Insatiable (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 3)

by Michelle Hazen

  I straighten my back. What the fuck does that mean? I’ve always liked our label—our A&R guy is fair and funny as hell, and the company doesn’t seem as manipulative as some of the other labels. But judging by what Ava is saying, maybe...I glance at Jera. She is definitely not going to any label meetings without us. It’s different for women in the industry, I know that. We just haven’t had to deal with it too much yet, thankfully for the continued health of my fist and some record exec’s pretty teeth.

  “Ava, you know the label wants to support your need to grow creatively.” Record Label Chick smiles. “And we love your mojo. It’s a big part of what makes your brand so successful. But you can’t just—”

  “Right now, my mojo is interested in ending this meeting.” The words are so tight every one slaps my skin like a rubber band, and that really shouldn’t be turning me on right now. Ava turns with an apologetic smile to Jera and Danny. “I am so excited to meet you guys and I look forward to hanging out more as we get ready for the tour. But right now, I really need to have a discussion with my manager about our business strategies.” She looks to me. “Sometimes, you know, it’s just hard to get everybody on the same page.”

  Ah. No wonder she sounded so sympathetic about people not noticing when you’ve changed—guess that would be a real problem for somebody who started out as a child star. I smile at her, hoping she gets how much I appreciate her being a badass on my band’s behalf.

  I think her eyes soften a bit, but then she gives that rubber-band voice to the three employees on the other end of the table. “Thank you so much for coming. We’ll be rescheduling the rest of this meeting as soon as possible.”

  Curt taps his phone against the table, his face bored but his gaze bright, like he’s enjoying some part of this, though I can’t guess why. Record Label Chick heads for the back of the suite as if she has a room here, too, Publicity Pipsqueak trailing behind her. Poor Personal Assistant Girl lingers like she has no idea whether she’s supposed to stay or go.

  I get up and pull out Jera’s chair for her, then move on to our new tourmate. “Ava.” I take her hand, and bow over it. “It has been a fuckload of fun meeting you, I’m not gonna lie.”

  A laugh bursts out, like it snuck by all the anger rolling off her in waves. I grin, proud I could lift her mood for a second. I squeeze her hand in solidarity. She’s got thick guitar callouses on her fingers, though I haven’t seen her do her own instrumentals on stage for years. Her palms are a little hardened too—wonder if she lifts weights? Shit, that’s hot.

  I release her with one last smile, and lead my band toward the foyer, strutting like I wasn’t the guy who got lost in this same spot an hour ago. As we round the flower arrangement, I pluck three calla lilies free and spin to present them to Kate.

  Her long strides falter a bit and she takes them uncertainly. Danny pulls the door open and we all exit before Jera flicks me in the arm. “What, you yell at me and she gets flowers?”

  “She’s working you into a headliner spot closing the fucking stadium for AVA, so maybe you should have stolen her some flowers, too.” My grin matches Jera’s, both of us shining like a thousand-watt spotlight because that girl gets what this means, even if Danny has his clamped-shut Too-Cool-For-Fame face on. “What, you feeling neglected?” I tease Jera. Kate smirks, and a familiar energy flushes through me. It feels good to have them all looking my way, but not with disapproval.

  I get an idea and before I even process it fully, I fall to both knees in front of Jera and sing, “Can you feeeel the love tonight?”

  The elevator dings. “Oh my God, shut up,” Jera hisses, as Kate explodes into laughter. “Somebody could be in there. They. Will. Hear. You!”

  I reach for her hands, crawling after her on my knees, and she shoves me away, blushing. I bound to my feet and catch her from behind as she makes a break for the elevator. The car is empty, but she still squirms to get free and I hold her tight, putting maximum sap into the next verse of the Elton John cover as I sing it into her hair.

  “And it’s enough, for this wide-eyed wanderer, that we’ve got this far...”

  “I hate you so much right now!” she squeaks.

  I allow her to escape so we can board the elevator. “Yeah, well you’re gonna love me when we’re rocking our borrowed laser show and I’m owning the stage so hard Mick Jagger cancels his next tour to stay home and cry into a pint of Chunky Monkey.”

