RIPPED: A Rockstar Romance (Wreckage Book 2) Page 2

My face heated up. I turned back to the front of the bus and flicked through my papers again, without actually reading them.

  Fucking Jules. One minute he was dancing wildly around with you, cavorting like a happy puppy and making you laugh until your face hurt. The next minute he was this broody fucker in the corner, licking his wounds with a bottle in hand. It was enough to give you whiplash. And what was worse was that he seemed like he had it in for me.

  For the first few weeks of working with Wreckage, I'd tried everything to win him over. I'd thought that even if he hated me for using "their crisis as my opportunity" - a phrase he'd used over and over in those first turbulent weeks - he'd eventually realize how fucking good I was at my job. I'd made sure to point out every time I did something that benefited them, how hard I worked on their behalf.

  But now? Fuck it. I was their manager, nothing more. He couldn't hurt my feelings because I had no feelings to hurt. Maybe Jules had warranted a second glance when I first met him. Hell, those black curls and dark eyes would have any red-blooded woman sitting up a little straighter.

  But there were two important reasons why Jules Spencer would never be on my radar. One? he was an asshole.

  And two? He was a musician. Musicians couldn't be trusted.

  No one knew that better than me.

  I flicked through my papers again. The whoops behind me were getting louder. Gritting my teeth, I set my clipboard down and reached for my phone, intending on putting my earbuds in, when my screen lit up with Tate's caller ID. Grateful for the distraction, I practically lunged for it.

  "You're with the band right? How long are you going to be?" my second youngest and first-neediest brother demanded by way of greeting.

  I hid my smile and sighed into my phone. "I already told you, Tater Tot. Two months. Although it could go longer. You know as well as I do that this is the first time I'm doing this."

  "Yeah but you usually are sure about everything." Tate's voice though the receiver was deep and manly now. He was a freshman in college and loved to puff up with importance about it. But I could hear it. That little aggrieved whine in the background of his vowels as he said my name. "You'll have your phone with you all the time though, right August?"

  "I have my phone," I sighed.

  A shadow fell across my shoulder. I looked up to see Jules looming above me, his big hands braced against the back of the driver's seat. I twisted away and looked out the window, focusing on Tate. "Clearly I have my phone since you're talking to me on it right now," I went on. "And if you can't reach me when I'm in the studio, you can always wait until I can get back to you. It's not like I'm going to Timbuktu, Buddy."

  "Don't call me Buddy," he said automatically, but sullenly.

  There was something there, in his voice. "You okay, Tater?"

  "I'm fine," he mumbled. I heard him take a deep breath and waited, but he didn't supply anything more than that.

  "We talked this morning, right?" I reminded him gently. "You're doing the right thing."

  Tate mumbled something that was drowned out by the cacophony behind me. I darted a murderous glance over my shoulder and clapped my hand over my ear, but Tate wasn't saying anything, just hanging on the phone, breathing. "Hey, sorry," I said. "I'm on the bus already. The guys are already partying."

  "You partying with them?" my brother asked, perking up with the chance to tease me.

  "No!" I huffed. Jules was still hovering, chatting up the driver. Taking up way too much space. I slid back, getting out from under his shadow so the hair on my arms would stop standing up.

  I have a thing about my personal space.

  "Why aren't you partying?" Tate asked, cluelessly.

  I hissed through my teeth. "I've told you this," I reminded him. "Musicians are like children." I shot a glance at Jules, whose head twitched ever so slightly. So he was eavesdropping. Fucker. I raised my voice a little, making sure he could hear. "You give them an inch and they start taking a yard and then suddenly you're mopping up vomit at 3am while they bang groupies in the room next to you."

  "Fucking Noah," my brother cursed supportively. All four of my brothers had apparently hated my useless ex, but none of them had the balls to say anything until after I'd kicked his ass to the curb. Only then did they have the nerve to tell me what they thought of Noah Cochran, lead singer of Sinister Affinity and owner of a roaming dick. Leo, the oldest Waverly kid after me, whose temper could sometimes rival mine in explosiveness, had volunteered to punch Noah in the face. He seemed relieved when I told him there was no need since I'd already done it myself.

