Authors: Karen Booth
A
ngie
The only easy thing about my break-up with Graham had been the timing—two days before Banks Forest left for their current world tour. I'd never had to endure an awkward run-in with him at a pub or a party, never had to have that fake, "How are you?" talk on a street corner. Tonight, I had a feeling the universe was about to get even with me.
The break-up had happened so fast, prompted by the awful feeling jealousy plants in your stomach. What else was I supposed to do when I actually saw him snogging another girl? He'd had one arm wrapped around her and one hand up her shirt, her hands grabbing his damn ass…he'd been so oblivious to the rest of the world, even to me muttering his name repeatedly.
Screaming it had been the only way to get his attention and I was not a screamer. At all. I'd panicked as soon as he looked at me, half out of shock at what I'd done and the rest at the reality of facing him. At that moment, I couldn't hear the excuses, the explanations, or the apologies. I'd known exactly where they led—to me being the dim-witted girlfriend of a cheating rock star, the girl who naively believes a guy like that can remain faithful once he'd strayed. And so I'd done the only thing I could think to do. I ran—as fast as I could, out of the backstage dressing room, out of the theater, and right into the rain. How I hated rain.
Whenever my mind wandered back to that night, the betrayal was so vivid it was as if I was living inside a bad horror movie. It had once threatened to eat me alive, even when none of my girlfriends had been surprised that it'd happened.
Boys will be boys. What did you expect? He's in a band.
The thing was, I'd trusted Graham when it came to other girls, even when it became crystal clear that female companionship was available any time any of them wanted it, day or night. I'd even trusted him after I'd heard Nigel say to Terence, "A guy can only say ‘no’ so many times." Graham had never seemed like the cheating type. Not until I actually had to witness it for myself.
Gigi and I walked into the bar at the Liberty Hotel, which was acting as festival headquarters. Everyone who was anyone was staying here—talent, media, and production. Courtesy of my employer, I had an all-access photographer’s pass for the entire festival, which got me past the wall of security guards out front. In fact, when we’d arrived that afternoon, it’d taken me through the revolving glass doors with no trouble at all—like I was a VIP, all on my own—into the lobby of a star-studded rock ‘n’ roll dorm. I was still reeling from standing in line at the front desk right behind the guys from Big Country. Never before had a brogue and plaid been so hot. As if that hadn’t been surreal enough, I’d been in the elevator with Debbie Harry when I headed up to my room. She was more than walking, talking cool in her black Wayfarers and skin-tight silver mini-skirt. She was sex on two legs. No wonder every guy in the world wanted to get in her knickers.
"Is that?" I mumbled to Gigi out of the corner of my mouth as we slipped into a red leather booth. Elevator music played in the background—the hotel management had obviously not prepared for the musically cosmopolitan nature of their guests during this event. Everyone had to be cringing at the instrumental version of
The Look of Love
. I certainly was.
"Springsteen? Yep. He got up on stage with some local band this afternoon as a surprise. I guess the crowd went nuts."
"Wow. So cool." We both looked on as Bruce regaled a small group of people. It was a nice diversion from the fact that my palms were sweating like crazy. Graham and the band were due to walk in at any moment. Any. Moment.
You can do this.
A waitress came by and took our drink orders—a Bartles and Jaymes wine cooler for Gigi, but I wanted to be an adult about it so I asked for a Fuzzy Navel on the rocks.
"I can't believe I'm going to meet the guys from Banks Forest. My sister would be dying if she were here. She's such a huge fan," Gigi said.
"I'm sure you can get the guys to sign something for her."
"So you know them well? From back at home?
A breathy laugh escaped my lips. "Yeah. You could say that."
The waitress returned, setting two paper cocktail napkins on the table and delivering our drinks.
"Put those on my tab," a vaguely familiar voice came from behind me. "Angie Dawson. Fancy meeting you here." Ridley Archer, lead singer of Swash and Buckle, clunked a bottle of beer on our table and slid in next to me, a bracing waft of his cologne preceding him. Judging by his choice of clothing, he'd decided to co-opt the fashion stylings of Spandau Ballet and Adam Ant. "I'd heard you were going to be here, but I didn't want to get excited about it until I actually laid eyes on you."
