Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  “Fucking say it and I’ll squeeze and twist.” I narrow my gaze and his smirk falters a second before it widens.

  “Maybe I’m into that,” he teases, unwilling to back down. Fucking A, he’s as stubborn as I am. That won’t be good on the road.

  I lift my brow and his eyes widen with alarm. His hand wraps around my wrist and I know that I’m seconds away from having my hand forcibly removed. And probably receiving a verbal thrashing from Amie on the ride home. This isn’t the way to make friends but I can’t help myself. I’m not backing down. The other guys cackle like a bunch of prepubescent boys.

  “Dude, your balls have had a bad week!” Austin shouts and Sean doubles over in laughter.

  Trent dips his chin so the scruff from not shaving barely scrapes against my cheek. “You gonna hold ’em like that all night or what?” he whispers against my ear before he easily pulls my hand a safe distance from his balls.

  “So, this tour’s gonna be fucking awesome!” Austin shouts with more laughter.

  “Come on, Lexi. Meet and greet is over. She’ll see you on tour.” Amie grabs my arm and drags me out of the basement before my mind and temper can come to grip with how all of that just went down. I think I’ve met my match in Trent, and I think I’d rather have not.

  Yeah, this tour is going to be something, all right.

  5

  Trent

  “Dude, I can’t believe she had you by the balls. Like, literally had your balls.”

  “I was there, Austin.” I grab the front of my jeans again, as if somehow it can take away the embarrassment fucking with me. That’s all that was. I can’t deny when her tiny, slender hand gripped me I was caught on the precipice between pleasure and pain. My dick throbbed with the promise of more while my balls tried to shrivel away from her temper.

  “I know, but that was fucking funny.” He cackles like an idiot.

  “We’ll see how funny it is when she has your balls.”

  “The only way she’ll have mine is if they’re slapping against that ass when I pound her from behind.” He thrusts his hips back and forth and mimes wielding out spankings against her imaginary booty.

  Not gonna happen. I don’t know what exactly comes over me, but I can’t fucking stand the thought of her getting with Austin. I need to cut off that train wreck immediately. “No. She’s off limits. None of us are fucking her.”

  “What? Why?” Austin pouts.

  “She’s so hot.” Sean nods appreciatively.

  Fuck them both. “Yeah, but she’ll be on tour with us for three months. Three months, bro! That’s longer than anyone of y’alls’ relationships, and we are not dealing with the aftermath when that hookup plays out.”

  “Your boy has a point here,” Iz says, laughing, “Unless she has a daddy fetish, I’d be out anyway. Later boys. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.” He waves good-bye before heading out.

  “Later, Iz.” I try not to roll my eyes, because even though Iz is a beast on the drums, he is one ugly son of a bitch. He scores more drugs than pussy on tour, and I think that’s the way he prefers it.

  “Fine,” Austin mutters. “I’ll do my best.”

  Let it go, Trent. Just let it go. I try to convince myself, but there’s something unsettling in the way Austin’s lips lift into a smirk. No. I cannot deal with the distraction of him chasing Lexi Marx on this tour. The thought of him touching her, being with her in any intimate way, has my good sense replaced with a surge of anger. “Not good enough. We need to make a pact, here and now. No fucking Lexi Marx. You need to swear it.”

  Sean steps forward, his hands run over his head and rest behind his neck. “You both are fucking idiots. You can make a pact, which I’m not saying is the worst idea, but did you meet the same woman I did? She’s completely and totally out of our league. She’s not some groupie impressed by our money. We all know her dad. He’s fucking loaded and a living god of rock music. She’s not gonna be impressed with our sliver of fame and fortune. And she can play her own damn guitar. So, make the agreement, sure, but there’s no way in hell that woman is here to fuck. She’s here to play.” Sean doesn’t always speak his mind. He’s fairly quiet, introverted, and doesn’t run his mouth like Austin. But when he speaks, he lays it all out, and he just dropped a giant truth bomb in our bubble of spoiled asses.

  We stand in silence, the absence of sound stretching the moment, and their eyes are on me, to see what I’ll say. I’m the lead in this band in more than just vocals.

