Hard Lesson: A bad-boy, rock star romance

by Savannah Skye

  "Everyone on board?" called the driver.

  Cheri looked around and counted heads.

  "All clear," she yelled to the bus driver.

  "Jesus Christ, can't you people be quiet?" complained Richard.

  "You've been sleeping here all this time?" said Gina.

  "I'm old," he grumbled. "I need my sleep."

  "Yeah," said Gina, "like forty is old. Haven't you heard? Forty is the new thirty."

  "Fuck you, Saldano," grumbled Richard.

  "Wouldn't you like to?" she said with a grin. "But you're old, remember?"

  This brought a round of guffaws from the techies sitting in the back of the bus.

  "You crawl in here, darling," said Richard, "and I'll show you what an old man can do."

  Oohs and ahhs rose like a chorus from the other guys.

  "Promises, promises, old man," she said walking with a sway to her hips. The she flopped into her bunk, which was opposite to his, and gave him a salacious grin. Then, she snapped the curtain shut.

  Richard grumbled something Cheri couldn't hear and disappeared back into his bunk.

  Cheri grabbed her laptop and sat at the tiny dining and kitchen area carved out between the bunks and the back of the bus and updated the social media sites and the band's blog with pictures she took during the concert, linking to various reviews. She made a valiant effort not to get caught up in the ones of Dev, and succeeded.

  Mostly.

  She sighed when it was done and noticed her buzz was ebbing. Good. The last thing she wanted was to wake up hung over.

  She stifled a yawn and briefly considered going to sleep but then kicked that idea to the curb. She would just stare at the wall replaying what had happened in that alley a million times until she drove herself nuts. She needed to keep busy until her eyes were crossing with exhaustion. Maybe then she could forget long enough to sleep.

  She fiddled around on her own page, checking out friends’ pages and responding to different posts just to get her mind off the past couple hours. But staring at the screen, especially with the bus moving, made her head pound.

  She closed her laptop with a sigh.

  "Hey, Bug," called one of the techies. "Come show Rizzo how War Storm is played."

  "Yeah," called another voice, probably Jigger’s, who ran the rigging. "We bet money on you to get the most kills and capture the flag."

  "You shouldn't have," she replied, making her way toward the noise. “I haven’t played in weeks.”

  "Come on, Bug. Rizzo is waiting to get his ass kicked."

  "More like I’m ready to kick some," replied Rizzo. He was new this tour and didn’t know Cheri well, or how well she played. Grateful for something juicy to take her mind off things, she grinned.

  "Put up or shut up," said Cheri as she slid into an opening on the curved leather sofa where the techies sat.

  Paul handed her his set of controllers.

  "Gear up," said Cheri as she flashed lightening fast through the screens to set up her avatar. She knew the game well, because it was a favorite of Rory and Dev's, though they didn't play it much anymore. But there was many a night when they and either Mac or Connor blazed through War Storm, and she was right there, racking up weapons and points right along with them.

  Rizzo's face drew up tight when Cheri pulled ahead of his point total even though he had more time in game play.

  Cobb, one of the tech guys, got hit too many times and his life points dropped to zero.

  "I'm out," he declared dropping the controllers. He got up and went to the fridge and fished out two Cokes. He opened them and put one before Cheri and sat next to her, this time closer than before.

  "How'd you get so good at this?"

  But Cheri was staring ahead at the screen than hung on the small wall by the entrance to this alcove.

  "Rory and Dev used to play," she said sharply. “Ahh, yess!” Cheri crowed as she gained the virtual hill and the flag, winning the game and handily outscoring the others.

  "Nice!" said Cobb. "Hah, Rizzo. You got beat by Rory’s little sister. Pay-up."

  Wallets and money clips came out of pockets, and money flitted to the center of the coffee table.

  "That's what I like to see," said Cobb rubbing his hands together. He scooped up the cash, did a quick count and held out half the winnings to Cheri.

  "You keep it, Cobb. I just play for the love of the game."

