by Cari Quinn
For her, he would.
He didn’t know how long they stayed that way. Eventually, they ended up in some crazy pretzel that shouldn’t have been comfortable, but it so was.
Maybe he’d have to invest in a circular bed. His bandmate Jules crowed all the time about the one she and her guys, Tris and Randy, had in their bedroom.
The next time he woke it was to a crowing rooster from his phone and an empty bed. He fumbled for his phone and found it next to him on the mattress.
“Den?” He squinted down at his phone. An ungodly seven stared back at him, as well as a twenty.
The twenty and a white envelope stuffed with his rent money cleared out his brain faster than anything. “What the hell?” He looked around the room, but there was no trace of her.
Even her scent was gone.
She’d left the damn money like he’d earned it last night. What in the fuck?
He stumbled out of the bed into the bathroom and found his shirt and jeans folded on the sink with another piece of aged stationery on top.
“This should get you to the radio station. Had to get to the bus,” he read aloud.
He crinkled the note and tossed it into the waste can below the sink. She’d just left him there?
Christ.
He stepped into his jeans and pulled his stiff air-dried shirt on. He looked like he’d been on a goddamn bender.
Or like he’d been fucked to within an inch of his life.
Ding, ding—hello, door number two with a whole new vice.
One Miss Denver Casey.
Son of a bitch.
Chapter Four
Wasn’t the morning after supposed to be blissful? All about the shiny, happy feelings and afterglow?
So far, her blissed-out level was minus twenty-two. And not because the sex had sucked.
Worse, so much worse, it had been amazing.
The distance between New York City and a suburb of Albany was not far. Except when you had stubble burn between your thighs and a hickey-slash-bruise at the exact spot where your bra rubbed against your breastbone. Then driving was hell.
Ryan had his bruises and wounds too, though some of the visible ones were already improving. Good thing, since the band had made sure to comment. He looked way better than he had last night. Guess a shower and a night of sex had helped heal what ailed him. Or else that alley—and her memories—had made his injuries seem worse than they were in reality.
Fucking memories.
They were a big part of why she remembered her boundaries. She didn’t sleep with people she worked with. Or people she was friends with. Or much of anyone period since she’d learned her lesson.
Some people did well as part of a couple. She was not one of those. Sure, she had needs like anyone else did, and when hers became overwhelming, she did one of two things.
She went toy shopping, and not at F.A.O Schwartz. Or she had a nice, discreet, no-strings thing for a night with some random guy with low expectations, an even lower ranking on the possessiveness scale and, ideally, a zip code far away from her own. Well, her parents’ mailbox anyway, which was as close to a permanent address as she got.
By choice. All of this was by choice, and she was happy, thank you very much, despite today’s mental gymnastics.
Yet more proof that she was absolutely not suited to pairing up. Even for a night, it was dicey. She just was not meant to know the last names of the guys she slept with.
Didn’t want to. She’d been burned plenty before. As a woman who considered herself wise and street savvy, it just did not make sense to behave in the same insane way that had led to Marco. She wasn’t going to use what had happened last night as a reason to wallow or to revisit the past. She’d had her itch-scratching sex, so booyah for her. Her partner had been far from a no-namer, but what she’d lost in anonymity, she’d gained in skill.
Lord, the boy had skills.
And that was neither here nor there when she had a rowdy bus of rockstars and assorted girlfriends, boyfriends, and such.
“Y’all wanna simmer down back there? Your driver has a headache,” she called in the general direction of the din behind her, one hand fisting her Mountain Dew as she gave the rearview a quick glance. That she’d bypassed her usual sun tea for her rarely dug-into stash of Mountain Dew said plenty. If she needed that kind of caffeine hit—and did she ever—shit had gotten real.
Half the members of Warning Sign and their assorted significant others were either not in her earshot or paid her no mind. The others, who happened to be closest to her, stared at her with something akin to shock.
