Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  Straightening my shoulders, I turn away from the stage to focus on the most important task at hand, getting through the rest of the concert. I’ll have plenty of time to mull over my feelings once we are back on the road again safe and sound.

  My eyes burn against the brightness of the laptop screen, and my body aches for the comfort of my sleeping bunk. From the driver’s seat, Ace hums along to the song in his head, steering the bus along miles and miles of dark highway. We left Omaha a good hour ago, and after scarfing down the dinner Opal arranged, everyone settles into their nightly routine.

  Austin’s in the shower. Opal and Leighton retreated to their bed a while ago. Lexi strums her guitar from her spot on the floor, her deep, soulful voice crooning lyrics I’ve never heard before. She stops every few minutes to jot down a note, or hit record on her phone. Trent snoozes beside her. He always tries to stay awake, but the exhaustion of performing catches up to him. Lexi catches me staring and lifts her brow. “The boys can’t hang.”

  “You like to work at night.” Not a question, just an observation.

  Her lips twist with a hint of joy. “It’s as if the entire world stops. The stillness helps me focus, and the parts of the song that have been hanging out in the back of my mind just click into place. Feels like magic.” Her passion for writing is clear.

  “You love it.”

  “Makes me feel alive, you know?” She strums her guitar, tuning the sound before buckling it into its case. “But I’m ahead of schedule on this record so I’m gonna call it a night.”

  “You don’t have to,” I say, worried she’s turning in because of me or that I’ve interrupted her process. “Once I finish these reports, you’ll have the space to yourself.”

  “He won’t go to bed until I do.” She rolls her eyes, but when her stare lands on Trent it’s full of admiration and affection. “He needs his rest. This tour has taken a lot out of him. All of us.” Her lips press together and she lets loose a long exhale before meeting my gaze. “There weren’t any security threats tonight?”

  “No.” It’s almost unsettling, really. I expected this to be more challenging. Not that my job is easy. It’s just, given the explosion before I came on, I anticipated more problems and security issues.

  “Good. Thank you for being here. For keeping my boys safe,” she says. Before I can answer, she’s pulling Trent to his feet.

  “Wha—?” He rubs the sleep from his face. “Did you get enough done?”

  “Yep. I’m ready for bed.”

  “’Night, Jayla.” Trent waves and slings his arm around Lexi’s shoulder on their way to their sleep bunk.

  I exhale, pinch my eyes shut, and rally the focus I need to finish up my work too. But the sound of the bathroom door opening followed by footsteps steals what attention I have left. I glance over my laptop as Austin struts into the space. Shirtless. Freshly showered. The ends of his hair still dripping.

  Well, that doesn’t help me. Every intelligent thought scatters at the sight of him. Damn. Just. Damn.

  “Jayla.” Austin tips his chin.

  “Hey,” I manage to get out without sounding like an idiot. My eyes fall back to my computer screen and the three lines worth of letter V’s I’ve added by accident. “Shit,” I mutter, and highlight the text to delete it.

  Austin’s soft chuckle registers and I can’t tell whether he’s laughing with me or at me. Regardless, my body comes to attention at the sound.

  I try to look busy, at least until he climbs into his sleep bunk, but he doesn’t make his way there, instead plopping onto the bench seat at my right. His presence crowds my solitude.

  “You gonna be up awhile?”

  “Yeah.” I lift my gaze to meet his and it takes every bit of willpower to not let it rove over his body. The ink covering his skin practically demands for me to stare, but I’m not that woman and I won’t be caught ogling him. I have too much pride for that.

  “Cool.” He flashes a grin, then settles his gaze on his phone. “I’m going to edit our next video.”

  My brows pull with my frown. “But WMI said no more videos.”

  “Yeah, well. If they don’t like it, they can fuck off.”

  “You think that’s a good idea?”

  “Probably not.” There’s that smile again.

