11
SCARLETT
The Less I Know The Better
For the past two months, Scarlett had been struggling with a serious bout of writer’s block. As Off The Grid’s lead singer and songwriter, she was supposed to come up with new music for the band’s third album. But no matter how hard she tried, she just wasn’t feeling inspired.
But something clicked overnight.
When she woke up early the next morning, the words to a song were playing in her head. She hummed them softly to herself, smiling and thinking of the beautiful man who’d inspired the lyrics.
The very next moment she was flinging back the covers and hopping out of bed to grab her notebook and a pen.
Sprawling across the foot of the bed, she began jotting down the words to the song. By the second verse, she could hear a melody in her head. It breathed even more life into the lyrics, brought them soaring off the page.
Half an hour later she had a whole song down. She sat up, grinning with pure satisfaction as she read over the lyrics and quickly scribbled some notes. It was only when her stomach started growling that she put her pen down. The unexpected burst of creativity had made her hungry.
Stretching her arms above her head, she glanced at the clock on the nightstand. The Soundcheck breakfast interview was in two hours, so she figured she’d better shower and get dressed before marching down the hall to make sure the boys were up and about. She’d learned from experience that it wasn’t enough to give them a wakeup call, because whoever answered the phone usually just rolled over and went right back to sleep.
She put away her notebook and picked up her phone to call Gage. She always started with him and worked her way from there.
After three rings, he answered gruffly, “’lo?”
“Yo. Get your ass in gear.”
He grunted something unintelligible.
“What?” she said threateningly. “Don’t make me come down there.”
A gritty chuckle filled her ear. “Yes, Mommy.”
Grinning, she hung up and made the same call to Ryu and Zander. She didn’t call Traeger because she was still pissed at him.
Twenty minutes later, she was showered and dressed in black skinny jeans and a pair of Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops. Her hot pink shirt was loose and strategically ripped, falling off one shoulder.
She was plucking at her hair when a loud knock sounded on the door. “Scarlett?” a gravelly voice called out. “You awake?”
She frowned.
“Scarlett.” Traeger sounded muffled this time, like his mouth was pressed up against the door. “C’mon, Scar. I know you’re up. Open the door.”
Scowling, she strode across the room and yanked the door open.
Traeger stumbled back a step, one arm tucked behind his back. “Uh…hey.”
Scarlett leaned in the doorway and slowly looked him over. He was wearing the same clothes as yesterday. His hair was sticking up in all directions and his eyes were bloodshot like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He reeked of cheap booze, stale cigarettes, sweat and sex.
She crossed her arms over her chest. “You look like shit.”
“I know.”
She sniffed at him. “Smell like it, too.”
He sighed. “Can we talk?”
“No,” she said flatly.
He winced. “C’mon, Scarlett—”
“We have an interview in less than two hours, and you have the nerve to come crawling up in here looking like—”
He brought his arm from behind his back and held out an orange-and-white striped box. Printed on top were the words Junior’s Most Fabulous Cheesecake.
Dammit! He knew how much she loved Junior’s world-famous cheesecake! He must have stopped by the Brooklyn restaurant on his way back from wherever the hell he’d spent the night.
“It’s a peace offering,” he said meekly.
She glared at him. “You always play so fuckin’ dirty.”
He grinned. “If you don’t want it, I’ll just—”
She snatched the box out of his hand. When he burst out laughing, she scowled. “Asshole.”
He sobered at once. “You’re right. I am an asshole. Only an asshole would pull the crap I did yesterday. I’m sorry, Scarlett. I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”
She looked at him for a long time, her anger thawing slightly. She knew him well enough to know when he was being sincere versus saying the right things just to get off her shit list.
After deciding he looked contrite enough to pass muster, she opened the box and then whimpered when she saw the delectable strawberry cheesecake nestled inside.
Traeger grinned. “Go on and have a piece. You know you want to.”
She was sorely tempted, but she didn’t trust herself not to inhale the whole cake before breakfast. “I’ll just stick it in the fridge and have some later.”
“Such willpower.” Traeger followed her into the room, propping a shoulder against the wall near the bed while she put the cheesecake in the minifridge. The box was small enough to fit inside with some maneuvering.
As she closed the door and straightened, she noticed Traeger staring at something on the floor. She followed the direction of his gaze and almost died of embarrassment when she saw her bullet vibrator peeking out from under the bed. She’d forgotten to put it away last night, so it must have rolled off the bed at some point.
Traeger gave her a wickedly amused grin. “Looks like someone had a good time last night.”
Heat crawled up her neck and spread across her cheeks. “So what?” she retorted. “You think you’re the only one who has needs?”
He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Why didn’t you just say so? You know I’d be more than happy to—”
“Ew. Fuck off.”
He laughed as she walked over and haughtily picked up the vibrator. She tossed it into the top drawer of the nightstand, making a mental note to throw it away later. No way was she touching her vag with a vibrator that had spent the night on a dirty hotel room floor.
After grabbing her keycard, she turned around to see Traeger reaching for the small card she’d tucked back inside the bouquet of gardenias. She hurried over and slapped his hand away, making him laugh.
“Why are you being so secretive? We all know your parents didn’t send the flowers. So who did?”
“None of your business,” Scarlett retorted, shoving him toward the door.
“I still wanted to talk to you,” he protested.
“We can talk in the hallway. Your funk is overpowering the wonderful aroma of my flowers.”
He grinned over his shoulder. “That sounds like a dirty metaphor.”
She snorted. “You wish.”
He laughed as she shoved him unceremoniously into the hallway and shut the door behind them. They sat on the floor together and leaned back against the wall with their legs stretched out in front of them.
