by Salsbury, JB
“Cool.” I pull her to my chest only to feel her fall against me like a solid rock, her hands balled up in her lap. “Are you hungry?”
“No. But I am gross.” She sits up and out of my arms. “I need to go back to my room and shower and honestly”—she stands and avoids my eyes—“I’m really tired.”
“Shower here. I’ll order you some food and you can sleep here—”
“How are we going to keep this a secret if I sleep here?” She shakes her head and moves toward the door.
“You’re leaving? You just got here.”
She stops.
I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her shoulders. “I don’t want you to go.”
“It’s been a long day—”
“Then sleep.”
“I don’t know if I can do this.”
“This?” I back away so she can turn to face me.
“This. Us.” She jerks her hand back and forth between us. “Hiding and sneaking around. I lied to Dixie and told her I was going to explore the hotel and she looked at me like I was crazy.”
“So we brainstorm a few lies beforehand. Or I’ll rent you your own room. Just tell her you sleep better alone. It’s been a day. Give us a little more time to figure things out.”
She pulls off her hat and rubs her forehead before popping it back on. “This is impossible.”
After a day, she’s giving up? “I’m not the one who wanted to keep this a secret. If my choices are us out in the open or no us at all, I choose the first.”
“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “That can’t happen. My dad will flip.”
I tilt my head and notice how she avoids my eyes. My fists clench at my sides. “You’re eighteen, Taylor. Why the fuck do you care what your dad thinks?”
“He’s protective and he has opinions about guys like you.”
I prop my hands on my hips to keep from ripping them through my hair. “Guys like me. You’re embarrassed to be with me?”
“You know what I mean.”
I’m not an idiot. I know why a man like Prophet wouldn’t want his only daughter dating a guy like me. My reputation. My occupation. The only way I’ll be able to keep seeing Taylor is when she finally comes around to trusting me completely, regardless of what anyone else says or thinks.
“Maybe your dad would start treating you more like an adult if you started acting like one.”
Her gaze darts to mine. “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Was I vague?” The heat of her rejection stirs in my gut. “Let me clarify. Every time I try to get close to you, you throw a toddler fit and push me away.”
“That’s not true!”
“I came to your bus, you drew a dick on my face. We decide to make a go of it, now you’re picking a fight. The only time you let me in is when you’re drunk or hungover. You’re a child.”
“Fuck you!”
I laugh in a weak attempt to cover up whatever this shit is in my chest. “You willingly take drinks from a guy who’s trying to get you drunk so he can get in your pants, but you push me away because you’re afraid your daddy won’t approve? How about you tell—”
“You smell like women and you’re covered in body glitter!”
What the hell? “It’s my job!” I hold out my arms. “This is me, this is what you get. You expect me to be someone else just for you? Grow up!”
She recoils. “I’m leaving.” She whirls around and lunges for the door.
“Fuck.” I catch her before she opens it, press her against the unforgiving wood, and bury my face in her neck. “Don’t leave. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean what I said.”
“Yes, you did.”
“I told you I’d fuck up. I’m in foreign territory here.” I let out a sigh, close my eyes and speak softly into her hair. “I’m not used to not getting what I want.”
Her muscles soften a little—so little that I wouldn’t notice if I weren’t pressed against her. “Who’s the child now?”
“You’re right. I’m an asshole.”
She doesn’t struggle to get free of my hold, but eventually relaxes against my chest. “I’m an asshole too. I know the groupies are part of your job. I’m just tired and I hate that I can smell them on you.”
Fuck if her jealousy doesn’t make my dick hard and everything behind my ribs gets warm. “I get it. Smelling another man’s cologne on you would make me homicidal.”
A small hum vibrates in her throat.
“I’ve been thinking about you all day. Now you’re here and I can’t say the right thing.” I push her hair off her neck and kiss her throat. She tilts her head, relaxing a little more, and I trail my lips to her ear. “You’re always so receptive when I’m behind you like this.” I nip at her earlobe. “Why?”
