Wild Thoughts

by Charity Ferrell

  “Where’s your favorite place to perform?” I ask.

  “Houston.”

  “That’s where you grew up, right?”

  “It is.”

  “Why is it your favorite?”

  “I feel like there’s a personal piece of me still there, you know? I used to go back to the spot I was playing when Thomas discovered me. It seems surreal to go from that to this.” His hands go out to gesture to the massive bus we’re in. “It was my favorite spot to think, although it’s a bit hard for me to go there now without people asking for autographs.” He pauses, scraping a hand through his hair. “Secret of the day. I bought ten acres out of the city there for when I finally decide to retire.”

  “Really? I can’t see you giving up the limelight to hang out in the middle of nowhere.”

  “I’ll keep my house in LA but go to Houston when I want to clear my head from the madness. If by crazy chance I end up having kids, that’s where I want them to grow up. I don’t want privileged brats who think everything should be handed to them.”

  His words hit me like a slap in the face. Is that what he’d think of me if my dad didn’t lose anything and still paid my bills? “Not all kids who grow up with wealthy parents are spoiled brats.”

  “You’re absolutely right. I’ve spoiled my little brother, well at least tried to, and he doesn’t act entitled at all. He’s studying law and likes to stay out of the spotlight. Instead of buying him expensive shit and taking care of him the rest of his life, all he asked me to do is help with his education, which I’m happy to do.”

  I’m surprised his brother isn’t trying to ride his coattails. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” I feel dumb not knowing it. “He sounds like a great guy with a good head on his shoulders.”

  “He is. Easton is five years younger than I am. You’ll meet him when we’re in Houston. I tried to get him to come on tour with me, but he’s taking summer classes and doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”

  “Not that I know of.” He gives me a look, waiting for more of an explanation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad has illegitimate children running around we don’t know about, but as far as right now, I’m an only child.”

  “What about your mom?”

  “She hasn’t been around since I was four. She was a D-list model that assumed having a baby with my dad was her meal ticket to a fabulous life and fame. It didn’t go according to plan. She tried to rape him in child support and then would spend the money on plastic surgery and clothes. My dad got pissed and took her to court for custody. As soon as the checks stopped coming in, she stopped coming around.” I shrug. I had dreams she’d come back when I was younger, but I’ve given up on that idea. She didn’t even bother getting in touch when the news broke about my dad’s tax troubles and his prison sentence. “What about your dad?”

  “Similar story to your mom’s. He was MIA for as long as I can remember. I don’t even have his last name. When he was around, he was drunk and used to beat my mom. He didn’t claim me until I became famous. He even went to magazines and sold his story to them. He got in contact and started asking for money. I paid him off to keep his mouth shut and stay away from me.”

  “Oh, the joy of having opportunist parents.”

  He raises his beer bottle in the air. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”

  I laugh and do the same, except with a glass of wine. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”

  We both finish off our drinks, and Knox gets up to grab another. “You want a refill?”

  I shake my head. “What should we do now?”

  “We can watch a movie? Or Netflix?”

  I look at him with excitement. “Let’s Netflix binge!”

  “Netflix what?”

  “You’ve never heard of Netflix binging?” He shakes his head. “It’s when you start a new show with like a gazillion episodes and watch them non-stop.”

  “Oh, you mean kind of like Netflix and chill? I’ve heard of that before, but as far as I know that’s code word for fucking.”

  “We’re not Netflix and chilling. We’re Netflix binging. Two totally different things.”

  “With the same result?”

  “Negative.”

  “I like Netflix and chill better.”

  “That isn’t happening.” I grab the remote. “So what do you like? Cheesy? Dramatics?”

  “Put on your favorite.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Positive. Show me how Libby Netflix binges.”

  I turn on Friends, and we start to Netflix binge.

  I’m not sure how many episodes I make it through before dozing off.

  My eyes flutter open, and the only light is a faint one coming from a desk lamp. I softly yawn and blink a few times while I make out the figure sitting behind the desk.

  “What time is it?” I ask, stretching. How long had I been out?

  Knox raises his wrist to look at his watch. “A little after two.”

  “Why are you sitting alone in the dark?”

  “I’m doing some writing.” He grins. “And looking at you. I’ve decided you’re my muse for the song.”

  I cover my face with my hands. “Well stop looking at me.” I can only imagine what I look like right now. Did I snore? With my luck, I probably snored, slobbered, and talked about him in my sleep. “You need to get to bed. You have a show tonight.”

  He shakes his head and keeps scribbling on the paper. “I’m on a roll right now with this new song, so I’ll be up for awhile. You can have my bed if you want.”

  “No, this couch is pretty comfortable.”

  “You’re lying, but that’s okay, you’re the one who’s missing out on the giant, comfortable bed with sheets that smell like this rock star.”

  I roll my eyes. “Dear God, it probably smells like BO and herpes, so I’ll have to pass.”

  “You know what I like about you?”

  “My boobs?”

  “Those are fantastic, yes, but I like that you’re straight up with me. Not too many people are. They tell me what I want to hear, which can get old at times.”

