Downbeat (Lightning Strikes Book 4) Page 3

  Not her.

  I take a quick look at her nametag and smile, taking the other bud out of my ear to give her my full attention.

  “Morning, Kylie.”

  Her eyebrows furrow together. “I’m sorry, do we know each other?”

  “Not formally,” I say, shoving my hands into my pockets. “We met the other day at Fresh Catch.” The confused expression stays on her face. “When you dropped your purse and everything scattered across the floor.”

  Realization hits and a flush spreads across her cheeks, turning them a nice, rosy shade. “Oh, you helped me pick everything up?” I nod. “Sorry, this is embarrassing. I was mortified and barely noticed you. I was so busy internally cursing my clumsy self that I didn’t formally thank you for helping me.”

  “No thanks needed. Happy to help. You seemed flustered as it was.”

  Kylie nods and shifts her weight to her other leg. “Yeah, it was a bad day all around. The purse thing was just the icing on the cake.” She pauses, brushing back a chunk of hair that fell out of the clip. “Let me buy your coffee to say thank you.”

  I hold up my hands. “You don’t have to do that. Like I said, I was happy to help.” The guy behind me clears his throat while checking his watch. Not wanting to piss him off and risk drawing unwanted attention, I glance at the menu, even though I already know what I want. “I’ll have a tall Americano with an extra shot of espresso.”

  The corners of her eyes crinkle a little. “Coming right up.” After reluctantly taking my payment, she turns and presses a few buttons on the machines, letting the full-bodied aroma fill the air. Very few things calm me down. Coffee is one of them, which is comical since it’s a stimulant.

  I look down at her tip jar and shake my head. Pitiful. Plenty of change and hardly any bills. Making sure she’s too busy to see what I’m doing, I shove a twenty inside the jar and place my hands back in my pockets.

  Within a few minutes, she hands me a paper cup. For the briefest of seconds, our fingertips brush against each other in the exchange. The flush on her face deepens before pulling her hand away like the coffee had spilled out and burned her.

  “Thanks,” I say, stepping to the side as the guy behind me clears his throat again. Fuck, get a grip.

  Kylie turns her attention to the impatient customer but gives me a final grin and nod as she takes his order.

  I look around the quiet shop, pausing to assess my plans. Really, I don’t have anything going on and I know what my roommates are doing if I go home right now. It’ll probably be easier to set up camp here for a while, take some time to relax.

  Finding a quiet corner with an oversized plush chair, I make myself comfortable and grab a new copy of Variety on the table next to me. Not that I’m looking to stroke my ego, but I want to see what people are saying about the Lightning Strikes. And sure enough, halfway through the magazine, there’s a small article about our upcoming album that’s currently in production. I smile and read the editor’s review of our debut, giving us nothing but praise and accolades, labeling us as the “band to watch.”

  Looking up, I connect with Kylie, who’s finally left the counter and is cleaning off a few of the tables. For as small as the shop is, it has quite a few seating areas, leaving enough room so it doesn’t feel cramped.

  “How’s the coffee?” she asks, looking over her shoulder as she tidies up some newspapers.

  I raise my cup in salute. “Perfection. Exactly what I needed.” I keep my eyes on her, watching as she cleans, taking a little extra time to appreciate her curves, especially her well-rounded ass.

  She stops and blows out a quick breath. “This is probably my favorite time of the day. The in-between hour when everyone is satisfied and doesn’t need their early afternoon pick-me-up yet.” Kylie leans against the table across from me and folds her arms over her chest. “What brings you in here at this hour?” She gives me a good once-over and smirks. “Judging by the circles under your eyes, I’d say you’ve been up for quite a while.”

  I nod and take a sip of coffee, trying to think of a good excuse. “Yeah, it was an early morning filled with lots of meetings around the city. I’m in between appointments right now.”

  “Meetings? Dressed like that?” She waves her hand in front of my body. “I need your job.”

  Her statement hits me like a ton of bricks. She doesn’t know who I am.

