Read Shuffle (Ruby Riot #2) Online
Authors: Lisa Swallow
“The registry office is confirming it wasn’t us married,” says Will and sits next to me.
“Good.”
He lies back on the king-size bed and props his hands beneath his head. “You have to admit, it was funny though.”
I sink down next to him. “Ask me again tomorrow, maybe I’ll see the funny side then.”
“They’re sneaky buggers,” he says tipping on one side to look at me. “How did Jax and Tegan arrange all that and nobody find out? You can’t just walk into a registry office and get married.”
“Well, somebody tipped the press off, so they’re not as clever as they think.”
“Not about Jax and Tegan. Us walking through the front doors tipped people off. I didn’t even think about going round the side of the building.”
“Of course.” I focus on the high ceiling. “I never thought I’d be witness to a rock star wedding when I woke up this morning.”
“Nor me.”
“You didn’t know?”
“We’re the only two who do. Or we were.”
“But I read that Tegan and Jax split recently.”
“Yeah, they do that sometimes, make up a story and it keeps the press on their toes. Tegan and Jax definitely kept them off the scent this time.”
If Tegan and Jax were ordinary people, living a normal life, I’d doubt whether this marriage could last. Is this a snatch at something normal for them? Taking control over their lives somehow?
“I don’t think I’d like their kind of wedding,” I say.
“Nah. Me neither. Should be a special day. When I get married, I want the world to know how special the girl is.”
“I think if your star keeps rising, you won’t have any choice unless you do what Tegan and Jax did.” I take his arm and turn his wrist upwards. The blue ink of the fleur-de-lys is more vibrant than the nearby tattoos. “Why did you choose this?”
“Why do you think, Fleur? I told you, you’d always be with me, even when you weren’t.”
“That’s a bit odd, Will.”
“You and something historical? Not really. It’s kinda cool too, don’t you think?” He runs a finger along the tattoo.
“At least, it wasn’t my name, I suppose.”
“Yeah, that’s on my arse.” He laughs at my widened eyes. “I’m joking. Or am I? Take a look if you like.”
I flick his nose. “Only if you’re lucky.”
He rolls onto me and I’m immobile beneath his weight. “Wanna get naked then?”
“You’re so romantic,” I say and fight a smile.
“Oh. Right.” He hovers his lips close to mine. “Wanna get naked, love of my life?”
I sigh and curl my hand around his neck. “I missed you, crazy boy.”
“I bloody missed you.”
No more words.
We’ve talked too much since we met again, and our physical need for each other can’t be pushed below the surface any longer. Maybe I held off yesterday because I knew giving myself totally to Will would reconnect us in a way I wasn’t ready for. The thread connecting us stretched as far as it could but refused to break, and I doubt it ever will.
Chapter Forty-Four
TWO MONTHS LATER
FLEUR
Loving, and being loved by, Will Campbell is living in a world where I’m dazzled. Not by the light of his growing star status, but by the guy who never hides how he feels, and isn’t prepared to hide us from anybody else. We don’t try to change each other and, as the trust grows, so does our belief we belong.
Will goes away, returns, and leaves again; but there isn’t one day I don’t hear from him. Sometimes a text, often a phone call, and occasionally, on a drunk night, our Skype sessions become interesting. The time we’re together wipes away the loneliness of every day we’re apart, and recharges my ability to cope with missing Will. Not once do I doubt Will’s commitment to us.
I joined Will for a couple of the summer festivals in Europe. The hotels were nice enough, but hanging around while he’s on stage wasn’t. VIP or not, a tent in a field is still a tent in a field. But, I was with Will and hadn’t seen him for two weeks, so I put up with the soggy conditions.
The situation that pulled us apart fades into the past, and we throw everything we have into fixing what should never have broken with a determination not to fall apart again. The only place I fall is deeper into Will. Some people argue we hadn’t been together long before the nightmare we were dragged into, and ask me what’s the point in chasing rainbows. They’re wrong. Even though his name was Nate, the person I spent time with early on was Will. I’ve loved Will longer than I knew.
He’s my Will; unguarded, straight talking, and frustrating at times. Will’s my missing part – the part who lives for the now and doesn’t worry about the future. The man who teaches me to do the same.
