Read Consumed Online

Authors: Emily Snow

Consumed (7 page)

BOOK: Consumed
3.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Sienna

For the next few days, I completely throw myself into my job. Since I moved from Los Angeles back to Nashville at the end of April, I’ve been able to start a name for myself. Keeping that reputation is important to me. I don’t want to go back to being a wardrobe assistant—my time working for Tomas, my former boss, on the set of
Echo Falls
had been invaluable and a living hell all at once.

By Tuesday night, not only have Lucas and I verbally agreed on two dates when I’ll return home from the tour based on my work assignments, I’ve personally spoken with all my clients to let them know my plans.

I spend the majority of Wednesday with my friend Ashley, who helps me get ready for my flight to Los Angeles the next morning. Ash is a diehard Your Toxic Sequel fan—her off-and-on boyfriend (they’re currently on) plays in a YTS cover group, and she’s seen the actual band in concert a few times. The entire time we pack my bags, she gushes over their live shows and even takes a fifteen-minute break to make a playlist for me on Spotify.

“Their best songs. Ever,” she tells me, her eyebrows nearly touching as she kneels in front of my tidy corner desk, concentrating on her list.

I fold a black tank and place it on a pair of gray jeans that’s already inside of the new Samsonite bag that I bought especially for the tour. I figured I needed something a little more heavy-duty than my old luggage that’s, literally, coming apart at the seams. “Why do I feel like this thing will have all their songs?”

“Not quite all of them.”

When it’s time for her to leave, I shouldn’t be surprised when she reaches into her purse and hands me a typed list titled
Ashley’s YTS Bucket List
, but I am. Her name has been marked through with a series of X’s and above it, she’s written my name—correction,
Sienna
-Fucking-
Jensen
—in her loopy handwriting in a metallic pink Sharpie.

As I scan over the list, I slide down on the porch swing. “Body-shots with Cal backstage. Get Sinjin’s sticks signed. Stroke Wyatt’s Kramer.” Cocking an eyebrow, I glance up at her. 

She’s already walked down the porch steps, and she’s standing in the yard with her back turned to me, digging around in her purple Coach bag for her car keys. Since we reconnected several months ago, I’ve learned enough about Ashley to know she’s waiting for more of a reaction from me before she responds. 

“I’m assuming that’s a guitar and not a nickname for his cock,” I say dryly.

Sure enough, she spins to look at me with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “Right.” She puts her hands on her hips, covering Jared Leto’s face on her Thirty Seconds to Mars T-shirt. “But, I wouldn’t mind stroking his—”

 “So, I’m guessing you didn’t give this to me for shits and giggles?” 

She shakes her head, her turquoise and pink-colored hair swinging around her face. “Um, no.” She jogs up the steps, crosses the porch, and sits down on the swing beside of me. “I want you to do these for me. Take pics and everything so I can live vicariously through you.” 

“Why don’t you be vicarious and come to the show here in September?”

Giving me a long stare, Ashley releases an exasperated noise. “Trust me, I’ll be there, I’ve had my tickets for months. But, think of how much fun you’ll have getting to know the band by doing this.” She gestures dramatically to the paper I’m clutching, reminding me of a cheesy talk show host. “This is a hell of an icebreaker.”

It’s not like she’s begging me to sneak her backstage or onto the bus. And besides, what she’s suggesting really would be a good icebreaker—well, everything except for the body. 

I’ve spent, at the most, a total of 24 hours with the other members of Your Toxic Sequel. That entailed a music video shoot that I was eventually fired from and then last February when I filled in as Lucas’s assistant. Both situations were awkward, and the only member of the band who didn’t automatically seem to dislike me was Cal. 

I fold Ashley’s list in half and use it to swat a mosquito. “I doubt I’ll get signed sticks from Sinjin, but I’ll try my best. He’s not my biggest fan.” I’m not exactly a Sinjin fan either, but I don’t tell her that.  

