Sold Out (The Back-Up Series Book 5) Page 4

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  These days, my fate is better known as the one person who can bring me to my knees without apology… my wife. One sultry look, one electric smile, one sad frown, or one simple touch from Tara… and I’m done.

  Tara has forced me to analyze why things happened as they did. How could I resent the evil man who raised me when his actions caused the chain of events that got me where I am today? I won’t go as far as saying I’m grateful for that time in my life, but I do take responsibility for the person I’ve become because of it. According to Tara, I’m charming, sexy, and charismatic—and can rock her world with a single thrust of my hips. Based on her claim, I tease her that my essence should be bottled, marketed, and sold to the common man at every CVS from coast to coast.

  Did I mention I’m also arrogant and conceited?

  The buzzing of my cell phone forces a groan. “Ugh, kill me,” I say to no one as I drag my ass out of bed. Normally, I like to spend my mornings fucking her senseless. Rehearsals begin at noon, as they should. But not today… today I have to be responsible and get my ass to the studio because of a fucking powwow that our agent called at the last minute.

  With a sigh, I throw on a pair of jeans. Movement in the bathroom mirror catches my eye and halts the raising of my zipper. I’m mesmerized by the way her hands roam over her wet, naked body. I literally just fucked her minutes ago, but my cock doesn’t seem to care… nor does it care that if I don’t hightail it downstairs Jack will no doubt kick my ass.

  Before I can act in favor of my cock, the damn phone buzzes for a second time as Tara emerges, wrapped in a towel. Her damp blond hair drapes around her shoulders, and my eyes zoom in on the one strand that’s stuck to the swell of her boob. “Why are you just standing there?”

  “I saw you in the shower,” I admit as if it were obvious.

  “Aren’t you late?”

  “Yeah,” I respond, undeterred. “Why Jen insists on calling meetings at the ass crack of dawn is beyond me. We’re rock stars, for fuck’s sake. Anything important shouldn’t be scheduled before noon.”

  “Nine doesn’t exactly qualify as the ass crack of dawn, Trey.” Her eyes catch the piercing poking out of my unzipped jeans. “No underwear? No shower?”

  “Nope… if I have to endure time away from you, then I want evidence of my wife on me.”

  “That’s kind of gross,” she sighs as my cell vibrates for the third time. Still ignoring it, I reach for her and flick off the towel. “No way,” she says, stepping away. “You need to go, and so do I. Thanks to you, I’m also late for my meeting with my editor.”

  Determined, I close the distance, my hands molding over her ass as I pull her up against me. Her few tattoos make her already perfect body a work of art. When I met her she only had a fountain pen and ink jar on one shoulder. But now, a replica of my guitar on the other, my name on her ring finger in lieu of a wedding band, a sexy tribal scroll matching mine across her right arm, and my birth name, Trestan, scrolled delicately on her left boob—all mean that she’s mine.

  I outline the script with my fingertip before dipping my head to suck on her marked skin. “Trey,” she says to stop me. But that one breathy syllable doesn’t sound very convincing. Slipping the tips of my fingers into the seam of her ass enables me to pull her harder against me, enables my mouth to work its way across her flawless skin. “Babe, I can’t. I’m really late.”

  “You weren’t complaining about the time while I was eating your pussy as your alarm sounded.” The small moan she releases means my wife is lost in that memory, encouraged by my tongue flicking the skin on her neck.

  That is, until that fucking buzzing echoes through the air again.

  “Fuck.”

  “Go.” She places a long, hard kiss on my mouth. “When I see you later, I’ll suck your cock as a thank-you for this morning.” With a devious look in her eyes, she snatches the towel from where it landed and saunters away, leaving me pathetically holding my blue balls. “I love you,” she calls out, shutting the door and giving me no choice but to be an adult. No one can get me to do a damn thing as quickly as Tara can. Before she came into my life, I walked to the beat of my own drum. Now, she says jump and I jump.

  The next time my cell phone buzzes, I brazenly say, “You have reached the rock god, Trey Taylor. He can’t come to the phone at this time…”

  “Goddammit, Trey,” Jack interrupts with a bark. “Get your ass down here.”

