Because of Luke Read online

  "What is up with you?" Coco nudges me. "You've been acting like a love-sick puppy since I picked you up."

  "It's not love," I reply. "It's infatuation. But it could be. I don't know."

  "I'll give you this, if you wear down Luke Black, you've got some serious chops. He's a tough nut to crack."

  But not impossible. I saw the way he looked at me. Felt the way he touched me. He wants me even if he's not willing to admit it. I just have to convince him we're on the same page.

  We pull into Ryan's driveway and my heart is stumbling its way up my throat for the hundredth time since Roscoe hired me on the spot.

  Only tonight it's ten times worse. It's my official coming out party. This won't be like the casual party the night before. Or the concerts either. I won't be one of the dozens of groupies hanging around the stage flirting with the band and getting them to sign my boobs. I'll be in the actual mix. Meeting all the members officially. Tonight, I think, as I adjust the neckline of my dress, I need to show them I mean business. And only business.

  I step out of the car, holding my breath. There's a line around the house, leading to the backyard and it seems like everybody in Lewiston has showed up. At least everyone who matters. The moment we step out of Coco's car, Roscoe opens the front door and gestures for us to come inside. We're led through a foyer with shiny white floors, past a staircase that I'm pretty sure is made of real gold and through a kitchen that's about the size of three of ours put together. As we step through a pair of glass patio doors and onto a massive cement deck, Roscoe turns his gaze on me.

  "Good to see you, Sheila Carlson." He leans down and drops a kiss on my forehead.

  There was a time when it would have melted me instantly. I'd have been nothing but a puddle on the damn floor, but tonight I need to keep it together.

  Finally allowing myself to breathe, I smile. "You too," I respond. "You know Coco." I gesture toward my friend, then scan the yard for Luke but come up empty.

  A big part of me is relieved. But for just a brief moment I'm sad. What if he's avoiding me?

  "All my life," Roscoe says with a wink. "You girls want a drink?"

  I nod a confirmation and link my arm with Coco's. "We'll be over by the pool," I say.

  "Seriously," Coco whispers as we make our way toward a love seat perched at the foot of the pool. "Did you just convince Roscoe Black to serve us drinks?"

  Did I? Shit.

  "Um, I guess." I giggle in return, reveling in the envious eye-daggers thrown our way.

  "Oh, my god." Coco settles into the chair next to me and shields her mouth with her hand. "Maya is giving you the evilest eye."

  I casually shift my gaze to the deejay table and catch a glimpse of Roscoe's statuesque girlfriend, arms crossed yapping something angrily in her friend's ear. She turns to me again and I look away quickly.

  "Well, she better get used to me." My voice is slightly shaky and I do my best to keep it under control. "I'm not going anywhere." I stick my chin out and paint on a wider than necessary plastic smile as Roscoe approaches us, two beers in hand.

  "Coors, right?" He raises an expectant pierced eyebrow and I nod.

  The bottles are covered by cushioned holders--black with an image of a gold record with the letter R in the middle. Even though it's the smallest thing, it makes me feel special. More important than the rest of the wannabes around me. I'm part of the band, and if they didn't know before, they know now.

  "Thanks," I say.

  Roscoe sits down beside me, angling his body toward mine, as the deejay cranks the music up. "So what do you think, Sheila Carlson, seventeen-year-old-former-groupie-and-my-absolute-biggest-fan?" He grins, bowing toward me. His mouth is right beside my ear and the rumble of his voice sends a shiver through me. I may be interested in his brother now, but it doesn't mean he's powerless to affect me. "You enjoying your first party?"

  I sip my beer, then turn to face him. Our faces are so close if I inched forward just a little my lips would brush his. "I only just got here," I say. "Come ask me in an hour."

  Roscoe licks his lips and that barbell at the right corner clinks against his teeth again. I can't help but wonder what it would feel like against my tongue, but I sit back putting myself in check.

  "I most definitely will," he says. "Most definitely."

