by Jodie Larson
I stand next to him and smile. “I hope so. This whole tour thing is still pretty new. I’m learning more and more each day.”
“Don’t worry. You’re doing great.” He nods and walks toward the door, pausing before opening it. “I’m glad you’re here.”
I blink a few times before finally letting a brick chip away from the wall around my heart. “Thanks.” My voice is squeaky and sounds more like Peter Brady going through puberty. Myles gives me one last look before leaving the room, taking all the energy with him.
There’s a new turn of events. Yesterday he was cornering me in a gym and today he’s being kind and helpful. I’m going to get whiplash with his constant change of personality. For now, I’ll take what I can get. Even though I told myself I would harden my heart to him, it was a lie. Nothing will ever change that. No matter how much I want to.
Tapping the beat with my toes, I lay across one of the leather chairs in the main sitting room as we cruise down the highway. Kade’s morning meeting didn’t really have anything to do with me, so I sort of zoned out and started doodling in my notebook. By the time I looked down again, I had written two verses to a song. This wasn’t my forte at all. Myles was the lyrical genius. I was his muse. Once upon a time, that is. He could take simple, one-dimensional words and attach music to them, giving them a four-dimensional feel. Like the song was a part of you, rather than playing around you. It was, and still is, his gift.
The guys are all hanging out in the kitchen, making some sort of food while still chatting about something to do with the tour. With my earbuds in, it’s hard to hear, which is fine. If it was important to me, I’m sure they’d let me know.
I’m just about to level 202 on Toy Blast when the phone is ripped from my hands. “Hey!” Looking up, I’m surprised to see Myles’ smiling face. What in the hell is wrong with him lately? These last couple weeks he’s been more than happy to tear me a new one. Now all of a sudden he’s acting all friendly. Definitely need to keep my guard up. He’s got something planned. I know it.
Inspecting my phone, he takes it upon himself to beat the level, which I had been stuck on for the past twenty minutes. Thank goodness I had reached the twenty-four hour infinity life bonus a few hours ago. He hands it back to me with the smug smile I’m used to seeing.
“It was torture watching you struggle with it.” Why in the hell was he studying what I was doing on my phone? Better yet, why does he care?
“Thanks,” I mumble.
Myles stares at me for a few minutes before taking an earbud out of my ear and placing it in his. This makes him lean even closer, which doesn’t help the festering need growing inside. Damn. His shower gel or cologne he uses must have some form of crack in it because I’m addicted to the smell. It’s hard to be a creepy stalker to the guy who doesn’t want to give you the time of day just so you can sniff him. But until someone tells him I sneak into his dressing room during shows just so I can get a whiff, it’s no harm, no foul.
“What is this crap you’re listening to?” He scrunches his face in disgust as I pull the earbud back from him.
“Um, it’s called music? Perhaps maybe you’ve heard of it.”
Pushing my legs off the armrest, he sits down and drags his phone out of his back pocket. “That is not music.” Tapping several times on his screen, he pulls the jack out of my phone and places it in his. “This is music.”
A guitar riff assaults my ears, but soon enough I find myself matching the beat with my fingers. “Riding” by Buckcherry. It’s been a favorite of ours since it released. Our mothers forbade us to listen to it, which is a green light to any teenager. And because of that, it became our official favorite song that year. Many nights we spent huddled around a set of earbuds on his bed, listening in secret. It was the only thing we could do since his mother made us leave the bedroom door open. I still didn’t see what was so wrong about a fourteen-year-old girl and boy hanging out in his bedroom. We didn’t have sex until later. Not that we didn’t think about it. Just didn’t appeal to us with the door always open and his mom frequently walking down the hallway to check on us.
“God, I’ve missed this song,” I say, a little louder than intended. Pax looks over at us, shakes his head, then goes back into his conversation with Brecken. Myles is practically pushing me over, trying like hell to share the seat with me. It’s not like this is an oversized chair or anything. Hell, it barely fits me, which is why I had my legs slung over the sides. Apparently he doesn’t care because he picks me up and sets me on his lap.
