Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (4 page)

Repositioning myself, I propped on my forearms and stared into the brown irises ringing his pupils. His gaze softened, his unending worry these days fading some, giving way to a glow of love. Gulping down the lump forming in my throat before it prevented me from speaking, I questioned. “You using again?”

His shields shot up. The warmth dissipated and left a blank gaze in its wake.

“Yeah.”

“Since when?”

“The night the label dumped me.” Leaning, he dropped the cigarette into a soda can. “Are you mad?” He caught my neck with his hand, curving his fingers, holding my face to his.

“No.” Disappointed. Confused. But I wasn’t mad. I suddenly only wanted to kiss him. Kiss him until he didn’t need to push junk into his system. Our lips bushed together. Our tongues teased together.

“I’m sorry, Scar. So sorry. Seemed like if I was going in rehab anyway, what did it matter if I went in clean or not.”

Rationalization of an addict.

Although I had experimented and believed I’d done well in creating a natural detox, I knew nothing about the mental therapy that should have accompanied his treatment.

“I don’t care. Just fuck me, Gage. I’m going to miss this… miss you… so much.” When he stroked me with one long finger, I pushed at his wrist and my own twisted demons tumbled out. “Not yet… I want to watch you…”

Gage was happy to indulge as always, but took the game further when I decided that wasn’t how I wanted to play after all. When I reached for him, he pushed me away, all the while pinning those dark eyes to mine as he worked himself. At the last moment, he sank into me with one of his sexy groans. Unbelievably frustrated because I’d spent my time trying to lure him out of the show I’d requested instead of spending my time on myself, I heaved a sigh when his heartbeat began to slow against my chest. And then he whispered in my ear. “How do you want it, Scar, sweet darlin’?” Still connected with me, he lifted his head enough to stare into my face. “Because we’re going to do this all night, every way you want… Soon as I can move again.”

“If you fall asleep…” My warning was stern, but in actuality, I knew he hadn’t been sleeping and would give up sex to watch him at peace for a few hours.

“I won’t. Plenty of time for sleep in the days to come.”

It was almost morning
when I fell asleep. I wasn’t sure Gage ever had. Waking to his phone alarm was hell for me, but he was already showered and dressed.

He wouldn’t allow me to ride to Shady Oasis with him.

Holding myself together, I enjoyed one last kiss before he drew apart with the saddest expression I’d ever seen him wear and motioned me into the taxi. The moment he shut the car door, closing me inside, my eyes brimmed. The first tear fell as the taxi pulled away.

I had never flown first class before this last couple of weeks—not that I remembered anyway—and I was already feeling spoiled to the spacy comfortable seats with a cushy pillow and the attentiveness of the flight attendants.

Minutes after taking off, I ate a grilled chicken sandwich and sipped a calming glass of wine. The moment the mess was cleared and the tray folded away, I began to doze.

An hour had passed when I awoke to voices in my section of the flight and with a smile of thanks, I accepted another wine spritz from the attendant. The empty seat next to me was a stark reminder of the days of aloneness ahead.

Would he be my same Gage when released from rehab? What if brainwashing against his addictions broke our relationship?

After the first week, we would be able to talk on the phone. After the first month, I’d be able to see him. But what if something changed with him and he didn’t want to pick up where we left off?

Chill, Scar Dar’. It’s gonna be fine
. Did it make me a lunatic to pretend for a second I was hugged against the haven and heat of Gage’s chest while he whispered words of comfort?

I needed a better way to distract myself than what were possibly mentally unstable daydreams. Picking up my phone, I connected to the wireless on this flight.

Cautiously, remembering my last experience on a plane, I made sure my speakers were muted and although this time I didn’t have a seatmate, tilted my screen so only I could view it.

The website had been bookmarked in the deviant part of my mind since I had discovered it years ago. The Ivy and Bradley video was no longer top center. Thank goodness. Ignoring whatever new couple had this unfortunate honor of most views, I tapped the ‘new’ link.

The title of the most recently uploaded video was enough to almost bring my just eaten food back to the light of day.

Gage Remington and Mystery Beach Babe

I closed out the screen, unwilling to mar the memories of the last twenty-four hours while the soreness between my legs was still a pleasant reminder. Of all the times for his past to come back and bite me.

Taking deep breaths, I strived for an inner Zen. When that didn’t work, I ordered a crown and coke and swallowed it down. I was in the middle of another when I couldn’t stand it any longer. Pulling up the website, I sent a furtive glance around and jabbed with my thumb on the link.

It was Gage all right. His eyes alternately closed in ecstasy and open, either staring down at or beyond the woman in his arms.

Watching again, I was consumed by the beauty of him, of the two of them together.

The mystery beach babe?

Me.

“W
hat did she say?” Ivy dipped her toes into the pool before spreading a towel onto a chaise and plopping down.