I wasn't really sure whether I should laugh flirtatiously or throw up. Ridley Archer was so unbearably handsome, all high cheekbones and broad shoulders. It hurt to look at him. He also, inexplicably, made a regular habit of hitting on me. My vanity was sure I should be flattered by his overtures. My brain was sure I should lie and tell him I had an incurable case of chlamydia. "Hello, Ridley. This is Gigi."
Gigi thrust her hand across the table. "Nice to meet you."
"Likewise." Ridley put his arm around me and rubbed my shoulder. He wasn't comforting me. It was entirely sexual. "What's the story? Please don't tell me you're here because you're back with Graham."
Gigi’s eyes nearly bugged out of her head. “Graham Whiting? Is that how you know the band?”
Oops.
I nodded. “Sorry I didn’t say anything. I just didn’t want to make it seem like I was bragging.”
Or start rambling on like a tragically jilted lover.
“And I’m not back with Graham.”
"Good. I heard the whole story, you know. How you caught him backstage shagging three girls. Disgusting. I'm not like that, you know." Ridley leaned closer and whispered in my ear. "I always say one at a time. One special girl."
I reared my head away from him. "I don't know where you got your information, but that's not what happened at all."
"You tell yourself what you need to, babe. The good news is that I know you're not here for Banks Forest. Fly across the pond just to catch our set?"
What an egomaniac.
"Hate to disappoint you, but I'm actually here to photograph Banks for
Music Maker
. The magazine just brought me on staff and they're doing a special issue about the band."
With a slow shake of his head, he picked up his beer. "Those boys have the most unbelievable luck. Flavor of the month, that's what they are. It won't last. Not everyone can be a career musician."
Out of the corner of my eye, I spied Christopher strolling into the bar. He was impossible to miss, a good head taller than most men. He scanned the room and spotted me. We waved at each other, but he quickly saw Ridley and his mouth formed a thin line. Nigel and Terence walked up behind him and he was momentarily distracted. Graham and their tour manager, Reggie, brought up the rear.
My heart wasn't at all settled on a pace so it just did an odd jumpy thing in my chest. Graham looked so good, and that wasn't even under careful observation since I'd only stolen a few glances. He was wearing the smirk, the one that said he had a lot on his mind. It always made me want to climb into his lap and inside his head, just so I could see the world the way he did. Even if I forgot the cerebral things that attracted me to Graham and chose to simply take in the physical, I was a goner just from being in the same room with his board-straight shoulders.
He looked too good. That was all there was to it. He looked good enough to make me want to beg him to take me back and pretend the last ten months had never happened, except that was the last thing I was about to do. I'd cried plenty of tears for Graham and I'd made peace with it. It was time to show him that I'd moved on. I had a job to do and one thing I'd learned since our breakup was that living in the past and giving into old weaknesses was a rotten idea.
"Let me out," I said pushing my hip into Ridley.
He looked over his shoulder in the direction of the Banks guys. "Oh no. You're not going to actually talk to him, are you? You're too good for him." He didn't budge. "You're safer here with me."
"Ridley, I'm serious. Let me out." I needed to bite the bullet, be the grown up and talk to Graham.
Christopher approached our table. His green eyes were clearly hypnotizing Gigi, whose mouth was hanging open as if she wanted to catch flies. "Angie, it's bloody great to see you." He cast his sights at Ridley, who'd taken it upon himself to be the human barrier protecting me from the world. "Hello, Rid. Do you mind getting up so I can give Angie a proper greeting?"
Ridley grumbled, but got up and sat next to Gigi.
I hopped out of my seat and let Chris rein me in for a hug. My head settled against his chest as he pressed a kiss to the top of my head.
"I've missed you, Ang."
