Rock Star Romance Ultimate Volume 2

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Not for long.” I grab the faucet hose and spray myself down, then soap up my chest. “Good thing you didn’t blow chunks, Tales.”

  I look up to see she is looking at me, her eyes glassy and her mouth gaping. She swallows hard.

  I shake my head, erasing the thought that her look is the same every other chick gives me. Tally is fucked up with a capital F, and that look is—

  “Shit,” I scramble back, avoiding her next hurl.

  She doesn’t stop, either. She throws up again and again.

  “Sweet Jesus, Tally.”

  I jump out and grab a fist full of her hair, trying to keep it out of the way as her eyes roll back.

  “Don’t fucking pass out on me,” I warn.

  She is wobbling from side to side as she dry heaves.

  “Hold the side of the tub, girl.” I grab the back of her little, green frog tee shirt, the one that’s married to the pig. What’s his name? Fuck it, who cares? I pull it over the back of her head. “All right, arms out.”

  “Naughty,” she slurs.

  “Stinky, Tales,” I tell her. “Nothing naughty going on in my head.” I see a bright pink swimsuit top covering her. “Besides, you have on a swimsuit.”

  She pulls her arms out, then flops back, panting as her stomach muscles visibly contract with each dry heave that occurs after each hiccup.

  “Hurts,” she mumbles as she places her hand over her tight as hell, little stomach.

  “I know, babe.” And I fucking do know throwing up sucks.

  Her teeth start to chatter, and I know damn well she’s gonna be pissed when I hose her down, but I can’t leave her in here, and I won’t put her in bed smelling like that.

  “I’m gonna wash you up.” She shakes her head very slightly no. “Sure am,” I confirm, releasing the drain so all that puke washes away. “And I’m thinking you have bottoms on that match this top?” She nods. “Don’t be pissed.”

  I pull off her shorts, then start hosing her down from head to toe. Her body is instantly covered in goose bumps, and her teeth start chattering louder. I squeeze out some shampoo into her hair and lather it up as best I can. She tries to help, but she’s like a little shivering rag doll.

  “I can do it faster alone.”

  “Conditioner,” she whimpers.

  “I don’t think we should be worried about—”

  “Afro,” she groans.

  “You’re really not gonna give a shit, Tally,” I try again.

  “Conditioner,” she insists.

  Her stomach lurches again, followed by a hiccup as I squirt conditioner in her hair. After I rinse it out, I hose down her body again, and only when she leans forward, hugging her knees and shivering, do I see her back is fried.

  Once she is rinsed clean, I have her lie back. She covers her face while I grab the white terrycloth bathrobe off the back of the bathroom door.

  “Can you stand up?” She nods, but makes no attempt. “Okay, arms around me.” When she wraps her arms around my neck, I notice the tears running down her face. “Come on, Tales,” I coo gently. “Rookie mistake; don’t be upset. Just listen to me and not those assholes, got it?”

  I lift her up, then walk out to the bedroom and push the covers down as she holds on, crying and hiccupping.

  “Okay, listen, no tears in my bed.”

  “I am not stay—”

  “Like hell you aren’t. If you pass out and throw up, you’re fucked. Not on my watch.”

  She doesn’t say shit, which amuses me.

  “No argument?’

  “No, you owe me,” she mumbles.

  “So you said.”

  I drop my swim trunks, then grab some boxers out of the dresser drawer before grabbing a towel and mopping up the little drops of puke on the floor.

  “Care to tell me how I owe you?”

  “Senior year.” Her teeth chatter as she curls into a fluffy, white ball. “You came for a visit …” She pauses as she shakes violently. “Came to my house, kissed me, and threw up on my feet. We’re even.”

  “Did River give you something to smoke, too, Tales?” She is definitely fucked up. Kissed her? Yeah, right.

  She is still shaking when I grab her clothes out of the bathroom and my shorts, wrap them in a towel, and throw them out the door, knowing the cleaning chicks will grab them in the morning.

  Still curious about this little fantasy of hers, I flop down on the bed and pull her against me, hoping to give off some body heat and warm her up.