  “When Sean is right, he’s fucking right,” I say and let my smile take over my face. “Now that’s settled, let’s go grub.”

  Austin grins and slaps me on the arm. “It’s mac ’n cheese night!”

  “You dumbasses get as excited about food as you do women.” Sean rolls his eyes.

  “Does that mean you don’t want Mom’s homemade mac tonight?” I lift my brow in challenge.

  A grin spreads across his face. “Fuck no. I love that shit.”

  Austin laughs. “Damn straight. No one makes mac like T’s mom. Hey, you guys want to hit a club tonight? Chance and the Gang are playing The Remington at ten.”

  “I don’t know. My bed sounds really good, and besides, we’ve got practice tomorrow at nine.”

  “Come on, Sean. Don’t be such a party pooper. We’ve got one more week in LA before we hit the road again. We need to take advantage!” Austin whines but Sean only shakes his head.

  “Advantage of what? Overpriced tequila and spending my free time listening to a bunch of fuckers drone on and on about shit I don’t care about?”

  “I’ll buy the drinks. Trent will run interference on the asshats. Come out with us. We’re better in a team.”

  “We are better together. Like peanut butter and chocolate.” I wink at Sean.

  “That’s only two things.” He shakes his head and I detect a trace of a smirk with the upturn of his lips.

  “Third thing would be the packaging.” I nod to Austin. “No one wants to eat a Reese’s off the ground.”

  “I’m the peanut butter in this scenario, right? Because I keep us together.” Austin rubs his hands down his abs and gives a roll of his hips.

  “Sure. We all know I bring the package.” I grab my junk through my jeans and laugh.

  “That’s a stupid analogy, bro.” Sean rolls his eyes.

  “Fine. Come out with us or I’ll stay home and Snapchat our entire bedtime beauty routine.” Austin pulls out his phone and scrolls through the apps.

  “But I don’t have one.”

  “You will tonight. Be ready for face peels, mani pedis, and puppy dog filters. We’ll be freaking fabulous!” Austin bats his lashes.

  “You’re a douche.” Sean gives Austin a shove.

  “You love me.” Austin turns and squeezes Sean in a bear hug that soon becomes a headlock.

  “Come on fools, let’s grub.” I shove them both toward the stairs, and Austin releases his hold on Sean’s neck to jog up first.

  Sean hits the fourth step before he stops and looks back at me, his brows pulled into a frown. “But I’m the peanut butter, right?”

  I burst into laughter and jog up the stairs, pushing him ahead of me. “Yeah, Sean. You can be the peanut butter.”

  My only hope is once we get on this tour we won’t need glue to keep us together. Three Ugly Guys has eight solid years under its belt and there’s no breaking up what we worked so hard to attain. This is the life. All we need to do now is ride the wave and enjoy the journey. I’ll sure as hell relish the last week of LA bunnies and hookups, but the wanderer spirit inside can’t wait to hit the road. Headlining our own fucking tour. Yeah, this is the life. My life. I’ll do another week of partying, but bring on the tour.

  “Hot damn.” Austin lets loose a long whistle as we take the final step and drop our bags in the center of this oasis on wheels.

  This fucking rocks. Bedo hooked us up big time. Our tour bus, the same one we traveled on during the Justin Hill gig, has been pimped th
e fuck out. Black leather couches, stainless steel appliances and black granite mini kitchen with a table for at least six is all top of the line. Most notable is the new carpet, a dark gray with that faint smell of glue hanging in the air that could almost get a person high. Iz will be ecstatic.

  Austin goes straight to the fridge, pulls out four beers, and places them in the center of the compact kitchen table. Sean’s like a kid at Christmas, scurrying around the bus, opening every storage space, door, cabinet, and drape, while expletives roll out of his mouth with his apparent approval.

  Bedo appears at the front of the bus. “So, what do you think of the improvements?” He saunters to the kitchenette, slides into the short end of the L-shaped padded bench and pops the top off one of the beers.

