18. Callie
18
CALLIE
PRESENT DAY
My plan to avoid Torren today is easier than I thought it would be. Not just because he’s prepping for The Hometown Heartless’s opening show, but because I have a sneaking feeling he’s trying to avoid me as well.
I didn’t touch myself to thoughts of him last night despite how badly I wanted to.
I couldn’t make eye contact with either Sav or Mabel this morning at breakfast, either. I could feel their attention on me. Sav’s especially. Studying me. Sizing me up like I’m competition. I don’t want to know if they know what happened last night. I’m mortified.
I can’t believe I let it get so out of hand. How easily I let him consume me.
I can’t even blame the tequila. I very much knew how stupid I was being, but in the moment, I very much didn’t care. I was overconfident and reckless. It started as a game—a way for me to get the upper hand and wipe that arrogant smirk off his face—but damn, I was in way over my head. I forgot how skilled of a player he is, and my inexperience was glaringly obvious.
I’ve checked the internet probably twenty times between leaving the club last night and now, though, and so far, Craig was right. There’s nothing in the tabloids about me being a hussy in the club with Torren King. There is a video of us entering the club hand in hand. Some grainy pictures of us dancing, which were obviously taken from the general admission dance floor below the VIP lounge. One photo of me leaving with Craig, and one of Torren leaving with Damon, but nothing that even hints that Torren had his hands in my dress. His fingers inside me...
I clamp my eyes shut and give my head a shake, trying and failing to erase the memories of our clandestine dance party. No matter what I do, though, I can’t stop thinking of the contrast between his hot, calloused fingers and his cold silver rings on my skin. I can’t stop replaying how his tattooed hand and forearm looked as they disappeared into the cut-out of my dress. And when he pressed his erection against my backside, nestling it between...
“Damn it!” I groan into my empty bedroom, dropping my head in my hands. “Stop it. Stop it.”
I’m wound so tightly I might explode. My core throbs, and no matter how roughly I rub my thighs together, the feeling won’t abate.
“Fuck it.”
Hastily, I shove my hand into the front of my shorts, hissing the moment my fingers make contact with my clit. I bite my lip and rub in circles. When my imagination pretends my fingers are longer and adorned with tattoos and silver rings, I don’t fight it. I clamp my eyes shut and lean into the fantasy. I think of the way my dress looked with Torren’s hand moving beneath it, and soon my hips start to pulse of their own accord.
My breathing kicks up, and when a whimper tries to escape my lips, I let it. Sav and Mabel are gone. Craig is in the hallway. I’m blissfully alone.
I do my best to mimic Torren’s actions from last night, dipping low and inside myself before moving back to tend to my clit. I get myself so close, close enough to detonate, and then a knock on my bedroom door halts me.
“Callie. You in there?”
Jonah? I jolt up from the bed, fix my shirt and shorts, then rush to the door. I swing it open and blink rapidly. Yep. It’s Jonah.
“You okay? You’re a little flushed. ”
I flush harder and look away. “Yeah, I’m...um. Sorry. Why are you here?”
He leans his shoulder against my doorframe and slips one of his hands into the front pocket of his jeans.
“Escorting you to the stadium.”
“Shouldn’t my boyfriend be doing that?”
Jonah shrugs, but he doesn’t offer up any explanation. That’s all the explanation I need, though. Torren didn’t want to come get me. It just confirms what I suspected—he is avoiding me.
“You gonna wear that?”
Jonah drops his eyes down my torso quickly, then back up.
“Oh. Shit. No. Just...um...give me one second.”
I shut the door in his face, and I think I hear him laugh. I hurry into my closet and pull out the outfit I selected to wear to the concert tonight. Tight black jeans—purposely not a dress—and a black halter top. I shove my body into the clothes quickly, double-check my makeup in the mirror, and tousle my hair before grabbing my heels and rushing back to the door.
“Sorry,” I say again as I step out of the bedroom. “I lost track of time.”
Jonah hums, and when I glance at him, I see the hint of a smirk. It catches me off guard. I’ve never seen Jonah with a smile on his face. While Torren doesn’t smile for me, he still hands them out freely to his fans and the media. Jonah, though? I can’t think of a single video or photo of him where he’s wearing a smile. Not even when I first met him four years ago. Indifferent stares and angry scowls, but never a smile.
I follow him silently into the hallway where Craig and some other guy are waiting for us.
“Callie, this is José. He’s?—”
“Your security?”
“Got the look, right?”
I shrug. “I mean, he’s built like a brick building. No offense, José.”
José smiles. “None taken, Miss James.”
“Well, it’s Callie, or I will take offense,” I say in jest, and his smile grows.
