Because of Luke Read online

  "And what if it doesn't pan out, huh? What then?"

  Roscoe shrugs, his eyebrows drawing together. "Uh...we go back to the way things are?"

  This dude kills me. "I had a plan, Ross. What the fuck am I supposed to do now?"

  "A plan for what?" He laughs.

  "My life!"

  My brother shakes his head, and places a hand on my shoulder. "Would you stop with that shit already? Why are you always so goddamn anal? We've got more money than most guys our age. A house. You can even open up the restaurant, if you get bored. What the fuck are you planning for? Your funeral?"

  "I told you," I reply. "My future. I don't want any of his shit."

  Roscoe scoffs. "It's like you're not even listening to me," he mutters.

  I let out a heavy sigh and clasp my hands on the back of my head, staring up at the ceiling. "See, that's the difference between you and me. I care what happens in the future, you just play it by ear."

  "Who says I don't care?"

  "Twenty-five. You have no job. No real ambition. You live like a—"

  "Uh-uh," Roscoe cuts in. "Don't start with that shit. The band is ambition. And I don't need a fucking job. Dad set us up before he went away. Might be the one thing that fucker did right, but he did it and I'm taking advantage of it. You don't want to? That's fine with me."

  "But what about after? When you're an old motherfucker who can't even hold a guitar let alone play one. Do you really want to just wing it for the rest of your life? I get it, Ross. We have to take what we're dealt and make it work. But that doesn't mean we can't try. It doesn't mean we can't plan. What happens when all the money runs out? What happens when we have no place to live? I need a plan. And singing in a band isn't a good one."

  "Would you just trust me? Since when don't you trust me?"

  "It's not that...it's just...I don't know. I don't have a good feeling about this."

  "Well, I do," he says, crossing his arms and leaning up against the wall. "I wouldn't steer you wrong. I never have before and I'm not about to start now. You just need to stop second guessing me. Shit, you go to college and all of a sudden everything has to be a debate."

  I roll my eyes. "That's not it, and you know it."

  "Luke, we're going to be okay. All right? We're always okay. The band is going somewhere. If we weren't we wouldn't have been booked on this tour. This is huge. I'd never ask you if it wasn't. You just need to trust me."

  I drop my gaze and shake my head. "You couldn't wait one year?" I sigh, closing my hand around the doorknob.

  "The music industry waits for no one. You know that. College on the other hand..."

  Here we go. "College will get me a real job. When another band bigger and better than Roscoe Gold comes out in five years, I'll have a back-up plan."

  "Three months, Luke. That's all I ask. Then you can go back to whatever little plan you have and I won't stand in your way. I promise. Please, don't fuck this up. Just do this for me. I wouldn't ask if it weren't important. You know that."

  I groan. He's right. All he's ever done is take care of me. Never once has he led me astray. And besides, I owe him. "Fine."

  CHAPTER TWO

  Shannon

  For once in my life, I wish I dressed like Sheila. It would be completely out of my comfort zone, but at least I wouldn't feel like a prude every time I saw a cute guy. I tuck a finger in the collar of my turtle neck and turn back to face him.

  "Sorry for the wait. How can I help you?" I smile, my cheeks burning.

  He's not just cute, he's mouth-watering. Shaggy dark hair, gray eyes, and peeking out from beneath his collar is a tip of black ink. Everything I've ever been taught to stay away from.

  "I hope." He rubs his eyes and lets out a heavy sigh. "I called in yesterday about dropping my summer courses and they told me I had to come down to the Registrar's Office to fill out some forms."

  "Sure," I reply. "What's your student number?"

  "No idea, sweetheart."

  "Oh...okay. I'll need your name and date of birth."

  "Lucas Black. December 28, 1969."

  I open the filing cabinet, taking my time as I flip through the Bs.

  There he is. I locate his file faster than I want and take it out, leafing through it slowly.

  God he's hot. So hot it should be illegal. Why is it legal for a man to walk around looking like this? Don't they know what kind of pain it induces in girls like me? Girls who are trying so damn hard to be good. I've noticed him around campus. I'm pretty sure every girl has. He's never with anyone, he rarely says anything.