I stepped back and peered up at him. "I've missed you, too. I've missed all of the guys."
"Really? All of us?"
It took a lot of effort to keep from spewing out my feelings on that subject, or at least my old feelings about it. If anyone would eagerly listen to complaints about Graham, it was Chris. But I was over it. I was over him. Really. I was. "Yes. All of you." I grabbed his arm, hoping to convey how serious I was. "I'm fine. I've put everything with Graham in the past and I'm ready to work and spend some time with you lot."
His vision swept across my face. "Wow. You're being so sensible about all of it."
Christopher's words bolstered my confidence. If he believed it, it had to be true. "Thank you. It's taken a lot of time, but I've come to terms with it. Some people simply aren't mean to be together."
"Yeah, about that." He glanced over at Graham who was deep in conversation with Reggie, which seemed like an avoidance tactic from Graham more than anything. "I'm not sure he's over you."
"What?" I shook my head my mind racing. Not over me? That was impossible. The guy had a million girls at his beck and call. In fact, I was shocked he hadn't waltzed in with some girly on his arm. I hadn't bargained on this, at all. My stomach was now turning somersaults, trying to keep up with my brain. "You can't be serious."
Christopher nodded. "I should probably let him speak for himself. I feel a little odd asking the question, but do you want to talk to him now? I'm not sure he'll approach you. I think he was bracing for a drink in the face."
I caught another glimpse of Graham, trying to ignore the pull he had on me. Had he managed to install some sort of homing device when we were together? If he had, it felt as if he'd just flipped the switch and my instructions were to walk up to him and flatten my body against his. "I don't want any of this to be odd. My job is too important. I'll speak to him now."
I marched through the growing crowd of people in the bar carrying myself as the professional, together woman I so desperately wanted to be. Surely my dad had faced uncomfortable situations like this when he was working. Hell, he'd gone into Afghanistan with the British army during the Soviet-Afghan War. No matter how much I was unsure of what Graham had to say, my situation was nothing compared to that.
Terence and Nigel greeted me warmly with hugs and smiles. So did Reggie, nearly smothering me with his embrace. Graham, however, leaned back against the bar, eying me. I couldn't decipher that look on his face, which was unsettling enough. I’d learned to read him at least a little bit when we’d been together. My best guess was amusement or annoyance…something like that.
Chris again took charge. "Who wants to rescue Angie's friend from Ridley Archer?"
"Her name is Gigi," I said. "The curly-haired blonde. She's dying to meet you guys."
Terence peered across the bar. "Oh my. Gigi's a peach. Let's go make her night while ruining Archer's."
Off they went, leaving me alone with Graham. I turned and faced him, my knowledge of the English language evaporating from my head. I simply didn't know what to say. Or where to start. Or what sort of attitude to take.
"Ridley Archer?" he asked. "Really, Ang? You're spending time with him? I saw the way he was rubbing your arm and whispering into your ear. Are you trying to make me jealous because you know how much I hate him?"
My eyes narrowed. Graham was capable of many things, but he'd never before been territorial. "What in the hell is that supposed to mean? He came and sat down with me, completely uninvited. And besides, I can't imagine you being jealous for even a minute."
He pushed back from the bar, leaving us nearly toe-to-toe. The rise and fall of his chest told me his heart was racing. It felt good to get that kind of reaction out of him, to know that I could still get him worked up. "I won't lie. Seeing him sit next to you made me want to put my fist through a wall."
A breathy laugh crossed my lips. "It's not fun, is it? Walking into a room and seeing an old flame with someone else? Of course, you and I were actual boyfriend and girlfriend when it happened to me."
He took a long swig of his beer, studying me. It was impossible not to fixate on his full lips and what it felt like to have them on mine, to have them all over my body. Graham was a fantastic kisser, always in charge and a little possessive. It was one of things I'd missed most about him. I'd never had much of a poker face and I was sure he could see every conflicted thought going through my head, probably picking up on the moments when I was weakest.
He raked his hand through his hair. "I think you and I should get out of here."
