VIP (Rock & Release, Act I) (14 page)

"You're just having fun with Gage," she says. "Why shouldn't I just have fun with Jared?"

"But you want him to define things," I say, gently. "So it isn't just fun for you."

"Maybe that's what I should go for, though. Easy breezy, non-difficult, just having fun. I could do it."

How can I suggest I actually don't think she could do it without making the biggest hypocrite out of myself? "Either way, I hope Jared knows what he's got in you."

Her cheeks flush and she offers me a shy grin, nudging me with her elbow. "Come on. We're going to be late. I'll drive; we'll get there faster."
 

I strum my fingers against the armrest of the door handle in Vera's car, and can't help but think about the difference in my friendships with Teagan and Vera. Lately, Teagan is a roller coaster with a crash landing. But Vera is light. Fun. Easy.

Teagan and I have so much history, but for obvious reasons, it's Vera I prefer to be around now. Maybe that's not fair to Teagan, though. Vera's mom pays her way through college and rent and groceries. Teagan's never even met hers, getting dumped on her grandparents' laps right after being born. Her grandparents barely wanted her then; they still barely want her now, treating her more like a tenant than family. I should cut her a little more slack, even if I still don't get why she's mad at me. Again.

Vera slams her brakes on for a red light and jerks me from my thoughts. Her driving makes me a little nauseated, but we definitely won't be late for work. I catch my breath and then ask, "Will your mom be visiting this summer?"

She laughs a bitter little laugh. "Not likely."

"But New York is so close."
 

Her mom lives in the city, I've learned over the past week.

"We're in a bit of a standstill," Vera admits, glancing at me. "Until I stop chasing a
pointless
journalism major, she won't speak to me."

"What should you major in?" I ask, adding hastily, "According to her, anyway."

She shrugs. "Something math or science. Or law. You know, the major that can lead me down a road of prestige and parental bragging rights."

"She still pays your bills though." I grip the side of the door as she swerves into BackBar's employee parking lot.
 

"Well yeah, otherwise she'd have to admit to her friends that I wasn't in college anymore." She shifts into a mock stern tone and holds up a finger like she's chastising me. "Failure is not an option."

I wonder what her father thinks about it all, but she's never mentioned him.

She changes the topic anyway. "I keep meaning to ask you—did you know Gold Rush Standard is coming at the beginning of July? Three entire nights! I'm dying, I swear."

"No!" I try to force enthusiasm into my tone because Vera obviously is excited at the prospect. But ugh. Gold Rush Standard is a pop-rock band and way too popular for their own good. Their songs are catchy and play out within a week. And the lead singer, Luca James, just…double ugh. He's hot—his abs belong in the realm of ridiculous—and he knows it. He's an international heartthrob. I can see why BackBar would book him for three nights. Tickets probably sold out in five minutes flat.

Okay, in all honesty, I was totally into
Lost in Time
, Gold Rush Standard’s first album, when I was a teenager. It was guttural and vivid and real. But then they completely sold out and I lost interest. My parents introduced me to the classics before I could even walk. And not that I can't enjoy more recent stuff—in fact, some of my favorite bands are newer bands—but they taught me to appreciate legitimate talent over public appeal. And public appeal? That’s pretty much all Luca James has going for him.
 

Teagan's a bit obsessed with Norris Marshal, their drummer. She saw him play solo one time at a beach bar a few years ago and said he was completely amazing. I'm not sure I believe her, but maybe he's just overshadowed by the douchebaggery of Luca James.

"Do you think they'll come out early and drink, like Castle Zero?" Vera's all aflutter, clutching her hands together in oh, so much hope.
 

"Maybe." I slow down to let her catch up with me. Vera may drive like she works for NASCAR, but she walks like a damn turtle. The one thing—
the one thing
—Luca James has going for him is that he's the poster boy for anti-drug campaigns around the country. Obviously, it hits close to home for me. Still, I'd rather hang out with Franklin Charles any day.

"Just in case, I told Jared he better put me on early all three days or he's not getting any of this," she drags a hand across her chest and down her stomach, "for the rest of the summer."