“I’m guessing you spent the night with those blondes from the pizzeria,” Scarlett said, slanting Traeger a wry look. “Were they at least legal?”
“I assume so,” he said with a careless shrug. “They’re in college.”
Scarlett shook her head in amused disgust.
“Hey, don’t judge me. We all have our preferences. You’ve got your battery-operated toys while I prefer the real thing. ’Cause there’s no substitute for a hot, tight pussy.” He grinned. “You should know—you have one. Can’t say how hot or tight it is. You’ve denied me the privilege—”
“Stop talking. Just stop.”
He chuckled, wagging his head. “For such a hardcore feminist, Scar, you’ve got some prudish ideas about sex.”
“How so?” she huffed.
“We’re all rock stars with groupies at our disposal. Yet you’re the only one who never hooks up with anybody. Just because you’re a girl doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get laid as often as we do.”
“So I’m a prude just because I don’t spread my legs for every halfway attractive dude who hits on me?” Scarlett snorted, shaking her head. It wasn’t lost on her that she could have gotten laid yesterday morning if Traeger hadn’t called and interrupted. Damn cockblocker.
“Just for the record,” she added, “everyone knows that female musicians don’t get hit on half as much as male musicians. Girls get practically zero action compared to guys. You boys can’t take two steps without getting propositioned. It’s not the same for us and you know it. That being said, you act as if I’ve never hooked up with any guys on the road. There’ve been a few.”
“Hmm. Let’s see,” Traeger ruminated, rubbing his scruffy chin. “There was that superfan you met after the show in Providence two years ago.”
“Oh yeah,” Scarlett fondly recalled. “He was so adorable. He looked like Zayn Malik and knew all the words to our songs. Plus he spoke Mandarin and loved comic books. How could I resist?”
Traeger grinned. “Does he still send you creepy love letters?”
“No.” She made a face. “He stopped after I told him he was kinda freaking me out. Now he just stalks me on Instagram. Oh shit.”
“What?”
“I just remembered we’re performing in Providence on Friday. I hope he won’t be at the show.”
“Don’t count on it. We’ll have to ask for extra security.” Traeger gave her a sidelong grin. “Getting back to your conquests—”
“Do we have to?”
“—there was also that black guy from Indianapolis. The one who looked like a cross between Lenny Kravitz and Bruno Mars.”
“More Lenny than Bruno.” Scarlett sighed. “God, he’s sexy.”
“Lenny Kravitz is old enough to be your dad.”
“Who cares? That kind of sexy doesn’t age.”
Traeger chuckled. “Anyway, those are the only two hookups I can remember. Like I said, you’re kind of a prude.”
“Whatever,” she retorted. “Being selective doesn’t make me a prude. It makes me smart—and less likely to catch an STD.”
“Ooh, burn.”
“That’s what I’m trying to avoid.”
They both laughed.
Sobering after several moments, Traeger leaned his head back against the wall and stared at the ceiling. His shaggy brown hair fell into his eyes, but he didn’t seem to notice or care.
Scarlett waited for him to speak.
Finally he did, his voice low and tight. “I had a fight with my dad before we came here.”
Scarlett nodded slowly. “I heard.”
He clenched his jaw. “He called me a loser. Said I wasn’t doing anything with my life and I’d never amount to a pile of dog shit.”
Scarlett felt a flash of anger. “I’m sorry, Traeg. Your dad’s a fucking asshole. I hope you know how wrong he is about you.”
Traeger stared morosely at his heavy black boots. “Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it,” Scarlett said furiously. “He’s dead wrong. You’re one of the most talented guitarists I know. You’re not a loser. He is!”
“His bank account suggests otherwise,” Traeger said with wry bitterness.
“So the hell what? Money isn’t everything!”
“Isn’t it?”
“No! Being a good father is more important, and he failed spectacularly at that!”
Traeger gave her a sad little smile, which only made her madder.
“Traeg—”
“It’s not just my old man.” He pulled one leg up and rested his arm on his knee. “Even before our big fight, I’d been feeling pretty down on myself. It doesn’t help that some chick I banged a few weeks ago just told me she’s pregnant.”
“Oh God, not again,” Scarlett groaned. “Seriously, Traeger? Seriously?”
He grimaced. “She was just a one-night stand. Some rando I never expected to see again. And for the record, I think she’s lying.”
“But what if she’s not?” Scarlett challenged. “Remember Brittney back in college? She wasn’t lying about being pregnant. You just dodged a bullet because she went behind your back and had an abortion.” Scarlett cringed at her own words. “God, did I just say that? I didn’t mean—”
“It’s okay,” Traeger mumbled. “You’re right. I was relieved when Brittney got an abortion, and I did feel like I’d dodged a bullet. I wasn’t ready to have a kid back then, and I’m sure as hell not ready now.”
Scarlett frowned. “So what’re you gonna do if this chick is really pregnant and wants to keep the baby?”
The color leached out of Traeger’s face. “I guess I’ll have to figure out a way to help support her and the kid.” He looked like he was going to puke. The thought of becoming a father scared him shitless. Who could blame him with a dad like his?
“If you don’t want a bunch of little Traegers running around,” Scarlett advised, pointing to his crotch, “I suggest you start wrapping that shit up.”
“I do wrap it up.” At her dubious look, he amended, “For the most part.” Then he added defensively, “What can I say? Accidents happen.”
Scarlett shook her head and sighed. She knew she shouldn’t be too judgy. She was so hot and horny for Viggo yesterday morning, she probably would have let him hit it raw—something she wasn’t particularly proud of.