  I glance down at his file. Lucas. He doesn't look like a Lucas. More like a...I don't know, something badass and sexy. He's a Business major, I bite back a smile, and he's smart too. Honors and upper level classes. I gaze at his student photo lingering like I wish I could on his actual face. In the picture, he's—

  "This going to take much longer, sweetheart? I've got shit to do."

  I jump like the paranoid girl I am, nearly dropping the entire thing on the floor. That would be classy. "Uh, no," I say. "Just one second."

  I close the file, hiding the beautiful picture, then reach into one of the baskets on top of the cabinet and grab three separate papers and a pen.

  I approach him again at the counter. "Okay, so you'll need to fill out this, this and this," I tap the three sheets with the bottom of the pen. "Here's a clipboard," I add, handing it to him. "You can sit over there."

  "All of this?" Luke groans, then shakes his head. "Are you kidding?"

  "Um, no. It's policy to--"

  "Fucking policy. Whatever. Can I bring these back?"

  "Uh, yeah, I guess. I mean if you don't have time to--"

  "I don't." He slams the clipboard down on the counter and I flinch.

  "Oh...okay...I guess--um...just be sure to bring it back by the deadline." I call after him as he storms away from the counter. "Before the semester starts. It's listed right there on the top."

  He doesn't bother to turn around, just acknowledges me with a simple wave of the hand.

  Sheila

  It's the opportunity of a lifetime and the moment I saw that flyer, I knew I couldn't pass it up. But I'm so nervous I feel like I'm going to throw up. This is stupid. I'm going to walk in there, he's going to take one look at me, and send me packing.

  I pause in front of the doorway to Chagrin's and suck in a deep breath. "You can do this, Sheila. This is your dream. This is what you were born to do."

  I haven't told anyone. Not Coco. Not Shannon. I've kept it to myself, because it's just that crazy. I'm not even out of high school and I'm going out for a job as a tour manager. But when is an opportunity like this going to come around again?

  Besides, it's Roscoe Gold. This really is the opportunity of a lifetime. And I'm going for broke. I have to or I'll never forgive myself.

  I squeeze my eyes shut, take one last deep breath and push my way inside the pub.

  Except for a couple of guys moving a huge speaker from the stage, it's nearly empty when I enter. My throat is instantly dry. I've never been this close to him before. Except for that kiss. Up until now, I've just been another groupie. Another girl with a crush. Today everything changes. Today I'm all business, and even though I'm barely a woman, no one has to know.

  I adjust the blazer I stole from Mom's closet, fluff my bangs and smooth my hair.

  "Have a seat." Roscoe barely looks up at me, as he speaks.

  I pull out the chair and sit across from him. He's channeling James Dean today. His jet black hair is slicked back, showing off his sideburns, with a sexy bump and wave that makes me want to reach forward and sink my fingers in. He's wearing a Dark Side of the Moon t-shirt that fits tight across his chest and high enough on his shoulders that his biceps look ten times bigger than normal. Or maybe that's because I'm closer, for longer, than I've ever been before.

  "Name?"

  I blink. "Sheila Carlson." I clear my throat, jumping in before he can continue. "I know you'v
e probably had a long day," I say. "Hiring a tour manager can't be an easy task."

  "You have no idea, sweetheart."

  I force myself not to swoon at the endearment. His brother called me the same thing. But coming from Roscoe, it's a spiritual awakening. And now here I am, doing everything in my power to make him take me seriously.

  "What kind of experience you got, Sheila?" Roscoe finally makes eye contact and when he falters. His gaze locks with mine for several seconds, then moves quickly to my lips and drops, lingering across the rest of my body.

  I'm covered up more than usual, but I couldn't deny myself a little bit of cleavage, squeezed into a form fitting lace camisole, I've paired with a skin tight mini. It usually gets me what I want and today seems to be no different than any other.

