Tunes Read online

  Tunes

  Beekman Hills

  KC Enders

  Contents

  I. The Opening Act

  1. Gavin

  2. Gracyn

  3. Gavin

  4. Gracyn

  5. Gavin

  6. Gracyn

  7. Gracyn

  8. Gavin

  9. Gracyn

  10. Gavin

  11. Gracyn

  12. Gavin

  II. The Gig

  13. Gavin

  14. Gracyn

  15. Gavin

  16. Gracyn

  17. Gavin

  18. Gracyn

  19. Gavin

  20. Gracyn

  21. Gavin

  22. Gracyn

  23. Gavin

  24. Gracyn

  25. Gavin

  26. Gracyn

  27. Gavin

  28. Gracyn

  29. Gracyn

  30. Gavin

  31. Gracyn

  32. Gavin

  33. Gracyn

  34. Gavin

  35. Gracyn

  36. Gavin

  37. Gracyn

  38. Gavin

  39. Gracyn

  40. Gavin

  41. Gavin

  42. Gracyn

  43. Gavin

  44. Gracyn

  45. Gracyn

  46. Gracyn

  47. Gavin

  III. The Encore

  Epilogue

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Also by KC Enders

  Copyright © 2018 by KC Enders

  All rights reserved.

  * * *

  Visit my website at www.kcenderswrites.com

  Cover Designer: Alora Kate, Cover Kraze

  Editor: Jovana Shirley, Unforeseen Editing, www.unforeseenediting.com

  Proofreader: Judy Zweifel, Judy’s Proofreading

  Formatting: AB Formatting

  * * *

  No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  * * *

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  * * *

  ISBN-13: 978-1727164350

  ISBN-10: 1727164350

  To my “fiends.”

  * * *

  By now I figure you might need an explanation.

  It’s long-winded so check the acknowledgements!

  Part I

  The Opening Act

  Chapter 1

  Gavin

  #porngifs

  The shit I’ve seen since we started playing the Florida spring break circuit is the stuff of Tumblr.

  I put off completing my history degree for this. Not for the GIFs, but for the music. I love it—don’t get me wrong—but the shine wore off the rock-star life really fucking quick.

  Hell, I’m not anywhere close to being an actual rock star, and the shine is gone. Right now, I’m just a college dropout whose girlfriend cheated and dumped my ass before I was even gone a week.

  Sarah’s excuse was that the band would absolutely kick ass, and I’d have chicks throwing themselves at me. She assumed I wouldn’t stay faithful to her and decided to beat me to the deed.

  That was months ago, and though my lead singer, Kane, thought I should fuck her out of my system, it’s just not my thing. I’m not claiming to be a saint, but Kane’s idea of fucking her gone would solidly put me on ground that I just don’t jive with. I want more.

  We got stuck with an early time slot today, and while I would love to say that I’m completely into this set, I’m not. Not at all. It’s a different scene when the sun goes down—an entirely kicked-up vibe.

  With the music rolling through me, I glance at the small crowd of college students camped out all around the stage. For the most part, they’re drunk off their asses, and they have no idea what the hell is going on. Most are moving against the music, not with it. Fighting the melody, battling with the beat. Most of them but not all.

  The makeshift stage faces the crashing waves, and off to my left, tucked in among the palms and umbrellas, is the anomaly. She’s fluid and graceful. Embracing the music, owning it, picking her way through the complex strains. Her lithe body moves and shifts in the most mesmerizing way. I turn away from the crowd, not wanting to take my eyes off her for a single moment.

  She’s one of the only ones here who doesn’t look absolutely trashed. No, this girl looks enthralled, maybe a little lost in the moment.

  My fingers are flying across the strings of my Gibson, guiding her movements, putting that look of ecstasy on her gorgeous face. The sun filtering through the palm fronds makes her blonde hair glow like a halo as it tumbles in wild waves around her sun-kissed cheeks. Her perfectly round ass sways and gyrates, matching the rise and fall of the notes emanating from my amp.

  The last strains of our final song reverberate across the sand and are met head-on with cheers and loud whoops from our audience.

  Kane leans over his mic, arm raised above his head, and bellows out, “Thank you, Destin. We’ll be here all week.” At least, that’s what he’s supposed to say. It sounds more like, Fuck you, Destin, but whatever. He’s the one who picked the shithole we’re staying in, so he has only himself to blame for his less than stellar attitude.

  I glance back to where Dancer Girl was as I unplug my guitar and pull the strap over my head. The sun’s shifted just enough that I can’t see a damn thing against the glare. Stepping up to the edge of the stage, I lift my hand, shielding my eyes from the sun, and search the sea of blonde heads and bikinis, looking for her.

