by Salsbury, JB
My sleep-deprived mind takes a few seconds to come to and I stare blankly at the bag in my hand. “Items?”
“What the hell you ordering shit for at two a.m., Tom?” Medicine Man comes out into the hallway, followed by Paul and Squeaks. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.” I pull a box from the bag. “Monistat.” What the fuck is Monistat? I read the box. “Yeast infection?”
“Oh shit. Good night.” Medicine Man disappears back into his room and Squeaks follows suit.
Paul steps closer.
The hotel employee points at the bag. “I couldn’t find anything for the anal bleeding, but I did get the Vagisil extra strength itch—”
“I didn’t ask for this stuff.” I shove the bag back at him.
He looks at the number next to the door. “Room 352. Tommy, that’s you, right?”
“Yes, but—”
“I had to drive ten miles out of town to find the twenty-four-hour pharmacy to ask if you could use the wart remover on your genitals—”
“I never asked that!” My face heats as we draw a small crowd of crewmembers.
His eyes narrow. “But I spoke to your assistant. He said you were with the band and needed lubrication and extra small condoms for Paul?”
“Fuckin’ hell, Tom.” Paul’s face reddens either with anger or embarrassment.
“I never ordered this stuff! There’s got to be a mistake or—” My furious pulse sends blood to my brain, helping me to think, and I gasp when I realize what’s happening. Ethan, that motherfucker. “I’m sorry, this was all a misunderstanding.”
He takes the bag, his expression marked with rejection. “I paid for these from my own pocket. Now I’m out eighty-five dollars and—”
“Hold on.” I groan as I turn in search of my wallet. I dig out a hundred bucks and hand him the cash. He hands me the bag, and I snatch it angrily. “Thanks.”
“What the fuck is going on?” Paul asks, looking more awake than he did before his penis size came into question.
“It’s a prank. I just want to go back to sleep.”
He doesn’t move away from my door. “A prank by who?”
“Don’t worry about it! Good night, Paul.”
I close the door, throw the bag of shit onto the dresser, and lull myself back to sleep with visions of my hands wrapped around Ethan’s neck.
* * *
At eight o’clock in the morning, the entire crew shuffles up to the loading dock at the venue, looking like a scene from The Walking Dead. Times like these make me grateful I’m not old enough to drink. Even with the annoying interruption at two o’clock in the morning and the shit load of jokes I endured at breakfast from those who witnessed the middle-of-the-night prank, I still feel rested and ready to work.
Word spreads fast in the family, so Paul has been avoiding me all morning. Guess he doesn’t like his newest nickname. Tiny.
I keep my head down and my hands busy, and by three o’clock, I can’t even muster up a fake laugh for all the itch jokes. What I have managed to muster up is a fuckton of vengeful thoughts all aimed at Ethan.
When I see his tall body, all business and professionalism during sound check, I want to trip him and call him a fake. I bite my tongue and glare from under the safety of my ball cap.
He walks right by me, and just when I think I’m in the clear, he stops and turns around. “You sleep all right last night, Tommy?”
“Fantastically, thank you.”
The corner of his mouth ticks up. “You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook for that whole dildo thing, did you?”
“A mature man of your age?” I smirk when his half-smile slips a little. He doesn’t seem to like being reminded of our age difference, so I run with it. “I figured you’d have more important things to do than play childish games with a teenage girl.”
He steps close and growls. “Legal adult.”
“You say that as if you’re the one who needs reminding. Why is that?”
He blinks and shakes himself out of whatever he was thinking. That cocky grin returns to his face and his eyes flare. “I need the reminder to go easy on you.”
Now it’s my turn to step closer. “If I’ve given you the impression that I’m fragile, let me make myself clear. I can take whatever you dish out.”
He licks his lips and my stomach tumbles as if I’m on a rollercoaster. “Fragile or not, I will break you.”
“I’d love to see you try.”
