Baby Did a Bad Bad Thing (Hautboy Series Book 3) (16 page)

“You want to take a picture, Shaw?”  Grasping my shoulder, Jake dunked me under the water.  I’d had enough of his shit.  I wasn’t a pet to be disciplined.  It would be one thing if he was jealous, but he was only insulted that I’d dare look at another man when I was supposed to be slavering over him.  Fucking big-headed rock star.  I was no fucking groupie.

I tugged on the waist of his jeans, meaning to pull him under, but he barely budged.  Neither did I when he grasped my arm and tried to extract me from behind him.  Instead, I mounted his back, wrapped his arms and legs around his neck and waist.  We were still tussling when Carter joined the fray, cannon-balling into the water beside us, and knocking us apart.

“If you two are so intent on battling it out, why not get a room.”  Slurping a mouthful of water from the pool, he pushed it through a small gap between his front teeth and squirted me in the face.

“Do you always have to be so gross?”  I dragged my arm across my face wiping it clean.  When he wasn’t stuffing his face, he was talking with his mouth full, or tossing food at someone across the table.  He had absolutely no manners whatsoever.

“It’s just pool water, sweetheart.  It ain't gonna kill you.”

“Maybe not, but I wouldn’t put it in my mouth.  Levy just peed in it.”

Disbelievingly, he rolled his eyes.  “You’re funny.  Haha.”

“She’s not kidding,” Jake stated.  “He peed in the pool.”

Carter stared Jake down, searching for a sign of artifice, and then glanced at Levy in accusation.  “I hope you can swim fast, kid, cause I’m gonna toss you in the deep end.”

“Nah ah.”

“Wanna make a bet?”

“Don’t believe him, Levy,” said Jake with half a smile.  “It’ll take a half hour just to get out of the pool.  He only has one leg.  He just swims in circles.”

“Not funny.  That kid has slobbered on my Slim Jim.  He’s pooped on my feet.  He stuck my snowballs down his pants.  I risked my
life
for that kid, and—”

“You didn’t really get shot,” Jake pointed out.  It was the wrong thing to say.  Carter was truly irritated.  His eyes flashed just before he turned and began wading toward Levy.

“Shit.”  I looked at Jake.  Jake looked at me. 
That
wasn’t so quiet.  I didn’t have the time to worry about his cursing, though.  I lunged for Carter’s leg before he could reach Levy.

Chapter 13
 

“
W
hat’s taking you so long?” Peter called through the door yet again.  “We’re gonna be late.”

Placing the wand just under my upper lashes, I pressed, twirled and stroked upward, elongating them with a fresh coat of onyx mascara that claimed would make my eyes smolder.  I wasn’t sure why I cared how I looked.  We were only going to Trum’s to hang out.  You could wear yoga pants and still blend in with the crowd.  Nonetheless, there I stood in a pair of black skinny jeans, red heels and a sheer top with cut out sleeves, applying another coat of mascara for all the Joe Nobodies I had no interest in dating.  Jake had made sure to ruin them for me.

Sliding the lid back onto the mascara, I tossed it in my bag and opened the door.  My eyes immediately zeroed in on the big, dark rings under Peter’s pits.  “Why’re you sweating so bad?”

“Because I always get nervous before I go on stage.”  He was playing guitar for a local band.  Their bass player was ill, and they asked him to fill in.  I wasn’t aware he knew how to play anything other than Crossroads, let alone a few hours’ worth of songs.  It was like he had this whole secret life I knew nothing about.  I didn’t even know my own brother.

“You played with Tate and Shane.  You weren’t nervous then.”

“Are you kidding?  I pissed out my ass when I got home.”

“Peter!”  God.  Now I remembered why I knew so little about him.  Because I couldn’t take him for any length of time.  He was crass and to the point, overly so.

“Sorry, I had the runs.”

“Stop, just…stop.”

“The backdoor trots?”

“No!  I don’t want to know anything about your bowel movements!”  Flicking the lights off, I walked out the door.  My purse was on the sofa.  I grabbed my license, cash and keys.  I didn’t bother with a jacket.  It was one thing less to carry.

“What if I have a medical condition?” Peter asked, following me out the front door.  “I could have something life threatening you might diagnose upon chance.”

“The only medical condition you have is chronic stupidity.”

“That’s cold, pipsqueak.”

“You’ve been spewing bullshit for twenty-four years now.  It hasn’t killed you yet.”  Though, it had gotten him into a fist fight on more than one occasion.

“You’re in rare form tonight.”

“It’s my first night off in almost two weeks.”  I could actually step out of my room and not run into Jake Whalen.  I was looking forward to a night free of his perpetual torment.

“You’re getting paid to gossip with a rock star all day.”

“I’m a nanny for their three-year-old, and I keep an eye on Coop on the sly.”

