Riptide, p.1
Riptide, page 1
Riptide
MP COOK
Copyright © 2021 MP Cook
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form without the prior written permission of the author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages for review purposes only.
For information, please send an email to mp@mpcook.net. Emails without subject lines will not be read.
www.mpcook.net
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and story lines are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, and is not intended by the author.
In loving memory of Kyle ̶
I wish you were here to read this.
Thank you.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Author's note
Riptide
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Playlist
Acknowledgements
Books By This Author
Author's note
Ronnie and Taylor’s story was inspired by several people that I, or people very close to me, knew personally. These people were taken before their time by the mindless actions of a drunken driver. The most prominent of these people was my friend Kyle Lee Canter. On February 13, 2016, he was in a parked vehicle with three of his friends, two of which were his bandmates. A drunk driver hit their vehicle, killing all four inside. Kyle was a talented guitar player for the band Counterflux. When we were younger, Kyle and I spent hours on the phone together, most of which consisted of him playing guitar for me. I have no doubt that Kyle would have “made it big”, had he not been taken from this world too early.
I urge everyone who reads this book to please be aware of the potential consequences that your actions have on others. Drinking and driving is extremely irresponsible and should not be condoned at all. If you’re out drinking, please be sure to have a Designated Driver, or call someone to pick you up. Call an Uber if need be. Or walk. Or plan on staying where you’re drinking. Or, if you know you don’t have a sober driver, DON’T DRINK. If you know someone who is about to drive while intoxicated, try talking them into staying, or at least help them find a ride. There are so many alternatives to driving while impaired. Remember, it only takes one time to completely change someone’s life.
On a lighter note, thank you so much for reading my first (published) book. I am so excited to be sharing it with you and hope to share many more!
-Mckayl
Riptide: rip•tide /’riptīd/ noun:
A strong current caused by tidal flow in confined areas such as inlets and presenting a hazard to swimmers and boaters.
Riptide
Vocals: Nick Henderson
Lead Guitar: Taylor Lee
Bass Guitar: Jimmy Gardner
Drums: Paul Branson
Chapter One
Ronnie
"Hey, I'm Taylor."
I snort at this guy's attempt to pick me up.
"Cool story, bro."
I glance over at the man who has taken up occupancy of the empty space next to my stool at the bar. I came to The Basement to listen to the new band Riptide play, and from the looks of it, this is the lead guitarist. His shaggy white blonde hair is plastered to his head and face with sweat and his cool blue eyes look like they've been electrified by the adrenaline of playing a live show. His full lips are tilted up in a smirk as he looks down at me, and the scruff on his face is a couple shades darker than his hair.
He looked huge on stage, but then again they always do. However, seeing him elevated from 20 feet away did nothing to prepare me for the shock of how big he is up close. This guy's shoulders are massive and his biceps are bulging out from underneath his plain black T. Vibrant tattoos envelope both his arms, both full sleeves from what I can tell.
My gaze lingers on a naked pinup girl straddling a guitar that covers his right forearm. Figures the dude would have a naked girl tattoo. I keep trailing his body, his dark washed jeans show off his muscled thighs. Clearly he doesn't skip leg day. Complete the ensemble with black leather combat boots and he looks like every bad decision I've ever made. My gaze makes its way back up to his still-smirking face, but it's a long trip, he's gotta be well over six foot. I feel my cheeks heat and grow red.
"Can I help you?" I bite out, emphasizing by narrowing my eyes.
Mister Tall, Dark(ly dressed), and Handsome's smirk grows into a full-on grin.
"You always so welcoming?"
This fucking guy.
I roll my eyes.
"Oh, baby, you have no idea," I coo.
Still grinning. And he can do that cool one-eyebrow-raise thing. Great.
"Look, man. Let's cut to the chase. Your name? I couldn't give two fucks about. I'm not a groupie, and I don't fuck wannabe rockstars —" Anymore. "I'm sure there are plenty of other girls here who would love to drop to their knees for you, but I am not one of them. So, do us both a favor, stop wasting our time, and fuck off."
The grin is now blinding.
And is he? —This motherfucker is laughing at me!
His deep, full-bellied laugh sends shivers up my arms. Too bad I gave up bad boys for New Years' this year.
No more guys who wear all black, paint their nails, wear makeup of any kind, no skinny jeans, no combat boots, no leather jackets, and ABSOLUTELY none! That play a musical instrument of any sort. (Singers also included).
"So, you think I'm a rockstar, huh?"
He leans in so that his rock hard body is pressed into mine. I can feel his tendons and muscles rippling as he leans down to whisper in my ear, "Oh, darling, I think I just fell in love."
His lips brush against the shell of my ear and I snap out of my daze and shove him away from me. Hard. To my dismay, he doesn't even move an inch.
I hear muffled giggling behind me and I try to use every inch of power within me to will my sister to keep her fat mouth shut. Unfortunately, my intimidation and glares only work when I am facing my victim and if I turn to glare at her, then I'd be giving Lover Boy here my back, and that seems like the more dangerous of my two options at this moment.