  "I'm serious though," I told Tate, lowering my voice. Jules seemed distracted, laughing at something either the driver said, or - more likely - cracking up over his own lame jokes. He wasn't paying attention as I said, "There's no room to slip up here. I have to set an example."

  "You're more like their mom than a manager," Tate observed, hitting me with one of his patented sharp insights.

  "Yeah," I agreed, pointedly. Tate had, after all, called me this morning about his issue with his World History professor as I was trying to finish packing for my trip. Not our mother. "It's kind of my thing, this being everyone's mom thing, Tater, so uh..." I let my words hang in the air, silently prompting him to wrap it up.

  Tate sighed heavily. "So I forgot," he said, not saying goodbye. "What was I supposed to do, again?"

  "About?"

  "Professor Kingsley!" he huffed.

  "Go to his office hours," I repeated. "Tell him you're seeing a counselor now." I paused. "Wait, you are seeing the counselor now, right?"

  Sullen silence was my answer.

  "Tate?" I prompted, warningly.

  "Yes," he mumbled.

  "Good." The fierce love that squeezed my heart made me sound angrier than I felt. I missed the days when my little brother's problems were easier to fix. "So you explain to your professor that you need an extension due to mental health issues."

  "I don't have mental health issues."

  "You spent how many days in bed, Tate?"

  "Shut up."

  "Did you shower today?"

  "Yes," he groaned.

  "Okay then. This is your plan. You can do this, Buddy." This time he was too caught up in his own issues to complain about the nickname. I glanced down at my hands and felt my shoulders sag a little. "Tell you what. You call me, okay? Right after you get out of his office, okay? I'll be waiting to hear how it goes."

  "Okay," Tate mumbled morosely. He'd had been a stellar student in high school, forever winning awards without even trying for them. The fact that he went from the biggest fish at his high school, to a tiny fish swimming in the vast ocean of college was throwing him for a very harsh loop. I had been used to hearing from him ever week or so, but now his calls had increased to one, sometimes two, every day.

  "I'm going now," I reminded him. "Goodbye, Tate."

  I could hear rustling as he straightened up. "Bye, Auggie," he said, making me roll my eyes at my hated nickname. "Have fun bossing around another group of boys."

  "Trust me," I grumbled. "Fun isn't the right word." I pressed the button, ending the call, but my finger lingered. There was something...off... about the way Tate was talking, a sort of robotic tone to his voice. Some big-sister sixth sense made my stomach churn and I wondered if I should call him back, demand to know what was bothering him, why he sounded so...odd.

  But my brother was a big boy now, and what's more he had his marching orders. I took a deep breath, staring straight ahead, willing myself to be satisfied that I'd done enough. But still that little squirming wiggle at the bottom of my stomach kept twisting.

  Chapter Four

  Jules

  Her big, cinnamon eyes were locked on some point in the middle distance and her cheeks were so pale I could see freckles I'd never noticed before standing out against the white. August Waverly, looking deep in thought, worried even. That's odd.

  Apparently she had other expressions besides smug and/or pissed-off.
Who would have thought?

  I watched her out of the corner of my eye, feeling unsettled. The minutes ticked by and still she stared, and her expression made my teeth tingle. Something was bothering her. I didn't like it. Dammit, bothering her was my job.

  I leaned over her. "Boyfriend checking in already?" I asked with a leering grin.

  August jumped and slammed her phone back down into her lap like she was trying to hide it, but not before I took note of the "Tate" caller ID that still lingered on the screen. "Tate, huh?" I teased, flopping down into the seat across from her and enjoying how red she was turning. She was pissed off again. It honestly felt like a relief. "Sort of a douche-y name, don't you think?" I needled.

  "No worse than Julian," she spat.

  I laughed and raised my bottle in toast. "Well played, love." I took a sip and regarded her a moment. Her attention was still wavering and we couldn't have that. "So what does this Tate guy do, anyway?" I asked as I leaned back and narrowed my eyes. "Lemme guess, total mama's boy investment banker, right? You snag yourself a Wall Street type, love?" I clucked my tongue, feigning disappointment. "They're a plague on this city, you know."