  “I’m coming. Chill out, Papa Lair,” I say knowing he hates that nickname.

  The Lairs live a few blocks away from our place. Although we can fit four of our apartments inside their palatial penthouse, our place still kicks ass. Unlike their six bedrooms, our two bedrooms suffice just fine.

  At the time, I thought it was a great idea to have them so close. They’re family to us, and Tara and I don’t have the good fortune of having any family to speak of. But it’s on days like today, when Jack feels he’s responsible for me getting to the studio on time, when I wonder what was I thinking.

  Minutes later, I climb into the back of his BMW without apology. “Good morning,” Leila says, twisting to look back at me. She passes me a coffee and my ire with her husband dissipates.

  “You’re an angel, Little Lair.”

  “I know. I also know you’re mean until you have coffee.”

  “Mean?” I pretend to be offended, but the raising of her brows and the quirking of her lips have me amending, “Okay, maybe I’m a little mean.” My eyes cut to her husband, whose silence speaks volumes. “Speaking of mean…” With a tilt of my head toward Mr. Grumpy, I add, “What do you see in him?”

  “You’re hilarious,” Jack mumbles with a shake of his head. “Why can’t you ever be on time?”

  “It’s Tara’s fault.” I shamelessly blame my wife, knowing she walks on water with the Lairs.

  “Bullshit. No man loves his wife more than me, yet I manage to get out the door on time every day.”

  “Aww, thanks, honey,” Leila says, prompting my groan.

  “Well, congrats to you, Papa Lair. Next time I’m at the mall I’ll pick you up a trophy.” My eyes meet Leila’s over the rim of the coffee cup, and a wink causes her to smirk at my antics.

  “Trey, behave,” she scolds in her usual adorable way before turning around.

  “What fun is that?” More silence from Jack means something’s up. The man wears his emotions on his sleeve, and if he’s brooding there is a reason. “This hissy fit has nothing to do with my typical tardiness, am I right?”

  His eyes once again flick to the rearview mirror. “Jen thinks we should move up the tour.”

  “Is this why she’s calling us in so early?”

  “No. It’s something else… Hunter will kill me if I tell you before he gets to. But that something is the reason she feels we should get out sooner rather than wait until next year.”

  “And the label?” I ask, knowing no matter what we all say, if our label wants something, they get it.

  “I don’t know if she mentioned it to them yet. I’ll kill her if she did.” Jen’s a great agent, although annoying as all hell. Our relationship with her had always been cordial, until Hunter and Jack decided to add a backup singer. Let’s just say Jen and Leila don’t see eye-to-eye, and because of it Jack is no longer Team Jen. I can’t blame him, as she’s a royal pain in the ass and pulls shit like this all the time.

  Regarding the tour, I have no opinion. It doesn’t matter if we tour in a month or a year. It’s all the same to me. But I get why that would pose a problem for Jack and Leila, with the baby coming soon. I also get why Jack would be pissed at Jen for her lack of sensitivity over the inconvenience.

  “Hey, you know I’ll do whatever you guys want,” I finally say as the security guard grants us access to the studio’s parking garage.

  “I know. Thanks,” he says with a small smile, one that proves I’m forgiven for being late.

  Jack parks and cuts the engine before turning in his s
eat. “I’m sorry I took it out on you. But once we get upstairs, you’re dealing with Jen’s crap for making us late. I’m not in the mood.”

  I tap my forehead with a one-handed salute. “You got it, boss. I can handle the ice queen.”

  “Enough about her,” Leila gripes. She gets out of the car in a huff and slams her door. The only thing that puts Leila in a bad mood is our agent. When I appear beside her, she hooks her arm through mine. “So, Trey, Shane wanted me to ask if you could come watch him perform in the next talent show.”

  The mention of my little buddy has an instant smile spreading on my face, as well as on Jack’s. The man loves his family, and I get it.

  “Little Lair, you tell Shane I’ll be there super early so I get a seat in the front row.”