  This could be good. I can be the regular guy I know I am without having to worry about her freaking out or using me to gain fame. She thinks I’m just another customer. How long can I keep this up?

  Quickly discarding the magazine where my picture is plastered inside, I lean forward, resting my elbows on my knees. “It’s casual Friday.”

  Kylie laughs. “It’s Wednesday.”

  “Same difference. We don’t have a strict wardrobe requirement, so as long as we look presentable to the public, we’re golden.”

  “And that’s what you went with? Seriously, are you a professional beach bum?”

  Didn’t think that one through. Boardshorts, my favorite Foo Fighters t-shirt, and sandals don’t exactly scream high-level meetings. I laugh and cross my feet at the ankles. “Not quite but pretty close.”

  “Sales?”

  “Sorta, I guess.” Minor technicality.

  She nods, standing there with her arms still crossed over her chest. I fight the urge to check out her prominent feature as they sit perfectly on top of her arms. I must stare too long because she quickly moves them to brace herself against the table. Not any better because now she’s arching forward.

  I won’t correct her.

  “So,” she starts. “You know my name, but I don’t know yours.”

  Before I have the chance to answer, the bell dings above the door and a group of college-aged girls flow inside, all talking as loud as they can. Something about shoes and party and “Oh, my God, I can’t believe Shelly slept with that jerk from Brigham Hall.” Poor jerk probably is regretting his choice now if she’s anything like her friends hovering at the counter.

  Kylie gives me a sympathetic smile. “Sorry, duty calls.” She takes off for the counter, cheerfully greeting them while waiting for them to decide who’s going to order first. She could be there a while.

  One of them looks over and squints in my direction. Shit. I slide my aviators on and grab my half-full coffee, ready to make a mad dash if I need to. One of her friends distracts her for a second and I use the opportunity to leave, mindful to walk as far away from them as possible.

  I feel like a heel, ditching Kylie without answering her question, but the timing wasn’t right. I couldn’t risk being outed, especially if she’s in the dark about my identity. I want to ride that train for as long as I can.

  I glance down at my watch. At least I managed to kill an hour at the coffee shop. Breck and Lizzie should be sleeping by now.

  Without a glance backward, I take off toward my condo, only stopping at a food truck parked a few blocks away because the way my stomach is growling, I’m afraid it may eat itself.

  Once I’m safely back home, I kick my sandals off and relax on the couch, flipping on Netflix and clicking on Rules of Engagement. Patrick Warburton is hilarious and you can never go wrong with anything David Spade is in. Well, almost never.

  After a few episodes, Breck wanders from his room, rubbing his eyes and sits next to me.

  “How was your coffee?”

  I shake the empty cup at him. “Exactly what I needed. Even saw that hot chick from your fish place there. Guess what? She’s a barista.”

  Breck draws his brows together. “Who?”

  “You know, the hottie who dropped her purse at Fresh Catch.”

  Mischief lights his eyes. “Oh, the one you were not-so-subtly staring at?”

  Of course, that’s what he’d remember. “Yeah, her.”

  “I take it you’ll be stopping there more often then, huh?”

  “Maybe,” I say, trying to keep my voice an even tone. It doesn’t work b
ecause Breck knows me better than anyone. He just shakes his head and decides to drop it.

  My phone beeps with an incoming message.

  Kade: Change of plans. Linda wants us to be at the office in an hour.

  Fuck my life. Linda, our label rep, is the world’s biggest bitch. Catering to her every need kills me a little. But we can’t say anything because, without her, we’d be nothing. As much as we despise her—especially after that stunt where she tried kicking Tatum off the tour when she was added as an opener—she’s made us a household name, put us on the charts and given us exactly what we needed.

  “Looks like it’s back to work,” I say to Breck, turning off the TV and standing to stretch. Breck does the same before turning to face Lizzie as she walks into the room.

  “All set.” She’s wearing some skimpy sundress, looking ready to spend a day at the beach.