  I join him, sitting at his side on one of the single chairs and stretching out my legs to rest on the bench across. “This is awesome. Thank you.”

  “Only the best for the best.” He tilts his drink to me in a salute before he takes a long pull.

  Drink in hand, Austin plops into the booth and slaps my shins. “Dude, feet down. Don’t disrespect the bus.”

  “That bedroom is kickass. I call it,” Sean says when he walks out of the hallway to join us.

  “You can’t call the bed. We aren’t children,” Austin retorts with a glare.

  He’s just pissed he didn’t call it first. I am too.

  “Yes, you are. But I’m gonna play daddy,” Bedo announces and it’s all we can do to keep our snickers at a minimum. His lips pull with a frown. “Not like that. You all need your heads checked.”

  “You love us!” I grin.

  “I love my paycheck.” He smirks back. “So, here’s how it’s gonna go. The tour is thirteen weeks. You each get the private room for four weeks and we’ll let Iz have it the last week. That’s the only—”

  “Then I’m first!” Sean interrupts.

  “Not this.” Bedo rolls his eyes.

  “I think it’s only fair that I get the room first. I’m the oldest band member. I get seniority.” I sit up a little straighter. I’m the tallest, too, and fix my face in a superior stare.

  “Nah, man, I get it first. It was my idea to name the band Three Ugly Guys,” Austin brags.

  “Only because you’re the ugliest,” I retort.

  “Fuck you!” he yells back.

  “Fuck you!” I lean forward and puff out my chest.

  “Enough! Why the hell do you care who has the room first? You each get a turn.”

  We all stare at Bedo like he’s stupid. How he can know us so well and be clueless in this moment? Bedo bugs his eyes and throws his hands up in frustration. Is our manager really that clueless about the male species? It’s only then Austin fills him in.

  “Sex sheets.”

  “Huh?” Bedo’s face crinkles with puzzlement.

  “We’re all gonna use that room to get laid. First person gets the clean sheets. Second person gets to sleep on his bro’s jizz. Last person gets it all. And I don’t want to sleep on my friends’ jizz,” Austin states matter of factly. Sean and I nod our agreement.

  Bedo shuts his eyes and inhales deeply. We wait for him to acknowledge his goof, but when he blows out his breath, his eyes snap open with irritation. “You idiots think we won’t launder your sheets?”

  “No offense man, but there’d be residual evidence. I watch CSI.” Austin crosses his arms over his chest.

  “Fuck! I’ll buy you each your own set if you’ll act like fucking grownups for once.” He shakes his head and mutters, “I’m too old for this shit.”

  “Sorry, Bedo. We’ll work out the schedule,” I say before he yells at us any more.

  Sean mouths, “I’m first,” from behind Bedo’s seat.

  I give a little shake of my head so he understands this isn’t the time, and also that there’s no way I’m giving up that easily.

  “Bedo!” Danny, our driver, calls out and then steps inside the bus. “Someone from the city is outside. They want to see permits.”

  “Coming,” Bedo says before Danny disappears outside again. “Now I’m going to deal with an actual problem. And when we leave in two hours, I expect you’ll have worked out a schedule with the room and are prepared to focus on this tour.” He leaves us with one last glare before exiting the bus.

  “So, how we going to work this out? ’Cause I want to unpack before Iz gets here and smuggles his shit into one of the cubbies.” Austin sits in Bedo’s vacant spot and steeples his fingers on the tabletop.

  “We’re going to settle this the same way we resolve all major decisions,” I say, because really, any other way would only result in another argument.

  “Fuck.” Sean groans and rubs his belly. “I don’t know if I have it in me. I just woke up an hour ago.”

  “You’d better rally, Sleeping Beauty.” I stand and slap the table. “Wing Challenge waits for no one!”

  When we first got together we learned really quick that with four band members we could never agree on anything without hurt feelings messing up our band juju, so we came up with the Wing Challenge. It’s simple and efficient. Order wings and eat until you can’t handle the heat. The last man standing, or rather still eating without puking, wins.

  Austin glances up from his phone. “There’s a Wingstop a five-minute walk from here.”

