Derailed_An Off Track Records Novel Page 5

  He winces with the hit but rolls his eyes and rubs at his bicep. “Don’t be so damn sensitive. You should be pumped. This is the first night in weeks we’re going out.”

  “About that.” Trent steps into the kitchen shaking his hair out, still wet from a shower, and tucks it behind his ears. “Did you read Bedo’s email?”

  I chuckle, because yeah, I read it. “You mean hostage plan? I’m surprised he doesn’t have ankle monitors on us yet.”

  “Wouldn’t put it past him. So, let’s go easy tonight. I don’t like this any more than you, but I’m not about being dropped by our label.”

  Austin opens the fridge and plucks three water bottles, tossing one at each of us before unscrewing the lid on his. “They won’t drop us. It’s fucking bullshit. You know our sales have skyrocketed with the stint at the Grammy’s? We’re lining their pockets with our debauchery.”

  “Austin . . .” Trent draws out his name with warning.

  “It’s the fucking truth.” Austin’s chest puffs up with each word. “All this shit from Bedo, it’s just so he doesn’t have to do his fucking job. I’m over our little time out. I’m a motherfucking rock star, so if I want to party like one, I will. I’m not the one with the fucking drug problem.”

  “Aust . . . Come on, man. Don’t go rogue on us. Not yet.” Trent’s not as worked up about this, sure, but his desire to go out and party decreased the minute Lexi came into our lives. Having a girlfriend will do that. He doesn’t quite get it.

  “All I’m saying is it’s fucking bullshit!” Austin tosses his empty bottle in the trash can across the room. It hits the rim before ricocheting inside. “Fuck yeah! Did you see that?”

  “Language.” Trent’s mom, Deb, steps in the kitchen. “You boys look nice. Going somewhere special?”

  “We hired a new drummer. Gonna take him out for dinner,” Trent answers.

  “Oh, that’s fun. You all be safe.” She plucks Austin’s water bottle from the trash and sticks it in the recycling basket instead.

  “We will, Mrs. Donavan.” I like Deb, and maybe it’s weird to some people, but I’m glad she lives here with us. She has our backs and is cool as fuck, too. I don’t know how she puts up with us.

  “Oh, shit.” Trent shakes his head. “Mom. I forgot to mention, the new drummer and his girlfriend are moving in.”

  “With us?” Her eyebrows rise and she almost looks . . . pissed.

  “Yeah, there’s the bedroom across from Sean’s. No one’s using it.”

  “Wait, what? No.” I shake my head because that, I did not agree to. “Why can’t you move Lexi’s shit out of the room across from yours?”

  “Because that’s a lot of fucking work. Besides, Lex likes to write in there. She says the view inspires her.”

  “Goddamn girlfriends,” Austin grumbles, and I happen to agree with him.

  “So what? Now I have share my nice and quiet wing of the house with some guy and his girl? Real fucking fair.” I don’t like this. Not one bit. Besides, Iz’s stuff is still in there. Not that he had much, but still. He’s not disposable. We haven’t heard anything from the label on how he’s doing in rehab. Austin and Trent are still pissed at Iz, but I’m worried. He doesn’t have anyone, as far as I’m concerned. I tried asking Bedo yesterday but he told me I should stop focusing on the past and look forward.

  “They can have my suite if you boys can’t work it out.” Trent’s mom raises her voice, patting Trent’s shoulder before coming over to do the same to me, and it’s enough to defeat my anger. No way will I be responsible for Mrs. Donavan switching rooms. Not when she takes such good care of us and keeps everything in order when we’re out on tour.

  “No.” I shake my head. “They’ll get the living room in the basement if they aren’t good roommates.”

  “We can finish this conversation later. We’ve got reservations at eight for Paulo’s, so we need to head out. Bye, Mom. Love you.” Trent kisses the top of her head before grabbing his set of keys from the far end of the counter and strutting toward the garage.

  Austin and I follow suit, giving her a kiss and saying good night, too. We don’t expect to be back before the early morning hours, Bedo’s warnings be damned.

  “Don’t sweat it,” Austin whispers before we hit the garage. “I’d put money on this guy being single by the end of the month. Coy’s girl won’t be able to handle it. Most women can’t.”

