The Reverse of Perfection (Bad Decisions Book 2) by Christi Barth Page A
Authors: Christi Barth
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the rent on a condo in Santa Monica. “I’m earning a living. Supporting myself . Taking responsibility for myself.”
“Ah. You mean instead of riding Cam’s coattails?”
“Exactly.” Because Ariel had her pride. “He offered me a job, you know, after I got fired. I said no way. Then I dropped my swanky gym membership to save money. Running along the beach is way, way harder than it looks. And free.”
“Why would you turn that down?”
“Because the world would see it as nepotism. They’d never take me seriously.”
“That’s not true. Well, sure, they’d see it as nepotism at first. Until a few months went by and you proved yourself. Doing a good job every day, making an impact for the right reasons, that’d change their minds.”
“Hmmm. I never looked at it like that.” Maybe she’d been too focused on proving her independence. Riptide used a publicist, after all. Why did it have to be PKCL? Why shouldn’t it be her? Could it really be that simple? That, like a ton of people fresh out of college, she’d been so intent on forging her own path that she’d ignored the easier, already paved one? The idea wasn’t solid enough to make her email off her resignation. But it’d definitely be something to mull over the next few weeks. As usual, talking to Dylan had lifted her spirits.
“Meanwhile, you’d answer to a far more reasonable boss—notwithstanding your brother’s epic meltdown on Monday.”
After a few hours of silence—and she presumed sulking—Cam had made the rounds. He apologized to everyone on the bus, one by one. Privately. Then again at dinner that night, a public toast and apology, calling Ariel the most tolerant sister in the world. He’d thanked Dylan for sharing his talent with Riptide. And then he’d begged him to at least keep their sexcapades to whatever bus Cam wasn’t on.
“That was the first real fight we’ve had since…well, since Cam stopped living at home and squeezing the toothpaste tube from the middle.”
“Wow. I’m amazed you still talk to the guy. Toothpaste-tube etiquette is a serious relationship deal breaker.”
“I know, right?” She stopped at the top of the ladder, looking at the narrow metal grating ahead. “What are we doing up here?”
“The last time I was in Flagstaff, 4X4 played the Skydome here at NAU. Gotta love looking around a football stadium and seeing it filled to the rafters with screaming fans. But afterward, when we were partying, one of the seniors who escorted us around told me to check out the college’s auditorium.”
“Why would you want to perform at a smaller venue?”
“Not to perform.” Dylan spread his legs, caging her in against the waist-high safety bar. “He told me it’s a tradition for the music majors to climb up to the catwalk and have sex.”
“What? Here?” Ariel looked down at the wide holes in the metal grating. Not to mention the rows of chairs at least twenty feet below. Down below…where anyone could walk in at any time. “You have to be joking. That’s why you brought me up here?”
“I never got to go to college. Missed out on toga parties. Cramming through all-nighters.”
“I’m sure you’ve pulled a few all-nighters of your own over the years.” His goody-two-shoes rep in 4X4 didn’t mean he hadn’t done stuff. Just meant he hadn’t gotten caught.
“I’m just saying I’ve always wished I could have a few typical college experiences. I would’ve majored in music, if I’d gone. I always promised myself that if I came back through Flagstaff, I’d try to make it happen.”
That stung. More than a little. “So I’m just a convenient partner. If I wasn’t here, you’d go round up another willing female in less than an hour to do it.”
He stepped back, arms up. “Where’s this coming from?”
No denial. Typical. Ariel let all the bitterness stored up from years of being casually discarded come flooding out now. Because it was worse coming from Dylan. Since
“Ah. You mean instead of riding Cam’s coattails?”
“Exactly.” Because Ariel had her pride. “He offered me a job, you know, after I got fired. I said no way. Then I dropped my swanky gym membership to save money. Running along the beach is way, way harder than it looks. And free.”
“Why would you turn that down?”
“Because the world would see it as nepotism. They’d never take me seriously.”
“That’s not true. Well, sure, they’d see it as nepotism at first. Until a few months went by and you proved yourself. Doing a good job every day, making an impact for the right reasons, that’d change their minds.”
“Hmmm. I never looked at it like that.” Maybe she’d been too focused on proving her independence. Riptide used a publicist, after all. Why did it have to be PKCL? Why shouldn’t it be her? Could it really be that simple? That, like a ton of people fresh out of college, she’d been so intent on forging her own path that she’d ignored the easier, already paved one? The idea wasn’t solid enough to make her email off her resignation. But it’d definitely be something to mull over the next few weeks. As usual, talking to Dylan had lifted her spirits.
“Meanwhile, you’d answer to a far more reasonable boss—notwithstanding your brother’s epic meltdown on Monday.”
After a few hours of silence—and she presumed sulking—Cam had made the rounds. He apologized to everyone on the bus, one by one. Privately. Then again at dinner that night, a public toast and apology, calling Ariel the most tolerant sister in the world. He’d thanked Dylan for sharing his talent with Riptide. And then he’d begged him to at least keep their sexcapades to whatever bus Cam wasn’t on.
“That was the first real fight we’ve had since…well, since Cam stopped living at home and squeezing the toothpaste tube from the middle.”
“Wow. I’m amazed you still talk to the guy. Toothpaste-tube etiquette is a serious relationship deal breaker.”
“I know, right?” She stopped at the top of the ladder, looking at the narrow metal grating ahead. “What are we doing up here?”
“The last time I was in Flagstaff, 4X4 played the Skydome here at NAU. Gotta love looking around a football stadium and seeing it filled to the rafters with screaming fans. But afterward, when we were partying, one of the seniors who escorted us around told me to check out the college’s auditorium.”
“Why would you want to perform at a smaller venue?”
“Not to perform.” Dylan spread his legs, caging her in against the waist-high safety bar. “He told me it’s a tradition for the music majors to climb up to the catwalk and have sex.”
“What? Here?” Ariel looked down at the wide holes in the metal grating. Not to mention the rows of chairs at least twenty feet below. Down below…where anyone could walk in at any time. “You have to be joking. That’s why you brought me up here?”
“I never got to go to college. Missed out on toga parties. Cramming through all-nighters.”
“I’m sure you’ve pulled a few all-nighters of your own over the years.” His goody-two-shoes rep in 4X4 didn’t mean he hadn’t done stuff. Just meant he hadn’t gotten caught.
“I’m just saying I’ve always wished I could have a few typical college experiences. I would’ve majored in music, if I’d gone. I always promised myself that if I came back through Flagstaff, I’d try to make it happen.”
That stung. More than a little. “So I’m just a convenient partner. If I wasn’t here, you’d go round up another willing female in less than an hour to do it.”
He stepped back, arms up. “Where’s this coming from?”
No denial. Typical. Ariel let all the bitterness stored up from years of being casually discarded come flooding out now. Because it was worse coming from Dylan. Since
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