Traeger raked both hands through his hair and blew out a weary breath. “So, yeah, I’ve been feeling like a pretty big failure lately. Like nothing I do is ever good enough.” His lips turned down sullenly. “Not gonna lie. It burns me up to see other bands blowing up before us.” He paused. “Myles—”
Scarlett held up a hand to stop him.
“Sorry,” he muttered ruefully. “I know bringing up that name is verboten, and rightfully so. But he’s managing other bands like Darth Patriot, and look how successful they are with only half the talent we have.”
Scarlett gave him a wry look. “Dude, you are so biased. You think we’re better than everybody and their mama.”
“No. Just you, Scarlett,” Traeger said solemnly. “You’re better than everybody. You’re the heart and soul of our band. As long as we have you, I know we’re gonna take the world by storm.”
“Aww.” Scarlett leaned over and kissed his forehead, then playfully ruffled his hair.
He gave her a boyish smile. “Wanna see something?”
Her expression turned wary. “Every time you ask me that, you end up showing me something super gross or pervy.”
He laughed. “Nah. Not this time.” He fumbled his phone out of his back pocket. “It’s gonna blow your fucking mind.”
Scarlett was reluctantly intrigued. “What is it?”
“The Soundcheck review of last night’s show. It’s kinda long and mostly about Black Kross, so I’ll just read the best part—the part about us.” Traeger pulled up the review on his phone and started reading aloud. “‘For band managers, there’s always the danger of booking an opening act that can outshine your headliner. Nowhere was this more evident than at the Knitting Factory last night.’”
Traeger paused to shoot Scarlett a smug I told you so look.
She rolled her eyes and motioned for him to continue.
“‘Off The Grid kicked off the night with a heart-pounding rock jam that jolted the crowd into a sweaty and screaming frenzy. Lead singer and drummer, Scarlett Warner, is a revelation. Singing while drumming is challenging enough. Singing in perfect pitch? Fuggedaboutit! Warner’s ability to pound out complicated drum patterns while flexing those golden pipes is a miracle of coordination. She’s an electrifying performer who evokes memories of Sheila E., who undoubtedly inspired her. But the gifted young percussionist and singer has a style all her own—a captivating badassery we won’t soon forget. Off The Grid may have been the opening act, but there was nothing second fiddle about their performance. Don’t take your eyes off this band. They’re kicking ass and taking names.’”
Traeger finished reading and grinned triumphantly at Scarlett. “What do you have to say about that?”
She was grinning from ear to ear. “Niiice.”
“Fuck yeah!” Traeger hollered.
She laughed. “Shh! You’re gonna wake people up!”
Traeger grinned, tucking his phone away. “You should get a tat that says ‘Captivating Badassery.’ How fucking cool would that be?”
“Very cool.” Scarlett smiled wryly. “Unless I ended up with a tattoo artist who was a crappy speller.”
Traeger laughed. “Uh, yeah, that wouldn’t be good.”
“No shit.”
Grinning, he put his head on her shoulder and sighed. “Scar?”
“Hmm?”
“Do you think we’ll ever be famous?”
“I do.” Scarlett smiled and crooned softly, “One step at a time—”
“Are you really singing that corny ass song to me right now?”
“Shut your mouth! Jordin Sparks is not corny!”
Traeger snorted. “In what universe?”
“Mine, motherfucker, and you’re living in it. Now get your funky ass up and go take a damn shower before you make us late to the interview.”
Traeger lifted his head from her shoulder to smirk at her. When he made no move to get up, she grabbed him by the ear and dragged him to his feet, ignoring his howls of protest and laughter.
“Go on. Get.” She shoved him in the direction of the room he was sharing with the others. “Make the water as hot as you can take it, and scrub your ass good!”
He laughed, half turning to salute her before he staggered off down the hallway.
* **
After wednesday night’s show in Queens, Black Kross invited Scarlett and her bandmates to an afterparty at the hotel.
When they arrived at the VIP suite, it was packed and the music was loud. People were chatting in groups or roaming around with drinks in their hands. The band members were lounging on sofas, drinking and smoking with their roadies and dozens of scantily clad groupies.
Traeger, Gage, Ryu and Zander grabbed a drink and made themselves comfortable. Several groupies immediately glommed onto them, cooing and running their fingers through the boys’ hair.
Scarlett spent a few minutes making small talk with some enthusiastic male fans who couldn’t keep their eyes off her chest. When she’d had enough, she snuck off to find a television so she could catch highlights from the Rebels’ game. She knew they’d shut out St. Louis 5-0 and Viggo had scored a hat trick. She was dying for a play-by-play breakdown.
NHL Tonight was just starting when she found a small TV room and made herself comfortable on the sofa.
“There you are.”
Scarlett glanced up to see her band manager, Cara Pedrotti, standing in the doorway.
“Hey, Cara,” she said with a sheepish grin. “You found me.”
“So I did.” A brassy brunette with pale green eyes, Cara was wearing a black Chanel pantsuit that flattered her willowy figure. She looked like a New York socialite but was actually the product of a hardscrabble childhood in South Jersey. The daughter of working-class Italian parents, she’d put herself through college and parlayed her love of rock music into managing bands. So far her roster included Off The Grid and two other lesser-known bands. At twenty-six, she was one of the youngest managers in the business. But she knew her stuff and thrived on being underestimated.
“I should have known I’d find you parked in front of a TV watching the NHL Network.” She joined Scarlett on the sofa, ice clinking in her cocktail glass. “I don’t know who’s a bigger hockey junkie—you or my dad.”
Scarlett grinned, sipping her Jack and Coke.
The sports anchors were excitedly recapping the Rebels’ game against St. Louis. “The Blues were not ready for the Colorado Gold Rush aka Viggo Sandström. The All-Star center was on fire from the second he won the faceoff and shot up the ice to score that dagger of a goal.”
