Wicked Innocence (2 page)

Micah

“Wow,” I muttered under my breath. “Holy fucking shit.” I couldn’t believe I’d convinced them to give me another chance.

I stood outside The Melrose Hotel with my hands behind my head, trying to let the last few minutes sink in. People gave me a wide berth as they walked past—probably something to do with the insane laughter that was tumbling out of my mouth—but I didn’t care. By tomorrow night I could be the newest lead vocalist for Resurrection.

This was insane! It was
—

Shit.

I glanced at my phone and realized I had less than five minutes to get to work. I picked up my pace, dodging my way around the crowds of people that only seemed to be there to get in my way.

The diner where I worked as a waitress was over on the other side of the city, and even running the entire way, I pushed my way through the door nearly a quarter of an hour late. If there was one thing my boss hated, it was tardiness. But then again, Marlon hated everything.

“You’re late.”

I jumped around the counter and grabbed my apron. Marlon scowled at me from in front of the grill, his chubby fingers curled around the spatula he was using to flip burger patties. I rolled my eyes and pasted a smile on my face as I turned to face him.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I had an appointment and it ran longer than I expected. I’ll stay an extra ten minutes after my shift,” I offered as I tied my hair back in a loose bun. He grunted in response and I knew that was as I was going to get to a yes.

“Table five has been waiting for ages,” he said gruffly.

I nodded brightly. Grabbing my ordering pad, I strode over to table five, cringing when I saw it was a group of seven young guys packed into the four-person booth. I just knew they were going to be a pain in my ass. Packs of guys always were. There was always one or two that would try and impress their friends by trying to pick me up or objectify me.

“What can I get for you?” I asked, pen poised.

“How about your number?” That was from the hotshot in the corner who looked like he’d used an entire container of hair gel.

“Sorry, I was talking about the menu,” I said sweetly. “I can highly recommend the pancakes with maple syrup.” That was our special of the day. We always had to pimp the special, because it usually meant Marlon had ingredients that were close to the ‘use by’ date.

“I’ve got something sweet and sticky you might enjoy.” He grinned as his friends sniggered. Ugh. This guy had to be kidding.

I wonder how many times that line had gotten him punched in the balls?

Most of the time I enjoyed my job. The majority of customers were friendly regulars who tipped well and the rest of the staff were great. But I found myself having to bite my tongue when it came to immature assholes who thought they were funny. Like these guys.

“I don’t think my boyfriend would appreciate that.” I nodded over my shoulder to Marlon. “He’s sticky and sweet enough for me,” I added with a wink, running my tongue over my bottom lip for extra effect.

“That’s your boyfriend?” sputtered the dark-haired guy who sat on the end closest to me. Out of all of them, he was the only one I’d actually consider cute. He looked from me to Marlon and back to me, his eyes wide.

I held back my laughter and nodded. Marlon must have been in his sixties. He was huge, hairy and somewhat resembled a less appealing version of Hagrid from Harry Potter. His looks were the most appealing thing about him, which spoke volumes about his engaging personality.

“Is there a problem?” I asked innocently. “I can get him over here to take your order if you like,” I added, hiding my grin.

“Uh no, that’s fine. I’ll have the open steak sandwich and a Coke,” he muttered.

“Good choice,” I smirked.

I took the rest of their orders and strode back over to Marlon, handing him the ticket. I sidled up close to him so our shoulders were almost touching, aware the guys were watching me.

“Here you go,” I said sweetly.

Marlon glared at me. “The tables aren’t going to clean themselves,” he growled.

I chuckled and grabbed the caddy, pushing it toward three empty booths at the back of the room.

“What’s so funny?”

I smiled at Dee. In my haste to start my shift I hadn’t even realized she was working. Dee and I had clicked right away when I’d started at the diner two years earlier. At nineteen, she was two years older than me, but, like everyone else, she thought I was twenty-one and two years older than her. Confusing, right? I had trouble keeping things straight in my own head.

“The guys at table five were hassling me so I told them Marlon was my boyfriend,” I giggled.

Dee laughed, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder. She was gorgeous—like supermodel beautiful. With her tall, slim figure and striking dark eyes, I felt like a blimp standing next to her. I was so damn short. Apparently my lack of height was another thing I’d gotten from my father.

“Idiots,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes. “But can you imagine being lucky enough to wake up to that every morning?” she said, nodding toward Marlon.