  I should reprimand him. Convince him to shut it down. But the rebellious nature of his words pulls my own lips into a smile. I tear my gaze from his and back to my laptop, and we settle into a comfortable silence. Him on his cell and me working my way through the list of questions and security protocol. I finish the reports but decide I’d better check into preparations for tomorrow’s show. We’ll be staying overnight in Illinois, sleeping at a hotel. It adds extra work, but the promise of a night in my own room is one hundred percent worth it. The label is sponsoring an after party at the same hotel following tomorrow’s show, and clearing the guest list of one hundred with background checks is of the upmost priority. No easy task as the list changes daily.

  “Done!” Austin sets down his phone with a satisfied smile.

  “Already? That was quick.”

  He squints and scrubs his palm across the scruff of his chin. “Oh, but I can take all night when it’s important.”

  “Oh.” I bite my lip, not exactly intending to bring up our one very awkward experience as teens, but considering everyone else is asleep, I may as well address it. “I guess you’ve cleared up that issue since high school.”

  He stifles his laughter with the back of his hand. “I knew you were going to bring that up.”

  I lift my eyebrows in challenge. “You don’t look embarrassed.”

  “Hell, no. I was a sixteen-year-old kid. You were letting me put my dick in you. Of course I blew my load right away.”

  “Technically, you didn’t put it in me.” I cringe, remembering our one and only attempt at having sex. My brother had football practice, so after school Austin walked me home the way he had dozens of times before. Both my parents were still working, and I’d invited him over to study.

  Our hormones were at an all-time high and we’d been flirting for months. It was a natural progression, I suppose. He was my best friend. I found him attractive in spite of his awkwardness, and when we got to talking about sex, or more like our shared inexperience, I asked if he’d take my virginity. Heavy petting and kissing commenced, followed by him suiting up in a condom only to ejaculate less than a minute after he rolled it on.

  “Yeah, that’s my only regret.” Austin chuckles and scrubs a hand over his face. “And you avoided me for like two weeks afterward.”

  “I didn’t know how to not make it weird.” My defense brings another soft laugh.

  “I apologize for being the worst sexual experience in your life.”

  Not worst. I almost tell him, but then it would ruin this light comradery we’ve rediscovered. Instead, I reach for the nearest truth, my face a mask of easygoing normalcy. “It was certainly the quickest.”

  “God.” He glances up and his chest shakes with the laughter he can’t hold back. When his gaze lands on mine he looks so much like the boy I left behind. “I really screwed up. Blew my chance with you. Literally and figuratively.”

  I don’t know what to say to that, so I glance back down at my laptop and check for a response from my last email. My neck aches. My back too, but I might as well power through a few more minutes of work.

  “Anyway, check this out.” Austin slides his cell across the table. His finger glides alongside mine as he transfers the device over. He smiles proudly. “I think it’s the best one yet.”

  I can’t help but smile and press play. In another life, I think Austin could’ve been a filmmaker. He has a talent for knowing just how to string clips together. It’s funny, smart, and the smile at my lips grows knowing how many people it will reach.

  “You like it?” he says as I push his phone back into his hands.

  “It’s really good.”

  “Practice makes perfect.” Hi
s lips curve up knowingly. Practice. The way the words drip from his mouth make them sound sensual. He’s had plenty of practice since we were kids. Hell, he gave me his list. And while his sexual promiscuity is a turn off, the knowledge of his practiced skills in the bedroom shoots a thrill down my spine. I press my legs together and my arms cover in gooseflesh at the thought of practice with Austin.

  His gaze catches mine before landing on my arms. He notices my body’s reaction, and that only turns me on more. I don’t want him to know. I don’t trust he won’t take advantage, and I need the upper hand. Always. It’s how I maintain control. I won’t show him my weakness. I can’t.

  I play it off as exhaustion and sore muscles, stretching my head to the right, and then to the left. It’s not a lie. My entire body aches. I consider myself in shape; for the most part I live a healthy lifestyle. But the number of hours I’ve spent on my feet standing or walking through venues only to sleep in a less than comfortable bus has my muscles strained in a way I’m not accustomed to.