  “Tell me about this little fantasy of yours.”

  “I’m so cold.” She shivers, so I pull her in more tightly, wrapping the comforter around both of us.

  “Spill it.”

  “I helped you in the right house.” She yawns. “Took your black boots off.”

  I would have pushed for more if this scenario didn’t seem a little too familiar to me.

  “I kissed you?”

  “Uh-huh.” She shivers again. “Best kiss ever.”

  Fuck! “Was it now?”

  “First kiss ever.”

  “Really?”

  “Uh-huh. Don’t tell Memphis.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” I say as I now feel really fucking stupid that I kissed this chick when she was way too young. “I puked on you?”

  She doesn’t answer. She is out cold, and still her teeth chatter as her body shakes.

  I hop out of bed and walk to the dresser to grab a sweatshirt. The black STD one will work. I laugh, thinking about how pissed off the X-man was when he saw the shocker symbol.

  I uncover her, then pull her long, wavy, wet hair to the side, and she flops to her back. I pull her up and take her arm out of the robe and then the other.

  Rag doll. Complete and total rag doll.

  Her eyes flutter open. “What are you doing?” She looks confused, but not scared like she should fucking be to have some man taking her damn clothes off.

  Before I can answer, she jumps off the bed and darts to the bathroom. I follow her to make sure she doesn’t pass out and fall.

  I see her looking in the mirror and then around the vanity. She grabs my toothbrush—my fucking toothbrush—and toothpaste, and then she starts brushing her teeth. She spits into the sink and brushes again. When she is finished, she holds her head in her hands and walks past me in that pink bikini.

  I follow her out, and she grabs the sweatshirt I had on the bed for her and puts it on. Then she climbs into bed, still shaking, and pulls the comforter up around her tightly and closes her eyes.

  “Well, damn.” I laugh out loud.

  I put the bathrobe back in the bathroom and then come back to the bed, lying back down again.

  “I locked the door,” she whispers.

  What in the fuck did she just say? I can’t hold back the laughter. Tales is talking crazy shit and walking around like she owns the joint. She has no clue.

  She groans, and her eyes blink a few times. She opens her eyes and looks at me, then holds her head.

  “Where’s Madison?”

  “She’ll be here in the morning.”

  “I don’t feel good,” she mumbles.

  “I know. Sleep.”

  “I’m cold,” she says as her teeth clank together.

  I pull her closer. Her long, lean, tight body fits perfectly against mine, and she smells so good. Her body starts to relax, and I know she is asleep—well, passed out … again.

  I lie next to her, knowing I shouldn’t enjoy it so much. I shouldn’t feel the way I feel about her. The protectiveness I understand because, hell, she is the most innocent chick I have ever been around. Even if she has been with someone in the ‘biblical’ sense, she’s still Tally. Regardless, with a body like mmm, and an ass like POW!, I can’t shake the desire to be all up inside of her.

  ***

  I wake up to the sound of my alarm, lying on my back with a sweet smelling, tight, little body draped over me. As fucked up as I got last night, I know who it is.

  “Oh, my
dear.” She tries to pull away, but my arm is underneath her side and wrapped around her with POW! in my hand.

  “Morning, buzz kill. How are you feeling?”

  “How did I end up”—she huffs as she gives up the fight, yet unravels her leg from between mine—“here.”

  Reluctantly, I release POW! and let her go. “You were doing shots, got all fucked up in five minutes, threw up on me—”

  “I’m so sorry,” she begins.

  “Evidently, I had it coming,” I tell her as I roll to my side, facing her as she sits up, looking mortified when she sees the sweatshirt she’s wearing.

  “Where are my clothes?”

  “Hopefully in the washing machine. Smelled awful.” I can’t help enjoying watching her eyes widen, so I keep it going. “I gave you a bath and—”

  “You didn’t,” she gasps.

  “Would I lie to you?” I sit up and bow my head so I am eye to eye with her. Except, her eyes aren’t connecting; she is avoiding looking at me. “Tales?”

  “Did we …?”

