Across the Miles (The Not So Bad Boys of Rock #1) (9 page)

“So tell me how you came to be a chef,” I asked curiously. It was obvious that she was passionate about her career, but I was interested in learning where that passion stemmed from. I knew from the moment my dad placed a guitar in my hands, teaching me how to work the fret board, that I wanted to be a musician. Holding that
guitar in my hands just felt right, I was free to let my fingers glide over the strings, working magic as they moved. I was hooked, and from that point forward I made it my goal to perform on a stage one day, never once realizing how far that dream would take me. My band has toured all over the world, sold countless albums and merchandise, and made millions in the process. All I ever cared about was writing music and playing, the rest of it was just a nice bonus.

She pushed her plate aside and sat her elbows on the table, resting her chin in her hands. “I had a dysfunctional upbringing, as I mentioned before. My parents were professionals who were too wrapped up in their work to pay attention to the little things. My mother went grocery shopping, so the supplies were there to put together nice meals, but she would get home late and then would be too tired to make anything so she would order out. I watched her throw away more food,” she shook her head sadly as she recalled the memory. “They fought quite a bit, so between them being gone a lot and the fighting, the general atmosphere in the house was pretty blah. One day I came home from school and was hungry, I dug through the fridge and started sautéing a bunch of vegetables and boiled some pasta. I was only ten years old when I made my first meal of pasta primavera, and it was pretty good,” she sighed. “From that point on I would come home and dabble around, looking up recipes on the Internet and pouring over cookbooks that my mother had purchased but never opened. I became obsessed with food. I wanted to learn all about cooking techniques and how to make sauces.” Her hands fidgeted nervously in front of her. “After my father left, my mother became obsessed with work, sometimes working eighteen hour days; there were days when I never even saw her. I would
wake up for school and find a note scrawled out on a piece of paper, left on the kitchen counter, and there would be a twenty-dollar bill to buy whatever I needed for lunch and dinner. I was only twelve years old at the time,” her gaze became vacant as she stared down at her hands in front of her. “I learned to cook as a way to keep myself occupied because I was lonely, but over time, it became a means of survival.”

“Because if you didn’t cook you wouldn’t eat?” I asked, instantly angry with her parents for abandoning her that way.

“No. I used my passion for cooking as a way to get out of that hell and I promised myself that once I made it out I would never return. And I haven’t.”

“Wow. I’m sorry if I upset you with that question. I just wanted to see what made you tick.”

“You didn’t upset me,” she responded flatly. “It’s who I am. It’s all part of that baggage we were talking about yesterday. It happened, and I choose not to dwell on it. I look at it as unfortunate, but it also helped shape me into who I am today, and I consider myself to be a pretty well-rounded person. I’ve done pretty well for myself, all things considering.”

I sat there in stunned silence, trying to wrap my head around how a parent could be so cold to their own child. My parents made sure that our home was filled with love and laughter. As kids we always knew how much our parents loved us, they even went so far as to extend that same love to our friends. When Dek and Chris started hanging out in our garage every weeknight, my mom invited them to dinner. Natalie was welcomed into our home with open arms when she and Travis began dating in high school. When the band launched our first album, Mom and Dad threw a huge party, inviting the whole
neighborhood and then some. Our house was always a home to all who entered. Listening to Brooke, it was painfully obvious that her house didn’t bear any similarities to mine. Her parents went out of their way to make her feel more like an inconvenience than a blessing. It was no wonder she had been hesitant to accept my offer of help, she had been left to fend for herself for so long that she would never dream of asking for assistance. It was a wonder that she had turned out to be anything but bitter, I know it would have made me full of hate. Not Brooke, she seemed to exude grace and kindness. I suddenly couldn’t wait for my family to meet her; they would show her what family was truly all about.

“You are amazing. I can’t imagine being treated so unfairly, and then turning it into something that propelled me toward a brighter future.” My head shook back and forth as I registered everything. “I’m in awe of you,” I covered her tiny hand with mine, smiling internally when she didn’t pull away.