We’re so close our toes are practically touching. I’m breathing hard as his eyes bore into mine.
What the hell is happening here?
“Go.” His one word breaks the awkward spell between us.
“What?” I blink, feeling a little dizzy and out of breath, which makes no sense with as hard as I was breathing seconds ago.
A softness touches his face and he smiles. “Your dad’s called your name three times.”
I whirl around and see my dad on the drum risers. “He has—”
“Will someone please get Tommy over here now!” he says to a nearby crewmember.
“Shit, I gotta go.”
Without a backward glance, I race off to help my dad. I tell myself it’s because I don’t give a shit about Ethan Crow, but the truth is, I can’t bear to see that kindness in his eyes again.
Ethan
Tommy didn’t watch our show tonight.
I looked for her at the side-stage where she normally hides, probably thinking I can’t see her. I searched for her on the other side and down front where security mans the moat between the fans and stage. I didn’t find her anywhere.
As we play the last song in our set, I feel restless to see her again. She’s a pain in the ass, but she’s a predictable hard worker, always one of the first on stage after a show.
“You’ve been great, Indianapolis!” Jesse hollers into the mic and we play the final chords to end the night.
The house lights drop and I head off stage, handing my bass to Creeper while I search for Tommy. She’s standing in a huddle of her coworkers, eyes fixed on stage and ready to pounce. Her head turns slightly as if she can feel me watching her.
A white towel is tossed in my face, ruining my view.
“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Ashleigh says playfully at my side.
The house lights come up and Tommy is gone.
“Nothing,” I say and prove my point by forcing my feet to walk away even though doing so makes me feel as if I’ve left something important, something vital to my happiness, behind.
“Didn’t look like nothing.” Ashleigh keeps up with me as we head back to the dressing room. “I think someone has a crush.”
I laugh, and the sound is wholly unnatural. I only hope Ashleigh can’t tell. “It’s no secret I like women. Doesn’t mean I have a crush on anyone. And what is this, second grade? Grown-ups don’t have crushes.”
We turn down a long hallway lined with gear boxes and crates.
“Not true. I had a major crush on Ben.” The dressing room is up ahead and there’s a small crowd hanging out at the door. Not uncommon after shows. She sighs when she sees her husband. “Still do.”
“Females have crushes. Guys don’t.”
“Is that true?” Ashleigh asks as we step close to the group. “Are men incapable of having crushes?”
“No,” Jesse says as he pulls Bethany closer to his side. She doesn’t seem to mind that he’s soaked in sweat as she snuggles up against him. “We don’t call it a crush. We call it wanting to fuck—”
“Jesiah!” His wife covers his mouth, her eyes wide. “I know you were not just going to say having a crush is the same as being horny.”
He bites at her hand until she releases his mouth, then he takes her in a forceful kiss against the wall. Okay.
“As tantalizing as this conversation is, I need a shower.” I pull open the door with thoughts of getting the fuck away from my bandmates as quickly as possible before they see something in my eyes that I’m not ready to explain.<
br />
I run into an invisible force field that sends me soaring backward.
My ass hits the concrete. I stare up, wondering what the fuck just happened. Everyone within a five-foot vicinity bursts out laughing while I’m still in a daze, trying to figure out how the hell I went from upright to on my ass in seconds flat.
That’s when I see it.
Strung up in the doorway is some kind of heavy-duty plastic wrap.
“I’ve never seen a man your size drop so fast,” Jade says, offering me a hand.
I wave her off, trying to keep a good attitude but feeling like a complete dumbass. “Nice to know I could keep you fuckers entertained.” I push to stand, my tailbone aching.
Jesse’s still laughing when he gives me a high-five. “I wasn’t convinced she’d be able to pull that one off. That was epic.”
Tommy.
Her whereabouts during our show are no longer a mystery. I’m only glad she wasn’t around to witness my humiliation. Unless… I turn and search my surroundings. I catch her peeking around a corner.
“You,” I growl.
