“I’m pregnant. God, babe. Can you not keep your mouth shut? Our parents don’t even know.”
She’s verbally accosting her husband, but the adoration and excitement in his eyes outweighs her anger.
“It’s early. Not super early, but enough that we need to be cautious.”
My attention is on Tyler because the mention of babies could bring up old wounds that we haven’t properly discussed. Instead, he rises to his feet and pulls Hollis into a tight hug.
She gasps for air and pats his back a little before pushing him away. “This bus will be dry when this kid gets here, you feel me?” We both nod, and then she finishes her thought. “And the no sex on the bus rule still stands.”
The news is a shock to my system. There’s going to be a baby on the bus. The entire dynamic of the band is about to change. I was not expecting this to happen, and a part of me feels a little empty because of it.
Tyler finds me in my bunk, staring up at the ceiling in the darkness. I’m not sleeping—I just need some space.
He pulls back the curtain and leans in, crossing his arms and resting his chin on them. I turn on the light and squint at him until his face comes into focus.
“Hey, you.”
“Hey.”
He pauses, and this is the first time I’ve seen him a little shy. He licks his lips and looks at me for a beat before he smiles. “I have a surprise for you.”
“More underwear?”
He laughs, and it breaks a tiny bit of the tension I’ve been drowning in. “When we get to New York, we’re staying for two days. Since that’s the case, I rented us a hotel room.”
“Oh my God, that sounds so nice. Are you messing with me? If this is a joke, I will unstring all your guitars before we get there.”
The fake shock in his eyes is adorable, and I roll to my side to brace myself for the inevitable when he pushes forward to invade my space, his lips just out of reach. “Why would I lie about that, of all things? The chance to get you off the bus and in a huge bed where I can throw you around any way you want? Walls that will buffer that sound that you make when you come? Would I joke about tasting every inch of you in a place where it’s just the two of us?” His fingers are brushing my upper thigh, and I’m so turned on that my knees instinctively part. My sleep shorts are loose around the leg, and his hand creeps inside to brush against me.
If he’d let the curtain close behind his back, I’d welcome that move he’s so good at. That beat he taps deep inside, fingers curled, and the other thumb working overtime on my clit to rush me toward finishing.
“What are you thinking about? I swear you just got wet, and I haven’t even made a move.”
I scoot forward a bit so my forehead rests against his. The shift has caused my knees to widen further, but his fingers remain still. “I’m thinking about how much I miss your fingers and your cock, that’s what.”
His sharp intake of breath makes my heart race. “You have a dirty mouth, has anyone ever told you that?”
My lips are hovering above his when I lift my eyes and smile. “I learned from the best. I’d invite you to close that curtain and do exactly what you’re thinking about, but I bet you’re hard and anyone within a ten foot radius could tell.”
“I like a challenge,” he whispers before the curtain is moved into place around his shoulders, and then his mouth is on mine. I love his taste and his warmth. I love his tongue and how it swirls around mine unlike anyone else I’ve ever kissed before. I love how he pulls away and takes my bottom lip between his teeth and sucks on it before he starts again.
I love all these things. His fingers are just the icing on the cake. Four of them are flat against me, and they’re patting the space above my clit in the softest way. It’s not enough, but it feels amazing—coupled with his kiss, my raised leg is already shaking. His middle finger curls and slides between, teasing my entrance and making me squirm. There’s already a moan building in my throat when he slips it inside. “Shh. It’s part of the deal. You have to be quiet, or else everyone will know.”
“Oh, God,” I whisper and clench my teeth when a second digit follows the first. There’s not enough room to reach for him, so my hands are fisting my own shirt while he pumps slowly. It’s probably the risk of getting caught that’s upping the excitement, but I’m finding it really hard not to make a noise. Instead, I’m breathing hard and gasping at the way his fingers expertly work me over. I’m so wet, I can hear it.
