “Holy shit,” she breathes.

I open my eyes and nod. “Yep.”

“Damn … you want me to go with you?” she asks.

Exhaling, I shake my head. “Thanks. I can do it. I just have to mentally prepare myself. But I can do it.”

She nods, giving me a small smile as she leans in to hold my hand. “You’re so strong, Bee. Much stronger than the girl who last went there. You’ll be fine.”

I continue to nod and swallow the lump in my throat. “I know.”

Throughout our meal I send Hendrix’s driver, Marcus, a text message letting him know to pick me up soon. Nina insists that she’s going to accompany me to Harmon so she can be there when I tell Shea my decision to go. I roll my eyes at her and tell her she’s stupid, but I’m too curious to see how this is going to play out to stop her.

When we finish eating, I text message Shea to make sure he’s still recording and when he doesn’t respond, I take it as a yes.

“This should be fun,” Nina comments with a smile on our drive over.

I laugh. “You’re so bad. I can practically see the bitchy schemes going on inside your head.”

Nina nods, twisting her lip. “Hell yeah. I haven’t seen that fucker in six months.”

I shake my head and bite down on my smiling lip. “I wonder what will happen with the album ... I guess he’ll have to record on the road. That royally sucks. It’s not like they can finish in a week.”

Nina purses her lip again. “You’re royally fucked,” she throws at me. “You’re going on the road with Shea AND his hot ass producer? What do you think Shea would say if you hooked up with him?”

I shrug. “Who knows? He’ll probably act like he cares until he finds another floozy.”

She sniggers. “Floozy. Mom calls me that sometimes.”

“With good reason,” I mutter.

She slaps me on the arm. “You’re such an asshole.”

I shrug in response.

“Turn around,” she says suddenly. “I wanna fix your hair. It’s a complete mess.”