Color Me Crazy

by Carol Pavliska

  The last thing Cleo wanted was either of these women spying on Julian.

  “Well, this looks cozy,” Julian said, startling them. “You girls making big plans over here?”

  “Hi, Julian,” the two said together. Coyly.

  “Ladies,” Julian replied, wearing a smirk that indicated he’d overheard at least some of the conversation. “Big Red, why don’t you come spend some quality time in my bunk?”

  She knew exactly what constituted quality time for Julian, and if he was expecting a bus tryst, he was in for a disappointment. What did he think she was? A groupie? Regardless, she was eager to escape Melissa and Tanya. “It was nice meeting you both.”

  “Same here,” Tanya said. “Have fun on the bus.” She winked.

  Good grief.

  Julian tugged gently on Cleo’s arm. “Come on, love.”

  She felt two sets of eyes boring holes into her back as she and Julian walked away. “Thanks for rescuing me. They are something else.”

  “You’d best not get involved in any of their games. They’re hard-core. Within five minutes of getting me alone, the blonde would offer me a blow job, and the ugly one would try to sell me some blow. They’re not your friends.”

  “Figured that out all by myself,” Cleo said. “And if you think we’re going to have sex on a stinky band bus, you’re mistaken.”

  “It doesn’t stink yet, and I’m not mistaken.”

  Julian seemed pretty sure of himself, and a thrill shot up her spine, although she had no intention of giving in. She wasn’t a twenty-two-year-old groupie. She was a thirty-year-old college English professor, and they didn’t crawl into bunks on buses and have sex.

  A gigantic monster of a bus rose before them. It was sleek, black, and sexy as hell. She was dying for a peek.

  “Ladies first,” Julian said.

  She lifted her foot to take the first step, and Julian pulled her back against him. His breath tickled her ear. “I’m about to fuck your brains out,” he whispered.

  Her breath caught, and a shiver moved through her body in a massive wave. Julian snorted—he’d felt it—and nudged her up the steps. When they got to the top, he grabbed her elbow firmly as if to say, you’re not getting away.

  Her shaky legs couldn’t have carried her away even if she’d wanted them to. Which she didn’t. And it wasn’t like she was still a college English professor. She hadn’t been in a classroom in well over a year. She was now a freelance journalist/studio manager and the girlfriend of Julian Wheaton—no, make that Julian Lazros—and maybe sex on a bus was perfectly acceptable behavior under the circumstances. The fact that she was still thirty years old, no matter what her profession, didn’t dampen her enthusiasm. Which was spreading to very specific areas of her body.

  The bus was ridiculously over-the-top. There was a lot to gawk at—a plasma TV and a full-sized bar—but Cleo stumbled past it all. There were people everywhere, moving out of the way, bumping into each other, jostling to and fro. And all the while, Julian kept a tight grip on her, steering her toward the back of the bus with obvious intention.

  They went up a few steps—the thing actually had two levels—to the bunks. Julian opened a small door and they squeezed into the tiny space, which resembled a private sleeping car on a train, only more cramped. It was outfitted with a television/computer monitor, wifi, and a full gaming console.

  “Not too terrible,” Julian said.

  “Not bad at all,” Cleo replied, looking around. She couldn’t fathom the two of them fitting in that tiny bed, smashed up against each other, hot and sweaty… She squeezed her thighs together.

  “I can do the biofeedback in here easily,” he said. “And I’m looking forward to some filthy, X-rated Skyping, of course.” His eyes darkened, and Cleo’s cheeks flushed beneath his heated gaze.

  A small shelf sat beneath the window. Julian rummaged in his bag and pulled out a framed photo. “This will fit here,” he said.

  “Good grief, that’s a horrible picture,” Cleo said. She grimaced. Every wrinkle, freckle, and blemish on her face was lit up by the light that had been streaming in through the window above Julian’s bed. Rod Stewart’s voice rang through her head, singing about the morning sun showing her age…

  On the road, Julian would be surrounded by young, willing girls eager to show off the latest improvements in cosmetic surgery. She swallowed.

  “It’s a gorgeous picture,” Julian said, staring at it as if it were the Mona Lisa. “Although,” he added, waggling his brows, “I passed up some of the more interesting shots.” His eyes made a languid sweep down the length of her body.