  She rolled her eyes to the heavens and I grinned, feeling on much steadier ground now. "No. And I don't even know why I'm about to tell you this," she huffed.

  "Because I'm charming."

  "Hardly."

  "Because I'm nosey?"

  "Well that's certainly true." Her cinnamon eyes flicked down her phone and some of that worry seeped in at the edges, tightening her face. "Tate's my brother," she explained.

  I lifted my bottle and took a deep swig. A flood of questions - all of them way too personal, all of them destined to get me slapped in the face or worse - rushed to my lips and I had to close my mouth to keep from asking them. What's wrong with your brother?

  Why are you worried about him?

  Is there any way I can help?

  "Huh," I said instead.

  She glanced up at me, clearly just as taken aback by the inadequacy of that reply as I was. "Huh?" she echoed. "What does that mean?"

  I shrugged and looked away. The back of the bus had quieted now, with Niall and Hudson engaging in that special kind of rambling drunken conversation that has no endpoint. The kind that always reminded me of getting trapped in a roundabout, unable to get off at your exit. Hudson made circles with his hands and repeatedly asked. "You know what I mean though, right? You know what I'm saying?" to Niall who was nodding with his eyes half-closed. Ewan had his eyes closed, maybe sleeping, maybe just pretending so we'd all leave him alone. I could see his fingers curling and tapping an imaginary fretboard and knew that - whether her was asleep or awake - the music in his head was still playing the same tunes.

  We'd shot out of the city like a rock let loose from a slingshot, and now were racing north up the highway. The deep green of trees tinged with the beginnings of autumn color and an occasional farm were all I could see out the windows. I slowly turned to look straight ahead.

  August was still staring at me, legs crossed, waiting. She braced her elbows on her knee and leaned forward with one eyebrow raised. I grinned at her, enjoying the way her T-shirt fell away from her chest. There was this little bit of black lace that edged the top of her bra....

  "What did you mean by that?" she demanded.

  After a few moments of mental scrambling, I remembered that she had asked me a question. "What did I mean when I said 'Huh?'" I stalled, straightening up a little. "'Huh' about you having a brother, is all. I guess I pegged you as an only child."

  I glanced at the scenery racing by over her shoulder for a moment and then looked back at her. Screw the trees. She was much more interesting to watch.

  "Wrong," she said smugly. Good. Smug again. She was definitely back to being the August I knew and despised. "I'm the oldest of five, I've got four younger brothers." She glanced down that the phone again. "Tate's the middle child." Her expression hardened. "And his name is fine. It's my mother's maiden name, asshole."

  I shrugged again and glanced back out at the scenery, hoping to buy some time to recover by taking another sip, but my bottle was empty. "Fair enough."

  There was a spell of silence. I twisted a little, ready to head back to grab another beer, but she swatted me in the leg. "Why did you think I was an only child?" she pressed.

  I looked down at where she'd smacked me. "Jesus, you don't let things go, do you love?"

  "I'm a bulldog. That's why I'm a good manager." She crossed her arms and that pretty little smug expression had her lips twisted just the way I liked them. An angry, rosy flush was spreading nicely across the tops of her truly fantastic tits. "Now spill it," she demanded. "What made you think I didn't have any siblings?"

  "Because you're bossy," I retorted. "Demanding. No regard for privacy. Always want your own way."

  I expected her to glare at me but she just laughed. "Sure you're not talking about yourself here?"

  I sat back down again, empty beer forgotten. "Me an only child?"

  She leveled me with a glance. "Nah, you're right. You're definitely the youngest. The baby."

  I applauded "You ought to start up a sideshow at Coney Island, love. You're right."

  Her lip curled in a haughty grin. "I knew it."

  I shifted in my seat, leaning forward. She shifted too, inching backward and tugging the neckline of her T-shirt a little higher. "My sis, she's twelve years older than me. I was an oops-baby," I explained.

  "An oops-baby?"

  "Mum thought she was going through menopause. Really she was pregnant with me."