“A dagger indeed,” laughed the anchor in the middle. “This guy’s an assassin who just rips your heart out and leaves you bleeding on the ice. It’s no wonder that he leads the league in scoring and is putting up the most staggering statistics of his career.”
Scarlett beamed like a proud mama as they started breaking down Viggo’s stats while showing a highlight reel of his best plays that season.
Cara watched her with amusement. “You are such a fangirl.”
Scarlett laughed, not denying it.
“We caught up with the Swede before tonight’s game to get his thoughts on the matchup,” the first anchor announced.
The camera cut to a clip from the pregame interview at the arena. Viggo had been warming up with his teammates, sprinting around the ice and shooting pucks. His cheeks were reddened from his exertion and he was wearing a Rebels baseball cap pulled low over his face.
Just the sight of him turned Scarlett’s insides to mush. He was prime Grade A beefcake. Pure sex on skates.
“Thanks for joining us, Viggo,” the reporter said congenially.
“Thanks for having me,” Viggo replied, his white teeth flashing in a grin under the bill of his baseball cap. Scarlett’s heart skittered in her chest.
As he answered the usual questions about game strategy, Cara leered at the television. “Holy crap, he’s hot as fuck. I don’t give two shits about hockey, but I’d give my left tit for one night with that man. The things I’d like to do to him.”
Scarlett forced a chuckle. “Hussy.”
Cara grinned. “And I haven’t even told you about my gangbang fantasies involving him and his other hot teammates. You know the ones I’m talking about—Reid, Logan and Hunter?” She gave a dirty laugh. “I know Reid just got hitched to your cousin, but sorry, he’s not getting out of my fivesome.”
“Fivesome? Seriously?”
“Don’t slut-shame me. I love dick. The more the merrier.”
Scarlett laughed, returning her attention to Viggo’s interview.
“…Everyone knows how much you love listening to music before every game,” the anchor was saying. “It’s part of your pregame ritual and it helps get you into the zone. So tell us what’s at the top of your playlists right now. We know you’re really into the Swedish music scene. Any new Swedish artists you’d like to recommend?”
Viggo grinned, his eyes sparkling. “I do have a recommendation, but the band’s not Swedish. They’re called Off The Grid, and I’m kinda obsessed with them.”
“Holy shit!” Cara shrieked excitedly, staring at Scarlett. “Did he just give you guys a shout-out?”
“He sure did.” Scarlett was grinning like an idiot.
“Off The Grid, you say?” the anchor asked. “Is that a rock band?”
“Yes, sir, and they’re pretty damn amazing,” Viggo said. “You guys should check ’em out. You won’t be disappointed.”
Cara started squealing as the interview ended and the camera cut back to the grinning anchors in the studio. “Well, folks, you heard it here first. Go check out Off The Grid and let us know what you think of Sandström’s new obsession.”
The other anchor pulled his phone out. “Looking ’em up right now.”
As they went to a commercial break, Cara was practically bouncing up and down on the sofa. “Oh my God! Hot as puck and he has great taste in music? Could he be any more perfect?”
If only you knew, Scarlett thought, smiling into her glass.
Hooting and hollering, Cara whipped out her phone and pressed her manicured thumb against the button to unlock the device.
Scarlett grinned at her. “What’re you doing?”
“Checking Twitter again to see if you guys are trending.” After a few quick swipes, she let out a delighted squeal. “Holy shit, you are!”
“Really?” Scarlett leaned over to stare at Cara’s phone. The screen was filled with tons of Twitter mentions the band had racked up following Viggo’s interview. Many tweets thanked him for the new music recommendation:
Good rec @VSandstrom19! Off The Grid is legit!
Holy hat trick @VSandstrom19! I’m a believer! #offthegrid
In Viggo we trust! This man knows hockey and rock ’n’ roll!
Cara read several tweets aloud, squeeing after each one. “Holy crap! Look how much mileage we’re getting from just one shout-out! Can you imagine how much more publicity we could get if you were, like, dating the guy?”
Scarlett raised an eyebrow. “Opportunistic much?”
“Hell yeah!” Cara asserted unabashedly. “In case you haven’t noticed, Viggo’s a huge star with a huge platform. I mean, the guy has gazillions of Twitter and Instagram followers. He’s an amazing hockey player who happens to be sexy as hell, and you’re a gorgeous rock star. You know people love a hot romance—”
“Some people,” Scarlett countered dryly. “His fangirls wouldn’t be too happy about it.”
Cara laughed. “Probably not. They’d probably trash you all over the Internet. But fuck those haters. You know I’m always thinking about the big picture. You’re the lead singer of Off The Grid. Dating a high-profile athlete like Viggo would do wonders for the band’s popularity.” There was a calculating gleam in Cara’s eyes as she contemplated Scarlett.
“What’re you getting at?” Scarlett joked. “You want me to show up to a Rebels game and proposition the guy just because he showed my band some love?”
“Of course not.” Cara paused, tapping her fingertip against her lip. “But you are a big hockey fan—”
Scarlett laughed, shaking her head. “I don’t want to be famous for who I date. If the band ever makes it big, let it be for our musical talent, not because I’m sleeping with some rich jock.” Who I’ve been secretly crushing on for years. “There’s also that whole invasion of privacy thing to worry about. I hate the idea of total strangers prying into my love life, following me around and taking pictures of me everywhere I go. My cousin has been dealing with that ever since she started dating Reid. I don’t envy her.”
Cara sighed, leaning back against the sofa cushion. “Can’t blame a manager for dreaming.”
Scarlett chuckled, taking another sip of her Jack and Coke. No way was she telling Cara about her budding romance with Viggo. Not now. Possibly never if she could get away with it.
