by Salsbury, JB
Tommy wants to play?
I’ll play.
But how do I top a gigantic rubber dick in front of thousands of fans?
My thoughts are consumed by that question for most of the night as we drive from Kansas City to Indianapolis. Rather than pull up to the next venue, we’re dropped off at the Omni hotel.
We have the top two floors—the penthouse and suites—while our crew takes up the bottom few floors, two to a room. I wonder who Tom bunks with? Are there any other women on the crew? No way they’d have her shacking up with a guy… would they?
One thing is clear when looking at Tom—she doesn’t have a single feminine influence in her life. Everything about her—the way she dresses, her mannerisms, even the way she speaks—it all screams dude. And yet, there’s a softness in her face, her lips, her delicate hands that give away the female hiding underneath.
A female I enjoy pissing off.
After two hours at the local radio station doing interviews, I’m finally back in my hotel room. I stare at the television screen, watching an Adam Sandler movie and hoping the cinematic brilliance of it will make me feel less… lonely.
Bored, anxious, and itching for something to do, I pick up my phone and send a text to the boys, asking what everyone’s up to tonight. They’re all staying in with their wives. Losers.
I send a text to my assistant.
I’m bored. What’s the crew doing tonight?
Her response comes immediately.
I’ll find out.
I’m in the middle of wondering why Sandler has never won an Academy Award when my phone pings.
Some are staying in. Most went to a place called Indy Pie to eat and drink.
Which ones? I go over the little I know about Tommy and wonder if she’d be the type to stay in or go out.
I’ll need a car. I’m going out.
Text bubbles quickly turn to words.
Security will be at your room in thirty.
* * *
Right on time, Rodger knocks on my door.
“I hope you’re hungry.” I close my door behind me and we make our way to the elevator.
“Starving.” He takes his place at my side, his eyes scanning the elevator carriage even though we’re the only people inside it.
The door opens to a staff hallway that leads us out the back of the hotel, where a black town car waits. Rodger opens the back door and I slide in. He takes the front seat with the driver.
After a five-minute drive, we pull up outside a dump of a place with a flickering neon sign that reads INDY PIE. Through the front windows are multiple big screen televisions playing different sports events.
Perfect. I have less of a chance of being noticed in a place like this. Not a lot of the Jesse Lee demographic—eighteen- to forty-year-old women—will be hanging out in a dingy sports bar.
I climb from the car, flanked by Rodger, and pull open the door and head into the place. A large majority of our crew is here, taking up two long picnic-style tables littered with pizzas, hot wings, and pitchers upon pitchers of beer. As expected, no one turns my way. Not a single female squeal or gasp. I step up to the closest table and recognize a few familiar faces.
Creeper notices me right away. His gray ‘stache is tinged orange with wing sauce. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“Pour me a beer, old man.” I sit on the bench seat beside him and scan the surrounding area. At first glance, it looks like nothing but guys here. Knowing Tom, I’ll have to look a little deeper to find her mixed into the crowd.
I accept the pint glass from Creeper, grateful they’re drinking quality IPA rather than some watered-down lager.
Rodger passes on the beer but gratefully accepts a plate with pizza and jalapeno poppers. Still no sign of Tommy. I get a sinking feeling in my gut that I should’ve stayed at the hotel and done a little digging to find out what room she was in—maybe send her room service with a thousand-dollar tab.
“You cheated, you piece of shit!”
I whirl toward the familiar voice and a big-ass, stupid grin pulls at my face. She’s here. Wearing a flannel shirt and jeans rather than her crew-issued black on black, she’s still wearing a baseball cap, but she has it on backward, which means when I get close enough, I’ll finally be able to see her face. And why does that shit make me giddy?
“I didn’t cheat, you just suck.” The guy standing next to her at the video game rocks into her side.
I frown. “I’ll be right back.” I set down my beer and rise to my feet, feeling Rodger at my back. “I think I’ll be okay crossing the room without you.”
He scowls but nods with a silent promise that he’ll keep his eyes on me.
“I have more quarters,” Tommy says as I come up behind her, unnoticed. “Last game determines the champion.”
The guy dips toward her ear and whispers, “You’re going down.”
I’ll be the first to admit in my long and busy history with women, I’ve used the good ol’ innuendo to get a desired response. Judging by Tom’s tense shoulders as she leans away from the guy, she’s not giving him the response he was hoping for.
This dumbass doesn’t get the message and leans into her again.
“Stop it, you're drunk,” she says.
I close the final few feet between us and tuck in between her and the wall, possessively propping my arm on the video game at her side.
“Ethan?” Her cheeks flush pink. “What… why…?” Her eyes are gray, the color of a Southern California storm cloud.
“What’s up, Tom?” I study the freckles on her nose and cheeks. “Who’s your friend?” My gaze lingers on her lips.
“Oh, uh…” She blinks, and I love how easily I rattle her. Not so tough when you’re caught off guard, are you, Tommy? “This is Paul. He’s one of your riggers.”
“How long has he been trying to get you in bed?”
“Dude!” Paul chuckles. “I never said—”
“You didn’t have to.” I pull my eyes away from her and stare at Paul. The fact that I had to stop looking at Tom to eye the fucker only intensifies my anger toward the prick.
