by Kacey Shea
22
Lexi
Steam so heavy I can hardly breathe fills the bathroom and clouds the mirror. I use the corner of my towel to rub a circle and my reflection comes into view. After a shower I don’t look half bad considering the past twenty-four hours. I hum along with The Doors album streaming through my phone and even though I’m tired I can’t help but sway my hips. Using a wipe from my makeup bag, I remove the last of my eyeliner that didn’t scrub off under the stream. Next, I squirt body lotion onto my palm and rub the lavender infused cream onto my legs.
My body aches with exhaustion, but the promise of a giant bed, pillows, and cool sheets spurs me forward to finish my beauty routine but forgo drying my hair. I can’t believe I have the room to myself for the next four weeks. The privacy alone is just short of amazing, though I’m still pissed about Trent letting me win and calling in a doctor. I don’t like to be controlled. I can take care of myself. He meant well and the help came without strings, but there’s a piece of me that loathes it.
Teeth brushed, I wrap the towel snugly against my chest and collect my dirty clothes, bag, and cell. The music cuts short with the buzz of my ringer and I smile before picking up. “Hey, Amie.” I cradle the phone between my shoulder and ear.
“Lexi! I just heard they had to call a doctor for you? Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I was fine. Trent overreacted. I didn’t need a doctor.” I open the door and am glad to find the band is still out. I need to grab the last of my things from my bunk and the drawer I was storing my clothes in. I’ve already moved my acoustic over, and Trent cleared a spot for my clothes while I was being examined.
“Really?”
“I was already getting better. Besides, twenty-nine wings will clear a person out.” I work and talk, dumping my stuff onto the bed and going back for the rest.
“What? Are you joking? You are making no sense. You sure you okay?”
“I’m fine. The doc gave me some B12 shot and I’m like a new woman. Even after playing my show.”
“I heard you played great. And another packed house. Keep this up, girl. The label is itching for a full album.”
“I’m ready. I’ve got the music and I’ve been writing new stuff, too.” In the open dresser, I rearrange my shirts, skirts, lazy day clothes, and underwear.
“You are the hardest working woman I know. When we get closer to the end of the tour, we’ll work out specifics on recording.”
I blow out a breath when I hear the rumble of the bus coming to life. I’m dragging more than I know and the guys will be back soon. I still need to get dressed and grab a water bottle from the kitchen before I pass out. My gaze drops to the rumpled sheets from last night. I wonder if they smell like him. Fuck. Of course they do, he’s been sleeping here for a month. The independent woman in me wars with the desire to use Trent for a body pillow again.
In my derailed train of thought I realize I haven’t answered Amie. For someone who cannot shut her trap, she’s unusually quiet. “So, is that all? It’s getting late and we’re gonna roll out soon.”
“Lexi.” Her tone is serious as I prop my butt on the edge of the bed. “I don’t really know how to bring this up.”
“Just say it, Amie.”
“Your mom called me.”
“Okay . . .” And now I’ll be calling my mother tomorrow to reiterate boundaries.
“She filled me in on everything going on with your father. I’m so sorry, too. I know you weren’t close, but still.” She’s sorry for me, sorry for my dad, but the sympathy isn’t needed.
“Is there a point to all this?” I snap because I’m over this conversation.
“Do you need to take some time from the tour? To go see him? It’s not in your contract, but given the circumstances, I’m sure I can work something out.”
I shake my head even though she can’t see. She’s trying to be nice. A good friend. “I’m not leaving the tour.”
“But your father is dying, Lex. If we go to the press I’m sure I can—”
“No. Absolutely not.” Scratch the good friend. She’s interested in the business angle; I should’ve known. I can’t count on anyone but myself.
“Lexi. We need to discuss this.”
“No, Amie. We really don’t. I made my position clear from the start. If you can’t handle it, I’ll find someone who can.” My fingers ache from how tightly they wrap around the phone.