"Work it, Vera." Nicole whistles, joining us.
 

We walk in to work together, laughing.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

And so it goes. Slinging mixed drinks and having amazing sex and living a summer that's turning out to be sweeter, sweatier, and hotter (
so, so, so much hotter—and I ain't talkin' about the weather
) than I could ever have imagined.

One week of my new life turns into two and I'm loving the rhythm. And the money. Tips, tips, and more tips—plus, I get my first paycheck. I happy dance all the way to the bank.
 

I log in on Vera's computer to pay my cell phone bill before my father does it for me. I don't know if he'd planned to keep paying it for me anyway, but I hope so. I hope he logs in to find that I've taken care of it on my own. Let him chew on that.
 

Plus, I've convinced Vera to let me pay rent. It's still way less than anyone would ever charge, but at least I'm contributing something. I'm saving money, too. Enough to, maybe, take a semester off from working at the university book exchange at school.
 

The week Spinster Malady is in town to perform, I walk in and find the VIP pavilion a complete madhouse. The entire patio is packed full of people. Gage is already on the deck stage, performing. Somehow his eyes meet mine as soon as I walk in. I smile, waving. He nods, but his expression is troubled. Or, at least I think it's troubled. Maybe it's just the sad song he's covering. I'll have to ask him later.

I squeeze through people and make my way to the bar—and find someone new serving drinks in my usual spot. Or, actually, on second thought she's not new. I've seen her before. Golden brown skin, curls for miles. The waitress who dropped a tray of food the night of Demi Jade's concert.
 

"Hi." She smiles, flashing dimples the sizes of the Grand Canyon. Yet again, I like her immediately.

"Hey," I say. "I'm Cassidy."

"Thank God you're scheduled—we're dying here," she says. "I'm —"

"Girl, get your ass over here and help me," Clark yells across the bar, interrupting us. "In case you haven't noticed, we're slammed."

"So demanding." She rolls her eyes, winking at me before turning toward him.

"You, too, Cassidy," Clark calls. "I don't have time for idle bullshit."

"I don't have time for bossy ass coworkers," I shoot back.
 

Customers around the bar crack up. I swear we make more tips the sassier we behave, and I can already tell we'll have a good take tonight. Teagan would probably kill it here, snark-master of the universe that she is.
 

Not that I'm thinking about her.

I throw myself into serving drinks to drown out any more Teagan thoughts. It's easy to do. I can't keep track of half the orders I take. By the time things are starting to slow down, I'm sweaty and tired and—after being snapped at by one too many customers—on the verge of being cranky. As if to help me along, Jared meanders up to the bar.
 

But thankfully he ignores me and taps the other girl on her shoulder. "Hey—I have your check in the management office and a few things for you to sign. Come with me."

She follows him to the office, located in the white brick building between the kitchen entrance and the public restroom doors.

"Just so you know," Clark says a moment later. "That's Zoey."

"Zoey," I repeat. Her name sounds so familiar, but I can't place why. I mean, I know why I recognize her face—I saw her that first night. But she didn't tell me her name, did she?

Zoey… Zoey…
And then it hits me.
 

Vera's face comes to mind, the first night I met her.
 

"Where's Zoey?" she asked Gage. He shrugged. "We broke up a month ago…"

"Sorry, hon." Clark lays a hand gently on my shoulder. "I could tell you didn't know and you had to find out at some point. I figured it was best to get it out now."

I'd respond, but the air has been sucked from my lungs. Gage's ex. Zoey is Gage's ex. The knowledge swims through my mind. She's right here. Working with me. I'm too shocked to do more than blink a few times.

Why didn't Gage tell me?

Why didn't Vera?
 

Although maybe Vera tried once—that time when I stuck my fingers in my ears. God, I'm an idiot. I didn't want to hear about his ex, but, uh, it's different
considering she works with us
. Which is really, really,
really
something Gage should've mentioned.

My eyes automatically seek him out on the small stage, but he's not looking back at me. He's sitting there on his stool, strumming his guitar and singing a Matthew Miles song, his tone full of California soul.
 

