My Song for You: A Pushing Limits Novel Page 5

  “I could have sworn they were father and son,” she said. “The similarities between them are astounding. Same wavy brown hair. Same dimples. Same face. The only difference is the eyes. Logan has your eyes.” The color Alexis and I had inherited from our mother.

  I bit my lip, but then released it. I wasn’t good at lying. Not once since becoming Logan’s mother had I worried about anyone figuring out the truth. Without the side-by-side comparison of Logan and Jared, it would’ve been nearly impossible to randomly piece it together.

  But if Sharon had figured it out, what about Jared? Had he spotted the similarities between himself and Logan, but because he knew he and I had never slept together, he never considered for a second that Logan was his?

  I shook my head. “It’s just a fluke.”

  She studied me for a long moment, then her gaze darted to the photo on the wall with Alexis in it. My rapidly beating heart climbed into my throat. I tried to swallow it back down.

  “Logan isn’t your son, is he?” Sharon said, then looked back at me.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Of course he’s mine.” The lump in my throat made it hard to speak. The last word came out cracked.

  But was he mine? Yes, I was his legal guardian, but I wasn’t officially his mother. I had never bothered to adopt Logan because there hadn’t been a reason to. As far as I was concerned, Logan was my son.

  The smile on Sharon’s face was sad and full of understanding, but what she understood was anyone’s guess.

  “Callie, I was a teacher and a very good one, I might add. My favorite subject was math, and something about your story doesn’t add up.” When I didn’t say anything, she continued. “You went to San Francisco, but it wasn’t you who became pregnant, was it? You and your sister share the same blue eyes. The same blue eyes Logan also has.” My hesitation was all she needed. “My guess is that Jared has no idea Logan is his son.”

  My shoulders sagged. I was too exhausted to keep up with the lies. “My…my sister didn’t want him to know. She predicted he would one day become famous, and she didn’t want their child to be dragged into his lifestyle.”

  “Don’t you think he has the right to know?”

  “It wasn’t what my sister wanted, and I promised her I would never tell him.”

  “What happened to her?” The words were soft, like Sharon had an idea but was afraid to go there. For my sake.

  “She, Logan, and my parents were driving up to San Francisco to visit me. Logan was a baby at the time. A cement truck ran a red light.” I paused, the words like thistles, leaving my throat raw and scratched. “Only Logan survived,” I whispered, and coughed to clear my throat. It only aggravated the pain further. “He was called a miracle baby because when the firefighters first saw the wreck, they thought there was no way anyone could’ve survived it.”

  I pulled my feet onto the chair and wrapped my arms around my legs, keeping myself together for Logan’s sake.

  I let out a long breath. “Logan is all I have left after I lost everything.” Including the future I had dreamed about for so long.

  “And you’re afraid you’ll lose him if you tell Jared the truth?”

  I nodded. “If he finds out Logan is his son, I could lose Logan and eventually another woman will replace me as his mother. Or Jared might decide it’s too difficult raising a son, especially a son who’s deaf. What will that do to Logan? Besides, Jared isn’t like most fathers who go away for short business trips. His touring means he’ll be gone for months instead of a few days.” No matter from which angle I looked at it, no one would win if Jared found out the truth—least of all me and Logan. “No, it’s best that Jared never finds out.” My voice rang with certainty. If only my heart wasn’t so unsure about my decision.

  “But what about Logan? Doesn’t he deserve to have a father? If you deprive him of his biological father and you won’t date, what does that mean for him? It would be great for him to have a man in his life who can be a positive role model.”

  I shook my head. “What he needs is not to be hurt. And it’s not like guys my age want to settle down with someone who has a child.”

  “How do you know?”

  I let out a bitter laugh. “Because once guys see I have a child, they can’t run away fast enough. And I’m not interested in dating a divorced man with kids. Those are the only guys interested in a woman like me.” My voice cracked at the memory of my ex-boyfriend’s final words after he found out I was Logan’s legal guardian and that I refused to put him up for adoption.

  Besides, it wasn’t like I required a man in my life. I was a strong, independent woman.

  A strong, independent woman who couldn’t stop thinking about the guy she had idolized as a kid—and his heart-melting brown eyes and dimples.

  Chapter 7

  Jared

  The waitress leaned around me and placed my beer on the table. Her tits, squeezed into a black lace-up corset, brushed against my shoulder. “Is there anything else I can get you?”

  I told her I was good, as did the rest of the guys—minus Nolan. Now that he had a serious girlfriend, he tended to hang out with us less than he had before. Why join us when you had a beautiful girl who was more than happy to make you come 24/7?

  “What took you so long to get here?” Mason asked me, his booming voice easily heard over the loud rock music.

  “I met up with someone I haven’t seen in a while,” I said.

  “Who?”

  “No one you know.”

  A lecherous grin slid onto his face. “Was she at least hot?”

  I rolled my eyes. “Who said anything about it being a she?”

  “Because it’s the rule that if you’re gonna blow us off, it better be for a hot set of tits.”

  Kirk snorted into his beer. “Since when was that a rule?”

  “Shit, man,” Mason said, “where have you ladies been? It’s like the unspoken rule everyone knows about.”

