Part 6 (1/2)

”Good.” Kent's voice cracked through the room like a snapping branch. ”If it's just a few things we will swing by after rehearsal and pack them up.”

We? As in, Kent would come? The thought of him in Rose's little apartment, stanking it up with his pheromones was almost comical. Rose hadn't had a date in ages and her apartment was as s.e.xless as a janitor's closet. And Carter would be with us. Nothing would happen.

Relieved at having worked this out, I nodded. ”Okay.”

”Rehearsal, then.” And he started for the door without even saying goodbye to Rose or Mr. Guire.

I looked at Carter, wondering if this were part of Kent's standard operating procedures. He just gave me a little shrug and a helpless smile, as though he couldn't believe I'd signed up for this of my own free will.

”Welcome to the Monkey House, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said. He held out an arm as though he were a chivalrous Victorian gentleman and I a lady. I turned to Rose.

”I guess I'll see you later,” I said, then my eyes widened in shock.

A bright sheen of tears covered Rose's eyes.

Rapidly she blinked them away, then wrapped me up in a fierce hug. ”I hope you know what you're doing,” she whispered to me.

I didn't. I had no idea. But I just smiled at her anyway as I took Carter's arm. I didn't want to worry her.

Then Kent called from the lobby: ”Get the lead out! We're already late!”

Carter put his hand on mine and swept me out of the room and off to a new life.

Chapter Five.

The ride to the studio was short and sweet, but still a bit awkward, and I rode in the back so I wouldn't be tempted to crawl across the stick s.h.i.+ft and f.u.c.k Kent's brains out while he drove. I have no excuse, except to say that our handshake had been a handshake that bards should have sung about through the ages and I was so turned on I hardly paid any attention to where we were going. I spent most of the short trip s.h.i.+fting in my seat, trying to find just... the right... angle...

When we parked I jerked out of my trance and stared at the building where we'd stopped.

I don't know what I'd expected a rehearsal studio to look like, but this wasn't quite what I'd had in mind. It was a squat, square stucco building that looked like it could possibly hold the worst apartments ever conceived in the history of mankind... and that was it. It was utterly unremarkable. The roof was flat, the doors were painted s.h.i.+t-brown and unmarked, and the cars in the parking lot were almost all junkers. It was actually a little depressing.

I started when my door opened and Carter leaned down, offering his hand. ”Here we are,” he said without any sort of finesse. ”Where all the magic happens.”

I put my hand in his and he helped me out of the back seat. Whereas the chemistry between Kent and I was immediate, all I felt with Carter was a pleasant warmth, and his dark blue eyes were kind. I let go of his hand and adjusted my messenger bag, staring at the building.

”I thought it would be bigger,” I said to no one in particular.

”Why would it be bigger?” Kent snapped from the other side of the car. ”It's a place to practice, not to throw a party.”

I winced. What had I said?

”Yeah, but you have to admit, it was a pretty good party,” Carter replied, and I realized that the barb hadn't been aimed at me. Kent just snorted at him, locked his s.h.i.+ny black car, and stalked off toward the building, his whole body stiff and angry.

Carter waved me ahead. ”Come on, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said. ”Let's get this over with.”

”Sorry,” I said. I felt utterly incompetent. I was supposed to be the one who was looking after him, not the other way around, but he just smiled at me. He had a lovely smile.

”About what? p.i.s.sing Kent off? He's always like that. Don't worry about him. If you're not p.i.s.sing him off you're boring him, and then he gets really p.i.s.sed off.” He laughed as we followed his brother. ”I swear to G.o.d, sometimes I think he doesn't want me to stop partying because then he won't have anything to worry about any more.”

Somehow I doubted that. I had to hurry to keep up with his long-legged stride. He was remarkably chipper for someone I had seen half-dead only twenty-four hours before and I wondered if he'd had some of the hair of the dog that bit him or if he was just one of those natural drunks who never get hangovers. I thought I might as well ask him. ”And how are you feeling, uh, Mr. Hudson? After last night, I mean.”

He laughed at that, a quick, easy thing. ”Call me Carter. You've already seen me naked at my worst, and you are my Mrs. Girlfriend on paper anyway. I have to say I kind of like that part.”

I blinked. ”What part?”

He smirked as we reached one of the brown doors that looked like every other brown door ringing the building. Kent had already gone through it, and I could hear the sound of lazy drums from inside. ”The part where I get a girlfriend without having to go on a first date or any of that awkward dancing around each other,” Carter said. He reached out and opened the door for me.

The stink of cigarettes and weed hit me full in the face as I stepped inside, and I had to blink several times to dispel the bright afterlight of the afternoon sun that hung behind my eyelids. When I did, I saw that the rehearsal room was just that: a room with m.u.f.fled walls and no windows and the bare minimum of equipment: a keyboard, a drum set, a guitar and a ba.s.s, and a number of amps. The only thing remarkable about it was the small loft above the back half of the room. A rickety white ladder led up to it. Three people were already here.