Tommy lowers her voice. “What are you doing here?”
Paul, that shithead, grins. “Isn’t there a groupie orgy in your penthouse you’re missing out on?”
If I didn’t know better, I’d think this dick is trying to make me look like a pig in front of Tommy. Joke’s on him—I manage to make myself look like a pig all by myself.
I tilt my head and shrug. “Probably, yeah.”
My eyes go back to Tommy, whose mouth is in a tight line. Fuck if that doesn’t fill my chest with all sorts of warm and twisty comfort. I so enjoy getting under this chick’s skin.
I tug at Tom’s flannel. “Can I steal you away for a minute?”
“Um…” She looks at a frowning Paul, then at the group of crewmembers and Rodger, who’s watching me like a hawk while sucking wing sauce off his fingers. “I guess so—”
I grab her hand and tug her away.
“Dude, I can walk on my own. You don’t have to pull me.”
I release her once we’re at an empty two-seater table on the far side of the restaurant. I pull out her chair and she sits. I pull the other chair over to sit closer to her and, if I’m being honest, to keep her from running off. “What’s the story with the guy?”
Her pretty chin tucks in. “That’s none of your business.”
“You like him?”
She crosses her arms and shrugs. “Maybe.” Her eyes flare just a little, enough to give away her lie.
I bite my lip to keep from smiling. “You two have history.” That much is obvious, and I wonder if I could use the dumbass against her.
Her eyes narrow. “Why do you care?”
“He’s an ex then.”
She eyes something over my shoulder. “No. I mean… not really—come on, ref!” She throws her arm toward the television and the bar patrons erupt in kind.
I turn around to see an MMA
fight on the screen, the ref standing between two fighters with his arms outstretched. “You’re into MMA?”
“I like sports,” she says absently, chewing the edge of her thumb while watching the fight.
“Why am I not surprised?”
Her narrowed gaze returns to me.
“Back to you and that guy. You dated?”
She eyes the television again, her attention divided. “Something like that.” She winces like whatever happened on the screen was painful, then gives me her eyes. “How can you tell?”
“I know women.”
“You don’t know me.”
I’ll admit the tomboy thing kind of threw me, but… “All women are basically the same.”
Her mouth drops open and she laughs. “There is no way I’m anything like the women you ‘date.’” She says the last word using air quotes.
“You definitely don’t look like the women I ‘date.’” I use air quotes on the same word. “But underneath all that, you’re all the same.”
Her nose wrinkles in the cutest way. “How does a sexist pig like yourself manage to get a woman in bed?”
“I’m good with my fingers.”
“Ew.”
“God, you have a dirty mind. I play bass, sweetheart.” I play a little air bass to show my meaning.
Her stormy eyes narrow. “Do not call me sweetheart.”
“But you’ll let everyone call you Tom. Why? Because you’re a tomboy?”
“You got me all figured out.”
I examine the way her dark hair brushes against her suntanned cheeks. “Am I wrong?”
She licks her lips. “Why do you care?”
“Call me intrigued.”
She props an elbow on the table and leans in. “You’re wasting your time. I will never have sex with you.”
Now we’re getting somewhere. “Never say never.”
“Is that what this is? I’m the only woman who hasn’t fallen to my knees, tugging at your zipper, so now I’m a conquest?”
“As appealing as the visual is, I have not the slightest desire to have you on your knees.” My first choice would be missionary so I could kiss the fuck out of that sassy mouth of hers. Second choice would be her on top so I could—I groan as my blood makes a quick trip south. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“On that we agree.”
“The visual appeals to you too then?”
“No, that’s not… ugh.” Her cheeks flush. “You’re infuriating.” Her gaze darts toward the rest of the crew, as if she’s planning her escape.
I follow her gaze and see more than one set of eyes on us: Rodger, Paul, Creeper, and Prophet with his laser beams directed at my head.
“I gotta go.”
I scoot my chair back so she can get up and leave. “Word of advice? Stay away from Paul.” When she doesn’t respond right away, I continue. “I know the type. He won’t take no for an answer forever.”
She looks down at me. “And why should I listen to you?”
I stand, towering over her. “How old are you?”
“How old do I look?” She seems awfully proud of her back talk.
“Twelve.” I’m lying, but I know it’ll light a fire behind those pretty eyes. She can’t be a day over twenty-two.
She doesn’t disappoint. Her mouth gets hard when she says, “I’m eighteen.”
I flinch, hard. Eighteen? Fuck, she’s a baby. That should make me see her differently, shouldn’t it? And yet, I still want to kiss her just to piss her off. Does that make me any different from Paul?
A satisfied smile stretches across her face. “Ethan Crow scared away by a girl?”
“I’m not scared,” I say a little too defensively.
She sticks out her bottom lip. “Aw, big bad rock star gets nervous around jailbait.”
I step close. “Eighteen isn’t jailbait, sweetheart.”
Her smile fades and her jaw hardens. “I told you not to call me that—”
“Everything okay over here, Tommy?”
I turn to see Prophet, a bear of a man with a beard and shoulders like a linebacker.
