“My jeans?” He poked a straw into his cup, took a long pull of the drink, and looked down his front.
When I directed him with a finger to turn and he continued to look confused, Gage chimed in. “Backside, dude.”
Comprehending, at last, he arched and immediately began to gag. The smoothie dropped from his hand, barely righting itself on the table, while Landon unzipped. The two gamers, drawn by the fanfare, appeared, just as Landon stripped the jeans off right there in the tiny kitchen. Still gagging, he raced for the door, ripped it open, tossed the garment out, and pulled the door closed again.
“What! What the hell?” We all echoed some version of the same sentiment.
“Banged this chick in the porta potty.” Landon’s confession was sheepish. He closed himself in the bathroom. The sound of the shower running didn’t cover his retching.
“Scar, my darlin’.” Gage set his own smoothie in the sink. “That pretty much killed the smoothie for me. Forevermore.”
The bus soon settled down and we were on the road. I dumped extra sanitizer down the toilet, splashed it around the bathroom, and tried not to think that less than an hour ago the guy who had been covered in strangers’ shit had showered and puked in this small space. I tried not to remember that Jax had offered me a choice of travel arrangements, and I had chosen the band bus.
Gage was sitting at the table when I emerged in my comfy clothes—yoga pants and a large long-sleeved tee. His features were intent and his attention was on the screen of his phone. I knew that look. He was composing lyrics.
“Shower stall was boring with no lyrics on the wall,” I joked.
Snapping out of his trance, he looked me over and then settled his gaze on my face. “I’ve reformed my ways.” My inquisitiveness must have shown on my face, because he added, “Except at my own house. If you’re missing shower lyrics, you’ll find them there.” I knew he was joking—sort of—but an uncomfortable silence descended, and he broke it with another more respectable invitation. “Want to watch a movie?”
“Sure. Okay.”
The guys had resumed their video game in the back, and Landon was sprawled fast asleep on the front couch. I gently slipped the remote from the relaxed grasp of the drummer, and Gage commandeered it to put a movie on. We both settled in the booth seat of the kitchen table that faced the screen and propped our feet across on the adjacent bench.
“You doing okay?” Gage’s inquiry was soft, and I knew he was speaking primarily of the tour more than anything else happening in my insane life when he nodded his head to our surroundings. “With all of this?”
“It’s weird, you know. But I’m good, I guess.”
Perhaps it was the ‘I guess’ tacked onto the end that drew his gaze from the television to the side of my face. I felt the trail of his eyes as surely as I’d felt the heat from his touch earlier.
“You don’t have to stay. If it gets too much, or it’s more than you thought, you should leave.”
“I can’t, really. When Jax first spoke with me about it, he kinda said the decision to put Rattler on tour hinged on whether or not I accepted his offer.”
“But he can hire someone else.”
“You trying to get rid of me?” I used his tactic of this afternoon against him. It was an attempt to divert the subject before I let it slip that he was quite possibly who Jax was the most worried about.
“I just want you to be happy.”
“I am. This is what I want to do. To create a business around this to help anyone whose life is on the road. Because that’s where most slipping happens. Right?” He nodded, and I looked down at the table, knowing he was remembering the times he’d fallen off the wagon. “Even if I’m not out on the road, I still need the experience of being on the road to run my business right.”
“Who’s blowing up your phone?”
Accepting the subject change, I acknowledged the notification tones that had been drifting from my bunk for the last hour. “Henni, probably. Or Logan.” I knew I was testing his reaction to the last name, but chickened out of meeting his gaze and concentrated instead on threading and unthreading my fingers.
“Logan?”
“You knew we were going out, right?” Now I brought my chin up and found him wearing a look of resignation.
Instead of answering, he asked, “My Dad call you back yet?”
“He sent an update text yesterday. Said the lawyers were going to fax him something that seemed promising.” Hopping up, I pulled open a cabinet and produced a box of microwave popcorn. “Screw their rules. I need spicy popcorn!”
