Strike a Chord

by Salsbury, JB

  I’m done. My orgasm slams into me, bowing my back off the bed as wave after wave of pleasure spills against my skin. I suck her cotton-covered nipple, muffling my groan. My body is useless. Every nerve zaps with aftershocks, my mind foggy, fuck… I can’t even see. Is it possible to come so hard you go blind?

  Her hands slide through my hair, holding me up and to her breasts while I catch my breath.

  “That… was awesome.” I fall back to the bed.

  She collapses against my chest. “I’m afraid now that I know what an orgasm feels like, I’m going to want to have them all the time.”

  “I’ll be more than happy to be of service.”

  She laughs, the sound lazy and relaxed.

  I run my hands up and down her back. “I can’t wait to show you all the ways I can make you feel good.”

  A shiver slides up her body, and I hold her tighter.

  “We should probably get going,” she says.

  “I can’t move.”

  “Oh, sorry.” She attempts to roll off of me, but I hold her in place.

  “Stay. If I have to go twelve hours without you, let me hold you for a little longer.”

  She nuzzles into my chest. “Longer than twelve hours. I probably won’t see you until the show tomorrow.”

  I make a half-hearted grunt. Translation: Over my dead body.

  Taylor will be in my bed every night for as many nights as I can get my hands on her.

  My eyes pop open as one thought assaults me. If this is what dry fucking Taylor feels like… sex with her might actually kill me.

  Taylor

  Leaving Ethan’s hotel room feels like walking into a different universe. Somewhere between the rum-soaked Cokes and waking up in his arms, he’s become someone different to me. No longer the cocky, conceited rock legend draped in women I’ve come to know, he’s gentle, considerate, and tender.

  With my duffle bag on one shoulder, he holds my hand as we walk down the hallway to the elevator and I enjoy the last few minutes in the bubble we’ve created. I question whether or not we’ll be able to maintain our connection once we’re back in the world where no one can know we’re together.

  His phone pings and he checks the screen as we approach the elevator doors. “Rodger will be here any second.”

  He presses his lips to mine—not with force, but a gentle molding of his decadent mouth to mine. Nervous that we might be seen, I should end the kiss a second after it started, but I’m helpless to resist him. Soft, closed-mouth kisses that linger a little too long make me want to crawl up his body and wrap my legs around his hips. I find myself moving closer. I tilt my head, part my lips, and he grins against me before slipping his tongue against mine. Good heavens, the man can kiss. I push up on my toes, urge him closer, and he chuckles, quietly at my eagerness.

  Feeling hot and a little embarrassed, I break the kiss and press my cheek to his chest.

  “How am I going to last twelve hours without that mouth?” he says, his arms squeezing as if he might refuse to let me go. “You have my number, so text me when you’re done tonight.”

  “It’ll be late—”

  The elevator pings and I jump back from Ethan as the doors open. Rodger’s expression is tight and unfriendly.

  “You’re late.” Ethan’s voice doesn’t carry his usual sarcastic tone.

  Rodger moves aside so we can enter the elevator, and he hits the button for the ground level. “Your call isn’t for another hour.”

  “I know, we’re just walking Taylor to her bus.” Ethan flashes me a secret smile, as if calling me by my name is scandalous.

  Rodger gives me a quick side-eye.

  I duck my chin, feeling as though I should be sporting a big red A on my chest.

  Ethan must sense my discomfort because he tugs on my sweatshirt sleeve and mouths, “Relax.”

  Easy for him to say. He’s not the one who made an ass out of herself last night and is forced to do the walk of shame with an audience.

  I clear my throat. “I, uh… want to thank you both for helping me out last night. And um, if it’s all the same to you, it would be great if Prophet didn’t find out about it. For the record, I’m never drinking again.”

  Rodger gives me a polite smile. “Everyone makes mistakes. Your secret’s safe with me.”

  I don’t miss the quick glance he gives Ethan, who only glares at the man before turning toward me.