  “Why,” Danny says. The simple word drops like a kick in the gut. Our bassist stares up at the numbers descending to the first floor, not even bothering to look at us. Tension radiates from every inch of his black-clad body. “Don’t any of you care why she’s bucking her manager and going nose-to-nose with the label to give up her closing spot? Like it wasn’t already bad enough to sit there with everybody in the room knowing they hired our band just to get our manager.”

  Kate’s hands clench on her purse strap and I stop grinning. Jera socks him in the arm. “Come on, Danny. It’s not so crazy that she could actually, genuinely like our music.”

  “She has heard our music,” he says, with great dignity. “Apparently only because Kate shoved our demo down her throat.”

  Kate whirls to face her husband. “Seriously? You’re going to pout because I’m proud of you guys?”

  He just stares at her, his jaw locked hard.

  “Fine, whatever. But if you’re too good to get a job opportunity based on who you know, you’re too good to have a job in this industry. That’s just how it works, Danny.”

  “That’s not my point. Ava’s using us,” he says, and now he’s looking at Jera.

  I blink. It’s not like Danny to be wrong about people, but as far as I can tell, Ava’s our biggest ally right now.

  “Oh for the love of—” Kate groans through her teeth as the elevator doors open on the lobby. “Yes, she’s using us, Danny. We’re using each other because in addition to our shared fan demographic, she pulls in the younger, heavy-metal-to-rock crossover crowd, and we draw the older classic-rock aficionados. It’s kind of like how we use our record label to sell more albums. It’s business.”

  The doors start to close and I hit the button to open them again. “I met her before the meeting.” They all turn to look at me, and Kate’s eyes narrow. “Outside her bedroom. For what it’s worth, I got the impression she’s the kind of person who actually cares about the music, not the bullshit games.” I nod to Danny. “It’s a kick in the balls that she wanted to hire your wife first, man, but who doesn’t want Kate? I really do think Ava asked for us based on our tunes, and Cornerstone wouldn’t have gone along with it if our sales didn’t speak for themselves.” I grin. “Besides, we totally will be more fun to travel with than any of the label’s other bands.”

  “Thank you.” Kate sweeps out of the elevator, clutching the flowers I gave her. “That’s what I’ve been saying all along, though nobody seems to care that I’m the only one who actually knows her. Ava’s all about the music and no matter what she thought about me or anyone else, she wouldn’t put up with a co-headliner she didn’t respect.”

  “Okay,” Danny says, and leaves the tile of the elevator for the marble of the lobby. His voice drops until the buzz of voices in the huge room disguises our conversation. “But why would she fight to loan us all of her production equipment? Why would she volunteer to open for us, even half the time?” He lets his question hang for a minute, the hazel of his eyes painfully vivid. Jera hugs her arms around herself. “Have you ever seen a performer who wanted to help someone else upstage them?”

  I shift my weight, glancing around to be sure nobody has recognized us. Because this is a weird conversation to have anywhere, but especially in public.

  “You guys, let’s not fight, please?” Jera says. “It’s been a long morning and everything she’s proposing is good for us. Sure, she probably has her reasons, but who cares? I know she’s not your favorite person, Danny, but let it go already.” She pokes him lightly in the ribs. “You used to
like her music, too, remember?”

  “Yeah!” I grab Kate in a side hug, trying to pep them back into the energy of a moment ago. “Our manager is world-class awesome, and everybody wants her.” I throw my other arm around Danny. “And we’ve already racked up so many fans that our label thinks we’re ready to share the throne with a legend.” I hug them both into my body, because it makes me twitchy when they fight. “There’s so much winning in this room—face it, we’re totally bitchin’ rock stars from Mars.”

  Kate groans and bops me on the nose with her lilies. “Please don’t quote Charlie Sheen. Ever. Or I will totally quit and go work for Ava.”

  “Be almost worth it to watch her fire her swinging scrotum of a manager.” I jiggle my friends a bit to try to shake them out of their funk before I let them go and head for the front doors.

  “Oh, and don’t think I missed how you were looking at her,” Kate says to me. “Don’t go there, Jax, seriously. She’s more fragile than she looks, she’s not as casual as you are about relationships, and she’s got hell’s own backhand if you piss her off.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” My eyes narrow.