  “You’re probably right.” I hadn’t considered that, but I agree wholeheartedly. Besides, we’ll be on the road again in a few months and that changes everything. Tighter living space, constant movement, going from one place to another with very little time off. It’s not easy. Fuck, just thinking about it has me uptight. I’m glad we’re going out tonight. I need to blow off some stress. I think we all do.

  Trent drives us to Paulo’s, a pricey little joint where the rich and famous of Los Angeles go to be seen while partaking in phenomenal eats. Coy’s there waiting for us in the entry, leaning into the corner while everyone around either doesn’t notice or care. I spot him before he does us, and take note of the way his jaw works back and forth, his chin bobbing with an imaginary beat. He’s out of his element, and I like getting a glimpse at this side of him. He doesn’t have a fucking clue what he’s in for. Poor bastard.

  “Coy!” Trent lifts his chin in a nod.

  Coy pastes an easy-going smile on his face and we take turns greeting him with a half hug, half handshake as if we are the best of friends. I might squeeze his hand a little too hard, not completely unintentional, and have to hide my grin as he winces and shakes it out on our way to the bar. If you can’t find humor in the little things, or give the new guy shit by almost bruising his fingers, what good is life?

  “What can I get for you boys tonight?” our bartender asks. She’s one who’s worked here for years, but fuck if I can remember her name.

  “Shots.” Austin grins with a slap to the counter. “We’re starting with Mr. Jose. Keep ’em coming all night.”

  She laughs and raises her eyebrows as she lines up four glasses. “Celebrating or commiserating?” She grabs the tequila and pours generously.

  A little of both, I want to answer, but instead, Austin introduces her to our newest drummer. I don’t wait for a toast or some fucking bullshit, but down my shot before the rest of the guys even have a chance to pick theirs up. I slide the glass right back over to Miss Barkeep.

  Her brows rise again and her lips twist up with a smile. This time she leans over the counter to fill my glass so I get an eye full of her luscious tits in the process. “Rough day, Sean?”

  “It’s improved already.” I tip back the glass and this time the liquor doesn’t burn a bit. I slide it back again so my fingers are centimeters from brushing against her exposed cleavage. Her eyes twinkle with delight as if she’d enjoy the violation, but I’m not interested. Too eager for my taste. “But I’m not near drunk enough to listen to these ugly bastards.”

  “Hey, I’m standing right here,” Austin complains, but I know it’s only because I’m monopolizing the hot bartender’s attention. We razz each other constantly, so he can’t be offended. Besides, it’s the running joke that resulted in our band name. In a band of four we’re all too vain to admit we’re one of the three ugly guys.

  Hot bartender doesn’t even glance his way and it’s enough to make me chuckle. That, or the shots are already doing their job. “Don’t worry, Sean. I’ll take care of you. Promise.” Yeah, she’s offering a whole lot more than keeping my drink filled. She winks and tips the bottle of tequila until the glass is a second from overflowing. She tilts it away and refills the other glasses.

  “Fuck. She’s forward,” Coy says into my ear. Austin’s chatting it up with Kat . . . Karen . . . Kristy . . . Nope, that’s not it either. Fuck, for as many times as we’ve been here I really should know her name.

  I nod, because yeah, I guess I’m pretty used to women coming on to me. “Comes with the territory. They can smell fame.”
<
br />   Coy’s eyes widen. He throws back his shot and wipes his lips with the back of his hand as his gaze settles back on her. “Fuck. Pussy like that, I understand why you’re single.”

  I want to roll my eyes. I’m actually proud that I don’t. He doesn’t get it. Not yet. I remember how much it fills the ego, to be desired by all of these gorgeous women. But the attraction is skin deep. Hell, it’s not even that. If I were ugly as sin they’d still come flocking for the money and attention. After the novelty wears off it’s actually pretty lonely. It’s hard to know whom to trust, and no matter what they say, every single woman I’ve met since hitting it big wants something from me.

  I pat his shoulder and use him for balance. “If you’ve got yourself a good woman, that’s better than all the pussy in LA.” My best advice. Or at least that’s what I mean to say. The last few words melt together like cheese on chips. Fuck. A plate of nachos would hit the spot. I laugh and Coy must find it funny, too. Shit. This fool ain’t so bad. Just add tequila and he’s not near as annoying as I thought.

