This time now, p.1
This Time Now, page 1
This Time Now by KT Grant
Cover art Copyright 2014 by Insatiable Fantasy Designs
The reproduction or utilization of this book in any form by mechanical or other means is forbidden by law. Copyright infringement is investigated by the FBI and may result in fines of up to $250,000 or imprisonment.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Smashwords Edition
Dedication:
To those who have past regrets- “Make the most of your regrets, never smother your sorrow, but tend and cherish it till it comes to have a separate and integral interest.
“To regret deeply is to live afresh.”- Henry David Thoreau
Chapter One
If I wasn’t quick on my feet, I would end up with a wicked bruise on my cheek or a black eye. I barely dodged an elbow from one of the rowdy guys near the front of the stage. But that was the chance I took serving the mob depending on what band performed and the selection of cheap beers on tap that night.
The bar was pretty packed for a muggy Friday in July. Not much of a surprise there. Sisco’s was one of the most popular bars in Hillsboro, the town where I was born and still lived. I’d been working there for the past three years. The Lady Pearls, the all-girls local band brought in the standing-room-only crowds to the delight of Casey, the owner. They would sing a combination of covers and their own original songs for the next hour.
Breathing a sigh of relief, unscathed, I brought a tray of empty beer bottles to Marc, the head bartender. He and the two others served drinks as fast as they could. I was always impressed by Marc’s speed and dexterity at serving the thirsty masses. Most were of the female variety since he made most of his tips that way. His compelling and exotic looks grabbed the attention of many female patrons. He was dark all over from the color of his skin to his eyes and muscular frame. Plus, being bald worked in his favor.
He grabbed the empty bottles and threw them in the garbage can under the bar. For now, there was a lull, since the entire room gawked at the stage where Alana, the lead singer of The Lady Pearls, belted out a great rendition of Foo Fighter’s Everlong.
Marc drank a bottle of water and watched Alana strut her stuff. He had it bad for her, although their friendship was somewhat of an enigma to me. Alana was a free spirit when it came to romantic relationships. Even though she and Marc dated, she was also involved with Casey, who happened to be his best friend. Talk about a sticky situation.
“Hey, pipsqueak, don’t forget to take your break soon.” Marc wiped his skull with a bar towel. He bent down in front of the small fridge, took out a bottle of water, and passed it to me.
I smiled in thanks and rolled the chilled bottle across my forehead. With so many bodies, the heat and humidity had become unbearable. Outside, it was a balmy eighty-five degrees and not much better inside. I grimaced, pushing aside the hair sticking to my nape and back. Even wearing a thin tank top didn’t keep me cool.
I guzzled the water, and Marc nodded in approval. For some reason, he’d always been protective of me. I think it had to do with our height difference. At six foot two he towered over my barely five-foot-four frame.
“Alana is on fire tonight. You must be proud of her. Casey sure is.” I motioned to him with my bottle. He stood near the door with his arms crossed and a vigilant look on his handsome face as he viewed the action on stage.
Marc released a short laugh and flicked water at me. I pretended to pour my water over his head, but he blocked the move and snatched my wrist.
“No matter how much you tease or taunt me about Lana and Casey, I’m not falling for it. We all know where we stand with one another,” he said, and released me. At least he didn’t sound upset by my observation. He rarely overreacted to anything and was always cool under pressure.
I rested my forearms on top of the bar, the wood cool and smooth. As the next song began and the music grew louder, I leaned forward for him to hear me over the roar of the crowd. “The entire situation between you and Alana is strange. It’s obvious you like her, so why aren’t you upset she’s also dating Casey?”
He shrugged and settled back in the corner. “You wouldn’t understand. It’s best to leave it alone, Amanda.”
The quiet, yet biting tone in his voice was my cue to behave. I nodded and finished my water. “Sorry, I don’t mean to be nosy. I don’t want to see you hurt.” I glanced over and started clapping when Alana reached a high note. The crowd joined in. She had such charisma and talent, a striking face, and a body I’d sell one of my kidneys for. When I first start working at Sisco’s, I had developed a slight crush on her. But once I found out she was straight and wasn’t interest in swinging my way or experimenting, I threw those feelings aside. I had learned the hard way, years before, by falling for a woman like Alana who was on her way to stardom and who had broken my heart in the process.
Marc tapped the top of my hand. “What’s with the frown? If I upset you—?”
“You didn’t!” I lifted my lips in a grin to appease him. If he thought I was upset about something or someone had annoyed me, he wouldn’t let up until I told him what had bothered me. “I’m thinking about the end of the summer, when Alana and The Lady Pearls go on their tour. Are you cool with her leaving?”
He sighed and rubbed the back of his head. “Lana and I talked about it. We’ll work it out. It’s only for three months on the road to promote their first album. I’d love for her to stay, and I know Casey would prefer it, too—because of all the lost revenue—but if this is her chance to hit it big, I can’t hold her back.”
I peeled the label from my bottle. He had a good point. But he had to be nervous the woman he cared for would be separated from him for the length of a college semester. Most long-distance relationships didn’t last, especially with someone like Alana. She would end up meeting glamorous and attractive men who could help her career, if she was open to doing things other than wowing them with her singing.