I freeze instantly, not sure of what to do. This was our normal position in high school: me on his lap while listening to songs. I’m not sure I even sat on a chair by myself the entire time we were together. He always had to be near me, touching me in some way. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from anticipation. Does this mean he’s willing to try and work on our friendship?
Myles looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Loosen up, will you? Your boney ass is digging into my legs.” He laughs, soft and gentle, which calms all my nerves and lets me relax into his body. “There. Much better.”
I’m afraid to move. What if he changes his mind and throws me on the floor? I suppose that’s still a possibility. He’s being uncharacteristically nice to me, compared to our recent dealings. For the first time, I don’t think he’s out to hurt me.
The song ends so I grab his phone and find another one. Tapping the song, I settle back against his shoulders while “I’m Still Alive” by Saving Abel starts. This was one of the last albums we listened to together before everything changed. When sacrifices had to be made, forcing you to make a choice for two people and only one of them knows why. I’m not quite ready yet to tell him what happened. I need us to get to a good spot before I unleash that secret. I need to him understand that I was protecting him, not hurting him.
“This is way better than that teenie-bopper crap you were listening to.” He taps his toes to the beat, making me bounce a little in his lap.
“And what’s so wrong with my music? I happen to love my music. Not everything has to be so dark and twisted. Sometimes you need something cheesy and bright.”
Myles leans back, looking straight into my eyes. “Please tell me you’re not a 90’s child still.”
I grin. “Oh yes. When it’s all you were forced to listen to, you can’t outgrow it. Besides,” I say, scrolling through my phone. “My mom raised me right. All the greatest songs came from the 90’s.”
Taking the jack from his phone, I hit play and can’t help but laugh as he starts shaking his head.
“Oh, hell no,” he says, practically spitting it out.
I laugh even harder. “Come on. Since when did you stop loving Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch? ”Good Vibrations” used to be our jam.”
“Since when?” He raises a brow in doubt.
“Um, I believe it was sometime around fourth grade? Remember, we found that CD in my mom’s stack and tried to breakdance to it?”
Myles pauses as he lets the memory float through his eyes. I can picture it clear as day. We threw down some cardboard, literally, while he lay on his back and I spun him in circles. Once he tried kicking his legs up and ended up giving me a black eye. Brecken and Paxton were there too, though all they did was laugh. Kade called us a bunch of dorks and went back to his guitar playing.
A playful shudder runs through him. “Thanks for that. I had blanked that memory out until now. And for the record, I didn’t like Marky Mark or his Funky Bunch. I only tolerated it because…” He clears his throat and looks away.
“Because…why?”
When he looks at me again, the now-familiar mask slides into place, blocking me from gaining access to his warmth.
“Never mind. Doesn’t matter.” The curtness of his tone indicates he’s done with this conversation. Hopefully not all the progress we’ve made is gone. I quickly scroll through my songs and press play on the first Seether song I find. Unfortunately, it’s “Broken.” Shit. Why di
dn’t I look at the song first? That’s all I need right now, a song telling about how weak I feel without him.
To my surprise, he doesn’t move or change the song. Instead, his hand finds its way to the outside of my thigh, pulling me closer to his body. The warmth travels quickly from that little spot, taking the chills away that were previously there. It’s like he’s silently telling me it’s okay, that he feels the same way. Perhaps we’re two broken people trying to get from one day to the next. Is it possible we can rebuild each other? Go back to the way things were?
When the song ends, I let my shuffle pick the next song. Neither of us moves a muscle. Our eyes stay locked on each other. Those brown eyes I adore break another brick around my heart as they bounce back and forth. I risk placing a hand on his chest. The frantic beat of his heart pounds against my palm. It’s too fast for a resting position. What has him so excited? Or maybe he’s nervous. Is it from me?
Maybe Kade was wrong. Being on this bus wasn’t a good idea. We were fine before today. Okay, so we weren’t, but we were faking it for everyone else.