Sometimes, he’s in my world and we manage some ordinary time, but only if we’re away from the rest of the band. Will Campbell and Fleur Roberts are a couple, but the Ruby Riot bassist is low on the media’s priority list while scandals stay away. Unless I’m pregnant, or we get married, or have a public fight, I doubt anybody will bother us now. I couldn’t live Tegan and Jax’s life. The press actively seek stories; and if they can’t find any, they make them up. According to the internet, Tegan’s been pregnant at least three times, and they’ve been on the verge of divorce.
I have to step into Will’s world too. Like tonight. Ruby Riot is often invited to awards ceremonies and movie premieres, especially if there’s been no activity from the band for a few weeks, and they need publicity. Will scores an invite to the new Star Wars movie premiere in London, and the bloody big kid he is runs around the apartment, fighting his brother with lightsabers.
I’m staying at Will’s London place for the weekend; he still shares with his brother, but in a bigger place so we don’t fall over each other when I stay as I did when they shared the small student house. Nate no longer views me as a threat, but remains guarded.
Sometimes I’m annoyed at how the world still calls them ‘the Ruby Riot twins’ when they’re two people, with two identities. The world sees Nate as a joker to match his brother; but I see a man hiding behind a persona. Perhaps ‘the Ruby Riot twins’ suits Nate as an extra layer of protection. I attempt to talk to Nate the times we’re alone, but the conversation never goes beyond polite niceties.
This is my first movie premiere and, as I avoid these events usually, I’m nervous because I’ll be photographed. After days of deliberating and chatting to Anne, I’ve played it safe with a ‘little black dress’.
Will, on the other hand, has elected to wear a Star Wars t-shirt.
He looks over, mid-battle as I walk into the room and gives a low whistle. Nate knocks the lightsaber from a distracted Will’s hand, and follows up with a victory lap around the room.
“Seriously, Will?” I gesture at his clothes.
Will looks down, pulling at his t-shirt. “What? Did I spill something on myself?”
“Dude, look at her. She dressed up and you’re not,” Nate says.
“Yeah, but I like my tee.” He flicks his fingers at Nate. “Where’s yours?”
“Seriously? You expect me to walk into a premiere wearing a Star Wars shirt and carrying a lightsaber. What are my chances of picking up a decent chick if I do that?”
Will sidles over and places his hand on my ass. “I’m wearing a Star Wars t-shirt, and I picked up a chick.”
“No, you have not!” I smack his backside in return. “Unless you change, I’m not going with you.”
Nate chuckles. “Still have a lot to learn, little brother.”
“You’re only jealous because my lightsaber’s bigger than yours.”
“Maybe Fleur should be the judge of that,” replies Nate and winks at me.
I shake my head at the pair. The other thing I’ve learned is Nate’s acceptance of me needs to be reciprocated, which means I accept the side of Will his twin brings out when they’re together.
“Will. Change into a shirt. Please.”
Will blows air into his cheeks. “Guess I should, or you’ll be swapping me for a hot actor instead.” He saunters along the hallway back to the bedroom and calls, “Not that any of them can match up to me.”
“Big head!” I call.
“You know it’s true!”
I turn to an amused Nate. “Beer?”
“Nah. All good. Gonna get going.” Nate drops the lightsabers on the sofa.
“Is Alison coming with you tonight?”
“Why would she come?”
“I thought… doesn’t matter.” Alison, the long-legged, gorgeous extra in the latest Ruby Riot video caught his eye. As I’ve met them together more than once, I’ve jumped to an obviously wrong conclusion.
Nate pulls out his car keys. “Will! See you there!” he yells. “Later, Fleur.”
The door slams behind Nate, and I find Will in the bathroom, wearing an open shirt, confused frown on his face. “You seen my shoes?”
“Why would they be in the bathroom?” I run my hands along his smooth chest, and then button his woven grey shirt.
“Is this shirt suitable?”
“You’ll do.” I step back.
Will backs me against the bathroom counter. “I’ll do?”
“Yep.” I tiptoe and brush my mouth against his.
“Huh.”
With a smile and complete disregard for my lipstick, I curl my arms around Will’s neck and press myself into him. Kissing Will when we’re alone is always a bad idea if I intend to leave the house anytime soon; neither of us is very good at holding back. He’s in the UK for a few months now; university is on a break for me, so we’re wrapped further into each other than before.
Where Will braces his hands either side of me, the fleur de lys symbol faces up and I run my finger along the outline.
He looks at the tattoo. “I reckon I’ll love you as long as that tattoo is there.”
“You reckon?”