Great. She was supposed to be acting as if she wasn’t wigged out by fucking Ryan. She was supposed to be as cool as an ice cube. Instead she was doing her best batshit bitch imitation.
“Are you okay?”
Denver glanced at the rearview mirror again as Lauren, West’s girlfriend, approached the front of the bus. She stopped a few feet back and glanced around her, probably for support in her fact-finding mission.
The closest people were Elle, one of Warning Sign’s guitarists, and the new guy she’d picked up in the city. Dirk? Kirk? Jer—nah, that was just Denver’s unreasonable feelings of annoyance kicking in. He was probably a lovely man, even if he’d hung around after a show like the ultimate groupie until Elle invited him aboard. He also tended to give Elle puppy-dog eyes when she was within his sight and tried to see down her bandmates’ shirts when she wasn’t.
But that was neither here nor there.
“I’m fine, Lo.” Denver tried to smile in Lauren’s general direction without meeting her gaze. Lo was entirely too perceptive, probably because she’d been a psychology student.
The last thing Denver wanted was anyone poking around in her gray matter.
“You just seem uber grouchy today. That’s not you. Could I suggest some medicinal sexual intercourse?” Lo lowered her voice a fraction and looked over her shoulder to where Elle and her male friend were about to take their medicine right in front of everyone on the bus. “I’ve found it works wonders, and others clearly agree.”
Rather than answer, Denver took a drink. She signaled to change lanes, flipping a casual middle finger at the sedan behind her who didn’t like her merging in front of him, and gave Lo an easy smile. “So how’s that working out for you? Haven’t been able to make it to any of the Scrabble games just recently at the apartment.”
That wasn’t entirely because Ryan had been more MIA than he’d been present and accounted for. Just mostly. Since Ryan and West shared an apartment, and Denver’s masochism didn’t extend to playing third wheel more often than once a month, she’d steered clear of any of the chummy game invites she’d received.
Lo and West were sweet, though an odd couple if she’d ever seen one. But somehow they fit. Their opposites had attracted, all right, and sometimes it was hard for a girl not to be jealous when surrounded by all those sparkly hearts shooting out of their eyes.
Not her, of course. Just…a girl. A random one who wasn’t currently wearing a White Stripes T-shirt, a hickey in the shape of Texas, and a scowl.
“We’ve missed you. It’s not as much fun with just two. Though we’ve moved on to naked Twister.” Lo wrapped her hand around the pole beside Denver and grinned as she swayed just enough to clue Denver into the direction of her thoughts.
Dirty central, admission for one. Okay, two, because Denver was living there too. And not by choice.
Memories kept flashing behind her eyes with every blink. Damn sun. Her glasses were barely cutting the glare.
“I’m sure you guys have been making do just fine.” Now to change the subject before Lo mentioned Ryan—
“Oh, we are, but we’ve been talking about pinning Ryan’s butt down and getting you to come over for dinner some night. Everyone knows he won’t stay put for a night if you’re not there.”
Denver’s breath clogged in her chest. Oh honey, if you only knew. “I’m sure that’s not the case. Besides, he has ot
her friends you could invite. I mean, if I happen to be busy,” she said quickly, catching a glimpse of the hurt that scrolled over Lauren’s face in the rearview mirror. “Not saying I would be. I’m usually free. Though I might not be when you and West have your shindig. So it’s probably better if you just ask someone else, so I don’t hold y’all back.”
Great. She was officially babbling and being rude to boot. And where had the southern phrasing come from?
She so needed to stop watching Honey Boo Boo reruns when she couldn’t sleep.
“You don’t have to let me down gently. I’m actually one of the people who prefers honesty, even if it hurts. You don’t want to spend time with us, no big deal.” Lo shrugged. “I can make other friends. Statistically, it takes me a lifetime and a half, but I can do it. I’m still young, right?”
Denver couldn’t help laughing. “Nah, I’m not letting you down gently. I don’t know how to do that. Just don’t want you guys waiting on me, when I have…stuff.”
