by Kacey Shea
“Dude, what the fuck have you done?”
I rub my eyes and in my state of half-consciousness it takes a moment before I realize where I am—on the tour bus—and who’s pulling me from rest—Trent.
“What time is it?” I scrub a hand over my face and squint toward the light.
“Time to wake the fuck up.” He grabs my pillow out from under my head and holds it to his chest, drawing my full attention. “Did you post that video on purpose? Or were you sleep walking? Please tell me you don’t have a death wish.”
The video. Right. Ignoring my bandmate, I fumble around in my bunk until my fingers make contact with my cell. I don’t need to unlock the screen to know what happened. The sheer number of notifications says it all. That, and Jayla’s rants from across the bus.
“I am going to hurt him. I don’t care if I’m paid to keep him safe, I am going to hurt that man and not for show!”
“So, Jayla would like a word.” Trent levels me with one last insistent look before shoving my pillow back into my bunk. “Make this right.”
“I will, I will.” I reach up and pull my curtain shut but he’s already walking back toward the commotion. With a brief moment of solitude, I check the stats on the video. My eyes widen and I rub them once more to make sure I’m not dreaming.
Holy shit. Over a million views in what’s got to be less than six hours. They love her. I had no doubt they would.
And now she wants to talk.
Interesting.
Exciting.
Arousing.
Shit. This is not the time nor the opportunity to sport a woody. I adjust my junk, count down from ten, and think about starving children and poisonous snake bites. By the time I get to one, my erected state is barely visible from the outside of my sleep shorts. It’s go time, baby.
Jayla’s still ranting, though her exact words are inaudible through the sound barrier of my sleep shade and the hum of the bus. I don’t need to hear them to know she’s hella pissed, and a sick part of me can’t wait for the pleasure of being on the receiving end of her tirade.
Isn’t that why I posted the video without running it by her first? I knew she’d probably shoot me down without a little outside pressure, but I also couldn’t wait to get a rise out of the woman I’d love to spar with, physically and otherwise.
I climb out of my bunk, stretch my arms over my head, and strut out to meet my fate with more eagerness than I want her to see. “Morning, sunshine.” I grin and lift my eyes to meet her glare.
She’s goddamn gorgeous, her hair a mess of curls and her legs wrapped in a pair of those black stretchy pants that hug her curves almost as much as her fitted tee. The scowl on her face doesn’t detract from her beauty; if anything, it highlights her full lips and sharp gaze. “You.”
“Me? Did I do something?” I point at my chest, satisfied when her gaze stutters briefly as it skitters across my naked chest.
“I can’t believe you posted that!”
“Not bad, huh?” I feign nonchalance. I nod at my bandmates, Lexi, and Jess, who might as well have a tub of popcorn with the way they’re watching us from the table’s bench seat. I return my attention back to Jayla. “My editing needs work, but a million views before breakfast isn’t bad.”
“I am not part of some publicity stunt.” Her tone is sharp, but she’s not unleashed. She withholds her full wrath, and I hope it’s because she doesn’t totally hate what I posted. “It’s bad enough you twisted my arm with this job.” She glances around at my friends and her features soften as if she didn’t mean to say that part to an audience. “You can’t expect me to jump because you post some clip.”
“It was a finely produced educational video,” I exaggerate to get a reaction.
Bingo. “My butt takes up the entire frame!” she all but screams, closing the few steps between us.
My lips pull wide, because yeah, she’s got a fine booty. “Your ass is the source of most of these comments.” I swipe across my phone and it only takes seconds before I find one to read aloud.
“Don’t,” she practically growls.
Maybe I do have a death wish, because I can’t stop myself. “ThatGuy22 says, ‘This girl can bring her milkshake to my yard any time. I vote for more videos and less clothes.’”
“I hate you.”
“You love me, and look, there aren’t just perverts watching. Here.” I take the time to find a more encouraging comment, and clear my throat. “‘Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Thank you for putting him down like the fool he is. More women should feel empowered to not put up with bullshit. Teach us how!’ Paints me in a bad light, but her heart is in the right place.”
“Why did you post this?” Her voice is low, and oh, so frightening. I can’t decide whether I should lean in closer or cover my balls.
Instead I go with humor, because it’s worked for me this far. “Because I thought it’d be fun. You teach self-defense. I can be the dummy.”
“That won’t be a stretch,” Trent calls from the peanut gallery.
I’d glare but I’m more concerned with convincing Jayla to agree to my plan. “I’m serious, Jay. Want to take me down and let someone else videotape us?”
“Leave it to you to make it sound kinky,” she grumbles.
I want to agree with her, let her know the feelings I have for her—and about rolling around on the floor with her—are very much sexual, but that won’t work. She won’t agree if she thinks I’m getting off on it.
“Please.” I bat my lashes once and hold her gaze.
“Stop. Don’t make that face.”
I have her. Puppy dog eyes work more than most will admit. “What face? This?” I do it again, not caring one bit that the guys will give me shit for weeks, if not years.
“You’re a grown man.” She casts a sideways glance, but I can already see the hint of a smile form. “Don’t beg.”
