His eyes go hard as soon as he sees me. “Don't fucking start.”
“Well, I could have said that to you a few hours ago, huh?”
He takes a step forward. “You want to take a swing on behalf of your shiny new girlfriend, Jax? Do it. But we both know what you see in her, and it's got nothing to do with her music.”
I thought I was ready for him to push my buttons, I really did. But I'm off the couch and in his face before I can remember neither of us ever emerges from these brawls unscathed.
His fist tightens but he doesn't hit me. In that moment when he pauses to give me the first shot, I take a breath.
And then a step back.
One of the bunk curtains stirs, and Danny jerks his chin toward the exit. I lead the way outside, and as soon as the door closes behind us, I spin to face him, squinting against the sun.
“You fucked up and you know it, or you wouldn't be pissed right now,” I say. “You'd be dead-calm and it wouldn't matter how long Jera and Kate spent chewing you out.”
As hard as it was to make myself take that first step back, it's harder not to take another once his eyes flame to life.
“You're a white male with a whole band to back you up,” I say as evenly as I can. “She's an adult trying to shake a child star image, and she’s had to fight like hell to play rock and roll and not let the bean counters pigeonhole her into R&B because she’s black and that’s where they think her ‘audience’ is.”
“Mick Jagger never had to wear bullets like they were a shirt to sell records.”
“Yeah, well, we're dudes. Nobody gives a shit if we show our hairy skin. And Ozzy had to bite the head off a damn bat, so I bet he wishes he could have just worn a bullet or two.”
I move into the shade of the bus and plant my ass on a parking bumper, because I don't want to hit my best friend. I could, if I thought he said that shit to be cruel. But he didn't. He said it because he believed it, and because he has crappy impulse control when he's pissed. Not a topic I should probably be throwing stones on.
“You don't know a thing about her, Danny. And once you do? You're going to be really sorry you stuck your boot so far into your mouth.”
His hazel eyes have gone nearly black. “You know, if her magic pussy is tight enough you want to take orders from her, maybe you should switch bands. I bet they could find room for one more backup singer.”
I don’t even feel the asphalt under my shoes as I leap up; just the scrape of metal and teeth as my knuckles crash into Danny’s brand-new lip ring.
I NEED CAFFEINE. I could hit a Starbucks instead of slumming it with our bus’s Mr. Coffee, but thanks to Danny, I’m gonna need a full makeup job before I can go out in public.
Take responsibility.
I can practically hear my sponsor’s voice in my head. Gertrude is like eighty or something, but she’s the scariest woman I’ve ever met other than Kate. I take a deep breath, wince, and remind myself it’s not all Danny’s fault. I threw the first punch, even though I knew good and well he’d rather provoke me than talk through whatever’s making him so edgy lately.
I reach into the overhead cabinet for coffee grounds, then freeze as pain slaps along one entire side of my body. I don’t know if my ribs are cracked or just bruised, but it’s going to make singing a bitch. Slowly, I lower the grounds to the counter, but when I pull out the carafe to fill it, sun flashes off the glass and arrows straight into my eyes. I squint, the ache in my face suddenly throbbing in time with my ribs.
It’s exactly what I deserve for picking fights over a girl who’s not even mine. I had no business in her bedroom last night, either, as hungry as I am for the kind of “something more” that is in my face on the tour bus all day long. I knew better, and I did it anyway.
I don’t get close to girls, because close leads to exclusive, exclusive leads to cheating, and the single time I have seen my mother cry is when a woman who “knew” my father came to our door, looking for money. I may have inherited his out-of-control libido, but I won’t repeat his mistakes. Which means I have to start taking control of my impulses, and staying the hell away from a girl who is fully capable of tanking my band’s career if I piss her off.
I finish making coffee and close my eyes, listening wearily to the drip of coffee into the pot. I’m itching to rearrange something, but I already organized everything on our bus for maximum efficiency. The only thing left to streamline here is myself, and I’ve never had much luck with that.
