VIP (Rock & Release, Act I) (13 page)

Nicole takes Gage's place behind the bar when the band and their entourage are gone and the VIPers start coming in. Gage warms up for a few minutes on the stage, and then starts his set of covers. That whiskey-honeyed voice. I could close my eyes and let it wash over me for hours. I wonder if he'd ever want to set out on his own… And then I kind of slightly at the back of my mind remember he might have said something about that the first night we met. Stupid alcohol haze.

"Fucking awesome, right?" Nicole nudges me, handing me two freshly poured beers for waiting customers.
 

"Yes." My voice is all breathy and I don't even care. It dawns on me that Nicole might know something about his life. "Why doesn't he do this professionally? Touring and stuff?"

"He used to," she says. "But now he stays close to home. You know how his—" She stops herself, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Her facial expression is conflicted, like she's not sure she should go on.
 

"You don't have to tell me," I reassure her, wondering
how his what
? "It's none of my business."

Relief relaxes her features. "I'm sure he'd tell you if you asked."

He might have already, I want to say. I don't want to ask him again; I don't want him to think I didn't pay attention. But I also don't want to gossip about him—and neither, clearly, does Nicole. She gives an easy shrug and turns to take another order.

My cell phone buzzes, vibrating in my back pocket. I drop the beers off for their intended customers and check it. My mom. The space under my ribs constricts and panic sends tingles through my fingers. I can't answer. Not right now. I don't want to hear whatever she'll say. But I text her to tell her I'm safe and not to worry. I'll give her that much. I don't hate her—or my dad. I just don't want to wade in the heavy air surrounding them anymore.

Thankfully, I don't have time to dwell on it. Nicole's secret kisser shows up, all curly-haired and chiseled-cheeked, in a pressed and preppy button-down shirt and slacks. He and Nicole barely acknowledge each other—it's me he waves to first. "Cassidy, good to see you."
 

"Uh." Did I meet him the other night? "Hey there. What can I get for you?"

"Zach," he says, his mouth splitting into a grin. "You don't remember me, do you?"

Oh my God. Zach. Nicole's secret fling is Zach. Booking manager and, technically, one of my bosses.
 

"Zach. Of course I remember you!" I hit him with my most disarming smile.
 

"Really?" He doesn't believe me.
 

"Yep!" My cheeks start to hurt.
 

"Then what—or should I say whom?—did we spend a good twenty minutes talking about the other night?"

"Uh." I really need to remove that filler from my vocabulary—but all I have right now is a placeholder because I cannot remember any sort of conversation with him. Except… The memory's fuzzy at first—and when it becomes clearer I really, really wish it hadn't.
 

Me. Standing by the second bar. Sloppy drunk. Leaning against Zach for support, my hand on his chest. It's softer than it looks. "I saw you and Nicole." My words all completely slurred. "All tongues flying and hair pulling. It was hot."

And that's it. That's all my mind grants me.
 

Fuuuuck.
 

My eyes dart to Nicole and back to him. "I didn't mean to call you out about Nicole. I'm so —"

"No—no, no." He shakes his head, frantically, cutting me off. "Franklin Charles. We talked about Franklin Charles."
 

Oh. God, I'm a moron. Now I'm embarrassed and he's embarrassed and all I had to say—even if I have no memory of it, Jared already told me—was that we'd spoken about Franklin Charles. I just had to open my stupid mouth about Nicole. Again.
 

I squeeze my hands together under the bar in an effort to stem some of the pathetic embarrassment.

"Right, right," I say, my throat tight. Something about Zach makes me want to impress him. Not in the same way I want to impress Gage, but in the way anyone would want a boss to think highly of them. I make an assumption regarding the conversation I can't remember and say, "I still think you should try to book him here."

"I am thinking about it," he says. "Now back to work—I just stopped over to tell you I'm glad you took the job."

