Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 435(@200wpm)___ 348(@250wpm)___ 290(@300wpm)
“Dr. Anderson told him Professor West used to be in a band. Had a contract with a major music label, too.” She pulled out her phone and began to swipe. Landing on what she was looking for, she pushed some keys and turned the phone to face me. “Meet Able Arsen.”
The video was grainy, and the sound quality was horrible—probably shot on a first-generation flip phone. All I could make out was four guys playing onstage at a distance.
“Keep watching,” Ava said.
Eventually, toward the end of the video, the person recording zoomed in on the drummer, who was also singing. His head was down as he banged away on the drums, bobbing along to the beat. There was something so sexy about the assertive way he gripped the sticks and the way his muscles flexed with each wail of the drum pad—what stamina must be required to move like that for hours on end.
The little flutter in my belly confirmed it, even before the musician looked up. But when that face met the camera, my breath caught.
Professor West had been just as gorgeous as a teenager as he was now. Only back then, he’d had that whole bad-boy-musician thing going on. Now, if I didn’t know him and had to guess, I would have taken him for a jazz musician or maybe even classical of some kind. Somehow, sexy bad boy had grown into a sexy maturity.
When the song ended, Caine lifted his head and gave the crowd a crooked smile. His shoulder-length hair was wet from the workout, and he tossed a stick in the air, catching it with the other. Then he used his free hand to reach back over his head and tug off his sweaty shirt. The girls went crazy at his eight-pack abs. Rock star, Beatles-type crazy.
Wow.
That smile.
That body.
Just wow.
There were apparently many layers of Caine West, and I’d barely scratched the surface.
By the time I got home that night, it was after two in the morning. My feet were killing me, and all I wanted to do was soak in a tub and get some sleep. For a change, I didn’t have to be at school or work until the afternoon. The tub was warm, and I let the water from the faucet sluice over my feet as I settled back to relax.
Although my brain had ideas other than relaxing. The minute I shut my eyes, a vision of a young Caine West up on stage infiltrated my thoughts. I’d forwarded myself the videos and watched them more times than I cared to admit between serving drinks tonight.
Giving in, I reached up for my phone and allowed myself one more replay. Finally in private instead of being caught by a smirking Ava as I tried to discreetly look down at my phone, I searched the grainy face for Caine’s mannerisms. There were a few I recognized—the way his lip twitched and he shook his head when women started to scream his name while he played his solo. The way he walked around the stage like he owned it. Today his arena was a classroom, but the confidence he strutted with was the same. Yet it was his arms that really nailed it home. Each time he banged on the drum, the vein that ran from his bicep to his forearm bulged. I’d never thought a vein could be so sexy.
After I finished watching, the tub was nearing full so I used my toes to turn off the water. I knew I wouldn’t be able to relax enough to fall asleep tonight if I didn’t satisfy my curiosity, so I Googled Caine’s old stage name.
Able Arsen.
I was shocked when thousands of hits came back. Scrolling through like a fiend, I found picture after picture of Caine. He wasn’t the front man for the band, but apparently the media adored him—and who could blame them? I noticed the same girl in quite a few photos. She had long, dark hair and was thin—almost too thin. The hollow of her cheeks made her beautiful, high cheekbones jut out just a little too much. In most of the photos, she wore sunglasses and seemed to shun the attention of the camera. There were various pictures of her with the band, some with Caine’s arm around her in an almost protective way. She was definitely younger than him—seventeen or eighteen, at best—and I couldn’t quite tell if she was his girlfriend or perhaps a little sister.
When I sorted the photos and articles into date order, with the oldest ones first, I realized the pictures seemed to have stopped abruptly nine years ago. Three or four pages down in the search results, there was an article about the death of the lead singer, Liam Marshal. Able Arsen had disappeared after that.