G
raham
I didn't need another beer. I was nearly drunk on Angie. God, I'd forgotten how stunning she was—pale, ivory skin with the slightest kiss of pink on the apples of her cheeks, topped with a delicate constellation of freckles. And then there was the fire inside. She hadn't hesitated to rip into me after I'd made that crack about Ridley Archer. I wasn't truly worried about him, or at least not much. I'd needed to see her reaction. If she'd played it off, I would've known she had absolutely no more feelings for me.
"The two of us?" she asked. "You and me? Alone?"
I set my beer bottle down on the bar, unable to escape Chris's watchful eye. He'd expressed his skepticism. He'd been clear that he didn't want me to mess things up with the magazine and the job she'd come to do. More than that, he'd begged me to look at it from her perspective. Coming to the US to photograph her cheating boyfriend's band couldn't have been the easiest thing in the world. "Yes. Is that such a horrible request?"
"I just don't think it's a good idea. If you and I are going to work together over the next three days, we need to focus on getting along. The best way to do that is without drudging up the past."
"Who said I wanted to talk about our past?" I regretted the question the instant it came out of my mouth. Of course I wanted to talk about exactly that. It was an itch I had to scratch. I needed her to know how sorry I was.
"What else is there? Are you going to tell me about the tour? So you can tiptoe around the topic of groupies? I'll know you're doing it the entire time."
Her words brought the memory back to life, desperately chasing after her through the tangle of ropes and pulleys behind the stage at the Airdale Theatre in Liverpool. Out the back door and into the dark and dirty alley, in the rain no less, which she absolutely hated. I'd only been able to catch her wrist, and her long hair whipped through the air when she had no choice but to stop running and turn back.
Is that what you want, Graham? Some groupie? Then fine. Go be with her and leave me the hell alone. Forever.
I’d let go of her wrist—let go of her—that night and I’d never regret anything in my life as much as that. The rain had doused me, soaked my clothes completely, but I’d been unable to move from my spot in that wretched alley. I’d been unable to come up with any words to make up for what I’d done.
Angie hadn't expected much of me when we were together, but she had expected fidelity, as she should have. My stomach soured every time I thought about what a stupid git I'd been.
"I have some things I want to talk to you about, and I really don't want to do it in the middle of a bar. Fifteen minutes. That's all I'm asking for."
She crossed her arms at her waist, seeming deep in thought, hopefully not about how best to kill me and where to hide the body. She was wearing a black, off-the-shoulder top, revealing the sublime contours of her collarbone. I would've done anything at that moment to explore every ridge and valley with my lips, take her into my arms and show her how badly I ached for her.
"I'll be right back." She turned and walked across the bar to where Chris was sitting with the rest of the band and a curly-haired blonde woman. They talked for a moment and she returned. "You said you wanted fifteen minutes. Well, Chris is coming to find us in fifteen minutes."
I need policing? By Chris of all people?
"Do you really trust me that little?"
"It's taken a lot to get over you, Graham. I'm just giving myself a bit of insurance."
The life was being squeezed out of my heart. She was over me, or at least convinced of it. Did I have a choice other than to take whatever crumbs she would give me? We were playing by Angie's rules now and the sooner I got on board, the better. "Whatever you need."
We walked through the lobby, neither of us speaking a word, finding a relatively quiet spot with two fussy red and gold upholstered armchairs. A steady stream of people filed by, so it was nowhere close to the privacy I craved. I would've loved to go outside, to walk and talk for hours the way we used to, but there was no way to do that. We were just down the street from the festival site. There were hundreds, maybe thousands, of music fans hanging around outside the hotel. If anything was going to ruin my apology, screaming girls would absolutely do it.
When Angie and I had been a couple, I'd imagined my life would be perfect if the band could just make it for real. I'd never taken the time to think about the price I'd pay, giving up things like walking down to a pub for a pint without being bothered. The worst thing I'd given up was Angie, but that had been my own doing. I'd practically handed her away. I'd let my ego run the show.