I am, too. Even more now than before. It's my second night here and I already feel like part of the crew. Something is slowly opening inside of me. This sense of—I don't know—peace, maybe? There's no doubt in my mind I've made the right decision on what to do with my summer. I need this break. No pressure from professors, no peers in constant competition. No parents. No drowning in air thick with unresolved grief.
 

No Jason
, my mind whispers.
 

But I swallow the guilt. I tell myself it's okay. I don't have to feel bad. This summer is meant solely for fun—without the deep, tugging emotions attached to real life.

Drink orders continue to fly in and Nicole and I stay slammed until the opening act starts in the amphitheater. We've dwindled down to less than ten customers by the time Castle Zero takes the stage. And Gage is nursing a beer at the end of the bar, hanging out while I finish my shift.

"Why are you still here?" I ask, smiling because I think I know.

"Waiting for you to get off." There's a clear innuendo in his teasing tone—and it makes my face heat. Other parts of me, too. He watches me with a smug, knowing expression. "You want to come over?"

"How about my place?" I counter. Going to his place… I don't know. It'd make this a little closer to something real, I think. Which is not what I want this summer. Not what I need.

He nods.
 

And it turns out neither of us have to wait very long for me to get off.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

When Gage leaves the next morning, I call Teagan.
 

I sit on the carpet and lean against the base of my bed, crossing my legs while I wait to see if she'll answer. I'm not sure if I want her to pick up or not.
 

She does, skipping past any preamble. "Cassidy. I am so, so, so sorry."

A knot dissolves at the nape of my neck. Here she is. My closest friend. "Me too. I have so much to tell you."

"Gimme five minutes and I'll come over."

"That's actually part of it… I'm not staying at my parents' house." And I tell her everything.
 

"I can't believe you're sleeping with the dude I called dibs on," is her takeaway. "But…given all that shit with your parents, I suppose you can keep him."

"Oh, thanks," I say, all sarcasm even while I'm grinning at my phone. I slide down until I'm on my back on the floor, staring up at the whirling fan on the ceiling. "What have you been up to?"

"The usual. Working at the salon. Going out. Breaking hearts. You know…"

I do know. Nobody works a guy over like Teagan. Her stories give me ab muscles from all the laughing over the phone while I'm away at school. I lift my legs, studying my toenails—which could use a fresh coat of polish—while Teagan regales me with her latest conquest.
 

"Obviously, I had to get out of there," she finishes a few minutes later. "He had a pet bunny. Come on."

"How can you not think that's cute?"
 

"I want to hump like a rabbit, not watch some dude feed one lettuce."

"Guess I can't argue with that." I pause, tugging at the pale pink lining of the bed skirt while I think of how to phrase my next question. "Can you just tell me… Did I do something wrong at the concert the other night?"

"Cass…"
 

"I've been going over and over it in my mind and you were so mad—you literally left me there
by myself
." I sit up, taking a deep breath to quell the little flare of anger rising in indignation. "And we both know this has kind of become a thing over the years."

"I've never ditched you before."

"You know what I mean. You're always so angry at me, but I never understand why."

"We already apologized to each other. Can we not do this?" she snaps, and the umbrella sheltering us from the fight—held up by the laughter of her sex story and by my own drama with my parents and Gage—swings shut. Bad feelings hail down all over again.

"I am sorry for making you so mad, but I need to know what I'm apologizing for. Tell me what I did to deserve that? Seriously. I'm not saying that flippantly. I literally cannot figure out why I pissed you off so bad."

She's silent for a long pause, so quiet I have to check my phone to make sure she didn't hang up on me.

Finally, she says, "You're always so braggy about your internship."

Wait.
 

Huh?
 

Of all the things she could be upset about… "Teag. I mentioned it to you
twice
. Once when you asked what my summer plans were and again, in passing, before the concert—and I wasn't bragging, I was complaining about the loss of my freedom."

"Yeah.
I
had to ask
you
about it. Why couldn’t you tell me about it on your own? Did you think I’d be jealous?"

