She grips my neck and tugs, and I hold her waist, lifting her up a little.
Reaching down deep, I manage to pull out another fraction of self-control and end the most torturous yet lovely kiss I’ve ever experienced. She presses her forehead to mine, and I wait while she catches her breath.
Emilie steps back and covers her pink cheeks. Finally meeting my eyes, she says, “Whoa.”
I reach out for her. “Can I…?”
She eases her hands away from her cheeks and, keeping her soft eyes locked on mine, closes the distance again. I cup her cheek and press my lips to her chin; flames torch my stomach and leap into my throat. She inhales sharply.
And she’s the one to pull back this time, tilting her head to the side as she stares up at me. “Intense.”
A screech coming from my room makes her jump. We both dart for the door, but before we make it inside, Parker comes running out, wearing nothing but a mop of shaggy brown hair and a cheeky grin. The other lads fly through the door after him, Kasen holding a camera.
Emilie laughs then backtracks into the room. “I didn’t know there was a streaker in the bunch.”
“Nah. Probably a dare.” I hook an arm around her waist. “We did have a fifth mate that preferred the skuddy, though.”
“I’m guessing that means naked.” She turns to me. “Hold on. A fifth boy? Really?”
“Aye, our very secret fifth member that didn’t make it past rehearsals for the first track.” I wince as I recall his flip-out. “He went to rehab and management cut him from the band after he breached his contract.”
“Oh.”
I shut the door behind us and head for my guitar case lying on her bed. “Come on. I’ve figured out a way to show your song to producers.”
Aye, a guitar between us will keep me from moving way too fast, as well. It’s important—really, really important—that I don’t botch this.
Emilie sits on the corner of the bed. I’m just easing into a chair at the dinette when Parker comes running in, naked, his left arm dangling at his side.
He lets out a high-pitched shout, and I cover my ears. Emilie nearly falls off the bed, but is quickly on her feet. He’s holding his arm and looking around frantically.
“What did you do?” she asks, and her panicked eyes focus on his “limp” arm. She reaches out to touch it but pulls back.
Oh, Lord.
His lips curl and he does the worst ugly cry I’ve ever seen. “My shoulder popped out of socket,” he cries.
“Put the blasted thing back in,” I say and toss a blanket from the bed at him. “You’re scaring her. Emilie, he pops it out.”
Emilie stands there a moment longer, open-mouthed. Finally, she clamps her mouth shut and backs away. “And get some clothes on,” she says with a scowl, though her lips are twitching.
He drapes the blanket over him toga-style and turns toward the wall, pushing his shoulder into it. After letting out a muffled groan, he turns back to us. He nods at my guitar and says, “Hey, you about to bang something out? Cool. If we don’t agree on at least two more songs, Lauren’s gonna start in about the next album and she’ll be pushing rubbish on us again.”
It’s always best to have our song choices in order before she even thinks about the next record.
“If we had agreed on tracks a month ago, she wouldn’t have to push.” I shoot daggers at him. He’s the hardest of us lads to please when it comes to song choice. “And we wouldn’t have to worry about this while we’re touring either.”
But that’s a lie. We always work on the next album while touring for the previous one. Still, it’s a defense against other people suggesting shite tracks.
Doing a great job at dingying me, Parker comes over and perches where Emilie was just sitting. “Go on then. Let’s hear it.”
I show him the notebook. “It’s Emilie’s. I don’t have music just yet, but I was thinking something like…” I strum a few chords. “And then this…”—I strum a few more and point to the bridge lyrics on the notebook page—”for that part. No, not that melody exactly, but something like it.”
“This is badass,” he says, staring at the lined page. “And perfect since it’s her words.”
He tilts his head to where she is standing beside me. “We need to play this at the studio tomorrow to get them to notice, you know?”
“Are you serious?” Emilie covers her mouth.
I shrug. “Aye, it’s what I’d planned on doing.”