  “Dude. LA pussy. You’re fucking funny.” He laughs again and catches the hot bartender’s attention by sliding our empties between her and Austin.

  More drinks. More laughter, and a ton of dirty looks from the other patrons in the bar make me second guess whether we’re really as funny as we imagine. My stomach rumbles. Food. Yeah, that’s a better idea. Catching Trent’s attention, I nod toward the dining area.

  “Katy, what’re the chances you can get us a table?” Trent asks.

  Katy! Fuck, that’s right. Her name is Katy.

  “Considering my manager’s seconds away from throwing you out? I think you boys might need to scoot out back.”

  Well, shit. I didn’t know they had a back patio here. I clasp my hands together in front of my heart. “Thank you, Katy.”

  “Anything for you.” She winks and I wonder whether that’s really true. Probably. She seems the type who’d be into anal or even game for a threesome.

  Her lips part on a sharp exhale, eyes darkening with her stare.

  Oops. Said that out loud.

  “You game for that?” Coy says to her at my right. His eyes are locked on Katy as she glances from me to him, and back to me again.

  “Time to go!” Trent’s slap against my back doesn’t catch my attention, but his tone doesn’t allow for debate. He drags me away from the bar, and I glance over my shoulder to make sure Austin and Coy follow. My eyes catch the flashing lights from the curb, a parked cop car, and the paparazzi crowding around with their cameras at the ready.

  Wonder which Hollywood fuckhead messed up today?

  “Move,” Trent growls, and instead of walking toward the dining hall he’s pushing me along with him into the kitchen.

  “Wha—?” Shit. They’re here for us! Bedo’ll have our heads if we make headlines for anything other than boy scout accolades. Fuck!

  “Sean. Hustle up.” Trent shoves a hand over his forehead, pushing the longer strands of hair out of his face.

  I’d move faster if I could get my feet to cooperate. They’re draggin’ ass. Heavy as fuck, really. “Yo, Coy!” I shout behind and draw his attention, as well as that of all the line cooks. “What the fuck you put in my shoes? You fucked with my shoes, didn’t you?”

  Coy bursts into laughter and the sound clamors along with the pots and pans.

  “Everyone’s a comedian,” Trent grumbles and shoves open a back door. The night air is crisp, a refreshing slap to my senses. Before I can ask what we’re doing out here, a big ass Hummer barrels down the alleyway, screeching to a halt. Another ten feet and she would have run us over.

  The headlights cut and Cora tilts her gorgeous head out the window. “Someone need a ride?” She’s our savior. International model. America’s sweetheart, and the leading lady of over a dozen blockbuster hits. She’s also one of the very few actresses in Hollywood who hasn’t slept her way to success and managed to stay humble throughout the process.

  “Fucking Cora Bentley, I love you!” I shout and wave my hands above my head, earning that award winning smile.

  “Shhhh!” Trent rolls his eyes. “Just get in the goddamn vehicle before someone finds us back here.”

  “You’re a lot less fun than you used to be,” Austin grumbles, but smiles wide before climbing into Cora’s back seat. “You are a sight for sore eyes,” he drops a kiss on Cora’s cheek and slides over.

  “Thank you, Cora.” Trent claims shotgun up front.

  I wait for Coy to climb into the middle before I follow and tug the door shut behind me.

  She turns to shoot us a warning glare in the back seat. “Any of you puke in my baby and you’re dead to me. So, where to?”

  “We need food. Stat,” Trent says.

  Cora shifts into Drive, lurches through the alley, and out onto the road at an alarming speed. Shit. She drives like this and we’re all getting pulled over. “What’s your pleasure?” she shouts and hums along to the top forty crap blaring through her killer sound system.

  “Not this shit,” Trent grumbles.

  “What? I love this music. Don’t worry, you’re still my fave band.” She pats him on the shoulder.

  “Nachos,” I blurt louder than intended.

  “That one’s wasted,” Trent says to her like I’m being a pain in the ass. Whatever. I’m fucking hungry and it’s his fault we started at the bar. Or maybe it’s Austin’s. Either way, I’m starving.

