Replay (Off Track Records Book 4)

by Kacey Shea

  Our hormones were at an all-time high and we’d been flirting for months. It was a natural progression, I suppose. He was my best friend. I found him attractive in spite of his awkwardness, and when we got to talking about sex, or more like our shared inexperience, I asked if he’d take my virginity. Heavy petting and kissing commenced, followed by him suiting up in a condom only to ejaculate less than a minute after he rolled it on.

  “Yeah, that’s my only regret.” Austin chuckles and scrubs a hand over his face. “And you avoided me for like two weeks afterward.”

  “I didn’t know how to not make it weird.” My defense brings another soft laugh.

  “I apologize for being the worst sexual experience in your life.”

  Not worst. I almost tell him, but then it would ruin this light comradery we’ve rediscovered. Instead, I reach for the nearest truth, my face a mask of easygoing normalcy. “It was certainly the quickest.”

  “God.” He glances up and his chest shakes with the laughter he can’t hold back. When his gaze lands on mine he looks so much like the boy I left behind. “I really screwed up. Blew my chance with you. Literally and figuratively.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I glance back down at my laptop and check for a response from my last email. My neck aches. My back too, but I might as well power through a few more minutes of work.

  “Anyway, check this out.” Austin slides his cell across the table. His finger glides alongside mine as he transfers the device over. He smiles proudly. “I think it’s the best one yet.”

  I can’t help but smile and press play. In another life, I think Austin could’ve been a filmmaker. He has a talent for knowing just how to string clips together. It’s funny, smart, and the smile at my lips grows knowing how many people it will reach.

  “You like it?” he says as I push his phone back into his hands.

  “It’s really good.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” His lips curve up knowingly. Practice. The way the words drip from his mouth make them sound sensual. He’s had plenty of practice since we were kids. Hell, he gave me his list. And while his sexual promiscuity is a turn off, the knowledge of his practiced skills in the bedroom shoots a thrill down my spine. I press my legs together and my arms cover in gooseflesh at the thought of practice with Austin.

  His gaze catches mine before landing on my arms. He notices my body’s reaction, and that only turns me on more. I don’t want him to know. I don’t trust he won’t take advantage, and I need the upper hand. Always. It’s how I maintain control. I won’t show him my weakness. I can’t.

  I play it off as exhaustion and sore muscles, stretching my head to the right, and then to the left. It’s not a lie. My entire body aches. I consider myself in shape; for the most part I live a healthy lifestyle. But the number of hours I’ve spent on my feet standing or walking through venues only to sleep in a less than comfortable bus has my muscles strained in a way I’m not accustomed to.

  That, along with the pressure that comes with each and every tour stop. We’ve had no threats, no breaches in security, and everyone is safe. So far. I can’t help but question whether it’s a result of luck more than planning. If someone is dead set on hurting these guys or causing terror at a show, they will attempt to abolish the safety measures I set in place. It’s a probable situation and one that weighs heavy on my mind, especially these late nights while we roll along miles of empty freeway and my thoughts have the freedom to wander.

  “Neck hurt?”

  “A little.” I reach back to work the tightness from my muscles.

  “Here, let me.” He’s up from his seat and behind me before I open my mouth to argue. His thumbs knead my skin, firm and with solid pressure. “You’re tense.”

  I resist the urge to moan, because holy hell, his hands are amazing.

  “It’s this job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for coercing you into accepting.”

  “Yeah, well it’s on your conscience when I’m subjected to a lifetime of acupuncture, chiropractic care, and prescription drugs for these stress headaches and back pain.”

  “Shit.” His voice is low and throaty through his chuckle. “I don’t want that. I’d have to get my own medical marijuana to deal with the pain of ruining your gorgeous body.”

  “You already have weed.”

  “I do?” His hands still a moment, then resume with the escape of another laugh. “Busted.”

  “Good thing I’m no longer a cop.” I tip my chin up, letting my head fall back against his stomach. I catch his grin and let my own lips curve up playfully. Or at least, it starts that way. Under the heat of his stare and with his hands still moving across my shoulders in deep, sure circles, my body tenses for an entirely different reason.