“I know. And as your friend I’m sympathetic, but as your agent I have to recommend we put together a press release. This is gonna go wide when he . . . when he passes. And someone’s going to make the connection, Lexi. If we can stay ahead of this, it would be best.”
“Best for who? You? The label?”
“It’d make getting you your own headlining tour a hell of a lot easier.”
“That’s not how I want it. You know that.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. I get it, I do. But would it be so bad? It’s not like it’s never gonna come out? The longer you wait, the bigger of a deal it’s gonna be.”
“That’s not true. The press will hound me if they find out now. Ask me how I feel, how he’s doing, and how’s it gonna look when I answer? ’Cause honestly, I don’t care.”
“I’m sure that’s not true. Even if you have a bad relationship, I’m sure you care.”
I’m done arguing with Amie. She’s doesn’t get it. She’s not going to get it. The boisterous laughter and chatter from the guys as they board the bus perks my attention. “I don’t. Look, Amie. I need to go.”
“We’ll talk about this soon.”
No. We won’t. I end the call and toss my cell on the bed. It’s useless to argue with her, and tonight I don’t have it in me. I can’t believe my mother called her! The intrusion on my business and my career fuels my anger as I pull out a pair of shorts and a worn sweatshirt, laying them on the bed. I don’t want to ponder what’ll happen when everyone finds out who I am. Or rather, who my father is. Another way for him to ruin anything good in my life.
A knock at the door startles me. “Hey Lex! We’re dining in. Come out if you’re hungry,” Sean calls through the door as the bus lurches forward.
Food. Smack talk. Yeah, that’s what I need to put this crappy day behind me. My stomach rumbles in agreement. Dropping the towel, I pull on my favorite red satin cami and search through the drawers to find the matching panties. I know I had them. They weren’t sacrificed in the original ambush.
The roar of laughter from the kitchen draws my gaze from the dresser drawers, and my teeth grate together.
They wouldn’t dare.
More laugher.
They would, those fuckers. I yank on my shorts over my bare ass, and my feet carry me out to the idiots shoveling food into their jabbering mouths. My anger is a simmering flame but it fuels a wildfire when their silent gawking stares catch sight of my glare. My hands go to my hips and I drop my voice to a growl. “Okay, who did it?”
I raise my eyebrow and tap my foot at their shocked expressions. That’s right, I’m not letting it slide this time. Not after everything that’s gone down in the last twenty-four hours. Being sick. Sleeping next to Trent. Wing Challenge. My guard is starting to drop around these guys, damn it. Dangerously so. They were conning me into believing they actually cared. But no, I’m just another joke to them. My jaw ticks but they still don’t say a damn word.
“Real fucking funny, guys! But you can give them back to me now.” I hold out my hand and wait, studying each set of eyes to determine who will cave. Austin’s widen to unnatural proportions; Sean’s, too. Iz has a glassy look—he’s high and no help. But it’s Trent’s I settle on when I step forward. They’re the least innocent of the batch, and his nostrils flare before he takes a gulp of whatever was in his mouth.
“What are you talking about, Lexi?” He tilts his chin, his gaze lowers a beat, and it’s then I realize they’re all gawking at my boobs, my nipples hard against the cool fabric of my thin top.
“My
panties!” I cross my arms across my breasts and shoot them all another glare before I stomp back to my room. “Never mind! Fucking assholes.”
“Somebody must be closing in on her time of the month.”
“Fuck you, Austin,” I shout, slam the door behind me, and bite down on my lip so hard my ring digs into the flesh. I want to kick something. I want to scream. I want my damn red panties. I sniffle as wetness pools in my eyes and I squeeze my lids shut because damn it, I don’t want to cry.
A soft rap at the door causes my eyes to open. One tear slides down the right side of my face.
“Lexi?” It’s Trent.
“Just go away.” I have every intention of staying angry, but all the energy leaves my body with a few more tears.
“Can I—” He clears his throat with a cough. “Can I please come in?”