Cara turned her head on the sofa to look at Scarlett. “Speaking of great publicity opportunities…”
Scarlett met her gaze. “What?”
“Black Kross’s manager called me yesterday. Leo Harry wants to do a collaboration with you.”
Scarlett nodded slowly.
“You don’t look surprised,” Cara observed. “Did he already approach you about it?”
“He mentioned something the other night.” Scarlett shrugged. “I didn’t think he was serious.”
“He is. Serious enough to have his manager reach out to me.”
“Hmm.” Scarlett studied her manicure.
“So what do you think?”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to do any projects without the guys. It would start rumors that we’re breaking up.”
“Maybe,” Cara conceded. “But I think you should consider it.”
Scarlett shook her head.
Cara sighed. “Look, babydoll, I know what a team player you are. No one can ever question your loyalty to the band. But you’re not thinking about the big picture here. Collabing with a Grammy-winning group like Black Kross would be awesome publicity for you guys. It would expose you to new fans and put you on the radar of more record label executives.”
“I know,” Scarlett agreed.
“I don’t think you do.”
“I do. Really.”
“What did you tell Leo?”
“Tell Leo about what?” a new voice demanded.
Scarlett and Cara looked toward the doorway to see Traeger standing there with two groupies, one under each arm.
He was staring suspiciously at Scarlett. “What were you talking to Leo about?”
“Nothing.” She didn’t need this right now. “I see you made some lovely new friends.”
The girls let out sycophantic giggles and cuddled closer to Traeger, but he wasn’t paying attention to them. His suspicious stare had shifted to Cara, and she was staring right back at him. Animosity crackled between them. But something else was seething beneath the surface. Something like attraction.
Scarlett looked from one to the other as a seed of suspicion took root in her mind.
Traeger was the first to break eye contact, blinking and staring hard at the floor. Cara swallowed visibly and frowned into her cocktail glass.
After another moment, Traeger lifted his eyes to glare accusingly at Scarlett. “Are you leaving us for Black Kross?”
She frowned. “Of course not.”
He looked like he didn’t believe her.
“I’m not going anywhere, Traeger,” she said with longsuffering patience. “So you can stand down.”
He glowered at her a moment longer, then scowled and stalked off with his groupies.
Cara frowned after him, her eyes narrowed speculatively. “Interesting.”
Scarlett glanced at her. “What?”
“He’s very protective of you.”
“They all are. Have been since college.”
Cara turned to study Scarlett through narrowed eyes. “Are you sure you two never hooked up in college?”
Scarlett practically laughed in her face.
“I’m totally serious,” Cara insisted. “The fellas once told me that Traeger hit on you the first time you met.”
“He did,” Scarlett confirmed, still laughing. “And I turned his ass down.”
“Why?”
“I could tell he was a fuckboy, and I don’t mess with fuckboys. Then or now.”
Cara scrutinized her face. “Maybe he still has a thing for you.”
“He doesn’t. He never did.”
“Then why does he act so possessive over you?”
Scarlett sighed. “Ever since his mom ran out on him and his dad, Traeger’s had this intense fear of getting left behind by all the important women in his life. That’s part of the reason he’s so afraid of me leaving the band.”
Cara narrowed her gaze. “So he acts possessive because he has mommy issues?”
“Basically.”
Cara didn’t look convinced.
Scarlett shrugged. “It’s true.”
“If you say so.” Cara flicked her hair over her shoulder, lifted her glass to her lips and paused. “Why does he hate me so much?”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“Coulda fooled me. Every time I turn around he’s pissed at me.”
Scarlett considered her. “You’re a brunette.”
“So? He sleeps with brunettes all the time.”
“His mother is a brunette.”
Cara stared at her, drink forgotten in her hand. “What’re you saying? That he secretly hates brunettes? That he fucks them and dumps them to get back at his deadbeat mother?”
“Well…”
“Maronna mia.” Cara wrinkled her nose. “That’s some next-level Freudian fuckery right there. He should be in therapy.”
“It’s complicated,” Scarlett said with a grim chuckle. “Anyway, I’m pretty sure he doesn’t hate you. In fact, I thought I just sensed something there between you.”
Cara glanced away. “You didn’t.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. How unprofessional do you think I am? I’d never get involved with any of my clients. That’s just asking for trouble.”
Scarlett grimaced, thinking of her disastrous relationship with Myles. That was a textbook example of what could go wrong when managers slept with clients.
“Anyway,” Cara added, “I’m older than Traeger.”
“By two years. Hardly cougar territory.” Scarlett could swear Cara was blushing, which only heightened her curiosity and raised her eyebrow. “Did something happen between you and Traeger?”
“Of course not! Are you kidding? Oh my God. No. Never.”
The more she protested, the higher Scarlett’s eyebrow climbed. “Cara—”
“Nothing happened, Scarlett! Seriously! I love dick, but even I know which ones to steer clear of.” Cara drained the rest of her cocktail, grabbed her Chanel handbag and stood abruptly. “Hate to drink and run, but I’ve got a few calls to make.”
Scarlett lifted both eyebrows. “This late?”
“I’ve been playing phone tag with the promoter for Splendour in the Grass.” She was referring to a world-famous summer music festival held in Australia. “Now that you guys have been added to the lineup, we just need to hash out the details of the contract.”
“Sounds good.” Scarlett smiled. “Splendour in the Grass is a sweet gig. Thanks again for getting us booked.”
“Just doing my job.” Cara winked. “See you guys tomorrow morning. Make sure the fellas don’t oversleep so we can hit the road early. The sooner we get to Rhode Island, the more time you’ll have to rest and rehearse before the show.”