“Listen, every Sunday afternoon my family gets together at my parent’s house. My older brother and his wife, Natalie, will be there with their daughter, and my younger sister and her fiancé will be there. We barbecue and laugh, we sing songs, and tell old stories. It’s a nice time of enjoying each other’s company. I would love it if you went with me this Sunday.” I knew it was bold of me to ask, given the fact that she had just shared about her rotten upbringing, but I wanted to give her a chance to experience a loving family. When it came to a supportive and loving family, mine won hand down. My parents are the best; they welcomed all of our friends as their own, and I knew they would fall in love with Brooke instantly.

“They wouldn’t think it was weird that I am there, I mean we’ve only known each other for two days. I guess
it sounds like fun,” she looked at me as if questioning, and I gave her the full Sebastian smile, hoping to ease her uncertainty, and she nodded. “Okay, I’ll go with you. Thank you for inviting me.” I smiled and made a mental note to call my mom; she was going to be surprised that I was bringing a girl home, especially since this would be the first time it had ever happened. My parents had never gotten the pleasure of meeting Charlotte. After it was all said and done, it had been one thing that I regretted deeply; they had never gotten the chance to see what an amazing girl she was.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Brooke~

I couldn’t believe that I had shared my sad upbringing with him, twice now. He was just so easy to talk to, never judging, only offering a kind ear and a gentle smile. Jade was the only other living soul that knew about my past; I didn’t like the idea of people feeling sorry for me or taking pity on me. I wanted people to see me for what I had become, and what I had to offer now, they didn’t need to know how I had gotten there. I guess my thinking had been that I was only going to be with him a short time, and then he would most likely be out of my life. Sure, I would continue to buy his music, so in theory he would still be speaking to me through his lyrics, but I didn’t anticipate this would go anywhere beyond this week. He was a famous musician that had the world at his fingertips, and I was just a girl from Michigan with a dream of making my mark in the culinary industry. We ran in different circles and lived in two completely different worlds. He could have any woman he wanted,
and I would be lucky to get a date with the fish monger I visited three times a week to place my seafood orders.

That night I slept restlessly, hoping my decision to stay had been the right one. He wanted me to meet his family. From what he described it seemed as if he had been blessed with the quintessential upbringing, something I had sorely lacked. To be honest, I wasn’t sure if I could tolerate witnessing everything I had missed out on. My mother and I had more of a love/hate relationship, the love being on my end. She had made it clear to me time and time again that love was for fools, even her very own flesh and blood couldn’t make the cut. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to harbor full-on hatred for the woman. Call me a hopeless romantic, but I still believed that true love was out there to be found; I just needed to be patient. Trouble was, I wasn’t a very patient person. For some strange reason, at the young age of twenty-four, I felt my biological clock ticking loudly. Even though I longed to pursue my dream of becoming an executive chef, I wanted a family. I wanted a man that loved me, faults and all, and I wanted to have children to love and encourage. When I pictured myself in my happy place, it always included a husband and at least three children, kids should always have siblings to prevent them from being lonely. I should know, I knew lonely very intimately, having spent most of my childhood there. I don’t remember falling asleep, but I was thankful that it finally came.

We spent the next
morning hanging out in the house; he appeared to live a normal life. I prepared a nice breakfast of French toast and bacon with maple syrup; we both ate heartily until it was gone. He did some work from his office while I played around on my iPad, poking around on the numerous websites that mentioned
anything about Sebastian or Paradox. I had been reading an article and clicked on one of the photos to find him posing in a pair of black leather pants and nothing else. I stared at it for a long time, memorizing each line of his face and chest. I sat back against the arm of the sofa and closed my eyes, drifting off with the iPad flat against my chest, waking only when I felt a hand on my shoulder.

“Hey sleepyhead,” he greeted me playfully. “Are you up for a drive, or do you want to sleep all day?” I sat up quickly, closing the cover on my tablet.

“Sure, that sounds great. Just let me freshen up a bit.” I stood and stretched, bending slightly at the waist to work out the knots in my spine from sleeping while sitting up. I lifted my head, finding his eyes glued to my rear end, when he caught me looking he quickly averted his eyes. I smiled sheepishly and dashed upstairs.