  “Yeah, no problemo. I won’t tell a soul.” Ethan zips his lips, throws away the imaginary key, and winks all behind Rodger’s back.

  The double doors open and we hang a left toward the employee entrance that leads us behind the restaurant and out the back to the loading dock. The crew tour buses are lined up, and most of the crew is slowly climbing on board. I spot my bus and a few people around it but refuse to make eye contact with any of them.

  Having already said my official goodbye at the elevator doors, I mumble a quick, “See ya around” and make a beeline to my bus. I don’t look back to see whether or not Ethan is watching me. Not until I’m safe behind the bus’s tinted windows do I risk a look.

  Ethan’s talking to Creeper. Probably made up some bullshit request as an excuse for being seen out here with the common folk. I toss my duffle at the foot of my bunk.

  “Where the hell did you go last night?”

  I turn around to find Dixie on the couch, cup of coffee in hand and a bottle of pain reliever in her lap. I sit down next to her with a pained moan, putting on my best hangover act. “I came back to the hotel and only made it to the bathroom in the lobby before I started throwing up.”

  She gazes at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “You were drinkin’?”

  I nod. “So stupid. I didn’t think a little would hurt, but ugh…” I grip my stomach, not feeling sick but sore from dry heaving. “I’m never drinking again.”

  “When Rodger came and picked up your stuff, he said you’d gone back with your dad and crashed in his room.”

  I blink and stare forward, thinking that sounds like a more plausible excuse. “Oh, I did. I didn’t want to wake you, so after I felt a little better, I crashed on the couch in my dad’s room. He’s not happy about my drinking, so it’s best if you don’t talk about it.”

  She nods, pushes to stand, and heads back to her bunk. “I’m going to try to sleep so I can rally when we get to Orlando.”

  My phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out to see I have a new text message from EC.

  Six minutes, fourteen seconds and I miss you already.

  The bus quickly fills with crew, so I climb into my bunk and slide the curtain closed for privacy before I respond. I type out a response, but before I can hit Send a new text comes through.

  Eight minutes and fifty-eight seconds… Nine minutes. If your bus doesn’t hit the road soon I’ll be forced to climb aboard and kiss the fuck out of you in front of everyone.

  You’re counting the minutes? Don’t you have something more important to do? Like lift weights or exfoliate?

  Exfoliate? What do you take me for? Some pretentious Hollywood asshole?

  Another text quickly follows.

  Don’t answer that.

  I cover my mouth to keep my bus mates from hearing me laugh. The bus lurches forward. I hit Send.

  We’re leaving. Happy now?

  Happy? No. I’d be happy if you’d come off that bus and kiss me again like you did at the elevator. Oh fuck… grandma. Berets…. Stomach flu.

  I type out a response telling him I wish I was off this bus too and back in his arms, but I worry about exposing too much and delete it. Before I can hit Send on a less revealing response, a new text comes in.

  I gotta go. I’ll see you in eleven hours and thirty-four minutes. And twenty-seven seconds.

  Good. Better for him to end the communication before I say something I might regret. This can’t possibly be real, can it? Am I dating Ethan Crow?

  With a stupid grin, I stuff my phone under my pillow and try to get some sleep.r />
  Chapter Eighteen

  Ethan

  We went to an Orlando radio station for interviews, a live jam session, and a meet and greet with fans. Eager to get back to the hotel, I check my phone for the millionth time. It’s nearly seven o’clock at night. I wonder what Taylor’s doing. Finishing up stage prep? Dinner? Is she laughing and having fun with her crewmates? Has she thought of me at all?

  “Ethan, can you sign my shirt?” The bouncy blonde in front of me holds out a fistful of Sharpies in a variety of colors.

  “Of course.” I snag the blue marker and search for a place to sign. I see Jesse and Ryder’s signatures on the front of the white Jesse Lee tee, Ben’s on the back. I reach for the shirtsleeve.

  “There’s a spot right here.” She pushes out her chest and points at her left breast.

