Someone to Watch Over Me Read online

  In actuality, several radio stations shared the building, but WILD was the largest, and the nicest of all. The place was awesome. The entrance doors opened to an expansive greenroom that was lit with overhead lights that changed from pink to purple to blue and through every color of the rainbow. You could watch the interview from the large window separating the soundproof studio and the greenroom, or on the TV screens from the multiple leather sofas.

  They had their own cafeteria, where on occasions like Hautboy’s visit, they laid out a spread of food large enough to feed an army, or a band. Shannon assured me they normally foraged for themselves with a pocket full of quarters and a trip to the vending machines. Needless to say, Shannon was taking advantage of the buffet. Me, I was too excited to eat.

  I watched from the best possible vantage point available as the guys gathered around the bar style counter in front of their own padded microphones and answered Shannon’s extensive list of questions. She was great, as always, mixing the monotonous, must-asks and the off the wall inquiries to keep the interview moving smoothly. This talent for conversation also kept from boring both the band and the listeners. Most of them. Tate and Carter did most of the talking. Jake joined in occasionally. And Shane, well, he didn’t even go into the studio.

  “Listen, I uh, I’m sorry for what I said on the bus.”

  I looked over my shoulder at Shane, who was lounging on the sofa, fiddling with his flask. “Thanks?”

  “It wasn’t cool, what I said. He doesn’t treat you like all the other girls…I mean…not that there were a lot of other girls…it’s just that he didn’t bring them around…” He looked like he wanted to stick his foot in his mouth. “I’ll just leave it at sorry.”

  “Thanks.”

  “I have nothing against you.”

  “Apology accepted.” When I turned back, Tate was watching me through the glass. I gave him a reassuring smirk, and he moved to answer a question about tonight’s set list.

  “We always try to mix it up. Keep the show fresh.”

  “You must have songs that you’ve played so many times,” Shannon supposed, “you’d rather pull a tooth than play them again.”

  “Absolutely. So we’ll focus on the newer stuff and throw older tracks in here and there. Amp it up with some revised guitar licks and bass lines or tone it down according to our mood.”

  “Have you been working on any new material?”

  Tate cracked a smile, uncharacteristically demure over his work. I never would’ve taken him for humble when it came to music. “I have. I have. We’ve taken some time here in Philly. A little R&R. It was good. Productive. I think I have a solid base for a new album.”

  “When are you looking to release?”

  “In the next year if all goes well.”

  “Well there you have it folks, from the mouth of Tate Watkins himself. Now, we’re going to commercial in a moment, and you’re going to play us a song when we get back, but before we go, I have to ask the question that everyone wants to know…tell us about Cooper Hale. She’s a Philadelphia native. Are the two of you involved?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you meet?”

  “Carter was tailgating her.”

  “Literally, or is that some kind of pick-up lingo?”

  “I had the proper number of car lengths between her vehicle and mine,” Carter clarified. “I always follow the rules of traffic.”

  Unable to resist Carter’s unique charm, Shannon laughed. “Then you’re the first. Nobody follows the rules of traffic in Philadelphia.”

  “That’s me, unique.”

  Rolling her eyes, Shannon moved on. “So Carter actually started the rumor, but the girls all want to know, are you officially off the market?”

  Smile widening, Tate leaned forward, his lips a breath away from the microphone. He held my gaze, answering with a simple, “Yes.”

  “So you’re officially dating?”

  “No.”

  “No?”

  “We’re engaged.”

  Chapter 13

  “I heard you myself,” Carter pointed out. “You said ‘yes’ and about four or five times. You were quite vocal about it. Yes, yes, yes, OH YES! Yup, it was four times.”

  “Shut up Carter.”

  “Didn’t your mother ever tell you it was rude to tell people to shut up?”

  “No, she never had to. Nobody ever annoyed me like you do.”

  “You’re annoyed because you want me, and now you’ll never know what it was like to sleep with Carter Strickland because you’re engaged.”