"Shut the fuck up, Bett," I grumble, praying to any god or goddess listening that my sister will listen and mind her own fucking business.
For once.
Why I let her drag me out to the club in the first place is beyond me at this point, other than my darling twin sister could persuade the Devil himself to surrender Hell to her. (And Riptide was on the lineup, of course Bett knew I have been wanting to see them.) One flip of her long, golden hair and a bat of her baby blues and any man is a goner. Majority of the women, too. Our features are almost identical; however, where she is all golden rays of sunshine with ocean eyes, I'm as dark as the night. Black hair, dark brown eyes.
Even our personalities are polar opposites. Bett is a bubbly, giggling, extrovert. And me? I just want to be left alone, play my video games, run my graphic design business from home, and listen to music. Hence, my epic fails of boyfriend choices. Aspiring musicians who love to smoke pot and play video games all day were kind of my Achilles heel. Until last week. The last guy, Mitch, had officially been evicted from my bed and my life after two years of mooching and me footing the bill for his lifestyle choices while he waited for his band to make it big.
Newsflash bud, you still have to work.
Sure, he and his band had decent enough talent, but when they never practiced and chose to play covers instead of writing their own shit? Yeah, having no work ethic whatsoever doesn't get you a record deal. And so, here we are: I am talking to possibly the most gorgeous man I have personally laid eyes on, not to mention that his solos soaked my panties, and I am turning his beautiful, smug ass down.
The only guy that's going to be in my bed tonight is my battery operated boyfriend (a.k.a. B.O.B.), who always knows where to find my clit and G-Spot, and is a sure thing in the O department, if you know what I mean.
Oh, and my cat, Axl, but the only funny business he pulls is licking my nose at four a.m..
Asshole.
Taylor looks behind me and then his gaze bounces between us a couple times and I brace myself.
“Sisters?" He asks, another smirk turning up the corner of his mouth.
And here we go…
Before I can answer, Bette's annoyingly pleased voice pipes up, "Twins, actually."
I see Taylor's eyes darken as they drop back down to my face.
"Cool your jets, Rockstar, there's no two-for-one specials in this family."
"That's alright, I'm not into blondes."
"Ha! You seem too full of yourself for that to be true."
Smirky McSmirks-A Lot is, you guessed it, smirking down at me.
I really don't think I'm that fucking funny. Especially when I'm trying to knock this guy's ego down a few notches. Or ten .
"So, Viper, you got an actual name I can call you? Or should I just stick with deadly animals?"
I want to smile so bad, because this guy is actually getting me, but alas. If even I let myself down, how can I expect anyone else not to? I settle for a sigh instead and press my lips firmly together.
"Ronnie! Her name is Ronnie!"
Aaand, I'm going to fucking kill her.
"Damn it, Bett! Why can't you ever keep your mouth shut?"
I finally whip around to glare at her, but I can tell by her glassy eyes that she is shitfaced and I am the one who let her reach this level. I know better than to leave her alone at the bar while I go listen to the bands play.
Who knows how many guys bought her a drink in the last hour, or offered her something harder. I suppose I should be surprised that she is even still in the same spot I left her and not off in a corner working on starring in an amateur porn video. Her full pink lips that are usually in a pout spread into a wide smile and I offer her a small smile in return.
I place my hand over hers on the bar and give it a gentle squeeze. Try as I may, I can never stay mad at Bett for longer than a couple minutes.
"Ronnie, huh?"
I turn back to face Lover Boy Rockstar.
"Ugh. You're still here? Fuck, I'm surprised no groupie has spotted you yet and pounced."
He pulls out the barstool next to mine and finally sits down.
"Are you a sociopath? That's the one that can't fake social cues, or read them, or something, right? Is that what your deal is?"
Another chuckle from him.
"Shit, I'm thinking I might be, because I can't imagine a sane person actually choosing to sit here while you rip them a new one over getting laid by some hot slut backstage."
"Wow, asshole. It's okay for you to get laid, but a girl is a slut if she's willing?"
I glance around the bartop for any cutlery. I just might stab this ass hat.
"No. It's not like that. I shouldn't have called her a slut, you're right. If a woman wants to take three dicks at once, that's her prerogative. I just don't care to be one of them. I don't share."
My mouth drops open as I realize what he's insinuating about his other band members. Gosh, all of them look like they spend hours in the gym every day and are hot as fuck. I can't even imagine sleeping with one of them, let alone three.
Lucky girl.
Not that I would want to be in her place, I'm not quite sure I have the body confidence to be so exposed to three guys at once. I would always catch Mitch watching porn, and those girls? Their tits were bigger than my head. Mine don't even compare at that point. And I'm definitely no size 0, haven't been since 7th grade. Huge tits and a tiny waist? Move along boys, nothing to see here.