I turned, just in time to see him scratch his ass with the spatula. “Ugh, no thanks.” I wrinkled my nose.

“Hey, how did it go?” Dee asked suddenly, grabbing my arm.

Right: the audition. I’d almost forgotten about it.

“Really bad, then better, and then great,” I grinned, piling the dirty dishes into the tub. “I completely fucked it up, but I convinced them to give me a second chance. Now I have a final audition tomorrow night at a private party at The Bell Center. Please say you’ll come.”

“Have you ever known me to miss a party?” she sniggered.

I laughed. That was true. “Good. Do you mind driving? I think I’ll need a drink or two to calm my nerves.”

“Sure. I mean, it’s not like I can drink,” she grumbled.

I laughed and slapped her on the back. “I know for a fact that being underage doesn’t stop you from drinking,” I retorted with a grin.

“True,” she laughed. She made a face and muttered something under her breath. “Marlon is watching us. I better get back to work before he fires both of us.”

***

The rest of my shift passed pretty quickly, helped by the fact that my table of guys left me alone after they received their order. They even left me a tip, which I wasn’t expecting.

I got home shortly after ten. Unlocking the door, I stepped inside and dumped my bag on the floor. I walked through to the kitchen, checking to see if my roommate, Nelson, was still up. The glow of his computer shone under the crack of his closed bedroom door. I shook my head and poured myself a glass of water and took it to my room.

I was wrecked. It had been such a long day, and I hadn’t slept the night before because I’d been too buzzed about the audition. Shimmying myself out of my jeans, I threw my clothes in a neat pile on the floor and walked over to my dressing table.

I grabbed my brush, running it through my long dark hair as I stared at my reflection in the mirror. I wasn’t bad looking. There was nothing about my appearance that I hated, except maybe my height—or lack of it. I didn’t have Dee’s supermodel hot looks, but I had that cute, girl-next-door-meets-emo-rock-chick kind of thing going on.

Tossing the brush on the table, I grabbed my iPod and crawled into bed. I found my Resurrection collection and pressed play. People learned full-on languages through passive listening.

With any luck, I would wake up and know every song word for word.

Micah

Attractive young men in suits and stunning women in dresses that probably cost more than my month’s rent surrounded me as I walked into the Odyssey Room at The Bell Center. The place screamed elegance—not exactly the kind of venue I’d expect an indie rock band to be performing at.

A private party? That’s an understatement.

I sighed as a shiver raced down my spine. This could be my life. I couldn’t even
imagine
singing every night and getting paid for it, let alone in places like this. I’d never expected to come so far in such a short time.

To think, only three years ago I had been fourteen, living at home with a mother who despised me, about to be shipped off to yet another foster family. That’s when I had made the decision to leave, to take control of my own life and grab the bull by the horns. Caring for myself wasn’t that much of a stretch; I’d been doing it for years anyway. The only difference was now I at least had a say in how people treated me.

And here I was, twenty-one and about to live my dream.

No, I wasn’t that bad at math. Being a fourteen-year-old and living on the streets was a nightmare waiting to happen. Being a fourteen-year-old with a fake birth certificate saying I was eighteen helped me secure a job and a place to live. I’d worked my ass off to get to where I was. My job and independence had given me something I’d never had before: stability.

“This is insane.” Dee hung off my arm, her expression mirroring how I felt: Awe. Excitement. “I’ve never seen so many attractive people in one room before,” she breathed. Her eyes bugged out of her head as she pointed across the room. “Is that Hugh
Jackman
?”

I laughed and squinted at the figure sitting by the bar.

“Maybe.”

It did sort of look like him. I scanned the room, my eyes falling on the stage where the guys were setting up. “Will you be okay if I go and check in with the guys?” I asked her nervously.

“Trust me, I’ll be fine,” she said, her dark eyes twinkling. “And M? You’ll rock this.”

“Thanks. And behave,” I said, raising my eyebrows at her.

“What?” she giggled. “When have I ever not behaved?”

“When do you ever
actually
behave?” I groaned, shaking my head. It was like telling a fish to breathe out of water: it wasn’t going to happen.

I tugged at the hem of my short black dress, feeling naked from the amount of skin I was showing. I’d changed about a dozen times before settling on this—a black shift dress that showed a lot of cleavage and thigh. The funky silver bangles, dark eyeliner, and my ponytail, teased and pulled back, helped to complete the look I was going for.

Relax, M. You can do this.

I strutted over to the stage, hoping my walk oozed confidence.

