Outsider (54 page)

“Do
you have any siblings?” Gwen asked.

“Nope.
It was just me and my dad.”

“You
must have been lonely.”

Reagan
shrugged. “A little. But I’m making up for it now.”

Gwen
laughed. “Good for you. I know Trey has never been happier. I’m so glad he
finally found what he needs in a relationship.”

Reagan
squeezed Gwen’s arm. “He’s so lucky to have a mother like you. I can’t even
tell my dad the truth, much less expect his blessing.”

“He
might surprise you,” Gwen said, turning into Dare’s drive and pushing the intercom
button outside the massive gate.

“Is
that you, Gwennie?” Reagan recognized the voice of Dare’s butler, Harold.

“The
one and only. I’m dropping off Reagan. Can you open the gate?”

“Only
if you promise to give me one of your fantastic hugs when you get up here.”

Gwen
laughed. “You’re the devil, Harry.”

“Still
waiting for you to divorce that rich plastic surgeon of yours.”

“For
you? Not a chance.”

The
gate rattled open, and Gwen drove up the long curving drive, coming to a halt
beneath the portico of the sprawling colonial-style mansion.

As
down to earth as Dare was, the man wasn’t shy about flaunting his wealth. Or
maybe he was just accustomed to luxury. He hadn’t exactly been raised poor.

Harold
let Reagan into the house and told her they were waiting for her in the music
studio. He was too busy flirting with Gwen to give her more direction. Racking
her memory of the day she’d met Exodus End and Trey—what a fun time that had
been!—and jammed with the guys in Dare’s studio, she headed down what she
thought was the correct hall off the main foyer. She knew she was in the right wing
by the décor. Music paraphernalia graced the entire length of the hallway. By
the time she passed the glass wall that showed off the spectacular swimming
pool and hot tub, bringing back steamy memories of her first “date” with
Trey—lord, she’d been impulsive that day—she could hear the very heavy strains
of an altered “Twist and Shout” coming from an open door at the end of the
hall.

Reagan
stood in the doorway and did the twist while she waited for the song to
conclude. Everyone was smiling—even Max, who seemed to smile less and less
frequently these days.

When
the final note on Dare’s guitar died away, she hopped up and down and clapped
enthusiastically. “That was awesome. Love it!”

Steve’s
bass drum thudded as he shifted on his stool to lean across his drums. “If the
whole drop-the-label-and-go-indie thing doesn’t work out for us, we can do
metal weddings for a living.”

Max
rolled his eyes and shook his head. If he didn’t already know that Steve would
never
drop the subject, he wasn’t paying attention.

“You
can read music, right?” Dare asked.

“Of
course. I played in orchestra for almost fifteen years.”

“Right.
Duh.” He scooped a stack of sheet music and books of musical scores from a
table and dropped them into her outstretched arms. “Can you go through this and
find all the songs Jessica wants played? I think we’re still missing a few.”

“Aww,
you guys are so sweet to do this for her,” she said in a teasing tone, but it
was true. What they were doing was incredibly sweet of them all. She was sure
they had better things to do on their two weeks off.

“It’s
fun,” Logan said.

“Is
Toni here?”

He
shook his head. “She’s at my place working on that book. If it hadn’t brought
us together, I’d hate the damned thing. All she wants to do is work, work,
work.”

“And
have sex,” Steve said.

“Well,
that too.” Logan grinned, his entire face lighting up in a way that drew
Reagan’s appreciative attention. She couldn’t help it; the man had a great
smile.

The
band spent the entire afternoon working through the wedding songs. They
rearranged the order of the songs a bit so that the ones that required a second
guitar were at the end. That way Reagan could do her bridesmaid duty for as
long as possible. Reagan gave Jessica a call to make sure she was okay with
that decision.

“Hey,
Jess, how are you doing? Are you all ready for Saturday?”

“No,”
she said, her voice cracking.

“What’s
wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

“The
caterer can’t get enough oysters for the oyster bar. Some contamination issue
or something.”

Not
a crisis in Reagan’s mind. She was not a fan of oysters.

“My
dress didn’t come in yet. They assure me it will be here on time, but I won’t
believe that until I have it in my hands.”

“If
they said it would be on time, I’m sure it will.”

“Some
of our favors have Sed’s name misspelled. It’s three letters—how do you fuck
that up?”

“People
will probably get a kick out of it.”

“They’ll
probably be wondering who
Ted
is and why I married him instead of Sed.
And now the reception band has canceled on us. Sed’s been running around all
day trying to find a replacement.”