“Tough life.”

It would be a cake walk if it wasn’t for Jake, I agreed.  I liked Cooper, and Levy was a great kid.  He was low maintenance.  My job couldn’t get any easier.  If it wasn’t for Jake Whalen… “It’s temporary.”

“They’d probably keep you on.  They’ll be looking for a nanny.”

“I don’t want to be a nanny.”

“But you just said you were their nanny.”  The lights on my car flashed as I pressed the fob.  Peter stopped beside the passenger side and stared over the hood.

“I also said it was temporary.”  Opening my door, I slid behind the wheel.  Goosebumps rose across my skin as the cold from my leather seats seeped through my jeans.  Winter had chased the last remnants of spring from the air the second the sun dipped below the horizon.  I cranked up the heat as Peter dropped into the passenger seat.

“I don’t understand.  They’re paying you well, and you only have to watch one kid.  Most teachers get paid a fraction of you’re making to watch a classroom full of them.”

“God, Peter, you’re really observant.”

“What?” Peter objected, throwing his hands up in the air.

“I don’t
want
to be a nanny.”

“Fine.  You don’t want to be a nanny.”  I hoped he would let the subject drop, but I barely made it out of the parking lot when he pressed on.  “What’s so bad about being a nanny?”

“Peter!”  I was going to kill him.  I was going to push him out of the car.

“I can’t help it, Paisley!  I’m nervous!  You’re a distraction!”

“You played football for God’s sake!  You should have nerves of steel!  How did you ever make it onto the field?”

“I watched my diet.”

“Then why aren’t you following your diet plan?”

“Because I don’t have a team to keep me in check!” Peter exclaimed.  “I like food!  It tastes good!”

“Ok,” I settled with resolve, “so talking is a distraction.  That doesn’t mean the subject needs to be about me.”

“You didn’t want to discuss my intestinal issues.”

“I don’t.  There’re other things to talk about.  Besides, concentrating on your stomach will only make it worse.”

“Fine.”  Peter stared expectantly, waiting for me to strike up a neutral topic of conversation.  I would’ve rolled my eyes, but I was driving and needed to keep them on the road.

“Tell me about this whole music career.”

“It’s not a career.  It’s an ambition.  I haven’t quit construction yet.”

“Are you actually contemplating it?”

“No.  I know you’d like to think I’m totally incompetent, but I’m not.”  Cracking his window open, he inclined his head and let the fresh air wash over his face.  “It’s just…there’s gotta be something better than this, you know?  This shitty fucking existence of sweating my ass off every summer and freezing my balls off every winter while building some rich fuck’s house.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.  “Yeah, I know.”  More than he could ever realize.

“I thought you liked nursing.”

“It’s a living, but I wouldn’t consider it particularly enjoyable.”

“What would you rather do if you had the choice?”

“I don’t know.”  If I knew, it probably would be something out of reach.

“So what’s going on with Whalen?”

“Nothing.  Nothing at all.  I told you that.”

“Just checking.”

“Don’t.”

“Is he off limits too?”

“I’d rather talk about your bowel movements.”

“Whoa, not good.”

“Yeah, I’m classifying him in line with pissing out your ass.”

“No—no—you need to pull over.  I think I’m gonna be sick.”  One look at Peter and I hit the brakes.  He was white as a sheet.  His temples were damp.  He had the back of his hand pressed to his mouth.  My tires slid on the gravel as I pulled onto the shoulder.  I could feel my antilock brakes stuttering against the ball of my foot.  Before the car could come to a complete stop, Peter flung the door open and began barfing up what little he’d eaten for dinner.

♪♫♪♫

A few drinks in and I was holding my stomach as I laughed over Peter’s loss of face.  Peter watched indignantly, his mouth pressed to a thin line.  “Do you laugh at your patients too?”

“No, just you.”

“Nice.”

“It was well-deserved.  You laughed at me often enough.”

“
With
you.  I laughed
with
you.”

“That would entail me laughing, too.”

“Come on—I wasn’t that bad.”

“You were totally that bad.  You always made me cry.”

“Pax made you cry.”

“
You
made me cry, and then Pax chased me off.”

“If it rectifies things, Pax used to kick my ass after you left.”

“I didn’t know what I did wrong.”  He would just turn on me at a moment’s notice.  I’d become the object of his ridicule.  I played sports just as hard as any of his friends.  If I skinned my knee, I never made a big deal about it.  I made a point to be one of the boys.

Peter began peeling the label from his beer bottle.  “You didn’t do anything wrong.  It was the guys.  They’d make comments, or I’d catch them looking at you.  I couldn’t have that.  You were my little sister.”

“I know that now,” I said.  “I was just saying I didn't know that then.  You could've said something.  It would've been a lot better than humiliating me.”

