by Salsbury, JB
I rub my temples and wonder why men are even attracted to such complex creatures. We have some kind of death wish or something. Wait… I pop my head up. “Hypothetically speaking…”
They all nod.
“When you ask a woman who is clearly upset ‘what’s wrong’ and they say ‘nothing, I’m fine’—”
They all groan and shake their heads.
“So not fine.”
“They’re pissed.”
“Fine is the atom-bomb of female emotions.” Jesse cringes. “That’s a word you never want to hear when you ask if everything’s okay.”
I blink dumbly at nothing, thinking back to the night when Taylor came to my room and she was clearly upset but swore she wasn’t. “How is a man supposed to respond to this kind of shit?”
“You have to read her mind,” Ryder says confidently.
“That’s impossible!”
“Not impossible,” Jesse says, looking at me. “But almost impossible. Which is why I need your help. I need you to talk to Bethany and find out where she wants to go.”
“What makes you think if I ask her, she’ll tell me?”
Ryder pinches his nose as if he’s frustrated at my slow learning. “Dude, you can’t ask her. You have to be a ninja about it.”
“If you know how to do it, why don’t you just do it?”
“I tried, but Jade picked up on what I was doing and outed me.”
“Ash outed me too,” Ben says. “You’re his last hope.”
“Let me get this straight,” I say. “You want me to pick your woman’s brain, ninja style, so that I can get the information you need to make her believe you’re reading her mind?”
Jesse claps. “Exactly.”
“You need a PhD to communicate with women.” I was afraid I would fuck things up with Taylor, but now I’m sure I will. Mind reading? Ninja skills? I’m screwed.
“When we get back to LA for the music awards, you give it a shot. Cool?”
“I’ll try, but I can’t guarantee—”
“Good enough.” Jesse grabs his notebook and pen. “Let’s get back to work.”
* * *
Walking into the back of the arena for tonight’s sound check and I have a shaky feeling in my stomach that’s similar to hunger pangs but has nothing to do with food. I’m starving to see Taylor. I wonder if I’ll get the pleasure of seeing her bare arms and shoulders again or if she’ll be back in her signature sweatshirt or oversized T-shirt that makes my imagination go wild with thoughts of peeling those layers off her sweet body.
That hungry feeling drops lower and I adjust myself in my jeans to keep anyone from seeing how pathetic I am. A twenty-seven-year-old man shouldn’t pop a boner at the mere thought of his woman’s sweatshirt.
My eyes roam the corridor while my insides hum with anticipation. I spot Taylor on stage, squatting at the back of an amp, her ball cap angled down and her ass looking perfectly biteable.
“Everything okay?” I ask her, making her jump.
She looks at me over her shoulder, a smile lifting the corners of her pretty mouth. “Just checking the connection.”
I tuck my hands into my armpits to keep from grabbing her and attacking her mouth. I dip my eyes to her ass. “Everything looks great from where I’m standing.”
She stands to her full height and tucks her hands into the back pockets of her jeans. I wonder if she’s holding back from touching me as well. She licks her lips.
“Don’t do that,” I mumble.
She chuckles and dips her chin to hide her face.
That motherfucking hat. I pop the son of a bitch from her head and Frisbee it into the empty arena. “That’s better.”
Her eyes narrow, but her cheeks flush. “I can’t believe you just did that.”
Creeper joins us, his suspicious eyes bouncing between us as he hands me my bass. “What happened?”
I loop my guitar strap over my head and smirk at the gorgeous girl. “Yeah. What happened?”
“Nothing.” She looks panicked, as if telling the truth might give us away, and scurries off to side-stage.
Creeper watches her go and shakes his head. “She’s been acting strange lately.”
“Oh yeah?” I grin internally, proud that I’ve had an effect on her because she sure as shit has an effect on me.
He doesn’t give me anything, just shrugs and walks away.
I move to take my position at the mic. My feet slip out from under me. I land hard on my ass and look around, trying to figure out how the hell I ended up on the floor.