  “You said you’d delete those.”

  “I did, don’t worry,” he assured her. “Don’t worry about anything, okay?” The rest of the world faded away as he looked into her eyes. “It’s you, Cleo. You’re all I want.”

  “And?” she asked. Say you love me.

  His eyes twinkled. “Let’s fuck.”

  Her disappointment only lasted a second, because Julian peeled off his shirt. The space was so small, she could feel the heat rising off his chest and smell the soap he used, the detergent lingering on his clothes, and his desire.

  Her back was pressed up against the wall; there wasn’t even an inch to spare. Julian bent and kissed her neck. People yelled at each other outside the bus, and voices hummed inside, as well. “We don’t have any privacy.”

  Julian kissed the sweet spot right behind her ear. “That’s true,” he whispered. “Anybody could walk in.” The bus shook as things were loaded into the storage wells.

  “Excuse me,” someone said, just outside the door. “Hey, has anybody seen Lazros?”

  Julian put his hand over Cleo’s mouth. “Shh…”

  He unbuckled his belt, and she heard his zipper go down.

  “I’m in my bunk,” he said to the door. “What do you want?”

  Oh, God. He was actually going to carry on a conversation with someone just a few steps away while he…what would he do next?

  His knee went between her legs, forcing them apart. Oh.

  “Wayne wants to know if you’ll be keeping your Les Paul with you or if you want him to take care of it.” The voice was so close. Right outside the door!

  “I’ll keep it,” Julian answered. Then he slipped his fingers between her thighs, inside her panties, and she closed her eyes and tried not to whimper.

  Julian’s voice was right at her ear. “Oh, Cleo,” he whispered. “Somebody is a naughty girl.” She totally was.

  He pulled his hand away and stepped back. Cleo thought she’d fall, but somehow her legs held her up.

  “Onto the bunk, baby,” Julian said softly. “Spread your legs.”

  She looked over his shoulder at the small door. “What if someone tries to come in?” Her pulse sped up.

  Julian grinned. “They’ll hit my ass with the door.” He gently pulled on her hand until she sat on the bunk. His fly was already open, and he was very ready to go. He pressed her shoulder until she leaned back. Keeping a nervous eye on the tiny, uninsulated door that led to the narrow corridor, Cleo pressed her knees tightly together. But only because she wanted to hear him beg. Or demand. Or anything, really.

  “Uh-uh, little girl,” he said. “Spread those legs. And give me the knickers—they’re going on tour.”

  She was wearing a western swing dress with her signature cowboy boots, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what panties she had on. Hopefully they weren’t what Julian referred to as her granny panties—white cotton underwear all frayed at the legs. She started to pull them down but stopped when another voice yelled outside the door.

  “Keep going,” Julian urged.

  She finished pulling off her panties—they were respectable polka-dot bikinis—and handed them over. Without taking his eyes from her, Julian stuffed them in his pocket.

  “Now, open up.”

  Slowly, she did. And his face went from lust to pure, molten desire. His eyes darkened, his
nostrils flared, and a drop of perspiration appeared at his temple. She loved making him crazy that way. He ran his fingers all the way up her thighs as people loitered just a few feet away. The bus shook, and someone whistled shrilly. She could hear her own heart pounding. It was like being at the top of the drop on the world’s highest roller coaster. Julian was a thrill ride.

  But the ride stopped when a guy banged on the door. Cleo tried to sit up, but Julian held her down. “Go away,” he shouted.

  “We set sail in five minutes. No stowaways,” the guy shouted back. The bus shook as he walked off.

  “I swear this bus better not take off with me on it, Julian.”

  “I’ll be quick,” he said with a grin. “Embarrassingly so, I’m afraid.” He climbed in and squeezed above her. The ride was back on. The small space excited her, and the idea that they might be heard—or seen—made her thighs tingle and her belly clench.

  He pulled her dress up and peeled back the cups of her bra. “Hello, darlings,” he said. Her nipples stood at attention. “You know I’d love to spend some time with each of you, but I’m afraid I can’t spare it. So just look pretty for me. A little jiggling would be lovely.” He kissed each one before pulling a condom out of his pocket.