“We’ve
got that one covered. Actually, that’s why I called.”

“You
found someone? Oh, thank God.” Jessica released a deep breath.

“Exodus
End is going to cover your song list.” And by cover, she meant make every last
song sound metal.

“Are
you serious?” She laughed. “I can’t wait to hear Max sing like Celine Dion.”

Reagan
snorted. Oh, he sang “My Heart Will Go On” wonderfully, but he didn’t sound
anything like the famous mezzo-soprano.

“They
need me to play a few songs with them.”

“Oh,
no,” Jessica said. “You aren’t dropping out as a bridesmaid, are you?”

Reagan
guessed Jessica had heard so much bad news that she’d come to expect it.

“No,
of course not. I can’t wait to help you celebrate your big day. We want to
rearrange the order of some of the songs so I can sit with the bridal party at
the beginning of the reception and play with the guys for the later part.”

Jessica
sniffed. “You’d do that for me?”

“Don’t
cry. It’s not that big a deal. We just wanted to make sure that it was okay to
play the songs out of order.”

“The
first one has to be our song, but you can rearrange the others. That’s fine.”

“Great.
I’ll tell the guys. And, Jessica?”

“Yeah?”

“Sed
wouldn’t care if you married him in your underwear, oysters are gross, and I’m
sure Ted is a lovely guy. Everything is going to be fine. You’ll see.”

“Thanks,
Reagan. And tell the guys I owe them one.”

Reagan
turned to her bandmates. “She says she owes you all blow jobs,” she said loud
enough for Jessica to hear.

They
all hooted and hollered their approval. Jessica just laughed. “You’re so bad.”

And
it felt good to cut loose. Reagan hadn’t realized how hard she’d been trying to
be good for the press. She was going to enjoy every second of her time
out
of the limelight.

Trey
shuffled forward and dropped his load of heavy boxes on Brian’s kitchen table
with a thud.

“Do
you think you have enough beer?” Ethan asked, eyeing the stack of 24-packs.

“That’s
just the domestic stuff,” Trey said, returning to his car for the brown bottles
and the green bottles and some clear bottles too. Ethan helped him shove the
cans and bottles into the tubs they’d filled earlier with ice.

“Did
you get all the snacks?” Ethan asked.

“Yep.
In the front seat. Couldn’t fit them in the trunk.”

They
made a single trip to the car, overloading their arms and hands with sacks of
junk food so they wouldn’t have to go out more than once.

“I
can smell those fajitas,” Trey said, inhaling deeply as they entered the
kitchen. His man could cook some damned fine Mexican food, and it hadn’t been
all that hard to convince him to give up his entire morning to cook.

Large
metal trays lined the kitchen counter, and Ethan pointed to each in turn.
“There’s also tacos, enchiladas, quesadillas, toppings for loaded nachos, and I
tried to make tamales, but that was a complete failure. Too bad Mamá isn’t
here.”

Trey
laughed and kissed his beard-stubbled chin. “Do you really want your mother at
a rock star’s bachelor party?”

“No
way in hell,” Ethan said, rubbing the back of his neck and grinning sheepishly.
“But I do want some of her tamales.”

“Maybe
we’ll go visit her before we head to Europe. I still haven’t met your
forty-five brothers.”

“Six
brothers,” Ethan said, his smile fading. “And some of them are more
close-minded than others. So maybe it’s best if you don’t meet them.”

Trey
knew he could win over anyone he tried to charm, but he wouldn’t push the
issue. He wanted Ethan to be relaxed and have a good time tonight. He was sure
Ethan needed to unwind as much as he did, and bringing up topics that bothered Ethan
would eat at him all night. Trey was quite familiar with his broody moods by
now.

Sed
came downstairs barefoot, wearing shorts and a T-shirt, his short hair still
wet from a shower. “Dear lord, something smells good.”

“My
man can cook,” Trey said, turning to the counter and lifting the foil off one
of the pans.

“And
my man can buy beer and junk food,” Ethan said.

Sed
laughed. “He is good at that.”

“When
is everyone supposed to get here?” Trey asked, glancing at the clock above the
oven door. “I can’t be expected to wait when I’m starving.” He selected a strip
of seasoned beef and stuck it in his mouth. The kick of cilantro and lime on
his tongue made him moan in bliss.

Sed
shook his head. “You have no self-control, Trey Mills.”

“Where’s
the fun in that?”

Sed
nodded in Ethan’s direction. “Thanks for cooking, man. Appreciate it.”