“The Lady Pearls’ touring plans aren’t definite yet. They may hold off until the spring.” Marc dropped his arm over my shoulders and drew me near. “You didn’t hear it from me, but Lana and the girls are in negotiations to write and perform a song on Billie Layne’s next album. They may be the opening act on her next tour.”
I squeezed my bottle hard. A spasm in my lower back made me bite my lip to keep from groaning in pain. “Billie Layne, as in the Grammy-award-winning rock singer who’s had ten singles and three albums in five years…all of which have gone platinum within a month of their release?”
He nodded. “The same one.” He inspected the bottle I’d ruined then studied my face. “Why are you so surprised? Weren’t you two friends in high school?”
I shrugged, acting my normal, unruffled self. “I tutored Billie our senior year. She was also my next-door neighbor.” I mumbled the last statement.
He snapped his fingers. “Oh, yeah. She moved in with her aunt and uncle after her parents died when she was ten, right?”
“She was twelve, and it was her mother who died of breast cancer. Her father was never in the picture.” I blotted my face with a cocktail napkin. Why did it feel much warmer than before?
“You’ll be able to catch up on old times. She’s here with some chick. They’re both talking to Casey.”
Black spots appeared in front of my eyes, and it wasn’t because of the blazing lights overhead. I grasped the edge of the bar and swallowed hard. For some reason, my mouth and throat were dry even though I had just chugged a sixteen-ounce bottle of water.
“Wh-what? Stop fooling around. Why would rock sensation Billie Layne come home after being away for so long, and to Sisco’s? Does she even know Casey?” I asked, sweat dripping down my back.
“Billie reached out to Lana a few weeks ago and mentioned she’s staying in Hillsboro for some R&R and to see family and friends. Lana invited Billie to see her perform tonight, and she accepted.” He took my empty bottle and gave me a new one. “I think Billie’s guitarist chick—what’s her name?—is with her.”
“Ivy Falls,” I said, barely moving my mouth. “They’re writing partners.” I swallowed past the huge lump in my throat and winced when the ache in my back traveled into my belly. “I think they were an item at one time.”
“Now that’s hot.” Marc chuckled, and I glared at him.
“What? Two hot girls getting it on is hot.” He smiled and gazed over my shoulder. “Also, two girls like Billie and Ivy wearing tight jeans and next-to-nothing shirts have made the night for most of the guys here.”
And some of the women. I laughed, a hollow sound. I would have cracked a joke about a wet dream come to life for the male group here, but my good humor had plummeted to the floor. I was about to see someone I had been very intimate with, one I hadn’t seen in almost six years. Already, my heart pounded against my chest and a feeling of vertigo crashed over me.
“The drunken natives are getting restless.” Marc squeezed my shoulder. “Back to the grind for me. You look like you’re about to pass out. Go on your break.”
“Will do, boss.” I lifted my water and sipped it. Marc shot me one last warning glare then took some drink orders.
I drank too fast and my side cramped. I inhaled and closed my eyes, dizzy. Marc was right. I needed some fresh air, even with the sticky heat outside. But that meant turning around and seeing Billie. She had no idea I worked here, since I’d started my
I lifted my hair and dabbed the sweat from my neck then grabbed my bottle and bypassed some people, excusing myself. I’d hide in the back on the patio. As I skirted past a group of beer-chugging guys, I paused. Billie stood near the front entrance. Her face was blank, no smile or frown or even an eyebrow raised. Here she was, six years older, in the flesh. She looked much the same as she had the rainy night she walked out of my house without a good-bye. Her hair was still wavy and dark, bordering on black, but instead of wearing it super short like in high school, she had grown it in a layered bob falling below her ears. Marc had been correct—her jeans were not only super tight, but practically sprayed on, and she wore a short black halter-top showing off her tanned stomach and silver hoop belly-button ring.
The belly-button ring was new, like the music note tattoo on her right bicep. People around me whispered, mentioning Billie’s name in awe. As she advanced, I twisted around and rushed through the crowd, escaping outside.
Billie would find me if she wanted to. When she did, I would have to stay strong, act detached, and pretend I no longer loved her as much as I had when I was seventeen and she was one of my reasons for living.
Chapter Two
The back patio stank of stale cigarettes. This was where the majority of the smokers snuck off to. I really didn’t mind the smell. I was used to it. Currently, this area was empty, and I could understand why. It was like a sauna out there. But the abundance of clouds in the sky promised rain tomorrow. By then, the week-long heat wave should be over.
I sat down in one of the plastic chairs and tucked my hair back into a clip, trying to calm my nerves and not think of Billie, who probably searched for me. I laughed and rolled my eyes. Why would she want to talk to me after all this time? Too many years had gone by without any form of communication between us.
Wiping my damp face with the back of my hand, I bit back a curse. I hated this heat, and I hated sweating. This weather did a number on my dirty-blonde hair, too, making it frizzy and unmanageable. But at least it had some naturally lighter shades mixed in that make it look professionally highlighted. I had that going for me, unlike my stubby legs and cankles. I took a swig of water, silently grumbling about my ugly, fatty, aching ankles. Some of the water missed my mouth, dripped down my chin, and dampened my top.