“Because I can’t see you,” she whispers.
“You don’t like the way I look?” I nuzzle her neck, wrap an arm around her waist, and kiss down to the base of her throat.
She sucks in a breath when I swirl my tongue along her collarbone. “I do. That’s the problem.”
Finally we’re getting honest. “I like the way you look too. I also like the way you feel, the way you sound. Just being in the same room with you makes me happy. Please stay. Just for an hour.” I back away so she can turn around, and I pull her into my arms. “Tell me about your day.”
We end up back on the couch, turned toward each other with only our legs touching. She tells me about the venue and the problems they ran into setting up. I understand now why she’s exhausted. She assures me she’s been fed and asks me about the radio station interview and meet and greet. I decide now isn’t the right time to ask about me signing a woman’s boob.
When we run out of things to talk about, I scoot closer and flip her hat around backward so I can pull her in for a kiss. As much as I want to take things a little further, she’s pushed me away twice saying she’s “gross,” so I assume anything more than kissing is off the table.
She’s the first to pull away, breathing heavily with swollen lips and flushed cheeks. She smiles shyly and peers up at me through her eyelashes as if she’s embarrassed of her body’s reaction. “I should probably go.”
I lick my lips, savoring the taste she’s left behind. “I’m going to figure out a way for us to spend more time together.” I pinch the soft ends of her hair at her shoulder and rub the silken locks between my fingers. “I told Rodger about us.”
“What!”
I cup her jaw so she can’t look away. “I had to.”
“He knows my dad, he’ll tell him—”
“Not if he wants to keep his job he won’t.”
“Ethan, you can’t threaten his job—”
“I can. And I will. You want to stay off the radar, then I’ll need some help. If things go well—and by that I mean if I don’t keep fucking everything up—we can eventually go public and all this sneaking around will be nothing more than a funny story we tell over drinks.”
She leans forward with her head in her hands. “I can’t think that far ahead.”
I rub her back until she looks at me. “These next few days are going to be crazy. Back-to-back shows, overnight bus rides, we’ll need his help if we plan on seeing each other more than in passing backstage.”
“You’re sure he won’t tell?”
“One hundred percent.”
Her gaze drops to my lips then slips back to my eyes. “Fine.”
“I wasn’t asking for your permission.”
“You’re a pain in the ass,” she says with a smile that contradicts her words.
“But I’m your pain in the ass.” I stand and offer her my hand to pull her to her feet. “I hate it that I can’t walk you to your room like a…”
“Normal guy?”
I grip the sides of her head and bring her forehead to my lips. “If I were a normal guy, we wouldn’t be hiding, would we?”
“No.”
I’m not normal, I’m Ethan fucking Crow, and if Taylor kn
ew the things I’ve done, if she knew the mistakes I’ve made, she wouldn’t want to be alone in a room with me, much less kissing me.
I’ve never taken my fame for granted. I’ve loved the lifestyle, money, attention, women… I’ve never even thought much about the way I’ve lived my life. But now everything is different, and for the first time in my career, I feel the stirrings of resentment.
Chapter Nineteen
Taylor
“Laundry day?” my dad says in the dark next to me while we’re waiting for Jesse and his band to take the stage.
“What are you talking about?”
He eyes my bare arms and shoulders as if I’m wearing a bikini rather than a black tank top.
“I got hot.” I shrug. “The humidity here is a killer.”
He shakes his head and mumbles something I don’t pick up on because I’m distracted by the change in the air.
Is it possible to have a sixth sense about someone’s presence? Because I swear I feel Ethan nearby before I see him. Maybe it’s the anticipation of knowing he’s on his way to the stage. The energy in the crowd radiates excitement for what’s to come and my heart races with the same intensity.