“Hey,” I smiled, focusing on Harry. I’d done my research, and the consensus was that he was the ladies’ man of the group. He had a different girl hanging off his arm after every show and he loved to flirt. He was also the only one who’d attempted to be friendly to me the day before, so I felt confident he was my way in.

“Hey,” he said, flashing me a grin. His gaze combed appreciatively over my body. “You ready to show us what you’ve got?”

I arched my eyebrow. That was a loaded question.

“As ready as I’m going to be,” I replied evenly.

He handed me a sheet of paper. I sighed, relieved when I recognized the song. I knew most of the band’s songs, but word for word, singing it to a crowded bar? I wasn’t
that
confident.

“What, did you think we were going to spring an original on you?” he smirked. It wouldn’t have shocked me. But then again not much shocked me these days.

“How about you introduce me to the rest of the band?” I suggested sweetly, changing the subject. Even though I’d met them the day before, we hadn’t been officially introduced.

He nodded. “Right,” he said, waving his arm toward the tall blond who had addressed me at the audition. “That’s Liam. Over on the drums is Kam, and bass is Will. Our, uh, manager is hanging around here somewhere too, but you’ll meet him later.” He scratched the back of his head, distracted. “Go get yourself a drink or something and watch the first set. We’ll get you on for the second and go from there. If you handle yourself, the job is yours. If not . . .” He shrugged.

Easy
.

***

I clutched my song tightly in my hand and made my way over to the bar. I hadn’t been so nervous since going for my driver’s license.

While my ID might not be accurate, it
was
real. At fourteen, thanks to a dodgy-looking dude I’d met off Craigslist and $1600—don’t ask me where the cash had come from—I had acquired a passport and birth certificate identifying me as Micah Lawson, eighteen years old and born in Orange County.

When you’ve lived a lie for long enough, you began to believe it. It took moments like this, finding myself inside a bar and about to order a drink, to remind myself of who I really was, and what I was running from.

“What can I get you?”

I smiled at the cute guy behind the bar as he leaned across the counter. His gaze wandered over me, lingering on the point where the center of my dress dipped down between my breasts. I rolled my eyes.

Attention from men was something I received often, and it was always unwanted. Friendships and relationships were something I usually avoided. Dee was the only real friend I had, and that suited me fine. It was rare for me to truly open up to anyone. The less people knew about me, the easier it was to keep track of everything.

“Just a glass of water, thanks. With lime if you have it.”

He nodded and gave me a wink. Hooking my ankle around the base of the barstool behind me, I pulled it closer and sat down. I unfolded the song and studied it. It was a popular hit from The Verse called “Still Surrender
.
” I knew my weird teenage obsession with eighties British rock bands would pay off eventually.

My heart began to pound as I listened to the guys kick off in the background.

This is really happening
. This was it. Fuck this up, and it was over.

I’d spent years trying to break into the industry. Open mic nights, auditions . . . I had done it all. I’d been rejected so many times I was used to it. Singing meant everything to me. It had dominated my life since I’d left home. This was as close as I had come to getting my foot in the door, and that was what made it so damn scary.

“One water with lime for the most beautiful woman in the room.”

I looked up as the barman pushed the glass across to me. I smiled and reached for it, his fingers brushing over mine. His leering smile told me the contact was not so accidental.

“Thanks,” I said, jerking my hand away. I looked back down at my song, hoping he’d take the hint. He didn’t.

“So, what brings you to The Bell?” He nodded toward the stage. “A fan?”

“Not exactly,’ I said, blushing. “I’m with them. Well, technically it’s still an audition,” I added.

He whistled, his blue eyes narrowing. “Impressive.”

I opened my mouth to reply, but was interrupted by a voice behind me.

“So you’re the pretty little thing I hear can hold a tune,” the sexy voice drawled. I turned around and
gasped.
No way
. What the fuck was ex-bad-boy-of-rock-turned-recluse
Saxon Waite
doing here?

He laughed, obviously enjoying my shock. His gorgeous eyes twinkled in amusement as he casually dangled a drink from his hand. I took in his dark, tousled hair and lopsided smirk. He hadn’t changed much since he had dropped out of the spotlight a few years ago under a whirlwind of controversy. At the height of his career, Saxon Waite had been the
definition
of bad boy rocker, always managing to find himself in hot water. That was part of what made him so damned sexy. What girl can resist a bad boy rocker?

