Page 19 of Yearn

Hell, yeah. This was real. My music was a topic I didn’t talk to many people about. They saw the surface bit, the cool musician, the contacts from working at a studio, the perfectly produced hit song that was sneered at because it didn’t seem original enough,or hard enough to do. For me, music was the only way out of hell. After my father beat the shit out of me, I’d find peace with my guitar, and my headphones. I’d slip into a world where lyrics helped bleed out the poison while my body stitched back together. It was a place I could go and be who I was, without worrying about what others thought. It was a place to dump my rage from getting stuck with a father I despised; a weak man who gave me my darkness. I struggled with balancing the mess with a life of success, but hadn’t found it. Not yet.

Losing the gig at Lenny’s had hurt. The competition to play on stage was stiff in New York, and many places liked to book bands so the crowds could dance and groupies packed the space. With me, I was alone, with my guitar, a great song, and my voice. The groupies who followed me were mostly horny women wanting to screw a starving artist who sang poetry.

Still, I knew my song writing was good. Better than good. I was able to move people and connect but I kept getting blocked each time I tried to hit the next level. I loved working in the studio but it had become like Red was to the others. A great way to make money, but a dead end when it came to career.

Landon and I may have a lot more in common than I originally thought.

I re-focused on my answer. “Yeah. But the universe has a sick sense of humor. Likes to mess with your head. Like a woman.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re so predictable. Forget it—obviously you’ve got everything under control. I was stupid to ask.”

The words pricked. She was retreating, and I didn’t stop to question my instinct to grab a few more seconds like this. Alone, with her, being honest. “No one knows what they’re doing, Landon. We all get on our own stage and pretend, hoping no one looks too hard.” His voice hardened. “You gotta say fuck you andtake what’s yours. No one’s gonna give it to you, especially the universe.”

She tilted her head, staring like she was seeing me for the first time. The wall shook a bit, threatening to allow us a connection. “Maybe. Or maybe I’ve been fooling myself about a lot of things.”

The statement had potential to blow things up right here, right now. No way in hell I was walking through that door.

I cocked my hip and regarded her with scorn. “Poor little rich girl,” I mocked. “One little challenge topples you right from the Penthouse, huh? Tell me what horrible thing happened to make you wanna give up?”

She seemed to lose it, exploding into one of her famous temper tantrums. “Want to know, asshole? Fine, let’s do this. I didn’t get cast in the reality show. I found out by the Internet, and didn’t even get the respect of a phone call. To make things worse, the girl who got the part looks like me. Happy now? Do your worst. Just give it to me, I know you want to.”

Oh, if she only knew what I wanted to give her. I shifted, already getting hard from being around all her volatile energy. I opened my mouth to do what I needed; insult her and walk away to keep the wall firmly between us.

Instead, I shrugged. “So what?”

She fell silent, staring. “What do you mean so what? It was a big deal. I needed that show!”

“No, you didn’t. Not all exposure is the same. They would’ve trained a camera on you and made sure you fell into the guidelines of Barbie Bimbo. It was a role you’re good at, but I’m sure you don’t want to live in it.”

The shock on her face was kind of adorable. I liked throwing her off for a change. Seeing her cuddle up with Max all night had hit me hard. It was obvious they’d come to some understanding, because she stared at him like he was a superhero, obviouslyforgetting about her prior trust issues. It was a good thing, of course. I kept telling myself that, even though I’d been in the room when Max banged the girl from Long Beach. I hadn’t shot the video though. That honor went to one of the drunken people who’d ended up at our party.

Landon squinted with suspicion. “You call me a Barbie Bimbo all the time.”

“I’m more original than that. Plus, I know you play the part to piss me off.”

“Why does it piss you off?” she asked boldly.

If she was mine, I’d take all that sass and tame it, like she dared me to. I was tempted to tell her the truth, but kept behind the safety zone. “You know why.”

A crackle of heat rose in the air that had nothing to do with the muggy air. Her tongue slicked over her bottom lip. My jeans grew tighter.

She hesitated, as if afraid to say her next words. “I’m afraid I’m not getting the opportunities I need to break out. I can’t waitress forever.”

“And I don’t intend to be in the studio, cutting other people’s songs forever. It’s just not our time.”

Now, she chewed at that damp lip. My fingers tingled so I shoved them in my back pockets. “Do you really believe that?”

Yeah, I had to shut this down fast. We were on the verge of having a real conversation and not hating each other. Max was waiting for her at the bar. This was not a time to share our fears and come to an understanding that would only destroy everything.

I made sure to sneer. “For me? Yeah. For you? Only if you stop preening at a lens and expect the world to give you something of value. You need to be more interesting, princess. Try harder.”

She snapped back into temper, her skin nicely flushed. “How do women stand for you to touch them? You mayhavea big dick, but who cares if you reallyareone!”

The image of that night slammed into my memory and suddenly, I was rock hard and aching.

Her hungry stare as she peeked through the doorway, watching.

The hard press of her nipples against her dress. The dilation of her pupils. The ragged breath she tried so desperately to regulate. All of it said she was turned on by the scene.

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