I should tell him no, to go away, to fuck off, but my hand betrays any good decision making and reaches for the lock. I twist it slowly, thinking of the giant body pillow waiting on the opposite side of this door. How, if I were different, I’d grab his arm and pull him inside, and make him sleep next to me again. Ask him to hold me until this stupid day is over and I find rest. Only I’m not different. I’m just me.
“What do you want?” I crack the door, leaving just enough space that I can see.
His gaze finds mine and his eyes widen. “Are you crying?”
“No,” I snap, sniffling and wiping my face with the back of my hand. “I’m still sick.”
His gaze drops to the floor, his bare feet exposed. Feet should be ugly. Gross. Especially man feet, but his are long and perfect. Just like his tongue. Probably like the rest of him.
Damn it.
“We didn’t steal your panties. I pinky swear, but I can see how you’d come to that conclusion.”
Desolation mixed with disappointment and a feeling I can’t quite explain or reason settles heavy on my shoulders so I shut my eyes. “Whatever. I don’t even care. Is that all you wanted?” A few more tears escape.
The door pushes forward and I lift my gaze as he steps in. I back up to give him room, but the backs of my calves hit the end of the bed. There isn’t enough space for the two of us. Not with someone like Trent, whose presence commands an entire arena.
His eyes travel from the tips of my toes, up my legs, and over my chest. As if I have no control over my reaction, or rather my body can’t help lighting up at his perusal, my nipples bead into erect points, goosebumps cover my flesh, and I have to press my legs together at his unhurried gaze.
He withdraws his hand from behind his back, and hanging from his index finger is my red satin thong. My mouth opens but his throaty chuckle cuts me off. “I think you must have missed this. It was in the back of the drawer. I swear.”
I reach out and snatch it from his hands.
“Fuck me.” The words leave his lips a prayer. “I don’t suppose you’d let me see you wearing the matching set as a reward?” His voice is smooth like caramel candy but the words, they’re poison. The worst kind that eats away at the carefully constructed walls I’ve built.
An odd equilibrium settles in my belly, and my quick response isn’t there. The words that usually shoot out of my mouth without much thought are muddled by the buzz of energy that thrums through my body. He’s only making a joke . . . because that’s what Trent does. But the heat in his eyes doesn’t hold a punchline. No. Instead, it mirrors the lust reverberating with every beat of my heart.
His lips lift at the edges and he shakes his head, just enough that his hair falls forward into his eyes. My fingers long to reach up and brush it back. But I won’t. Instead, I clench them behind my back, and the fabric in my hands reminds me I’m not wearing panties.
He steps forward, his gaze laser focused, and my breath catches in the back of my throat.
“The fever’s back?” he asks with another step forward. His eyebrows lower and I almost feel sorry for hampering their otherwise perfect shape. He’s close. So close.
A wise move would be to retreat, but I’m stuck between his body and the side of the bed. Rendered immobile from the intensity of his stare.
His hands graze the skin on my arms and he dips his chin, lowering his mouth. Slowly. Steady. Purposefully. His breath fans across my cheek and my eyes flutter shut. This is a bad idea. I shouldn’t want it. But right now there’s nothing that can keep me from giving into his kiss. For once, I want to throw out my well laid plans and hard work, and trade them for a night of pleasure. A night of carnal bliss. With Trent.
Only he doesn’t kiss me. His lips land on my forehead instead.
We stand, just like that, while time ticks by with his mouth pressed to my forehead. He steps back and his eyes are lit with surprise. “You’re not hot.”
Oh, but I am, so why don’t you kiss me already. I mash my lips together and exhale a rough forced breath. “I’m fine, Trent.” But I’m not. Not at all. My emotions reverberate in my chest and I’m caught in such a predicament. I don’t want to be like my mother, but for the first time in my life I consider the temptation.
Trent runs his hand over his forehead and through his hair, pushing it off his face. His stare goes straight through me, so deep, and I fear he can see me. The longing, the desire, the want. The uncertainty. All that’s broken. He nods his head. “We saved you a plate. Come eat with us.”