"How's your family?" I decided I'd start with the simplest of topics. "Your dad must be chuffed that you got a job as a photographer."
Her mouth fell open. Somehow her skin became even more pale, turning a ghostly white. "You don't know about my dad? I just assumed you'd heard from somebody." A tear rolled down her cheek. She stared down at her hands, now a ball of worry in her lap.
"No. No." It felt as if the floor beneath us had fallen away. How had I missed news about her dad? "What happened?"
She was collecting herself, nodding and not looking at me at all. All I could hear was my own pulse, pounding in my ears. "He had a stroke. Five months ago." She raised her head, her chin dimpled, her face holding more sadness than I'd ever seen from her. "He was at work at the news bureau. They rushed him to the hospital and into surgery. He nearly died. I got there as quickly as I could from London. You should have seen my mum. I almost didn't recognize her." Tears rolled down her cheeks. "If only he'd quit smoking. It probably would've saved him."
My heart burned in my chest for her. She'd gone through this horrible, traumatic experience and I hadn't been there for her. Oh no, I was the prat who'd been running around the globe with a pop band while she dealt with life and death at home. "Good God, Angie. I'm so sorry. How is he doing?"
"Honestly? It's bad. It's really bad. He's paralyzed on his right side, he can't walk, can't speak. I can't have a conversation. It kills me. And it's so hard to watch. There are some days when Mum and I almost think it would've been easier on everyone, especially him, if he'd died. I know that sounds awful."
"I am so incredibly sorry. I had no idea. I talk to my mum every week, but she can be such a hermit. I don't think she always knows what's going on around Stourbridge."
"Well, my mum has kept it to herself. She's really gone downhill herself since this happened, stopped taking care of herself. You know, even if your mum knew, she probably didn't want to say anything since I'd broken her son's heart."
"No way." I shook my head, stood up, and pulled my chair closer to hers. "My mum loves you. You know that. I don't know how she'd get that idea. I didn't tell her anything when you ended it."
Her lovely pink lips pressed together. "Yeah, I know. I ran into her at the market. She asked me about it. Said she'd wanted to know what the reason was, but that she knew better than to ask you because you don't like to talk to her about that sort of thing. I told her I'd broken up with you because you were going on tour and I didn't want a long-distance relationship. I mean, it's not that far from the truth. I wasn't thrilled with the idea of long-distance. I figured that meant we shared the blame."
"But that's not the real reason, Ang."
"I know that, Graham. You think I don't know that? I couldn't let your mom see that side of you. It didn't seem right."
That side of you.
She'd protected me from my mother having a horrible, albeit true, opinion of me. I really was a prat. An utter wanker. No doubt about that. "Even though it was all my fault."
Angie's eyes were an impossible blue after she'd been crying—intense and luminous. She let out a bittersweet laugh. "I've had a lot of time to think about it, and I realize now that it was for the best. It was going to happen eventually. I mean, I get it. You're in the biggest band on the planet and you have a million girls at your feet. You're young. You'd be stupid not to want that."
The thing was, she wasn't wrong. Even I could admit it probably would've happened eventually. But I hated the part of me that was weak, that would turn my back on a person as amazing as Angie for an unknown groupie who'd move on to the next rock star as quickly as I'd move on to the next town. It was all so empty, but I'd had no way to know it until I'd lived it.
The first few months without her, I'd lived it all right. A different girl every night, of my choosing, like picking out a bon bon from a box of chocolates. Logic might say that I'd look for gingers since I was missing Angie, but that had been the one line I wouldn't cross. I wasn't sure what messed up part of my head had decided that was the noble thing to do, but that had been my thinking.
If I was going to move forward with Angie, I'd have to come clean about the other girls. But telling her I'd given into more than a few rock star clichés while we were apart was going to hurt her more, probably push her further away and convince her I hadn't changed at all.
"I don't want to believe it was for the best, but I do think I needed some time to grow up." My hand twitched, wanting so badly to take hers. Erase the past. Start over. "I never had my act together like you do. I never knew myself the way you do. That's part of what I was hoping to talk to you about."