My eyes traveled down over his tight black shirt tee shirt that showed off the tattoos that covered his right arm. He wore faded jeans and a pair of black boots. Yep. There was no question he was still one of the hottest rock gods ever.

“Shut your mouth, honey, before our friendly barman over here gets any ideas.”

“You’re Saxon Waite,” I mumbled, ignoring his little dig.

I closed my eyes and groaned as he chuckled again. I sounded like a cross between a cat being strangled and a hyena. I didn’t get starstruck—I’d run into Brad Pitt once at Starbucks and we’d had a ten-minute conversation about the weather—but this was
Saxon Waite.

At fourteen, I’d had posters of Saxon all over my god damned walls. Fourteen-year-old Micah had
touched
herself thinking about this guy. I blushed, cringing at the thought.

“I am,” he confirmed with a sexy grin. “Do I get to know your name?”

“Micah. With an H.”

With an
H
?
What am I doing
? He chuckled again. He reached up and rubbed his chin with the edge of his hand, brushing over his stubble. He was so freaking sexy.

“Are you nervous?” he asked. Of course I was. He was
Saxon-freaking-Waite
. “About singing,” he added, breaking out that sexy grin again.

Oh
.
Am I nervous about
that
. I swallowed hard and nodded. I was nervous enough before I knew he was here. Now? Hell, I had no idea how I was going to get through this.

“Just go up there and do your thing. If it helps, block everyone else out and sing to me. Pretend it’s just me and you.” His blue eyes twinkled as his fingers fiddled with his half empty glass. “Pretend I’m naked, if that helps.”

“I can do that,” I breathed. Singing to Saxon Waite? Wasn’t that every girl’s dream? “The singing to you part, not thinking about you naked,” I clarified, realizing how it had sounded.

“Too bad,” he chuckled. “You’re missing out there. So, Micah with an H: tell me about yourself. Are you a city girl, born and bred?”

“I’ve been here for three years. Since I finished high school,” I added.

Why did I feel shy all of a sudden? Talking about my past was not something I felt comfortable about, but I could usually handle it well enough until I was able to divert the direction of the conversation. This guy, though…he made me feel so damn young. His confidence and assertiveness made me realize just how young and insecure I really was.

Maybe it was because I was nervous about performing—or maybe it was because it had been a while since I’d found myself so attracted to a guy. Hell, maybe it was just the fact that he was Saxon Waite. It didn’t matter; none of it did.

I just had to get away from this guy.

I stood up and backed away from the bar, throwing a ten-dollar bill down on the counter.

“I better get up there,” I mumbled.

He nodded, a smirk creeping across his mouth. I was flustered and he knew it—and he probably thought he was the cause. And he would be right.

“Okay, Micah with an H. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I groaned inwardly.

Saxon Waite and his damn sexy smile.

***

I stood by the edge of the stage watching the last few songs while trying to calm my nerves.
Stop shaking
. I wiped my sweaty palms down the sides of my dress and took a deep breath. Knowing Saxon was there, watching me, made me even more nervous. How the hell was I going to sing, knowing he was out there? What if I fucked this up? What if this went worse than yesterday?

“You’re on in five.”

I nodded at Liam as he brushed past me. Was he always so rude? Harry walked over to me, wearing his trademark grin, which instantly made me relax.

“You’re up,” he said, handing me a mic. I was shaking so badly it almost tumbled out of my hands.
So much for my five minutes
. He laughed and touched my shoulder. “You need to chill. You can do this—just show us the girl we saw yesterday, okay?”

The problem was they had seen two versions of me yesterday, and I wasn’t sure which one was going to come out tonight. I was either going to crash and burn or I was going to rock the hell out of this—and I hoped it was the latter.

I walked out onto the stage and was greeted by a round of cheers and a few wolf whistles. My heart pounded in my chest. This was by far the most terrifying experience of my life.

Then I saw him.

In the middle of the crowd, leaning against the wall, that sexy grin on his face as his eyes zeroed in on mine. Just like that, my nerves began to dissipate. How did he do that? Seeing him should have made me
more
nervous, but there was something so calming about knowing he was there. Behind me, Harry began to count us down. As the beat of his guitar began to fill my head, I closed my eyes and began to sing, ignoring the thudding in my chest that I was sure was being broadcasted to the whole bar.

“It was over long ago,

the shadows were lurking in the corners,

all our doubts hidden in a secret place,

came out to play with our emotions,

the end was always in its place,