The day I’d unpacked it from the bags of groceries I’d brought in, Landon and the others had been quick to tell me popcorn stunk up the bus for days.
Gage eased out of the seat and opened the spices while I got the bag ready and popped it into the microwave. The tiny kitchen had us brushing together with almost every move and my heart pounding.
As the random pops began, I fiddled with the cayenne pepper shaker. “I should tell you something.” I kept my voice low, but knew he could hear since he was standing less than six inches away. “The video on the beach.” My heart pounded harder and a flush spread through my body. “Of us.” As if he needed to know what video. I gulped and tried to pull myself together and cool my horny thoughts. “My mom said that was Ketchum’s doing.” I explained how he’d been following me—even apparently to Mexico—when my mother refused to tell him where I was staying while in L.A. “He, um, supposedly had a way of checking flights. But I think she may have accidentally told him or something. And then even if he didn’t know where we were staying… Well that tweet thing happened where he could have found us at the club and followed us from there.” The popcorn was exploding in earnest while Gage was too silent for too long. Still, I couldn’t look at him.
Popping slowed and I extracted the bag, carefully opened it, dumped the spice mixture in, and rolled it closed so I could shake the mixture.
Gage’s response when it came at last sounded emotionless, but I knew him well enough to know when he seemed cold and unaffected, he was furious. “Fuck him. I’m going to find him and make him sorry he ever started this shit.”
“Don’t do anything stupid. That’s exactly why I wasn’t going to tell you!”
“You weren’t going to tell me?” In one smooth maneuver, he was in front of me, forcing me to look at him. “You weren’t going to fuckin’ tell me? Fuck that, Scar. Christ… This shit is my life too, you know. Fuck this!”
He spun about but his exit was blocked by the two gaming band members who’d obviously been drawn by the sound and smell of the forbidden popcorn.
“I know. I know. At least try it before you bitch at me for making it.” I shoved the bag at them since my appetite for the snack was gone.
“They’re not going to say a fuckin’ word. If you want popcorn, you can have fuckin’ popcorn anytime you want. End of story.” Gage shoved his way past the two of them, and a second later was swallowed up in his bunk.
“Dammit, this shit is good!” Both were shoving fistfuls of popped kernels into their mouths. They asked if I wanted some and when I answered ‘it was all theirs,’ they disappeared into the back again.
Eyeing the curtain across Gage’s bunk, I put away the spices, rinsed out the cups in the sink and wiped up. After turning off the television and tucking the remote into its holder, I dimmed the lights and stood, slightly hypnotized by the road humming under my feet as I considered what to do next.
Padding to the middle of the bus, I paused, instead of climbing into my bunk. All was dark behind Gage’s curtain. No flicker of a television, which even when he didn’t have his headphones on, he normally slept with it muted like he had in his own bedroom.
“Gage?” I knelt and spoke to the slight gap between the curtain and the wall where his head would be. “I’m sorry.” Nothing. “Okay? Don’t be mad.” Fuck, I couldn’t handle even a day on this tour with him mad at me. “Okay?”
T
he drape suddenly shot open, one of his arms came out, hooking me, and when I fell onto him, he closed the curtain again. “Okay.” The word was husky and agreeable.
My body burned pleasantly in every area of contact with his. He smelled of popcorn, the festival, and himself. I’d never forgotten his scent, or the feel of his breath fanning my face.
“Okay then.” I braced on my hands, pushing up as far as the small confines allowed and rubbed my elbow when it hit what clearly felt like one of his guitars. I understood. I slept with my guitar too. “I should go to bed.”
“Says who?”
“Me?”
“Do I get a say?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because. I know what you’ll say.” My thoughts went back to the day I’d arrived and the conversation left hanging. It is though, you know. Your business. Because you could never be with some sociopathic dick.
“What will I say?” He rumbled, and what suspiciously felt like a brush of his fingers feathered across my hip.
I was in dangerous waters and I knew it. Saying what I thought he would say would cross in my mind enough to feel like I was saying it. Because God knew, that’s what I wanted to say.