Well, screw that California souled tone. And you know what? Screw Gage. Finally, flares of anger make their way through the shock, forcing the layer of numbness to recede.

I can't believe he didn't tell me his ex works at BackBar. With him. With
me
.
 

I'm not the only girl here he's slept with—but, apparently, I am the only one who didn't know it.
 

Clark's watching my face, probably privy to every single thing I'm thinking.

"Guess it's no secret Gage and I are…" I trail off because I don't know how to describe what we are.

"Not really," Clark shrugs. "Jared has a big mouth."

Ugh. Jared. Always comes back to McSleazy.
 

All I want to do after my shift is go home, but I drove Vera tonight and I have to wait for her to get off. So I sit at table and nurse a beer. I can't make myself look at Gage performing, but his stupid, beautiful voice fills the air around me. I can't decide if my anger is rational or not. Am I jealous?
 

Of course I am.

Should I be jealous?

No. This is supposed to be an easy, laid-back summer.
 

So why am I getting so worked up?

"Can I join you?" Zoey, of all people, walks up with a beer in her hand. "Clark let me off, said he could handle the bar himself."

"Sure." Because what the hell else would I say?

She slides into a seat across from me and we sit in silence. Why does she want to join me? Is she trying to intimidate me?

Because it's working.
 

My palms slick with sweat and I can't stop clearing my throat. It's so freaking uncomfortable, I can't stand it. I force myself to lift my eyes from my beer to her face to say—I don't know what. Something to ease the tension, or maybe to just come clean about the big-ass elephant between us. But she's not looking at me. She's looking at Gage. Her eyes are all soft and her expression is all dreamy—and it hits me; she has no clue about us. There's no way she'd wear her heart on her face so unguardedly.
 

Also? She's in love with him. Whatever they had before is still very present for her.
 

Oh, damn.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

This is supposed to be a drama-free summer, and I'm no longer sure it's possible. There's no way my involvement with Gage will stay hidden from Zoey—and who knows how she'll react? And, even more pressingly, there's no way the irritation building hotter and hotter—at the tipping point of anger—in my veins will cool toward Gage anytime soon. In fact, I find myself glaring daggers at him.
 

He's just sitting there avoiding looking at our table at all costs. Or maybe he hasn't noticed that Zoey and I are sitting together yet. I glare, glare, glare. A few minutes later he still hasn't glanced in our direction. He definitely knows. I wonder if his stomach is in knots. I hope it is.

"So
Zoey
," I practically sneer her name—and then check myself. This isn't her fault. "You were on vacation before this?"

"Yes." It takes her a moment to drag her eyes away from Gage—thank God, it gives me time to neutralize my expression. "With my parents. We went to Barbados. Have you ever been?"

Yeah. Like everyone just up and visits Barbados.

Ugh. Cut it out, Cassidy.
It's not like I haven't been plenty of other places on my parents' dime.

"No, but I'd love to visit someday." There. That wasn't so hard. I take a long swallow of my beer.
 

"You should." Her eyes warm with memories. "My dad mostly golfed, but my mother and I snorkeled every day. It was stunning. And the locals were so friendly, and just completely charming."

"Sounds nice." My beer is finished. The deck is emptying. There are too few people around. Maybe I should wait for Vera in my car. I look for her—and find her snuggling up to Jared by the bar. Oh, for fuck's sake.
 

"I'm heading home," I tell Zoey. "Nice meeting you."

She grins. "You, too! See you tomorrow?"

"Yep." I try to match her smile and fail miserably. She doesn't notice, though. Her eyes are back on Gage. I refuse to follow suit, instead walking with as much carefree confidence as I can muster over to Vera.
 

"Hey." She steps away from Jared, blushing a little. Don't know why. Don't care.

"Can you get a ride home from him?" I incline my head toward Jared.

"Sure—why?"
 

I stare at her, impassive.
 

"Oh." Her cheeks flush even more. "Zoey."

"Oh. Zoey." I repeat her words, deadpan.
 

"I tried to tell you!"