Dirty Duet (Found in Oblivion Book 3) Read online

  Dirty Duet

  Found In Oblivion #3

  Cari Quinn

  Taryn Elliott

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Lost Lyric

  Also by Cari & Taryn

  Lost in Oblivion Series

  About the Authors

  They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Dirty Duet

  © 2017 Cari Quinn & Taryn Elliott

  Cover by LateNite Designs

  Photograph by Lindee Robinson Photography

  All Rights Are Reserved.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  First Rainbow Rage Publishing print edition: February 2017

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  ISBN: 978-1-940346-40-3

  To the music. It’s always going to be about the music.

  Oh, and the hot guys. Because well…hot guys.

  Chapter One

  Lauren Bryant adjusted her green belly shirt and sucked in a shaky breath. She was on the verge of being brushed by greatness. This close to seeing the sweat, touching the rock-hard abs, drowning in the throbbing, undulating beat.

  Okay, so the first and last, sure. The middle one? Not likely in this lifetime or any other. Though wouldn’t that add an air of authenticity to her paper?

  Rockstar abs feel like any other man’s abs…

  Wait, scratch that out. She hadn’t touched any other man’s abs either so she couldn’t authoritatively make that claim. And in this paper, everything would be documented and re-documented. Checked and re-checked. No ifs, ands, and butts—specifically male ones.

  But she was at a rock concert, not a flesh-peddling convention. Although they were surprisingly similar at times.

  “Seriously?” Beside her, her best friend Ethan shook his head. He was still slouched in his seat, flipping through the stock report on his phone. Meanwhile, she fiddled with her clothes, trying to make sure everything was covered that she wanted covered and everything exposed that she wanted exposed.

  Her big boobs and large ass were assets here, rather than the distractions they were seen as in academia. So was her blond hair and grayish-blue eyes, even if they appeared more wholesome and homespun than rockstar groupie. She’d always wanted straight, jet black hair like Cher in the old days. So ever since she’d started coming to Warning Sign shows, she’d worn a dark wig. Hey, if she had to do this rock groupie-slash-stalker thing up properly, she might as well have some fun with it. Her search for fun also included the pink see-through scalloped lace lingerie she’d worn under her stupidly tight clothes.

  At least she’d look good for the coroner if she died of asphyxiation.

  Another thing to overcome, apparently, was having a male best friend when you were at a rock concert specifically to get some action—the sort that hopefully wouldn’t get her arrested or naked. What was the point of wearing sexy lingerie if you just ended up in the buff? Her breasts appreciated the support.

  “Do you really have to appear so disagreeable?” she asked, shoving Ethan hard in the shoulder. He bobbled his phone and gave her a look of pure malice. “No one’s going to approach me with you sitting there looking like a gloomy Gus.”

  “Gloomy Gus? Seriously?” His eyebrow winged up. “Your lack of current vocabulary is truly awe-inspiring.”

  “Fine. Stop harshing my buzz. Better?”

  “Maybe, if you had a buzz.” He smirked. “You don’t drink, remember?”

  “I don’t, but I can. At any time. In fact, I might get rip-roaring inebriated tonight.”

  “Sure you will, honey. I’ll just hold my breath on that one and hope I don’t turn blue before the paramedics arrive. Preferably blond and busty.”

  “I’m blond and busty. Don’t see you caring there.”

  “Black wig, remember? And your breasts aren’t in my sphere.” He went back to his phone. “You’re practically a male as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Thanks for the ego boost, jackass.” She huffed out a breath and perched on the edge of her seat, crossing her arms. “Look, you know why I’m here. Why I have to make this count. With the restraining order, I might not get another chance—”

  “Restraining order?” He grabbed her wrist. “You didn’t say it had escalated to the point of the courts getting involved.”

  She squirmed away. Ethan in stern professorial mode wouldn’t help her get her party on. “They haven’t, but let’s just say that ninja blond manager will probably harvest my organs for food for her pet anaconda if she spots me anywhere near her precious band again.”

  Which was exactly where she was. Near ninja blond manager’s band yet again.

  It wasn’t as if she’d intended to stalk Warning Sign in particular. She’d just needed any small-to-medium-size band that she could study and see in concert a few times so she could observe their fan base and attempt to integrate with them in a real, actionable way. Warning Sign seemed to perform often in the LA area, and she’d won tickets on the radio twice now to shows where they were the opening act, so it had to be kismet. Or something else, possibly more sinister.

  At any rate, she’d been a good little student and sold her sticker collection on eBay and her old Converses—not the pink ones with the hand-painted rainbows, because hello, collector’s item—to make more money for tickets. Just like any good groupie who didn’t actually own a car with a working carburetor and so had to stay in LA and in the immediate area.