Ryder climbs the risers to his drum kit, and Ben takes his spot on the dark stage while Medicine Man hands him his guitar. My pulse stutters when Jesse struts around the corner—because he’s not alone. Walking next to him is the six-foot, caramel-eyed star of my most recent dreams.
Even in the dim light, Ethan spots me right away. I wonder if he senses me the way I do him. His gaze roams over my bare shoulders and my skin heats. Creeper hands him his bass guitar and he takes it without removing his eyes from mine.
“Whoa, Tom.” Paul’s voice breaks the connection as he steps in front of me. “You lose your shirt or something?”
“What is it with you two? A tank top is an appropriate form of clothing.”
The band plays the first note of the night and the arena bursts to life with light and energy. Ethan tosses his hair out of his face, presses his lips to the mic, and sings backup. I wonder if he’d ever sing for me. Maybe when he’s behind the piano like he was in the hotel.
Angular jaw, full lips, and thick eyelashes that women envy, but he’s so much more than a pretty face. Musically gifted, funny, and possessing a kindness I never expected from someone like him. If my dad could look past the rock star exterior, he’d learn to see Ethan as I do and we wouldn’t have to hide.
“You going back to the bus?” Paul says close to my ear once my dad is out of sight.
I shake my head and point at the stage, indicating I’m going to stay for the show.
“You promised me a Call of Duty rematch.”
I lean away from his hot breath at my neck. “Not tonight.”
He frowns, and when I turn back to the stage, I catch Ethan’s angry eyes on us. I try to smile without being too obvious, hoping he picks up on my unspoken message. I’m okay.
Paul eventually gets the hint and leaves. I find a comfortable place to sit and watch Jesse Lee pull off another flawless set that has the crowd screaming for an encore.
I stand and stretch as Ethan jogs off stage with Jesse and Ben. Ethan grabs a towel and stands close to me while wiping sweat off his face and neck. It’s common for the band to take a few minutes off the dark stage while the crowd screams for more; it’s not common for Ethan to do it standing so close to me I feel his sweat-dampened forearm against mine. My breath hitches at the contact and goose bumps race up my arm.
Without looking at him, I’m aware of his every move. Not being able to look at him, talk to him, or touch him only amplifies the electricity between us.
He drops his towel and I squat to pick it up at the same time he does. Our eyes meet and he grabs my hand along with the towel. His thumb brushes over my knuckles, and he smiles in the dark. His touch sends a jolt through me and I stand up so quickly, my head gets light. He stands slowly, running his hand up the back of my leg as he does. I suck in a breath when his hand moves over my butt and he gives me a quick squeeze.
I glare at him—only to find him barely holding back laughter. He hands me his sweaty towel then heads back on stage to play one last song for the night. I should be disgusted by holding his sweat-soaked towel, but instead I grip the fabric a little tighter and hold it close to my stomach.
I’ve become a groupie.
I frown.
Fucking great.
* * *
After the show, Ethan was loaded on his bus and made the nearly four-hour drive to Miami while the crew broke down the stage and loaded up. At three o’clock in the morning, we stumble like zombies onto the bus, looking forward to the drive so we can catch some shut-eye before we have to be up to catch cases.
I drag my feet to my bunk, pull back the blankets, and shriek in horror. I jump back, my shoulder blade slamming against the opposite wall. “What the fuck!”
There are at least a hundred cockroaches in my bed. I expect them to come flying at my face, my sleep-deprived, overworked brain taking longer than it should to finally realize they’re fake.
“That motherfucking shithead!”
Dixie comes alongside me, her gravelly laughter sounding in my ear. “I’ve had worse in my bed.” She eyes the bug-infested mattress. “Who did it?”
I pull my phone from my back pocket and punch the call button.
He picks up after a couple rings. “Can’t sleep?” he says in a groggy whisper.
I woke him. Good! “How did you get in my bus?”
“I have my ways. Payback’s a bitch, baby.”
The creepy rubber bugs seem to wriggle and writhe. “I hate bugs.”
“They’re not real.”