  Leila squeezes me as we make our way to the elevator. “You’re so sweet.”

  “Stop spreading rumors.” Leaning into her, I dip my head and ask, “Hey, what does the sign on an out-of-business whorehouse say?” The smile falls off her face and an expected eye roll is her only response. “No guess?” I pause, even though I know she won’t humor me. “It says, ‘Beat it, we’re closed.’”

  “Will you ever stop telling me stupid sex jokes?”

  “And miss the look on your face when I do? Hell no.”

  CHAPTER 6

  With each step, the clicking from Leila’s boots echoes off the studio walls. At this hour on a Monday morning, the place is a ghost town. The rock-’n’-roll business world usually begins sometime around noon. It was something I had to get used to. Being an early riser, sitting around waiting for others to get their acts together makes me nuts.

  The closer I get to the muffled voices coming from the back conference room, the more my ire returns. As Leila and Trey chat about Shane’s guitar skills, I prepare what I’m about to say to our agent. Jen is all about our success, and I get it. But I made it very clear we needed time before we hit the road.

  That phone call from Jen this morning completely undermined my demands for our next tour. I just want to run something by you—my ass. She knew if she brought it up in front of the rest of my band that I’d blow a gasket, storm out, and lose my shit. This way, I have time to marinate over her suggestion and simmer down.

  Sensing my thoughts, Leila flips her head toward me and says, “Jack, please relax.” My hand tightens around hers on its own accord.

  “I am relaxed,” I lie, avoiding the pleading look on my wife’s face and the all-knowing one on my friend’s. This song and dance is nothing new between Jen and me. She pushes, I pull… I push, she pulls. It hasn’t always been a battle with her, only after Leila joined us. Even years later, she can’t admit she was wrong. So she goes to insane lengths to get us more fame and prove her worth.

  Hell, I’m not so ungrateful that I don’t appreciate her hard work. I do. I love my career, I love that I get to play music with my wife by my side, and I love the life it’s afforded us. But there isn’t a person in my life who doesn’t know I’d walk away tomorrow if it compromised the well-being of my family. No looking back.

  Before we enter the room, Leila stops to reach up a hand and palm my cheek. Trey walks around us and slips into the room, giving us the private moment that my wife clearly needs. “We tell her what we will consider her request provided our needs are met. If the label wants the band out there that badly, they’ll concede.”

  “Always so levelheaded,” I say with a small smile.

  “One of us has to be.” She throws me a smug look before lifting on her toes to press her lips to mine. “Logistically, we can’t head out before September. The album won’t be ready. The promoters need the time to organize. By then, the baby will be about six months old and able to travel.”

  “He should be closer to a year old, like we originally planned. And even at a year, it will be difficult touring with a baby on board,” I remind her.

  “But that is the lifestyle we signed up for. Just like on our last tour, a bus to ourselves with round-the-clock help is our most important demand. And hotel stays in between stops should make the experience a bit less stressful.”

  “And you and the kids?”

  “We’ll be fine. We’re pros at this, Jack.” She places another kiss on my mouth, this one harder and lingering. The feel of her belly pressing against me, the look in her eyes, all remind me that my wife is one of the strongest women I know.

  “Okay, let’s get this over with.” Slinging my arm around her shoulders, I lead her into the conference room. Conversation halts and all eyes flick to us. “Hey.”

  “Good morning,” Jen says with a tilt of her head and a tight smile, her eyes shifting to my wife’s belly. “How are you feeling, Leila?”

  “Great, thanks.” Leila’s smile is like sunshine compared to Jen’s. “Hey, guys,” she adds, plopping herself down beside Scott. “How are Patti and Liam?”

  My guitarist’s eyes light up at the mention of his wife and son. “You need to see Liam. He’s getting so big, Lei.” Scott whips out his phone and taps the screen before flipping it around to show Leila a picture.

  “He’s adorable, Scott.”

  “Thank you.” Always so humble, a typical pinkish hue immediately tinges his freckled skin. It wasn’t easy for them to become parents, and you could literally see nothing but joy for the baby boy they adopted. “And such a good baby.” A shy smile appears as he runs a hand over his strawberry blond hair. “He gives us…”

  “That’s wonderful,” Jen rudely interrupts.

