The Opposite Of Right (Bad Decisions Trilogy #1) (2 page)

His other hand grasped the side of her face. Tilted it back a bit. Then his tongue finally swooped in, caressing—seriously!—all of her tongue as carefully and thoroughly as Kylie imagined he might treat her breast. God, she wanted to rip her shirt off and let him do just that.

Tipping his forehead against hers, he asked, “Is your day any better now?”

“Who cares about my day? My night is freaking fantastic.” Kylie pulled back to look at him. And felt her knees turn to slush. It….he…the man she’d been kissing was none other than Cam Watson. God, she’d spent hour after hour staring at his pictures and GIFs and videos. Kylie felt like an idiot for not recognizing him sooner. The sensual, full lips. Eyes the deep blue of a midnight sky. Of course, he’d cut off all his signature long hair and spiked-up what was left. It made him look edgier. Badder. More mouth-watering.

A super skinny girl in a Riptide tee with a mile-high afro barreled out of the bathroom. Cam swiveled his head so fast his neck made an audible snapping sound.

“Deondra, how do you feel?” Concern made his voice husky. Or maybe it was the aftereffects of their make-out session. Yes. Kylie far preferred that reasoning.

“Like I just threw up. Twice. And like my appendix is about to burst.”

“You think so?” He shook his head. Squinted. “Do you even know what that feels like?”

The other woman rolled her eyes. “Oh, yeah. My twin sister described it—in excruciating detail—after her emergency surgery three days ago. You know twins—we do everything together. I’ve been expecting this.” She winced, grabbed low on the right side of her belly and bent over a little with a whoof of air.

Kylie found that fascinating. Horrible for Deondra and her sister, of course, but mind-bogglingly fascinating that twins were so connected, so identical, that their bodies would break down at almost the same time.

“Let me put you on the bus,” said Cam.

Another eye roll. “Are you crazy? You’ve got a show in ten minutes.”

Wow. The enormity of the moment rolled over Kylie like an avalanche. She hadn’t just kissed the hot guy she’d drooled over for years. No, she’d been kissing the
lead singer
of the megaband Riptide. And they were supposed to put on a concert any minute now. She was smack in the middle of backstage details that would turn Amanda green with jealousy.

“You’re more important than a gig,” Cam insisted.

Deondra’s teeth flashed white for a second as she tried to smile through the obvious pain. “Aww, that’s sweet. Even sweeter because I know you mean it, you big softie. But my job as promotions manager is to help make you guys money, not cost you a no-show fee for canceling a whole concert just to hold my hand. So everything’s set. I called for a cab to take me to the hospital in between pukefests one and two. It should be here any minute. You go ahead and rock the house like usual. The only thing left to cover is…” She trailed off, then straightened up. Looked directly at Kylie, then deliberately shifted that gaze to Cam. “Who’s the arm candy?”

Heat roared into Kylie’s cheeks. Yup. She’d gone from newly minted college graduate to arm candy in less than a day…and
totally
deserved it. Because Kylie was still twined around Cam’s lower half like a vine. Not to mention that he still had his hand sort of wedged down the back of her jeans.

God, she hadn’t told him her name! Mortified, Kylie dropped her foot back to the ground. “I’m Kylie,” she said to Deondra. Because aiming that information at Cam at this point felt like way too little, way too late. “Kylie Stafford.”

Deondra stabbed a finger in Kylie’s direction. “Are you a Riptide fan?”

“Who isn’t?”

A harsh, guttural laugh from Cam. “You’d be surprised. Or maybe not.”

“Kylie, I need you to do me a solid.” Deondra put a hand on her arm. Kylie had a feeling it was intended as a friendly gesture, but probably more because the poor woman needed help standing. “Will you work the promo table? Sell the shirts and CDs?”

“I…uh…sure.” Kylie shrugged. Why not?

“We’ll reimburse you the cost of your ticket, of course.” That pointed gaze just about pinned Cam to the wall. “Won’t you, Cam?”