  Polishing off my beer, I handed the empty bottle to Tate. “Here, fiancé, can you get me a refill, pretty please.”

  “Sure, fiancé.” Taking the bottle from my hand, Tate rubbed my nose with Eskimo kisses and went to fetch another beer, while Carter, Jake and Shane watched with certain disgust.

  “You’re taking this very well.”

  “Carter—” I hiccupped, and waited a moment to see if another would follow. “The deed is done. What would being mad accomplice except to ruin my weekend?”

  “Accomplish, sweetheart.”

  “That’s what I said—accomplice.”

  Snickering, Jake looked away, focusing on the globular bulbs above the vanity. Shane picked at his chipped black nail polish.

  “I have a babysitter for the entire weekend!” Jumping up from the sofa, I paced the room, unable to curb my enthusiasm. “I’m gonna see Hautboy in concert tonight! Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve gotten to spend the night out and see a good fuckin’ band without having to wait tables while doing it? Four years!” I held up the equivalent number of fingers.

  “You’re holding up three fingers, Coop,” Carter pointed out.

  I looked down at my hand; sure enough, I had my thumb folded over my pinky. I loosened my thumb and let my fourth finger shoot upright. “Four years! So I refuse to spend a minute of tonight pouting over something so silly, because tonight, I’m going to PAR-TAY!”

  “Oh my God,” Jake murmured, “she’s out of control.”

  “You better eat something,” Carter suggested. “That beer you’re drinking is twelve percent. You need something to soak up the alcohol.”

  “I know that.” Obviously, Tate agreed. He returned with a tray of food and a bottle of water in addition to the second bottle of Dogfish Head. “I ate at the radio station, you know.”

  “You had the smallest salad I’ve ever seen,” Shane pointed out. “And that was hours ago.”

  “Narc.”

  “Eat something, babe. We’re going on in a little under an hour and I don’t want you passing out or puking your guts up on the bathroom floors here. It’s not something you want.”

  “My God, all you guys need to chill. I’m not a kid.”

  “Night’s just starting. We have two hours of concert, an hour of rest, another hour of meet and greets, and autographs to sign with whatever fans we pass on the way out.”

  “I usually do all of that while carrying trays of food around at the same time.” To appease him, I sat down and picked at the burger and fries Tate brought me. Really, I just pushed the stuff around my plate, while he and they guys began discussing the set list.

  On top of the station interview, they’d also sat through a schedule of promotional obligations like press interviews, phone interviews and television interviews. They—and by ‘they’ I mean Tate, because he did most of the talking—handled it with infinite patience.

  I, on the other hand, had to wait in the dressing room after the second interview. It seemed everyone and their mother had heard the interview on WILD this afternoon, and they all wanted their own exclusive morsel of gossip on our unexpected marital engagement. My reactions to their line of questions wasn’t consistent with Tate’s euphoric, yet concise replies, so I decided it was best if I weren’t there to witness them.

  In two short little weeks, he had completely commandeered my life.

  That, I refused to dwell up
on. I pushed the thought to the back of my mind and crammed another crab fry into my mouth. I was here to have fun. I was going to eat and drink, rock and roll, and drink some more, and then pass out naked in the body bag with Tate Watkins.

  My fiancé.

  “Cooper.” I looked up to find Tate standing over me, holding a pair of shot glasses in his left hand, and a bottle of whisky in his right.

  “At least she’s smiling this time,” Jake voiced.

  “I wonder where she goes, though,” Carter marveled. He was staring at me like a science experiment or some exotic animal that didn’t quite warrant bars or a thick pane of glass.

  “I don’t know,” Shane added. “But I wish I could go there too.”

  “Dude,” said Carter, shaking his head. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re in la la land ninety-nine percent of the time.”

  Gathering my attention, Tate passed me one of the shot glasses. He uncapped the bottle and filled it to the rim. “It’s tradition, a pre-show ritual. We always have one last shot before taking the stage.”

  “Here’s to Hell!” Shane began. “May my stay there be as much fun as my way there!” He tossed down his drink and placed the shot glass on the table.

