Seductive Chaos (Bad Rep #3) (7 page)

Theo Anderson turned to Marion and blessed her with a smile that was absolutely swoony. He had a mouth full of blinding white teeth. There was no way he achieved that sort of perfection without years of braces and bleaching.

He wore a tailored suit that fit snuggly over broad shoulders. His face smooth and fair and classically handsome. He looked almost boyish with thick brown hair that fell over his forehead and an adorable dimple in his cheek.

He didn’t look to be much older than I was and when he turned his eyes to mine, the deep blue twinkled warmly, putting me instantly at ease. I couldn’t help but smile stupidly at him.

He held out his hand and I took it without hesitation. “I hear we’re going to be spending a lot of time together,” he said and I laughed nervously.

“You heard right,” I replied quickly. I pulled my hand away hastily and tucked it into the pocket of my skirt. Theo Anderson was really pretty. Almost too pretty. His appeal was obvious. And my interest was instantaneous.

Uh oh.

Theo Anderson turned to the other people in his group and quickly introduced them, though his eyes never left my face.

Marion excused herself a short time later, leaving me to my doom, err, job.

“So, Mr. Anderson, why don’t we start with having you tell me what ideas you have for the event. We can brainstorm and narrow down concepts,” I suggested, proud of myself for sounding like I knew what the hell I was talking about. I waved the group toward a small table by the open bar and concession area.

“Please, call me Theo. Mr. Anderson makes me feel so old,” he quipped and it was on the tip of my tongue to ask him exactly how old he was. And normally I would have. But the personality quirks of every day Vivian Baily wouldn’t fly in my new nine to five.

“Okay, Theo,” I acquiesced. I sat down with Theo and the rest of his team. A woman, he had introduced as Shelly, opened a file folder and began to hand me printouts and project schemes.

I was trying not to get overwhelmed. But the scope of this event was huge. It was way beyond anything I had ever coordinated before and I was silently cursing Marion and whole “time to throw you in the deep end” pep talk.

After thirty minutes of making illegible notes and shuffling piles of papers as they were shoved my way, my head felt like it was going to explode. Theo Anderson’s eyes spent most of the time fixed to my face in a way that both exhilarated me and left me uncomfortable.

“Okay, I think that’s enough for today. I’m getting the feeling that you’ve taken in about all that you can,” Theo laughed and I didn’t know whether to be insulted or relieved.

His team gave their thanks and left, leaving me alone with Theo. I held up the pile of papers I had been given. “I’ll look these over and come up with a project plan and email it to you for approval. If there’s anything you need or if you have any questions, don’t hesitate to call,” I said, wishing he’d hurry up and leave so I could have a few minutes to breathe.

Theo put a heavy hand on my shoulder, surprising me. “Marion had mentioned this was your first day. If I were you I would have run out of here by now,” he chuckled and I found myself relaxing.

“I definitely thought about it,” I teased. Theo’s hand remained on my shoulder, his palm hot through my blouse.

“You’re doing great. You have some amazing ideas. I know this gala is in the right hands,” he reassured me, squeezing his fingers slightly. I cleared my throat, the awkwardness of his hand on my skin becoming pronounced. Perhaps picking up on my tension, he finally dropped his hand back to his side. He flushed slightly and looked away almost bashfully.

“It was nice meeting you, Vivian. I look forward to talking to you soon,” he said, giving me a sweet smile before leaving.

I had officially survived my first two hours on the job. And not too shabbily either. I watched as Theo got into the passenger side of a blue Honda. He really was a good-looking man. And what had been that odd hand on the shoulder move before he left? I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to work it out. Suddenly he turned to face the building again and even though I was almost sure he couldn’t see me staring, I looked away quickly.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and was greeted with another picture from Cole. Though, thankfully this one wasn’t so risqué. I looked down at a snapshot of the marquee at the theater in Houston where the band would be playing tonight. Generation Rejects stood out in bright red letters.

Missing my favorite reject.

I didn’t bother to respond. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to say.

Instead I turned off my phone.

I
tried to roll over but smashed my elbow into the wall. I let out a barely audible grunt and rubbed at the throbbing flesh. With my other good hand I felt around for the cell phone I vaguely remember tucking under my pillow before I went to sleep last night.

You know, just in case.

I found it and flicked my finger on the screen, turning it on. There were a few text messages from random acquaintances. A few tit shots from chicks I had screwed at some point in my shady past.

But nothing from the only person I had secretly hoped to hear from.

Not that I’d ever admit that crap out loud. I wasn’t cockless for fuck’s sake. There was no way I had sat around last night, staring at my phone willing it to ring.

That shit was for bitches and dudes with their nuts tied up in a bow. Definitely not for me.

So what if Vivian hadn’t answered when I called. I didn’t need to talk to her every single night, for Christ’s sake.

So what if she never sent a text after the few dozen I had sent her. If that’s the game she wanted to play, then so be it. I shouldn’t have to explain myself to her.

Even though I knew she had the total wrong idea about the girl she heard when we last spoke.

I hadn’t been given a chance to explain that the girl had been with Mitch and the two of them had passed out drunk on the floor of my hotel room. I hadn’t been able to tell Vivian that I had gone into the bathroom for privacy so I could call her because I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Even though I wouldn’t have dared admit that, it was the truth.

She had jumped to the obvious conclusion. Not that I blamed her. But it still irritated me that she had chewed me a new asshole when for once, I hadn’t done anything wrong. The need to defend myself made me cranky.

I had wanted to tell her about the conference call with the label. They were sinking some serious money into promoting us. There was going to be a major photo shoot and press release for our upcoming album.

