Reckless Invitation (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Read online

She narrows her brows. “Uh … you’re welcome?”

  “That’s why I came back. I need all the inspiration I can get.”

  Her expression flattens. “Liam, I’m not sleeping with you.”

  “I know. You said as much last night. The amazing thing is—I knew that, and I wrote music anyway.” I chuckle, because the funny thing is, I don’t want to sleep with her. Not this girl. I don’t want her to know how truly twisted I am. “Some would say you’re my muse, Ella.”

  Her eyes widen. “Your what?”

  “My muse. My inspiration. And just so you know, once a musician finds his muse, that’s it.”

  She pulls her bottom lip in, then releases it. “What do you mean, that’s it?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just glad we met, that’s all.”

  “All finished?” a nurse says, popping her head in.

  Ella hands me back the sheet music. “Almost.”

  “You’re free to get dressed. Someone will be by soon to wheel you out.”

  “Wheel me?” Ella asks. “But I can walk.”

  “It’s standard procedure. All patients leave in a wheelchair.” The nurse glances at me. “Is this your ride home?”

  “Yes,” I say before Ella can answer.

  “Good. I’m glad you have someone to look after you.”

  Ella signs the last form, and the nurse gathers the papers and leaves.

  “I can take the subway. My legs work perfectly fine.”

  “Or I can give you a ride home in a cab. You don’t want to take the subway with a head injury. Who knows what can happen?”

  She gets out of bed and picks up her clothes off the chair. “Fine. But you’re only dropping me off. You’re not coming in.”

  I hold up my hands. “I’ll be a total gentleman.”

  While she’s in the bathroom, I spy her phone on the tray table. I pick it up, surprised to find it unlocked, and call myself. When she returns, it’s back where it was.

  “I can’t wait to get home and wash this glitter out of my hair,” she says.

  “I kind of like it. It’s what made you stand out among the rest.”

  “It makes me look like a streetwalker.”

  “Maybe at eleven in the morning. But last night, it worked. You met me, didn’t you?”

  “As if that was my intention.”

  “What was your intention?”

  She sits and rubs the side of her head. She’s obviously still in pain. “It was supposed to be a fun night out. A way for me to get my ex out of my head.”

  “The ex. Right. What’s his name?”

  “Dickhead. Rat Bastard. Cheating Cradle-robber—take your pick. He showed up last night after you left.”

  My spine stiffens. “Is he stalking you?”

  She shakes her head. “He was worried about me. Says he still loves me.”

  “Are you thinking about getting back with him?”

  “I don’t want to. What would keep him from cheating again? But I still love him. I’m embarrassed to admit I hid in my apartment for two weeks in hopes I wouldn’t run into him. He has a way of convincing me to do stuff I don’t really want to do.”

  I ball my hands into fists and tighten my jaw. “What kinds of things?”

  She sees my reaction. “It’s not what you’re thinking. It’s things like going to hockey games when I hate hockey, and taking cooking lessons when I’d rather be shoving bamboo shoots under my fingernails. He made his hobbies my hobbies. The only thing he got me into that I love is running.”

  Her phone vibrates. She types a text.

  “That’s not him, is it?”

  “It’s Jenn. She wants to know if I need a ride.”

  “You told her you’re good, right?”

  “I did.”

  A smile tugs at the edges of my mouth. “How come?”

  “Because you’re here. You offered. Because I listened to more of your music this morning, and it would be a shame if you were unable to compose more often.” She glances at her phone. “My friends are mad at me for not getting a picture with you. They thought I should have at least asked for your autograph.”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  “I’m not a crazy fangirl, like they are. I don’t drool over famous people.”

  I hold my chest. “Damn, Ella. Way to deflate a guy’s ego. I thought you’d say it was because you had a head injury.”

  She smiles. “That, too.”

  “What do you want me to sign?” I look around the room. “How about one of those balloons?”

  “Can you make it two? One for each of them?”