“Oh, okay.” I try to shake off the disappointment that shouldn’t come with his invite.
He backs up until he hits the door and his lips kick up with a smile. “The guys were worried you’d go razor happy if we didn’t.”
“Wonder why they’d be concerned?” I roll my eyes and Trent’s soft chuckle fills me with joy.
“So, you’re coming?” His hand rests on the doorknob, and though there’s still a smile at his lips, his eyes are filled with something else. Concern? He’s looking out for me. Because we’re friends. Because I was sick. That’s all this is. Irritation flares. I’m mad at myself for getting caught up in his gorgeous eyes and kind soul. Angry for wanting something I shouldn’t.
“I said I was.” I huff and step forward, expecting him to open the door.
“Hold up, Sugar Tits.” His grip on the door tightens. “You’re not coming out until you put on a sweatshirt.”
I twist my lips into a frown and grab the big sweatshirt I laid out earlier, tugging it over my head. “Turn around, no peeking.”
“You’re fine now.” He gestures to my shirt.
“Yeah, but . . .” I hold up the underwear he returned.
“Fuck me.” His head bangs back against the door, his eyes shut, and he turns to grip the molding. “You aren’t wearing panties. You know how fucking sexy that is?”
I slide my shorts off just long enough to put on my underwear, my eyes trained on Trent’s back to make sure he doesn’t sneak a peek. Or maybe hoping he will. God, I’m such an idiot. “I’m guessing a lot.”
“I’m just pissed I didn’t notice the lack of panty lines. Too distracted by your breasts. Has anyone ever told you how amazing your rack is, Lexi?”
“You can turn around now,” I say, and he turns just in time to catch my eyes roll.
“Come on, food’s getting cold.” Trent opens the door and waits for me to pass through first.
When I hear him murmur “Sugar Tits,” I spin around and pin him with a glare. “Don’t call me that.”
“Sorry. Just imagining that’s how they’d taste.” He waggles his tongue inside his open mouth.
Fuck. So much for clean panties. I tug my sweatshirt lower on my thighs and march to the table without another look back. The entire meal I try not to imagine Trent’s glorious tongue tracing every inch of my skin.
And fail miserably.
23
Trent
All night I recall how fantastic Lexi looked in that silky top, the fabric so sheer it wrapped her chest like a second skin. Her nipples—hard and begging to be sucked. Those tiny black shorts that show off her curves. Legs that
were made for straddling hips—for spreading wide and sitting on my dick.
Fuck me.
With my long limbs scrunched into this too tiny bunk I can’t even jack off properly. I shower instead, fantasizing about those tiny red panties on her sexy little body. Her breathy moans when I make her come. Okay, so I make that part up because I don’t know how she sounds when she falls apart, but it’s my daydream so I imagine that’s how she comes.
It’s a long night.
I don’t sleep much, and as daylight pokes through a crack in the darkening shades I pull on a pair of worn jeans and start up the coffee maker. I’ll squeeze in a nap if needed, but laying around isn’t gaining me any rest. Austin, Iz, and Sean are dead to the world as I settle into the bench seat with a mug to watch the miles pass by.
This is the part of the job I love, city to city, each day a new crowd, new fans, new surroundings. It feeds the wanderlust that flows through my blood, the need to keep moving, to not become stuck or complacent. While those desires haven’t gone away, they’ve changed this tour. They’ve changed because of the blonde sleeping down the hall.
I love women. And maybe my love for women, in the plural sense, only proves I’m a little fucked up in the head. But there’s no greater joy in my life than to bring a woman pleasure. To get completely lost in the satisfaction that two, or three, partners can bring each other. It’s lust without shame. It’s need and want. It’s temporary love gratification.
That hasn’t changed, but for the first time in my life I’m not anticipating the horde of women I’ll meet in the next city. I’m only consumed by one woman.