My left leg starts to fall, and he tsks, so I open wider for him again. “I wish I was inside you right now, Peach. I bet your pussy feels like heaven.”
“Shit, shit, shit. You can’t say that. I’ll crawl right out of this bunk.”
His fingers slow, and my hips rise to push him deeper, but he holds steady. I’m gripping my left breast, the flesh pulled tight, and my lips are parted in desperation. He jerks his chin up and lets out a breathy groan. “Pull the shirt up. Let me see you do that again.” I do as he says, and my palm is squeezing, tugging my nipple while his pumping increases in speed.
My stomach is tightening, and my foot is braced on the far wall when it starts. He lunges forward, opening his mouth to mine, and I press in when his thumb circles my clit so fast I jerk. Open lipped, he covers my mouth, and he’s finally close enough for me to grip the back of his neck while he swallows my scream.
He moans quietly, and my lips vibrate while my high-pitched gasps escape into his mouth. I’m shivering and pulsing around his fingers, and his thumb slows to a gentle circle but never stops. My whole body relaxes, and I pull away to see his face through half-closed lids.
“Everyone is watching a movie,” he whispers, slipping his fingers in once more. “Want to do that again?”
“I don’t think I can.” I laugh lightly, but his eyes narrow in determination while his wrist twists to the side.
“I like a challenge.”
Chapter Thirty-Four
From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy
Everything is so hectic. I need this time to get off the bus. To hold Emily and get away from Shawn’s new bullshit. Distance myself from my best friends, who are about to have this little family together.
It’s a good thing I have Hollis, though. And Laura.
They’re helping me pull something off I’d never be able to do on my own.
—M
Chapter Thirty-Five
Hollis finally corners Shawn and tells him to get his shit together. It looks like he is, but I can tell it will only be a matter of time.
Somewhere in Columbus, all three bands start having secret meetings that I’m not allowed to attend. I have work to do, obviously, but doors being locked to keep me out is really starting to piss me off.
My time is spent doing things in secret, too, but it doesn’t feel the same. Between New Jersey and New York, I’ve had enough.
“Spill, damn it. I want to know what all these secret meetings are about.”
Jon sighs and gives me a wary look. “All I’m allowed to tell you is that we’re doing something awesome for the show in New York. No, you can’t know about it. No, you can’t participate. Yes, you can stand back and revel in the wonder and write a kick-ass blog about it in the morning.”
“You’re a frustrating bastard sometimes, you know that?”
His grin is cheeky. “You’re not the first person to tell me that.”
I’m frustrated and grumpy for many reasons. One, it’s taking too long to get to New York and a real hotel room. Two, I’m nervous about facing Rynn. Third, this stupid thing they’re planning is driving me crazy.
Laura calls as we pull up to the venue and invites me to lunch the next afternoon.
“You’re here? What happened to your assignment?”
“Eh. The band wasn’t my cup of tea, and I couldn’t be impartial when their music made me want to pull my own teeth out of my head because it would have been less painful. Emily, I could smell them from the third row. Third. Row.”
�
�That’s disgusting. I’m glad you’re here, though. I can’t wait to see you.”
Plans are made before I do my routine—perimeter walk, photos, notes, backstage. It’s second nature to be ushered through doors that have to be opened from the inside. I wear my credentials and a backstage pass everywhere I go now. I have a collection of them in my bag, and I think I might hang them up somewhere. Wherever I decide to stay.
The thought has been weighing on me a lot. Uncertainty holds my hand in a vise grip, keeping me from making a decision.
There’s a new type of energy backstage today, and I can hardly get anyone to sit still. They’ll be doing two performances in New York—one here in New York City and one in Syracuse, which is why we get to stay the night tonight and tomorrow. We’ll head out two days from now, and everything will be exactly as it has been for the past however many weeks. I’ve lost track by now.
On the surface, it feels like everyone is frenzied because they know Rynn is going to be here, but I know it’s because of whatever this secret is that they are keeping.