  "So you're saying..." she said, coming in for the kill. "You came barging in and ruined all her plans."

  "Something like that," I conceded, raising my fist in appreciation of the zinger. She sat back and crossed her arms in triumph. "Not intended at all."

  My revelation was rewarded with another haughty grin. "A mistake?"

  "Sure." I shot her a grin. "But, love, you should know," I teased, letting my eyes drift back down to the freckles on her tits. "I'm the best mistake you could ever make."

  Chapter Five

  August

  He let his completely inappropriate, thoroughly cheesy pick-up line hang there in the air for way too long. I narrowed my eyes, wondering just how to handle this. Somehow the tactics I used on my brothers seemed unsuited for this kind of moment.

  If it were Leo, I'd give him "the Look," and then turn away, not giving him any more ammo.

  If it were Tate, I'd dress him down, letting him know exactly how stupid he was being.

  If it were Cabot, I'd roll my eyes and laugh because nothing was worse to my sixteen year old brother than having someone laugh at him.

  If it were Simon I'd tell him to shape up right now or I'd take his Xbox away.

  I felt the corner of my mouth twitch and caught myself before I started smiling. That was the ticket. Treat him like a fourteen year old boy. "Are you trying to flirt with me, Jules? Because you're doing a pretty shitty job of it."

  He shrugged and raked his fingers through his dark curls. I licked my lips and ignored the way my heart was banging around in my chest like a rabbit caught in a snare. "Nah love," he scoffed. "If I was flirting with you, you wouldn't need to ask to be sure. You'd know."

  Anger heated my cheeks. "Good," I retorted smartly. "Because if you try that shit again, there will be consequences."

  "Consequences?" he parroted, looking far more amused than he had any right to be.

  I reached into my bag and rifled around until I found them. "See these?" I said, dangling the keys in his face. "These are the keys to the rental car I arranged to have meet us up there." His dark eyes darted to the jingling ring and I lifted my chin in triumph. "That's right, the only form of transportation we'll all have in this backwater, and I'm keeping them hidden from you lot. So if I were you, I'd be on my best behavior."

  He stood up, planting his legs against he sway of the bus. I held my head high even as he lean
ed over and invaded my space. "Sure love," he said with an almost plaintive sigh. "But what's the fun in that?"

  I pressed my lips together and glared at him, switching to the Leo-approach.

  He lingered for a moment before letting out another sigh that brushed across the skin of my neck in a rush of warmth. When he finally turned and headed towards the back of the bus, I let out the breath I'd been holding and allowed myself a small smile of relief. I'd definitely won that round. But I also felt like I'd lost too.

  The rest of the ride up, no one bothered me. No one even bothered to talk to me, ask me if I wanted a beer or make me go over plans for the billionth time. I raced quickly through the work I had, and was left with nothing to do but stare out the window, idly chewing the corner of my nail. I'd planned for every detail and now it was all coming together.

  It almost didn't seem real that it was finally happening. With a rush of pride, I grabbed my phone and shot off a quick text to Celia. "Sorry for stealing your man," I typed.

  CeCe sent back a laughing face. "How's he doing?" she wrote back.

  I glanced behind me. "Snoring," I wrote.

  She sent back three laughing emojis. "He only does that when he's been drinking," she wrote. Followed by, "I can't believe you let them drink."

  I grinned at the screen. "It's a celebration. I'm not that much of a harass."

  "Yes you are."

  "True. But there's not much they have to do today besides get there. Tomorrow is when the work starts."

  "You excited?"

  I glanced out the window again. Was I? There was certainly a flutter of something in my stomach. It could be excitement. It could also be nausea brought on by the twisting turns in the road as the bus climbed the switchbacks into the mountain.

  "My band is making their record," I finally wrote back. "Of course I'm excited."

  "Your band, huh?" CeCe wrote back almost immediately, with a tongue out emoji.

  She was making fun of me but I didn't care. "Fuck yeah they're mine," I wrote. "I get them their gigs. I check their contracts. I book the right studio space for their sound. Wreckage belongs to me."