Sheet Music (Razor's Edge Book 1) Page 5

  Trying to juggle my plate and still extend my hand, I answer, “I’m Kayla. This is the first I’ve been to. I’m just here with a friend. I don’t know the Ellingtons.” An electric shock runs up my arm when Randy takes my hand in his.

  “Nice to meet you, Kayla. I work for Gauge. Care to join us over there?” Randy points to a group of men and women sitting at a table that is next to a fountain. “Your friend can join us, too.” He looks toward Kathy when he says the last part.

  I’m about to politely tell Randy no thank you when Kathy pipes in. “We’d love to.” That girl really needs to learn how to mind her own business. I didn’t realize she was eavesdropping on our conversation.

  My phone vibrates in my bra. I see Randy’s eyes follow my hand as it reaches inside my shirt to pull my phone from under my bra strap. Glancing at the screen, I first notice that it's after ten o’clock in the evening. It didn’t seem like we’ve been there that long. The next thing I see is that I have a text from Jenna.

  JENNA: Where are you, Girl? It’s been weeks, and you’re not returning my calls or texts. Did I do something to offend you?

  Politely, I excuse myself and walk toward the house, where I can find some privacy. I’m not sure if I want to text her back or actually call her. By the time I reach the patio area, I’ve decided to go with texting back.

  ME: Sorry, Jenna. I’ve been super busy. Writing and all.

  JENNA: You sure that’s all it is?.

  ME: Yes, why?

  JENNA: I don’t know. It’s just weird how you left, and then you said you’d call, and you never did. No one has heard from you. Not even CJ.

  ME: Why would you think I would contact CJ?

  JENNA: Well, because you are or were head over heels for him, and he was for you.

  ME: No, I wasn’t, and no, he wasn’t. It was a business arrangement.

  JENNA: Lie to yourself, Kayla, all you want, but I know different. The two of you are so much alike, I swear.

  ME: What? How are we alike?

  JENNA: Both of you are playing like neither one of you is missing the other. But you are both full of shit. We all see it, but you two refuse to admit it.

  I start to reply when my phone rings. It’s Jenna. I waver on whether to let it go to voicemail or answer it and then decide to go with the latter since it would be rude to ignore her call when I’ve already been texting with her. “What, Jenna?”

  “Well, you do live,” she says. “I was beginning to think you were dead until you texted back. Then I decided I needed to hear your voice just to make sure it was really you.”

  “Hardy har har,” I reply. “I am still alive. Like I said, I needed to get my thoughts on paper while they were still fresh in my mind. I wasn’t ignoring you on purpose.” A tinge of guilt hits me because I know I just lied to her.

  “So, how have you been? What’s new?” Jenna questions.

  Jenna controls the majority of the conversation over the next half hour. She fills me in on everything that is and isn’t happening with the band and makes a special note to emphasize how unhappy and out of character Cayson has been. I’m finding it hard to believe that Cayson even notices I’m gone, since I haven’t heard from him once since I left. I know it was chicken shit of me to just leave without saying a word or leaving a note, but Cayson could have reached out to me if he wanted to or if he missed me that much. I was about to tell Jenna that when I feel the cushion beside me dip. I didn’t hear Randy sneak up on me. Placing my finger to my lips, I silently tell him to be quiet. “Look, Jenna, it’s been great catching up, but I’ve really got to go. I’m at a barbecue, and I really need to get back to everyone. Let’s catch up next week sometime, alright?”

  I can hear the disappointment in her voice. “Sure, Kayla. I’ll call you next week, or you call me. Whichever. Bye, Kayla.” I find myself saying good-bye to an already disconnected line.

  “You look sad. Everything alright?” A questioning Randy looks at me.

  Without missing a beat, I stand up and say, “Yeah, I’m great. Look, it was nice meeting you, Randy, but I’m kind of tired and ready to leave. I’m not trying to be rude, but do you know where Rusty is?”

  “Don’t worry about it, Kayla, it’s perfectly fine, you're not rude. I think I saw Rusty last by the cornhole game with Gauge and his family.” Before I can walk away, Randy grabs my arm and takes the phone from my hand, punching something into the keypad.