Parker looks up from the book. “Why not?”
She holds her hands out, palm up. “I just thought Julian….”
“If Jules is in, we’re all in.” He smiles and narrows his eyes on her, and then jerks his gaze back to me. His lips purse; his eyes dance.
What’s got his pants in a twist? “All right there, Parker?”
“Ye-ah.” He raises his eyebrows. “I’ll get the lads.”
Parker doesn’t so much as get them—he shouts out our door for Luke and Kasen to come quickly or else they’ll die later of regret. At least, that’s what I think he said. He needs to lay off the energy drinks.
Kasen walks in first, a ready smile teetering at the edges of his mouth.
“No, lads,” Parker says just as Luke is strolling in. “Larking time is over. We need to bang out a song, but first we have to get one thing sorted.”
He walks over and pats my head. “It seems that Jules has finally locked Emilie in.”
“Are you fooling?” Luke turns his piercing eyes to me. “How’d you manage that?”
I glance up at Emilie, whose face is as red as mine feels. “Sorry.”
She ducks her head.
Kasen only laughs, but Parker fingers my hair. “Oh, I imagine Julian dallied with his blond curls as he turned his beautiful hazel eyes on her. That’s what he did for me.” He looks down at me. “But you’re not my type, honey. Too pretty.”
He moves his hand away before I have a chance to skelp it. Actually, it’s Luke who is gay. I wonder if Emilie has figured that out yet. “Are we playing or not?”
While the three are off to get their instruments, Emilie pulls the other chair from the dinette over to where I’m at and eases down. “I have a question. Why don’t you play on stage?”
I roll my eyes. “They want one of us to sing only—it’s better for the crowd. I only get to play when we record. Kase can play drums or else he’d be the lead vocalist.” Luke on guitar; Parker is on bass. “I’m just a singer.”
“And you’re the lead singer. Give yourself some credit.” She smiles up at me, and I reach for her hand.
“It doesn’t count, does it? I’m not that good.”
“Remember the friend I told you about that was such of fan of the band?”
My lips tug into a small smile, though it’s probably not a very amused one. “The friend you lost after the whole missing-boyfriend obsession. The one who made you watch most of our videos.”
She winces. “Yeah. Um…anyway, one was just you—no music. You’re really good.”
Luke comes barreling back in. “Enough of the sex talk!”
I open my mouth to tell him to mind his bissy, but next is Parker—bare-chested, but at least he has jogging bottoms on now. “Jules doesn’t need to hear about the birds and the bees. I took care of that a long time ago.”
I drop my head to my hands and rock it back and forth. “I’m terribly sorry, Emilie,” I mumble.
“It’s okay,” she says, and I can hear the smile in her voice. “Little boys don’t hide their jealousy very well.”
“Told!” Kasen comes in with his drum box seat.
And finally we’re able to get on with the song.
The next day, Emilie comes along to the studio. We totally take control and begin testing out a few riffs. Kasen pays no mind to us while he tinkers with the drums for a bit. He’s fussed about his own kit not being here. We all eventually get on the same track and bust out with our new song.
Flay, a massive man known for his
numerous music awards and #1 hits, watches us through the sound booth window with a lost but happy grin. After a while, he comes over the speaker, “Very rock and roll, Jules, but hold back on the guitar riff between those first verses. Come in faster and faster.”
Kasen and I split the vocals. Parker backs us up while ticking away at his stickered-up bass guitar. Luke backs us too.
“Hold up, hold up. Do that again,” Flay says without looking up. “Lemme get the right mics on.”
Soon, Flay starts looking at us funny through the sound booth window. He’s pure dead lost. “Hold on. Where’s this on the list?”
We pretend not to hear his questions on the overhead speakers.
Tap, tap, tap. “Hello.” He ups the volume on his microphone, but we’re not stopping until we think we have enough for at least a raw demo track.
And after a while, Flay’s face relaxes, and he even bobs his head to our song.