In the front of the bus, the door clicks open. ‘Bout fucking time. He’s been gone for over an hour. I open my eyes to watch Danny climb the stairs, and his face looks bad enough to make a little guilty pride prickle through my fingers. He doesn’t look at me.
“Coffee?” I pick up the carafe, giving it a little truck stop waitress waggle and adopting a matching southern accent. “You want decaf or full octane, honey doll?”
Danny just nods, bending to swipe yesterday’s shirt off the floor. He washed the blood off his chest, but it still spots his jeans and the waistband of his Wile E. Coyote boxers. The curtain on Kate’s bunk starts to sway. I turn away to grab a cup out of the cabinet, filling it to the brim and handing it off to Danny when he passes me.
He jerks his chin in thanks and slumps onto the couch.
Kate emerges, tugging her shirt straight. I swipe one of Jera’s hairbands off the side table and stuff my hair into a knot, using that as an excuse to keep my eyes on the ground. I wish like hell I could pop a Xanax and ride a sweet, puffy cloud of benzos through this morning’s inevitable drama.
I wait for the gasp, and for her to swear at me, or him, or both of us. When there’s nothing but silence, curiosity pulls my head up.
Kate drops to her knees in front of Danny, cupping her hand around the back of his neck and pulling him in, careful to avoid his swollen nose as she leans her forehead against his. One of his hands clamps hard on the cup resting on his knee, and the other comes up, his fingers covering hers as he draws in a long, shaky breath.
“I love you,” she whispers. “You’ve got a crazy sideways mind, and God knows I don’t always understand it, but I love you.”
Okay. Not the reaction I was expecting, but they’ve always been a weird ass couple. I turn around, taking the carafe out and then remembering I’ve got to make the overhead reach again to get a cup. Damn it.
Kate slips by me just as I finish, stealing my freshly-poured cup of coffee and opening the fridge to add cream. She takes an ice pack out of the freezer with her free hand and brings it back to Danny, holding it out without mentioning his swollen nose, or the eggplant-colored bruises stretching out beneath each of his eyes. She bends to touch the raw spot where I tore the hole of his lip piercing a little, then straightens again.
“This has got to stop,” Kate says. “I know you’re—” She doesn’t finish. My brain scrambles as I try to guess what she was going to say. “But it’s not Jax’s fault, or Ava’s, and you know it.”
Danny doesn’t look away from his wife, but the lock of their eyes is too raw for me to witness. I shift my weight and drop my gaze to the carpet. Are they fighting about Kate’s job again? Is that what has Danny so on edge? I thought they were past all that crap.
Kate comes back over to me, her fingers gentle on my chin as she tips it up to examine my bruised jaw. “Today’s schedule is not the best,” she murmurs absently. “But do I need to get you into the doctor when I schedule Danny to get his nose looked at?”
“His nose is fine. I set it myself.” God knows I’ve set my own enough times, and it’s healed remarkably bump-free every time.
She still doesn’t ask what happened, though I guess why would she? Danny and I have sparked off into fistfights with each other enough times that nowdays, no one’s even surprised. Except I’m the one usually being an asshole, not him.
The bedroom door opens and Jera emerges in sleep shorts and a rumpled tank top, shoving messy brown-blonde hair out of her face. “God, I feel like ass. Is th
ere coff—” Her eyes widen. “You hit Jax?” She goes zero to sixty as soon as she registers my face, catapulting across the room and into Danny’s lap, her hands flying as she slaps at him. “All that shit you pulled last night and then you hit Jax for it?”
A warm rush of satisfaction moves through me that she sounds so indignant on my behalf.
Danny’s coffee splashes out onto her arms and she yelps. Danny tries to set down his cup while fending her off with his other hand, but when more coffee slops onto her bare leg, he gives up and just throws the mug on the floor, bear-hugging a furious Jera so her arms are caught safely between them.
Jacob comes barreling out of the bedroom, knocking me into the kitchen counter. I grit a string of curses through my teeth, doubled over and holding my ribs as bright spots explode behind my eyes.