And speaking of secrets . . .
“My boss will be here in an hour.”
Tyler’s hands are pressing into my spine, crushing my chest against his. We’re in a dark corner behind the stage curtain, stealing a few moments before we have to be on our best behavior. I’ve warned everyone that they have to play it cool. While Rynn said it was okay for me to sleep with someone, I don’t think she’d be okay with exactly how involved we are.
He tastes like sweet cherry again, and it makes my head swim, my knees weak, and my lips tremble. I’ve missed it. I remember how it felt back in Austin when the flavor was in my mouth for the first time. I want him to touch me like he did in the alley after our year-long separation. I want him to look at me the same way he did in the mirror the night it all came crashing down. My affection has grown, and I’ve tried to push it aside. It’s stupid, and frankly, I’m over it.
“Tonight I get to lay you down on clean sheets. I get be inside you again. And the thought is enough to make me want to pretend I’m sick and cancel this show.” Tyler’s soft, warm lips plant a gentle kiss on my nose. “But there’s this finale . . .”
I pinch his side and twist, and he laughs before he steps back. “That’s going to leave a bruise.”
He cocks a brow. “Tit for tat, right?” Even in the dim lighting, I can see that hunger in his eyes. “I’m gonna use your body like sheet music soon.”
There’s loud throat-clearing from behind us, and Jon’s smirking, his left hand pointed in the direction of the hallway. “Your boss is early. You should probably wipe your mouth and put on some lip balm.”
“You and your wife are certified cock-blockers. You should get business cards or something.”
This time he grins. “Already have ’em.”
One more stolen kiss and I’m back in professional mode, taking confident strides to meet Rynn. She has her finger in her ear and a phone pressed to her cheek while she yells at someone on the other line. She’s always yelling.
“I swear to God, Franco. If you do another one of those Internet . . . no. No. No. You listen. Oh my God. You’d better be in my office tomorrow morning, or shit will hit the fan.”
If she could throw her phone against the wall, she would.
“Franco?” I ask when she turns around.
“Mind your own business, Portman. Hello. You look well. Blah, blah, formalities. What time does this start?”
“In less than an hour.”
“Good. We have time to chat, then.”
Like an obedient puppy, I follow her back outside. There’s a cluster of people smoking, some are inconspicuously drinking, and there’s the skunky smell of really good weed. She waves her hand in front of her face and pretends to gag.
“I don’t miss this part. Tell me what I want to hear. Give me dirt.”
It feels terrible, and I’m just about to tell her the truth, exactly what she wants to hear, when Shae stumbles by in bright pink espadrilles and little else. Her dress is pretty much a belt. She is devastatingly beautiful and inelegantly wasted. I count to five, and Shawn appears right behind her, with Cam bringing up the rear.
“They’re really boring, boss. Nobody does anything. Maybe drink? But that’s about it. This is as storyless as you can get.”
“The lead singer doesn’t have a story? Bad relationship with his daddy? Psychosomatic issues? Is he a sleep-humper or a furry fucker? Does he hear voices or see music in colors? Addictions? There’s no possible way that a story isn’t here.”
“Would the parent thing even be a story? Every article and book ever about rock stars includes a father who is disappointed in his son. I’d hardly call that worth writing about.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you’re just not trying hard enough.”
I nod my head and press my knuckles to my mouth. “Yeah, you’re probably right. I’m not digging deep enough.” I don’t care what I say to her now. If things go as planned, then I won’t be dealing with this much longer. It’s none of her business what Tyler’s story is, and it’s certainly none of her business what part I play in this. I will never, ever let her know about how he feels when he’s with me.
She throws a disgusted look my way. “This won’t get you a senior position. Little blogs about crowds and pictures of street signs and bars, singers blurred out by stage lights—none of that will get you where you want to be. I expect more from you.”
“Noted. Would you like to go inside and meet the bands?”