  His touch feels intimate.

  The way he’s studying me from beneath those dark lashes is intense. He doesn’t look away, and I couldn’t if I tried. “Honestly, Jay, what can I do? You shouldn’t carry all this stress.”

  “I—” want you to touch me. The words catch in my throat and hammer in my chest. My pulse gallops and I press my legs together as the need between them—the need for him—obliterates any rational thought.

  I almost say those words aloud.

  By the heat in his stare, I wonder if he feels it too.

  “Jay,” he whispers. My name on his lips is full of the same tortured longing I feel down to my core. We barely scratched the surface of this sexual tension when we were teens, both too young and too naïve to fully understand the power of it.

  Now. Right here. I swear those same feelings have multiplied and grown. It’s overwhelming. Terrifying as hell. And yet . . . I can’t help but arch my back even more. I delight in the way his gaze drops to the neckline of my shirt.

  His eyes zero in on my chest and his touch becomes feather light as his stare takes in the hard peaks of my nipples straining against the soft cotton fabric. I want him to touch me there. To haul me off this chair and into his arms. I need to taste his lips as they press against mine. Crave it.

  “I have an idea,” he whispers so softly that if I weren’t watching his lips I would have missed the words.

  “Yeah?”

  His hands brush along my arms, down to my elbows and then back up, his fingers so close but not touching the swell of my breasts. “It’s selfless on my part, because you know how giving I am.” He’s teasing. Joking. But it doesn’t kill the chemistry that swirls between us. If anything, it only adds charge to an already building momentum.

  His hands feel good, but they’re not enough.

  “Your idea?” My gaze waits for his.

  “I want you, Jayla.”

  “Oh.” Heat pools in my belly. My skin feels flush. And my body, my body wants this and everything he wants to give.

  His hands slide up the length of my neck, then still as they cup my face. “I’ll make you feel better. I swear.” He tilts my chin up and my back arches in response. His body leans down over mine, slowly closing the space between our mouths.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmur, completely fascinated by the heat in his stare, and the way his tongue swipes across his lips.

  “Let me kiss you at least?” He lowers his mouth, his intent as clear as his words. “I’ve been dying to taste those lips. To see if they’re still the same.”

  “Um . . .” I should feel caged in. Between the chair and the table, his hands near my throat and his body behind mine, I expect my anxiety to ruin this moment. Only it never comes. Instead, desire and attraction so powerful flood my veins. I almost reach up and grab for him.

  “One kiss?” He bends, closing the remaining space until there isn’t more than shared breath between us. All I need to do is close the space, to nod my consent, and his lips will crash on mine.

  Thrilling. Terrifying. I can’t settle on which emotion rules.

  But I don’t have to. A melody bursts from his phone. An
interruption, and instead of pressing my lips to his, I chicken out, dropping my gaze to the phone.

  What I see on his screen kills any ounce of desire.

  He reaches out to swipe the phone from my gaze, but it’s too late. I already saw. I don’t even attempt to mutter an excuse, and he doesn’t stop me as I push out of my chair, stalk down the hall, and lock myself in the bathroom.

  You should know better, I chastise my reflection in the small mirror. I’m not anyone special to him. I’m just convenient. All the time we’ve spent together—the videos, the conversations—it’s all blinded me to the truth.

  Once a player, always a player. Shame on me for imagining otherwise.

  19

  Austin

  My fucking phone. Worst cock block ever. The second Jayla’s eyes drop to my screen I know I’m screwed. Why the hell did I think it’d be a good idea to program, “Fuck Me Heels Lawyer” as the contact? Fuck me is right.

  Jayla races to the bathroom and I reluctantly swipe across the screen, holding the cell to my ear. “Hey.”

  “Is this a good time?” Rachel Kinsley says in her all-business tone. “I know it’s late with the time difference, but I just got to my computer.”

  “It’s fine.” It’s not at all. I’d like to tell her off for sending Jayla running, but it’s my fault for the misinterpretation. Truth is, a few weeks ago I would have jumped at the thought of a booty call from Rachel Kinsley, but now it does nothing for me. She’s not the one I want. “Everything okay?”