  “I’m sure it’s a very complicated life having people constantly kissing your ass.”

  Chapter 22

  Knox

  Libby hands me a towel, and I start wiping the sweat dripping from my forehead. Next comes a bottle of water from her, and I chug down the entire thing. Damn, I forgot how exhausting and demanding being on tour is. It’s been two years since my last one.

  I pull off my damp shirt and toss it onto the couch in my dressing room. Adrenaline spreads through my chest when I watch her eyes skirt up and down my body.

  I stroll over to the clothes rack and pull a t-shirt from its hanger. “Two down, dozens more to go,” I say, pulling it over my head.

  “I honestly don’t think I’ve heard that many fangirls screaming in my life,” she says, shaking her head and sitting down. “I thought my dad’s fans were overdramatic, but they’re like mimes compared to yours. I swear I almost burst an eardrum.”

  “All the ladies love me,” I say, falling down next to her. She gives me a brooding look when I lean over and ruffle my hand through her soft hair. “Including you, sunshine.”

  “Speaking of the ladies loving you.” She jumps up from the couch, skips over to her bag, rummages through it, but doesn’t pull anything out. “Guess what I found?” She’s excited, eager, and I know she has something up her sleeve.

  “I can only imagine,” I answer, rubbing my chin. “But I’m hoping it’s a pot of gold or some World Series tickets.”

  She whips it out, and it’s me looking at me. I groan. I insisted they quit selling them ten years ago, but people still put them on eBay and Amazon. My mom and Thomas talked me into doing it when I first became famous.

  She holds it up in the air and waves it back and forth in front of me. “It’s you … only as a doll. I can’t decide who’s more hands
ome, you or Ken, but I’m sure you both fought over Barbie.” She can’t hold in her laughter, and even though I’m the brunt of the joke, the sound of it is intoxicating. I have to figure out more ways to get her to laugh, even if it means embarrassing myself in the process.

  I run my hand down my chest. “Barbie chose me, obviously. There’s no competition.” I stand up and grab the doll from her. “And it’s an action figure. Where did you even find this thing? They quit selling them years ago.”

  “Some woman brought it with her to the concert. She wouldn’t give it up when I first tried to buy it from her, which is weird considering she was my age.”

  “Yet you were trying to buy it from her.”

  “Fair point.”

  “So how did you convince her to hand it over?”

  “I gave her a strand of your hair in exchange for it.”

  “You’re shitting me?”

  She blows out a breath and flops back down next to me. “Fine, I gave her fifty dollars and your fake phone number.”

  I hold the doll back out to her. “You only wanted it so you could sleep with me at night.”

  “Absolutely not.”

  I pat her leg. “Libby, you don’t have to lie. We’ve known each other long enough now that you can tell me you not only have a kinky obsession with dolls, but you have a kinky obsession with dolls that have my face and body.”

  “I so do not have a kinky obsession with anything that has your face on it.”

  “Right,” I drawl out. “And I don’t wish I could get you out of that dress right now.”

  She gets up and points my way. “Sexual harassment.” She opens up one of the drawers in the kitchenette and pulls out a knife.

  “What the hell do you plan on doing with that?” She doesn’t answer me. Instead, she sets the doll down and proceeds to cut off his head – or my head off to be more exact. “Ah man, that isn’t cool.” She grins and tosses the decapitated action figure to me.

  “What are you planning on doing after this?” she asks, after I throw mini-me in the trashcan. “Do you want me to order you room service, or are you going to an after party? I know some of your friends came to see your show.”

  “We can order something to eat and then we’re going out, probably to gamble.”

  “Okay, have fun and stay out of trouble.”

  “I said we are going out.”

  She holds her hand up. “We are not going anywhere, especially gambling. You can, but I’d prefer to sit in my room without cameras in my face asking me if we’re secretly banging.”

  “Fine, you’re such a party pooper.” I get up from the couch. “Just have something sent up to my room – whatever you’re ordering is fine. I might need you to do some stuff for me, so keep your phone on and text me your room number.”

  She opens her mouth to most likely tell me it’s not necessary to give me her room number, but I leave before she has the chance.

  Will she text me her room number?

  Probably not, but considering I’m paying for it, they’ll tell me.

  I’m standing in front of Libby’s door and can hear the TV blaring on the other side. I made sure to tell her to book our rooms on the same floor at every hotel we’re staying in.

  I pull my phone from my pocket, hit her name, and can hear her phone ringing over the TV. It goes to voicemail.

  I redial.

  Voicemail again.

  I pull my hand up and bang it on the door.

  The TV volume decreases, and the door suddenly swings open. Libby is standing in front of me in plaid pajama shorts and a tight little tank top with no bra. Her hair is pulled up into a messy ponytail, and her face is makeup free. I stand there for a few seconds, staring at her fully alert nipples.

  My gaze swings up at the sound of her cough, and her arms cross over her chest, blocking my fantastic view.

  “Are you ignoring my calls?” I ask.

  “No,” she answers, moving her bare feet back and forth across the carpet. “My phone is on silent.”