“He’ll do it, and thank you for doing this for me.” She gives me a quick peck on the cheek, no doubt smearing her dark red lipstick across my pale skin. She stands and starts toward her car again. “Just so you know, I’m incredibly jealous of you.” 

I can hear the grin in her voice, so I smile at her back as I get up from the swing. Folding the list one more time, I slide it into the back pocket of my high-waist shorts. “I’ll make sure I tag you in each of the photos.”

She doesn’t turn back around, but she throws her head back and laughs. “See you in a few weeks and don’t get into too much trouble, okay?” 

“I won’t,” I promise.

Later that evening, over dinner at Gram’s favorite restaurant in Franklin, my younger brother echoes Ashley’s warning to stay out of trouble. Except his advice isn’t teasing, and he even goes a little further by giving me safe sex advice. 

Gag.

At first, I’m not sure if he’s joking or not because as he tells me to make “the asshole wear a rubber,” my brother is buttering a roll with the most relaxed look imaginable on his face. Plus, my grandmother is sitting right next to him. When I don’t respond, his brown eyes dart between Gram and me.

“You’re looking at me like I’m the douche right now.”

Gram’s bright blue eyes narrow, a look that always made us quickly correct bad behavior when we were kids. “Since you put it that way, son, I guess you’ve gone ahead and called it right,” she says, her soft voice full of steel.

Seth’s forehead creases. “Oh come on, I just don’t want to see her hurt, Gram.” He gives me a pleading look to help him out, but I press my lips together into a tight line. “Here, I’ll filter myself: Don’t let him screw you over. Better?”

No, not really. Still, despite how calloused and rude Seth is, I know he means well. My grandmother and I are the most important people in his life. We rarely see our dad, who lives in Maine with his second wife, and Mom has been in prison for the last few years. 

I bite the inside of my cheek. Thinking about our mother makes me sort of thankful for Seth’s lack of a filter. At least he doesn’t beat around the bush, using manipulation and bullshit to get his point across like she always did.

Leaning over, I reach past the bottles of steak sauce and ketchup in the center of the table and cover his hand with mine. “Look, Seth, I love you—” I start, and he groans. Gram smacks him in the back of his head. Scowling, Seth gestures for me to continue. “I love you, and it means a lot that you’re worried—trust me, it really does—but I’ll be alright.” 

“Sienna deserves to do this for herself,” Gram adds with a smile that’s so encouraging, so warm, that I fall in love with her all over again. 

Jerking out of my grip, Seth holds up his hands defensively. “Damn, I never said she doesn’t deserve to be happy. She does.” He doesn’t speak again until Gram excuses herself to the bathroom. The moment she’s out of earshot, he says, “I just want you to be careful.”

I spear a piece of steak, roll it in sauce, and pop it into my mouth, ignoring the fact that it’s cold and too rare as we stare each other down. I count down from ten so I won’t say something to my brother that I’ll regret later. 

Once I reach one, I clear my throat. “I promise I’ll be careful, but this is the last time I want to talk about this with you. You’re making things weird.” 

“Aw, Si, don’t—”

I take a sip of my Coke. “Seth, I am going to be exactly like that. You let me worry about me, and you worry about you.”

“You worry about everyone but yourself. You can swear your ass off that you don’t but I’ll call you on your shit every time.”

I place my palms flat on the laminate table so I won’t reach across and jerk him to me by the neck of his T-shirt. I’m that frustrated with him. “Of course I worry about you and Gram. She turns 80 in November. And you—you’re barely twenty. It’s my job to make sure you’re not wrecking your life.” 

“Don’t start that—“ He begins, but out the corner of my eye, I see Gram coming back. 

“Can we not completely ruin the rest of tonight?” I plead in a harsh whisper. “At least for her?”