I really wanted to talk about it to
someone.
No, I wanted to talk about it with
Vivian.
But it was obvious she was going to play the pissed off card for a while longer.

Before I could think twice about it, I tapped out a quick message and hit send. Then I waited for a few minutes. Not because I was waiting to see if I’d get a response.

Hell no!

And that wasn’t disappointment that I felt when my phone stayed silent. That was just hunger. Because I hadn’t eaten anything last night. That had to explain the aching in my gut. That was the only thing that made any sense.

I swung my legs over the side of my cramped bunk and slid out to the floor. Damn, it was freezing! I reached back in behind the curtain and felt around for my shirt. I hurriedly put it on and stumbled my way back to the bathroom so I could take a leak.

I pushed open the folding door that led to the toilet and instantly started gagging. Living on a bus with eight other dudes was disgusting. Even for my sorry bachelor ass. I wasn’t a clean freak by any means, but at least I tried to hit the bowl when I was taking a piss.

Maysie had claimed the tiny bathroom at the back of the bus, which was smart on her part. Guys were freaking barbarians.

I held my breath as I whipped out my junk and took the quickest pee on record. I thought about taking a shower, but didn’t think I could stomach the smell for that long.

God, I missed having my own space.

It was easy to get sick of being on the road. It sucked cramming into a bunk the size of a dog’s asshole in order to sleep. And there was always some dipshit who decided to be a dick and eat all of your Ding Dongs.

Even though I was getting tired of tripping over empty beer cans and dirty boxer shorts, it was still pretty amazing.

Somehow, someway, Generation Rejects was on an actual, totally legit tour. We were living it up on an actual tour bus, sharing a space with one of the coolest bands out there.

This was actually my life.

It was still pretty hard to believe.

Particularly for a former jock who had been expected to go into the military in order to make his dad happy.

I hadn’t been Generation Reject’s first singer. Garrett, Mitch and I had been friends in high school but I used to laugh at their lame attempts at music. I was too busy playing basketball and screwing my way through the cheerleading squad.

Garrett had been the guy you went to if you needed to buy drugs. Mitch was the slow kid that sat in the back of the classroom and made stupid comments that had the rest of the class laughing at him more than with him. And even though I was their friend, I hadn’t taken them too seriously.

No one had.

After we graduated, none of us had gone on to college. Big shocker. Garrett’s parents had just died and Mitch certainly didn’t have the grades to do much more than pick up garbage and shovel horseshit at a local farm.

I was by no means an idiot. I had been offered a couple of scholarships to play ball. But I hadn’t wanted the responsibility. I hadn’t wanted the pressure. I was sick of school. I was sick of doing what my parents wanted me to do. I was ready to go my own way.

My dad was former military and he had told me when I turned eighteen that I had the choice of going into the Navy like he had done or I could get the fuck out.

I had gotten the fuck out.

And I hadn’t talked to my old man since.

Not that I hadn’t tried. They lived ten minutes away from my apartment in Bakersville. Hell, I ran into my mom in the grocery store from time to time. And I learned pretty damn quickly that I was persona non grata in my own family.

I had finally stood up to my father and refused to let him tell me what I was going to do with my life. As a consequence for growing some fuzz on my balls I had been forced out of the house I had grown up in. It had sucked at the time but I was glad I had done it.

But that didn’t mean it didn’t hurt to be ignored by my mother when I called her name when I saw her on the street. Or to hear the click of a disconnected call when I tried to phone to wish my father a Merry Christmas.

“You’re a fucking loser, Cole. You’ll never be anything, never do anything. You’re a fucking waste of skin.” My dad’s final words to me still buzzed around in my head all these years later.

And I was still trying to prove him wrong.

And maybe this time, I would.

So after I left school I had rented a crappy studio apartment and had gotten a shit job at the local poultry plant. And Garrett and Mitch had started a band.

Garrett had met Jordan, who was going to Rinard College and was working at Barton’s. Jordan played drums and soon their laughable pastime became a legitimate thing. They had asked another friend of ours from high school, Fred Rhodes, to sing for them.

They sucked. Mitch could barely play bass and while Garrett and Jordan had talent, Fred sounded like a tortured cat when he sang into a mic. They were booed off every stage that would have them.

Until I came along.

I’m not saying that to be a jackass. It’s just the honest to god truth.

Because I could sing. I always could. When I was little, my mom would dress me up for church where I had to suffer through hours of god shit just so I could belt out the hymns. The old ladies loved me.

As I grew older, my musical ability wasn’t something I broadcasted around. I was a jock, plain and simple. I didn’t have the time or inclination to jam or whatever the hell you call it.

But when Garrett had finally wised up and kicked Freddo out of the band, he approached me. We had gone out one night and gotten plastered. Mitch spent most of the evening worshipping the porcelain god. And I, in a moment of weakness, agreed to front their sad, pathetic band. Who knew that it would one day be the best decision I had ever made.

We were called the Headless Chickens at first. In homage to my dismal day job. I had a morbid sense of humor.

But the name didn’t quite roll off the tongue and it looked crappy on T-Shirts. We weren’t feeling particularly optimistic about our future as a band when the name Generation Rejects had been born. Because that’s what we had felt we were.

A bunch of rejects.

Things had been pretty bleak in the early days.

Jordan and I had clashed almost immediately. I hated the college kids who came into Barton’s. Townies and Rinard students fought on a regular basis. And Jordan was just another obnoxious frat guy with his pretty boy looks and talent that came entirely too easily.