  “So subtle,” Trey says with a chuckle, attracting Jen’s glare to his side of the table.

  “I apologize for my”—her eyes flick back to Trey—“lack of subtleness, but I do have a meeting I need to get to, and we have a lot to cover.” Adding fuel to Trey’s fire, she glances at her watch and adds, “And… we were supposed to start thirty minutes ago.”

  “Traffic was a bitch,” Trey quips with a grin.

  Ignoring him, she continues in her tight-ass manner. “Hunter and I have some news for you all. I believe Jack and Leila already know, and we feel you two will be just as thrilled to hear it.” Her eyes bounce between Trey and Scott as she pauses, no doubt for effect. It’s my exasperated sigh that forces her to continue. “We will be playing three songs on the live, televised, highly anticipated M.A.N.A. benefit.”

  Predictably, Trey’s and Scott’s eyes bulge. “That’s fucking awesome.” Trey thumps the table with a fist. “How did we get in?”

  Hunter puffs out his chest proudly. “My idea.” He pulls out the sheet music for a few of our songs. “I think we should record ‘Just a Ghost,’ ‘All Day Long,’ and ‘A Bitter Pill,’ planning to release them as solo songs two weeks before the benefit. We’ll have to write three more to replace them on the album, and then we can include the released songs as bonus tracks.” Hunter’s gaze falls on me expectantly. “What do you think?”

  “Three songs, rehearsed, recorded, and released before my wife gives birth. And then three more songs written, recorded, and the rest of the album ready to go, all while my wife and I deal with an infant. Yep, that sounds perfectly reasonable.” The acid in my tone is undeniable.

  Leila remains silent as my eyes ping-pong between Jen and Hunter. “We had a perfectly laid-out schedule that gave us plenty of time to do this right, enabling Leila to adjust after the baby comes. Suddenly, our original plans are trashed because…” Raising my brows expectantly, I leave the question dangling… mainly because I have no fucking clue what is causing this urgency to release and tour months before schedule.

  Jen folds her arms deliberately. “The benefit concert will have you all hot with a new demographic. The advantage of being ready to go shortly after it airs will result in a new level of success.”

  “For who?” I challenge. My focus turns back to Hunter. “You agree we should be touring this year instead of next?”

  “No, I don’t,” he wisely counters while glancing at Jen. “If we have to be ready with the music, give t
hem that to whet their appetites and build anticipation. Then we can still tour next year. Jen feels the older fans aren’t as patient.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” I scoff.

  “It’s true.” She pulls out a report and slides it toward me across the table. “There’s the proof.”

  My eyes don’t see typed figures or numbers; they see fucking red. The label’s logo and the professionalism of the document are what cause me to glare at Jen. “You went to the label? Before we had the chance to discuss this as a group, you went ahead and built your case?” She has the nerve to look confused. “You’re a piece of work, Jen. Seriously.”

  “How is this any different than our last tour?”

  “I’ll tell you how. My child won’t be mature enough to handle living on a fucking bus. My wife will still be recovering from a C-section.”

  “Jack.” The look on Leila’s face stops my tirade. A quick glance at the guys brings a touch of remorse. I know this isn’t just about my demands, but I have the most at stake. Scott’s wife and son will be home where they should be. So will Hunter’s family. Traveling with my entire brood from city to city affects no one else but my family.

  I can’t read the look on Jen’s face until she passes me yet another professional document and says, “You have no faith in me, even after all these years.” On the paper is a list of all the specific requirements I would demand if—and that’s a big if—I agreed to push up the tour. “All approved,” she quips. My eyes slice back to her face. “And the tour would be cut down by twelve cities. Instead, I suggested adding six double nights in the largest arenas to shorten travel time… have them travel to see us. Gets you all home quicker with fewer shows to perform.”

  “So we need to have the holidays on a fucking bus?”

  “Nope. You’ll be flying home for a ten-day break and resuming after the new year.”