  “Not really.” She clears her throat, and I can’t tell whether her pause is for dramatic effect or she’s just distracted. “Sorry, okay, so the preliminary hearing is set for next week. You don’t need to be present, and I’ll request the judge dismiss the claims. However, I’m going to be honest with you. There’s a good chance it’ll go to trial.”

  Coy. The mere thought of him causes my jaw to grate. “But there’s a chance it won’t?”

  “We’ve been assigned to Judge Hallstorm, so I’d say that chance is slim to non-existent.” The wariness in Rachel’s voice isn’t something I associate with her, and for that alone the seed of worry in my gut begins to grow.

  “Should I know who that is?”

  “No, I hope not.” She sighs. “I went to law school with him and let’s just say, he won’t make this easy.”

  “Damn.” I rub my temples, wishing this mess would all disappear. Coy caused enough damage for one lifetime. He has real balls to come back for more. “I wish this could just be over.”

  “Funny, I was hoping you’d say that.” There’s a smile in Rachel’s voice.

  “Why’s that exactly?”

  “Because there’s another option. We can still settle.”

  I bristle at the suggestion. “Pay him off? Fuck no.”

  “It’ll end up costing the same. And we’d require an NDA to his acceptance of any settlement monies. This would keep you and the band out of the press.”

  My jaw tightens with the influx of stress.

  “Austin. My advice, which you pay for, is that you let me do my job and work a deal with this lowlife. We have enough to win, but his lawyers are gonna spin the circumstances and quite frankly, you aren’t completely innocent. You did hurt him. He can’t play anymore. That doesn’t win you sympathy votes. They’re gonna go for the jugular. They’ll drag out any skeletons in your closet. Your bandmates’ and Jess’s, too.”

  I don’t want to give him a penny, but I’m not the only person this affects. The band, sure, but there are others. I should talk to Jess. She deserves a say in this. “Can I think about it? When do you need a decision?”

  “We scheduled the hearing for next Thursday, so the sooner the better. If you don’t give me a few days to negotiate, I can’t guarantee they’ll settle.”

  “I’ll let you know by Monday.”

  “If I don’t hear from you, expect another call.” Rachel is no-nonsense, one of the things I’ve always loved about her. That and pushing her buttons.

  “So, what else did you call to chat about?” I try half-heartedly with a need to lighten the mood. Usually when I razz our lawyer, it’s because it gets my dick hard. Movement from the corner of my vision steals my attention. Jayla climbs into her sleep bunk without a single glance in my direction.

  “Did you get into more trouble?” Rachel’s irritated reply does nothing for me.

  Tonight, my cock is otherwise occupied. Hell, for the last two weeks it hasn’t wanted anyone other than Jayla Miller. “No.” Jesus. “It was a joke.”

  “With you, I can never tell. We’ll talk Monday. Goodbye, Austin.”

  I set my phone down and stare at Jayla’s bunk, willing and wishing for her to open the curtain, or better yet, invite me in. But I killed that chance the second my phone rang. I release a groan of irritation and scrub a hand over my face. I came so close to kissing her, I can almost taste her. My body tenses and my dick throbs with desperation. I was so close, but now it’s not gonna happen. Jayla isn’t the type of woman to overlook that type of behavior.

  I fuck up everything good.

  As if the universe doesn’t want me to forget, my phone pings with an incoming text. My stomach lurches when I check the screen. It’s from the discreet private investigator I’ve been in contact with since last year. The one I can never tell a soul I hired. I’ve screwed up so much in my life, but even I know how bad it would look if this comes out.

  More profiles for review. Let me know if they’re what you’re looking for.

  I glance at Jayla’s bunk. It’s not as if she can read my cell from there, but wariness sets into my bones at the thought of her discovering what I’ve been up to. It would be a relief to come clean. To tell her, or someone, but that’s only selfish talk. This is my cross to bear. My wrong to right. I glance around the bus once more to be sure everyone is sound asleep before reaching for my laptop and slinking into the far corner of the booth to power it up.