“Great,” I sighed. I usually spilled something on my shirt or jeans at some point during the evening. At least it wasn’t beer or rum. And I’d been puked on before. Too many times to count.
The door opened and sounds of loud voices and music broke through the quiet. When the door slammed shut, I glanced up and exhaled a shaky breath.
Billie.
She took a nip from her beer bottle, her eyes on me the entire time. I sat back and drank from mine. We didn’t speak.
I finished first and slouched in my seat. Billie emptied her beer, threw the bottle in the garbage can, and leaned against the wall next to the door. If I wanted to leave, I’d have to walk past her, since there was no other exit from the fenced patio. I didn’t get up. If I did, my knees would lock, and my legs would wobble.
“I’ve always liked your hair up.” She hooked her thumbs into her belt. Her fingers tapped once, twice, and then stilled. Her maroon-polished nails were short, and she wore silver rings on both thumbs. Her other fingers were bare.
I spread my palms across my jeans and examined my bare fingers with their ragged cuticles and lack of nail polish or rings. I was in dire need of a manicure. At least I’d had a pedicure a week ago. Funny, my toenail color was almost identical to Billie’s. We used to do each other’s nails and share the same shade of polish.
“Thanks, I guess?” I studied her face. More than half a decade later, Billie didn’t look much older. Not that she’d had any plastic surgery or Botox because she was still young—and she hated doctors or needles. But as I examined her, I noticed strain lines around her mouth and a dullness in her eyes. Either my brain was fried from the heat or it was the shock of seeing Billie. She looked drained or lost. But why?
“That’s all you’re going to say?” She scraped the toe of her boot on the pavement.
“The first thing you say to me after all this time is a comment about my hair. What’s up with that?” I rubbed my palms over my knees.
She charted my movement with her eyes and moved away from the wall. “Where are my manners? How have you been, Mandy?”
I stood as she took a step toward me. I refused to sit down or I would then be boxed in, and I couldn’t—wouldn’t allow it. She would touch me then I would break apart.
“Don’t call me that,” I spat, and moved behind the chair.
“Why do you have a problem with me calling you Mandy? It’s your name,” she said, grinning wide. She sat in one of the chairs across from me.
I hugged my arms to my chest, to keep from wrapping my arms around her. I walked in front of her. She sat back and crossed her legs with a sleepy-eyed stare.
She’s proud of herself. I snorted and peeked at the door. I could make a run—
“I’ll stop you before you even open the door, Mandy.”
I cleared my throat, which sounded more like a growl. “If you want me to stay, stop calling me that stupid nickname. I go by Amanda now.”
“You’ll always be Mandy to me,” she whispered, and the corner of her mouth tilted up.
“I wonder what your fans would say if they found out you’re a closet Barry Manilow fan.” I shot back, ignoring the yearning in her voice. I had to be hearing things. Again, I would blame the heat.
She twirled one of her thumb rings. “You know, I only like one Manilow song. Maybe Copacabana, but when I’m drinking and there’s karaoke.”
My mother was a big, big fan of Barry Manilow. I’d never forget the time Billie came over after school to study. We were alone in my house. After we finished our homework, she flipped through my mom’s CD collection and found Barry’s Greatest Hits. For fun, she popped in the CD and sang Copacabana to me. We sang together, and when Mandy played, we started dancing. After the song ended, she kissed me. My first kiss.
I fell in love with her then.
“I’ve never sung your song to anyone else.” She pushed her bangs away from her forehead. Beads of sweat lined her brow.
“You sing your own original songs you’ve written to your adoring fans. No covers for you.” I settled back against one of the tables behind me. I could have sat, but I wanted the advantage in case I felt the need to bolt.
“Some artist will cover one of my songs one day. Maybe The Lady Pearls. They’re pretty good.”
I nodded. “They’re one of the best things to come to out of Hillsboro.”
“And what about me? Would you say I’m the best thing from Hillsboro?”
Billie sounded cocky, but the way she gripped the arms of the chair told me otherwise. She wanted me to agree, to give her my approval for her success. I could nod or say yes, admitting I’d bought all her albums and read any magazine article or interview I could find about her rise to the top. But I hurt, angry at her sudden appearance after being away for so long. She didn’t deserve my praise.
“Why are you back now?” I asked.
“I got tired of the West Coast scene and needed a vacation. Also, Aunt Leah and Uncle Felix wanted me to visit them. The last time we saw one another was two years ago, before I went on my European tour.”
I nibbled on my thumbnail. Billie kept in touch with her aunt and uncle, but not me. It stung. I had a million questions rolling around in my head. “Marc, the bartender, said you were coming to visit in order to check out The Lady Pearls and Alana, the lead singer. I heard they might do a song on your next album or open for you on your next tour?”
“I’m taking a break from touring. As for my next album, it’s all up in the air, although Ivy thinks we should at least record one song with the Pearls before it’s too late.” Billie smiled. “She’s not too happy with me taking a ‘sabbatical,’ as she calls it.” She lifted two fingers in a quotation sign.