  “You keep condoms in your pockets now?”

  “I’ve got to be ready for groupies at all times,” he said with a wink. “And besides, I was hoping for a bus bang with my girlfriend.”

  He slipped on the condom and got into position. “Ready?”

  She was, but she couldn’t speak. He took that as a go and pushed inside with a loud groan that mortified her—and excited her. Surely, someone had heard that. He started moving, and soon she couldn’t tell if the bus shook from all the people, equipment, and baggage going in and out—or from Julian doing the same.

  She lost herself in the pleasure of being taken. It would be the last time for a while, and she wanted to make the most of it. The concern over people hearing them dissipated as her pleasure rose. The familiar warmth began to spread, and she shamelessly pressed her feet against the low ceiling above Julian, tilting her pelvis so he could go deeper. God, she wanted him deeper. His sweat dripped onto her face and breasts.

  A strangled moan worked its way up from her belly, and she turned her head into the pillow. She couldn’t make too much noise. Holy cow! Forcing herself to be quiet was turning her on even more. Julian moved the pillow away from her face and firmly clamped his hand over her mouth. It panicked her at first, but she breathed deeply through her nose and then realized she liked it. A lot.

  “Does that turn you on, baby?”

  She couldn’t say anything, but Julian saw the answer in her eyes and smiled. Yes, she was naughty. The only sounds were their bodies slamming together, the idling bus engine, and people talking. She couldn’t cry out, but small mewling sounds escaped through Julian’s fingers. He slammed into her even harder, shooting her up the crest until she broke over the top. She rode it, shaking all over and grabbing handfuls of Julian’s hair.

  “Oh, God, sweet baby,” Julian said. “It’s too good.” He buried himself deep inside her, stilled, and then groaned loudly, calling out her name. Twice. Maybe three times. The last exclamation was closer to a sob of release, it was hard to tell.

  “Good grief, Julian. So much for being discreet.” She waited for her face to burn with its usual intensity, but it never lit up. If anything, she felt a bit…smug. And satisfied. She’d just had Julian Lazros on a bus. And it was dang good.

  A few moments later, they stepped into the narrow corridor for the walk of shame. Cleo kept her eyes stuck to her boots and followed Julian out. If there were any obnoxious glances or knowing smiles, she didn’t see them. And Julian didn’t stop to collect accolades. They went down the steps, and she emerged from the bus sans panties and freshly fucked by a rock star. Groupie fantasy fulfilled.

  The five-minute warning they’d been issued by the road manager had been optimistic. It was closer to an hour before the band was finally ready to board, and most of the people who’d come to see them off had left.

  “Let’s go!” the huge, bald road manager finally barked. “Our British stud over there has loudly christened this bus Cleo, so let’s get the show on the road.”

  Applause broke out among the crew, along with whistles and catcalls, and Cleo’s face exploded in flames—apparently a delayed reaction. Julian wouldn’t look her in the eye until the commotion died down.

  “Sorry,” he said, with a sheepish grin and a small shrug of his shoulders. She looked, but no cartoonish halo popped up over his head. More like horns.

  People started boarding the bus, but Julian hung back, turning to Cleo and taking her hands in his. “You be a good girl while I’m gone.”

  “I’ll miss you,” she said, blinking furiously. Because if the first tear managed to escape, the rest would follow in a torrential downpour.

  He kissed her on the nose. “I’ll miss you, too.”

  “Don’t forget to do your biofeedback program.”

  “I won’t.” He cupped her face with his hands. “Good-bye, sweetheart. I’ll call you every night.” He bent to kiss her.

  “I wish you didn’t have to go.”

  Julian hesitated briefly, and uncertainty flashed in his eyes. Did he not believe her? “I’ll be back before you know it,” he said. Then his lips brushed hers, and he was gone.

  ...

  The lights shone in Julian’s eyes. He’d just finished a sonata and was braced for the applause with his violin resting on his shoulder. He fought the urge to hide behind Klaus Vanderburg, his accompanist. It would be lovely to crawl beneath the piano and squeeze himself right between Klaus’s feet.