Lo pursed her lips. “Stuff. Right. That’s the worst. Big stuff?”
“Huge stuff. Really enormous.”
That wasn’t a reference to Ryan’s penis. She’d classify his as average, if most men were built like Jason Momoa. Then Ry’s dick was nothing to speak of.
In the real world? Most men were not built like Jason, either in shoulder breadth or otherwise. Ryan wasn’t a muscle man, but he’d been natively gifted when it came to his male member.
She’d forget that someday.
Possibly.
Lo nodded gravely. “Right. Well, if you need a friend to talk to about this huge, enormous stuff, I’m here. Just saying. I’m new to having girlfriends, but I’m learning. The MeowCat Quiz app on Facebook yesterday rated me A-plus at just that very thing.”
Denver laughed. “Wait, what? What the hell is the MeowCat Quiz app? And how can that tell you if you’re good at making friends?”
“Good question. Explain that to us, Lo.” The deep voice that sounded behind Lauren had Denver taking a quick glance at the rearview mirror out of reflex. Then she wished she hadn’t.
In the recent past, looking at Ryan hadn’t hurt. Now it did. A sweet pain that cleaved through her midsection and left behind a sting. Not dissimilar to the sting between her legs earlier when she’d rolled out of bed and tried to walk.
Yeah, so she wouldn’t be spreading out her sexual encounters quite so much anymore. She didn’t want to re-hymenize when she wasn’t paying attention.
“You know, on Facebook, you click on those cool tests and they analyze your profile and tell you all kinds of fun shit about you?” Lo shifted toward Ryan, who appeared as if he’d just rolled out of bed himself.
His reddish-brown hair was a tangled mess and his scruff was definitely heading into beard territory. Must be he’d decided to not shave for a while.
Good for him. She didn’t care. She’d barely even noticed him looming over Lo.
Right.
“You know those tests steal your profile every time you click on them, don’t you? They know statistical information about you that would shock you. Your musical preferences, your hometown, your profession—everything you put in your online data and more.”
Lo rolled her eyes. “So they know I like Tay Swift. Big whoop. I figured my booty shorts with her name across the ass made it clear enough.”
“Did someone say booty?” West slung an arm around Lo’s waist. She leaned into him, cuddling into his side as if they’d been separated for hours instead of the few moments Lauren had spent crowding into Denver’s private area at the front of the bus.
Private, ha. Good luck there.
Denver ignored them all in favor of focusing strictly on the road. She tipped back her Mountain Dew, letting out a sigh at finding it empty.
Like magic, another bottle with blessed green liquid appeared at her elbow. She took it gratefully and popped off the top, about to thank her savior in the same way she normally did, when she remembered.
You fucked the guy. You can’t just say “Thanks, big poppa” without him giving you some serious side-eye.
Then again, she wasn’t sure why she’d ever said, “Thanks, big poppa.” Her sense of humor might need some work.
“Thank you,” she said instead, in her most prim voice. “So, Lo, what other quizzes do they—” She glanced up at the rearview mirror and caught a glimpse of West and Lauren snuggling on the couch opposite K-Jerk and Elle, who were rounding first base on a solid trip toward second. “Ugh, God, I hate gropey hands.”
“Good to know.”
Again, that deep, clit-tingling voice. Had his voice always had that property, or had it just become activated when he’d touched hers?
She gulped more soda. At least it wasn’t alcohol, so she could imbibe freely even if it meant a few extra bathroom breaks. “Didn’t know you were still there.”
“Just figured I’d service you and take off? Is that how it usually works?” He braced a foot against the bar along the side of the stairwell, stretching out his leg until she couldn’t help letting her gaze travel up and up. Faded denim clung to his muscles like a groupie on a rockstar bender.
Focus on the road. Even if it’s just miles and miles of two-lane thruway. Better to follow that than that long, lean line up to its natural conclusion.
His groin. His cock.
Her destruction in a girthy-for-her-pleasure package.