  “Take a bath together? Yes. Did I strip you? Yes. Did I wash you? Yes.”

  She shakes her head. “Why? Why did you do all that?”

  I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly as I get up and turn off the damn alarm. “I needed to clean up after the little vomit shower you gave me. Couldn’t get the stink off you without getting rid of the shorts and T-shirt. Wouldn’t have been cool if I plopped you in the tub and left you. You could have drowned.” I grab a pair of shorts and throw them on over my boxers. Then I grab my black Pearl Jam T-shirt and throw it on before looking back at her.

  Finally, she looks up at me. “Did—”

  “Tales, does your pussy feel like it went ten rounds with the heavyweight champion of—”

  “Memphis!” she yells at me, then grabs her head.

  “Well, fuck, Tales, I kind of prefer a warm, active participant in the sheets, not a dry heaving, goose bump covered, shaking, little drunk,” I tease.

  She tries not to laugh when I swear, and I try not to laugh at the hellacious mess of curls going every which way on her head.

  “We have thirty minutes to get to the airport, and if we’re late, I will have even more hell to pay from Madison than I already do.”

  “Is she angry at you?” she asks, running her fingers through her hair.

  “I don’t know. Is she?”

  She swings her long, lean legs over the side of the bed. “What do you mean?”

  “When you told her I kissed you, was she pissed?”

  Her jaw drops, and her head jerks back so she’s looking at me like a deer caught in the headlights.

  “Well?”

  CHAPTER TEN

  * * *

  HUNG OVER

  Tallia

  “I need clothes,” I say after far too much uncomfortable silence.

  “That’s all you’re gonna say?” he asks.

  “What do you want me to say?” I look down. I feel like garbage. My head is pounding, my stomach hurts, and now there are butterflies dancing inside of it.

  “Does she know?”

  I shake my head.

  “Why not?” he asks.

  “You were drunk. It wasn’t a big deal.”

  “Right.” He laughs. “Is your bag in the guest room?”

  “Yes,” I whisper.

  “I’ll grab it. Feel free to brush your teeth. You already used my toothbrush last night.”

  I hear him walk out the door, and I quickly walk to the bathroom and then shut and lock the door, as if that matters. I take off the sweatshirt and jump in the shower, washing as fast as I can while still in my bathing suit in case he comes in. I condition my crazy hair and then quickly rinse.

  After I get out, I throw my hair up in a towel and see the bathrobe hanging on the back of the door; it reads, HIS. But right now, it’s mine.

  My head is still pounding, but my stomach—whenever he’s not around—doesn’t feel so off.

  I walk out as he walks in.

  He smirks. “Ten minutes,” he warns. “I’ll leave you to it. Hurry up, okay?” With that, he starts to walk out.

  “Memphis?”

  He looks back at me.

  “Thank you.”

  He gives me a sly, little grin. “Now you owe me.”

  The past two days have been insane, totally insane. I have spent two nights sleeping in the bed of a boy I had a crush on growing up, who happens to also be my first kiss and a rock star, for goodness sakes. If I didn’t know better, I would certainly allow my mind to entertain the little fairytale buzzing around inside it, maybe even serve it tea.

  I am dressed, and my hair is wet, yet tamed with product. I brush my teeth with my own toothbrush, and as I am flossing, he walks in.

  “Tales, come on; you can do that shit later.” He snaps his fingers. “Queenie is arriving soon, and I sure as hell don’t want to be late. I’ll catch hell.”

  I throw the floss away and reach in my bag. “Memphis?”

  “Tales?”

  “Do you know where my phone is?”

  He shakes his head. “Where did you have it last?”

  “Probably my pocket? I don’t know.”

  His eyes widen, and he cringes. “Clothes are gone to the laundry.”

  “Someone is washing my clothes?”

  “And mine. Can you imagine what they must be doing in that washing machine?”

  I completely ignore his sexual innuendo. “Did you check the pockets before you put them in?”

  “I don’t do laundry.” He looks at his phone. “Time, Tales. Let’s roll, or we’ll be late.” He hurries out the door, and I follow behind. “I’ll send a text; we’ll find it.”