  “You don’t want one for yourself?”

  She shrugs. Her face pinks up, like maybe she does want one but won’t admit it. I take the marker from the white board on the wall and sign all six balloons.

  “Thanks. They will be beyond excited.”

  “Now for that picture.” I crouch next to her chair and lean close, snapping a photo of the two of us with my phone. When she turns to speak, our mouths are inches apart. I resist the urge to kiss her, knowing she’d deck me.

  “I’m supposed to take the picture,” she says.

  “Right. Go ahead.”

  I plaster on my best smile as she takes one.

  A young man comes through the door with a wheelchair.

  “Your chariot awaits,” I say. On the way out, she reminds me I’m only to drop her off. “Fine by me. I’ve got somewhere to be. I can’t wait to show this new song to the rest of the band.”

  “What’s it called?”

  “That’s for Crew and Bria to decide. But I was thinking something along the lines of ‘Ode to a Goose Egg’.”

  Jesus, her smile has more melodies bombarding my head.

  ~ ~ ~

  After leaving Ella’s, it’s a short subway ride to Bria’s place. Crew comes downstairs to let me into the building. I immediately shove the sheet music at him.

  He follows me up the stairs, taking twice as long as me because he’s preoccupied with what I gave him. “When did you write this?”

  “Pulled an all-nighter last night.”

  He’s confused. “Back in Stamford?”

  “Locked myself in a hotel room here in the city.”

  “Why?”

  “I was inspired.”

  A smile splits his face. “The girl you took to the hospital?”

  I shrug, not wanting to admit it took a woman to get me out of my slump.

  He shows it to Bria when we walk through her door. She runs to fetch her notebook. “I think I have some lyrics that will work perfectly with this. Maybe we can even start rehearsing it this week.”

  I sit heavily on her couch. “About that. I’m not sure we’ll be welcome to keep practicing in Dirk’s barn. Not after what happened.”

  “But he owns the company,” Crew says. “Surely he wants us to have a place to practice.”

  “Do you think we can afford to rent another place?” Bria asks.

  “We should talk to Jeremy and Ronni about it,” Crew says.

  Ronni. I almost dread all of us being in the same room. Will they be able to tell something happened between us? But she’s our IRL rep, and there will be no avoiding her.

  I glance around Bria’s tiny apartment, guilty because I’m staying at Crew’s much larger one while they are crammed in here. “The two of you should be living in Stamford. I could stay here; it’s more suitable for one.”

  “Musical apartments?” Bria asks. “We’re fine here. Plus, I love living in the city.”

  “I think I’d like it, too,” I say. “In fact I think we should all live here.”

  Bria eyes her bed and the couch. “Here?”

  I laugh. “Not here. The city. We play in New York more than we do back home. It makes sense.”

  “Rent is expensive,” Crew says.

  “But we’re starting to make money. We’d be able to afford it if we have roommates.”

  Bria looks at Crew and back at me. “Are you trying to sha
ck us up?”

  “Like you don’t practically live together anyway. I bet if I check your closet, I’ll find a shit ton of Crew’s clothes. Hell, he probably has a toothbrush here.”

  “He doesn’t,” she says with a smile. “He uses mine.”

  I cringe. “That’s fucking gross.”

  Crew pats me on the back. “Someday, brother, you’ll want to share a toothbrush with someone and then you’ll know.”

  I have the urge to hit him with a snarky comeback, but images of Ella float around in my head. I push them away, knowing I could never have what they have—a normal, healthy relationship. Fucking Ronni—that’s what I get. That’s what I deserve.

  “Say we all agreed to live in the city,” Crew says. “You’d have to bunk with Garrett or Brad.”

  Bria shakes her head. “Brad is moving in with Katie.”

  “Really?” I say. “But she doesn’t even like us. And she lives in Stamford.”

  “So live with Garrett. He won’t want to stay in Connecticut if the rest of us are living here.”