  "Okay, you bohemians, out!" declared Cobb. "I'm getting some sleep. Cheri, can you hang back for a sec and help me break down?"

  Cobb's designated sleeping area was this part of the bus. The coffee table slid into the half moon making one solid surface when it was clicked in. He opened the lid of the coffee table to pull out a three-inch thick pad, which sat on the top of the table and the seats.

  Cheri helped him wrangle the table, which didn't seem to want to hook into place, and the pad, which was unwieldy to handle. When it was done, Cheri stepped back to the doorway and surveyed their work.

  "Damn, Cobb. This looks uncomfortable."

  "Naw. I've slept on worse. And this way I get my own private TV to watch before I fall asleep. No fighting over the remote."

  Cheri laughed. "I guess so."

  He opened the tiny closet to the right of the door and pulled out a sleeping bag.

  “Good night," said Cheri, turning to go.

  Cobb's face fell but then he rebounded, tugging her to a stop. "Hey, if you won't take the money, let me take you out to breakfast tomorrow."

  "Lunch," she smiled. "By the time we wake up, I imagine."

  "Food, then. Whatever and whenever you want. Cool?"

  She thought about her answer long and hard. Cobb was a nice guy, but she’d never thought of him that way. Then again, with Dev around, she never thought of anyone that way.

  Dev’s words rang in her ears again, making her heart knock painfully in her chest.

  Never happen.

  Maybe it was time for that to change.

  "Sure, why not."

  A smile spread over his handsome face and he nodded. "Great."

  "Well, good night then."

  His shaggy black hair fell across his eyes as he climbed into his sleeping bag. "Good night."

  Cheri tiptoed back to her bunk. Despite the air conditioning in the bus, it still felt humid and her damp shirt clung to her as she climbed in.

  Tomorrow was a new day. So what if she propositioned Dev and he’d refused?

  Twice.

  She pressed her flaming face into the pillow. It was all going to be fine. They’d been drinking after a big show. She’d play it off like nothing happened and poof. Things would go back to the way they were.

  Back to her and Dev being friends, and nothing more.

  Back to her watching him hook up with woman after woman.

  Back to being Rory’s little sister, Bug.

  Just fucking perfect.

  Chapter Four

  The creaking of a door and the sound of liquid trickling somewhere seeped into his consciousness as Dev struggled to hold onto the last ragged edges of sleep.

  Without thinking, he reached for the woman he expected to be there. The woman that had haunted his dreams once he finally did fall into a fitful sleep. A sleep riddled with a cruel tangle of memories and fantasies. But when he joined the land of the living, he was alone.

  A fact that his rock hard shaft complained about viciously. It refused to calm down, especially when an image of her face with those wide, crystal blue eyes flashed in his mind.

  This was so wrong.

  In all the years that Rory and he were best friends, little Bug had stayed in the background. Always around, but never in the forefront of his thoughts. Rory was the brother Dev never had, and by extension, Bug was Dev's sister, sort of.

  Until last night.

  At his third shot of Jack, with the closeness of her thigh next to his, and the way her tits looked in that t-shit, the walls he’d erected in his head regarding Cheri had crumbled a
nd something entirely new had erected. She’d wandered through the rubble of the “like a sister” zone into a whole other category.

  Fuckable.

  Shit.

  "Why was it never me, Dev?"

  The question haunted him now in all the ways it shouldn't. Even now, his cock twitched at the thought. Already jacked by a night racked with fevered dreams of her, it demanded release.

  There wasn’t much privacy on the bus and Dev wasn’t a sexual exhibitionist, even if he did strut on the stage like he was. But he couldn't take it. One thought of Cheri standing in the alley looking fierce and sexy with her hands balled at her side like she would do damage if that girl didn't move away from him set him off. If he didn’t come, he was going to be walking around with a record case of blue-balls.

  His hands pushed past the waistband of his sleep pants and he grabbed his cock. Images of her lithe body under him, her tits firm with pink nipples hardened by need filled his brain. In his head he parted her thighs as he lowered his head between them, breathing in the scent of her desire. He lapped her petal-soft sweetness, hungry and wanting more. She moaned under him and whimpered for him to slid his cock deep. He rose and pressed forward, taking her as her tight, soft flesh closed around him and her hips moved, urging him to take more of her.