Danny grunts, and Kate’s cup snaps down onto the counter next to me. The next thing I know, Jacob’s holding Jera back, Danny’s holding his face, and Kate’s in the middle of all of it with a towel, herding people out of the puddle of coffee they’re grinding into the carpet with their feet.
Jera stops struggling and shoves her husband away, hard enough he stumbles.
“What did I do?” he protests.
She glares up at him. “Sorry.”
He rolls his eyes and takes a step back. “Great.”
“Coffee?” I offer, trying out standing up straight again. It sucks.
Jacob takes the last cup of coffee from the undersized pot, which leaves me nothing. This also sucks. Jacob starts to gather his stuff to move into today’s hotel room. Danny gets up and heads for the bathroom to deal with his freshly bleeding piercing, not looking at anyone.
It pretty much makes me a shithead, but it’s nice to not be the one everyone’s glaring at for once. I knew this tour was too big, too good to be true. But the idea that it is Danny who is ruining it, Danny who no one ever has to worry about? It’s weird. I keep expecting Jera to start yelling at me, too, but she just...doesn’t.
The bus marinates in uneasy silence while I make more coffee, and just as I push the ON button, a knock shakes the flimsy side door. I move to answer it, but before I can, it pops open to admit Mr. Vampire Bat Face himself.
Fuck.
My.
Life.
“Yeah?” My voice is hard, and I struggle to rein in my attitude because Curt has nearly as much pull with our record label as Ava herself.
His gaze flicks over the living room. “Danny in here?”
“Look, we talked it over as a band,” Kate lies, “and everything’s going to go fine tonight. I’ve got it under control, okay?”
I shoot her a glance. I hate to see her taking personal responsibility for her husband’s behavior when we all know there’s not a damn thing she could do to change it, even if she were naïve enough to try.
“I’m here,” Danny says, stepping into the doorway. “You got something to say to me?”
If we weren’t riding the thin fingernail’s edge of the world’s most public firing, I’d make some popcorn and kick back to watch him start a fight with Ava’s pimple of a manager.
But.
I smile at Curt, wishing I’d had a chance to disguise the bruise on my face. “Hey, first night gets everybody stirred up. Now we’re all settled down and ready to sip some champagne with the big shots.”
Curt stares past me. “The Jagermeister Ball doesn’t just include the sponsors that are paying your bills. It includes your fans who were willing to pay a lot to rub tuxedo-clad elbows with you, and every single corner-office dweller from the top two floors of your record label.” He glares at Danny. “So you are going to do as you’re told, including kiss every ass that is offered to you. Is that understood?”
My stomach clenches, and I turn to throw a look at Danny, praying to God he can keep his mouth shut long enough for me to get Curt off this bus.
Danny smiles, dried blood still clinging to the silver ring in his lower lip. “I understand perfectly.”
We’re fucked.
Chapter 8: Oops I Did It Again
I check my cufflinks—platinum, inherited, Mom would revoke the family name if I lost them—and grin into the flashing lights as I take the first step out of the limo and onto the red carpet.
This is my favorite part of the night. I relax into it, bantering with each reporter as I toss off answers that walk the line between charming and wicked, posing just a bit different for each of the pictures. The label has a few other bands showing up tonight, and I want to be sure The Red Letters gets the banner shot in press coverage of this event. When I sight MTV’s correspondent I grin, because she and I hit it off fantastically last time we met. This time, I lean over the velvet rope and nab her microphone. And I make her chase me all over the red carpet in front of the photographers before I trade it back to her for a laughing kiss and a breathless, super-casual interview.
After that, I bow to the amused press staff and sweep through the glass doors, making my exit before I hit that awkward standing-around space where it’s clear everyone’s gotten all they can from me. Jacob waits just inside the door and I stop at his side, blinking to try and clear my vision from the flashbulbs before I walk into a table or something. He glances at the makeup-smoothed bruise on my jaw and just like that, the confidence of the red carpet starts to deflate. Jacob knows I’m not the guy with all the answers, whose great hair is natural instead of taking half an hour and three kinds of styling products, plus the shameful, surreptitious use of a curling iron.