Her laughing grin dissolves with a mouthed oh shit before she darts away.
It is so fucking on.
Chapter Seven
Ethan
The next day in Grand Rapids, I leave our backstage dressing room early to hunt for Tommy. I know once the opening band takes the stage, most of the crew either goes to their bus or to the trough to eat. I’m banking on the hope that she’s hungry.
The smell of hot food and the murmur of voices hits me before I push through the trough door. I casually scan the room, trying not to look as if I’m searching for anyone in particular, and grab a bottled water. One of the arena staff, a guy named Dean, lifts his chin.
I turn around and what do you know? Tommy is leaning over a plate of food with a half-eaten burger in one hand and ketchup-covered fries in the other. The bill of her baseball cap lifts as I approach.
“Tommy boy.” I drop into the seat across from her and try not to feel satisfied by her answering scowl.
“How’s your ass? As bruised as your ego?” She takes a man-sized bite of her burger, stuffing her cheeks as she chews.
I’m used to being around women who eat as if they don’t have a stomach, and for a moment, I’m mesmerized by watching Tommy enjoy her food. “If you’re fishing for an excuse for me to drop my pants for you, Tom, you’re out of luck. I’m not attracted to children.”
Her chewing freezes. She drops her burger and fries and wipes her greasy fingers on her shirt. “What do you want?” she says before swallowing her food.
“I’m here to give you the opportunity to apologize.”
“And why would I do that?”
“Because you’re in too deep and I can’t be held responsible if this whole thing between us ends up making you cry.”
Her jaw tics, and her mouth is in a tight line when she says, “I don’t cry.”
“Huh.” I tilt my head and study the mop of unruly brown hair that collars her neck. I notice the lack of anything on her face, even Chapstick. “I actually believe you.”
She sits back with a satisfied smirk and crosses her arms.
“Just because you don’t cry doesn’t mean you won’t.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
I tap my temple. “Or does it?”
She chuckles, and I have to admit, I like the sound. “You’re an idiot.”
Her eyes are drawn just over my shoulder. I don’t have to look to know what’s coming, but I do have to school my expression.
“Excuse me,” Dean says as he approaches our table. “These were just brought in from a local bakery if you’re interested?” He sets down a plate of fresh cannoli.
“Oh wow.” Tommy eyes the dessert as if she hadn’t just eaten half a cow. She’s probably forgotten that I’m sitting here or that we were in the middle of a conversation. “These look amazing.”
She picks up one and licks her lips as she brings it in. For a moment, I forget where I am and what I’m doing as I stare intently at her mouth, hoping her pretty pink tongue will make another appearance. She doesn’t disappoint. I nearly groan when she closes her eyes, moans, and slips half of the decadent dessert between her lips as if she’s sucking a d—
“Woflavoiththith?” Her nose wrinkles and she chews slowly. She waits for Dean to answer, but he steps away leaving the fallout to me.
I lean forward, elbows on the table. “What was that? I can’t understand you with half a cannoli in your mouth.”
She chews a little more, but the action looks painful as her face scrunches up on one side.
“Good, huh?”
She shivers when she finally swallows, but gags a little and I fear she’s going to throw it all back up. Thank God, she manages to get it down. “Was that… toothpaste?”
“Yes, it was. Delicious, right?”
She sucks down a dozen healthy gulps of her Coke and cringes again. Toothpaste and soda, not a good combination. “That was…”
“Disgusting? Nauseating? You need to go throw up?”
Even from beneath her hat, her steely gray eyes are unwavering as she stares right at me. “Weak.”
“Weak? Are you kidding? I just had you eat toothpaste! That’s fucking hilarious!” I’m almost laughing—except she pops the second half of the cannoli in her mouth and chews it. “What are you—you’re insane.”
She shrugs. “It’s not that bad.” She picks another one up off the plate and hands it to me. “I’m not kidding. They must’ve added custard or something to it.”