  The applause hit him hard, like a barrage of golden arrows chinking away at his protective armor. Soon, he couldn’t see anything for the arrows.

  “Bow, Julian,” Klaus said. So he did, quickly, then fled the thunderous sound. He hoped to find a small place in which to hide backstage, but his teacher caught him by the sleeve.

  “Go back out, you silly boy. They love you. Go back out!” He peeked around the curtain and saw his mum in the front row. She clapped furiously. He took a couple of timid steps before his teacher’s hand shoved him harshly onto the stage.

  “Mummy loves you,” she called. “Bravo, Julian!”

  “Julian. Dude, wake up, man.” Julian opened his eyes, not to an adoring crowd, but to Cory. “We’ve stopped. Want to get out and stretch your legs?”

  Disoriented, Julian glanced at the drool stain he’d left on the lounge chair. “Stop poking me, you moron. I don’t want off.”

  “Suit yourself. We’ve been on the road over twelve hours. Thought you might want to get some junk food. You want me to bring you something?”

  Julian shook his head. Why was Cory always trying to get chummy? And why was he on this bus anyway? He had one all to himself, but he insisted on riding with the rest of the band for the first day. Idiot singers. Everyone had to love them, or they couldn’t be happy.

  Cory shrugged and walked off. Julian peered through the window at his bandmates milling about outside. He could already see the various situations brewing. Dean and Gus were sneaky bastards, and it would be a week—two, tops—before they’d be making everyone miserable with drug- and media-related problems. Cory, of course, was a typical front man, an egotistical attention hog who expected special treatment, which he was already getting. On top of that, Sheik, the professional linebacker turned road manager, seemed to hate his guts for no reason at all and had taken to calling him Princess. Since Sheik outweighed Julian by well over a hundred pounds, Julian wasn’t in a position to complain about it.

  He sighed and rolled away from the window and pulled his beanie over his face. At least he had the bunk sex with Cleo to play over and over in his mind. He closed his eyes and grinned. She loved being a bad girl. So fucking cute.

  …

  Cleo dabbed concealer beneath her eyes and held the mirror as far away a
s possible. If she did that while squinting, she didn’t look so bad. Late-night recording sessions combined with writing assignments and interviews made for a very sleep-deprived girl.

  “Oh my God, would you stop?” Addie drained the last of the fancy mango margarita Cleo had made for their girls’ night in. “You look fine. And it’s just Julian, anyway.”

  “She looks awful,” Sherry said. “Keep piling it on, Cleo.”

  “Thanks,” Cleo said. “And you’re one to talk, Addie. You iron your underwear before you see Mitch.”

  “You’re just going to Skype with him. He won’t even be able to tell if you’re wearing makeup. Or underwear.”

  Sherry dribbled a bit of guacamole on a nacho and topped it off with a slice of pickled jalapeno. “I’m sure they only talk about the weather. And the webcams never drift below the neck.”

  “Stop it,” Addie said. “Let’s change the subject to how he’s doing with his biofeedback.”

  Cleo applied some powder to her nose and sneezed. “Dang,” she said. A peek in the mirror confirmed she’d smashed mascara tracks into her eyelids and upper cheeks. She rubbed, smearing the whole mess.

  Sherry handed her a tissue. “That’s a great look for you. Kind of sexy.”

  Cleo peeled her eyelids apart. Should she clean it all off and start over? Or just smear on some more concealer?

  “You’re now officially beyond concealer,” Sherry said, reading her mind.

  Cleo sighed and grabbed the bottle of makeup remover. She still hadn’t answered Addie’s question. “You know what? He’s doing amazingly well. The biofeedback has really helped. Four weeks on the road, and no episodes at all.”

  Addie smiled and shook her head. “What a relief.” Her brow furrowed though. “I still don’t understand why he’s on the road with Dead Ringer in the first place. He hates the spotlight. And he loves Soundbox. It’s so weird how he suddenly decided to be a performer again.”

  Cleo didn’t get it, either. “I know. But he seems happy. Maybe he only hated performing because of the synesthesia episodes. He’s a natural star, after all.” But the loft was lonely—an entire month without him—and the studio was missing the special spark only he could bring to recording sessions.