Ethan
nodded, the hint of a smile on his lips. “No problem. I actually enjoy it.”

“Not
as much as I do,” Trey said, sampling a strip of green pepper from the fajita tray
and then an onion. And another strip of beef. Might as well grab one of those
homemade tortillas while he was at it. Was that sour cream next to the
guacamole? And Ethan’s homemade pico de gallo? Oh lord.

The
doorbell rang, and Sed went to let the guests into Brian’s house. Sed’s
apartment was actually better equipped to sponsor a bachelor party, but the
ladies were having their own gathering at Sed’s place tonight, so Brian had
volunteered to host. He’d taken Malcolm to his parents’ house to babysit quite
a while ago. It was their first time being responsible for their tiny grandson
on their own, so Brian was probably showing them instructional videos and adding
thick padding to all the walls and the floor or some such shit.

“I’ve
got the strippers,” Eric said, pushing half a dozen blow-up dolls into the
house one after another. Trey could only imagine what he’d looked like driving
down the interstate with a convertible full of blow-up dolls. Eric, followed by
Jace carrying what appeared to be a bowling ball on a chain, carried the final
sex doll indoors between his palms. It was shaped like a sheep. “This one is
for little man.” Eric squashed the balloon sheep into Jace’s crotch. “Aw, the
Love Ewe loves you already, Tripod.”

Jace
stuffed the Love Ewe under one arm. He was so used to Eric giving him shit that
it no longer bothered him.

“I’ve
got the movies,” Brian said, rushing into the house and kicking a defenseless
blonde blow-up doll out of his path.

“Porn!”
Eric shouted, grabbing a sack out of Brian’s hands. “What do we have here?” He
pulled out a DVD case and scowled. “
Finding Nemo
?”

Brian’s
face fell. “Shit, did I grab the wrong sack?” He yanked the bag away from Eric
and pulled out a copy of
Toy Story
and not the dirty one. “Then what did
I leave with my parents?”

Trey
snorted at his horrified expression and took another bite of the fajita he’d
accidentally assembled.

“I’ll
be back.” Brian rushed out of the house with his sack of children’s flicks.
Seconds later tires squealed as he peeled out of the driveway.

More
of Sed’s friends showed up and descended on the spread of Mexican food like a
pack of starving hyenas.

“And
you were worried about leftovers,” Trey said to Ethan as he scraped the last
bit of nacho cheese out of a crockpot and plopped it on his plate of loaded
nachos.

Since
Brian had yet to return with their traditional bachelor-party entertainment, Sed
switched on a baseball game on the big-screen TV and they all crowded into the family
room with their paper plates of food and their beer and their willingness to
get loud and obnoxious. Jace sipped wine straight from a bottle, listening to
Eric prattle with his mouth full. Sed was entirely absorbed in the baseball
game, as were most of the other guys. A few guests were tucked into corners in
smaller groups, shooting the shit with friends they hadn’t seen in a while.
Trey sat on the sofa as close to Ethan as humanly possible, surprised that he
didn’t squirm to put space between them with all the dude-type witnesses in the
room. Ethan helped himself to Trey’s enormous plate of nachos and sort of paid
attention to the game.

Brian
returned near the bottom of the fifth inning, looking relieved that everyone
wasn’t sitting around staring at a blank, porn-less TV screen. “My dad refused
to let me have my videos back unless I brought him along. I hope that’s okay.”

“I
can only stand about ten minutes of a crying baby,” said Malcom—the man that the
perfect, should-never-be-crying-for-ten-minutes-in-the-first-place baby was
named after—as he entered the room behind Brian.

A
hush fell over the group and everyone stared. Malcolm O’Neil was a living rock
legend, one of the greatest guitarists who ever lived. And people revered him.
Not Trey, of course. He couldn’t stand the guy, the most arrogant, self-serving
prick he’d ever met. But most people thought Malcolm O’Neil was a god. Even his
son—Brian “Master” Sinclair—was a nobody compared to his father.

“Wait,”
Ethan said. “Malcolm O’Neil is Brian’s father? Are you fucking shitting me?”

Wonderful.
Even Ethan was impressed.

Brian
and his dad went into the kitchen, everyone in the room rubbernecking to watch
the great Malcom O’Neil pass by, and then when he was out of sight, they
returned to watching their ballgame or bullshitting or stuffing their faces.
All Trey could wonder was how Brian felt about having his father at what was
supposed to be a fun and relaxing evening. Brian’s greatest ambition had always
been to make the man proud of him, so when his dad was around, he became this
scarcely recognizable, boot-licking, nervous imbecile.