  “Hey, what are you doing?” I ask as I snag my phone back from him.

  “Just giving you my number and calling myself.” I watch as he takes his phone from his pocket. “Now I have your number, and you have mine. No reason why we can’t get together again, right? It was really nice to meet you. Have a nice rest of your evening.” Just like that, Randy turns and walks away.

  I’m just a few steps away from Rusty when Kathy comes running up beside me. “You ready to go? I’m tired and bored, Kayla.” That’s so much like Kathy; the world always revolves around what she wants. I’m so much the opposite, which is why I think we have been such great friends all these years. “Rusty,” she whines, “Kayla and I are ready to go home. Can we go now?”

  My phone vibrates once again in my hand.

  RANDY: NIght, Kayla, I really enjoyed meeting you.

  Chapter 6

  Kayla

  The car ride back to my home is quiet. The minute we hit the highway, Kathy passes out. I try my hardest not to laugh out loud but fail miserably. Rusty looks at me in the rearview mirror before he speaks.

  “What’s so funny back there?”

  “Your sister. She snores like a man and drools like a Saint Bernard.” I start laughing all over again at my comment, only this time, I snort. “Oh shit, ignore that, please.”

  I’m totally embarrassed by my snort, while Rusty starts to laugh as well. I’m about ready to tell him to stop laughing at me, but I’m immediately silenced when he reaches over and turns up the radio.

  “I love this song. Hell, I love this band. What do you think, Kayla? Do you like this tune?”

  How am I supposed to answer that question? I love the song, and if I let myself admit it, I love the singer of the song. The thumping of the drum solo from ‘Rocking Between The Sheets’ shakes the inside of the car. I have to yell for Rusty to hear me because the music is so loud.

  “Yeah, great song. Can you turn it down just a bit, Rusty? I don’t want you to wake Kathy up.”

  Rusty does as I ask and turns the volume down to a reasonable level. It’s just loud enough to drown out Kathy’s snoring, which I can’t believe she is still doing. Luckily, my home is just a few more miles down the road. My heart is beating so fast that it feels like it is about to burst out of my chest, and all this from just hearing the first part of this song. This is the reason I’ve avoided listening to the radio since I’ve gotten home. I don’t need reminders of Cayson, and now that I’ve heard his voice, I can’t get him out of my mind.

  I close my eyes and let my thoughts drift back to the first night I met Cayson Razor. He owned the stage; everyone was mesmerized by him, and that included me. Cayson paced back and forth across the stage like a lion teasing his prey. His voice was so sultry that it made everyone feel like he was singing just for them, and Christ, when his hand reached between his legs to grab his package, I wanted to yell out to him to take me. But I didn’t. What did I do? I just waved and gave him a shy smile.

  My thoughts are immediately halted when Rusty pulls into my driveway. I don’t wait for him to put the car in park or to even say good night. My hand is on the door pushing it open, so I can get away from the reminder of Cayson playing on the radio. I sprint to my front door as fast as I can, only turning long enough to wave good-bye. When the door is finally closed behind me, I drop to the ground, landing on my hands and knees, and begin to cry. I am frozen in place, Cayson's voice lingering in my mind. All my senses are immediately reminded of him. The way his skin smelled as my head lay against his chest after our bodies clung togethe
r in sated, orgasmic bliss. The salty taste of his skin on my tongue as I licked and kissed down the center of his chest, and the feel of his body as my fingers traced over the taut skin of his abdomen, and the velvety soft skin wrapped around his hard cock. The ache in my chest is unbearable, and the tears begin to fall once more. When it seems like I’m unable to cry one more tear, I roll to my side and curl into the fetal position, begging God to make the pain go away. Too tired and too sad to get up off the floor, I fall asleep exactly where I’m lying.

  The sound of a dog barking wakes me. I’m still lying on the tile floor entry of my home. I hear my phone beep, indicating I have an incoming text. My muscles ache from sleeping on the hard floor. Trying to ignore the pain, I crawl over to my purse and reach in to retrieve my phone.