“Kiss me.” Obviously, tired of waiting for me to find my tongue to speak, he whispered the invitation of my tongue for other things.
I’d heard the plea in that tone so many times; my body went on autopilot. My lips dipped toward the dark void of his voice, before I stopped myself. “I can’t.” I technically still had a boyfriend. Although, I knew now, Logan had never been a boyfriend. He’d been my safety net. He’d been a way to ensure no other man got close. And he’d been a way to ensure I wouldn’t jump Gage during this tour.
“Then go. Go, Scar. Before I kiss you.” The threat was clear. If he kissed me, he’d roll me over and never stop.
I skedaddled to my bunk. Lying prone, I threw an arm over my eyes and tried to still my hyperactive breathing. The steady flash of my phone light was making me crazy. During a phone call only a few days into the tour, I’d called a truce with my mom who now texted several times a day over nonsensical stuff. Assuming the annoying blink was due to Henni, ranting because takeout hadn’t put her dressing on the side or something silly, I picked up the device with the intention of clearing the notifications without looking, but one stood out.
A text with an attachment from my ex-stepfather.
Sliding open Gage’s text window, I tapped in, ‘I think your father sent the fax.’ Only after I’d hit send did I realize I’d automatically turned to Gage. Given the intensity of the last several minutes, I wouldn’t blame him if he ignored me. Or, he might have thrown headphones on to jam to sleep. I was already making excuses for his non-response when my phone vibrated with his answer.
Gage
Did you open it?
11:49 PM
I’m scared.
Sent 11:50 PM
I stared so intently at the screen, waiting for the phone to vibrate my fingers that I jumped when my curtain drew back.
Gage’s face was level with mine, and his tone was gentle, yet no nonsense. “Open it.”
Obediently, I tapped the paperclip icon and watched the document fill the tiny screen. Instead of swiping with my thumb and forefinger to enlarge the top section enough to read it, I looked over at him. That was a mistake, because he was right there. Close enough for that kiss I’d refused minutes ago. Even in my nervousness over something that could change my life, I was thinking about kissing him. Not good. Damn rock stars.
Shoving the phone between our faces, I begged. “Can you look at it first?”
“Look at it, or read it?” He seemed wary, but accepted the handoff.
“Read it silently. And then I’ll read it.”
His brows rose even more skeptically. “Okay. But I don’t get why you want me to know first.”
“Because I can watch your face and know if it’s good or bad. And I’ll be prepared.” Feeling vulnerable on my back, I scooted back enough to turn and prop on one elbow.
His eyes focused on the screen, and I scrutinized his expression as the light bounced off his features. Not one twitch. The lashes, too sinfully long for a guy, rose, and his look met mine. No tightening of his lips. No slight furrow of his brow. No hand lifting to his hair. My breath expelled in one long relieved huff, and I put out my hand. “Thanks.”
For a nanosecond, I read in his eyes the understanding that we knew one another well enough for me to glean what I’d wanted to know.
Dear Ms. Conterra,
Your father, Tyler Conterra, requested a paternity test prior to the drawing up of his will. The dates of that test and the results are in the photocopy below. The concluding column indicates a 99.999999% chance of paternity. The only thing that could be weighed against that outcome would be the possibility of an identical twin as paternity. Tyler Conterra has no sibling on record.
Letting my hand fall to the mattress, I turned my chin and met Gage’s eyes. Reaching in, he brushed my hair from my face and leaned in enough to touch his lips to my forehead. “Get some sleep. Maybe we can get in some breakfast and a couple hours of sightseeing after we get checked into the hotel in the morning.”
“What’s goin’ on here?” Landon bellowed. His eyes were bloodshot with fatigue—or had he been drinking? My gaze fixated on his face, noting the pink tint of a slight sunburn. Maybe the sun was the culprit for the red eyes as well. “Should I get my camera?” Startled by his bold and rude insinuation, I hit my head when I reflexively tried to sit. Quick as a cat, Gage swung around and just missed the other man. The bathroom door slammed, and from beyond it Landon goaded, “Don’t start anything until I’m filming!”