There was Kent of course, still in his suit, but as I watched he swept his coat off and flung it over the back of a chair, then rolled his white cuffs up, revealing brilliant full-sleeve tattoos wrapping his forearms. I forced myself to tear my eyes away from him and study the other two band members.

First there was the drummer-Manny Reyes, my brain spat out. He sat behind his drum set, tipped back in his chair with one foot up on the wall. A joint hung out of his full-lipped mouth, his curly, glossy black locks long enough to brush his shoulders. He wore a tight black t-s.h.i.+rt and faded jeans, but his feet were bare. Thick, heavy brows shadowed golden eyes as he flipped his drumsticks over and over through the air. He didn't even look up when Carter and I entered.

I couldn't say the same for the lead singer, Sonya Kyle. I'd seen pictures of her, but even in real life she was gorgeous. Her eyes were huge and green, and her cascade of red hair tumbled down past the middle of her back, streaked with blond and purple. She wore a tiny tank top and skinny jeans with a pair of platform flip-flops that probably required a signed waiver to wear. She paced back and forth in front of the keyboard, sucking down a cigarette and drinking a gla.s.s of clear liquid that I could only hope was water. She turned and shot me the most poisonous glare I had ever seen when I walked in, and it took all my self-control to not melt like a n.a.z.i standing before the Arc of the Covenant.

”h.e.l.lo,” she said. ”Nice to meet you.” It was astonis.h.i.+ng how she managed to convey, with those few words, that she would prefer to toss me into a meat grinder rather than talk to me. I barely mustered a faint smile before she whirled away and lit another cigarette from the b.u.t.t of the first one. ”Are you ready, Kent?” she demanded. ”You guys are late.”

Kent didn't even answer her, and Manny just smiled as he sucked on his joint before blowing a huge cloud of smoke into the air above his head.

”Welcome to our happy home,” Carter whispered, clapped me on my shoulder, and pushed past me to the chair where his guitar stood, waiting and ready. Then he paused and turned back to me, a grin on his face.

”By the way, Mrs. Girlfriend,” he said, ”could you get me a beer from the fridge upstairs in the loft?”

Everyone in the room turned and stared at me. Except Kent, who just put his hand over his face. He was a jerk-the kind of sinfully hot a.s.shole you f.u.c.k but never talk to again afterward, more fool me-but I was starting to feel rather sorry for him.

”Mrs. Girlfriend?” Sonya demanded, her eyes narrowed. ”What the h.e.l.l...” She stopped as she raked her gaze over me again, this time far sharper and more exacting. She clearly didn't like what she saw. She whirled around. ”What is this, Kent? You said no one but band members and staff at rehearsals. If Carter can bring his girlfriend-” Girlfriend was apparently synonymous with dingleberry collection in Sonya's mind, ”-then why can't I bring my entourage? They're staff!”

Manny giggled, and Sonya shot him a glare. He blew smoke at her. ”They're staff, all right,” he said, then trailed off and looked confused.

Carter sighed. ”I think what Manny means to say is that your entourage is enormously gay, but he can't think of a good d.i.c.k joke while he's stoned off his a.s.s.”

Manny laughed again. ”Stones. a.s.s,” he said.

Oh boy, I thought. This was terrifying. I looked to Kent for help, my eyes wide and pleading. Surely this was the best time to mention that I was, indeed, staff, and that I wasn't actually Carter's girlfriend. But when Kent dropped his hand and looked straight at me I had the curious premonition that this was where everything was going to jump the rails and never come back.

I was right. Those blue-green eyes locked on mine, and Kent just gave a one-shouldered shrug. ”She's a good influence on Carter,” was all he said.

A tiny squeak came from Carter, but it was lost in the sudden Sonya explosion. ”Excuse me?” she said. ”Excuse me? Are you saying we can now bring our one night stands with us to practice? What kind of influence is she? She sure as h.e.l.l doesn't influence him to show up on time!”

To my utter shock, Kent ignored her. I wanted to run over and shake him. What kind of a manager was he? And if he wasn't going to share the real nature of my relations.h.i.+p to Carter with the rest of the band, then why the h.e.l.l was it written into the contract?

This whole situation was absurd and stupid and everyone in this room was beyond f.u.c.king insane, including me. If I'd really wanted to get away from drama for a while, I could have chosen a far better career path to follow than Rock Star Babysitter.

Sonya was starting to vibrate with rage, and Manny wasn't helping the situation by dissolving into a puddle of wheezing giggles. It was high school all over again, and I was suddenly blessed with uncommon insight as why the whole music biz had a reputation for being high as a kite on blow twenty-four seven.

Still. I was here to do a job. I was getting paid for it, getting paid well. If I couldn't handle a drama queen, then what kind of babysitter would I be? Supernanny would be disappointed.