We drove up to Malibu, following the coast until we came to a strip lined with outdoor restaurants and boutiques. We got out and strolled side-by-side along the brick path, neither of us spoke, but there were a few stolen glances. He led me through store after store, pointing out rare finds and tourist collectibles. I opened the door to the next boutique and was immediately hit with the warm scent of the beach and loud music being piped through the overhead stereo. I made my way into the store, sifting through rack after rack of overpriced merchandise before I came across a rack of Paradox memorabilia. I held a shirt in front of me and turned to face him; eyebrows raised in question.

“I don’t know,” he replied, finger tapping against his chin as he studied the shirt I currently held. He moved to the rack and flipped through the remaining shirts until he found what he was looking for, he pulled it out; a broad smile filling his face. “I think this one is a much better
choice for you.”

I looked at what he held out before me and burst into a fit of giggles. This one was still a band shirt, but it featured Sebastian performing on stage and read ‘I’d walk a thousand Miles on my knees to kiss Sebastian’.”

“Cute,” I smirked, “Nice play on words there.” I held it up in front of me, mock modeling the garment, fluttering eyelashes abound. “So, do you think it suits me?” I asked playfully, as The Vamps serenaded me with their current hit, “Somebody to You”, which happened to be one of my new favorites. “I love this song,” I exclaimed, swaying my hips to the catchy beat.

His eyes locked on mine, remaining there as if bound by some mystical force. I tried to look away but remained frozen, completely star struck. It was at that moment it hit me, I was walking around Malibu with Sebastian Miles, and he was totally flirting with me. I know it sounded crazy, he could have any woman that he wanted, and probably has, but right now he was standing in front of me and looking at me like he wanted to kiss me. He was totally staring at my lips, which in turn made me focus on his. Damn, his lips were perfect, full and pouty. His lips were made for kissing. I was willing to bet good money he was a great kisser, and I would kill to nibble on that lip piercing. I needed to pull it together. I squeezed my eyes shut, then opened one just enough to see if he was still staring at me, he was, only this time he was also laughing, how embarrassing. I felt my ears getting hot. Damn.

“Aw, you’re blushing. You look really cute when you’re embarrassed,” he said mockingly, voice low and sexy. “And yes, that shirt most definitely suits you. I’m buying it for you right now.” He snatched it from my hand and started for the register, I followed closely behind.

“You don’t have to buy that for me, I have money now, remember,” I reached for the shirt, but he held it higher.

“Nonsense, I want to buy it for you. Think of it as part of the memories that we are making this week, a tangible memory of your crazy visit to L.A.” By now we were standing in front of the register, and my hands were planted firmly on my hips. The clerk looked at the shirt and then at Sebastian, taking a few moments to put two and two together.

“Fine, but I won’t be wearing this while we are making said ‘memories’.” I made finger quotes in the air to get my point across and followed it up with exaggerated eye-rolling. I couldn’t let him on to what I was really thinking; I would rather die a painful death than admit that I was crushing on him, big time. Let’s face it, Jade and I have been Paradox fans since they broke out with their first single. How on earth I didn’t recognize him when we first began speaking at the beach is beyond me, maybe it was because I wasn’t expecting to meet anyone famous, let alone on a public beach.

He leaned in close, my heart hitched as I thought he was going to kiss me right there in the store in front of the sales clerk, but at the last second his lips kept moving until they reached my ear and as he whispered I could feel his lips brushing against the tip of my earlobe. “We’ll see about that.” He pulled away slowly, giving me a flash of his dimple before turning to pay for the shirt.

“No flipping way, you’re Sebastian Miles!” the clerk, Katie, according to her nametag, shrieked loudly. Thankfully, the store had only a few customers, none of which paid the screeching clerk with the spiky pink hair any attention. “I am such a huge fan. Can I have your autograph?”

“Sure doll,” he took the offered pen and scrawled out a quick note on a piece of receipt paper. “Katie, thanks for being such a fan. Love your hair. Rock on, Sebastian.” He slid the paper over, and she snatched it, holding it tight against her chest. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes when she told him that the shirt was on the house.