  “That’ll do. Let’s go.” I turn and stroll toward the door.

  “I think I’m with Bedo. I’m getting too old for this shit,” Sean grumbles and follows behind.

  “Come on, Sean,” Austin says. “Don’t wuss out. Some things just never change. And for Three Ugly Guys, we lay important decisions at the mercy of the holy habanero.”

  “Halleluiah, brother!” I shout before taking the last step and pulling my shades down to shield them from the California morning glare. Yeah, we might act like adolescents, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. For the luxury of a private room and clean sheets, I’m more than prepared to burn my tongue.

  6

  Lexi

  My first tour. My first real gig. I can hardly believe it’s really happening.

  Maybe I should’ve been out celebrating last night like Amie practically begged, but to her dismay I wasn’t having it. No. With my roomies all at work, I spent the night in my rented room indulging in cheap take out, ice cream, and Netflix.

  It was glorious.

  This morning I stretch awake energized, kickass, and fancy free. The label sends a car—an actual driver—to fetch me, my two suitcases of belongings, and my lucky guitars. My belly flutters with nervous excitement as we pull alongside the rows of tour buses. Holy crap. This is it. It feels like I’ve made it, that this has all been worth it, when I spot the bus wrapped with a larger than life photo of Trent, Sean, and Austin. Fuck, they look good. I shake my head with the thought. Obviously, I’m getting hyped with the newness of it all. They look good, sure, but once they open their mouths the attraction dissolves faster than an ice cube on a California summer sidewalk.

  The driver pulls to a stop in the busy parking lot and opens my door. With my shades blocking the morning sun, I step onto the blacktop and breathe it all in. For a moment I feel that high, that second of fame that I’ve been chasing. It affirms that I’m important. I’m somebody. That is, until the driver hands off my stuff and I’m left to tote the two bags holding my guitars slung on my back. I lug them across the lot, and the sun heats my skin to a shimmering mess of beaded sweat. All around me is organized chaos, people in constant motion, loading equipment, stepping on and off buses. I suddenly feel unimportant and alone in a sea of professionals. Everyone around me has a purpose, a job, and I have no clue whom to talk to or where I’m supposed to go next.

  “Honey, you need to move,” a guy hollers at my back and I turn just in time to step out of the way. He pushes a cart stacked with amps higher than my body, nearly rolling over my steel toed boots. “Damn talent,” he mutters under his breath.

  I straighten my back and search the crowd once
more for someone who looks important or in charge. When I see a man with a clipboard in hand, I strut his way and hope he knows where I need to be. I wave my fingers without letting go of my bags and wait patiently when I notice he’s barking a demand into his headset.

  “Damn it, Dallas, you better come through for me on the lighting team. I pulled strings for you! If they aren’t here in fifteen I want your first born!” He nods my way and I take it as my cue.

  “First born, huh? You don’t mess around.”

  His lips pull up at one side in a crooked grin. “Don’t mess with my career and I’m on your side.”

  “That’s fair. I’m Lexi Marx.” I let go of my bags to offer my hand in greeting, but the smaller bag loses its balance and knocks over the larger suitcase just inches from his feet. “Oh, God, I’m sorry.” I scramble to pick them up again but he holds out his free hand to stop me.

  “Leave them. I’ll get one of the crew to bring them on board.”

  “Thank you.” I pause because I still don’t know his name.

  “Jax. Jaxon Stiles. I’m PA to the tour manager, head of merch sales, and overall jack of all trades for this shit show.” His smile is warm, and I can’t help but return the gesture. He glances over my shoulder and begins shouting again. “Ry! No! Take that load to Big Betty! And come get these bags when you’re done!”

  “I’ll get out of your way. But being jack of all trades, I’m hoping you know where I should be . . . or if there’s anything I can help with?”

  He glances down at his clipboard, checks something off and then assesses me, a much longer perusal, from my boots to my eyes. I appreciate that he doesn’t linger at my breasts. That is, until he speaks. “You’re adorable, kid.” His eyes crinkle with his grin.