Jesse’s hand is on his gut, his tall body doubled over as he laughs. Ben’s smiling huge and headed toward me with his hand extended to help me up.
“What the fuck just happened?” I put my hand behind me to help myself stand, but it slips and I drop to my side. “What the…” I look at my hand and it’s coated in a shimmering viscous fluid that smells like a diaper. “Baby oil?”
I scramble, scoot, and flop like a fish on the five-by-five-foot oil spill and get no closer to upright. Ben loses his cool and bursts out laughing.
“Aren’t you going to help me up?”
He shakes his head. “If I try, we’ll both end up on our butts.”
“Scoot, man!” Ryder says through his mic, his voice high with laughter.
Jesse stands at the edge of the spill next to his brother, his eyes full of tears from laughing. “Bro, stop fighting it, you’ll pull a muscle.”
I look around and see the opening band and crewmembers laughing so hard they’re crying. I bite back my own laughter because I can feel how ridiculous I look and know if it were anyone else, I’d die laughing too. I wiggle, scoot, and finally get close enough to the edge of the oil slick that I can get my hand on dry ground and pull myself to safety.
My eyes find Taylor, who’s standing half shadowed, with her hand over her face and laughter in her eyes. I hold her gaze for way longer than I should.
“You!” I point at her.
Her laughter dies and her eyes grow wide. She turns to look behind her.
“Yep, you. Come here.”
Creeper’s protective instincts must kick in because he comes jogging toward me in her place.
“It’s cool, man,” I say to him, smiling. “I was just going to ask her if she could clean up this mess.”
He turns back to her as she walks up.
“Creep, can you do sound check for me? I need to go change.” I hand him my bass, trying to keep from getting oil on the fret.
He takes the instrument with suppressed laughter.
“Come on,” I say to Taylor. “I’ll show you where the cleaning supplies are.”
She snaps to attention, radiating nervous energy as she follows me around the stage and down the corridor. The hallways are filled with crew, so I don’t talk to her but smile at the sound of her tennis shoes rapidly slapping the concrete as she keeps up with me. I get to our dressing room, open the door for her, then close it and lock it behind her.
She whirls around at the sound of the lock, eyes big. “Are you mad?”
I prowl toward her and she steps back. “Mad?”
“I mean, did you get hurt or…” She swallows hard.
I continue to stalk toward her. For every step forward, she takes one back until her ass hits a table covered in drinks and food. With nowhere else to go, her eyes dart from side to side as she searches for an escape.
“Hurt, yeah.” I grab her hips and lift her to sit on the table, knocking over some Voss water bottles. Her knees part as I slip between them. “Two days without being able to kiss you, surviving on brushing elbows and quick touches in the dark. This crockpot foreplay is painful.” I push her hair off her neck and run my lips along her throat.
Her hands move around my back to pull me in closer. “Your shirt is drenched in baby oil.”
I take the hem and tug it over my head, tossing the soiled shirt to the floor. She studies my bare torso and her eyes flare with hunger.
“Where were we?” Instead of kissing her neck, I go straight for her lips.
She opens to me and our tongues slide together in an erotic dance. Her hands resume their position at my back, but eventually move around to my abdomen, sliding up to my pecs. I hiss when her thumbs brush my nipples and wonder when I became so sensitive to a woman’s touch.
Needing to feel her skin against mine, I tug off her T-shirt and marvel at her bare skin covered only by a gray sports bra. I kiss her again, pulling her as close as possible to feel her against me.
“Not enough.” I slide my finger under the elastic of her bra. “I want this off.”
She leans back, hooks the elastic, and pulls it off over her head. The cool air in the room hits her boobs and her nipples tighten beautifully. Rather than pull her back into my arms, I step back to study the vision of her on a table in nothing but a pair of blue jeans, legs open, chest heaving, and lips parted.
“You’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”
She rolls her eyes as if I’m throwing her a line, and I wish she could crawl inside my head and see her the way I see her, feel the quickening of my pulse and the tightening in my pants. I wish there were words powerful enough to convey what she does to me, but even if any came to mind, she wouldn’t believe them.