His expression is conflicted—like he absolutely wants to spend the night telling me how dumb he thinks I am for going with Lucas—but finally, the moment before Gram slips back into her seat, he scratches his fingers through his blonde hair and shrugs. “For what it’s worth, Sienna, I love you, too.”

“Everything is going to be alright. I’m going to be alright. It’s a music tour, not a wedding.”

Because I spend the night unable to sleep, I nearly miss my flight. As I go through the security checkpoint, I try to remember whether I parked my old Mercury sedan in short or long term parking, and it’s not until I’ve boarded my first flight that I realize I left the bag containing the majority of my shoes sitting in Gram’s foyer. 

During my layover in Phoenix, I text Seth asking him to check on my car (since he has the spare key) and to send my shoes as soon I get a good address to receive overnight mail.

While I wait for him to respond, I get a Facebook alert. It’s a new message from Tori, one of my closest friends, and my old roommate from my time spent in Los Angeles. 

Victoria Abrams:
Wait, did I just wake up to read that your ass will be here tonight and tomorrow night? I’m squealing in anticipation, but I’ve got to admit, I’m kind of worried. What’s going on? You’re not taking your job back on Echo Falls, are you?

During my sleeplessness last night, I contacted Tori to let her know I’d be in town for the next 48 hours since Your Toxic Sequel’s tour will kick off in Pomona tomorrow night. I didn’t mention Lucas or my agreement to go with the band, but it would be an ass move to go to L.A. without seeing her. 

I take a sip of my lukewarm caramel macchiato and message her back.

Sienna Jensen:
Everything is good, I promise. I’m coming to town to see Lucas.

Just like Kylie always does when we’re messaging back and forth, Tori takes forever to respond. When the IM comes through, it’s just one sentence that I know she wrote and rewrote several times.

Victoria Abrams:
Is this about that “Ten Days” song that’s all over the radio?

I twist my lips to the side. Of course, Tori would have already heard the song—her daily commute is a bastard, so she blasts music to keep her road rage down. Before I can respond to her question, my phone rings.

“Morning, Victoria,” I answer. 

She sounds out of breath when she comes on the line. “So, the song was about you?”

“Yeah, it was.” 

The woman sitting next to me grunts and shuffles around in her seat noisily before covering her face with a purple and gold LSU throw blanket. I give her a hard look, even though she probably can’t see it.

“Hold on for a second, Tori.” Grabbing my purse, carryon bag, and my cold coffee, I shuffle to a gate with fewer people. Once I find a secluded spot, I drop my stuff by my chair and put the phone to my ear. “You still there?”

“There’s no way you’re getting rid of me right now.” She’s still breathless, and when I glance at the top of my screen at the time, I see why. It’s 8:05 in Los Angeles, meaning that she’s getting ready for work. She’s got less than an hour to be inside of her cubicle. “Okay . . . are you with Lucas Wolfe?”

It’s blunt and completely to the point, and I can almost hear the words left unsaid: Are you back with Lucas after the way he treated you five months ago? 

Bending at the waist, I place my forearms on my knees and glare down at the rounded toes of my yellow ballet flats. “We’re going to give it a try,” I say at last. Tori’s quiet and I can picture what she’s doing right now: she’s half-dressed and sitting on the edge of the microsuede loveseat in the apartment we once shared, nodding her head (which is probably still wet from her shower) slowly. 

“You’re going to be late if you don’t get up right now,” I warn.

“I’m not mad if that’s what you’re thinking. And as much as I don’t understand it, I can’t blame you for wanting him. I’d fall all over myself if Micah wrote me a song like that. But I swear to God if you get hurt, I’m going to torch his house.” 

BOOK: Consumed
3.29Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

Other books

A Kiss of Revenge (Entangled Ignite) by Damschroder, Natalie
Hell's Maw by James Axler
Bay of Fires by Poppy Gee
Face the Wind and Fly by Jenny Harper
A Tricky Proposition by Cat Schield
About Last Night... by Stephanie Bond
Smoke River Bride by Lynna Banning