  That, along with the pressure that comes with each and every tour stop. We’ve had no threats, no breaches in security, and everyone is safe. So far. I can’t help but question whether it’s a result of luck more than planning. If someone is dead set on hurting these guys or causing terror at a show, they will attempt to abolish the safety measures I set in place. It’s a probable situation and one that weighs heavy on my mind, especially these late nights while we roll along miles of empty freeway and my thoughts have the freedom to wander.

  “Neck hurt?”

  “A little.” I reach back to work the tightness from my muscles.

  “Here, let me.” He’s up from his seat and behind me before I open my mouth to argue. His thumbs knead my skin, firm and with solid pressure. “You’re tense.”

  I resist the urge to moan, because holy hell, his hands are amazing.

  “It’s this job, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m sorry. It’s my fault for coercing you into accepting.”

  “Yeah, well it’s on your conscience when I’m subjected to a lifetime of acupuncture, chiropractic care, and prescription drugs for these stress headaches and back pain.”

  “Shit.” His voice is low and throaty through his chuckle. “I don’t want that. I’d have to get my own medical marijuana to deal with the pain of ruining your gorgeous body.”

  “You already have weed.”

  “I do?” His hands still a moment, then resume with the escape of another laugh. “Busted.”

  “Good thing I’m no longer a cop.” I tip my chin up, letting my head fall back against his stomach. I catch his grin and let my own lips curve up playfully. Or at least, it starts that way. Under the heat of his stare and with his hands still moving across my shoulders in deep, sure circles, my body tenses for an entirely different reason.

  His touch feels intimate.

  The way he’s studying me from beneath those dark lashes is intense. He doesn’t look away, and I couldn’t if I tried. “Honestly, Jay, what can I do? You shouldn’t carry all this stress.”

  “I—” want you to touch me. The words catch in my throat and hammer in my chest. My pulse gallops and I press my legs together as the need between them—the need for him—obliterates any rational thought.

  I almost say those words aloud.

  By the heat in his stare, I wonder if he feels it too.

  “Jay,” he whispers. My name on his lips is full of the same tortured longing I feel down to my core. We barely scratched the surface of this sexual tension when we were teens, both too young and too naïve to fully understand the power of it.

  Now. Right here. I swear those same feelings have multiplied and grown. It’s overwhelming. Terrifying as hell. And yet . . . I can’t help but arch my back even more. I delight in the way his gaze drops to the neckline of my shirt.

  His eyes zero in on my chest and his touch becomes feather light as his stare takes in the hard peaks of my nipples straining against the soft cotton fabric. I want him to touch me there. To haul me off this chair and into his arms. I need to taste his lips as they press against mine. Crave it.

  “I have an idea,” he whispers so softly that if I weren’t watching his lips I would have missed the words.

  “Yeah?”

  His hands brush along my arms, down to my elbows and then back up, his fingers so close but not touching the swell of my breasts. “It’s selfless on my part, because you know how giving I am.” He’s teasing. Joking. But it doesn’t kill the chemistry that swirls between us. If anything, it only adds charge to an already building momentum.

  His hands feel good, but they’re not enough.

  “Your idea?” My gaze waits for his.

  “I want you, Jayla.”

  “Oh.” Heat pools in my belly. My skin feels flush. And my body, my body wants this and everything he wants to give.

  His hands slide up the length of my neck, then still as they cup my face. “I’ll make you feel better. I swear.” He tilts my chin up and my back arches in response. His body leans down over mine, slowly closing the space between our mouths.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” I murmur, completely fascinated by the heat in his stare, and the way his tongue swipes across his lips.

  “Let me kiss you at least?” He lowers his mouth, his intent as clear as his words. “I’ve been dying to taste those lips. To see if they’re still the same.”