“For God’s sake, Deondra, I’ll handle it.” He tugged at the spikes of his hair. “Will you go sit down before your appendix shoots out and pops me in the eye or something?”

With a wince, she dug her fingers into Kylie’s arm. “Don’t try to make me laugh.”

“Then what would I do with all my spare time?”

“Write a hit song or two?” Deondra buckled over again with a sharp cry.

God, she felt awful for the poor woman. That said, being a diehard Riptide fan meant more than a few daydreams about skipping out on class to go be a roadie for them. This was Kylie’s chance to experience, if only for a few hours, what it’d be like. And this was her chance to take control of her life and move it in a different direction. Yeah, if only for a few hours, whatever. She was on a roll. First a hot kiss, now a new, if temporary job. This whole bad-decisions experiment was working out
waaaaay
better than planned.

Kylie patted Cam on his magnificent chest. “Can’t you see that Deondra won’t go anywhere until you hit the stage? I’ll take her to the door and stay with her until the ambulance comes. Then I’ll staff the promo table.”

Cam gave his assent with a sharp nod. Then he kissed Deondra on the top of her curly head. “Text me immediately if you’re really going into surgery.”

The piercing wail of sirens came through the walls. “At this rate, I figure they’ll wheel me in right after your first set.”

Kylie grabbed the phone dangling from Deondra’s limp hand. “Here. I’ll input my cell number. You can text me with updates, and I’ll pass them along to Cam as soon as the show’s over.”

Two steps down the hall, Cam spun back around on his heel. “Hey—is your sister okay now?”

Deondra stopped biting her lower lip long enough to flash a quick smile. “Yeah. So I’ll be fine.”

“Make sure of it.”

As he swaggered off, Kylie couldn’t help but notice the way his jeans…well, her mouth just went dry at the up close and personal view of his ass and those long legs. They’d felt tightly muscled, even through the thick denim, when she’d wrapped her leg around them. Kylie pulled in a deep breath.

“You’re not some crazed stalker, are you?” Deondra asked as they moved at a snail’s pace down the hallway and back out into the main club.

“No. God, no.” She didn’t want the other woman to worry for even a second about leaving her in charge. “I mean, you’d have to be blind and deaf not to lust after Cam Watson at least a little. But I don’t even follow him on Twitter.”

“Probably good. Seeing as how I write all the band’s tweets.”

Kylie looked at the glass-encased posters flanking the entrance. They were promo shots from the band’s last big album, before Cam had cut his hair. Amazing how different—and ten times hotter—Cam looked now without the long locks. She decided to put Deondra’s mind permanently at ease with a confession. “I didn’t even know who I was kissing. I was just trying to do something…different. Something very, very wrong.”

“Ha! I like that. Nobody’s ever said that swapping spit with Cam was wrong. I’m gonna tease him about that for a long time.”

Except that Kylie was quite certain that kissing Cam—accidentally on purpose—was the most right thing she’d ever done.

CHAPTER TWO

Cam clapped Jake McQuinn on the shoulder as they walked backstage. “You rocked tonight.”

A quick shake sent sweat flying from Jake’s brow. It’d been hot under those damn spots. “Right back at ya.”

It was the same thing they’d said to each other at the end of every single concert. Kind of an after-the-fact good-luck charm. Cam, as superstitious as every other performer, wouldn’t ever skip saying it. But some nights he meant it more. This was one of those nights. Riptide’s sound was gelling again. The capacity crowd had stayed on their feet the whole time. It beat back Cam’s constant worry about their new album. By about a tenth of a percent.

He whipped the red bandanna off the forehead of their drummer to complete the post-show routine. “Your sticks were slick, Jones.”

“Somebody has to do the real work in this group. Get the women all riled up and their panties soaked.”

Jake snatched the drumsticks out of his back pocket. Gave a quick
rat-a-tat-tat
on the drummer’s arm. “You’re a giver, Jones. No doubt about it.”

“I’m hoping to give it to that blonde who was over by the speaker. Did you see her?”