  Usually I would have zero problem with a woman wanting me to sign her tits, over or under her shirt, and for the first time, I feel a whisper of hesitation. Would Taylor care? Probably not. She’s been around the business. She understands if the fans aren’t happy, we don’t sell albums. I squash the internal debate and scribble my name on her C-sized breast.

  “Can we get a picture?”

  I hand her back her Sharpie. “Sure thing.”

  She flips her phone around and snuggles against my side to snap a quick selfie.

  “Are you excited for the show tomorrow night?” I’m making small talk, acting more interested than I really am. What I’m really interested in is getting this over with so I can hunt down Taylor and kiss her lips off.

  The woman explains that she’ll be at the show, nervously chattering on about her cousin’s sister’s friend or some shit. I nod, smile, and wish time would speed up.

  It isn’t until three fans later that our tour manager, Brent, slaps me on the shoulder. “Wrap it up.”

  He makes an announcement to the room that fans can take a few more photos before we go. Jesse, Ryder, Ben and I huddle together and the room erupts in flashes as everyone holds up a phone, taking photos and videos.

  We wave as we’re led outside and into a waiting SUV. Ben takes the front seat and Ryder, Jes, and I take the back.

  “What’s everyone doing tonight?” Ryder asks, yawning.

  “Ordering room service and Facetiming Bethany.” Jesse’s slouched in his seat, texting his wife I assume.

  “I’m starving.” Ryder pulls out his phone to read unread text messages and smiles stupidly at photos of Katie in a baby bikini and covered in sand on the beach.

  “Ben, why do you always sign fans' shirts on the back?” I ask. “Is it because Ash would kick your ass? Like, did you guys talk about it and she said here’s what you can and can’t do or…”

  He chuckles. “You know Ash, she’s pretty laid-back about that stuff. I sign the back out of respect for my wife and the woman wearing the shirt.”

  “So it’s disrespectful to sign a chick's tits, even if she’s begging you for it?”

  He turns as much as he can to look at me. “If a woman begged you to punch her in the face, would you?”

  “Fuck no. I don’t hit women.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it’s fucking wrong.”

  He shrugs. “Even if she begs for it?”

  I open my mouth to say yes, even if she begs for it, but then I squint. “Wait, is it the same if she’s begging you to spank her ass when you’re fucking?”

  Ryder chokes on a laugh.

  “What? I’m serious.”

  Ben shakes his head and turns back to facing forward. “We all have our convictions, Ethan. I follow my gut. If it feels wrong, I don’t do it, and touching another woman’s breasts in any capacity feels wrong to me.”

  “Huh…” Did it feel wrong to sign over that woman’s boob tonight? I got hung up momentarily thinking about Taylor and what she would think. Does that mean something? Am I overthinking this?

  I decide I need to talk to Taylor and get her opinion.

  We pull up to the back entrance of the hotel and take the service elevator to the top two floors, where our rooms are located.

  “See you assholes at sound check tomorrow,” Jesse says, followed by the slam of his door.

  Ben says good night and heads to his room.

  Ryder stops at his door and looks at me. “You want to grab a beer or something?”

  “Yeah, sure—”

  “Oh, hold on.” He pulls his vibrating phone from his pocket and holds his finger in my face. “Hey, babe. I wasn’t expecting to hear from you until—awww, was that Katie? What did she say? I know she can’t talk yet, but tell me what she said in baby talk.”

  I recoil and leave the pathetic sap to goo-goo-gah-gah his wife and kid.

  My suite is big—two bedrooms joined by a living room, dining room, kitchen, and floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the skyline. In the distance, I can see the arena where we’ll be playing tomorrow, and I wonder if Taylor is finishing up there or if she’s somewhere in the city, having dinner.

  I pull out my phone and send her a text.

  Where you at? Room #4020

  I stare at the screen, pathetically waiting for the Delivered prompt to turn to Read and expecting three dots to follow. Minutes pass and I’m still sitting at Delivered.