  I uncross my legs and lean into the table between us. "A little. I mean not official experience or anything, but I've been following Roscoe Gold for almost three years now."

  He laughs, the spell broken. "You and every other chick that's rolled through here today."

  "I'm nothing like those other girls. That, I can promise you. I know what kind of potential the band has. I know you're more than sexy voices, ink-covered bodies and questionable piercings." My gaze shifts to his crotch and I raise an eyebrow.

  Roscoe lets out a low whistle. "You have done your research." He leans toward me.

  "I also know all about Maya Lewis," I add with a sly smile.

  "Oh, yeah? Maybe you could be her understudy."

  Inwardly, I roll my eyes. Wouldn't be the first one.

  "I'm more interested in being a part of the journey to take Roscoe Gold to the next level. I love your music, I know every one of your fans. Ever heard of Roscoe's Diamonds?"

  "The Fan Club?"

  I smile. "My creation."

  "You started that?"

  I nod.

  "Wait, you said you've been following us for three years. That's one more than we've even been close to being a hot commodity. Three years ago we were rocking out like a bunch of stoned idiots in Ryan's garage."

  "Three years ago, I was hanging out with my girl Cocanda. Walked down Grelle Drive and heard the most beautiful music ever in my entire life."

  Roscoe snickers. "You're friends with Cocanda Rose."

  "The best."

  "Why haven't I ever seen you around?" He leans back and crosses bulging arms over his chest. "I live next door to the Roses."

  "I know."

  He smirks. "I'd remember you."

  "I don't come to Lewiston that often. Coco's grandparents live in Sagle, right next door to my grandma. I've spent every summer with her and her brother since first grade."

  "How old are you?"

  I open my mouth but before I can answer he cuts back in.

  "If you're friends with Coco Rose you can't be more than sixteen."

  "Seventeen," I correct him. "Eighteen in three months"

  "And you're not going to college?"

  "Not if I can help it."

  Roscoe leans back in his chair, his tongue darting across his lips. His gaze is still trained on me and I will myself not to squirm. His teeth click against the black barbell at the corner of his lip as he contemplates my words. And I take the moment to calm myself by drinking in his presence. The tattoo curling up the side of his neck, the rings decorating his fingers. Those eyes the color of a threatening storm.

  "You're hired."

  "What?" My heart is in my throat in seconds flat, my head dizzy.

  Is he serious? No way this is that easy.

  "Look, sweetheart. Like you said, this band’s got potential. With the right shows in the right cities and the right fans, we'll be bigger than Zeppelin. Hell, we could blow The Stones out of the water if we get the chance. We need someone like you in our camp. Someone who sees what I see. Someone who can convince the rest of these guys this isn't just a pipe dream. I think that's you and I don't give a damn how young or old you are. If you want the job, it's yours. Bill Fiennes wants us in Seattle by the end of the month. Until then we party." He pushes away from the table and stands up. I nervously follow suit. "Tomorrow night we're at my place. I think you know where that is." He winks. "Wear something pretty."

  It takes everything inside me not to scream as I shake his hand and make my way toward the exit. The moment I step out onto the street, I can't help but let out a little squeal. But my delight is quickly overshadowed by one simple fact: I'm Reverend Carlson's daughter. No way are my parents letting me travel around the country with a group of guys this summer.

  I may have just vanquished one impossible feat, but my journey's only just begun.

  Luke

  I light up the joint and lean my head out the window. Outside it's peaceful. The breeze rushes by my ears, cooling the tips of them and lulling me to a calmer state. A week ago, another one of my brother's impromptu parties would have pissed me off a lot more. Not that I'm happy with this arrangement--locked in my room instead of vegging in front of the TV. A week ago, I would have been trying hard to drown out the noise of shrieking girls and loud music. But school's off the table for the next few months while I do my best to keep my brother happy.

  I pull another toke and close my eyes, letting the smoke settle in the back of my throat. It burns like a bitch, which I find amusing. I smoked weed every day in high school. It was like a fucking food group. But college changed me. Just like Roscoe said it would. Not that I cared. It was nice to do something different with my mind. To have an opinion about something. For people to actually care what I thought. I never imagined I'd be good at debating or writing papers or even planting my ass in a seat for two hours straight. But I love it. It's different and after the fucked-up life I led, I need different. I need it bad.