  “Riiiiight,” Kirk, Aaron, and I said at the same time. I doubt even Nolan was aware of this so-called rule.

  “So, are you in violation of the rule or not?” Mason pushed.

  “What if I am?”

  “Well, according to the rule book—”

  “Which none of us have seen,” Aaron pointed out.

  “—the violator buys the next round of beer.” Mason crossed his arms, smug in knowing that neither Aaron nor Kirk would argue against the fictitious rule at this particular moment.

  “I think it’s a good rule,” Aaron said. Kirk nodded. Traitors.

  “What happens if I’m not in violation of this so-called rule? Does the mere fact you’re challenging me mean if the person is a woman, you’re buying me the next round?”

  “With great tits,” Mason clarified.

  “So, if his mom has a great set of tits,” Kirk said, “that counts?”

  “Oh, God,” I groaned. “Do not drag my mom into this.”

  “No, that doesn’t count,” Mason said.

  Kirk smirked. “Good to know.”

  “I’m adding to the rule. If the woman is a relative—great tits or not—she doesn’t count.” Mason narrowed his gaze on me. “So, dude, are you buying us the next round or not?”

  I laughed. “You haven’t answered my question. If the person is a woman with great tits, are you buying me the next round?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Hey, drummer boy, how will you know if she has great tits?” Kirk was enjoying this conversation a little too much. “I didn’t see Jared walk in with anyone. Did you?”

  We all looked at Mason. He scrunched his lips together in thought. I didn’t want to tell them about Callie. I didn’t want him to even think about her that way.

  Hell, I was trying not to think about her that way.

  Good luck with that. But Callie had been right when she pointed out that her son didn’t need guys entering his life, only to let him down. And my becoming involved with Callie, even just as a friend,
would do nothing more than complicate my life and his. None of us needed that.

  Least of all me.

  “Hi. Aren’t you the drummer of Pushing Limits?” a woman with golden brown skin asked. Her straight black hair, with streaks of red and gold, hung down her back. Her purple dress clung to her curvy body.

  “I sure am.” Mason grabbed hold of her hips and pulled her onto his lap. She shrieked at the sudden movement but made no attempt to extricate herself. Instead, her arms went around his neck and she beamed at him.

  I could’ve sworn she was an angel sent from heaven to save me from Mason’s line of questioning. Not that I believed in stuff like that. But either way, angel or not, I owed her a drink.

  “Congratulations,” Kirk said, “she just saved your ass.”

  “I think you’re right.” I knew Kirk wouldn’t push for an answer about whom I’d been meeting with. Other than Nolan, who until recently had been keeping a big secret for the past five years, Kirk was the most private member of the band. Which meant he respected everyone else’s privacy.

  I drank some beer and surveyed the area, lit by the dancing spotlights. The club was busy, but that was hardly unexpected for a Saturday night. I didn’t have to look to know there was a huge line to get in. The club wasn’t exclusive, but it was still popular with celebrities and non-celebrities alike. Which meant celebrity sightings didn’t draw the same level of curiosity, unlike in some places. But that didn’t mean the female persuasion weren’t paying attention to us. We were four good-looking guys (five when Nolan was with us). Even before the band started getting radio time, girls were all over us—which often made me wonder if we would’ve done just as well if our looks hadn’t been considered part of the package.

  A girl about Callie’s age slid in next to me on the booth seat. Aaron was on the dance floor. Mason was who knew where, doing who knew what, although I had my suspicions. Kirk was standing next to the booth, talking to two large guys. I had caught part of their conversation at one point. Unlike the rest of the band, his conversations weren’t about music. With Kirk, it was often about hockey. In his past life, before becoming a bassist, he’d been headed to play hockey professionally. Even the band had no idea what caused him to switch from hockey to music.

  “Hi.” The girl pressed her body against my side, shoulder to shoulder, hip to hip. “You’re my favorite guitarist of all time.”

  Like I’d never heard that line before. I gave her my best smile, one that usually had girls sighing. And this girl was no different. “Thank you.”

  “Is Tiffany here?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  She glanced around, as if expecting the supermodel to emerge from the shadows.

  “Do you wanna dance?” I asked, suddenly in the mood to do just that.

  “That’s…that’s okay to do?”

  “Why wouldn’t it be okay?”

  For a second it looked like she would answer, but then she changed her mind and slid out of the booth. I joined her and we headed to the dance floor.

  “What’s your name?” I asked. Not that I cared, but it was the polite thing to do.

  “Maria.”

  As Maria and I moved in time to the music, our bodies pressed together due to the crowded space, only one thought filled my mind: Callie. The two girls were nothing alike. Maria’s dark hair lay straight and long. Her body was that of a dancer, long and lean, and her olive coloring was also the opposite of Callie’s fair skin, with an adorable smattering of freckles across her nose. Maria was sexy as hell and she knew it. The way she moved her body screamed confidence.

  Callie was sexy too, but her sexiness wasn’t blatant, like Maria’s. She had an innocence about her that was even more appealing.

  I shoved the thought away. Because not only did I not need to think about Callie, I’d rather not think about what her innocence meant when it came to other men. If I found her attractive, so would other guys. Maybe one day she would find someone who’d do right by her and her son, and she’d let him into her heart.