  He rises to his feet and this time when I look at Maya there's no mistaking her feelings toward me. Her eyes narrow and she mutters something that makes the two girls flanking her press their hands to their hips and nod in agreement.

  "Dash! Ryan!" he cups his hands to his mouth and beckons for the two of them to come our way.

  They stop what they're doing immediately and I can't hold back the smile as I watch them make their way over to us. Especially once I get a good look at Ryan.

  "Oh, my god," Coco murmurs. "What is Ryan wearing?"

  We always joke about him being an Archie Andrews doppelganger and today it's almost like he's trying to tease us. His red curls are slicked back, he's wearing a pair of plaid pants, honest-to-god loafers and a V-neck sweater monogramed with a calligraphic R. But he's still hot as all hell, right down from those blue eyes to his freckled nose. Not to mention he fills out that sweater like a linebacker.

  "This is Sheila," Roscoe interrupts my tunnel vision. "Our newest member. She'll be managing the band while on tour. I hired her the other day. And you're going to love this--she's the same chick who started Roscoe's Diamonds. The fucking fan club."

  "You're kidding," Dash's jet-black mohawk moves in sequence as he raises his brow.

  "Isn't that where, like, eighty percent of our ticket sales come from?" Ryan asks.

  "Probably," I reply, staying as composed as possible—considering I'm having a conversation with Ryan Harris. "Your fans are pretty loyal."

  "I'll say." Dash's gaze drops to Coco and when he smiles, her own drops to the ground.

  I can't blame her. Dash doesn't smile very often. He's more extreme than Roscoe, with a row of piercings down his left ear, the right one stretched and ring at the center of his nose. But those freaking green eyes would fry an egg faster than a sidewalk in the middle of a heat wave. And unlike Luke, Dash probably could be a professional body builder if it weren't for the fact that he's got more ink and metal than actual bare skin.

  "So," I say casually before taking another swig of beer. "Where's your guitarist?"

  The guys exchange looks and Roscoe runs a hand through his spiked hair. "Luke's going through withdrawal. But don't worry about it. He'll be good and ready in a few weeks."

  God. Withdrawal from what? Me?

  "He's not here?" I hope I don't sound too disappointed but I certainly feel it.

  "Had a paper to write or something." Ryan shrugs. "Might drop by later though."

  Coco shifts beside me and I bring the bottle to my lips again. My gaze falls on the stage set up at the other end of the pool and I turn my attention back to Roscoe, offering him a hand to help me up.

  "So are you guys going to play for this crowd or what?" I ask. "Might as well get in as many shows as you can before the tour. Guys like you can never have too many fans."

  I rest my beer down on the table and link an arm with Dash and another with Ryan. With mock confidence, I lead the way toward the stage.

  THE BEGINNING

  Luke

  No matter how hard I try, I can't get the taste of that girl out of my head. And smoking that joint before I got here was definitely a lapse in judgment. Sure, it relaxed me, but now my mind is all over the place.

  She's like a fucking poison seeping through my veins and I'm pretty sure my time is almost up. I plant my forehead in my palm. I need to try harder. I can't be that guy. I still can't believe what I almost did to her, not that she didn't want it. But that doesn't make a difference. I would have felt like even more of an ass than I do right now if it had gone any further. But she was so damn sweet. Why'd she have to be a virgin? What kind of virgin pulls that shit?

  I slam my b
ook closed and let out a heavy sigh. I can't concentrate. I can't read or write or even think. What the hell is wrong with me? What am I turning into?

  Get it together. You've got a part to play and you're doing a shitty job. My bandmate, Dash's words before I stormed out of the house earlier, books in hand.

  The problem is, I don't want to play a role. I want to be me. I want to wake up every morning and feel like what I do matters. Like it's going to make a difference in this godforsaken world. I don't want to waste a minute, like my parents did. I want to make up for everything. Even if it kills me. I sometimes wonder why Roscoe no longer cares about this stuff. He was in college once. His dream school, Berklee College of Music. He was so happy the day he got in. And before everything went down, he was doing pretty well for himself. He played in a student band, joined a bunch of clubs, was on the freaking Dean's List. He was a bigger pussy than he frequently accuses me of being.