“No. Just text me when they start.”
When I walk back inside, I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up this time.
“She’s pretty good.” It’s a compliment, coming from Rynn. She is watching Shae onstage. My boss does this thing while she’s observing talent. If she likes them, then her head moves back and forth like a chicken finding feed. If they’re awful, she looks like she smells burnt popcorn.
Right now, she appears to have been let out of the coop.
“She is good. You’re right.”
“Pretty, too.”
“Yep. Also Brazilian.”
“No story there either?”
I shrug and keep staring at the stage. “She’s not my assignment, right?”
While Fabian’s band is being set up, Rynn follows Shae to speak with her for a few minutes before appearing at my side again. I suddenly notice that her nails are black tonight, and it seems completely fitting that they look like claws.
She pushes her blond curls from her face and fans her neck. The deep V of her designer shirt reveals a glistening sheen that makes me look away. Now is not the time to ask about menopause.
Fabian’s set always thrills me, and I don’t even realize that I’m swaying with my eyes closed until she nudges me with her elbow. “Stop it. You look like a rookie.”
I pretend for the next twenty-five minutes not to be affected by his melodies. I’m good at pretending now.
Again, she steals off with Fabian and his manager for a quick chat, only this time she doesn’t come directly back to me. She has Hollis cornered, but my friend, now that I can call her that, is holding her ground.
“Hey, I know I’m not supposed to talk to you or anything . . .”
I smile and slide my eyes over to where Tyler is standing to my right. “I didn’t say we couldn’t speak.”
“Yeah, I know.” His lips twitch when his hand brushes mine, and after all we’ve done, this simple touch lights up every cell in my body. He turns my wrist, and I feel something press into my palm before he folds my fingers over it. When he walks away, I look down and laugh at the sucker in my hand. He’s thoughtful, but he’s also a snarky asshole. I like both sides of him.
When the first chord rings through the air, the hair on my arms stands on end as the electricity around me pops and crackles. Even after all these weeks, this music reaches inside and takes hold of my bones.
Tyler glances my way several times, giving that signature s
mile of his that never ceases to make me want to have sex with him at any time or any place. With Rynn at my side, I can’t react outwardly. It’s hard to tell how she feels about the band because her head is neither bobbing nor pushed back into her neck. It’s tilted to the side like she can’t figure out if she likes them or not.
When they finish the last song, Tyler says good night and holds his hand up in a small wave before the four members run backstage. By this point, all three bands have assembled in the wings. The anticipation is nerve-racking, and their excitement is palpable, but I still have no idea what’s going on.
“What the hell are they doing?” Rynn frowns at the musicians lined up and ready to go.
“There’s some kind of finale collaboration or something. I’m not in the know.”
“You don’t seem to be in the know about much.”
Instead of answering, I unwrap my Blow Pop and stare a hole in the side of Tyler’s face.
The crowd starts to chant for an encore, but they let it go longer this time until the sound is deafening. It is a cacophony of sound—cheers, screams, claps, and chants. Tyler closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, savoring the moment. His eyes snap open, and he jerks his head toward the stage, a silent instruction for everyone else to take their places.
Each one walks out onto the stage, their formation scattering as they find their marks and prepare their instruments. The studio drummers for both bands are standing at the kit in back, one on each side. Shae is at a mic, and Fabian is on guitar next to Cam. Jon and the other bassists are plugging in and laughing, but the sound is drowned out by the screams of the crowd.
Tyler and Shawn were lagging behind, and once the others have found their places and are set, they emerge from the side stage. Tyler gives me a cocky grin when he hits the floor.
Then he turns abruptly and runs to the drum set.
The crowd loses their shit.
My eyes pop with anticipation, and my mouth drops open, the lollipop falling out and hitting the floor when Shawn takes the center microphone. I have a sick feeling in my gut at seeing him center stage. He’s been better tonight, but it’s obvious he’s not a hundred percent.
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