"Of course I didn't think you'd be jealous! God. I figured you'd think it was stupid for me to
give up my summer to be some head honcho's slave
. And which is it? Either I'm braggy or I don't tell you about it enough. You can't have it both ways."

I'm greeted with silence, and something dawns on me. "Do you want an internship? Is that it? Because I could've talked to my dad for you."

"God. No." There's so much disdain in her voice I can practically hear her shudder at the thought.
 

"See? That—that attitude? I should have been the one to storm off. You're the one who's acting like an ass."

Turns out my phone beeps when she hangs up on me. Guess I didn't need to worry about it earlier.
 

The knot at the back of my neck reties itself, tightening. I still don't know what the hell her deal is.
 

Maybe my break from stress this summer needs to include a break from Teagan too. Maybe I just need to throw myself into the job—and into Gage.
 

And that's exactly what I do.
 

I spend my days (and nights) happy, carefree, exhausted and very, very satiated. When an errant thought about Teagan or Jason or my parents slips through, I force it to the back of my mind, lock it into the darkness of my subconscious. And when the thoughts build up and it's harder to keep them all in the vault, I let Gage use his tongue until my mind goes blank.
 

It's a fucking wonderful situation.
 

Literally.

"You and Gage are actually
into
each other, aren't you?" Vera asks, a week or so later, while we're getting ready for work. We both do our makeup in her bathroom, one of the fun little perks of being roommates.

"I… I think so. At least a little." I bounce on my toes, only realizing I'm doing it—and stopping—when I have to line my eyes.
Keep it together, Cassidy
. "I mean, it's super casual and I'm definitely not looking for anything serious this summer. But I like him. And I think he likes me, too." Shit, the guy's spent almost every night with me since we met; I
know
he likes me. Or at least he likes the sexy times. Lord knows, I do.

"Casual, huh?" She pulls her short hair into a ponytail with ends that spike out everywhere. Very rock chic, a look I could never master. "Would you care if he was seeing someone else?" Her tone is light, teasing.
 

"Nope." I want the word to be true, but the tightness in my gut makes it a lie. It's possible I'm a little more into him than I want to be…
 

"So his ex is this girl who—"

"La, la, la." I pretend to stick my fingers in my ears. "Don't want to know."

"But she—"

"
La, la, la
." Don't get me wrong. There's a part of me dying to know. But the rest of me knows she shouldn't matter. I try to steer clear of personal things with Gage—well, out of the bedroom anyway—and that's getting harder and harder to do. I definitely don't want to know about, think about,
be jealous about
his exes.
 

"Fine," she says. "I get it. You aren't the kind of girl who cares about that stuff."

"Nope." Mostly. Kind of.

"But you
are
having a lot of sex." Her eyes dance at mine across the mirror.

Now I grin. "I'm surprised I'm able to walk."

"Go Gage," she says.
 

"Go me," I counter. And then because it's polite—and I actually do care about Vera—I ask, "How's it going with Jared?"

She sighs. "Depends on the day."

"How so?"
 

She goes on to tell me that some days he clearly wants to be with her—but other days he flirts with anything that moves. I try not to be offended being lumped into the category of anything that moves. They haven't defined anything either, though Vera isn't quite onboard with the openness.

"Why do you put up with it?" I ask, trying to take the sting out of my words with, "You're fun and smart and gorgeous. He shouldn't make you doubt how he feels."

"I can see good in him, he just keeps it so covered up I think he forgets it's there sometimes."
 

"You see the potential in him?" I ask.

"Exactly!" she says, nodding happily, like my question was meant to be a good thing.
 

"Don't you think you deserve someone who'll live up to their potential to be with you?" I've never understood it, the whole "potential to be a good person" thing people see in their partners. Why put up with someone until they're living up to it?
 

"Or maybe I'm the one who's supposed to push him into all that potential."

"Hmmm." I swipe lip gloss across my mouth, knowing my noncommittal answer isn't what she wants. But she's becoming a true friend, and I don't want to lie to her.