  “I happen to like that one.” Cora glances back at me through the rearview mirror. “Don’t worry, Sean. I’ll hook you up.”

  “Does every woman in LA want to fuck you?” Coy says too loudly. “Ouch!” He rubs his chest in the spot Austin just slapped him.

  “Lady at the wheel. Watch your mouth.” Austin glares. He’s not usually such a gentleman, but when it comes to the few women close to us, he’s a regular Lawrence Welk.

  Coy glances at me, palms splayed and a stupid ‘What’d I say’ look on his face.

  “Cora isn’t a groupie. She’s a friend. Fastest way out of this band is to talk about her that way,” I say and lean back into the leather seat. God damn, this vehicle is comfortable. Almost like a big, badass pillow. If I weren’t starving I might fall asleep.

  Coy raises his hands, chancing a glance at Trent and Austin. “My bad. No disrespect meant.” He coughs to clear his throat, and when he speaks it’s with a British accent. “Cora Bentley, please excuse my behavior. I’m both thoroughly sloshed and royally in awe of the woman magnet that comes from being the bassist of 3UG. My deepest apologies.”

  “Deep,” Austin chuckles. “That’s what she said.”

  Cora grins again, taking a wide turn at the light and almost gaining a little air in the process. “Apology accepted. Now, let’s sober you idiots up.”

  “Nachos!” I shout again, really unable to produce more than a one-word answer until someone feeds me. Mr. Jose is playing his usual game of shutting down my quick reflexes one by one.

  “Funny. I thought you were more into tacos.” Cora winks at me through the rearview window and it’s enough to send us all into a fit of laughter. If I weren’t so fucking drunk, I might actually make a move. She’s open to a night of casual fun. She’s made that clear, but there’s no way I’m showing up with a limp dick. That’s a major party foul. And a woman like Cora Bentley deserves a stellar performance. Anything less isn’t acceptable, even for one night of raunchy fun. Plus, she used to hook up with Trent on the regular before he met Lexi, and I’m not interested in being someone’s sloppy seconds. Especially after one of my best friends.

  Cora steers us across town to a dive little taco joint and we enjoy the next few hours in peace, away from cameras and curious on-lookers while stuffing our faces with deep fried goodness. We recount old times from life on the road while Coy listens in and laughs along at all the appropriate moments. It’s almost too much to hope that he’ll be cool to hang with like this on tour. Maybe I read him wrong earlier, though. Maybe h
e’ll break our record and find a lasting place as the drummer for our band. One can only hope.

  The sheets of my bedding mash into the side of my face and a drop of drool rolls out of my open mouth. Fuck me. My head pounds with what must be the worst hangover of my life until I realize the sound isn’t coming from inside my mind.

  Bang, bang, bang.

  What in the hell? Is that—a hammer?

  No one builds shit around here. Our rented home is in the hills. Unless one of the neighbors is having some renovation work done. But no. This sounded a lot closer. Almost as if it were in my own room.

  Squeezing my eyes closed, I groan when the banging starts again.

  My mouth is dry. Head throbs. I rub the sleep from my eyes and roll to my back, remembering last night.

  We partied hard. After sobering up with food, Cora took us to her friend’s place in Santa Monica where they were serving more liquor, including—you guessed it—tequila. I usually don’t partake in such copious amounts, but it’d been so long since we went out as a band, just for fun. We partied until four in the fucking morning. So, as I roll out of bed and reach for my cell on the side of my bed, it’s no surprise that it’s almost two in the afternoon. My blackout curtains in the room serve their purpose well, because it’s dark as a cave. Had it not been for the pounding, I’d have slept a few more hours.

  I hit the head and scrounge around in my cabinets until I find some aspirin, downing them with a glass of water from the sink and brushing my teeth before venturing from my room to investigate. The pounding stops but there’s commotion in the hallway. Footsteps. Voices. More shuffling.

  Right. Coy’s moving in today. I’m surprised that fucker is up and at ’em with the amount he drank. Hell, I’m surprised he’s still breathing. The dude’s funnier than I thought he’d be. Way more down to earth once he stopped trying to impress. I’m relieved too, and actually excited we found him for the tour. If only it weren’t for his girlfriend tagging along.