Angie looked past me, nodding as my voice faded away. I turned, and there was Chris, hanging back, keeping a polite distance.
"I can come back if you like," he called out, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"No." Angie got up out of her seat. "Graham and I were just finishing up."
That was fifteen minutes? We were just getting started.
If it were up to me, we would've sat up and talked for hours, and at that moment it was all I wanted, but I had to take things slowly. Well, as slowly as I could take them over the course of three days. Still, I needed to get one more thing out now. "I'm sorry, Ang. For everything. Truly sorry."
Her expression sweetened, but her eyes were as sorrowful as when she'd talked about her dad. "Thanks. I appreciate that. Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."
But I do worry about you
. I'd hurt her so deeply. How could I not worry?
Chris strolled over. "So, we have a radio interview tomorrow morning," he said to Angie. "Do you want to start with the photos then? Bright and early at seven when we leave for the station?"
"Perfect. I'll just basically follow you and capture as much as I can."
"Brilliant," I said. "Can't wait." The air became charged with awkward tension. "Uh, Chris. I need one more minute with Angie."
Chris hesitated, looking to Angie for approval.
She smiled at him. "It's fine. I'm fine."
"Okay, then. I'll head back into the bar." He bent over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Night."
"Actually, Chris, can you tell my friend Gigi that I'll see her tomorrow? I think I'm just going to go up to my room after this."
"I'll get Terence to do it. Those two were getting right chummy."
Angie smiled. "Perfect. Thank you."
Chris strolled away and once again, we were alone.
"Can I walk you up to your room?" I asked. "There are an awful lot of lecherous rock stars staying in this hotel. I wouldn't feel right if I didn't know you'd gotten home safe and sound."
She pursed her lips and directed a look of suspicion at me. "Depends on your intentions. If we're talking an elevator ride and a walk down the hall and nothing else, that could be all right."
I had to stifle my immense inner triumph. My heart was doing backflips at the chance to spend another five minutes with her. "Absolutely. Nothing more than that."
We worked our way to the bank of elevators at the far side of the lobby. Richard Butler and a few of the other guys from the Psychedelic Furs were waiting, too.
"How'd the set go, tonight?" I asked.
Richard nodded as the elevator doors opened. He stepped aside and let Angie on first and I followed. "The crowd was brilliant," he said. "Sound was a bit dodgy at times, but otherwise, it was fantastic. You guys will have a smash-up time."
"Can't wait," I replied.
The elevator dinged when we reached the sixth floor. "This is me." Angie walked out into the hall.
I held the door and followed her lead to room 609. "Right then. Safe and sound." I folded my hands behind my back. I promised I'd be a gentleman. This was not the time to try something, as badly as I wanted to kiss her.
"Only one lecherous rock star in sight." She grinned and leaned against the door.
Her smile was like shining a spotlight on a Rembrandt—it brought out her beauty in a way that left me breathless. Abso-bloody-lutely perfect. God she was sexy—an intoxicating combination of clever and gorgeous. Every atom of my body was screaming at me to take her into my arms and kiss the hurt of the last year away, for both of us.
I gripped Angie's elbow lightly and stepped closer to press my lips to her cheek. I desperately wanted even the smallest sign that she wanted me to do it, and when she tilted her head, it felt like a major victory. My mouth only touched her skin for a moment, although I would've taken any excuse to linger. Everything about that heartbeat of my life was pure torment, the slightest taste of the thing I wanted most, but wasn't sure I'd ever have again. "Good night. I'll see you in the lobby tomorrow morning. Sleep well."
"Night, Graham. See you tomorrow."
I dragged myself away from her door, soon hearing the click of the latch. It felt as if I was leaving a chunk of myself behind with her, but then again, it felt like that every time we were apart. I just hadn't realized it until this tour—I hadn't realized it until I'd left home, knowing she wouldn't be waiting when I returned.