“It was easier to pull your ponytail.  You were just a kid.”

“I knew a lot more than you thought.  I'm only two years younger than you.  I mean, maybe not the psychology, but I knew about the birds and the bees.”

“You never said anything.”

“I think ‘I hate you, Peter, I hate you, I hate you, I hate you,’ was pretty telling.”

“Yo, Shaw.”  Cutting our conversation short, a stocky brunette guy with a faux hawk pushed through the crowd and stepped between us.  “We're on in thirty.  Hugh wants to go through the set list one last time and warm up”

Peter vacated his stool and flagged down the bartender with a raise of his arm.  “One more.”  To bolster his courage.

“Nick.”  Peter’s band mate extended his hand in my direction.  I grasped his hand and shook.  His fingers were rough, calloused.  A guitarist then.  “You Peter’s girl?”

“Sister, fuckwad,” Peter corrected.  “Back the fuck off.”  He slammed his last shot down and dropped a five on the counter.  “See ya, pipsqueak.”  After chucking me on the shoulder, nearly knocking me from my stool, he pushed Nick back into the crowd, effectively herding him away from me.

“Asshole,” I muttered, rubbing the ache from my arm.

“Some things never change, huh?” said a deep, male voice from behind me.  I glanced over my shoulder.  First I blinked in surprise, and as recognition set in, a smile spread across my face.

“Liam!”  What I said in my head was ‘holy fucking shit.’  My hormones surged forth, giddy and approving.  I had to tamp them down to refrain from humping his leg when he reached out and drew me into an embrace.

Liam wasn’t a full-faced teen anymore.  All the youth had faded from his features, leaving behind a lean, carved frame.  The pale ginger boy that got razzed in high school had matured into a ruddy, muscular man with a chiseled jaw sporting a light beard.  His hair was no longer shaggy, but slicked back from his face, showcasing his pale green eyes.

“Wasn’t sure it was you at first.”  Pushing me back to arm’s length, his gaze perused my features.

“It’s the violet hair.”

Liam didn’t have full lips.  His bottom lip was larger, and blush pink.  As I stared, it curved into a smile.  “Maybe.”

I found myself smiling back.  “So what have you been up to?”

“School.  Soccer camp, actually.  I’m in an exchange program with Madrid.”

“Madrid.  Wow.”  I was jealous.  Madrid was on my bucket list.  The
world
was on my bucket list.

“Yeah, I fly back tomorrow.  My sister got married last night.  I came home for the wedding.”

“You have to tell me all about it.”

“Eh.  It was a small ceremony.  She had it at this little restaurant where they had their first date.  The weather was good so they opened the veranda.”

“Nice.”  I’d meant Madrid, but I should’ve clarified.

“Excuse me!”  Behind me, some girl toddled over in her heels, which were obviously causing her a great deal of pain.  “Are you sitting here?”  She pointed at my barstool.

“Take it,” said Liam.  I blinked.  Did he just give up my stool?  I would’ve given it to her in any case, but he didn’t ask first.  “You can have mine," he told me.  "I’ll stand.”  Oh.  Ok.  Well, didn’t I feel like a bitch.  Reaching around me, he turned the seat of the stool to face away from the bar.  When I stepped to climb up, he lifted me by the waist and placed me onto the stool.

“Thank you.”  He was still grasping my waist.

“Can I buy you a drink?”

“Sure.”

“What’re you having?”

"Violet!"  Carter's voice rang out like the discordant skip of a record.  My smile fell into a frown.  Leaning to the side, I peeked around Liam’s shoulder.  Carter was heading toward us with Jake trailing in his wake.  Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck.

“Friends of yours?” Liam inquired.

“Sort of.”

“Boyfriend?”

I shook my head.  “No.  God, no.”

“Good.”

I gave a smile, but it fell short.  Suddenly that hand resting on my waist felt like a betrayal against Jake.   Why, I couldn’t fathom.  Jake hadn’t promised me anything except to make my life a living hell.  Little he knew I was already in Hell, and he was the devil that sent me there.

“Hey, Violet!”

“What’re you doing here?”

“Oh, hey, Carter!  How’re you?” Carter mocked.  “I’m good, Violet.  Thanks for asking.  Who’s your friend?  You going to introduce me?”

“No.”

“That’s no way to treat a friend.”

“Sure it is.  I’m trying to spare him the aggravation.”  I looked from Carter to Liam.  “You don’t want to know them.  Trust me.  They’re like genital herpes—they never go away.”

Carter laughed.  “That’s—that’s pretty good.  You’re funny.”

“Liam, this is Carter Strickland.”  I pointed to the aforementioned sore point.  “And that’s Jake Whalen.”  I gestured aloofly to the latter sore on my ass.