Gage’s fist hit the door—twice! But I watched impressed when he pushed away from the lavatory without a word. The grit of his teeth told me his temper was hanging by a thin thread.
I saw him flex his fingers and shook my head. “He’s an idiot. Leave him be.” Hopping down, I eased between him and the door and then onto the kitchen. The other two had appeared from the back and watched avidly as I opened the fridge, grabbed two of the ice tea drinks Gage and I had recently become addicted to and passed him one. “Let’s grab the couch and finish the movie.”
I fell asleep less than twenty minutes into the flick with my head on Gage’s shoulder—a picture which received five hundred and forty hearts on Instagram by the time Gage saw it the next day.
Landon’s phone disappeared not long afterward and later turned up during the pumping of the buses toilet.
Truthfully, things had been simmering between him and Gage a very long time. But the moment a smartphone stained blue was returned to Landon in a Ziploc bag could be considered the catalyst for everything down the line.
Chapter 30
She was killing him. Straight up killing him. He should look away. But the slight peek of an ass cheek with each stair she climbed was too much to resist. Cut off jeaned shorts and black undies. A black bra strap and a lickable shoulder were left visible by the wide necked shirt that slipped to one side.
Only when his dick was past any comfortable hard stage and into a painful hard-on did he avert his gaze to the runway beyond the commercial airliner they were boarding.
For the last few days, he’d fallen back into big brother mode. He teased her. Pulled her hair. Enjoyed whatever part of herself she’d give him. But that didn’t mean at night he didn’t lay in his bunk staring up at hers, or in his motel room knowing her headboard was on the other side of the wall from his, wishing for things the way they had been for a couple of blissful months.
Maneuvering the narrow aisle, he watched the others who had all boarded ahead of him, curious to see the seating arrangement. Scarlette lingered, waiting on Landon to stow his bag in the overhead. When his carryon was tucked in, he turned to her, offering his hand. She handed hers over and then followed him into the seats beneath it. Landon folded into the window seat, and she sank to the middle one.<
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Flipping his printout over, Gage checked and wasn’t sure whether to be happy or frustrated to find himself seated on the aisle side of Scar. Reaching up, he smashed his bag in with the others, and returned her smile when he sat next to her. She looked tiny sandwiched between the two of them. Already Landon was commandeering her attention with some stupid story about a Rattler show in the rain.
“Scar? You look uncomfortable between us.” For emphasis, Gage deliberately moved his leg from where it had relaxed to almost touching hers, and put his armrest down. “You want the aisle seat?”
Landon, the ass, shot a knowing look across Scar, landing it on his face. A look that said he wasn’t fooled by the ploy to get her on the other side and out of his reach. Not one to be bested, the shit broke in just as her lips parted to answer, “You can have the window. You’d be doing me a favor. I end up closing the shade anyhow because I hate to fly.”
“Well, if you’re sure…” She seemed excited when she eyed the window, and the trade was quickly made.
Gage restrained the urge to punch the other man when a smug smile smirked its way out. Lucky for Landon, he was smart enough to keep his eyes averted when gloating.
Flipping his shades from the top of his head to balance on his nose, he closed his eyes and concentrated on ignoring his seatmates. Ignoring Scar’s sweet giggles and Landon’s outrageous boasts.
The time zone difference was almost six hours. So while they’d boarded the plane in the states at noon for an eight-hour flight, it was almost two a.m. the next day when they touched down.
“I’m sure this has been covered, but trust me. It’s one of those better to be safe than sorry things.” Gage put aside his animosity when he, Scar, and their tour manager were watching the city of Budapest whip by from the windows of their ride. “We got step-down transformers for our gear?”
“You’re right. Stupid question.” Landon scoffed, and had the nerve to roll his eyes in a conspiratorial fashion toward Scarlette.
Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance Page 15