  Breck hooks an arm around her shoulders and presses his lips to her forehead. “Sorry, babe. Got called in an hour early. I’ll take a raincheck for the beach.”

  She pouts but playfully kisses his cheek. “No worries. I understand. I’ll just bum it by myself. Gives me a chance to knock a book or two off my Kindle.” She picks up the device and slides it into her oversized bag.

  Once outside, Breck kisses Lizzie goodbye as we get in his car and she takes off down the street to the beach.

  “I hate disappointing her like this, especially when we made plans.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fuck, you would have had an hour with her. It’s not the end of the world. Brush the sand out of your vagina and suck it up. Now she gets to experience what you felt a few months ago when the roles were reversed.” Though I guarantee she won’t whine about it like he did.

  As we drive through the traffic toward the label’s office, my mind wanders back to the coffee shop and Kylie, looking just as gorgeous as she did the other day. It’s hard to admit, but now I know what Brecken is always talking about. When you meet someone who occupies your mind for no good reason, it’s hard to think of anything else. And damn, if Kylie hasn’t done it to me.

  Not that anyone will ever know. I’ll keep that bit of info to myself.

  The one thing I hate about my job is the perma-smile I plaster on for every customer.

  “The coffee burned my tongue.” I’m sorry you’re too impatient to wait for the extremely hot liquid inside your cup to cool down before acting like it’s the last thing you’re ever going to drink.

  “Are you out of orange cranberry scones?” Does it fucking look like they’re in the display case?

  “I want a non-fat, soy latte, extra foam, sugar-free vanilla syrup with a double shot and the largest dollop of fat-free whip you can cram on top.” Bitch, go away.

  Customer service is not my forte.

  Katie breezes in with her usual nonchalance, pulling her curly red hair into a ponytail. “Hey, girl. How was your shift?” She comes behind the counter, tying her apron around her waist. “Tried to get here sooner, but there was an accident that held up traffic for an unusually long time.”

  “Anyone hurt?”

  Katie shakes her head. “Nothing major. Minor fender bender. But it was a celebrity, which made it ten times worse. I’ve never seen so many photographers trying to cram themselves into the same place. People really need to get a life.”

  Not one for the gossip train, I let it drop. Katie, however, can’t.

  “You know that show Grey’s Anatomy?” I shake my head. Judging by her horrified look, I’ve apparently made some egregious error in my life choices. “You must be one of the only people in the world who has never experienced that show.”

  “When do I have time to watch TV?”

  Katie puts a hand on her hip and cocks it to the side. “Make time. Seriously. The hottest guys are on there. And Lord knows you need some weekly eye candy.”

  I roll my eyes and finish wiping down the counter. “I’ll add it to my to-do list. What does that show have to do with the accident?”

  “Right.” She’s practically bouncing in her shoes from excitement. “The driver who got hit was Eric Dane.” I stare blankly at her and shrug. Katie digs her phone out of her purse and starts scrolling through photos. “This guy.” She shoves her phone into my face. I pull it back to get a better look. Damn, she’s right. He’s definitely eye candy.

  “Okay, I can see why you’re obsessed with that show. Is he okay?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine. A few bumps, nothing major. His car was towed, and someone picked him up.”

  “Poor guy. Probably chased by paparazzi and one of them got too close.” I shake my head. “I don’t understand everyone’s obsession with celebrities. Those poor people are trying to make a living like everyone else and we put them up on a pedestal. Who wants to live like that?”

  Katie raises her hand. “If dealing with that means never having to pour crabby people their coffee every day, sign me up.”

  “Not me. I don’t think I could handle the attention. What’s so wrong about being a normal person, living a simple, noncomplicated life?”

  “Everything.”

  The bell rings above the door and I hand the people-ing duties off to Katie. As for me? I’ve had plenty. I wave goodbye as she signs into the till and plasters on the same fake smile I’ve been wearing for the past few hours.