“Serve me, you mean? Yes. It’s considered polite to provide beverages to your driver. Helps ensure the ride is smooth.”
“Oh, no worries on smooth rides. You make sure to handle that. Except when you aren’t in control. Then it gets rougher.” He didn’t touch her hair, but she could’ve sworn the air brushed over the side of her neck and brought back the memory of him fisting a handful and dragging her head back.
Handy trick that he didn’t even have to touch her now and she remembered.
God, she remembered.
She gulped her soda. Did she have two bottles left or just one? If it was one, she’d have to make a stop. Iced tea was not going to cut it today.
“Luckily I’m always in control.” She set aside her nearly empty bottle and gripped the wheel in both hands. “Have a nice nap?” she added before he could disabuse her of her control notion.
One night with him had swiftly put lie to that assertion. He’d commanded her in ways she’d never expected. Not from her mostly sweet and steady best friend.
But sex was different. It often brought out new sides to people. Maybe one day she’d learn that.
Better, she’d stick to her anonymous-fucks-only maxim and save herself the grief.
“I’ve had better. Didn’t get much sleep last night.” He leaned in slightly. “Some women are just insatiable, you know?”
He did not.
There was no way he would just stand there with a bus full of people behind them and just…just goad her about them having sex as if it was something to tease her about. As if they should even speak the words.
Hello, closet. Deep, dark secret.
Shut up, jackass.
“Sure it wasn’t you who was insatiable? Sometimes guys are more into it than the woman and never realize she’s just going through the motions.”
Yeah, that was the way to divert them from the topic. Sure. Too bad she didn’t have a red cape to wave in front of his face.
She did have a red-and-white bra, but waving that probably wouldn’t have the intended effect. Especially since thanks to last night’s brick-wall action, she wasn’t entirely sure she could remove her bra without help. Getting it on that morning had been bad enough.
“Hmm, yeah, I’m sure that happens. Not so much with this one though. Pretty active participant, don’t you think?” He rolled up the sleeve of his sweatshirt and turned his arm toward her, revealing a full complement of scratches.
She was almost sure she knew when they’d happened too. It had involved being rammed into from behind. Powerfully. The kind of thrusts tha
t brought her up on her toes and erased every thought from her head.
Her scalp tingled and she tipped back her head for a second, losing herself in the memory of him yanking at her hair. She wasn’t a submissive type—not anymore. She couldn’t go back to that girl again.
Above everything, she trusted Ryan. To the marrow of her bones. Even if he was pushing buttons he had no business pushing. Especially with an audience.
“Better watch the road, Colorado,” he said against her ear, his mouth close. Too close. Her head snapped back and her eyes went wide and she realized he’d grabbed hold of the wheel while she’d gone off into some delayed sex trance and nearly gotten all of them killed.
“Oh God. Oh God. What is wrong with me?” she muttered to herself, only jerking the wheel a little as she smacked away his hand. But he didn’t move back. He just stayed right there, hovering in her airspace, breathing with her. His exhales fluttered her hair, and she smelled the wintergreen from his toothpaste.
Too damn close.
“I’ve got you,” he said, and those words weren’t referring to his hold on the wheel. He’d murmured something similar last night, and she wasn’t having it. Not here. She took her job seriously, and she would not screw this up.
No hot night of sex was worth it. Not even with him.
She sucked in a breath and nudged him back none too gently. A break. That was what she needed. To walk off some of this tension, get some fresh air, maybe grab a coffee. Even caffeine-laced soda wasn’t doing it today. She felt duller than the paint on the bus. Time to get her focus back.
And her ass away from the cause of her distractions.
“Half-hour break coming up,” she called out, pleased that her voice didn’t even slightly wobble. “Snack break at the next rest station.”
“We’ve barely been on the road,” West said. “I thought we were going straight to—”
The look Denver shot him over her shoulder had Warning Sign’s keyboardist falling silent. No such luck with said keyboardist’s best friend, however.
“Getting overheated, baby?” he asked under his breath.