  Once outside, he hits the key fob and unlocks the doors to a black Escalade. Then he opens the passenger door.

  “Chop, chop, sweet cheeks.”

  I feel a blush rising on my face as I climb in, and I’m pretty sure he groans behind me before shutting the door.

  He hops in the driver’s seat, then moves the seat back. “Haven’t driven in a while”—he laughs—“so buckle up.”

  “How long?” I ask, and he merely chuckles.

  “Been on the road for a year, so I’d say a year. Might get a little hairy out there.” He reaches out and messes up my hair.

  He has always poked fun at my hair. Apparently, he still does. How stupid am I for thinking he was attracted to me? His sexual innuendoes were nothing except a joke, or maybe he just wanted to have sex, which he obviously gets a lot of.

  “You’re quiet. Felling shitty?”

  I smirk and shake my head.

  “Tales, you really need to get over the giggles when someone curses.” He pulls out and starts down the brick driveway. “Tell me about school, about your father. How is your mom?”

  “Why?”

  “’Cause I want to know what I’ve missed.”

  “Tell me about being on the road for a year.”

  He stops in front of the gate and looks at me as we wait for it to open. “I really am sorry about your dad, Tales.”

  “Thanks.”

  “He’s in a better place, right?” he asks sincerely.

  I nod. “Yes, he’s where he’d want to be.”

  “Your mom? Church family taking care of her?”

  “She’s okay. She misses Dad, but she has a new place, and—”

  “A new place? She isn’t in the house?” he asks in shock.

  “It belongs to the church.”

  “Probably easier being away from the house, though, right?” he asks, pulling out onto the road, where he guns it. “Memories and shit?” I grab the handle above the passenger window, and he snickers. “You know what that’s called, Tales?”

  “What?”

  “The handle. It’s the oh-shit handle.”

  “You drive like a maniac.” I grab the one on the dash while he weaves into traffic at a speed I am sure is higher than it should be.

  “I dri
ve how I bang, Tales. I get you from start to screaming orgasm in record time.”

  “That must be why they don’t stick around.” I am terrified of the way he drives. “Memphis Black, slow down!”

  He laughs. “They don’t want to leave, Tales; trust me. Never had a complaint, just requests for an encore.”

  He hits the gas, and I see the airport sign.

  “Left lane, Memphis”

  “Shit.” He guns it again. “You keep fucking me up with all the sex talk, Tales, and we’ll either be in the back of an ambulance or in the backseat.”

  “I’d like to get to the airport without either detour, thank you.”

  “Damn, sweet cheeks is cracking funnies,” he says.

  Once settled into the proper lane, he reaches up and turns on the radio.

  “Love this song.”

  I look at the radio, seeing “I Followed Fires” by Matthew and the Atlas scrolling across the display.

  He begins strumming on the steering wheel, and his head starts bobbing slightly. He gets that look of intensity on his face, exactly like when we were younger, and starts to sing along.

  “There’s a devil at your door, and he grows, he grows. So I’ve been told he had a heart of gold...”

  He continues singing as I lean back in the seat and take in the smooth sound of his voice, watching his incredibly handsome face as he sings a story, his facial expression—heck, he puts everything into it. He feels every word, and watching him, you do the same. He is truly an artist, always has been.

  The song ends and the next begins.

  He laughs. “Want some chocolate, Tales?”

  “What?” I ask, confused.

  In the blink of an eye, he starts singing this crazy song about chocolate. He sings it to me, smiling and bobbing his head. He grabs my hand and holds it up like a microphone and starts singing into it. I can’t help laughing, which he does, too, but doesn’t miss a beat.

  The dash reads “Chocolate” by The 1975.

  The way he is looking at me is best described as sinful because it makes me think of his mouth and his perfectly shaped lips. His hair is a mess, his T-shirt fits him like a glove, and his shorts are white. I have no idea why I am checking him out in such detail, but I am. When I realize it, I look up, our eyes meet, and his lip curls up at the corner.