“Nah.” He bites his lip at my frown and pushes himself between my legs. “I don’t reckon, I know.”
“Did I ever tell you, you’re a sweetheart?”
Normally, Will retches, but this time he grins. “Always told you, you’d see through my bullshit because there’s no point trying to pretend around you. Just don’t tell anybody. I have an image to maintain.”
I sit on the counter and Will settles between my legs. “You know what? I’m not sure I like this shirt.”
“What the hell, Fleur? Make your mind up.”
“Take it off.” I bite the corner of my lip and realisation glints in his eyes.
“We’ll be late.” He unbuttons his shirt and I push it from his shoulders.
“And?”
I giggle as he grabs my hips and pulls me to the edge of the counter. Will slides his hand under my dress, stroking my thigh. “Did I ever tell you I love you?”
“Once or twice.” I close my eyes as he kisses and nips my neck.
“Or that you’re awesome?” His lips move against my skin, fingers moving higher up my leg.
“I think I remember you telling me that.” My breath shortens as he skims my panties.
“And me?” he asks.
“You? You’re a tattooed slacker who bloody stole my heart.”
“Ha!” He drags the strap of my dress to one side. “You’re not gonna get it back either.”
“I don’t want my heart back. I love you.”
Will rests his forehead against mine. “Yeah, you keep hold of mine too.”
“Always.”
“Cool. Glad that’s sorted.”
Will pushes my dress above my knees, higher, until the cool of the counter is against my legs. When Will starts kissing his way from my neck to the top of my breasts I grab Will’s head; if he goes any further we won’t leave the house any time soon. “Will. We’ll be late.”
Will disentangles my fingers from his hair and kisses my hand. “I don’t give a crap about that.”
This time when Will kisses me, he unzips my dress. As his mouth follows the path of where the material falls to my waist, I have no hope of resisting him any longer.
When I let Will into my life, I veered off my planned road to the future in a big way. I always expected this to end in carnage, my heart torn apart and thrown to one side, but I misjudged him. Everything I thought was wrong with Will is exactly what makes him right.
In life, we don’t get to choose who we fall in love with. Fate can bring two people together, and time can keep them apart; but the thread between hearts and souls can never be broken. I’ll always be his.
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The Ruby Riot Series
Cadence
(Ruby Riot #1)
Coming Later 2016
Reprise (Ruby Riot #3)
Nate and Riley’s story
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Summer Sky (Blue Phoenix #1)
Summer Sky (Blue Phoenix #1)
Sky changed her life for a man once, and she has no intention of doing it again - even if he is a six foot, tattooed rock god who makes a mean bacon sandwich
Sky Davis is fed up with boyfriend Grant taking her for granted and when she comes home to find him wearing a girl, Sky suspects the relationship is over. She takes an unscheduled holiday and leaves the life (and guy) she hates behind.
Rock star Dylan Morgan is struggling with fame and infamy, sick of his life being controlled by other people. Dylan cuts his hair and walks away from his role as lead singer of Blue Phoenix, leaving chaos and speculation behind.
Outside the English seaside town of Broadbeach their cars and worlds collide.
Chapter One
You know that moment when you meet someone, only to discover they're the most arrogant, self-important asshole who you've had the displeasure of colliding fates with? Somewhere, on the edge of my normal life, this just happened to me.
Three hours driving non-stop from Bristol to Broadbeach, and I’m in a crappy mood. This trip would take three hours if every traffic cone in England wasn’t blocking the motorway, therefore forcing all the cars into a ‘traditional English traffic jam’. Or if I didn't get stuck behind the slowest tractor in the world, after I had the bright idea of leaving the motorway for country roads to speed things up.
I whined when I was dragged to Broadbeach on summer holidays with my parents as a teenager, every time. At that age, the quiet seaside town was the armpit of the universe and no longer the sandy playground by the beach I loved as a little kid. There's no place I'd rather be now, than the small house on the edge of the dunes. When I finally bloody get there.
Frustration mounts as the afternoon grows late, and skipping lunch to get away from Bristol as quickly as possible hasn’t helped. I took a wrong turn thanks to my stupid decision to take a short cut, and I’m lost on a narrow country lane looking for a road sign. So when a fricking dog runs across the road in front of me, I'm not exactly calm about the car behind rear-ending mine when I hit the brakes. There is one screech of tyres, one exchange of alarmed looks between the black and white dog and me, and one loud metal crunch.
