That reminded me, it was Tae Bo night. I hated Tae Bo. Loved what it did for my cardio endurance and arm flab though.
Judging by the muffled thumps beneath my feet, I guessed that the boys were making use of the small music studio in the basement. Given their genes, it wasn’t surprising that my offspring had a natural affinity for music.
Tonight, however, loud wailing guitars, pounding bass, and thumping drums were the last things I wanted to hear. I offered up a silent thanks that whoever had originally built the house had the foresight to install sound-absorbing walls and ceiling panels below. It certainly muted the noise, and tonight, quieter was good.
I walked over to the door leading down to the basement and opened it, greeted immediately with the sound of ear-splitting guitar, bass, and teeth-jarring drums. Between the multitude of audible instruments and the number of dirty dishes on the counter, I guessed they had friends over.
I knew from experience that no amount of yelling would penetrate their jam session, so I flicked the light switch a couple times to catch their attention and was rewarded with a brief moment of near silence.
“Yeah?” called up Brian.
“I’m home. Did you guys have enough to eat?” I asked, as if eighteen-year-old boys ever had enough to eat. They were like locusts, consuming everything in their path. What I wouldn’t give to have their metabolisms.
Muffled murmurs, all male by the sound of it.
“Yeah, we’re good.” That was Tommy. His voice was just a tad deeper than Bri’s.
“Awesome. I’m going to grab a bite and then do my thing.”
“Cool.”
Before I even closed the door, the song started up again, a hard-pounding beat I recognized as one of Dark Wing’s. I smiled to myself, wondering what the boys would think if I told them I’d just spent a good part of the day with Jace Logan. The man was practically a god in their eyes, and, considering their father was the legendary rocker Ian Flynn, that was saying something.
As I put the groceries away, I decided that the next time I saw Jace, I’d ask him to sign a few things for them. Or better yet, maybe he’d be willing to let the boys sit in on a recording session. Normally, I wouldn’t even consider asking, but unlike so many of the massive egos I dealt with on a regular basis, Jace seemed fairly down-to-earth. When he wasn’t chasing tail anyway.
With the boys fed and occupied, I had a couple minutes to take my shoes off and chill. I loved my kids, I really did, but after the day I’d had, I definitely didn’t mind a few minutes of peace for myself. They were the loves of my life, the very reason I forced myself out of bed every morning, but they were teenagers and they were exhausting.
I checked the nuke time on the frozen entrée box I’d taken out, then popped the little black plastic tray into the oven, and pulled a bottle of red wine out of the fridge.
Alone in the kitchen, I lifted the bottle to my lips. To hell with a glass.
And to hell with sipping. I took a mouthful, appreciating the robust vintage, and then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand. Take that, world.
It was a small F-U in the grand scheme of things, but as a working, single mother of teenage twin boys, that was about all I could afford at the moment.
My private cell phone buzzed, which was never a good sign. I was off the clock now; I should just ignore it and let someone else take care of it. Then I remembered that Ross was out of town, and I was that someone else.
I looked down at the caller ID and recognized Ted’s number. My first thought was, What kind of trouble have they gotten into now?
I was already mentally rifling through my list of bail bondsman when I accepted the call. “Yes?”
Ted spoke quickly, the words a mangled jumble in his excited state. It took nearly a full minute before I was able to get a word in.
“Ted, breathe,” I said in my best soothing but not-taking-any-shit Mom voice. “What happened?”
“I lost them.”
“Lost who?” I asked, but of course, I already knew the answer.
“Jace and Kurt.”
“What about the others?”
“They didn’t come. They’re hanging out with their wives.” The way Ted said wives conveyed his horror.
In his mind, rock stars had no business being married or having families. I tended to agree with him. The rock-and-roll lifestyle—the fame, the traveling, the ever-present temptation—wasn’t exactly conducive to the kind of stable environment most families needed to thrive. But I had to give them some credit. The fact that Dave and Chaz had chosen to spend time with their significant others instead of going out and partying deserved my respect.
I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut against the images now assaulting me. I would not think about what Jace and Kurt were doing. Sending them off with Ted had seemed like a good idea at the time.
I hadn’t been thinking clearly, but then, what woman would be when enclosed in an office with a man like Jace Logan? Now, because of my momentary obfuscation, they were missing. Or more likely, they’d ditched Ted, probably as a message to me. I recalled the look on Jace’s face when I’d handed him off, the one I realized now was not just displeasure, but a promise of payback as well.
They wouldn’t have done this to Ross.
I counted to ten. Took a couple of deep breaths. And still felt like cursing.
“How can you lose two grown men?” I asked irritably, rubbing between my eyes with a knuckle now. “And not just two grown men, but two of the most well-known faces in music?”
My mind ran rampant with possibilities, the implications of which were staggering. Tomorrow was still hours away, and it was already hanging over my head like a dark storm cloud.
“So, it’s like this,” Ted began, and I braced myself for another roundabout series of bullshit.
Was it too much to ask to just answer a question succinctly and honestly? Maybe if I asked him to hang up and text me, we’d get there quicker.
The microwave dinged as Ted continued his rambling monologue. I diligently lifted the plastic covering to stir like the directions demanded, giving myself a baby steam burn in the process. Re-covered the tray. Restarted the microwave. And Ted was still talking.
Eventually, Ted finally managed to convey that he’d left the men in a special VIP room at the back of the Pussycat Club, and while he was distracted, they’d disappeared.
I groaned. Jace and Kurt loose in the Pussycat Club? That was like sending a succulent feast into a room of fasting, hormonal women. Note: I refused to count myself among those desperate ladies, the day’s physical reactions notwithstanding.
After assuring Ted that they were grown men—even older than me, for God’s sake—and probably just pulling a prank, I suggested he hang out in the lobby of the hotel where the band was staying, on the assumption that they’d return eventually. I concluded the conversation by telling Ted not to call me again unless a dead body surfaced.
It probably wasn’t the best response, I knew, but I was tired and cranky and hungry and frustrated, thanks to Jace Logan and his damn pheromones and sexy confidence.
Gah. What had my life become? I used to be wild and free and rebellious and fun. Well, for about a year anyway.
Now, what was I? The voice of reason. A responsible adult. And mature. Wasn’t that the term Jace had used in the office? Calling a woman “mature” was like saying someone had “a great personality,” which was a kind way of saying they weren’t attractive or desirable.