Parker plays out the last beats. I play the last chord. Goose-pimples cover my whole body.
End of.
“This is amazing,” Flay’s voice floods our sound booth, “but where is it on the list? ‘Blue You’ is the name, right?”
None of us answer. I watch as his smile turns from excited confusion to a new understanding. “Dude, you know studio time is valuable.” He looks down for a moment then peers back through the glass. “I’ll send a digital to Lauren. You better hope she likes it or we’re all in trouble.”
He looks down to where Emilie is sitting at his side and mumbles something. It looks like he’s asking her whose song it is.
Luke comes up behind me and props his chin on my shoulder. “What’s he saying, Master Lipreader?”
“Well, it belongs to Jagged Black,” Emilie says…mouths. I repeat it for Luke and the others.
“Wait just a damn minute.” Flay tilts his head and stares at her. “Did you write this?”
Say yes. Say yes.
She looks away from Flay and meets my eyes through the glass. Giving me a crooked smile, she says, “Yes.”
###
We’re at rehearsals in the new arena in Utah when our associate producer starts blowing up my mobile. I only wait ten minutes to break free and ring him back, but he acts like it’s hours.
“I’ve been calling you over and over,” Phillip says. “Lauren wants to speak with you.”
There’s a click then Lauren’s high voice is in my ear, “Did Emilie Gold really write this music?”
“Aye, she wrote the lyrics.”
Lauren lets out a string of swearwords. “Jesus, is it possible a seventeen-year-old twit wrote your next single? Get this girl an agent, and don’t surprise me like this again. Agent! Holy hell, we need an effing permission slip from her mommy and daddy, do we not?”
“Probably…I haven’t a scooby,” I say, trying to keep the excitement out of my voice. “Lauren, how does she get an agent?”
She sighs. “You boys are so spoiled. Get Joe on it—he’ll know what to do.”
“But you said she can’t use my assistant for any—”
“I know what I said!” she shouts, nearly busting my ear drum. “You get that agent, and then Ms. Gold better not write anything for anyone else.”
“That’s not fair,” I say. “None of our other songwriters are exclusive.”
Lauren sighs on the other line. Caught! A few years ago I might have let her get away with that. I’m glad I have enough experience now to know better. “Fine, but we better get first option on anything she writes, Julian.”
“I think we can work that out,” I say and eye the boys who’ve stopped going through the steps and are watching me.
She sputters. “Christ, you sound like a businessman.”
“Bye, Lauren,” I say and ring off. It feels good to get the best of her, and it feels even better knowing my girlfriend is going to profit from it.
I run back to the dressing room; the lads run along behind me.
Through the passageway and finally through my dressing room door, I find Emilie napping on the couch, which makes me feel low. It seems like she’s always waiting around for me. And from here, we’ll go back to the hotel and there will be a few hours of tutoring for her.
I kneel down and brush her hair from her cheek. “Emilie?”
She moves around sluggishly and raises her eyebrows without opening her eyes. “Hm?”
“We’re buying your song.”
She sits straight up, her glossy brown hair tumbling around her shoulders. “What?”
I finger the texture—it’s even softer than mine, which is funny since the stylists spend gobs of time and money to make mine soft and shiny. “Our producer is on board. We just have to get you an agent.”
“Whoa.” She smiles then looks over my head. “Thanks, guys.”
“What are you thanking us for?” Luke says. “I’m not trying to fluff your ego, but we’ve been going through so many songs and couldn’t find that song. It feels like us.”
“I wouldn’t be thanking us,” Kasen says. “The pressure is on you now. We need more and quickly before we’re forced to sing about lipgloss and cherry lollipops.”
“Hey, I like cherry lollipops,” Luke says.
Parker wiggles his eyebrows. “And I like cherries.”
“Och!” I groan. “And now you know how those two blokes couldn’t write anything meaningful to save their lives, don’t ya?”