  Dirty little liar. “Really?” I raise a brow at the same time she nods. “I just heard it through the door.”

  My sweet view of her nipples comes back when she throws her hands up in the air. “Fine, yes, I’m ignoring your phone calls because I want to sit in this room for the rest of the night and binge on some obnoxious reality show. Not go out like you want me to do.”

  She takes a step back in surprise when I walk through the doorway. “Too bad. We’re going out.”

  “I already told you no.” I head into the room and spot her open luggage. She gasps when I start to go through it. The door slams shut, and she comes stomping over to me. “Could you be any more annoying?”

  I drop the shirt in my hand when she grabs my elbow and pulls me across the room, away from her shit. I turn around to look at her. “You pick something or I will.” I clap my hands together in a pleading motion. “Come on, Libby. We have miles of being on the road ahead of us. Let’s get out, do something fun, live a little. We can’t hide in fear the entire time we’re on tour from the cameras. Fuck them.”

  “For the hundredth time, no.”

  “No one will notice us, I promise.” I nudge her with my elbow. “You don’t think I have connections?”

  “It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “Vegas never sleeps, sunshine.”

  “But I do, or I’m one cranky bitch.”

  “You have all day on the bus to sleep.” She stays silent. “Secret of the day.”

  “What?”

  “If you say no, I will cry.”

  She slaps my shoulder. “You’re seriously a pain in my ass, in case I haven’t told you.”

  “Tons of times. Your favorite pain in the ass that you’re about to go explore the city and do tourist shit with.”

  “The only tourist shit available at this time is strip joints and prostitutes.”

  “I promise there will be no hookers.”

  She bites into the corner of her lip. She wants to come, I can tell, but she’s too proud to admit it. She groans and points her finger in my face. “Fine, but you better not be lying.”

  “I would never,” I answer, dramatically, and hold my hand over my heart.

  She stomps back to her suitcase and starts pulling clothes out. “So what exactly are we going to be doing? I have to know so I can dress accordingly.”

  “We’re going out and having fun. That’s all you need to know, and you don’t need to worry about what to wear.” Her clothes are going to be coming off, anyways.

  She grabs her stuff and goes to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind her. I sit down on the bed and take a look around when something hits me.

  Is it in here?

  I slowly get up and tiptoe back over to the suitcase. There’s no way she’d leave it on the bus, so it has to be in here. I unzip it and feel around. Nothing. I look in the front pocket. Nothing. I continue my search, fully aware it’s wrong, but I’m curious. Just as I’m about to give up, I find a small bag crammed in the corner and open it.

  Jackpot, baby.

  I slip it in my pocket and rush over to the bathroom door.

  “Hey,” I yell through it. “I forgot something in my room.” I snag the key card to her room from the dresser, just in case she tries to lock me out. “I’ll be right back.”

  “Got it. I’ll be done in about ten minutes,” she answers.

  I dash two doors down to my room, swipe my key card, and ignore the people inside as I go to my bedroom and cram the bag into my suitcase. Let’s hope no one else finds it, or they’ll think I’m into some kinky shit. I make it back to her room before she’s out and sit down on the bed, acting all innocent and shit.

  “Does this look okay?” she asks, stepping out of the bathroom.

  My eyes roam down her body, and I can feel my dick stir underneath my jeans. I gulp. Please don’t let me get a boner in front of this chick right now. She’d kick me out of her room and probably quit.
I take in a few deep breaths and try to talk my dick down.

  “You look perfect,” I answer.

  She took her ponytail out. Her straight strands hit right above her breasts. Her tight black dress shows off her toned legs and gives me a perfect view of her cleavage. Her tits would fit perfectly in my palms. It sucks she’s not going to be wearing that tonight. She’ll be changing as soon as we get to my place.

  “You don’t look so bad yourself,” she says, grinning.

  “You only make me want you more when you say shit like that.”

  “We all know I’m not Knox Rivers’ type.”

  “I already told you I don’t have a type. Why would I only want to explore one pond for the rest of my life? Give me something different. I love different.”

  And that’s exactly what Libby is. She’s not a model walking the runway with a million Instagram followers. She’s not an actress who has high expectations for every date we have. She’s real.

  “You ready?” I ask.

  She blows out a long breath. “I guess.”

  I grab her hand. “You’re going to love this.”

  Chapter 23

  Libby

  I’m bitching the entire time Knox takes my hand and leads me down the hallway.

  I’m in Vegas – and all I want to do is collapse on my bed and relax. Gambling, drinking, partying, I don’t want to partake in any of that.

  I’m close to panicking when we stop only two doors down – at his suite. He has something annoying up his sleeve, I’m sure of it.

  I can hear music playing in the room while Knox slides his key card into the slot and opens up the door. I stumble forward when he snags my hand again, pulls me through the doorway with him, and leads me straight into the living room.

  What the?

  There’s a group of guys with drinks in their hands crowded around the furniture. They all grin, throwing their hands up and cheering like we’re the stars of the party when they see us.

  Okay, Knox technically is.

  But that’s not the weirdest part.