“Apologies, Callie. ”
“Quit flirting with Torren’s girlfriend , José,” Jonah cuts in. “You know what a possessive dick he can be.”
The statement piques my interest, but when I glance up at Jonah, that ghost of a smirk is still on his face. Then he stuns me further when he drops his arm over my shoulder. The gesture feels so familiar that I wait with bated breath for him to point it out. To say anything that alludes to our first encounter in the desert. When he doesn’t, I let myself relax a little.
“Was that a joke?” I ask, forcing bravado into my tone as Jonah leads me out of the elevator and into the lobby.
Jonah shrugs. “Was it?”
I shrug back, glancing around at the people watching us in the lobby.
“Must have been. If my boyfriend was so possessive, you probably wouldn’t have your arm around me in front of so many people.”
His lips break into a full grin then. A smile that nearly knocks me on my ass. And when he looks down at me, there’s mischief in his eyes that makes my stomach flip over itself. It makes sense now. A smile from Jonah Hendrix is intoxicating. No wonder he keeps it hidden from the world.
“I’m the only exception. Torren doesn’t mind sharing with me.”
My eyes widen and my breath stops as his words sink in. Thankfully, we stop at the valet because I’m suddenly too unstable to stay upright in these heels. Jonah opens the back door of the black SUV, then laughs when he sees the shocked look on my face. I wait for him to walk it back, to say he was just kidding, but he doesn’t. Instead, he takes my hand and helps me into the car before shutting the door and rounding the front to climb in on the other side.
We ride to the stadium in silence, the replay of his last statement echoing in my ears.
Sharing .
Torren doesn’t mind sharing with me .
Does he mean they pass girls between them, or does he mean...they...together...?
I close my eyes and rest my head on the window. I try to think of anything else, but images of Torren and Jonah tag-teaming some faceless groupie keep invading my mind, and I’m dizzy from the jumbled way it makes me feel.
Am I appalled? Am I turned on?
Or worse.
Am I jealous ?
The thought makes me want to laugh out loud. Am I jealous of the faceless groupie in the imaginary scenario I’ve created? For fuck’s sake, I think I might be.
Jonah’s hand comes down on my knee in a gentle, comforting touch. He pats twice before removing his hand and speaking to me as if he didn’t just disrupt my equilibrium by suggesting that he and Torren might share women.
“Enjoy the show.”
Then he’s climbing out of the car at the same time that my door is swinging open. I take Craig’s offered hand and hop out, then he leads me past some shouting fans and through a pair of double doors into a long, empty hallway. There’s no one in front of or behind us, and I turn a questioning glance toward my security detail.
“Where’d Jonah go?”
“Autographs.”
“Oh.”
“This way.”
I follow him down a series of hallways, and with each turn, they become busier and busier. People in blue polo shirts with the stadium emblem on the back rush about, pushing carts and shouting into walkie-talkies. I recognize audio equipment. Lighting equipment. Amplifiers and microphones. Coils and coils of drop cords. Judging by the hive of activity, we must be close to the stage. I glance around for the band, but I see none of them. Just roadies and stadium workers.
Soon, we’re turning down another hallway, and I notice two security guards standing on either side of a door. We stop in front of it and Craig nods in greeting to both guards before he knocks. At first, I assume I’m being deposited into Torren’s dressing room, but then a different voice rings out from behind the door.
“Come in,” Mabel shouts, and Craig opens the door and ushers me inside. “Hey, Callie. You look great. Want a drink or something?”
Mabel is sitting in a red leather recliner wearing a black sequined tutu and matching bra. The black patent leather platforms on her feet have to be more than six inches high.
“How can you play the kick in those?” I ask, zeroing in on her shoes.
Ezra used to insist on playing barefoot because he said the soles of his shoes fucked up his feel for the bass and hi-hat pedals. Mabel grins and wiggles her feet in my direction.
“Practice.”
I nod. Of course.
Ziggy bounds over and starts sniffing at my feet, her tail wagging so hard that her whole body serpentines. Ziggy and I haven’t had much time to get to know one another, but apparently, she’s decided we’re to be friends. I grin and drop to my knees so I can give her some head scratches, and then I let my eyes roam the room.
It’s spacious. There’s a large glass-doored fridge stocked with bottled mineral waters and a large table along one wall sporting a spread of pastries and fruit. Sav’s intimidating security guard picks around a tray and pops a grape into his mouth, and I wave awkwardly at him. A large vanity table and a brightly lit mirror line the other side of the room. I spot a few makeup pallets, a curling iron, and two hairbrushes on the vanity.
