Playing Dirty (Stargazer #2)(50)
Author: Jennifer Echols

Sarah wondered at the wisdom of putting the dumbass in charge of the money.

“Martin has the final say on the music,” Erin went on. “And I—”

Erin didn’t verbalize it, but Sarah was thinking it, and she figured Erin was, too. Every village needed a whore.

Erin brushed her blond hair out of her face against the wind. “I agree that we’re dysfunctional. But we’re functional, too, in our way. It’s taken an enormous effort for us to record two albums and go on two world tours in two years. We’ve done mostly what we didn’t want to do, when we didn’t want to do it. We’ve been unnatural.”

Erin was trying to tell her something. Sarah glanced up at Quentin behind the wheel of the boat. He might have been watching them, but she couldn’t see his eyes behind his sunglasses. He wore his poker face.

“I’m glad you convinced Q to drive,” Erin said. “It’s not that. It’s everything. We’ve built our relationship as a band over five years, and you want to unravel it in a week.”

Sarah had no idea what Erin was trying to convey to her. She said, “It would help me avoid stepping on toes if all of you would be honest with me and tell me what’s going on, so I don’t have to figure it out piecemeal.”

“We can’t do that,” Erin said stubbornly. “I mean, we all like you, Sarah. I know Q really likes you. But you were sent here by the record company. We had a hard time getting a contract with them, and then we had a tough negotiation between the first and second albums. We don’t trust them as far as we could throw them, and that extends to you. I’d like us to be friends, but that’s how it is. Truce?”

Sarah took the hand Erin offered and shook it. “Truce,” she agreed, feeling relieved that she and Erin had made peace. At least for now.

As the boat slowed, they both sat up on the bow seat. Ahead, a high rock formation covered in colorful graffiti broke the expanse of dark green forest lining the lake. Gathered at the base of the rock were perhaps a hundred pontoon boats and ski boats, with a few sailboats thrown in for good measure. Some were tied together in flotillas. Others wove in and around, drifting away on the current and maneuvering back to see the display. Every few minutes, someone jumped from the highest point of the rock formation amid applause and whistles.

Quentin cut the engine and let the boat drift silently into the mass. A splash signaled that Owen was overboard. They watched his broad back as he swam toward the shore.

Erin asked, “Q, how tight did you tie those knots in his scalp?”

“Not tight enough that his brain should stop working,” Quentin said. “He’s not jumping off Chimney Rock because of that. He’s jumping off Chimney Rock for the same reason he always does. He’s a dumbass.”

Erin said, “I was more concerned that the stitches might come out when he hits the water.”

“Good point,” Quentin said without concern.

Despite the truce, Sarah felt uncomfortable sitting next to Erin. And she missed Quentin. She walked out of the bow and stood next to him at the steering wheel, watching Owen swim toward shore. She asked Quentin, “Did you ever jump off?”

He looked at her over his sunglasses and smiled. His eyes were light green. “When I was a teenager.”

“But you don’t anymore? Did you have a bad experience?”

“Nothing like that.” He wrapped his arm around her waist. “By now, I’ve been near death enough times that I don’t jump off cliffs.”

They watched Owen climb onto the base of the rock formation. He disappeared into the woods. A few minutes later, he reappeared on top of the rocks. A murmur ran through the crowd: “Owen McDonough, Cheatin’ Hearts.” People around them glanced toward their boat and toasted Quentin with their beer cans. A group of boys in a dilapidated boat emblazoned with Greek fraternity letters chanted, “O-wen! O-wen!” Even silent Martin, zonked on heroin or pouting about Rachel or both, sat up in his seat to watch.

Owen held up one arm like a gymnast ready for competition, then leaped into the air. He howled all the way down and landed with an enormous splash. The howl and the splash echoed against the rocks.

Quentin let Sarah go and leaned over the side of the boat, watching the water. Owen didn’t surface. Quentin swore and pulled off his shirt, preparing to jump in. Just in time, Owen appeared, gulping air, and stroked toward the boat. The crowd cheered again.

“Come on.” Sarah reached behind her neck to unclasp the emerald necklace. She passed it to Erin without looking at her, not wanting to rub it in right now. She had other things on her mind.

“What?” Quentin eyed her warily.

“I’m going to jump, and I want you to jump with me.”

“No,” Quentin said.

“Owen went off,” Sarah taunted him.

“Have we told you that Owen’s a dumbass?”

“I believe someone did mention that,” Sarah said. “But it’s my birthday.”

Quentin ran his hands back through his hair and then said, “Okay.”

“It looks like love to me,” Erin sang from the bow.

“It looks like a compression fracture to me,” Quentin said. With a grimace, he jumped into the lake with Sarah.

They swam through the water, cool at this depth, and passed Owen swimming back. Owen stopped and treaded water, watching them in surprise. “My God,” he said to Sarah, “Q would follow you anywhere.”

Sarah laughed as she and Quentin swam the rest of the way to the shore and hauled themselves up onto the rocks. Barefoot, they picked their way up the steep path through the woods. They passed a group of giggling girls and a group of men shoving each other on their way down, jumper wannabes who had chickened out.

Quentin said over his shoulder, “If I jump, you’re going to owe me.”

“I don’t owe you anything after those peppers,” she shot back.

They emerged from the trees and walked across the warm, flat rock to the edge. “I mean it,” he said. “If I do this, you owe me, and I’m going to come get it tonight.”

“Do you promise?” She curved her hands around his back and looked up at him. She’d never seen him so handsome. His green eyes laughed, and his muscular, tanned chest was naked to the setting sun.

He kissed her deeply, his tongue gently exploring her mouth. Far below him, the fraternity boys chanted, “Quen-tin! Quen-tin!” Thirty was not so bad, Sarah thought, pressing her palms to his hard biceps and feeling his hands slide down to her bare waist. Even if this was lust with Quentin and could never be love, she sure was enjoying it. If it weren’t for the threat of Nine Lives coming for her, thirty would be okay after all.