  “Um . . .” I should feel caged in. Between the chair and the table, his hands near my throat and his body behind mine, I expect my anxiety to ruin this moment. Only it never comes. Instead, desire and attraction so powerful flood my veins. I almost reach up and grab for him.

  “One kiss?” He bends, closing the remaining space until there isn’t more than shared breath between us. All I need to do is close the space, to nod my consent, and his lips will crash on mine.

  Thrilling. Terrifying. I can’t settle on which emotion rules.

  But I don’t have to. A melody bursts from his phone. An interruption, and instead of pressing my lips to his, I chicken out, dropping my gaze to the phone.

  What I see on his screen kills any ounce of desire.

  He reaches out to swipe the phone from my gaze, but it’s too late. I already saw. I don’t even attempt to mutter an excuse, and he doesn’t stop me as I push out of my chair, stalk down the hall, and lock myself in the bathroom.

  You should know better, I chastise my reflection in the small mirror. I’m not anyone special to him. I’m just convenient. All the time we’ve spent together—the videos, the conversations—it’s all blinded me to the truth.

  Once a player, always a player. Shame on me for imagining otherwise.

  126

  Austin

  My fucking phone. Worst cock block ever. The second Jayla’s eyes drop to my screen I know I’m screwed. Why the hell did I think it’d be a good idea to program, “Fuck Me Heels Lawyer” as the contact? Fuck me is right.

  Jayla races to the bathroom and I reluctantly swipe across the screen, holding the cell to my ear. “Hey.”

  “Is this a good time?” Rachel Kinsley says in her all-business tone. “I know it’s late with the time difference, but I just got to my computer.”

  “It’s fine.” It’s not at all. I’d like to tell her off for sending Jayla running, but it’s my fault for the misinterpretation. Truth is, a few weeks ago I would have jumped at the thought of a booty call from Rachel Kinsley, but now it does nothing for me. She’s not the one I want. “Everything okay?”

  “Not really.” She clears her throat, and I can’t tell whether her pause is for dramatic effect or she’s just distracted. “Sorry, okay, so the preliminary hearing is set for next week. You don’t need to be present, and I’ll request the judge dismiss the claims. However, I’m going to be honest with you. There’s a good chance it’ll go to trial.”

  Coy. The mere thought of him causes my jaw to grate. “But there’s a chance it won’t?”<
br />
  “We’ve been assigned to Judge Hallstorm, so I’d say that chance is slim to non-existent.” The wariness in Rachel’s voice isn’t something I associate with her, and for that alone the seed of worry in my gut begins to grow.

  “Should I know who that is?”

  “No, I hope not.” She sighs. “I went to law school with him and let’s just say, he won’t make this easy.”

  “Damn.” I rub my temples, wishing this mess would all disappear. Coy caused enough damage for one lifetime. He has real balls to come back for more. “I wish this could just be over.”

  “Funny, I was hoping you’d say that.” There’s a smile in Rachel’s voice.

  “Why’s that exactly?”

  “Because there’s another option. We can still settle.”

  I bristle at the suggestion. “Pay him off? Fuck no.”

  “It’ll end up costing the same. And we’d require an NDA to his acceptance of any settlement monies. This would keep you and the band out of the press.”

  My jaw tightens with the influx of stress.

  “Austin. My advice, which you pay for, is that you let me do my job and work a deal with this lowlife. We have enough to win, but his lawyers are gonna spin the circumstances and quite frankly, you aren’t completely innocent. You did hurt him. He can’t play anymore. That doesn’t win you sympathy votes. They’re gonna go for the jugular. They’ll drag out any skeletons in your closet. Your bandmates’ and Jess’s, too.”

  I don’t want to give him a penny, but I’m not the only person this affects. The band, sure, but there are others. I should talk to Jess. She deserves a say in this. “Can I think about it? When do you need a decision?”

  “We scheduled the hearing for next Thursday, so the sooner the better. If you don’t give me a few days to negotiate, I can’t guarantee they’ll settle.”