  PATRICIA: Don’t forget, your deadline is in two weeks. How is it coming along? I haven’t heard from you lately.

  That stupid text is a reminder that reality needs me back and crying over Cayson isn’t going to miraculously cause him to call me or seek me out. There is nothing there between us, and I need to move on. My book has been done for days, except for the ending. The writer's block I had yesterday is gone, and I now know the ending. It’s time for me to sit down and finish.

  Three days have passed since I wrote the words “THE END.” I don’t know why I haven’t submitted it; maybe I’m just hoping that Cayson will reach out to me and I can change the ending so that the hero and the heroine will find their happy ending. Things aren’t going to change, and for the first time, one of my books isn’t going to end with the couple finding their way back to each other. Richie and Lara don’t find their happily ever after. Cayson told me that I needed to live in the real world. Not everyone lives happily ever after, Kayla. The words haunt my soul. He was right; there isn’t always a happily ever after. Cayson got his wish. I’m living in the real world now, and it hurts like hell. Taking out my phone, I send a text to Patricia, since the deadline is tomorrow.

  ME: It’s done, Patricia. I’ll drop it off tomorrow.

  I punished myself today with an intense workout. Lately, I’ve been hiding my feelings behind the pain I inflict on myself at the gym. The minute I walked through the front door, I dropped down on the sofa and became a couch potato. Now, as I stand, shooting pains radiate from my lower back down my legs and up to my shoulders. Placing my palms against my ass, I lean backward to stretch until the ache subsides. I wish my heart could heal as fast as my muscles just did. I walk toward my bathroom, anticipating the long hot shower I’m going to take. Turning on the water, I let it run until steam is flowing from the open door. Quickly, I remove my clothes and step in. Jumping back, I scream, “Fuck!” out loud. The water is scalding hot, and I wasn’t prepared for the blast that hit my body. When the temperature is just right, I find myself slumping to the floor and letting the water cascade over my head and down my body.

  What am I doing to myself? I’m not a workout freak. How can hearing one little song on the radio a couple of days ago have my heart breaking all over again? The answer is simple. It isn’t breaking again; it never healed. I make myself a promise right then and there that today will be the last day I sulk over Cayson Razor. No man deserves to own my heart and break it the way he did.

  It’s been a week since I dropped my manuscript off to Patricia. She called two days later to tell me how much she loved it, but that she wanted to see a few changes. They were simple modifications that didn’t take me very long to correct, and now that everything has been updated and sent back, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment. I’m about to call Kathy to see if she wants to do lunch when my phone rings. The caller ID reads RANDY. I inwardly chuckle before I accept the call.

  “Hi, Randy”

  “Hey, beautiful.” His words are as sweet as sugar when I hear them and make me smile bigger.

  “Hey to you, too. How have you been?” I ask with a bit more enthusiasm than I normally would, but to be honest, I’m enjoying the fact that he called me.

  “I’ll be better once you agree to have dinner with me Friday night.”

  Thinking about his request for a moment and running through my schedule, I reply, “Friday is fine. Where would you like to meet?”

  “I’ll pick you up. Tell me where you live,” Randy asks, to which I immediately reply.

  “Nice try, mister. I’ll meet you. You’re not getting my address out of me just yet. We only met just a little over a week ago, and I’d prefer to get to know you better.” I’m sure he is probably regretting he asked me out now and thinking I’m a freak because I won’t give him my address. But I have a few quirks, and one of them is not giving out my address or inviting men over to my house before I really get to know them.

  There is a light chuckle on the other end of the phone before Randy speaks. “Okay, Kayla, you said you liked Italian food the last time we spoke, so how does seven o’clock sound at Abbiati’s off Central in downtown Phoenix?”

  I love Italian almost as much as I love my parents, and I’ve wanted to try Abbiati’s for a long time now, so I’m more than excited about his choice of restaurant. “Sounds perfect, Randy. I’ll see you there.”