I shiver as if I feel their legs on the back of my neck. “I know that!”
He chuckles softly. “I’m actually jealous they get to share your bed, how fucked up is that.”
“You keep this up, we’ll never share a…” Dixie eyes me suspiciously, so I press my lips together.
He must know I’m on the bus, surrounded by listening ears, and fills in the rest of my sentence for me. “Bed? Are you saying you want a truce?”
“Never,” I whisper and wonder why I feel as if I’ve made a confession about more than our stupid prank wars.
“Bring it on, Taylor. I’ll be waiting. By the way, you looked beautiful tonight.”
I blink and try to imagine what the hell he saw in me that he considered beautiful.
“You have no idea how badly I wanted to kiss you.”
I suck in a shaky breath and whisper, “Same.”
A soft sigh falls from his lips to warm my ear. “I’m going to figure out a way for us to get some alone time here soon.”
Silent seconds stretch between us. My face feels hot and my pulse throbs in my neck.
“Taylor?”
“Yeah?” Why am I whispering?
“What do you want most?”
“Right now? A good night's sleep.”
“Then go to sleep. Dream of me.”
“You wish.” I’d hoped my response would be firm or playful, but the words come out on a breath, making me sound wistful and a little sexy. Who knew I was capable of sounding sexy? He’s working his magic on me!
“I do.” He sounds so serious. “Good night.”
“Night.” I tuck my phone in my back pocket.
It takes me fifteen cringing minutes to dispose of every last rubber bug. Before I can think of an appropriate retaliation prank, I fall fast asleep.
I dream of Ethan.
Ethan
“Bethany, I swear to God, if you—” Jesse drops his head and rubs his eyes with his phone pressed to his ear. “I wouldn’t have to swear to G-O-D again if you’d just fucking pick a place already! I’m not yelling!”
I eye Ben, who’s laughing under his breath next to me. We’re on Jesse’s bus, working on some new music. When Jes has a musical brainstorm, he calls us to his bus for an impromptu jam session. Bethany called him five min
utes ago and they’ve been in a heated discussion ever since.
Ben leans in. “Jesiah wants to take her on a trip, just the two of them, after the tour’s over. He gave her a list of a dozen different places—Italy, France, Morocco. She won’t pick. She wants him to surprise her. He doesn’t want to surprise her. He wants her to pick.”
“What a stupid fucking thing to argue about,” I say, strumming the guitar.
“At least give me your top five!” Jesse falls back to the couch with a groan. “Fine. All right. I’ll talk to you later. You’re a pain in my ass, but I fucking love you to death, you know that?” He smiles. “Yeah. I’ll call you after the show. Bye.” He hits the end button and tosses his phone onto the table. “She’s going to be the death of me.”
“Why don’t you just pick and be done with it?”
Jesse looks at me as if I told him to stick cat turds up his nostrils while Ryder snorts and Ben just shakes his head.
“What?” I ask.
“When was the last time you spent any real time around a woman?” Ryder lifts his brows.
Two days ago, and it’s been two days too long. This hiding out thing is harder than I thought. Whenever I have free time, Taylor’s working, and when I’m working, she’s off. We’ve resorted to the casual brushes of our shoulders in the hallway or sneaky touches in the dark side-stage. It was easier to see her when we weren’t trying to hide. Now that we have something to protect, we ignore each other completely in public. I hate it.
I hold up a hand to Ryder and smirk. “I know women, dude.”
“Naw, bro.” He shakes his head. “I mean beyond a twenty-four hour sexual tryst.”
“Who the fuck says tryst?”
“What Ryder means,” Ben says, “is that women in relationships become complicated in that they don’t always say what they mean, ya know?”
I look between the three guys. “No.”
Jesse scratches his jaw. “Chicks say one thing, but they mean the opposite. So I know if I pick the place, she’ll be disappointed we’re not going where she really wanted to go.”
“But she said she doesn’t care.”
“She does.”