Scarlett gave a mock salute. “Aye aye, Captain.”
Cara went out the door with a wave.
As Scarlett resumed watching hockey highlights, her mind drifted back to Viggo. They hadn’t spoken since that morning when he’d called her on his way to the arena for an early workout. The sound of his deep voice in her ear had gotten her juices flowing before she was even fully awake.
Grinning at the memory, she pulled her phone out of her back pocket. She’d texted Viggo after the show to congratulate him on scoring a hat trick, but she hadn’t heard back from him yet. When she checked her phone, there was only one missed text from Min-ji, an old college friend who worked as a music teacher in North Carolina:
Heyyy Scarlett! Super stoked about u guys coming to Raleigh next week! How r my boys? Is Traeger still a manwhore? Has Gage cut his hair yet? What’s new with Ryu and Zander? U can crash at my place so we can gorge on Hot Cheetos and catch up!
Smiling, Scarlett sent off a quick reply: Can’t wait to see u!
Though she was thrilled to hear from her old bestie, she couldn’t help feeling disappointed that the text hadn’t been from Viggo. She didn’t want to bother him if he was out celebrating with his teammates. But she really wanted to hear his voice, even if only for a few minutes. So she pulled up her most recent calls and tapped on his number.
The phone rang four times. Just as she was about to hang up, he answered. “Hey, beautiful.”
“Hey.” She could hear music and laughter in the background. The sounds of a party. “Congratulations on your huge win tonight.”
“Thanks, baby,” he said warmly.
“I just saw the highlights. You had an awesome game.”
“We all did. Reid, Hunter and Logan played like maniacs.”
Scarlett grinned. “So did you, Mr. Hat Trick. That was amazeballs.”
Before he could reply, a thickly accented Russian voice shouted over the music, “Yo, Viggo, you want another beer?”
“Nah, man, I’m good,” Viggo called back.
A woman’s squeal set off a roar of rowdy male laughter in the background.
“Sounds like you’re having a good time,” Scarlett observed, fidgeting with one of the silver hoops lining her ear. “Where are you?”
“Dmitri’s house.” He was referring to starting defenseman Dmitri Fedorov, Reid’s defense partner on the ice. “Today’s his thirtieth birthday so he’s having a big party. I promised to drop by.”
Scarlett pictured a bunch of half-dressed bunnies sashaying around, dancing drunkenly and making out with the players. Nerves jangled in her belly.
“Is Reid there?”
“He and Nadia just left,” Viggo said. “I’m not staying long either.”
Scarlett wondered if he was just saying that for her benefit.
“So how’re you doing?” he asked warmly. “How was the show?”
“Good. Really good.”
“Yeah? I’m glad to hear it.” The background noise receded slightly, as if he was walking away from the main hub of the party. “I can’t wait to come to one of your concerts.”
She smiled. “I’m looking forward to that.”
“Me, too. So what’re you up to right now?”
“Just hanging out. Black Kross invited us to an afterparty at the hotel.”
“Yeah?” An edge crept into Viggo’s voice. “You having fun?”
“Not as much fun as you’re probably having.”
“What makes you think I’m having fun?”
Scarlett ignored the question. “What time are you guys heading to Dallas tomorrow?”
“We have practice in the morning, so our flight doesn’t leave until three. What’re you wearing?”
She felt herself smirk. “Why?”
“I just wanna know.”
She glanced down at her tight black Led Zeppelin T-shirt, black leather pants and studded ankle boots.
“I’m wearing—” She broke off at the sound of a woman’s voice purring Viggo’s name in the background. Her grip tightened on the phone. “Who’s that?”
“No one important.”
“Didn’t sound that way. She sounded close enough to be sitting in your lap.”
“She’s not.” Viggo sounded as irritated as she felt. “How long are you staying at the party?”
“I don’t know. What about you?”
He was silent for a moment. This conversation was so not going well.
“What time are you leaving for Providence?”
“Newport,” she corrected. “We’ll be in Newport tomorrow, Providence on Friday.” Maybe it was a petty distinction to make since the two cities were so close together. But she was suddenly feeling very pissy. Pissy and combative.
Someone in the background—a female someone—burst into peals of laughter. Then two other women could be heard inviting Viggo to join them in the hot tub to “score another hat trick.”
A sick knot settled in the pit of Scarlett’s stomach. She’d been here before, and she swore she’d never return.
“Scarlett—”
“I don’t want to hold you up,” she cut him off. “I just wanted to congratulate you on your big night. I’ll let you get back to your celebration.”
She could sense his frustration. “Baby—”
“It’s cool. Really. Hit me up later if it’s not too late.” She ended the call before he could protest further. Then she sat there gnawing her lower lip, trying to silence the doubts niggling at the back of her mind.
“Boy trouble?”
Scarlett glanced up to see Leo Harry watching her from the doorway. He was smoking a joint with his head cocked to one side, eyes narrowed behind a haze of smoke.
“Mind if I join you?”
Scarlett motioned vaguely toward the sofa. “It’s your party.”
He blew out a stream of smoke and grinned through it. “You really know how to make a guy feel wanted.”
She couldn’t help grinning as he sauntered into the room and plopped down beside her. He was tall and Mick Jagger skinny, not an ounce of fat on him. He was wearing all black—a long black trench, a black T-shirt, black jeans and black combat boots. His shoulder-length hair was dyed raven black, and he wore dark makeup that accentuated his bright green eyes. He looked like a Goth rocker, but on him it didn’t seem gimmicky and contrived. His badassery seemed innate, like he’d hurtled out of the womb rocking tats and tossing up horns. He wasn’t boy-band handsome, but there was something intriguingly sexy about him that was hard to resist.