“We’re running out of time.” She holds her arms out to me and I gladly fall into her embrace.
Our mouths fuse together. I moan at the feel of her breasts against my skin, her warm, soft body against my rough, hard chest. I gasp in surprise when she slips her fingers into the waistband of my pants. Her dainty fingers slip behind the button, nearly brushing the tip of my hard-on.
“I want you to touch me.”
“Will you show me?” Her voice shakes.
I free myself from my pants, letting them fall to my knees, but leave my boxers on. I kiss her again and bring her hand to my dick, press her palm to the length while wrapping her fingers around the shaft. With my hand over hers, I show her through the thin cotton how I like to be touched. Together we stroke up and down as best we can. Her fist grows even tighter and I hiss as pleasure shoots down my dick to coil at the base of my spine. Confident she no longer needs my guidance, I play, pluck, and squeeze her breasts, licking into her mouth and wishing we were alone and had more time.
She surprises the shit out of me by pulling me from my boxer shorts and gripping me bare. “Is this okay?”
I suck on her lower lip and smile. “More than okay. You’re a fucking natural.”
I bring my hands to her jeans and wait for her to tell me no, but she doesn’t. She scoots to the edge of the table and drops a leg, giving me room to shove my hand down her pants. Already slick and needy, my finger slips easily inside her.
I say, “You feel so good.”
Her grip tightens and she strokes me faster. Everything around us disappears, and the only sound in the room is our heavy breathing. The kissing gets sloppy as we push each other closer to the edge. Her wet heat grips my finger, and I nearly blow at the thought of replacing my finger with my tongue.
She gasps into my mouth and clenches around me with the force of her release. Her chest flushes red and I suck her nipple while the rush of wetness in my palm sends me following into orgasm. I hold her nipple between my teeth to keep from making noise as the wave of ecstasy knocks the wind from my lungs. Her fist pumps, milking my release until I’m spent and boneless. When my breath comes back to me, I rest my forehead on her shoulder and kiss along her collarbone.
Slipping my hand from her jeans, I bring my finger to my mouth to get the taste of her I’ve been desperate for. Her storm-cloud eyes flicker with heat like lightning as she watches me taste her off my hand. She looks at her own hand. A river of white coats her knuckles.
She brings it to her mouth and I grip her wrist. “You don’t have to do that.”
She’s new to all this and I’d hate for her to think she’s obligated to taste me only because I was desperate to taste her.
She smiles shyly. “I want to.”
I feel my eyes widen as she brings her knuckles closer to her lips, but still I grip her wrist. “I’m clean.”
“What?”
“You should know, before you do that, that I don’t have any diseases or—”
“Oh.” She stares at her hand.
“Am I ruining this sexy moment with talk of STDs?”
She laughs uncomfortably and her cheeks flush. “Um… no, I’m a little embarrassed I didn’t think of that myself.”
I tuck myself back into my jeans and snag my baby-oil-soaked shirt from the floor. “Here, clean up with this.”
She takes the offered shirt and wipes her hand clean while worrying her lower lip with her teeth.
“I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” I pick her bra and T-shirt off the floor, but before she dresses, I need to feel her one more time, so I hug her, her heart thumping against my ribs. “You’re not just a hookup to me. I know you’re inexperienced, and I need you to trust that I’m looking after you. That I’m not in this only for me. My timing sucks, I should’ve told you I was clean before now, but I hadn’t expected you to be so… ambitious.”
“It’s okay, I just feel dumb.” She puts on her bra and T-shirt and I’m sorry to see her covered. I’ve never wanted to ditch out on a show as badly as I do right now. “How do you know you’re clean?”
I toss my now-soiled T-shirt into the closest garbage and grab a pair of black pants and a faded Black Flag T-shirt from my clothes trunk. “I’m always safe. I use condoms for everything.” I don’t go into details because the thought of talking to Taylor about using condoms for blow jobs with groupies makes me nauseated. I also don’t tell her that the occasional condom has failed. “And I get tested once a year.”