  Shame and regret wash over me as I flip through the photos this PI collected. I have to give it to him, I don’t know how he finds them. These women—no, they’re just girls—caught in the most desperate of situations. My pulse races, the anticipation and hope of finding a familiar face amongst this new collection of photos pushes my gaze across the screen with near manic devotion. But by the last photo, my heart rate slows and disappointment pools in my gut. She’s not here. I’m left with another failure. Another fuck up. One I can’t seem to make up for.

  I delete the email. Clear my browser. Slam the laptop shut with more force than necessary, and bite back the urge to cry. Most days I pretend just fine. My selfish nature pushed me toward greatness, success, and the life I have now. But at what cost? Will I ever be allowed to repent for my sins, or will they continue to eat at me from the inside? I wish I could forget. Or move on. I’ve tried that, but no matter how far we tour, I can’t escape the guilt.

  With my cell balanced in hand, I type out a reply, waiting for it to send before deleting all evidence from my phone.

  Keep looking.

  No answer comes, but I don’t expect it to. The guy I hired has as much to lose as I do. I can imagine the headlines now. Three Ugly Guys lead guitarist, Austin Jones, hires PI to collect child porn for his personal collection. No, I can’t tell Jayla, or anyone else for that matter. I’m not sure any explanation would be justification for what I’m doing. This would only give her another reason to push me away, and the thought of Jay walking back out of my life is about the worst reality I can imagine.

  I glance at her bunk, not sure what I hope to find there. Nothing but the low hum of our driver Ace singing along to a song in his head and the steady rumble of the coach’s engine meets my ears. Resolve blooms from the feeling of helplessness in my gut. I refuse to accept this fate. I won’t give up. Not on myself. Not on the need to right my wrongs. And especially not on a future with Jayla. Yeah, I fucked up, but chances are it won’t be the last time.

  An idea hits me and I grab my p
hone, taking it into the bathroom with the determination to wriggle my way back into her good graces. There’s something important I need to tell her, and while she probably won’t listen to me right now, she might with a little outside pressure.

  It’s an unfamiliar feeling, having to work to gain someone’s attention, but hell if it doesn’t feel more important than anything I’ve ever done. I’ll become the kind of man she deserves. It may not come naturally, but I’m stubborn enough to get there. For her, I’d do just about anything. She’s worth it.

  20

  Jayla

  The next morning, I wake to the muffled sounds of people moving around the bus. Their hushed voices tell me I’ve slept longer than I should have. I like to be the first up and last to sleep, but the schedule we’ve been keeping, it’s wearing on me. The glide of a moving bus tells me we haven’t pulled into our next stop yet. I reach for the privacy curtain, but the memory of Austin’s late night call flashes through my mind and I hesitate.

  Masking my face with an expression of indifference, I slide from the sleep bunk, but only find Trent, Sean, and Lexi in the kitchen. “’Morning,” I say and pour myself a cup of coffee.

  “’Morning, Jayla.” Lexi grins.

  “How does it feel to be famous?” Sean meets my gaze and then moves from his seat at the table, setting his cell on the counter between all of us while he refills his mug. He tips his chin to Lexi. “Check the stats again.”

  She drags his phone closer.

  “Six million views. Fucking hell.” Trent’s brows shoot into his hairline and he glances at me with wide eyes.

  “Jayla, have you seen this?” Lexi hands me the phone as the pieces click together. The video Austin edited last night. He must have posted it.

  “I can’t believe he posted another video.” Trent slings an arm around her shoulders, his grin wide as he flicks his gaze to Austin’s sleeping bunk. “Our little rebel is trying to get us on the shit list.”

  As if he’d been waiting for the mention, Austin whips open his sleep bunk and stumbles out. I try not to stare, really I do, but his shirtless form and the low-slung sleep shorts hugging his hips do nothing to hide the span of tattooed, muscled chest. He looks half asleep, his eyes hooded, and that only adds to his sex appeal. He reaches down to his crotch to adjust his junk, and it’s only then I glance away.