“So how’s it going, Drummer Girl?”
“Good.” Scarlett finished her Jack and Coke and put the empty glass on the floor.
Toking on his joint, Leo hitched his chin toward the television where another hour of NHL Tonight had just started. “I heard you were a big hockey fan.”
“Yep.” They were showing replays from the Rebels game. Her stomach knotted at the sight of Viggo scoring one of his three goals and pumping his fist in the air as the crowd erupted in celebration.
“I figured you’d wanna catch highlights after our show,” Leo said, “so I told everyone to stay out of this room so you’d have it all to yourself.”
Scarlett guffawed. “You did not.”
“Why do you think it was empty when you got here? You didn’t think it was weird that no one was in here fucking or getting high?”
“The thought may have crossed my mind.” She gave him a lazy smile. “Why would you go to the trouble of reserving a room for me?”
“Because I want something from you.” He passed his joint to her.
She took a deep drag and held the smoke in her lungs, then blew out three perfect smoke rings that curled toward the ceiling.
Leo watched her with a pleased grin. “Such a badass.”
She chuckled and passed the joint back to him, feeling pleasantly buzzed. “So what exactly do you want from me?”
“Glad you asked.” He took a long pull on the blunt, exhaled smoke through his nostrils and smiled at her. “I wrote a song that’s perfect for your voice and drumming style. I want you to record it with me.”
Scarlett gave him an amused look. “Don’t you already have a drummer?”
“Yeah. Your point?”
“How would he feel about this little project of ours?”
“I don’t give a shit. Your drumming runs circles around his and he knows it. Plus he’s not a singer. You are.” His eyes drifted over her face, stopping on her mouth. “You’re the total package.”
Scarlett raised a teasing eyebrow. “Are we still talking about music?”
“Of course. It’s always about the music.” He grinned and leaned back, one arm draped over the back of the sofa as he lifted the joint to his mouth and took a few lazy tokes before exhaling. “So what do you say, Drummer Girl? Ready to make a number one hit with me?”
As Scarlett watched the smoke curl from his lips, her mind flashed on an image of some bunny bouncing up and down on Viggo’s dick in the hot tub.
She frowned, giving herself a mental shake. “I’m not comfortable collaborating with other musicians.”
Leo looked baffled. “What’s the big deal? Musicians collab all the time.”
“I know. And I know it can be really successful and a great way to cross-pollinate fans. But…I don’t know. I don’t want to start doing side projects while my bandmates and I are still trying to break through.” She paused. “I guess what I’m saying is that we’re a package deal. You don’t get one without the others.”
Leo gave her a long, shrewd look before nodding. “Fair enough. How about you do the song with me, and our bands can team up on another project?”
Scarlett stared at him. “You’d be open to that?”
“I would.” He sat forward on the sofa, his knee brushing hers. “But I want something else.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What?”
His eyes dropped to her mouth, and she knew.
“Dude, I’m not having sex with you.”
He grinned. “I just want a kiss.”
She snorted. “Seriously?”
“What? You’re hot and you’ve got the sexiest fucking lips I’ve ever seen.” His grin spread. “I swear I’m not fetishizing you or anything.”
She rolled her eyes. “Why do so many white boys make that disclaimer? Newsflash: Not every black woman feels fetishized by a white guy complimenting her God-given features. Do you know how many black guys have told me I have dick-sucking lips? Are they fetishizing me, too?”
“Possibly.” Leo moved in quick and smooth, kissing her before she had a chance to react.
She wasn’t really surprised. She’d known on some level that they would end up here before the tour was over. It was practically a cliché, two lead singers hooking up while on the road together.
Leo wasn’t a half bad kisser. He clearly knew what he was doing. But her heart wasn’t jackhammering in her chest. Her nipples weren’t throbbing. Her thighs weren’t clenching. She wasn’t gasping with pleasure and begging for more. She didn’t feel like she might die if the kiss ever ended.
As Leo cupped her cheek with his free hand, she thought of Traeger calling her a prude. She was a female drummer and the frontwoman of a rock band. She was used to defying convention and kicking down doors that others tried to slam in her face. She bucked the norm in every area of her life but one: sex. Try as she might, she just couldn’t be as cavalier about sex as guys were.
She wished she could be. She wished she could enjoy as many random hookups as her bandmates did. But she just wasn’t wired that way. And she realized that the only man who could even tempt her away from Viggo was…well, Viggo.
So after about ten seconds, she put her hand on Leo’s chest and firmly pushed him away.
He must have been really into the kiss because his eyes were slow to open and he was breathing pretty fast.
She patted his chest and smirked. “You got your kiss. Now I want my collaboration.”
He stared at her, confusion in his eyes. “Huh?”
“Dude? You there?” She snapped her fingers in front of his face, causing him to blink. “I’m talking about our band collab. Black Kross and Off The Grid. Remember that?”
He glanced down at the half-burned joint dangling between his fingers. “Let’s do our song first—”
“Nope. The other project first, then our song. And both will have to wait until we complete our next album.”
Leo lifted the joint to his mouth and drew in a deep drag, then slowly blew out the smoke and gave her a crooked half grin. “You’re something else, Drummer Girl.”
She smiled prettily. “I’ve been called worse.”
He chuckled, his eyes drifting to her mouth again. “How about another kiss? Longer this time.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Ah, c’mon—”
“I’m seeing someone.”
He smirked. “The same someone you were moping over when I got here?”
Before Scarlett could respond, she heard laughter and voices whispering outside the room. Then Gage appeared in the doorway, his dark eyes locking onto her face.
“I’m heading out,” he said gruffly. “Wanted to see if you were ready to go.”