  Chapter 7

  Cayson

  It’s been over two months since Kayla left, and I’m still dreaming of her. I’ve fought myself every day from picking up the phone and calling her. I tell myself if she felt anything for me, she would be calling me even though I know deep down I should be listening to my own words. No matter how hard I try, I can’t bring myself to do it. Just last week, I broke down and gave into lust as I let a nameless chick with golden brown hair and hazel eyes suck me off backstage. The whole time, I fantasized it was Kayla’s lips wrapped around my cock and her tongue twisting around my tip, bringing me to orgasm. Every time that groupie’s eyes looked up at me, I turned my head away. Those eyes weren’t the ones I fantasized about; the color was all wrong, and they were hollow. I wanted it to be Kayla, but it wasn’t, and when I finally blew my load, I quickly zipped up my jeans and walked away feeling dirty and disgusted with myself. Shit, I can’t even enjoy getting off anymore.

  I spoke with my mom last night. I’ve been reaching out to her more and more over the last month, trying to find solace for my wicked soul. She informed me that Kayla’s new book released last week and that Patricia said it was some of the best work Kayla has turned in. In fact, it so good they pushed up the release date by a month. By the time I ended the call, I wanted to ask Sean if he could get me a copy to read, but I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  The only person who still talks about Kayla is Jenna. Even though Fallon and Jenna returned home after the end of the tour, I’ve remained close friends with them, so close that I can’t believe they want me to be their child's godfather. I usually call a couple of times a month just to check in and see how Jenna is doing and what Fallon is up to. Jenna has remained close friends with Kayla, and on our last call, she let it slip that Kayla went out on a date. I was furious that she was going out and having fun with someone else. Fuck, the thought of another man’s hands on her made me ill. I wanted to call her and yell at her, ask her what she thought she was doing. But I didn’t have the right to. When Kayla walked away, I never went after her. I had no one to blame for how I was now feeling but myself.

  I wish I knew how to get Kayla out of my head. The only time I’m not thinking about her is when I’m rehearsing with the band. When I’m practicing or on stage, I’m lost in the music, letting the beat consume me and take me over. It’s only when I’m alone that Kayla invades my mind and plays havoc with my heart. The worst time is at night, when I’m lying alone in bed. I swear I can feel her curled up next to me and smell her sweet scent of peaches. If I close my eyes, the sound of her screaming out my name as she comes echoes over and over in my head. It’s only when the shots of Macallan take over that I can find enough respite to sleep.

  In the brief moments I’m not thinking of Kayla, I’m worrying about Rocky. My best friend is strug
gling to stay afloat. He’s battling his demons, and I know we all need to be there supporting him when we are back on tour again in a couple of months. I know I need to do my part in Rocky’s recovery, which means no open bottles of booze on the bus, but how am I supposed to get over these feelings I’m having without the help of alcohol?

  I pour myself three fingers of Macallan, then slink back in my chair and turn on the T.V. Scrolling through the channels, I stop when I hear Kayla’s name. It’s the Ellen Degenerous show. “When we come back, join me as we talk to New York Times best-selling novelist Kayla Marshall about her new release.” I want to change the channel, but I can’t. I’m too intrigued to see what she has to say, and honestly, I just want to see her again, to see if she is as beautiful as I remember.

  The camera pans in close on Ellen as she welcomes her next guest. “Audience, let’s give a warm welcome to Kayla Marshall.” The audience claps loudly, and the camera pans to the side stage, where Kayla is walking toward Ellen. My heart starts being faster, and I’m a little dizzy. My God, she is still as beautiful as the first day I saw her standing in the crowd. A picture of perfection and innocence. I’m mesmerized as I watch her sit in the chair beside Ellen. “Kayla, tell us about your newest book ‘Love’s Lost Melody.' It’s only been out a week, and already you’ve reached number one on the New York Times list.”

  Kayla’s cheeks turn pink, and she clears her throat before she speaks. “I can’t believe it hit number one, Ellen. I wasn’t expecting that to happen, but I am so excited and grateful that my readers love it.”

  Ellen stays on point and fires out several questions that Kayla quickly responds to. It isn’t until she asks where the inspiration came from for the book that I set my glass on the coffee table and lean forward, resting my forearms on my knees, and await her answer. I don’t even notice I’m holding my breath until my lungs start to ache.