I flinch away from the dessert. “I’m not fucking eating that.”
“Suit yourself.” She takes another bite and eats it as if it’s some award-winning shit that promises taste bud orgasms. “It’s pretty good.”
“Give me that.” I snag the thing from her hand.
I take a bite, my teeth breaking through the crispy outside to the creamy center and—I gag. Hard. So hard that I have to lean over and half-puke under the table. I spit, cough, and hack, my mouth tingling with minty-freshness, and when I sit back up, I find Tommy laughing so hard, her face is bright red and no sound is coming out.
“You’re fucking hilarious.” My mouth floods with more saliva and I spit it onto the floor. “I can’t believe you ate that.”
She slams her palms on the table. “Weak!”
I’m stunned speechless, which is a first for me. How the hell did she get me to prank myself with my own motherfucking prank?
She grabs her plate, tosses it in the garbage, and walks away yelling, “We need cleanup back there! Ethan’s sick. He thinks it might be throat chlamydia, so masks and gloves, people! Masks and gloves!”
That little shit.
Taylor
“Tom, you okay in there?”
The thin door to the bathroom on the tour bus makes it feel as if my dad is standing right behind me as he bangs again, nearly splitting the wood. I flush the toilet and push myself up off the floor. My stomach muscles ache, all the blood was pushed to my head, and I’ll never be able to brush my teeth again without wanting to throw up.
“Tommy!”
I click the lock and slide open the pocket door. “I’m fine.”
“Medicine Man said he heard you in here, barfing your guts out.”
I prop my shoulder against the doorframe, feeling a little lightheaded. Unfortunately, when I purged the entire tube of toothpaste from my stomach, I also gave up everything I’d eaten in the last eight hours.
“I did and I feel much better.” Except for the taste in my mouth. “I need some water.”
“I got it. You sit.”
I sit on the couch in the front of the bus.
My dad cracks the top off a bottle of water and hands the bottle to me. “Something you ate?”
“Yeah.” I sip, gargle, and drink the water, hoping it’ll wash away the flavor of mint overload.
“Rest for the night. We got—”
&n
bsp; “I’m good. I just had to get rid of it, but I feel better.”
He levels me with his no-bullshit stare. “Rest. You’ll be the early shift in the morning.”
“No, I can work—”
“I said rest, so you’ll rest. If you don’t, I’ll write you up.”
“Dad!”
“Don’t Dad me! Do as you’re fucking told.”
I want to scream at him to stop babying me! I can take care of myself, I can speak for my own well-being, and I’m sick of being treated like some breakable little girl.
“Do not”—he points in my face—“say whatever it is you’re thinking about saying.”
“Fine,” I spit through clenched teeth.
I can’t work, so I’ll spend the hours devising my revenge for Ethan. Not that I didn’t get him back for the toothpaste cannoli—I did, kind of—but he lobbed the ball into my court. What kind of person would I be if I didn’t deliver payback tenfold?
My dad blinks, clearly surprised I didn’t fight him. “Good. Now get some sleep.”
No sleep for me. I have a pretty big fish to fry and my next move will take some strategic planning.
* * *
I wake up the next morning in Louisville, feeling rested. The taste of toothpaste is mostly gone, except the lingering flavor in my throat. After unloading gear and doing my part to set up the stage for tonight’s show, I check the clock. I need at least thirty minutes to run out and grab supplies for the diabolical scheme I came up with last night. I arrange for a car to meet me in front of the venue at one o’clock.
“You sure you’re feeling better?” my dad says, motioning to my mostly untouched meatball sub.
“One hundred percent better.” Nerves and maybe a little wicked excitement have claimed my appetite. “I’m not super hungry.”
Why does fucking with Ethan give me such a thrill? I chalk it up to breaking up the monotony of tour life. There’s also a healthy part of me that finds joy in the humiliation of a man who is worshipped by women everywhere. He may be gorgeous, talented, and famous, but he’s not untouchable.