“Yes.” She smiled at Leo and briskly patted his knee. “I’ll have our manager call yours.”
“Uh-huh.” He leaned back against the sofa and winked at her. “Be seeing you around, Drummer Girl.”
When Scarlett walked up to Gage, he draped his arm protectively around her shoulders and pulled her next to him. Then he glanced back at Leo and gave him a brusque nod before steering Scarlett out the door.
As they started down the hallway together, she leaned up and kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Gage.”
“Anytime, baby girl. Anytime.”
Her phone rang shortly after three a.m.
She was already awake, staring out the window at the twinkling lights of the Brooklyn Bridge.
Rolling onto her other side, she pulled the phone out from under her pillow and stared at the glowing screen. She’d saved Viggo’s number to her contacts, identifying him as The Swede.
Seeing that name on the screen wreaked havoc on her heartbeat. She took a deep breath, pressed the button to accept the call and brought the phone to her ear.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi.” His voice was low and soft. “Did I wake you?”
“No, I’m up.”
“I know you’re two hours ahead in New York—”
“It’s fine. I couldn’t sleep.”
“Neither could I,” he murmured. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation.”
“Me, too.” She swallowed. “I hope I didn’t mess up your big night by acting bitchy. I just…I didn’t—”
“You didn’t want me hanging out at a party with a bunch of bunnies.”
She bit her lip, heat rising up her cheeks. “I guess I didn’t.”
“I understand.” His voice was grim. “I felt the same way about you partying with a bunch of rock stars and groupies. I was jealous as hell. If I could have teleported myself to that party and carried you out of there, I would have in a New York fucking minute.”
His words made her belly flip-flop. “Viggo—”
“I’m so fucking serious, Scarlett. The way I feel about you…honestly, it scares the shit out of me sometimes.”
“Why?” she whispered.
There was a long pause. “Because I’m not used to feeling this way about anyone.”
The words hung between them, reverberating across the distance that separated them. Scarlett closed her eyes, her heart pounding like an erratic drum she couldn’t control.
“I’m feeling pretty scared myself,” she quietly confessed.
Viggo didn’t say anything for a few moments, letting her words sink in. Then he pushed out a deep, ragged breath. “Would you think I was an asshole if I asked you to skip the rest of the parties?”
A small smile flitted over her lips. “That depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you plan to stop going to parties as well. What’s good for the goose is good for the gander.”
“Of course I’ll stop going,” he said gruffly. “The only reason I went tonight was because it was Dmitri’s thirtieth birthday and I had already promised to show up. I love the guy, but his party was the last place I wanted to be tonight.”
That made her smile. “So you didn’t score another hat trick with any bunnies?”
“Fuck no.”
Smiling harder, Scarlett rolled onto her back and sighed. “If it makes you feel better, I spent most of the party holed up in some room watching hockey highlights.”
“Yeah?” Viggo tried not to sound too pleased, but she knew he was. And that made her smile even more.
“By the way,” she said warmly, “thank you so much for the pregame shout-out. That was a wonderful thing you did for me and my band.”
“You don’t have to thank me. You know how much I love your music. I was just spreading the word.”
She smiled. “Word of mouth is an indie band’s best friend. Who knows how many new fans we just gained because of you?”
“Lots, I hope.”
“I hope so, too.” She turned her head on the pillow and stared out the window for a few moments. “About the parties…”
“What about them?” Tension had edged back into Viggo’s voice.
She sighed. “As much as I’d love to order you to stay the hell away from parties filled with bunnies, that probably wouldn’t be very mature of me. I don’t want to smother you or dictate your comings and goings. You’re a professional hockey player and I’m in a rock band, so we’re gonna be spending a lot of time apart. If we’re gonna make this work, we have to be able to trust each other. That means you should be able to hang out with your teammates without me obsessing over some hobag riding your dick in the hot tub.” She had to grit her teeth before finishing, “And I should be able to go out with my bandmates without worrying about you showing up out of nowhere to drag me away like some caveman.”
Viggo got super quiet.
She held the phone closer to her ear, gnawing her lower lip. “I’m really trying to be mature here—”
“Maturity is overrated.”
She let out a small laugh that sounded a little choked.
“If you’re gonna be partying and clubbing when we’re apart,” Viggo growled, “it’s probably best if you don’t tell me. The less I know the better.”
Scarlett nodded slowly, even though he couldn’t see her. She was already having second thoughts. She’d practically given him the green light to party with hockey hookers. Was she out of her damn mind?
Swallowing hard, she stared at the ceiling and whispered, “I don’t want to get hurt.”
“You think I’m going to hurt you?”
“I don’t know.” She closed her eyes and swallowed again. “I hope you won’t.”
He didn’t say anything.
She waited, her heartbeat loud in her ears.
“I’m not going to hurt you, Scarlett,” he said quietly. “That’s the last thing on earth I’d ever want to do.”
She licked her lips. Her eyes felt suspiciously moist.
He let out a heavy breath. “Anyway, it’s late and I don’t want to keep you up much longer. Rhode Island is, what, three hours from New York?”
“Something like that. Gage is driving.”
“He’s your lead guitarist, right?”
“Right.” She smiled. “He usually does most of the driving. It’s kind of a control thing with him.”
Viggo chuckled. “I look forward to meeting your bandmates.”
Her smile softened. “I want you to meet them, too. Very much.”
Silence lapsed between them. Neither wanted to let the other go.
“Scarlett.”
“Yes?” she whispered.
Viggo was quiet for a long moment. When he spoke again, his voice was so low the words were barely audible. But not only did she hear them, she felt them in her soul:
“You’re not the only one who’s afraid of getting hurt.”