I catch a shaky exhale from Taylor's full lips and glance up to his face. His eyes are dark again and they're focused on my lips. I realize that I've been biting my bottom lip, hard enough that I can taste the coppery tang of my blood.
His eyes jerk back up to mine.
"Is that the kind of thing you're into?"
His voice is low and husky. I could curl up in his voice and just fall asleep. I feel myself start to lean into him, and I'm not quite sure I want to stop. Taylor has my knees between his and his large hands are gently resting on them. Just as he starts rubbing slow circles with his thumbs, he leans in closer, bringing our lips less than an inch apart.
My chest starts rising rapidly and I can feel my heart start to race.
Are my palms seriously getting sweaty right now? Over this guy?
Right before Lover Boy Rockstar can close the distance, my sister’s hand grabs my upper arm, “Ronnie, I think I’m gonna be sick.”
I jump back and quickly turn to Bett. Her face is ashen and sweaty, and I’m sure I have about a minute flat to get her to the bathroom before she barfs all over the place. I gather my purse and jacket.
“Better luck with the next girl, Lover Boy.”
Taylor is trying to help support Bett, but I’ve been taking care of my sister our entire lives, I’ve got this.
“Back off, Rockstar. I’ve got her. We’re good.”
I glance up at his face and can see that he’s torn between helping and doing what I asked of him. I turn to rush Bett towards the restrooms but I’m jerked to a stop as Taylor’s hand wraps around my arm and pulls me back to him.
“Please, come back after you’ve taken care of her.”
His eyes bounce between mine, searching for something he’s not going to find in me. Submission.
Oh, if only we had met two weeks ago, before I had decided to give up the bad boys and the musicians for good.
“I need to get her home. Sorry, Rockstar.”
His smile is pained as he nods at me. My heart drops as I turn my back on him and walk away from him as fast as possible. Maybe he isn’t as shitty of a guy as I thought. But chances are, he’s just like all the rest, and it’s better off this way.
Chapter Two
Taylor
“Dude! Where the fuck were you last night? You missed out on Olivia! She took all three of us at the same time, man! She kept asking where you were, you could have joined in too!” Jimmy shouts as I walk into our kitchen.
I chuckle.
“Yeah, just what I’ve always wanted, to jerk my dick in front of you three assholes waiting on a turn inside one chick. I have no idea why you guys don’t just each fuck a girl on your own.”
Something about watching my friends banging one chick all at once doesn’t get my dick hard. Maybe it’s just me? Who the fuck knows?
“I don’t know man, it’s just so… primal. The girl is a champ. Shit, she let me and Paul—”
“For the love of God, Jimmy! Please do not finish that sentence.”
Jimmy chortles and turns back to the stove where he seems to be cooking something edible.
I hope.
My stomach grumbles in agreement. I grab myself a glass of water, chug it, then fill it up again and start in on the second glass.
“Dude, you kill me with your straight-edge ass self,” Jimmy chides.
I just shake my head as I flip him the bird and go sit at the table in the eat-in kitchen. I share a three bedroom townhouse with my bandmates. Since I paid the deposits, I get the whole basement to myself, while the guys have the upstairs bedrooms. Works for me, I have the whole floor mostly to myself and a private bathroom. The guys’ bathroom upstairs is fucking filthy. Our first floor living room has all our instruments and amps strewn about. Posters of half-naked girls, and some mostly naked girls litter the walls. The one above the table I’m sitting at has 4 naked, soap-covered girls in a shower together. We got lucky that the bitches next door are fans of our music, and we have an end unit, so we don’t get the cops called on us too often while we’re practicing.
“Where’s Paul and Nick?”
Jimmy flips something onto two plates and brings them over to the table. “I’m pretty sure Nick is next door, and Paul is still upstairs.”
Fucking figures.
Nick has been banging Jessica quite regularly lately.
“You think Nick and Jess are getting serious?”
“Naw, man. She’s just a sure thing. He was with Olivia last night too.”
I struggle not to gag on the eggs in my mouth.
“Speaking of last night, you never said. Where were you?”
Getting my ass handed to me by a raven haired goddess.
I smirk.
“I came home after the show.”
Jimmy just shakes his head, disappointed in my lack of rockstar antics. I choke down the last of Jimmy’s cooking and head downstairs to take a shower. My walls are bare except for the black paint. The washer and dryer are to one side of the stairs, but otherwise the whole basement is mine. I hung up black curtains to block my room off from the stairs and laundry area. The grey wooden floors were a nice update I added after we started getting real income from our local gigs.
We started playing bigger shows two years ago. I’ve been playing guitar since I was eight years old. Learned around 15 that chicks dig guys who play instruments, and started my first band shortly after. This is the third band I’ve been a part of, and I really think we’ve got the right chemistry to make this shit happen this time. Jimmy Gardner is our bass guitarist, Paul Branson is our drummer, and Nick Henderson rounds us out on vocals. Bastard has the golden ticket when it comes to pipes.