  “I wouldn’t even begin to know where to start,” I say. “I’m not familiar with the city except for the bars.”

  “My stepdad, Gary, works in building management,” Crew says. “I’ll talk to him when we return from Florida and see what he knows.”

  Florida. Right. With everything that happened last night, I almost forgot we go on tour in a week. “Can you talk to him now? Maybe then we can set something up for when we get back?”

  “Sure thing.”

  “And we’ll meet with Jeremy to see about a new rehearsal spot.”

  “And Ronni,” Crew says.

  “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” I put my jacket on. “I’m taking off.”

  Crew looks at me sideways. “You got somewhere to be?”

  “I do.” I tap my head. “The flood gates have opened, my friend. I’ve got some composing to do.”

  Chapter Six

  Ella

  My trashcan is filling up with cards, candy, and flowers. None of which I want. Corey seems to think that after he lied his way into seeing me at the hospital last Friday, he’s free to start courting me again.

  I can’t even get away from him in my own apartment.

  I wish I had work to keep me busy, but I’m between jobs. I have a meeting next Monday with an author who is looking for someone to illustrate an entire series, not just one book. I skim my hand across the shelf where I keep all the books I’ve worked on since I graduated two years ago. Twenty-one. That may not seem like a lot to some people, considering the average children’s book is only thirty-two pages long, but there is an illustration on each page or two, and it’s pretty much taken up most of my time.

  The nature of my job means I’m not always sure where my next paycheck is coming from. Getting a ten-book contract would set me up for the entire year.

  I sit at my art table, doodling and listening to my playlist. A Reckless Alibi song comes on. I sing along with it. I know a lot of the songs now. I’ve played them many times since I came home from the hospital. Krista and Jenn were right—they are crazy good.

  I’ve since found out the band has only recently come to be on the radio. No wonder Liam didn’t get recognized by anyone in the hospital or on the street as we waited for a cab. I wonder how long that will last. Seems to me a band that good won’t be playing in clubs very long.

  I study my drawing. The character I’ve sketched looks surprisingly similar to Liam Campbell. I draw a girl with a bump on her head next to him. Then I glance in the mirror. My goose egg has flattened out, and all that remains is a greenish-yellow circle.

  I haven’t had any headaches in twenty-four hours. That’s my cue to get out there and run again. I put down the pencil and reach for a jacket, deciding there’s no time like the present to go for a walk. Maybe even a jog, depending on how I feel.

  Before I get out the door, my phone rings. I don’t know who it is. The number is not from around here. “Hello?”

  “Hello, Mrs. Campbell.”

  My lips curl in surprise. “How did you get this number, Mr. Campbell?”

  “We’re married. It only makes sense I’d have it.”

  “Very funny.”

  “Okay, so I may have called myself from your phone when you were changing. You really should keep your phone locked, you know.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go around snooping in random girls’ phones.”

  “You’re hardly a random girl. Are you doing all right? How’s the head?”

  “Good. In fact, I was heading out for my first run—or at least a walk—to test the waters.”

  “I was hoping we could meet up.”

  “Why?”

  “I have something to show you.”

  “What could you possibly have to show me?”

  “You’ll see. Can you meet me? I’ll come to your place.”

  I hesitate. He knows where I live, but I’m not sure it’s a good idea.

  “So not your place,” he says in response to my silence. “How about I meet you where you run?”

  “You want to go to Central Park?”

  “It’s as good a place as any. I can be there in ninety minutes. Text me and let me know where to find you.”

  “Fine.”

  “See you then, El.”

  My pulse quickens when he calls me that. Krista and Jenn use the nickname all the time, but Corey never did. He was too formal for nicknames. I try to quickly come up with a nickname for Liam but can’t. I may be artistically creative, but I have zero wit. “Bye, Liam.”

  I return to my bedroom and change into my best, most flattering, running pants. Then I roll my eyes at myself in the mirror.