She slides off the table and buttons her jeans. “How many women have you slept with?”
I’m doing up my pants and wish I could avoid the question or flat-out lie, but doing either of those things would be a cop-out. She’s been forthcoming with me about her inexperience; I owe her the same honesty. “More than I can count.”
She recoils slightly but recovers. “I figured.”
I feel like I need to apologize, which makes no sense. I didn’t even know her when I was sleeping around. Was? Is Taylor it for me? Is she the one?
“Are you okay? You look pale.”
“I’m fine, I just…” I feel for the couch behind me and lower myself to it. “Got dizzy for a second.”
She brings me water, takes a seat next to me, and puts her hand on my thigh. “Did you eat? Get enough sleep last night?”
I note her furrowed brow and downturned lips. “You worried about me?” A slow smile spreads across my lips as I dare her to try to lie.
She rolls her eyes. “Don’t sound so surprised.”
I can’t resist—I lean in and press a slow, soft kiss to her lips. “I like you too.”
She shoves me away with a laugh and stands. “I should go before people start to talk.”
“Would that be the worst thing?”
“Yes.”
Ouch. Why the fuck does her wanting to hide me hurt so damn bad? I didn’t realize I had an ego of this size until Taylor came along and challenged me.
I frown as she makes her way to the door, unlocks it, and she turns back one last time before leaving me to wallow in my insecurities.
Chapter Twenty
Taylor
Three days have passed and I haven’t seen Ethan for more than a few stolen seconds in a dark closet and brushes of his hand in the dark. We text every night, telling each other about our day. Mine consist of the same old routine while he tells the latest stories about crazy fans. Jealousy rears its ugly green head when he tells me about the women. I don’t have to see them to know they’re gorgeous. Unlike me, they draw the attention of every room they walk into. Holding on to Ethan is a losing battle when he’s constantly surrounded by so much temptation.
I hate it. And I hate what it�
��s done to me.
Since our first kiss, I’ve been comparing myself to other women and finding myself lacking. But then he’ll call me beautiful or tell me I take his breath away and I believe when he looks at me he likes what he sees.
“Who are you texting?”
My eyes snap up to my dad’s and I shove my phone in my back pocket. “No one. I was setting my alarm for tomorrow.”
His eyes narrow. “What’s going on with you? I’ve never seen you on your phone as much as you have been this last week.” He steps close and lowers his voice. “A few of the guys told me you’ve been getting close to Ethan. Then the baby oil, and you disappearing—”
“I was looking for cleaning supplies.” I hate how easily I can lie to him. Although lying is the first thing my mom taught me. “Ethan and I are friends.”
“Don’t be stupid, Tommy. Men like him, they’re only after—”
“One thing, I know. Do you honestly think a man like Ethan, with the number of available women he has at his fingertips, would waste his time on someone like me?”
He grumbles something inaudible then mutters, “I guess not.”
“See.” I clear the pain from my throat. “Nothing to worry about.”
“Be careful.”
“‘Don’t fall for a rock star.’” I give him a military salute. “I know, you taught me well.”
“We’re headed out for dinner.” He jerks his head toward the buses idling at the loading dock. We pulled into Charlotte this afternoon and just finished getting the stage set for tomorrow night. But for tonight, we have the next twelve hours to ourselves.
“I think I’ll go back to the hotel and get some sleep.” I fake yawn.
“Be safe.”
“Will do.”
I hop on the bus taking some of the crew to the hotel. Dragging myself to the front desk to check in, I give the lady my name.
She hands me a room key. “You’re on the thirty-ninth floor.”
I scoop up my duffle bag and head to the elevator. Inside, I hit the thirty-nine on the lighted buttons and the carriage jerks into motion. I watch the number lights tick by until they stop and the doors ping open. I find room 3910, wave the key card, and shove inside. My feet freeze when I find myself in a decadent entryway with fresh flowers and a chandelier overhead.