“Nah.” Cam had kept his eyes glued to the back of the club. Every once in a while, the had door opened. Probably for smokers craving a hit. It provided just enough backlight for him to catch a glimpse of Kylie. Kylie Stafford of the long red hair and dark eyes.

Just about any day that ended in the letter Y, a woman or twelve threw themselves at him. Kylie was different. Her shock at recognizing him after the kiss had been all too real. It’d been years since someone had wanted just Cam. Not Cam the famous singer. Not Cam who dated supermodels and actresses. Just a guy she thought was hot enough to hit on in the bathroom line. Yeah, he got a kick out of that.

A guy as wide as he was tall, with security in block letters across his shirt, gave them the slow clap as they approached. “You sounded good. Better than I expected.”

“Hope they write that on my tombstone,” muttered Jake.

“I trust your judgment, T-Bone,” Cam said. “Thanks.” The man stood guard backstage for every band that came through, big or small, new or classic. He damn well knew good music when he heard it. Cam indulged in a complex handshake/fist-bump combo with him. “Hey, if a redhead tries to come back here, let her through. She’s filling in for our goody girl. Name’s Kylie.”

“She pretty?”

“And then some,” Cam murmured under his breath as they entered their private room.

Jones whistled. “A hottie who rates VIP access? What’s her story?”

“Don’t know. Yet.” But he wanted to find out. Cam beelined to his guitar case and carefully nestled the white and black custom Fender Stratocaster into the satin lining. Was the black satin over the top? Especially with the standard velvet underneath it to actually protect the instrument? Sure. But, as Jake said when he gave it to him three birthdays ago, to be a true rock god, you couldn’t just act the part. You had to live it.

“You said Deondra’s okay, though?” Jones asked, with uncharacteristic seriousness. They were all worried about her.

“Yeah.” He’d ducked behind an amp to thumb through his texts just before the last song. “Here’s the bad news—she’s not coming back. The surgery’s routine, but when Deondra asked the doc when she could go back on the road, he laughed at her. I guess a tour bus isn’t considered a healing environment.”

“Sexual healing, definitely.” Jones waggled his eyebrows and leered. Jake snickered.

They were a tight, balanced trio. Plus, the added layer of their managers and agents and label reps and all that crap. But Cam had always been the guy in charge. The one who pushed new ideas and made the hard decisions. No Deondra was a problem. One he was ready to fix before the other guys even realized it.

Cam grabbed a towel, scrubbed it over his face and head. And went with his gut. ’Cause there was no other way to describe the harebrained idea he’d come up with. “We need a new goody girl. I was thinking of asking Kylie if she wanted the job.”

A wolf whistle almost split his eardrums. Jones followed it up by asking, “The chick from tonight?”

“Yeah. The club manager found me after the opening act and raved about her. Said she managed the crowd like a pro. Never once got flustered with the payments. Looks like she’s got some retail experience under her belt.”

As he bent to flip open a cooler, Jake pinned him with a hard stare, colder than the ice he was rooting through for a beer. “Were you under her belt?”

“No,” Cam bit out.

“Good. Keep it that way.”

If this conversation kept going, he’d need to dump that entire cooler over Jake’s head to keep from getting into it with him. Best friend or not, some lines didn’t need to be crossed. “Since when do you get a vote on my sex life?”

The bottle cap snicked as it popped off and landed at Cam’s feet. It was too close to be an accident. Jake dropped the opener to the table with a clatter. Spread his feet wide. “Since it screwed us over once already. I don’t believe in making the same mistakes twice.”

Neither did Cam. But he also didn’t believe in being reminded of all the ones he’d
already
made. Fisting his hands on his hips, he ground out, “You plan on throwing that in my face for how long, exactly?”

“Fuck if I know. How many times did you do Suzy? How many times did you let her fill your ears with her shit ideas that tanked our last album while you were filling her?” Jake started counting on his fingers. “Three? Five?” Then he wiped his hands on his jeans. “Let’s multiply that by the millions we lost. It’ll be a good starting point for how many times I’ll remind you not to mix sex and business.
Our
business.”