Bad Liar (The Reed Rivers Trilogy 1)

Out of nowhere, Reed clears his throat and abruptly strides across the room. “You want a beer, party animal?”

I plop onto the couch, my heart racing. “Sure. Thanks.”

Reed’s gorgeous body is poetry in motion as he glides across the room. His ass divine. He grabs two bottles from a mini-fridge, pops their caps, crosses the room again, and hands a cold bottle to me. To my surprise, he sits next to me on the couch this time, foregoing his armchair. And, as he settles into his seat, I can’t help noticing his boner is gone.

Reed takes a long swig of his beer. “Just a heads up about the party,” he says. “Red Card Riot won’t be there. They’ll still be on tour. But that’s for the best, because I want to introduce you to 22 Goats, and they won’t come if RCR is invited.”

I tilt my head. “The 22 Goats guys don’t like the RCR guys?”

“Wow. You don’t follow celebrity gossip at all, do you?”

I shake my head.

“C-Bomb and Dax had a pretty big falling out. The other guys don’t give a shit about any of it, but nobody in either band is willing to cross the picket line. They’ve gotta support their guy. It’s how it works in a band.”

I open my mouth to say, “I bet my stepsister, Alessandra, would know all about the beef between C-Bomb and Dax. She follows celebrity gossip religiously, especially when it comes to musicians.” But, instantly, I shut my mouth, realizing I now need to add “item one-and-a-half” to my list of demands. Crap! I can’t attend Reed’s rock-star-studded party without bringing Alessandra as my plus-one. And not even as a ploy to get her signed to River Records. No, that’s what my second item will address. But because Alessandra, the girl who attends a renowned music school and is obsessed with music and musicians, and always has been, deserves more than anyone I know—and far more than me—to party like a rock star with Reed’s roster of world-renowned rock stars. “Hey, uh, before we leave item one for good... ” I begin.

“Oh, for the love of fuck!” Reed blurts, throwing up his hand. “What now, Georgie?”

I press my palms together in prayer. “Can I please bring someone to the party, as my plus-one? I mean, not as a date or anything. Someone—”

“Your stepsister?”

I nod sheepishly. “Not as a ploy to get her signed. She could stand in a corner and people-watch the entire night and never talk to you or anyone, and it would still be the best night of her life.”

Reed swigs his beer, rolling his eyes. “She’s a student at Berklee in Boston, you said?”

I nod effusively. “She just finished her second year last week. She’s in LA for my graduation. Please, please, don’t make that poor girl sit at her mother’s house watching Netflix on a Saturday night while I’m at your house, partying like a rock star with 22 Goats.”

Reed pauses. And then shocks me by saying, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“She can come.”

Without meaning to do it, I leap onto his lap and straddle him. “Thank you!” I throw my arms around his neck and kiss his cheek. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!”

Instantly, Reed’s erection hardens deliciously underneath me. “On one condition,” he adds.

I freeze on top of him, panting... and wait.

“Neither of you will try, even once, to get me to listen to her music that night.”

“I promise.”

“I’ll be off the clock, Georgie.”

I nod enthusiastically. “I promise I’ll control myself. And, don’t worry, Alessandra would never try to sell herself to you, anyway. Not that night, or ever. She’s painfully shy and the worst at tooting her own horn. Plus, I’m sure she’ll be too star-struck that night to say two words to anyone but me.”

Reed tilts his head back and exhales, annoyed with me. “Georgina, come on!”

“What?”

He lifts his head, still keeping his arms firmly planted at his sides. “Why would you tell me that about her? Think, sweetheart.” He puts a palm on my cheek. “Use that amazing bean of yours, baby. At some point, you are going to try to sell me on her music, right? In fact, I’m guessing that’s your item number two. And do you really think telling me she’s ‘painfully shy’ is a good selling point for an artist you’re trying to sell to me?”

My stomach drops. “Fuck.” I slide off him and slink back to the armchair and curl my legs underneath me.

“Well, shit. I didn’t mean to make you run away,” he mutters.

“She comes alive onstage, Reed. She’s only painfully shy whenever she doesn’t have a guitar in her hands.” I bite my lip. My nipples are rock hard and my clit throbbing from our unexpected contact a moment ago, and I’m finding it hard to think straight. “Actually, yeah, can we just move on to item number two now?”