  His balls drew up and a rush of fire ran up his aching cock. It was fast. It was dirty. And it was over. He shuddered as he came in his hand, hard. He smashed a pillow against his face to muffle his groans, but even so, someone rapped on the section over his head while his heart was still pounding.

  "You okay, buddy?" said Rory. "You sound like you’re hurting in there."

  Fucking Rory.

  The guilt hit him almost as hard as his climax. The last thing he needed was to be reminded of his best friend who was the brother of the girl he just jacked off to.

  "I'm fine," rasped Dev.

  "Drank a little too much last night?"

  "Yeah."

  "Want some aspirin?"

  "Jesus Christ, no. Just let me wake up," snapped Dev irritably.

  "Okay, you don't have to take my head off."

  It wouldn’t be the first time he and Rory had jawed off to each other, and his friend wouldn’t likely even think of it again, but Dev felt like shit. Here Rory was offering to get him aspirin when, if he’d known what had just happened, he likely would’ve busted him in the chops.

  Already this shit with Cheri was causing problems and nothing had even happened between them.

  Yet.

  He needed to get that thought out of his head. Their schedule was frustratingly tight, with a venue every six to eight hours away from the next, so Bill declared they didn't need hotel rooms. And right now, Dev would have paid any money for the privacy a hotel room would give him. That, and a shower.

  He desperately needed a shower.

  When this tour was over, the band and their manager were going to have a serious sit-down in which Dev would explain to him who was in charge.

  He felt around for the wipes that should have been at the head of his bed. As he groped, he wondered if someone took them, but he finally found them wedged between the slice of memory foam that served as the piss-poor mattress and the wall of the bunk.

  As he cleaned his sticky mess from his hand and stomach, he stewed internally. This whole situation was ridiculous, both the sleeping arrangements, and his attraction to Cheri.

  What was his problem? They were just three days in, and already he was going off the rails. The failure of Providence still weighed heavily on all their minds, and maybe that was a factor. The last thing the band wanted was to gain a reputation as box office poison since this was the first time they were working with a promoter. If they didn't fill the venues or close to it, no other promoter would look at them again.

  Sub-Zero would die an almost-was rock band’s death, a sad symbol of what could have been.

  When they’d had a great show last night, he’d felt a momentary relief from the pressure and a building excitement. He’d wanted someone who knew him and who cared to share it with, and last night, that was Cheri.

  Sensibly, very sensibly, he had walked away.

  Now all he had to do was not look back.

  The air seal of the bus door hissed and the telltale sound of a woman's heels clanged on the metal stairs.

  "Oh, my, my," said Gina Saldano. Their PR maestro had a voice like silk and steel rolled into one. "It smells like a honkytonk at three AM in here. Wake up gentlemen. We have DJ calls to make."

  "Screw you, Saldano," said a voice through the curtain that sounded like a raspy Quinn.

  Dev had recalled seeing him the night before and his buddy had hit the tequila hard. He was definitely going to be hurting this morning.

  "Come on, boys," said another female voice that instantly had Dev's cock stiffening back to half-mast. "I have coffee for all of you, so quit your bitching. I told you, Gina, they’re all grumpy first thing, whether or not they pour a quart of liquor down their throats. They can't function without the magical brown elixir."

  Shit. Cheri.

  "You're a goddess," said Mac. "Dark roast for me."

  "I know what you like, Mac," said Cheri smoothly. "And I guess the great Dev Lachlan is still in bed?"

  "Coffee," he croaked, poking just his arm out of the curtain hoping to deflect his mind from his thoughts, and deflect Cheri from discovering his current condition.

  That was it. The next groupie who threw it at him, he'd follow through. He couldn't spend another morning jacking off in his bunk like a teenager.