“Do it for the girls.” I wink.
“You’ve lost your damn mind.” She does laugh this time. Soft and throaty, and fuck if my dick doesn’t stir at the sound.
“I’m serious; hear me out. I’ve done my research. Women are attacked and victimized at alarming rates. We could be the reason someone fights back, or knows how to fight back. We could make a difference.”
She blinks and opens her mouth, then hesitates before snapping it closed.
I’ve got her. “Eighty percent of my followers are women.”
“I’m not sure that’s a stat you should be proud of.”
“Manwhore,” someone coughs. Probably Trent or Sean. I can’t even be mad because I’d give them the same shit.
“Come on, Jay. It’ll be fun. Do this with me. Please?”
Her gaze flicks to my friends, and when she speaks her voice is too low for the others to hear. “I didn’t come here for insta fame.”
“I know. That’s why I want you. Besides, we both know your ass looks better in the camera frame than mine.”
“I don’t know why I’m even considering this.”
Come on, Jay. I’ll be your personal snuggle fuck buddy for the remainder of the tour? I almost speak it aloud. Instead, my mind conjures a stroke of brilliance I know she won’t turn down. “I’ll owe you a solid.”
Her glare softens, the nostalgia working its magic. Growing up, I never had money. Neither did she. So we used to trade favors—a solid—even though she never really needed to. If she told me to jump off a bridge, I would have. I know before she opens her mouth that she’ll do it.
“Fine. But no takebacks.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Any time. Any place. You can cash in and I’ll do whatever you need.”
“This just got interesting.” Lexi claps her hands, her laughter joining with Opal’s, but I can’t see anything other than the woman before me. She’s so much more than the girl I used to trade favors with, and yet the root of who she is—her inherent goodness—proves she hasn’t allowed life to change her. Not where it counts.
122
Jayla
As soon as I agree, Austin stares, almost in admiration, and before I know what’s happening he’s by my side, his phone held out and camera flipped to capture us in a selfie.
Scratch that.
He’s gone and lost his mind.
“What are you doing?” I ask the question, but I already know. We’re live. On Facebook or Instagram or one of his other channels and I’m fighting the urge to either kick him in the balls or run off-screen because holy hell! I’m not wearing enough makeup for this and I certainly haven’t fixed my hair.
“This woman right here”—he waggles his perfect eyebrows and flashes one of his panty melting grins—“just agreed to make my dreams come true.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t stop filming me.” I try to shove the phone away but he only holds it out of reach and laughs.
“That a promise?”
“Damn straight.”
He steps away and I exhale a sigh of relief. I don’t like being the center of attention. I can’t believe he got me to agree to do this.
“You heard it here first. The beautiful and slightly terrifying Miss Miller is going to help you learn some sick moves.” He glances over his cell, eyes twinkling with mischief as they meet mine. The lazy smile that stretches across his lips causes my stomach to flip. He’s way too handsome, and entirely trouble. “She’s gonna use my body, and I’m gonna get one of my bandmates to record so we can bring you weekly videos. A series, if you will.” He pivots, his back to me, and holds out his phone so we’re both on camera.
“A series?” I repeat, irritated at myself for agreeing without setting better terms. I’m not doing this forever. A few lessons, tops. And only if he keeps it educational and respectful.
“That’s right. Self-defense 101, rock star style.” He stares at the cell and laughs as hearts and scrolling comments burst onto the screen. “See, they already love the idea. What do you say, Jayla? We put together a series of tips and tricks for all the ladies? Keep those thwarted advances at bay. Teach them all to be a badass like you.”
“Stop sucking up. It’s unnecessary. I said I’d do it.”
“Because you like me.”
“Because I like kicking your ass.” My lips twitch and I consider giving in to a smile.
“See.” He stares at the phone. “My sexy head of security is gonna give it to me good for you all to witness.” He winks and clicks a button before stuffing his cell into his pocket.
“You don’t get told no often, do you?”
“On the contrary. I get rejected all the time. But I don’t give up. Not when it comes to something I want.”
I’ve never been one to respond to possessiveness. If anything, it sends me running in the opposite direction. But there’s an undertone to Austin’s words that stoke a fire I’d long but snuffed out. The desire to be cherished. The hope of being loved. My retort dies on my lips and instead I drop my gaze to my hands.
“If you really don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. It’s your choice.”
“Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “You kind of backed me into a corner. If I back out now I’ll look like a coward. Everyone will be pissed.”
“Everyone?”
“Your fans.” I clear my throat, needing the reminder that he’s not doing this for me. He’s doing this to gain notoriety. A publicity stunt.
His brows shoot into his hairline. “You think I’m doing this for them?”
“To get them to buy your music. Concert tickets. Merch. Yeah, I do.” He has to be. What other motivation does he have?
“Then you, Jayla Miller, are sorely mistaken.” He almost looks put out.
I narrow my gaze. “Why, then?”
“You really wanna know?”
I lift my chin in a slight nod and he drops the teasing. It’s a look I haven’t seen him wear and it takes me off guard.
“Because there are too many men who don’t understand the concept of consent, and too many women who aren’t prepared to fight back.”