“Finally, something good,” he says, bringing back a smile to his face. “Monkey Wrench” by the Foo Fighters blasts through our ears. Leave it to Dave Grohl to save the day. You can’t be mad when listening to him. It’s virtually impossible.
For the next hour, we play Name that Song, bouncing between my phone and his. When we can’t stump each other anymore, we up the ante: song title, artist, and album. Loser has to do the other one’s chores for a day.
Myles thinks he’s got me beat, but little does he know, I had a lot of free time and spent it doing nothing but listening to music. Every genre, every song, no matter what. Then, to really test my knowledge, I’d scour the internet for those stupid online quizzes, trying to find the hardest one. Each wrong or unknown answer meant I had to pull it up and listen to it right away, so I’d never make that mistake again.
Nerdish? Yeah, pretty much. There’s a reason why I was a 4.0 student in school. Damn photographic memory.
Somewhere along the line, Kade, Pax, and Breck join in and the five of us are challenging each other, laughing like old times, singing along to the great songs that come up and gonging the crappy ones. The Pack was alive and well. Our brotherhood rekindled, brought together through music.
I’m one who’s willing to admit when they’re wrong. And right now, looking at the laughing faces of my friends, I can admit it. Kade was right. Being on this bus will be good for me. Even if it doesn’t get what my heart desires, I’ll end up with the next best thing.
My friends back in my life.
What possessed me to volunteer my room to Tatum? When I saw her and Brecken holding hands earlier, all I could see was red. Whether or not he was putting the moves on her didn’t matter. He was touching her. They all know she’s off limits. She’s my girl. Was my girl. Fuck, I’m blurring the lines between past and present.
I can’t help it. Every time I see her, it makes me remember the good times, how effortless we were together. She stole my heart when we were young. It’s hard to explain how an eight-year-old could fall in love with a girl when he barely knew what love was, but it happened. I spent years silently pining after her, watching her talk to other boys, flirt with them as she grew older. Even tried dating Kade once. It didn’t last long. Partly because I threatened to kick his ass if he ever looked at her like that again. The other part is because they’re not right together. Sure, they have a chemistry of sorts, but it’s more like siblings than romantic.
As she walks out of the bathroom, all freshly showered and ready for bed, anything familial about her disappears. Damn her and her tank tops and boxers. Hasn’t she ever heard of traditional pajamas? Flannel pants and a high-neck shirt? Or hell, even some grandma-looking nightgown would work. Anything that doesn’t draw attention to her mile-long legs or toned body. Add in the braided hair and you may as well shoot me. All she’s missing is a halo on top of her head because she looks like an angel at this point. A devilish one, but an angel nonetheless.
“Bathroom’s free if you need it,” she says, slinking toward the bed.
There’s no fucking way I’m leaving this bed right now. One, I’m warm. Two, if I jump down, she’s going to see my raging erection and there’s no way to talk my way out of why it’s there. All my dick can think about is getting inside her. My traitorous hands want the same thing. I wonder if her skin is just as smooth as it was the other night.
Perfect. Now I’m thinking of her naked. Again.
Okay, think. Baseball. Boxing. Getting kicked in the nuts. Antarctica. My mom and dad making out like teenagers.
Yeah, that did it.
Not willing to trust my voice, I clear my throat for good measure. “It’s okay. I used it earlier. You can hit the light before coming to bed.”
She does and the bunk beneath me creaks quietly as she settles in.
“Thanks again, Myles. I’m glad I’m staying here with you.” She pauses to yawn. “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I stare at the ceiling, willing sleep to take over. Only…nothing. I’m wide awake, like I’ve had five cups of coffee in ten minutes awake. How can I sleep knowing she’s right here, beneath me. Well, not beneath me, but close enough.
Tatum hasn’t changed her shampoo or conditioner because the familiar scent of roses floods my nostrils, bringing back memories of me washing her hair or snuggling next to her with my nose buried in the strands. And if I’m not mistaken, she’s still using that same body oil crap after her showers. Every woman I’ve known has their nighttime rituals. Some shower while others just wash their faces. Then you have the beauty regimens of scrubbing, exfoliating, clay masks, toning, and whatever expensive shit those magazines tell them to buy to ensure they stay young forever. Tatum was never like that. She’d shower, wash her face, and then rub that flowery-smelling oil all over her, instead of using lotions.