  I’m not “casual” about relationships. I mean, yeah, with sex I kind of have to be, but it’s not like I’m trying to hurt anyone’s feelings. I never make promises beyond one night, and everybody knows what the deal is.

  She gives me a look and I hold up both hands. “Okay, okay, no sleeping with the tour mates. No problem.” Just for a second, I remember the delicate curve of Ava’s shoulder, how soft her skin looked where the collar of her tee shirt had slipped to the side.

  I’ve got weeks yet before the tour starts. All I’ve got to do to keep my band happy is forget one beautiful woman. No problem.

  Chapter 3: The Whole Enchilada

  I bound up the steps to the tour bus, sucking in a breath sharp with the industrial cleaner that scrubbed away all the sex, sweat and tears from the last band to inhabit these three rooms. The hot asphalt of the road awaits us, and my muscles bunch as I deliver a jubilant slap to the leather of the long couches as I pass.

  Excepting one week of pre-tour publicity with Ava, I’ve been stuck at home for two months since that first meeting. Two damn months of the walls of my gym, the walls of my condo, the walls of four different church basements, crowded with burnt coffee and the sickening stories of other junkies like me. The off-the-road time is like a coma I can’t sleep through, and it’s finally, finally, fucking over.

  I shoot my bag of essentials into a middle bunk out of habit, even though this time, it doesn’t matter if I can roll in and out of bed easily when I’m drunk. Right now, all that’s important is organizing our new home so we can save time later, when our schedule gets nuts. I start with the kitchen.

  “Ah, Christ,” Danny groans as he climbs the stairs. “Tell me you’re not going to re-organize this whole damn bus.”

  “I thought it was just a system for his kitchen cabinets.” Jacob chuckles, bemused. “He does that on tour, too?” Jera’s husband has to turn sideways to fit up the narrow steps, partially because he’s got shoulders like he belongs in the NFL, and partially because he packed way too much shit.

  I point at his bag. “Leave that under the bus. There’s not enough room for luggage in here.”

  He’s only going to be around for two-thirds of the tour, anyway. Part of the time he’ll be bringing along their adopted daughter, Maya, and part of the time he’ll be staying home with her. For the rest, he’ll travel with Jera while Maya hangs with her aunt or Jera’s parents.

  I move to the refrigerator and start re-arranging the snacks Kate stocked for us, making sure the most commonly used ones are in the front.

  Jera hops up the stairs. “You guys stop teasing him. It looks OCD, but when he gets done, everything really is a way better spot.” She bends to kiss me on the cheek, and then half-crushes me with the refrigerator door as she squeezes past to get down the hall. “Have fun organizing. Just file me under M for master freaking bedroom!” she sings out, darting for the door at the end of the hall.

  “It’s not alphabetical and you know it.” I straighten, frowning after her. They’ve all stayed at my condo enough to know my system. I designed it for optimum efficiency after three tedious weeks of tallying exactly how often I used each item, and placing them accordingly. I’ve saved months of time on that initial investment, a few seconds at a time. On tour, we need that extra time more than ever.

  “Shit.” Danny grimaces at Jera’s disappearing back as Kate gets on the bus, typing quickly on her phone.

  Show business was designed for one star or none, with no dispensation for three equals in a fast-rising band. That means you can get a bus with one sweet bedroom, or twelve bunks. After some desperate glances from the spouses coming along on the tour, we compromised on one bitsy bedroom, six bunks, and three sets of sheets for the queen-sized bed we each get for a week at a time.

  I slam the refrigerator. Something tells me as the only single, I’m going to have to fight to keep my spot in the rotation.

  “Where were you on that one, O’Neil?” Danny nudges his wife. “You didn’t book us for the first week in the bedroom?”

  Kate and I roll our eyes in unison. “If it didn’t make you so damn happy,” she says, “I’d change my last name back just to spite you.”

  Danny holds up one finger. “Just to clarify, it irritates you that I’m happy you took my name.” He waits for her to nod. “But that’s also the reason you won’t change it back?”

  “Obviously.”