Brian
returned to the room with a plate containing a broken taco, cheese-less nachos,
the bottom half of an enchilada, and four bottles of Corona. His eyes met
Trey’s, and with a look of relief he approached the sofa, squeezing himself
into the small space between Trey and the sofa arm. Even though Ethan shifted
over to give them a bit more room, Trey was squashed between them like an
uncomfortable passenger on an overcrowded subway.

“Couldn’t
tell him no?” Trey asked.

Brian
glanced over his shoulder at his father, who’d been drawn into a group of his
worshippers near the kitchen doorway. “What do you think?”

Brian
set his plate on the sofa arm and twisted the top off his first beer. He downed
the entire thing before opening a second.

“We
agreed not to get too drunk tonight,” Trey reminded Brian. “We have a lot of
shit to do tomorrow to help Sed get ready for the rehearsal dinner.”

“I
can hold my liquor.”

Trey
snorted. “Sure.”

“Who
wants to play sex-doll poker?” Eric called over the crowd.

Trey
had no idea what that entailed, but it sounded like more fun than watching
Brian get wasted because his dad was a tool. Trey enjoyed a good baseball game,
but this one featured two teams he didn’t care enough about to hate and was a
total snorefest of strikeouts.

“I’m
in,” Trey said, wriggling out from between Brian and Ethan. He smiled down at
Ethan and asked, “Do you wanna play, E?”

“Does
it involve public indecency with a plastic woman?” Ethan asked, his dark eyes
fixed on Trey’s.

“Probably.”

“All
right, then,” he said, rising to his feet.

Trey
caught Brian’s expression as he shuffled between him and the coffee table. He
didn’t seem too happy about being deserted. “You can play too,” Trey offered.

“Maybe
later,” Brian said as he tossed back the remains of his second beer and opened
his third.

Eric
had coerced Jace into playing, so with Trey and Ethan, Trey’s guitar
technician, Jake, and one of Sed’s cousins, who introduced himself as Ben, they
had six players either self-confident enough or foolish enough to sign up for
Eric’s crazy game.

“We
need one more,” Eric said. “Where’s the groom?”

Sed
was cajoled into joining with insults about his manhood. He took their taunting
good-naturedly, in a surprisingly good mood now that he wasn’t running all over
town making last-minute wedding preparations. Once he was seated, Eric kept Sed’s
attention while Jace snuck around his other side and clamped a heavy black
manacle around his ankle. The ball attached to the other end of the chain
barely moved when Sed jerked his foot in surprise.

“What
the fuck is this?”

“Ball
and chain!” the guys chanted. “Ball and chain!”

“Take
it off, Jace,” Sed demanded.

Jace
grinned. “Sorry, Sed. I don’t have the key.”

“Who
has it?” Sed made a grab for Eric, but was hindered by the ball on his leg
enough to allow his drummer to avoid Sed’s grasp.

“Aggie
has it,” Jace said, calmly taking the vacant seat across from Trey.

Sed
sagged back in his chair. “And how do I get it from her?”

“Dungeon
or patience,” Jace said.

Apparently
Sed chose patience.

Eric
made sure each player had a blow-up doll on his lap. Jace was stuck with the
Love Ewe—naturally. Every time Trey glanced across the table at Jace with that
blow-up sheep sitting on his lap, he couldn’t help but laugh. It was even
funnier than watching Sed drag that heavy ball around with him when he got up
to grab another beer.

“So
how does this work?” Ben asked, his arm hooked casually around his doll’s
waist.

“Low
hand each round has to demonstrate proper lovemaking techniques with his doll.
It’s educational and fun,” Eric said. “And maybe a little messy.”

Sed
gave Eric a stern look. “
Pretend
to demonstrate proper lovemaking
techniques.”

“Fine,”
Eric said, rolling his eyes at Sed as if he were the most boring man who had ever
lived. “We’ll just
pretend
. But the winners get to choose the sex act
the loser has to demonstrate.”

Trey
lost the first hand, and the guys really took it easy on him. His sex doll—who
he’d affectionately named Kiki—had to give him a blow job. He was fully clothed
as he pretended to ram his cock into the very unsexy hole that served as her O-shaped
mouth, but as the guys cheered her on, he got into it. He grabbed her by the
ears as he bounced his crotch into her unnaturally peach face and then flipped
her upside down, her oddly pointy legs sticking straight up in the air, and
then he spun her around and around in circles—feet up, then down, and then up
again as he twirled her body like a fan.