  “You finally find one who inspires you?” Kane wraps an arm around my shoulders, standing way closer than he needs to. “Did you see the blonde dancing over there? Shaking her ass, swinging her hips, like … ung.” He bites his fisted hand to give more emphasis to his grunt.

  I push him off and put my guitar in its case, coiling up my amp cord and tucking it away. It bugs the shit out of me, the way he objectifies her with a handful of crass words.

  Choosing to ignore that the same thoughts were just bouncing around in my head, I bite out, “Back the fuck off, man. Do you ever think with anything other than your dick?”

  I glare at him over my shoulder, but he’s already focused elsewhere.

  Two chicks who look like they got a BOGO deal on boobs are grinding on each other, and their siren call is too much for Kane to resist. Before I have a chance to snag his attention, he slips away, blowing off any of the real work.

  But Dancer Girl is gone, too. Goddamn it. With Kane off chasing the boobsy twins, I help our bassist, Nate, and the drummer, Ian, load our equipment into the van. I grab a couple of bottles of beer before heading back out to take in the beach. Maybe look for the blonde in the deep purple bikini.

  I pull my shirt over my head and tuck it into the back pocket of my shorts, the hot sand pushing back against every step I take. The next band is kicking into their first set, and the Bieber cover band chases me down the strand until the crash of the waves just about swallows the noise, leaving me in peace.

  “You guys were way better.”

  I pause and look over my shoulder toward the sage speaker of truths. And it’s Dancer Girl, and that little bikini is working overtime to contain her curves.

  “You think? I don’t know; they seem to have something going on there,” I respond, hoping I look a little cooler than I feel.

  She pinches at her
bottom lip, trying to hold back a smile. “Yeah, it’s … something.”

  I watch as she releases her lip and darts her tongue out, licking it. Thank God for my fucking shades because I stare at that lip and think thoughts that Kane would totally approve of.

  “Do I have something on my lip?” she asks, covering her luscious mouth with her hand.

  I’m so busted, and there isn’t a damn thing I can do but own it. “Nope. Just wondering if you need some help with it.” I raise my eyebrow, just the left one, and wait.

  It takes a minute for the smile to spread across her face, but when it does, it’s radiant.

  “I think I can handle it …” She pauses, waiting for me to fill in my name.

  “Gavin,” I tell her, switching my beer bottles to my left hand and thrusting the right one out to shake. “And you, Dancer Girl? What’s your name?”

  She takes my hand, pulling me toward her. I want to be chill, act like my heart isn’t tap-dancing some ridiculous beat. But, when we’re practically chest-to-tiny-bikini-covered-breasts, I’m not so sure I’m convincing anyone.

  “Gracyn, and thanks.” She steps back and reaches between us, snagging the extra beer from my hand. Her lips wrap around the top of the bottle, and she tips it back.

  Everything about this girl is fucking sexy.

  * * *

  GRACYN

  There’s no way this is going anywhere. Not a chance. What happens on spring break stays on spring break—or something like that.

  But the way Gavin watches me drink a beer—his beer—makes me feel like nothing short of a goddess. It’s obvious he thinks I can’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but even just a couple of feet away, I can see exactly where he’s looking. And, right now, his gaze is making its way down my throat and is headed south to my boobs. I have good boobs—spectacular really—so I can’t blame him for looking.

  I drain almost half of the bottle in one go, giving him plenty of time to take me in. A drop of condensation falls from the end of the bottle, landing on my chest. The cool drop of water slides down my cleavage, and Gavin is riveted. I’m not sure he’s even breathing. He’s just standing there, his grip tightening on my hand. His bottle is poised midair, his thumb resting on the side of his lip.

  “You okay?” I laugh.

  He drags his gaze back up to meet mine and clears his throat. His head slowly dips into a nod, and he replies, “I think I am.”

  “But you’re not sure?” It comes out more as a question than a statement as heat washes up my chest to pink my cheeks.

  “I don’t know that I’m sure of anything right now, except that I think you owe me for that beer.” He taps his bottle against the one I snagged and lifts it to his lips, taking a sip. “Come on.”

  He’s still got a firm hold on my hand as he spins, awkwardly wrapping us up and moves down the beach, away from the bar where his band played. Away from the girls I came down here with. This is probably a very bad idea.

  “What do you mean, I owe you? What kind of payment are you thinking you’re going to get?” I dig my heels into the sand, not budging from my spot.

  Gavin squares himself in front of me and slides his shades to the top of his head, pushing those sun-bleached curls back from his face. “I was thinking you could buy me a beer, keep me company, and maybe grab some food. Does that work for you?” He pins me with a look, his eyebrow raised.

  “It does. Sounds like a fantastic idea actually. Just as long as you don’t have any nefarious intents,” I snark back at him.

  Chapter 2

  Gracyn

  This part of the beach is lined with resorts with chairs, umbrellas, and people. So many people.