“Do you guys do your own makeup and stuff?” I ask Mabel, standing back to my full height and leaving the dog with one last pat on the head.
“Nah. Glam squad’s been here and left already. Can’t you tell?”
I glance at Mabel and find her batting long, fluffy eyelashes at me while making a kissy face with her shiny pink lips. I laugh.
“You look great,” I say genuinely.
Mabel is gorgeous. She could easily be a runway model if she wasn’t the drummer in the world’s most famous rock band.
“I know.” Mabel winks at me, and I laugh again.
Then I hear a toilet flushing and water running. I look toward a door in the corner, determine it must be an attached bathroom, and then the door flies open and Sav Loveless stumbles out.
“Mother fuck it. Mabes, can you help me do these up? These fucking laces make it impossible to pee.”
Mabel hops up from the chair and bounces toward Sav with a laugh.
“Well, we’ve got a two-hour show, so you better stop hydrating now,” Mabel says as she works to lace up the sides of Sav’s black leather pants. “Can’t I just do ‘em loose?”
Sav groans.
“No. I tried that. They just fall down. Damn things have to be suctioned to my ass; otherwise, I’ll be giving everyone a show they didn’t pay for.”
Mabel quirks one suggestive eyebrow, and Sav groans again. Mabel barks out a loud laugh and glances my way as if I’m in on the joke. I suppose, in a way, I am. Along with the rest of the country. I mean, we did all see the same sex tape, and I assume that’s what Mabel is laughing about.
“Thank you,” Sav says as Mabel finishes doing up the laces. “I’m never wearing these damn things again.”
“They are fuck hot, though,” Mabel says, and reluctantly, I agree.
The black leather molds to Sav’s legs and ass like a second skin, with a gap on either side running from ankle to waist where the laces are. Along the sides of her thighs and hips, about four inches of skin shows through the crisscrossing of the laces, and Mabel is right. The pants are fuck hot all on their own , but with the cropped white T-shirt and red bra, Sav Loveless is sex in combat boots. I envy her, and then I frown, because I don’t want to envy her.
“Callie.”
I blink out of my haze and bring my eyes up to meet Sav’s, her irises like molten silver.
“What?”
Sav smirks. “I said hi. I love your outfit.”
“Oh. Um. Thanks. Yours is great, too.”
“Thanks.” She saunters past me and pulls a mineral water from the fridge, then turns and hands it to me. I take it and force a smile. “How are you hanging in there? I know this assignment is probably difficult.”
“It’s fine,” I lie, but my eyebrows slant and my nerves spike.
Does this mean she knows about last night? Is she jealous? Angry? I uncap my water and take a drink just so I have something to do. Having Sav’s scrutinizing gaze on me has me feeling more unsettled than usual.
“Is there anything we can do to make it easier?” Mabel asks. “You got any hobbies or something? Books? Instruments? We can get you something to kind of help you take your head off the job. ”
“Some kind of creative escape could help ease the stress,” Sav adds.
I open my mouth to turn them down, but then I change my mind.
“Actually...” I say slowly, considering the question once more before finally putting it into the air between us. “Could you get me a keyboard?”
“You play keyboard...?”
I glance at Sav as her question trails off, and I find her watching me more intently now, her head cocked to the side just slightly. Scrutinizing. The same way she was looking at me at her house the other day. The same way she was looking at me in Torren’s studio too. Like I’m a puzzle, or a problem. Like she’s working hard to figure something out.
I look away from her and back at Mabel as I answer.
“Piano. But I figure keyboard is easier to tote around on a bus.”
“We can definitely get you a keyboard,” Mabel starts to say but then Sav blurts out two words I wasn’t expecting.
“Caveat Lover.”
My eyes go wide as I whip them toward her. Sav grins triumphantly. She’s solved the puzzle, it seems.
“I’m right, aren’t I? You were lead singer and keyboardist for Caveat Lover.”
My mouth drops open, then closes. I don’t know what to say, but she keeps talking.
“I saw you guys a couple of years ago when you played in that little venue outside of Chicago. You did a cover of ‘Dancing In The Dark’ that I couldn’t get out of my head for weeks. And you had that guitarist with the glittery pink Fender.”
“Rocky,” I supply absently. “That was Rocky.”
Sav marches over to the vanity and snatches her phone from a charger, then starts scrolling. She stops scrolling and grins, then snaps her fingers and points at me.
“Calla Lily Sunrise James. I fucking knew you looked familiar.” She glances back at her phone. “Keyboard and guitar. Mezzo-soprano. Rocky Hallstrom, lead guitar. Pike Hallstrom, rhythm guitar. Becket Walker, bass. Ezra Hawke, drums. Two EPs. Signed by Black Widow Records. Debut LP TBA.”