  I flick the embers past the window sill and take another drag. The insides of my head are already beginning to squeeze together, every nerve ending tingling and my tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. I need a beer and the only way I can get one is by leaving this room and joining that godforsaken party. I should get used to it. Stop fighting the inevitable. This will likely be what the future holds--nights like this. Every night for the next three months. I've never wanted this, but then again I'm not the only one living a life he wasn't meant for. My brother gave up everything to run home and take care of me. If he ever dreamed of going back to college, he never said anything. Based on our conversation a few days ago, I'm pretty sure he's done with that. He's done being a dad too. Ready to just be twenty-five, and I can't blame him.

  If it weren't for him, I'd have ended up in foster care. I owe that bastard my life. Giving up three months is the least I can do.

  The clear sound of music and squealing interrupts my thoughts.

  "Not tonight, man. I've got a headache."

  "And here I thought people only said that in the movies."

  I turn to face a dark-haired chick, lingering in the threshold. She closes the door behind her and leans up against it, crossing her legs in front of her.

  "Who the fuck are you?"

  She looks like a clean version of a hooker. Dressed to show everything she's got, with a face innocent enough to make you want to touch it.

  Her skirt is so tight it rides up her thighs as she strides toward me and the top she's wearing is fuzzy and a deep blue. It barely covers her ample chest and shows off her midriff, and a sparkly piercing in her belly button.

  "I'm your newest employee," she says. "Roscoe sent me in here to see if I can't lure you out there."

  "You got a name?"

  "Sheila." She says it with a sly smile and a bat of her eyelashes, then she leans up against the other side of the window with an outstretched arm.

  I pass her the joint. "Just so you know," I say. "You can't."

  She brings the joint to her lips and watches me for a moment. "Didn't think so," she replies through stilted breath, "but that's okay. I could use a break from all that noise."

  Her eyes are drinking me in and all I can do is sta
re back. They're large. Maybe bigger than they should be, but maybe that's just because I'm so damn high. Whatever it is, those eyes are making me fucking weak. They're blue and not just any kind of blue, but the kind you find at the bottom of a swimming pool. Or at a beach on a tropical island. And her skin isn't white and creamy like she hasn't seen the sun in a lifetime either. It's tan, like all she does is lie in the sun. Only it's April and we're in Idaho. Her lips are shaped like a perfect little bow tie and when she licks them it makes me shiver. She's sexy as hell. And she fucking knows it.

  "Who'd you say you were again?" I force my eyes from her, desperate to get ahold of myself. I don't do random girls. No matter how fucking bad I want to.

  "Sheila." She reaches her hand toward me again and I have no choice but to look back as I take the joint from her.

  "No, I know. I mean, you said you were an employee. What, did Roscoe hire a maid?"

  "You think I look like a maid?" She raises an eyebrow.

  "Hell, no." I couldn't handle a girl like that in my house every day. Even I'm not that strong.

  "I'm your tour manager," she replies.

  Great. Just perfect.

  "Do tour managers fetch beer?" I ask. It sounds douchey, like something my brother would say, but she doesn't seem to mind.

  She rests a hand on my chest, scratching her fingers lightly across my shirt. "It's not exactly part of my job description. But for you, Luke, I'd do just about anything."

  The way she says it, in a low husky voice. The way her gaze drops to my crotch makes me instantly hard. So I step back, removing her hand from my body.

  "Could you grab me one, please?"

  She frowns a little, then paints on a bright smile. And in a fraction of a second, she's on her toes planting a soft kiss on my cheek. "Be right back," she whispers.

  The moment the door closes behind her, I start plotting my escape. But I know there's no way out other than my window, which leads to a backyard full of people. I'm stuck in this room and pretty soon I'll be locked in here with a hot girl whose clothes I have the strong urge to rip off.