I glance in the rear-view mirror. Some guy in sunglasses hastily puts down his mobile phone and starts gesticulating in a way that demonstrates he's as happy about the collision as I am. Like this, is my fault? I throw open the door and slam it closed. Heading to the back of my small, silver car, I'm aware of his scrutiny as I inspect the damage. Great. There’s a broken light and a bloody huge dent.
I turn to his. I know nothing about cars but I'm sure this is going to cost him more than me. Sleek, black some-kind-of-penis-extension prestige vehicles like this costs more to fix than my I-have-no-money-and-a-crap-job ten-year-old hatchback.
The guy remains in the car, so I stomp over and indicate he should lower his window. The tinted windows seem a bit excessive in the English climate, but I guess this adds to the image of the car. All I can see of the man is dark sunglasses and spiked brown hair, with his hand waving at me to stand back. I huff and back away.
Out of the car steps a guy with an attitude as big as the dent in my bumper. He doesn’t speak, but his body language indicates an apology isn’t coming anytime soon. Six feet of tightly drawn muscles and a hard set mouth. I'm immediately drawn to the sleeve of colourful tattoos disappearing under his greying black t-shirt. Why do people get so many tattoos? They're plain ugly when there's so many they merge into one canvas of colour.
I shift my gaze to his face. His sunglasses remain in place, and I can't see much beyond his sharp jawline and the fact he really needs a shave. My first impression is he's trying to cultivate some sexy, edgy image to match his sexy, edgy car. The guy whips off his sunglasses revealing bright blue eyes circled by tired black marks. The looking rough is more than an image then. I figure he's in his twenties like me, but his exact age is difficult to tell beneath the exhausted face.
Without a word, he stalks to the front of his car and rubs the dented paintwork, sucking air through his teeth. Flakes of silver paint from my car drop to the road. I take the opportunity to size him up. He's grungy in an attractive way; or the way attractive people can be as scruffy as hell and still look okay. He looks more than okay. I'm momentarily distracted by how his dirty jeans hug his backside but blink the image away.
"It's your fault if you ran up the back of me," I inform him.
"You stopped without any indication!" he retorts, straightening and turning back to me. His accent is odd – English but as if he’s lived overseas too long and lost part of it.
"A dog ran out in front of me."
He looks into the road. "What dog?"
"The dog’s not here now. I don't think the dog realised it needed to be a material witness and ran off!" I narrow my eyes at him and he deliberately looks me up and down. I’m wearing a short floral summer dress. Hardly sexy, but his scrutiny makes me feel exposed. I cross my arms over my chest.
He hesitates, tapping his fingers against his teeth. "I wouldn't normally do this, but I'm in a hurry. Forget the insurance, I'll give you the money. How much do you think it'll cost to fix your car?"
Do what?
"I don't know."
Cocking his head, he studies the car. "Not much, I think. It’s an old model. Was the paintwork that bad before I hit you?"
Cheeky bastard.
"I'm not taking your money. Repairs might cost more than you have! If you give me your name and number, we can sort the insurance out the proper way."
He laughs. "Very fucking clever. Do you think I would?"
I'm taken aback at his attitude and language. "Swapping details is a strange and ancient custom which occurs when dickheads on mobile phones rear-end the car in front."
For a moment, he looks as if I slapped him across the face, and he’s rendered speechless. I mentally clap myself on the back. If he can afford a car like this, I bet people in his life rarely call him a dickhead. At least not to his face anyway.
"I don't give people my personal details." As he speaks, he scrutinises my face and something in his ocean blue eyes prickles the back of my neck.
Oh, I see, turn the smouldering on and get me eating out of your hand. Forget that, buddy; men aren’t my favourite species currently.
"What makes you so special?" I snap.
A slow smile spreads across his face. "Nothing, what makes you so special?"
He traps me in a well-practiced seductive gaze, accompanied by the grin sharpening his stubbled features.
Not going to work…
"Do I have to call the police?"
His brow tugs together and he responds with a sharp. "No. Wait. Okay."
As he turns and goes back to his car, my heart rate picks up. Shit. Maybe he's a drug dealer. Or has a body in the car. And he's got a gun. And he's going to shoot me. Or maybe I watch too much CSI. Time to leave.
I attempt to memorise his number plate as I jump back into the driver's seat. Jamming the car into gear, I take off as fast as my not very fast car will take me. Through my mirror, I see six feet of muscled, tattooed, blue-eyed hotness (possibly with a gun) watching me drive away.