  I gather my stuff and jump into my car. Great, the afternoon rush. If traffic cooperates, I’ll make it home with enough time to relax before signing on to my online class lecture. Then time to switch gears again, from student to cook and maid and…

  Ugh, I’m tired just thinking about it all. I crank up the radio as soon as I hear “Something Bad” by Miranda Lambert and Carrie Underwood and bang my hands against the steering wheel while singing my heart out. The older guy in the car next to me looks over, something akin to amusement and embarrassment shadowing his face as he tries not to look over. Obviously failing if I’m noticing his every movement. I invite him to join by rolling down my window even more. His response? Rolling his up and pulling as close as possible to the bumper of the car in front of him to get out of my line of sight.

  Whatever. He doesn’t appreciate good music when he hears it.

  An hour later, I’m snuggled in my jammies and holed up on the couch with my laptop and notebook, ready for the most boring lecture on business ethics. Six years ago, I was eager to learn everything I could, got good grades, model student, every professor’s dream. Now the situation is different. Other things are taking priority. It’s not just myself I have to worry about anymore.

  Shit. What’d he say? I tune back into the conversation from my “professor” and scribble down notes as fast as I can.

  By five o’clock, I’m working in the kitchen, throwing something together for dinner. Mom was supposed to go to the store, but she got called in for a double shift at the hospital and told me that we’d be on our own tonight. And I don’t think I can stomach another night of fish tacos, even though Jenny insisted she could bring them home.

  Nothing makes you feel like a child again like waiting for your mom to come home with the groceries. And not in a good way. When I first went to college, I had grand dreams of moving away and only coming back for holidays and the occasional surprise visit. Then I got pregnant. Plans changed again when Craig decided he didn’t want to stick around and help raise the family we were suddenly given. I didn’t have the support system I thought I’d have, and being in a different state made things worse. Then I kept getting sick, going into the hospital to be hooked up to IVs for fluids due to morning sickness that lasted six straight months. Had to drop out and into Mom’s open arms, promising me everything would be just fine.

  After Jayce was born, she gave up her sewing room and transformed it into a nursery. I slept in the same bed that I’ve had since I was eight-years-old. Being a new mom left no time to be social, or the energy to go back to school. Jenny was still young and in middle school. Seven years separate myself from my little sister and fourteen years s
eparate her from her nephew. Even though we disrupted her whole existence, she was excited the minute she held Jayce for the first time. She considered him to be the brother she always wanted and never got.

  Speaking of. Jenny breezes in through the front door, laughing with Jayce as the two drop their bags in the front hall and race back to the kitchen where I’m putting the finishing touches to the chicken casserole I managed to whip up with some leftovers.

  “Mom!” Jayce’s voice bounces off the walls as he comes to a skidding stop by the fridge. “Guess what Aunt Jenny gived me?” He proudly holds up a bill, beaming from ear to ear.

  I wipe my hands on a towel and slide the casserole into the oven before bending down to get a better look. On first inspection, I thought it was monopoly money. Then I looked closer and smiled.

  “A two-dollar bill? Wow, you must have the best aunt in the world to give you that.”

  He nods his little head, the mop of hair sliding over his forehead. I really should take him in for a haircut.

  “She said a guy left it for her, but that he was a real dickwad. He said they didn’t get his food fast enough and she called him a liar, liar, pants on fire.”

  I flick my eyes up to my sister, slinking in the doorway. “Jenny!”

  Her cheeks pink up at my chiding tone. “It slipped! At least I kept it PG-13. It could have been so much worse.”

  “Not the point.” I turn my attention back to my son, the smile sliding off his face. “Please don’t repeat anything your aunt tells you. It’s not polite.” He nods. I soften the blow with a kiss to his forehead. “You should go put that in your piggy bank, so you don’t spend it. They don’t make those anymore and it’s a rare find.”

  Jayce nods and takes off toward his room, leaving me and my ill-mannered little sister alone.

  “Mom’s working a double, so it’s just the three of us tonight,” I say, squirting some soap into the water to start on the dishes. Jenny grabs the drying towel and helps me as I clean up my mess.