“Yep,” she says a little too cheerfully. “Prophet, this is Ethan.”
He crosses his massive arms and glares. “I know.”
“Ethan, this is Prophet. He’s the production manager for Elite touring. My boss and—”
“Her dad,” he finishes.
“Dad?” I look between them, same stormy gray eyes, same thick brown hair.
“Tom, go grab some to-go boxes for the food. We’re getting ready to take off.”
“Because all thirty-five people over there are too busy keeping their seats warm to grab boxes?” she says, giving me the impression that because she’s young and female, she gets thrown the grunt work.
Prophet’s eyes smile at his daughter even though the rest of his face remains stone. “I ordered your cannoli to go. How long you think it’ll last at that table if you don’t get to it?”
The way her eyes light up, I see the girl has a thing for the Italian dessert.
Her dad only has to give her a look and she finally rolls her eyes and stomps off in a huff. We both watch her go.
Once she’s out of earshot, Prophet steps close. “No disrespect, but stay away from my daughter.” He doesn’t just give off the protective dad vibe; he practically vibrates with it.
I like that she has someone looking after her. A young naïve girl like Tommy could get eaten alive in the world I live in. “You got nothing to worry about from me, but I’d keep an eye on Paul.”
His dark brows drop low.
“He’s got eyes on Tom and doesn’t seem to respond to boundaries. I don’t know the guy, but I’m guessing it’s worse when he’s drunk.”
He turns around and finds Paul leaning over Tom, her shoulders rolled forward uncomfortably as she packs up leftover pizza. “Prick.”
“Yeah.” I’m no one's white knight, but that guy is a college town headline waiting to happen.
Rodger steps up to my side. “Prophet.” He greets Tom’s dad with a handshake, the two clearly friends. Rodger jerks his chin toward the door. “You ready?”
I take one more look at Tommy and her group as they all rise to head out. “Yeah.”
“Car’s waiting.”
I hesitate and consider asking Tom to ride with us. Frustrated with my own thoughts, I follow Rodger out the door, refusing to look back.
Once we’re in the car and on the way back to the hotel, I ask, “You know Prophet?”
“We used to do security together.”
I try to act casual, clicking around on my phone, hoping my questions come across as small talk rather than genuine interest. “He doesn’t do security anymore?”
“Nope. He was the best in the business, had to be pulling in a half-million dollars a year. Then he just quit, started working as a roadie.”
“I wonder why.”
He chuckles. “No clue. There were rumors, everything from stealing from clients to screwing his client’s wife, but none of that sounds like him.” He shrugs. “No one knows what happened, and he never talks about it.”
“How long ago?”
“Hmm…” Rodger seems to do some mental calculations. “Twenty years, maybe less. I was a kid, just getting into the business a year or two before he quit. I’ve toured with him a bunch of times. He’s a hardass. Scares the shit out of everyone except his kid. I remember when she was maybe thirteen, she snuck out of the bus after a show. Prophet pulled her out of a Wicked Wren after party. She got in his face and called him a boring old fart, saying he couldn’t tell her what to do.”
“She’s toured with him before?”
“Before? She was raised on the road.”
“What about her mom?”
He shakes his head. “No clue. Prophet’s not much of a ‘sit around and share life stories’ kind of guy.” He angles his head toward me. “You don’t remember seeing Tommy running around backstage as a teenager?”
&nbs
p; “She’s still a teenager.” I frown. “But no, I don’t. Guess I didn’t pay much attention.” Or I saw her and assumed she was a man.
“Prophet kept her pretty locked up and away from all the shit.”
The driver pulls up to the back of the hotel and we climb out and head inside.
“Her name, it’s not really Tom, is it?”
Rodger shrugs. “Roadies go by nicknames. I assume Tom is no different. Probably also helps Prophet keep the dicks away if they think Tommy’s a boy.”
Maybe most of the dicks, yeah. But not this one.
Wait, what?
Chapter Six
Taylor
I’m in a deep, dreamless sleep, sprawled out on a queen-sized bed in my hotel room, when I wake to the sound of knocking on my door. At first I think it might be Dixie—she stayed in the hotel bar after the pizza place to throw back a few drinks with the guys. Paul continued to invade my personal space with every drink he had, so I ended my night with a hot shower and crappy TV.
The knock comes again. Dixie’s snore cuts through the room, her big body a shadow on the bed.
Who the hell is knocking on my door at two o’clock in the morning?
Another knock sounds, this one more frantic.
I drag my feet to the door and peer through the peephole. A man in a hotel uniform anxiously shifts on his feet.
“Can I help you?” I say as I open the door and blink into the bright hallway light.
The door across the hall opens and Medicine Man peers out. “What the fuck is going on out here?”
“I was just about to ask the same thing,” Paul says as he emerges from the door one down.
Both men are yawning and rubbing their eyes as they step out into the hallway, wearing their version of pajamas.
The nervous man looks as if he might be concierge or a front desk clerk. “Are you Tommy?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Ma’am, I’m so sorry I’m late.” He holds out a drugstore bag. “I have the items you requested.”
Another door opens and a few crewmembers poke their heads into the hallway.