  “To being single, seeing double,” Jake said second, “and sleeping triple.”

  “Here's to looking like movie stars, partying like rock stars,” Carter drawled with a crooked smile. “And and fucking like porn stars.”

  Last, Tate planted a kiss on my lips and lifted his glass. “Babe, may all our ups and downs be between the sheets.”

  “In that case: May you have the hindsight to know where you've been, the foresight to know where you're going, and the insight to know when you're going too far.” Lifting my glass to my lips, I downed the whiskey with more dignity than I could’ve hoped.

  “Amen to that,” Carter muttered, and walked out of the room. Jake left shortly thereafter. Shane followed, after throwing down a second shot.

  “No rules tonight,” Tate qualified. “You’re here to have fun.”

  Raising my hand, I gave him a three-finger salute. “No holds barred.”

  “Taylor will be with you, and Marshall too.”

  “It’s not my first concert, Tate.”

  “I know, but I want you to let yourself go tonight. They won’t let you do anything stupid like getting hurt.” Pouring a second shot, Tate lifted the glass and offered it to me.

  Fuck it. It was a onetime deal. In two weeks, Tate would go on his way. My life would return to some semblance of normality. Our time together would be one extended long weekend of blissful immoderation. Everyone deserved to indulge themselves on occasion, right?

  Christ, I’d lived the straight and narrow for so long that I almost forgot what it was like to be twenty-one. The twenties were supposed to be the time you did things you’d regret, party till you passed out, found yourself, fell in love, lived check-to-check. You were supposed to live on the edge, experiment with lovers, with drugs and engage in general recklessness.

  So I was doing it a little backwards.

  As I swallowed the second shot, Tate grinned and pressed a kiss to my lips. “Alive, strawberry girl, you make me feel so fucking alive.”

  A smile curled my lips.

  “Come with me.”

  I didn’t say no. Instead, I kissed him. I didn’t want to ruin the night with false promises. It was perfect as it was. When Sunday rolled around, I’d have to leave this wonderful illusion and return to reality. I had a son to rear, and in my head, these two vastly different lifestyles refused to entwine.

  Breaking the kiss, Tate leaned his forehead against mine. His hands stayed in my hair, his long fingers caressing my nape. “I love you, Cooper.”

  “I love you too.”

  Tate’s eyes glinted darkly. Letting me go, he started backing away, toward the exit. “They’re gonna write songs about us, strawberry girl. What we got…it’s the stuff of legends.”

  Standing on my tiptoes, I watched with a dopey smile as he backed out the door and disappeared around the corner. Strangely enough, that giddy high didn’t fade when he left. His ardor was contagious. I could almost believe that life could be as easy as he declared.

  “Coop!” Smiling widely, Marshall came through the door. He opened his arms wide, and caught me when I hurtled into him. “Shit, Coop, you look like a million bucks.”

  “And you look like one bad mother fucker.” He had on a navy tee, marked with distinguishable yellow letters that spelled out ‘security’ across his upper back, and the emblem of a shield on his chest. Lifting my hand, I brushed a piece of lint from his shoulder. “Lookit, you got the t-shirt and everything. You’re official.”

  “I finished two of the three courses. Still working on firearms.”

  “How long will that take?”

  “I had to get my carrying permit first. Next week I have to finish forty-eight hours of mandated training. But all that’s nothing. I still have unarmed combat, tactical driving, screening and controlling crowds, martial arts, and electronic surveillance to complete. Most of those I’ll begin next year, once the tour is complete.”

  “So you’re really going to join the tour.”

  “Somebody’s gotta look after you.”

  Just like that, my smile fell. Was everyone under the same delusion as Tate? “Marshall, I never said I was going.”

  “Your fiancé thinks you are.”

  “Ugh!”

  “Come on, Cooper. You’re in love with the guy. It’s written all over your face.”

  Yeah, yeah it was. I couldn’t disagree there.