  Enter Ethan, with his brand new SUV and willingness to drive her up and down the west coast to shows, because he knew that she was in desperate straits. And since they lived together, due to her mother kicking her out last fall after the incident, Ethan had reason to help her get back on her feet. Lauren had taken over Ethan’s guest bedroom and chipped in with rent, but she was sure he was eager to get her out so he could go back to having naked parties or whatever he did to unwind on weekends.

  She had her own problems. Specifically, the one that had led her to become a pseudo Warning Sign groupie. She’d hung up their latest tour dates on the wall above her tiny desk and they had basically played connect the dots with the major cities near the Pacific Ocean—LA, San Fran, Seattle, Portland. She’d been at some of those shows, along with concerts at a few smaller venues—both before and after she’d gotten read the riot act by manager lady. So had Ethan, grumbling all the while. But he understood why it was so important she take this undertaking seriously, even if he was certain she was going about it all wrong.

  He also got more ass than a toilet seat without any of the icky morning afters, so she wasn’t listening to him. He didn’t understand her struggles. In his world, being a nerd was hot to the opposite
sex. In hers, she was viewed as a sex object or irrelevant. Sometimes both at the same time.

  Normally, she didn’t want to be seen as a body with no brains. Except tonight and at the other concerts she’d attended. She was an immersive student. If jumping around and flapping her boobs would get her closer to the band—and all their fans—she was just fine with that.

  Plus, experiences. She was greedy for as many as she could get, and lo and behold, concerts seemed to be a gateway drug to plenty of them.

  “Besides, Blondie just told me to stay away from rehearsals and not to get too close to any of the band members,” Lauren muttered, flicking through the ends of her wig. Stupid thing didn’t want to stay in place. “I’m in the audience. They’re safe.”

  Probably.

  “Did someone say blond?” Ethan sat up straighter and glanced around. “Point her out to me. Rack?”

  “Married. Rockstar-married. The cream of the cream.”

  She’d done more than a small amount of research on Lila Ronson Shawcross Crandall, the manager of Warning Sign. What she’d found out had surprised her. She definitely hadn’t expected the shark-eyed, low-voiced blond bombshell who’d practically had her arrested to be the type to slum with rockstars. Not that rockstars were slumming, but she didn’t really match up the usual grungy rocker with a woman with flawless makeup, a Donna Karan suit, and Jimmy Choos.

  But who was she to judge? Lauren’s body of knowledge about rockers could be held in a shot glass with room left over.

  “Good for her,” Ethan mumbled, his tone indicating his level of interest. Which was nil. “Since she probably isn’t my type anyway, I’ll try not to cry over my Apple stock.”

  Lauren rolled her eyes. Typical Ethan. He was a gentleman to the core despite his big talk about being a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy with impossibly high standards. Of course, she was also the only woman he wasn’t related to who had been in his life for longer than a weekend. They’d been friends since her third grade enrichment classes, run by Ethan the sixth-grade brainiac himself. Their age difference hadn’t kept them from striking up a friendship that had endured for almost fifteen years, continuing even while she’d been sequestered away at an all girls’ private boarding school in Vermont.

  She just chose to tune out the stories about his conquests. Must be what having a brother felt like. You knew they had sex, you just didn’t want to know a thing about it.

  Not even a single thing.

  Onstage, a couple techs bustled around, moving cords and equipment, testing the microphones and the lights. The arena was filling up fast, and as she craned her neck back to see the rows and rows of seats high above them—she’d been blessed by the radio gods for these seats, that was for damn sure—she tried to imagine how it felt to stand on that stage.

  To look out and see everyone shouting for you. To hear your name being yelled, your songs sung back to you. To watch girls cry just at the chance to stand beside you.

  She couldn’t fathom any of it. Sure, she’d taken eight years of piano lessons, and still retained a surprising amount of what she’d been taught, but she’d only taken them because her parents expected her to have a musical hobby. She enjoyed music, but more to soak it up and in than to play it herself. If she had a grand passion, she’d yet to find it.

  Passions in general were hard to come by in her life. She’d resigned herself to that years ago when yet another date had turned grabby hands with her after paying for her movie. Back then, men had unnerved her. After four years at an all girls school, it had been weird to reintegrate and realize how far behind she was all the girls she’d known before. They were all happily having sex and in steady relationships while she was managing to have a couple awkward dates that never added up to much.

  Almost six years after high school and only a few months from her twenty-fourth birthday, she couldn’t claim to have proceeded much past that. Thank God for Tumblr, which had filled in many of her blanks. And made her super horny, which was neither here nor there.

  Still, she believed in honesty. When a man asked her out, she told them upfront what they were dealing with so she didn’t have to put up with rudeness and too many probing questions later.

  I’m a virgin. Is that a problem for you?

  Like clockwork, the guy hit the door and kept right on running.