  ~ ~ ~

  I see him across the lawn. He hasn’t spotted me yet, and I take a minute to look him over.

  He’s handsome. His thick, dirty-blond hair barely reaches his collar. It’s currently under a knit cap, somehow making him look sexy and roguish. At least he’s wearing it because it’s cold and not as a fashion statement. Something is slung over his shoulder. A guitar case. He’s tall. Much taller than I am. And strong; he picked me up off the ground and carried me to the car.

  He’s the opposite of Corey. My ex has dark hair, dark eyes, is well under six feet, and can’t be over a hundred-and-fifty pounds, soaking wet. My heart hurts thinking about him. How can someone still love a man who cheated on her?

  Liam spots me and waves. I move toward him. His long legs eat up the distance in a few strides.

  “How’s the little Mrs.?” he asks with a smirk.

  I give him the stink eye.

  “What? I’m joking. But you have to admit, it was pretty funny they thought we were married.”

  “I thought for a minute you believed I was some crazy fangirl when you asked if I told them I was your wife.”

  He looks guilty. “I may have thought that, but that was before I got to know you.”

  “Oh, so you know me now? After two conversations?”

  “Are you kidding? You’re my best friend, El.”

  I’m confused by his behavior.

  “Since we met I’ve composed two songs. Two songs in four days! At this rate, I’ll have our fourth album finished by late spring.”

  “Oh, right. I’m your muse,” I say, unconvinced. “Tell me something. How does a girl who fell flat on her face in front of you, and in your own words, grew a second head out of my temple, inspire you?”

  “Beats the hell out of me. But who am I to question the inner workings of the universe?”

  “You think meeting me was destiny or something?”

  He shrugs.

  “But I’m unavailable, Liam, emotionally and physically.”

  “I get it. And the thing is—so am I. That’s why I have a proposal for you.”

  I step back. “I’m not being anyone’s fuck buddy, if that’s what you’re thinking.”

  He laughs loudly. “I assure you, that’s not what I want.” He motions to
a bench. “Can we sit for a minute?” He carefully places his guitar case next to him.

  “Do you carry it everywhere?” I ask.

  “No. What do you do for a living, El?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Are you a waitress? A teacher? Lieutenant governor?”

  I chuckle. “Wrong on all counts. I’m a children’s book illustrator.”

  He cocks his head. “Well, that I didn’t expect. I’ve never known a book illustrator before.”

  “I’ve never known a rock star.”

  “Touché,” he says, amused. “This job of yours, is it flexible?”

  I nod. “That’s part of the reason I love it so much. I make my own hours, take on as much or as little as I want, and I work from home.”

  A smile the size of New York City splits his face. “I was hoping you’d say that.” He unzips the guitar case and pulls out a shiny brown twelve-string guitar, handling it as if it’s a newborn baby. “I want to play something for you.”

  Suddenly I’m excited. “I’m all ears.”

  He fishes a guitar pick out of his pocket and strums. I’m mesmerized by the sound and entranced by the way his fingers grace the strings. The way he plays is elegant and passionate. It’s like the guitar is an extension of him. His eyes close, and he plays without looking.

  I’m amazed at his talent. Before this moment, I was sure there was no one in love with their job more than me. Looking at him, I know I’m wrong. He was obviously made for this.

  It’s only a melody, and it doesn’t sound like a love song, yet it makes me feel so much emotion. If I weren’t hung up on the rat bastard, I might even be aroused by what I’m hearing, what I’m seeing. By the sheer intensity exuding from his every pore as he gives it everything he has for his audience of one.

  His eyes open as the song winds down. It’s not until he stops playing and people start clapping that I realize onlookers stopped to listen. He gives them a nod and puts his guitar away.

  “Wow,” I say. “That was … I actually don’t have the words.”

  “That was because of you,” he says, weaving the guitar pick between his fingers so quickly, it’s hard for me to follow it.

  “But how? I didn’t do anything.”