  “Besides, what’ve you got to lose? Is sourcing costume jewelry and waiting tables so rewarding? This is what you dreamed of your whole life. You told me so yourself.”

  Marshall gave me that ‘matter-of-fact’ brow arch.

  “He never proposed. Not really.” With a huff, I grabbed my beer and walked out of the room. We joked about it. That’s all it was, light bantering. Nothing serious.

  We joked about going to Vegas too, but it wasn’t as if we were actually doing it.

  In the hall, Taylor perked to attention. “Miss Hale.”

  “Coop, please.”

  “Of course, ma’a—Coop,” Taylor corrected himself, shaking his head. “After years in the service, some habits are hard to break. If you’ll follow me, Coop, I’ll take you out to the floor.”

  “I can take this with me, right?” I held up my Dogfish Head. I wasn’t leaving home without it. Taylor paused and looked over his shoulder. I hugged the bottle like a teddy bear, illustrating my affection for the beverage.

  “Usually, no, but you’re with us tonight.”

  “Day-um! Taylor’s the may-on!” I said, pumping my arm.

  “It’s all part of the job,” Taylor dismissed, trying not to laugh. “Tate told us to make sure you had a good time tonight.”

  “Gosh, he’s so thoughtful, Coop, don’t you think?” Marshall observed. “He’s getting ready to perform for twenty-five thousand people, and he’s thinking solely of your entertainment.”

  “He didn’t propose!” I exclaimed, spreading my arms out wide in exasperation. I wasn’t one for talking with my hands, but I was pumped up and feeling fine. “It was a joke.”

  “Did he at any time say the words ‘marry me’?”

  “Yes, but he wasn’t serious.”

  “Coop, hate to tell you, but he announced to the greater Philadelphia area that you’re engaged. I think it’s a safe bet to assume he was serious.”

  “Marshall.”

  “Coop.”

  “Try not to talk anymore. You’re killing my buzz.” Twisting off the cap to my beer, I drowned out the voices that told me Marshall was right. Tonight, I didn’t care. I wanted to have fun. I could deal with Tate’s fabricated marital engagements tomorrow or the next day.

  Taylor led us out a side door that locked only from the outside. He and Marshall both had swipe cards to gain reentrance if neede
d. I wasn’t sure where I was standing. Tate and I never discussed it in length. I just knew that I would have Marshall and Taylor with me.

  The first thing I noticed was the waist high fence separating the fans from the stage. There was seating to the left and right, but fans along the pit tended to pack themselves in front of the gate like cattle during feeding time. If the crowd was as pumped as Tate warned, there was a considerable amount of physical contact in the form of jumping, shoving and dancing as you pushed your way to the stage. All of this was encouraged and part of the experience.

  “Can I stand in the pit?”

  “That’s—and these are Tate’s words, not mine—out of the question,” Taylor apologized. No bother, where they took me was the next best thing. That four-foot section in front of the fence where all the bouncers hung out, that’s where they let me stand. The loss of the pit experience was well worth the unimpeded view of the stage. I mean…I could see everything.

  “So what’s new, Coop?” Marshall inquired, standing with his back to the stage. Most of the fans in the pit had packed themselves against the gate, anticipating Hautboy’s entrance. Some had glow sticks. Others held cups of beer. Flashes went off, blinding you if you made the mistake of looking into the crowd. Those in the front were hand in hand, or holding onto the fence, physically struggling to defend their space on the floor. The crowd wasn’t so far gone that they were braving to scale the waist high divider. Yet. In time, it would happen.

  Looking up at Marshall, I stuck my tongue out. He blinked and grimaced.

  “Good lord, Coop, put that thing away. This is a public establishment. You can’t show that shit in here.”

  “What are you talking about Marshall?”

  “That knob massager for Christ’s sake. It’s practically pornography.” Squeezing the bridge of his nose, Marshall shook his head. “Things that I don’t want to see are running through my mind already.”

  “Pervert.”

  “I have an active imagination.”

  “Only you would have fantasies over a tongue ring.”