*****
The house by the sea never changes, inside or out. Or in my mind it doesn't. The whitewashed building belongs to my grandmother, and has been in the family for years. The house nestles between the sand dunes and the town, isolated from the neighbours but close to the track running up the hill to Broadbeach.
My heart rate won’t slow following my accident and encounter with the other driver. Why is my day going from bad to worse? I push the incident out of my mind; I'm here now, things will change.
I park my poor, mistreated car on the side of the track and climb out, inhaling until my lungs are full of the sea air. Odd how somewhere I resented so much is now a symbol of sanctuary. The sandy front garden is overgrown, weeds now resident in the huge terracotta plant pots full of geraniums. I tip the largest to one side and pull out the spare key. Gran needs to learn spare keys under plant pots don't equal good security, but I suppose security isn't as big a concern in Broadbeach as in Bristol.
A musty, familiar smell greets me as I push open the front door. Old books, lavender perfume and the seaweed smell of the sea. The mix of scents transports me back to summer days playing in the sand dunes and getting into trouble for sneaking off to the nearby shop for ice creams. The house is a few hundred metres from the beach. A small path and the dunes I rolled down until my knickers were full of sand, lies between the house and the shore.
Nobody has rented recently, and the house is cold and clean. I’m lucky to be able to stay here, especially as I phoned and asked to stay at short notice. Early June and heading into summer holiday season, Broadbeach is quiet. A week’s solace should help with the break-up from Grant.
Grant who took me for granted; who I changed for, morphing into someone I didn't recognise. I came home one day last week and found him with someone else. Such a fucking cliché, Grant knew I was due home, so he either decided to live dangerously or didn't give a shit. Personally, I think being told the relationship is over beats coming home to find a girl wrapped around your boyfriend of five years.
I left him (and attached girl), and slept at my best friend Tara’s for a couple of nights. But this wasn't far enough away from Grant. So I walked away from my job at his parents' finance company and headed to Broadbeach for some 'me' time. Some 'find me' again time. I've left behind the consequences of losing my boyfriend and probably my source of income.
I head upstairs with my stuffed blue rucksack and dump the bag on the bed. The duvet cover is seashell patterned, and the curtains match, the same bedding has been used for years. A local painting of the coast hangs on the cornflower blue wall. In a fit of glee, I tip the contents of my rucksack on the bed. Clothes go everywhere. I giggle. Grant hated my mess. Picking up underwear, I drop items around the room, and then scrunch back the bed covers. Now, the place is lived in. Imperfect. A little voice in my head whispers: "Fuck you, Grant."
The view from the window is what I dreamt of in the traffic jams on the way down. Unspoilt after all these years, the sandy beach stretches to the sea. Closing my eyes, I imagine I can hear the waves but I'm too far. The absence of sound is somehow louder than the traffic noise from my house back in Bristol. My ex-house.
One disadvantage of being the first guest of the season is there's nothing in the fridge or freezer. Zilch. Nada. I once came at the end of the season and the assortment of items in the cupboards and fridge kept me going for days. Unopened packets of cold meats, frozen bread and UHT milk conveniently located next to the teabags in the cupboard. One year someone left frozen pizza and two bottles of expensive wine. Win. This time? Big lose.
Pouting, I open the plastic bag I packed my lunch in. Pulling out the banana peel left from my emergency refuelling as I was driving, I discover the bottle of juice I packed has leaked all over my cheese sandwiches.
I don't want to drive anywhere again in a hurry, but a trip to the new out of town supermarket is needed. I need supplies. Lots of unhealthy, relationship break-up goodies. Guilt follows me out of the seaside town, away from the local shops in need of my money. However, I’m too tired to face twenty questions from Mrs Hughes or see the weird guy at the newsagents who never speaks. I'll spend money there too, of course; I’m here for a week. But tonight, I need bulk amounts of chocolate, crisps, ice cream and wine. So Asda is the place to go. Sorry, Mrs Hughes.
****
Evening encroaches as I return to the house; I spent more time and money than I expected at Asda because choosing the right wine for wallowing is important. And don’t get me started on the number of ice cream flavours to choose from. I bought the hottest pre-packaged curry I could find because I couldn't eat curry around Grant. He didn't like the smell. Add wine and a juicy new book for an awesome evening ahead.