I jerk my head back in alarm, bouncing my eyes between Mabel and Sav .
Mabel laughs. “Sav keeps a spreadsheet of up-and-coming bands in her phone.”
Sav shrugs. “I like to pay attention to female-lead rock bands.”
“Because they’re competition?” I ask, narrowing my eyes in her direction.
Sav arches an eyebrow and sends Mabel an incredulous glance before looking back at me. “Because they interest me.”
I scoff, but I don’t argue. I’m not stupid. In fact, my band being on a list in her phone is another piece of evidence in my already over-flowing mental bucket of reasons why I can’t trust Sav Loveless. She’s the ringleader. The mastermind. She didn’t know me, but she sure knew my band. My now defunct band.
“And what do you do with that list?” I ask.
I’m certain I already know the answer, and I doubt she’ll tell me the truth, but I ask it anyway. She flattens her lips between her teeth before giving me a forced smile.
“It’s for personal use.”
I flare my eyes and nod slowly. “Right.”
A dozen different statements circle around in my head, but I don’t let a single one of them fall from my lips because I have even more reasons to stay quiet. Eighty thousand of them, to be exact. I’m not flying off the handle and rocking the boat. I’m not screwing up this opportunity by being hotheaded. And anyway, what’s the point of dredging up the past? The damage is fucking done, and there’s nothing I can do about it now even if I wanted to.
“Okay, so, anyway,” Mabel says, awkwardly cutting into the tension brewing between me and Sav. “I hope you weren’t planning to keep that a secret or anything, Callie. It’s only a matter of days before it makes it to the press, especially now that word is out that you’re on tour with us. I’m surprised it hasn’t already.”
I sigh. “I wasn’t trying to keep it a secret. It just didn’t come up, and it doesn’t matter anymore.”
And honestly, I just assumed my band wasn’t big enough to garner any sort of attention. Black Widow barely signed us before they unceremoniously unsigned us. We never even released a full album. For all intents and purposes, my time with Caveat Lover might as well have been a fever dream. Or, as my mom likes to call it, an impulsive, immature mistake to be blamed on my father’s wild genes.
That last thought makes me check my phone, but my mom still hasn’t returned my calls or texts. I do, however, have three new texts from my sister.
Glory Bell
Torren King ate ur other sneaker. Sorry.
Can I have ur RazzyRed lipstick?
Miss u.
I smile to myself as I text her back.
Me
Your dog is a menace. Yes, you can have my lipstick. I miss you too.
Tell Mom I love her.
I slide my phone into my pocket and look back up at Mabel and Sav. Both are watching me curiously, and since I don’t know what to say, I say nothing. The flare of indignation I’d felt moments earlier flickers out, leaving me feeling awkward and uncomfortable. I look away, uncap my mineral water, and take another sip. I glance toward the spread of pastries and fruit on the table on the wall and intentionally avoid Red’s eye. I take a deep breath and then blow it out slowly.
Awesome. Now it’s even more awkward.
I’m relieved when someone knocks on the door, but my relief is short-lived when Jonah and Torren come walking into the dressing room. Jonah meets my eye and nods, all traces of his earlier humor gone, and I nod back. Torren, on the other hand, barely even looks in my direction. It hurts just long enough for me to harness that pain and turn it into anger.
Dickhead.
My ass cheeks were good enough to cradle his erection last night, but now he can’t even spare me a second glance. I let that thought fuel me, pouring more and more gasoline on it until I’m raging on the inside. It’s necessary because he looks so fucking beautiful right now that anything other than pure fury is at risk of being forgotten in favor of blind lust.
His curls are perfectly messy and artfully falling into his eyes. His fitted jeans are low-slung enough to show the deep V of his pelvis, and I can tell he doesn’t have underwear on. I have to look away quickly the moment I notice a very defined dick print in the denim, but his bare chest isn’t much better for my nerves. His chiseled pecs and abs must have some sort of oil rubbed on them because his tattoos and muscles are glistening. When I start to involuntarily catalogue his tattoos, I force myself to look away, and my eyes run straight into Jonah’s.
He takes a sip from a bottle of water without looking away from me, and then he takes a few steps toward me.
“You look beautiful.”
His voice is low, the words spoken so only I can hear them. I try to fight my heated flush and lose.
“Thank you.”
His lips turn up slightly at the corner. Another ghost of a smile. Considering how rare they are, it makes me feel rich. A poor miner stumbling upon gold dust.
“Are you going to watch the show from the floor?”
“Is it up to me?”