  He wiggled his hand, hoping she would just hand him the coffee and he could avoid Cheri's ritual hazing for his drunken antics last night. He was very aware of her gaze last night when he was flirting with those girls on the dance floor. He’d even shot a guilty glance over his shoulder as he headed to the door with the girl he chose, only to see Cheri chug back another shot. He never expected her to follow them out to the alley.

  And then there she stood at the entrance of the sliver of space between buildings--fury and sex combined that promised one hell of ride.

  A ride that required a ticket you can’t afford.

  To his everlasting relief, she stuck the warm coffee cup in his hand, dragging him back to the present.

  "There you go, light and sweet," she said. Her husky tone made Dev want to do three things. Put his coffee down, pull her on top of him, and then smack himself for being so stupid.

  "Thanks, Bug," he said.

  He shouldn't have used her nickname. It was a poorly thought out attempt to remind them both of their relationship. Get them back on solid ground. But all he’d managed to do was piss her off.

  He heard her gasp and, a second later, the curtain slid open on its silvery hooks, sounding like a swarm of metal bees. She glared down at him until she caught sight of the erection tenting his sheets. Her blue eyes, glinting in the bright fluorescent lights of the bus, widened just a bit.

  "Hey!" he protested, but it was too late. Her keen gaze had already taken in the used wipes on the bed.

  Her eyes burned holes through him. "Cheri," she hissed. "My fucking name is Cheri." Then she snapped the curtain shut again.

  Could he be botching this all any worse? Last night, he’d hurt her feelings, and now, he’d disrespected her by not calling her the name she’d solemnly asked him to call her.

  Guilt weighed heavily on his gut and he swallowed back half the coffee in hopes of warming the ice in his belly.

  Screw this.

  He took out his phone, searched for the nearest hotel and called for a reservation. He was going to get a shower, a good breakfast, and then maybe, just maybe, the day would right itself.

  If only he could get Little Cheri Galveston and her ridiculous proposal out of his head…

  So much for his much needed “me time”.

  Two hours later and, one by one, each of his band-mates had tracked him down and availed themselves of his upscale hotel room. Room
service had stopped taking their mid-day breakfast calls one by one, and wound up sending up a buffet of everything. Eggs, bacon, sausage, pancakes, hash browns, mixed fruit and grits, though none of the northern bred boys could make heads or tails of the grits.

  "They have no taste," said Rory with a frown.

  "I’m told by room service," said Dev who was into second helpings, "that you’re supposed to put lots of butter and salt on them."

  Rory shrugged. "Seems likes a waste of whatever it is."

  "Corn," offered Mac, heaping a bunch of the white paste into a bowl. "Boiled, ground corn kernels. But this shit isn't a quarter good as it could be. No doubt they made it out of a box."

  "How do you know so much about it?"

  "Not all Irish came to America by why of New England or New York. My grandmother was raised in Georgia, from the first wave of Irish that came over way before the potato famine. I had a great, great, great father who fought for General Lee in the Civil War."

  "A Southern man," said Rory approvingly. "Maybe we can use that in our introductions."

  "Better run that through the Iron Maiden," said Connor.

  "The Iron Maiden?" said Dev.

  "Saldano," replied Connor. "She's got us all on scripts now for when we speak in public."

  This was the first Dev heard of it.

  "Except you. She didn't give you any," said Quinn picking up on Dev's quizzical expression, "because, quote 'Dev has the good sense not to make an ass of himself' unquote.” The keyboardist put on an exaggerated version of the Brooklyn accent that seeped into Gina's speech from time to time.

  Connor picked up the hotel phone.

  "What are you doing?" said Dev.

  "Ordering the hair of the dog," said Connor.

  "Not on my tab," said Dev irritably. “I already paid for breakfast.”

  "Isn’t this from band funds?"

  Dev shook his head. "Nope. I wanted a little space and a place to sit and think, and clearly Bill wasn’t about to approve it, so I paid for it myself."

  "That’s nuts,” Mac said. “This should come out of the band's expenses."

  "I'm tired of arguing with him about every nickel and dime. And I needed a nice long shower."