  For some reason, the thought chilled me from the inside. It was ridiculous, really. Logan was a great kid. He deserved to have a father, someone loving and understanding like my old man, but as long as Callie was afraid of Logan being hurt, she would never take that risk. Her son would always come first for her, to the point of her sacrificing everything else.

  Not your problem, I reminded myself, and focused on Maria instead.

  We danced for two more songs. Her hands were all over me, making it clear what she wanted. Only I wasn’t too sure what I wanted. Other than another beer.

  And then another.

  Followed by yet another.

  At one point Marisa—or Maria, or whatever her name was—went to the bathroom. No sooner had she left than two girls took her place. I pulled one onto my lap; the other sat next to me. Both explored me with their hands and their lips. Neither seemed bothered by the other girl’s actions.

  Marisa or Mary never returned. The waitress brought me another beer. It wasn’t enough to block out my memories of Callie. If anything, the beer made them clearer.

  Chapter 8

  Jared

  Many things in this world are considered to be the epitome of cruelty. But when the blinding sunlight glares at you through the window because you were too drunk last night to close the fucking curtains, that easily ranks up there on the top of the list.

  I groaned and snapped my eyes shut. I vaguely remembered Kirk calling it a night. I vaguely remembered him shoving me into a cab with him. I vaguely remembered stumbling up the stairs to my apartment, because I had insisted on walking up them instead of riding the elevator. And I vaguely remembered someone helping me climb said steps.

  But as far as the night went, that was all I could remember, other than a few flashes here and there of dancing, talking to girls, kissing.

  I also remembered a couple of other things, but I suspected they had more to do with how much I had drunk last night than reality. Things that my subconscious craved to do to Callie. Erotic things she might not have appreciated if she knew I was thinking about her that way.

  Smooth fingertips trailed along my exposed abs and dipped under the sheets covering my hips. Maybe I hadn’t dreamt about fucking Callie last night after all. Maybe she really was here.

  I cracked open my eyelids and peered at the blurry vision next to me. Even without blinking my eyesight clear, I could tell the girl in my dreams wasn’t the one lying next to me.

  “Morning,” she said, her voice pack-a-day rough.

  I blinked her into focus. “Um, hi?”

  “How are you feeling?” She smiled sweetly. Shit, why didn’t I remember having sex with her? Even in my dreams, I had imagined Callie’s soft scent. This girl’s perfume was much heavier. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t Callie’s scent.

  “Thirsty,” I replied.

  “I’ll get you some water.”

  Before I could say anything, she bounced out of bed in nothing but a black satin thong and bra. I lifted the sheet to discover she wasn’t the only one in her underwear. I still had my boxer briefs on. I let out a relieved breath. If I was drunk enough not to remember fucking her, I would’ve been too drunk to pull my underwear back on afterward.

  She returned with a glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol. “This should help.” She passed me the glass and handed me two pills.

  “Thanks.” I tossed back the painkiller and downed the entire glass of water. Luckily my stomach didn’t protest. By the time I was finished, she was under the sheet, her bra no longer on her.

  She didn’t waste time sneaking her hand under the covers. It brushed against my dick. I jerked away, putting several feet between us.

  Her lips curved into a seductive smile and she scooted closer. “I thought now that you’re sober, we can finish what we started.”

  “What exactly is that?” “Sober” was the last word I would’ve used to describe my current state.

  She moved
her hand to my nipple and pinched it. “What do you think?” she purred.

  Her previous words echoed in my head: We can finish what we started.

  “So we never actually fucked last night?”

  “No, you were too…um…out of it.” Translation: I couldn’t get it up.

  She slid her hand down my chest again. I grabbed her wrist. “Sorry, I have plans.”

  That much was true, even if I did want to go back to sleep and wake up once this hangover was over. My family was expecting me in a few hours. Sure, we had plenty of time for what she had planned, but I wasn’t interested in going there.

  That wasn’t to say I wasn’t into sex with groupies. Like the other guys in the band, I had taken advantage of what was offered. Not a lot, mind you. I wasn’t a manwhore like Mas. Maybe another time, back before I’d bumped into Callie, I might’ve been interested. Now I couldn’t get excited about the prospect of screwing around with this woman.

  A glimpse of the dream from last night repaid me a visit. I turned away from it, telling myself the dream had nothing to do with my decision.

  The girl, whose name was a complete blank to me, pouted. Now I vaguely remembered seeing her red-coated lips last night; the color had since faded. Her dark eye makeup was still in place, although now it was smudged. She didn’t look bad, but she did look like she was about to do the walk of shame—even if she had nothing to be ashamed of.

  She stroked her fingers against my chest. “I can make it worth your while.”

  I released her hand and shifted away from her. “I’m sure you can, but I really do have to be somewhere important.” I gave her an apologetic smile and waited while she gathered her clothes. I had tons of questions about last night but decided to save them for Kirk. She had already answered the big one I’d had. The rest could wait.

  I offered to call her a cab. She shook her head and called a friend instead. She did, though, ask for my autograph. After everything, that was the least I could do.