My initial urge is to look away. The way he’s staring, the depth of his gaze, it pulls forward memories I’d rather not recall. Maybe he knows? Maybe this is why he’s pushing my hand.
No. Impossible.
I’ve worked too damn hard to build myself into the woman I am today. One who faces ugly with power and strength. A woman who fights for what’s right. It’s for this very reason I agreed to his stupid videos. “Thank you.”
“Come again?” He holds his hand up to cup his ear dramatically and just like that, the glimmer of serious Austin is gone. “I think my hearing must be going because I swear you just thanked me.”
“Is everything one big joke to you? Because you don’t have to do that with me.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.
He raises his back. “Nothing about you and me is a laughing matter.”
“I’m going to enjoy beating your ass. I hope you’re ready for this.”
“I can’t fucking wait.” He bites his lip. Fucking bites his lip, and a surge of lust pools right between my legs.
“So, do we get to watch?” Trent leans back against his seat, his arm draped across the back of the built-in booth. “Because I want to witness this go down.”
“I’ll tape y’all,” Opal volunteers with a bright smile. I can’t tell if she’s poking fun or genuinely excited, and just like that I feel every bit the hired outsider I am.
“You gonna script it, or go on the fly?” Leighton asks.
“I don’t know.” Austin opens the fridge and pulls out the carton of milk as he fixes himself breakfast. “We have plenty of time to figure it out.”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea.” Lexi meets my stare a beat before her eyes flick toward Austin. “Even if it was an asshole move to post that without asking Jayla.”
“Thank you for not quitting.” Leighton steeples his hands together. “I feel like we say that a lot.”
“That’s our boy. He likes to make things complicated.” Sean pats Austin on the shoulder as he gives up his seat and heads toward the back of the bus. As he passes by, he meets my gaze and lifts his lips with a faint smile—as if he knows exactly what’s going on between Austin and me. As if this is more than a simple publicity stunt. That maybe it’s also more than helping the masses equip themselves with the ability to fight off an intruder. That he knows I’m attracted to his friend.
And fuck me, because I’m beginning to think he’s right.
123
Jayla
I never put much thought into what goes into a concert, let alone a six-week tour across the United States. But holy hell, do I know now. The next eight days fly by in what often feels like heavily orchestrated chaos. I do everything I can to stay on top of security breaches between the miles of stretching highway.
The suspicious backpack in Dallas.
A fire alarm during sound check in Oklahoma.
None of which yields an actual threat, only accidental mishaps that give me and the rest of the staff near heart attacks.
I don’t want anything bad to happen on my watch. It’s no different from when I was on the beat, or working security at a party. I feel personally responsible for every single person who walks into a show, from the concession staff to the roadies to the talent themselves. Yes, the crazed and obsessed groupies deserve their safety, even though they are a pain in my ass. There hasn’t been one show that they don’t try to flirt, scheme, or buy their way past the guards. Everyone wants a piece of the band. In particular, a shot with the elusive last single Ugly Guy. Austin.
Against my expectations, he doesn’t pay these overtly forward women any attention outside of the shows, meet and greets, and post-concert parties hosted by WMI. I don’t know why this pleases me, but it does. I expected him to be a player. Especially after that ridiculous list he gave me before we left on this tour. Maybe he was exaggerating? No. If anything, he was embarrassed. I don’t know what sparked a change in his manwhore ways, if it happe
ned long before or whether my presence has anything to do with his sudden interest in a chaste lifestyle.
I’m lying. I hope I have everything to do with his behavior. Which is totally unprofessional and inappropriate. It’s not as if I’m planning to sleep with him. I wouldn’t do that. It would be a colossally bad idea. Yet the thought of him being intimate with anyone else makes me livid.
“What’s wrong?” The man at the center of my thoughts pulls me from my musings. He jumps from the parked bus with a hop to his step and struts over to where I stand in the shade.
We pulled into Kansas City an hour ago, way ahead of schedule. Most everyone is still asleep on the bus, tired from the late show and grueling pace of the tour.
I straighten my shoulders and try not to notice how good he looks in his tight jeans, or the tattoos that paint his arms, or how that cocky grin makes his lips look incredibly kissable. “Why does something have to be wrong?”
His lips pull up as if he can read my thoughts. He nods to the bus. “You want to bail on the video?”
Yes. “No.” The past week has been too busy to record content for our ‘series,’ but today we have hours to kill before the pre-show prep begins. Which means I have no excuse. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What every guy likes to hear before heading to the bedroom.” He winks.
“Good thing we’re not, then.” I cock my head and lift my brows.
“Actually, I was thinking it’d be a cool concept. We have the room in the back, and it’s as clean as any other space in the bus. I mean, we’ll change the sheets after we kick Opal and Leighton out of there.” His words flow from his lips with ease, but my body tenses as I realize where he’s going with this. “We could demonstrate how to fight off an attacker from that scenario.”
No. No bed. No. No. No.
My stomach bottoms out. My heart stops. I swear to God, I can’t force myself to suck in air, even though my mind knows it’s crucial to breathing.
“Shit. Jayla!” His arms come around my waist.