  With a couple travel bottles of whiskey in my hand, I flop on the bed and channel surf while keeping my phone close in case she texts or calls. I check to make sure the device isn’t on silent. I find a movie on TV, but I’m not paying attention to the screen. My eyes keep darting to my phone. I grab it and punch out a quick text.

  Hello… is anybody in there? Just nod if you can hear me. Is there anyone home?

  I hit Send then watch that godforsaken Delivered prompt as it mocks me. Is she purposefully not answering my texts because she’s with her dad? Or worse, Peter-Peter ballsack-eater? What if she changed her mind about us? What if someone talked to her and told her about all the shitty things I’ve done on the road? She knows my reputation, but she doesn’t know the worst of it. If she did, would she end this thing between us?

  I rub the tightness in my chest and down a second bottle of JD. What the hell is this feeling?

  My phone pings and I scramble to grab it.

  Using Pink Floyd to get my attention?

  I swing my feet off the bed and lean over my phone, texting her back.

  It worked didn’t it? Where are you? Come to the hotel. I miss you.

  I hover my thumb over the send button, wondering if I sound a little too desperate. You are desperate, asshole. Yeah, but I don’t want to show my ass so early in our… relationship? That sounds so fuckin’ weird. I delete the last three words and hit Send.

  She texts back seconds later.

  Horror hotel, horror hotel, horror hotel.

  I throw my head back laughing and text her back.

  Did you just call my Pink Floyd with the Misfits?

  Maaaaaybe.

  I’m glad she’s not here to see my stupid smile as I text her back.

  You’re like no one I’ve ever known. Kiss me, make me yours. Don’t let me go.

  I chew my lip, say, “Fuck it,” and hit Send. My pulse doubles as I watch the Delivered prompt jump to Read. The three bubbles come and go. Seconds turn into minutes and I’m beating myself up for taking our little game one step too far, plunging us into the emotionally awkward category. I punch out a text.

  Stumped. I win.

  I’m about to hit Send when there’s a knock on my hotel room door. I jump up, head to the door, and swing it open, half expecting to find Ryder with an offer to grab a beer but hoping it’s Taylor. My mouth pulls into an impossibly wide grin when I look down to see two big, beautiful gray eyes peering up at me from under her dirty ball cap.

  Her face screws up adorably. “Did you use Jesse Lee lyrics on me?”

  I grab her by the front of her sweatshirt and pull her inside, slamming the door behind her before pressing her petite body to the wall. “I did. But would it make
you feel better to know I wrote those lyrics?” I nuzzle the side of her neck, breathing in her intoxicating scent.

  “Stop, I’m gross from working all night.” Her hands rest at my abdomen but rather than pushing me away, she grips the fabric and pulls me closer.

  I smile against her skin. “You smell great to me.”

  “Why do you smell like cotton candy and vanilla?”

  I shrug, unable to give up the deliciousness of her neck. “Dunno.”

  She puts pressure to my chest, backing me up a few inches. The bill of her baseball cap dips a little as if she’s studying me from dick to neck. “Is that…” She swipes two fingers along my bicep. “Body glitter?”

  I look down, and sure enough, the inner parts of my arms are dusted in a light glitter shine. “Probably. We had a meet and greet thing.” I dive back toward her neck only to get clotheslined by her forearm.

  “How close were you getting to these women that you reek of them and picked up their body glitter?”

  “Hugs mostly.”

  “Mostly?”

  “It’s what I do—wait, are you upset?”

  She crosses her arms and lifts her chin just enough to make it hard to see her eyes. “Of course not. Don’t be stupid.”

  “Great.” I knew she’d be cool. I grab her hand and pull her stiff body to the couch, lower her to it, and drop in beside her. I angle my body toward her, but she stays still, staring ahead. My spidey senses tell me something isn’t right. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She sits back a little and I get the feeling she’s trying to act more relaxed than she is. “I’m fine.”