“Here’s a secret.” He leans in close, tilting his head to position his mouth at my ear. He smells like weed, and his body gives off heat like a furnace. It makes me shiver, and I feel him inhale and exhale twice into my hair before he finally speaks. “It’s all up to you.”
“Callie.”
I jerk away from Jonah at the sound of Torren’s voice, immediately filled with shame that I don’t fully understand. Jonah, however, moves with a casual nonchalance that makes me think I’d perhaps read more into our encounter than was necessary. The glare Torren gives Jonah, though, has me questioning everything.
“Torren,” I say quickly, fisting my hands in front of me. I glance at Jonah and find him smirking at me. I’m not impressed to be on the receiving end of this smile. I want to glower at him, but I don’t.
“Would you like to watch the show from a private box or backstage? ”
I flick my eyes to Jonah once more, then back to Torren. “Can I watch it from the floor?”
Torren’s jaw ticks as he bounces his eyes between mine. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”
I square my shoulders, my determination to win this argument increases tenfold.
“I want to watch from the floor. Craig can be with me. Hell, so can your brick wall. But I want to watch from the floor.”
We fall back into silence, his brows knitting as he considers it. He’s conflicted. If he’s concerned about my safety, I’ll admit, it makes me feel warm. Protected. It makes me soften toward him.
I hate it.
He probably just wants to control me.
I raise my eyebrows like I’m irritated. “Well?”
Finally, he jerks out a nod.
“I’ll tell Craig and Damon.” Torren turns his attention to Jonah, and the look he gives him is pure ice. “Come with me.”
Torren turns and stalks out of the room, then Jonah follows. Neither of them say anything else to me, and even though it shouldn’t, it bothers me.
Then, as if I need more things to stress out about, I get a text from a number I’ve only seen sporadically over the last year.
Ezra.
It’s a picture of a magazine in a convenience store rack, me and Torren holding hands on the cover, followed by a single sentence.
Ez
Are you fucking serious right now?
I stare at it for almost ten minutes before responding, running through every possible excuse. Of all the things I worried about before jumping into this PR stunt, pissing off my former band wasn’t one of them.
Finally, I bite the bullet and text him back. One word because I’m contractually gagged, but I still can’t bring myself to lie to him.
Me
Yes.
Ez
Fuck you Calla Lily.
I cringe. I’m not surprised, given everything, but it still fucking stings. And honestly, he’s right. This whole thing makes me a traitor. To my band. To myself. Doesn’t matter that it’s fake. Doesn’t matter that it’s for my family. I’ve compromised my integrity. I’ve been bought, and that is by far the most difficult thing to deal with.
I’m sick to my stomach as I’m led to the floor for the concert. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t even pay much attention to the opening band. Some local band Sav’s handpicked for the weekend. It’s what they do now. Every weekend of shows is a new opener, and it’s usually an up-and-coming band that not many people outside of their home state have heard of. Opening for Heartless puts them front-and-center and allows them to perform for a crowd larger than they’d ever played before.
It's done a lot to repair Heartless’s reputation, but I’m not fooled.
Nothing Sav Loveless does is altruistic, and this is probably just another way to sus out competition. To keep another iron fist around the throat of the music industry, and it makes me want to warn these unsuspecting bands. I want to storm the stage and tell them to run far, far away from The Hometown Heartless, but I keep my feet planted firmly on the floor.
By the time Sav, Torren, Jonah, and Mabel take the stage, my earlier anxiety has transformed into anger, and I find myself glaring at them. I swap my eyes between Sav and Torren, fueling my fury with every glance they send each other’s way. I hold on to that feeling. I force it to the forefront of my mind, and I fool myself into believing I’m prepared.
Then they start to play.
They start to play, and my heart starts to ache. God, I used to love them. They’re so fucking good, and there’s no denying they put on one hell of a show. They love to perform. It’s evident in every crowd interaction. In every note and lyric.
I want to hate them. I want them to suck so badly. But in this moment, I can’t, and they don’t. Torren looks at me several times throughout the concert. He smiles and winks, and my heart starts to race. It’s all for show. I know this. But that stupid fan is still inside me, and the energy palpitating from the crowd threatens to coax her out.
The songs that I used to love flow through me, igniting every emotion. I sing along in my head. I feel my body swaying to the music, and I have to choke back tears.
I miss my band. I miss performing. I miss the thrill and the excitement and the utter sense of fulfillment that comes with playing a show. I miss running my hands over the keys of my keyboard. I miss singing songs I wrote into a microphone. I miss the applause.
I miss it all.
And that makes me furious all over again.
This is the last night I’ll be watching from the floor.