  I mean, that’s probably a good thing since I’m following this perfect stranger—this random, hot piece of yum.

  Jesus.

  As my grounding force and voice of reason, my best friend, Lisbeth Rittenhouse, would have a coronary if she knew I was taking off down the beach with a rando. I’ve known her forever, and when we moved in together during our sophomore year of college, it was the best decision that we’d made. She needed to get out of her house, away from her toxic family, and dorm life held absolutely no appeal for me.

  I should text her and let her know I miss her, tell her about all the lovely scenery on the beach, and send her a picture of that ass.

  “Shit.” I stutter to a stop and huff out a frustrated laugh.

  Gavin turns to me. “What? You having second thoughts? Just remembered you have a thing with a person and stuff, and you can’t miss it?” He looks past me, eyes crinkling at the corners as he pushes at those curls again, vulnerable as his veil drops and he expects to be bailed on.

  “No, it’s just … I grabbed cash when I left the condo this morning but left my phone. I …” I shift my feet in the hot sand.

  Gavin reaches into his pocket and extends his phone to me. “Here, use mine.”

  I stare at the pink-and-black tiger-striped case, and as hard as I try, I can’t help the laugh that bursts from my chest.

  “That’s pretty.” I laugh at the sweet way he cocks his head to the side. “I’m good though. I was just going to text my friend real quick. She had to stay home and work this week, and I kind of feel bad for her.” I wave off his offer and start walking again.

  Gavin guides me up the stairs of a beachfront bar to a table tucked into the back corner of the deck. He pulls a chair out for me and adjusts the umbrella to give us a little relief from the blazing Florida sun.

  A waitress stomps over and glares at us.

  “The hostess stand is up front. You really need to see her for a table.” The gum-snapping pizza queen looks like a Jersey Shore transplant with her teased-out, bumped-up ponytail and frosty pearl-white lipstick.

  Words are bubbling up in my chest, ones where I lay her low and school her on how to greet a customer, launch into a tirade on how to be a good server and to appreciate where her tips are coming from.

  Yes, I could be called a rich bitch. I sure as hell don’t have to work. In fact, my dad is so horribly against it, and maybe pure rebellion is a big part of the appeal for me. But waiting tables is all about customer service, and this chick has chapped my ass in a big, bad way. With my palms on the table, I lean forward, eyes narrowed to slits, and I open my mouth, ready to let loose.

  Gavin’s throaty chuckle messes with my mojo and stops my word vomit seconds before it spews all over everything.

  “Hang on, killer. I’ll be right back,” he says to me.

  He unfolds himself from the table and encourages the wicked witch to lead the way to the hostess stand. And unfold is the only way to describe the action. He ducks his head until he’s clear of the umbrella, and when he straightens to his full height, I have to tilt my head all the way back to catch his wink and smile before he turns to walk away.

  He grabs his T-shirt out of his back pocket and pulls it over his head as he makes his way into the restaurant. It’s a shame, truly a disgrace, for him to cover up that back. A crime against nature really, and as I glance around the deck, I notice several other girls seem to be mourning the loss of the view.

  Now, I truly wish I had my phone with me.

  My intent isn’t to make Lis feel bad for being stuck in New York, but she shouldn’t have to miss out on everything. Normally, I’d have snapped, tweeted, and had him all over my Insta by now.

  And Lis would be asking me all the responsible questions: Where are you? What’s his name? Does he have a record? Are you making good choices? That’s why she’s my person. She loves me and all my crazy.

  Instead, I commit him to memory, so I can tell her all the details later. Like the way his shorts hug his round ass and how his tee is fighting to properly span the lean muscles of his back and broad shoulders. The way he shoves his sunglasses to the top of his head, trapping the wild golden curls cascading down the back of his head. The way he leans over the hostess stand, resting on his forearms, while he flirts just a little, so we can keep ou
r prime table in the corner of the crowded restaurant deck.

  With an eye-crinkling smile, he straightens and makes his way back over to me, winking just as he settles his sunglasses down over his whiskey-colored eyes.

  “Our waitress will be with us shortly,” he says as he slides into his chair. “And the first round is on the house.” His grin hitches up higher on one side.

  “How did you swing that?” I lean back in my chair, angling so that I can prop my feet up on the deck railing.

  He scoots his chair, mimicking my slouchy pose. “I just smiled a little. Sure as shit didn’t bite anyone’s head off. What was that about anyway? You have some anger issues I need to be aware of?” he asks, looking at me over the top of his sunglasses.

  “Smart-ass. No, but I work in a restaurant during the semester with my friend, and it’s just not that hard to be nice to people, you know?” I nod my head toward the gum-snapping pizza queen as she huffs past us to a table that’s obviously outside of her section. “Did you get us a different waitress, too?”