The three laugh and jostle each other into the passageway. I turn to Emilie, who isn’t laughing. “What’s wrong? Seriously, you can’t pay that much attention to those nutters—they can be so rude.”
“No, it’s…nevermind.” She nibbles her lip. “This is supposed to be a happy time.”
Emilie doesn’t like the pressure. She likes temporary. Dammit, she never wanted a job as a songwriter. She writes one song, and we have to put all this stress on her? “You don’t have to write for us anymore if you don’t want to.”
She looks away. “Another boy went missing while we were in Virginia. They found his body this morning near Arlington.”
Oh. My relief is so wrong. For fuck’s sake, I’m such a callous prat sometimes.
“That sucks,” I say. How come this feels like it’s about us? And how come it’s so hard to catch this loser? That’s it. I’ll hire someone to put this to rest finally. A private investigator, I guess. Doug will know.
“Yeah, it does,” she says and looks up at me with a tender smile. “So what are we going to do to celebrate my first official song?”
I lean in and give her a massive kiss…to make up for the fact I won’t be doing any celebrating for at least another two hours.
She pulls back and points to the long counter in front of the mirrors. “Someone left you something, but I think it’s leaking.”
I groan and go to the red-and-white gift bag. “Remind me the next interview to change my favorite food from chocolate ice cream to something a little less messy…Super Noodles or something.”
“Hm. I’d go with a no-brainer like pretzels or else you’ll get a pound of cooked noodles.”
If it would keep, I’d toss the ice cream over Parker’s head when we’re done. It’d be good for a laugh…and it would cool his horndog self off.
“Hey.” She gives her head a quick shake. “Did you say the band is buying my song?”
I have to laugh. “That sleepy, huh? How much of that conversation did you miss?”
“Just the first,” she smiles, “I think.”
“Yeah, of course we’ll buy your song.” I come back to her and kiss the top of her head. “What’d you think we’d do, steal it?”
“Can’t you just take it as my contribution to everything?” She pulls away and looks up.
“Well…we have to get you an agent now. Lauren wants everything on the up and up.” I sit down beside her and rub her leg. “An agent works for a percentage, and a percentage of nothing is nothing. You’ll be fired if you don’t sell your song, you know.”
 
; She earned this. Songwriters sell their songs all the time, and they take their money happily. Does she think this was too easy to get paid for or something?
“I just didn’t want to get a paycheck from you.” She shakes her head. “It feels wrong—I don’t like it. Doesn’t help that Mamma’s gonna get what she’d hoped for.”
“Your name beside a song of ours would be what she hoped for, paycheck or not.”
She winces. What the feck is going on now?
“Emilie, you could have just told me to claim the lyrics as my own. Not that I would have, but then I would’ve at least expected this.” What is this anyway? “Tell me what’s going on.”
“Money sucks.” Emilie slouches back against the couch then tilts her head toward me. “My parents have been pressuring me to come home.”
My heart does a tumble. “But you can’t.”
She rolls her eyes then narrows them on me. “I can, and I would go home now if I wanted to.”
“And?”
“I don’t want to go yet,” she whispers.
Tingles rush across my face. I guess I was holding my breath. “So what does that have to do with the songs and paychecks?”
“I knew Mamma would talk Daddy into letting me stay as long as she thought I was setting myself up career-wise, so I told her I actually was writing songs.”
Oh shite. I lean back against the couch beside her. Either she advances her career or she has to go home. But if I’m the one who advances her career, she doesn’t like it. Like she said earlier, it feels all wrong.
Everybody has an agenda.
But didn’t I as well? How many times did Emilie say she wanted to just be my friend? Yet I just pushed for more, especially at first. And I manipulated the situation so she had to spend more time with me. Why couldn’t I be the friend she wanted? Hell, all she needed was a friend. No one in their right mind welcomes a new relationship when the old one isn’t resolved. She fought it the whole way—those weren’t mixed signals—they were hesitant signals.