Normally I can’t stand it when a woman uses too much flowery shit. But Tatum does it so it’s natural and not overbearing. Like she swims in a sea of flowers and her skin magically smells that way. Subtle, but still noticeable if you look for it.
Right now, those damn flowers are making my dick stir again. All I can think about is tasting her skin, re-familiarizing myself with her body. This time, without malice behind it. Showing up at her hotel room was a bad idea. Pressing her against the wall and fingering her was even worse. Not because I didn’t want to, but because of how I went about it. Jealousy drove me to that point, not lust. It’s like going to the grocery store on an empty stomach. You just don’t do that. Impulses will get the best of you every time. Then you’re left wondering why in the hell you bought what you did. Or in this case, why you chose to cheapen what you had in the past by making this into something sordid.
Second, minutes, and hours tick by as I try my hardest not to think of the green-eyed angel under me. When it’s apparent sleep isn’t coming anytime soon, I hop off the bed and find my laptop on the nightstand.
“Why are you up?” a sleepy voice calls out. I was always a sucker for this voice. It’s sexy without trying to be.
It’s becoming increasingly difficult to remember why I was mad at her. Today was a good day. It felt like old times. She even let me hold her on my lap. It honestly wasn’t my plan when I took her phone away to play her game, but once everyone else joined our little battle, I didn’t want to lose my connection with her. She felt too good.
Lifting it up to show her, I say, “Couldn’t sleep so I need some entertainment. Don’t worry, I’ll keep the volume off or put in earbuds.”
Tatum sits up slightly, letting the sheet fall from her shoulders, exposing a bare patch of skin. “I can’t sleep either. What kind of entertainment did you have in mind?”
I bend down and sit on the edge of her bed. “Movies. I made sure to download a few new one when we were home.” I shouldn’t do this. It’s a bad idea. But, then again, it’s Tatum. We said we would try to be civi
l and coexist together. That’s what I’m doing. “You want to watch with me?”
She nods but looks down. “How’s that going to work?”
Oh, she’s talking about how we’re both going to watch the screen. Well, we have two options. One, we build a bed on the floor and snuggle together. Or two, we lay in bed and snuggle together. Either way, there’s no losing in this plan.
“My bed or yours?” I ask. She blinks several times, as if she’s not sure she heard me correctly.
“I…what?”
I lean closer, resting my forearm on the bed. “You heard me. My bed or yours? I’m good with either one.”
Even in the dark, I can see the flush crawling up her neck. If I had more light, I know it’d be a delicious shade of pink, one that only shows up when she’s aroused.
No. Can’t have that. I need to keep this friendly.
Before I have the chance to take back my offer, Tatum throws back the covers and slides closer to the wall. “I’m not moving. Besides, I’m already comfortable here.”
Can’t argue with that. I slide in next to her, not before grabbing my pillow and setting it next to hers. We need to treat this like our sleepovers as kids and not the ones as teenagers. Separate pillows and all clothing remains on. Got that, dick? Ignore the hottie pressing against us.
“Any requests?” I show her my video library and she scrolls through the list, saying no at random intervals. Thank God no chick flicks are on here. At least I won’t suffer through that.
Suddenly she perks up and double-clicks on one. Subconsciously I wonder if I added this because I knew it was one of her favorites. Not that Lloyd and Harry aren’t the shit, but Dumb and Dumber isn’t a movie I always go for.
“I haven’t seen this movie in forever.” Tatum snuggles under the covers, keeping a safe distance away from me. Which is for the best. Though as the movie progresses, it doesn’t take long for us to drift toward each other. First a foot. Then a leg. Next an arm. By the time we reach the snotsicle scene, she’s practically sleeping on my shoulder. I’m no closer to sleep than I was an hour ago, but I don’t mind. Tatum, on the other hand, is quietly sleeping. And drooling.