  Danny claps her on the shoulder. “Good talk.”

  “She’s still got a first name, you know.” I move the coffee mugs to a lower shelf so Jera can reach them and bump the useless mixing bowls to the top. “Starts with a K.”

  Jera slumps against the doorframe of her newly-claimed bedroom and sighs.

  “Not this again.” Jacob shakes his head, laughing. “We are already married, Jera. We’re super married, even without you taking my name. And you were already famous as Jera McKnight. If you change it now, you lose the name recognition.”

  “The band has its own name!” she protests. “And nobody cares about me anyway. Not when they’ve got Jax to drool over.”

  I shut the cabinet and turn to give her a wink. “Thanks, midget. Nice to know somebody appreciates my worth around here.” I open the storage compartment on one couch and start working out how to fit Danny’s bass and an acoustic guitar into the too-shallow space. That’s the minimum equipment we need for on-bus songwriting.

  Danny drops onto the other couch. “I would leave you all to this scintillating conversation and go make out with my wife in the bedroom,” he says. “But a very small, selfish person took it over. So I guess we’ll have to make out in the living room.”

  Jera crosses her lean drummer’s arms, and they look tough as shit after all the resistance-band endurance-fests she’s been doing lately. “Go right ahead. Won’t be the dirtiest thing I’ve seen you do on a tour bus.”

  I let the compartment drop closed and lie back on the couch, scrubbing both hands over my face. “Jera, tell me you did not just say something that stupid.”

  Kate’s eyes narrow and a smile spreads across her face. “That sounds like a challenge.” Danny must agree, because he reaches out and hooks a finger into her belt, giving a hard jerk. She splits her thighs just in time to land straddling his lap.

  Jacob glances away but his short brown hair doesn’t cover the way his ears redden while he pretends to sort through his suitcase. Obviously, I’m not as smart as he is, because yeah, I’m watching.

  Danny doesn’t kiss her. Instead, he catches her bottom lip in a bite that stops just a hair short of vicious. Kate’s back arches as if she just got an electric shock, and then her hand comes up, shoving his beanie aside as she spears her fingers into his hair, her tongue fucking his like—

  I roll onto my belly, but the pressure of the couch against my thickening cock does noth
ing to help me forget it’s been a long morning with no hope of relief in sight. Danny’s wife is hot. Hot like a yoga butt with a long brown ponytail brushing the top of its luscious curve, dirty jokes that come even quicker than mine, and legs for days. The first time I saw her working over a spreadsheet, I was a goner.

  Kate is magical because you can take all the chaos in this world, pour it into her beautiful brain, and it comes out in already purchased tickets, manageable checklists, and measurable publicity goals. She’s utterly wasted on Danny, who hasn’t worried about anything since his first day on earth, which he probably spent lounging suavely in his crib. Not to mention Kate fucks like a wildcat, a fact I know because of a hundred displays like the one across the aisle.

  I haul myself to my feet. If I stay here, there’s no way I’m going to resist watching the way her legs clench longingly, held open by his slim hips while she half-stifles a moan. Keeping my head down, I high-tail it back toward my bunk and the safety of its curtain. It fucking figures when Danny and I stopped partying with the same girls, he’d finally land one I wanted more than a single night with.

  And yet, no matter how much she appeals to my balls or my brain, she’s better off with Danny. I’d love to ditch the kiddie-pool shallows of groupie land, but my sex drive would be the death of any deeper relationship. That is, if my neurotic personality didn’t screw it up first.

  “This is supposed to be my mobile office for the first project where I’m listed as head engineer, and we’ve got a sex show going before we even leave the parking lot.” Jacob sighs. “What could go wrong?”

  “I did warn you,” his wife says.

  I crawl into my bunk, glad it’s not the top because I’m not sure I could climb that high with my dick trying to punch its way up past my belt. Even more annoyingly, my skin prickles with its near-constant need for physical contact. I set my teeth and ignore it. I don’t know where the habit started: it’s not like my mom was ever into something as sloppy and undignified as hugs, and my nanny sure didn’t want to overstep. It’s just another one of the ways my body constantly yearns and pulls me in a million different directions I don’t know how to satisfy.