Are his biceps bigger than they were this summer?
I hide my twinge of resentment behind a smile. “Hey, buddy. Where’s your date?”
“She wanted to walk the carpet with Kate. I’m pretty sure they’re planning to make some point about women’s clothing that’s going to result in me wanting to punch out a lot of wide eyes.” He makes an exasperated sound, shrugging against the too-tight shoulders of his rented tuxedo.
I nod. “Well, look at the bright side. You’ve still got the bedroom for another night for makeup sex.”
“Right.” He chuckles. “Hey, have you seen Danny?”
“Not since our set tonight. Thought he might be with you.”
Jacob glances at me, but his next words are lost in the explosion of sound from outside. Ava steps out of a limousine and unfolds to her feet, legs hidden by a wine-colored explosion of sea foam textured fabric. The entire top of her dress is deep red lace, scrolling over her breasts and nipping in at the sides, the embroidery barely covering enough to make it legal. I lean closer to the glass, squinting, and it’s not until she’s halfway down the carpet that I can tell the lace is backed by a bodysuit the exact tone of her skin, and not her skin itself.
I grin, because of course she did. She’s covered all the way from wrists to throat, but she’s drawing every eye for miles as if she’s stark naked. It’s a beautiful punch line to the argument she and Danny started last night.
When she finally makes it to the end, I jump forward and open the doors for her, extending a hand to help her inside.
“Reporters are all outside, label execs are all inside.” I nod at the second set of glass doors behind us. “Wanna hide with me and Jacob for an extra second?”
She smiles. “Absolutely I do.”
I search her face for signs of tension, but as she greets Jacob, her eyes look soft, her smile easy. She looks like she had fantastic sex all day and then an afternoon nap. A pang needles through me that has nothing to do with my complement of bruises. But it’s better this way. It’s not like I didn’t spend my free hour this afternoon with company—very careful company, as my ribs aren’t currently up to speed with the stamina of the rest of me.
Noise swells outside and we both turn, though I’m not really paying attention to anything outside the glass. It’s not like Ava and I were headed toward anything serious. We flirt. That’s what people like us do. Doesn’t mean anything.
“Thank God,” Jacob breathes. I glance at him,
then back at the glass.
Kate and Jera are coming up the red carpet, arm in arm and garnering nearly as much photographer attention as Ava did.
Jera’s curves are draped in a mermaid-cut, one-shouldered dress in lipstick red. One breast peeks out in what I’m pretty sure is a deliberate nod to those one-breasted, crazy Amazonian archer chicks I read about in college. Jera doesn’t go bare like them though—her “exposed” breast is actually just smoothed over with pale silk and a dazzle of rhinestones. I nudge Jacob with one shoulder, giving him a look to remind him the master bedroom is looking like a pretty fine consolation prize for not getting to walk her down the red carpet. It’s wasted, because his gaze never budges from his wife.
I look nervously back to see what Kate came up with and— “Holy shit.”
“Yeah.” Ava laughs. “I had that dress flown in for her today. Wanna clue me in as to your manager’s sudden interest in high fashion?”
Kate’s mahogany hair shines against the deep blue dress. Long sleeves and a high collar part ways with modesty at the slit that runs from neckline to hem. It’s closed from waist to hip by steel hooks, but the collar folds back in an asymmetrical peek-a-boo to show the lingerie beneath: all straps and semi-transparent black between the bones of a corset. She cocks one hip, letting the slit fall away from her long, long leg and giving a confident smile to the photographers.
“Kate and Danny don’t fight often,” I murmur, “but when they do, it’s epic.”
“Really wish I knew where Danny was,” Jacob says.
“He never wanted to come to this party anyway. With any luck, he blew it off.”
“And I really wish I believed that,” Jacob says. “If you see him, signal me and I’ll see if I can’t get him out of here.”
Insatiable (Sex, Love, and Rock & Roll Book 3) Page 8