  That was her test. The guy who didn’t run at a simple fact of life? That was the one worth having around. So far, she was batting zero. It didn’t help that she was exceptionally picky, wanting to meet someone who rang her bells inside and outside of bed.

  Guess it made sense she’d found some kind of solace in a place like this. One where she could be anyone she wanted to be, including herself.

  The house lights dimmed and Lauren grabbed Ethan’s arm. He grinned at her, reluctantly getting into it as he always did. She’d brought him along to every Warning Sign concert so far but the first one she’d stumbled upon, mainly so she didn’t get herself in real trouble. Her idea of being street smart didn’t really match this reality. She so was out of her depth in this environment.

  Never been drunk—check.

  Never done drugs—check.

  Hymenally intact—check squared.

  Hell, she’d stayed pure this long. At this point, it was almost a game to see how long she could hold out.

  Rock concerts, however, were dangerous.

  These men were not your garden variety college boys. Not the ones in the audience. The ones onstage, who all the girls went crazy for.

  Something she hadn’t believed was a reasonable reaction. The groupie phenomenon had to be a form of mass hysteria, encouraged by their peers. These men weren’t any different than any other.

  Except they were, and as the members of Warning Sign—male and female alike—bounded onstage amidst smoke and streams of pink and blue lights, power thrummed in her veins. The growing energy around her pounded under her skin. The excitement and anticipation of the crowd was as palpable as the slightly sweet smell that Ethan had informed her was weed.

  She didn’t want to know how he knew. He knew way too much as far as she was concerned.

  This had to be what she imagined sex must be like, if thousands of people engaged in one giant fuck. In public. With all their clothes on, if barely.

  She dug her fingers into Ethan’s biceps and he laughed at her, shaking his head. He’d finally tucked away his phone and covered her hand on his arm with his own. She’d never asked him to play the role of her boyfriend at these shindigs. That was the last thing she wanted. How was she supposed to get the full groupie experience if she had a watchdog?

  Not that she intended to go crazy and just screw a random rockstar. Something she had swiftly learned she had pretty much a zero chance of doing, despite all the fanfiction she’d read online. Sleeping with your favorite rockstar was the number one topic of most of them, and it always started with an innocent girl who “just loved the music” showing up at the concert and meeting her dream guy, who instantly swept her into a hall and pulled her pants down.

  The romance was epic.

  “Which is the one you like again?” Ethan asked, tipping his head closer as the crowd stomped and cheered.

  “The bald one,” she said thoughtfully, not that she really had a preference. He just seemed surly enough to be interesting. Probably an affectation. Definitely not what she wanted in real life. He had the looks, but he didn’t smile—ever.

  Life was too short to grouse through it, even if he did look hot while he was mid-snarl.

  “You?” she asked Ethan.

  “I’d take a Neapolitan sandwich of all three of those chicks. Blond, blondest, and dark. No bad there.”

  Lauren poked his side and let him go to bounce to her feet as Warning Sign rolled into their first song, “Exile.” It had a beachy feel for a campfire and a night with friends, and the audience was ready to party.

  Her too. She might have been a late adopter when it came to the whole show vibe—
actually, she’d never been to a concert until she had no choice—but man, she loved the atmosphere now.

  Could be the contact high from what was going on at the end of her row. Whatever.

  She screamed with the fans around her as Ryan, the dark-haired, serious one, slapped out the beat. Michael and Elle, the guitarists, were jamming away, playfully trying to outdo each other with little licks and flourishes. Lauren didn’t know all the tricks, but she knew what she liked. Mal, the bald dude, whaled away on the drums, and Molly, the lead singer, sashayed around and belted out the smoky lyrics that spoke of escape. Willful escape.

  That sounded damn nice.

  Lauren circled her hips, snapping her fingers as she got into the song. She knew every word. Hell, a girl went to seven or so of these shows in the past six months, and she got familiar with the setlist. Enough that she was reasonably sure they’d go from the end of “Exile” straight into their ballad, “All Night Long.” It was a serious baby-making song, and Juliet, the brunette bassist, and Michael tended to flirt heavily onstage to go along with it. Lauren had believed they were a couple, but nope. From online scuttlebutt, they never had been. Michael was happily married and Juliet was rumored to be in a poly relationship with two dudes.

  Hey, different strokes. Though chafing must be a problem with that much stroking, Lauren had to assume. But good for her. That was what lube was for.

  Or so she’d read.

  “Hey, hey, easy,” Ethan said against Lauren’s ear as she jumped and screamed the words with everyone else. That he had to jump too so she could even hear him just made it funnier. He grabbed his chest, miming hers, and she looked down, laughing uproariously as she saw how close she was to indecent exposure.

  Daylight Lauren worried about that stuff. Lauren, the daughter of two esteemed professors at Pomona University, worried about appearing proper.