  The day Berklee came calling, everyone thought I'd go there too. But I couldn't do that to him. Live the dream he gave up just for me. So I chose the road most traveled.

  I chuckle to myself, then my thoughts go dark. Mom and Dad fucked up so bad. And when they did, they destroyed the man he was. They ruined everything and all I've ever wanted to do is fix it. I want to matter. My music matters. I love it. But getting an education, a real job, holding on to this house, maybe even getting a house of my own one day. Those are the things that matter. The only things.

  The chair opposite me whispers across the carpet and I glance up, startled by the unexpected company. It's eight o'clock on a Friday night. The best time to work, and usually I'm by myself. Normally I'd sit up top in one of the quiet study areas but I'm tired, there's no one else here and I just want to get this damn paper finished.

  The girl smiles, rests her backpack on the table and sits down.

  I glance around the room. I hate when people do that shit—walk in an empty library and zero in on the only table that's occupied. Like their mission in life is to get under the skin of the motherfucker who claimed it first.

  "Sorry," she whispers, her blue eyes going wide. She picks up her bag and starts to push the chair in.

  "What?"

  "I didn't mean to disturb you."

  I shake my head. "You're not."

  "Your face is telling another story," she says with a smirk.

  I force my expression to go soft and sit up a little straighter. "No, it's cool. I didn't mean to give you the wrong impression. I'm just..."

  She loops the bag over her shoulder. "I get it. All these empty tables and I sit at yours."

  "Well, it's not exactly...mine. I'm just..." Acting like a douche. Fuck.

  "You're right," she says with a wink. "It's mine." She flips her long, dark ponytail over her shoulder, and points to the chair next to me. "Even wrote my name, right there."

  I drop my gaze and scan the table. "Shannon?"

  "That's me. But I'll do you the favor and find another spot. It's just that over there," she points to the far side of the library, "there's a draft and over there," she gestures to the table behind me, "smells like gym socks and refried beans. It's like some jock passed out with a burrito in his hand."

  I snicker. "All right, Shannon. I think you've made your case. And I'll keep that in mind for the next time." I nod toward the seat in front of her. "Join me."

  She pulls the chair out again and effortlessly slides in the small place between it and the table. Digging in her bag, she retrieves a textbook, two plastic food containers—one a little smaller than the other—a thermos, a notebook, a stack of highlighters and a pen.

  She arranges them neatly in front of her, clasps her hands in her lap and lets out a small sigh.

  "Finals," I say. "A bitch, huh?"

  Her gaze darts back up to mine and she smiles. "What's your major?"

  "Business."

  Her grin widens. "Impressive."

  "Not that I have a clue what I'm going to do with it."

  "What year are you?"

  "Technically third but most of my classes will be fourth. I've been working through the summer every year, hoping to graduate early. I would have been done by January, but...well, that's not going to happen."

  Shannon cracks open one of the food containers and pops a grape in her mouth. "Why not?"

  I shrug. "Need some time off. Family stuff."

  Her eyes flash and I swear the color goes from blue to a smoldering violet in less than a millisecond. "You're the guy from the other day." She drums her fingers on the desk. "Lucas something?"

  I raise an eyebrow.

  Her face flushes and she seizes another grape. "I work at the Registrar's Office." She adds with a shrug.

  "And you remembered me?"

  She chews slowly, as if contemplating an answer. "Uh...sure." Her full lips twitch. "Of course, you look different with a smile."

  I snicker and reach for the container. "You mind?"

  She shakes her head and pushes it toward me.

  "I guess I should apologize for that," I say, keeping my eyes fixed on her. "I had a bad day. I was kind of..."

  "Pissed?"

  "Kind of."

  We sit in silence for a few more seconds, sharing her fruit. Neither of us bothering to do so much as glance at the work in front of us.

  "Sorry about school," she finally says. "Seems like you were really looking forward to the finish line."

  "I was. But...life happens." I lean forward, resting my elbows on the table. "You never told me. What are you studying?"