I had come from a half hour video chat with a lawyer my publicist had referred. I had begun the process of getting the video removed the moment I’d returned to the privacy of Gage’s house, and continued to make and return calls from Big Sur. What I hadn’t done was call Gage.

“It’s exactly as you said. We were outside with no expectation of privacy. But since a zoom lens was used, there’s a possibility they will have to take it down.”

“Did she say anything about the person who uploaded it? About buying it? Making an offer?

“Yeah. She said if going this route, to get Gage to do it and do it before I’m identified.”

Ivy was in the motion of lying down, but she popped up. “Because if it is deemed legal to leave up, it’s going to be worth a
lot
. Holy cow.”

“I can’t talk to Gage for a week.”

“His lawyer can!” Ivy’s eyes flew open wide with that revelation. “They’ll put his lawyer right through to him.”

“But he’s in rehab… This sort of shit could be a setback to his health.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and ceased pacing to sit on the chaise near Ivy’s. “Besides. The documentary releases in theaters tonight. Somebody’s going to put a face to the random beach babe.” I forced a wry smile.

“But if they can pull it before someone does…”

“Yeah. But if they can’t, well…” I shrugged. “I’m not sure I care. It’s sexy. And even if I don’t get to keep Gage at the end of all of this, then at least there’s that.”

“Scarla Smythe!” Ivy feigned a properly shocked air.

“Scarlette Conterra,” I corrected, and curved my lips in a reflective smile. “I’m changing my name back. To what it is on my birth certificate. It’s in the works. With all the other legal work when I get back to L.A.”

Being with Ivy was
like stepping a decade back in time. My friend was still the same silly, sarcastic, sweet best friend she’d always been. Except for the several years I had only thought she’d been. But it was easy to let the past go when the blender was constantly whirring out cocktails and the Pacific Ocean stretched into infinity.

The only non-blissful part of this trip had been my decision to bring Rascal. Gage had turned him loose at Arrowhead Lake with no problems of him straying. When I did the same here at Big Sur, the animal took off, sometimes down the steep hillside to the ocean and only after much coaxing returned. I wondered if he was searching for Gage and had begun bringing him out of the house on a leash only. This led to him howling from inside the house while we sunned, or pulling at the tied leash hard enough to drag our chairs around when I wasn’t walking him.

A package arrived by private courier on the morning of my birthday. The note inside from Gage had me choked with emotion by the time I read to the last line.

Happy Birthday Scar Dar

Inside the box was a wide silver bracelet with antiqued engraved etchings. A single rose was the prominent art piece and it was surrounded by swirls. Looking closer, I saw thorny vines with leaves.

Ivy kept the drinks flowing that afternoon, and lulled by the deceptive peace of the ocean waves far below the cliff, we discussed going into town for dinner as we had the night before.

I shrugged as I slurped the last of a margarita. “The town seems quiet enough.”

“It’s crazy to think how changed your world was the moment you opened your eyes this morning,” Ivy mused, twirling her straw.

Still unable to keep from looking at my bracelet for more than a minute, I gazed at it again while reaching for my phone.
This is stupid
. I clicked on the browser icon.
So stupid
. I stared at the blank search bar.
But I have to know
. I typed my name in. Hit search. Sipped, and then promptly coughed the sip up.

Scarlette Conterra… estimated billions… daughter of rock icon Tyler Conterra …only heir… of trust fund age…

In one form or fashion, heading after heading heralded the news of my birthday and what it meant. Because of the documentary, my part in it, and the publicity, there were current pictures of me to accompany the news pieces.

“I don’t think we should go out, Ivy.”

But we did. Ivy had a devil may care attitude. And I felt silly and paranoid.

Dinner at The Star Fish was fabulous.

Drinks and dancing at Ten Club was fun until I saw a cell phone aimed my way.

Paranoid.

Cell Phone Girl made eye contact and instead of putting the phone away, she nudged her date, motioned with her head, and the guy looked my way.

Not paranoid when they’re really after you!

I turned my back on the couple.

Rapping my fingers on the bar, I waited for Ivy to return from dancing with some guy who’d been buying us drinks.

“We need to go!” Grabbing my wallet, I slid from the stool.

“What? No. I like him!” Ivy took the tone of a five-year-old who was having her ice cream jacked.

“This girl took pictures of me.”

Ivy’s preschool pout disappeared. She listened to the description of the couple, looked over my shoulder, and confirmed with a nod. “You’re right. She’s staring right at you. So is the chick at the table next to her. I can’t believe it’s happening already.”

Ivy clamped her mouth closed when her man joined us. I politely refused another drink when he offered and frowned when Ivy ordered.

“I have a bad feeling.” I confessed to Ivy after dragging her to the ladies room. “We need to go.”

“I really like this guy…” Gone was Ivy’s earlier whine, but still she protested.

“Hiiii…” A woman about twenty two slurred the greeting while looking at the two of us reflected in the mirror. Next, she turned to address me in the flesh. “Some of the girls are saying you’re Scarlette Conterra.”