  "Pre-Pharm." I laugh and the red on her cheeks deepens. "What?"

  "No, it's nothing. I just--I think I'm the one who should be impressed."

  "I don't know about that. I was supposed to go to State to get my PharmD, but I didn't get in after my third-year. So after I'm done, I get to spend the summer working at a pharmacy and cross my fingers, hoping I'll get in next year. I guess I should be grateful, I found a job in the field at all. But I'm starting to have second thoughts. The PharmD's going to take another four years anyway and I'm not sure I want to wait around for that. I just want to get out of here before I'm thirty." She laughs nervously, then clears her throat, grabbing another grape.

  "Where're you headed?" I lean back, stretch my legs forward and clasp my hands behind my head.

  I'm enjoying this. Probably a little more than I should considering the state I'm in. The last thing I need is to jump into it with another girl. Then again, she doesn't seem like the kind to strip down just to get my attention. We've actually been carrying on a conversation for the last ten minutes. It's new and refreshing. I don't usually pay much attention to girls at school and I've clearly been missing out. I come here to hit the books and do my best to avoid the rest of the world. Other than tutorials, group projects and debates, I don't say much to anyone else. Ever.

  She sighs. "Anywhere but Palouse." She continues. "But for now, I'm thinking Seattle. It's close enough to home that my parents won't miss me too much but far enough I can live my own life."

  "Are your parents really that bad?"

  Shannon's mouth parts. "Oh, no. It's...they're very religious, which means I've missed out on a lot. Okay, not too much. I had my fun in high school, despite their rules, but living under their roof as an adult is almost worse. I have a little sister and I'm expected to keep her out of trouble, which I'm doing a crappy job at and it's almost like I'm supposed to be this saint in order to—forget it." She clamps her mouth shut.

  "No," I say, leaning forward again. "What?"

  I've always been interested in other people's family dynamics. Maybe because mine is so fucked up.

  "It's nothing. They're just a little overbearing and I'm a little stifled. Not exactly a good fit, you know?"

  I nod.

  "Anyway, Lucas. I won't bore you with my life story. I'll let you get back to work."

  I smile, nodding again, and drop my gaze back down to my open text book.

  CHAPTER FOUR

&nb
sp; Shannon

  I can feel him watching me. At least I think I can. The reality is, he's probably engrossed in that article while I haven't even put a dent in this damn lab. Why did I sit here? Across the table from a guy. Not just any guy either, quite possibly the hottest guy I've ever seen.

  The second I walked into the library I recognized him. Who could forget a face like that? Sure my griping about drafts and the smell of food and feet was legitimate, but I could have stood to wear my jacket or cover my nose while I studied. I should have, because now this entire evening is a bust. The library closes soon and I still have two hours of work left to do.

  For the past hour and a half, we've been chatting back and forth. I kept promising to leave him alone and let him work, while he insisted I wasn't boring or bothering him with my mindless chatter.

  And it was really mindless. I just couldn't seem to shut up. Which isn't like me, because ever since my high school sweetheart split town leaving me with nothing more than a note, I've avoided men and anything remotely tempting like the plague. Yet, in the last half an hour, I've started to seriously crush on a guy I don't even know.

  Every time I've seen him around campus I've noticed him, but I based on the way he carries himself, eyes forward, ignoring the rest of the world, I never thought he'd be able to hold a conversation or have the potential to be half-way interesting.

  And that's the worst part of this equation. Lucas knows a lot about me. Somehow this guy has managed to get me to spill my guts without even trying. Maybe it's those damn eyes.

  In the past hour he's learned that I have my grandmother's lovely middle name, Beatrice, that I'm a reformed bad girl who spent most of high school under the bleachers smoking pot with her friends and making out with guys. He also knows that even though they were all D students I managed to maintain perfect grades with my photographic memory and penchant for cramming twenty minutes before tests.

  And to think I used to play Hard To Get. I'm definitely losing that game tonight. Other than the fact that he's reluctantly taking a summer off when he's almost finished, Lucas is still a mystery.