On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance)

by Jamison, Jade C.

  He turned to the hostess. “Lead the way, madame.”

  I grinned as he stuck out his elbow so I could wrap my arm around his. He smiled back, his dimples appearing in his cheeks, looking cuter than ever. In less than a minute, we were seated at the bar, menus in front of us. The bartender explained that she would also be our waitress and asked if we wanted to hear the specials. CJ again looked at me. “We wanna just split a pizza?”

  I nodded. “Yeah, that would be fine.”

  He looked back at the bartender and she said, “Okay. What do you want to drink?”

  I ordered a Diet Coke and CJ asked for a beer. Damn him. I was still too young to drink in public. I scowled at him and, after the bartender had moved down the bar to get our drinks, he said, “What?”

  “I can’t drink beer yet.”

  His face broke out into a huge grin. “Like that’s stopped you.”

  I started laughing. “Fair enough.”

  Our drinks were placed in front of us on small white cocktail napkins. “Need a few more minutes?”

  “Yeah.” CJ looked up at me. “Okay—three ingredients on a pizza you can’t live without.”

  Put on the spot. “Shit. I love pizza no matter what. Cheese, sauce, and pepperoni. How’s that?”

  He raised one eyebrow. “Woman, I think you are a keeper.”

  Suddenly, I felt like it was hard to breathe. He was assessing our compatibility based on my choice of pizza ingredients—and it seemed fair. I needed to keep my cool, so I grinned again and said, “What about you?”

  “That’s tough. I’m a meat-loving guy.” I raised my own eyebrows that time, the silly grin still on my face. “Funny. But there’s no meat on a pizza I don’t like—hamburger, sausage, Canadian bacon, you name it. I love it.”

  “What about anchovies?”

  “Okay, yeah, if you count fish as a meat.”

  “And why wouldn’t you?”

  “Some people don’t.”

  “Yeah, well, those people are dumb asses.”

  “So what are we going to put on our pizza, Miss Guitarist?”

  “We can do pepperoni if you want, Mr. Bassist…or we can add other stuff.”

  “I’m good with plain ol’ pepperoni. But then I see they have different crust options. Shit. I just wanna pizza.” The bartender arrived again and we told her we wanted a small pepperoni pizza. Then CJ said, “And we don’t give a shit about the crust, as long as it’s good. You choose, okay?”

  “You okay with gluten?”

  CJ nodded. “What’s a pizza without gluten?”

  “My thoughts exactly. Okay, I’ll have that to you in about fifteen minutes. You want any appetizers or salad or…?”

  CJ again deferred to me and I shook my head. Half a pizza would be more than enough for me. Since picking up shitty habits like smoking, my appetite wasn’t what it used to be. No way would I want to eat other extras.

  After the bartender skedaddled and CJ took a sip of his beer, I asked, “So tell me about your experiences on the road.”

  “I imagine they’re similar to yours.”

  “I highly doubt it. You have a tour bus?” He nodded. “Yeah…we don’t. We have a van. At least if it was like the Scooby Doo van, it’d be okay, but it’s not. It’s a soccer mom minivan and we’re all squished in there.”

  “You shitting me?”

  “Nope.”

  He chuckled. “Peter’s a cheap-ass motherfucker.”

  “That he is.” I took a sip of my soda. “But it’s fun. I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.” He nodded and I set my glass down, purposely moving my eyes to his lips and letting my gaze linger there for a few seconds before adding, “Well, there are a couple of other things I can think of.”

  He grinned and cleared his throat, grabbing his beer and downing a swig. He was either giving himself a little time to think up a good comeback or he was hoping to change the subject and the pause in conversation would make that change less obvious and less awkward.

  I found it funny that I was making my dream guy sweat a little and then realized that I might send him running if I came on too strong. He knew how I felt about him. Pressing the issue would only make me seem desperate. So I decided that I would change the subject before he did. “So…I know you’ve done some writing on the road. How many songs so far?”

  His dark eyes lit up. “More than enough for our next album.”

  “Wow. Already? That’s amazing.”

  “Eh. I’m not happy with all of them, but the guys are devouring the ones I’ve shared with them, adapting them and making them theirs. We plan to play one of them on the next leg of the tour, and we’re going to start recording as soon as we’re back home. After a week or two vacation first.”

  “Holy shit. You plan to release your next album next fall?”

  “Give or take—that’s the plan. The label’s okay with it.”

  “Why wouldn’t they be?”

  He shrugged. “Because they’re controlling dicks. They like to call the shots—to the detriment of the fans, the band. It all comes down to money, and they have a weird formula about how and when to release music. Oh, and they have to make sure you won’t compete against any other bands in the same genre that they represent. They don’t get it. The fans love music and they don’t think of competition. Instead, they think, ‘I have this awesome song I heard on the radio stuck in my head, and I must own it.’ I go to the music store and buy ten CDs at a time. Usually, I plan to buy one or two specific ones and see a bunch of others I want to hear. I’m the same way with electronic music—I get those suggestions, you know? ‘If you like this band, we think you’ll love these guys’.”

  I nodded. I’d forgotten how much I loved being around CJ, and not just because he got my juices flowing. He made me smile. He made me think. He made me laugh.

  So much so, that even when I saw Decker walking through the restaurant with his new bimbo, it didn’t bother me a bit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  THE BOWLING ALLEY was a completely different experience. For the first ten minutes, I had old high school acquaintances spot me and ask me about my life on the road. And then one of them recognized CJ—and he actually called him Siege. Awesome. My nickname for him was sticking.

  When we were finally left alone, we bowled one game while sipping hot cocoa with whipped cream. Before the tenth round, I asked CJ if he wanted to wager anything. “Like what?” he asked.

  I laughed. “How about that sweet car? I know you could afford another one.”

  He looked up at his score. There was no way in a million years I could beat him. Well, maybe a million, but it would definitely involve a miracle of some kind. His score thus far was 168 and mine? Well, let’s just say mine was barely over one hundred. So I guessed there would be no way I could beat him at that point.

  He grinned and started to say, “You know there’s—”

  “Shh,” I interrupted, placing my index finger on his lips. “Are you man enough to take my bet or not?”

  He chuckled and then sucked my finger into his mouth. Holy shit. That was hotter than it had a right to be, and I was pretty sure he read that reaction all over my face. I forced myself to let the air out of my lungs while he released my finger. Then he replied, “Fine, darlin’, I’ll take your bet.”

  “Sweet. I love that car of yours. Now…what do you want me to wager?” I chewed on my bottom lip a second before adding, “I could make some suggestions.”

  He blinked once, slowly and methodically, a slight grin making his eyes twinkle. “I’m sure you could. Why do I get the feeling you’re being naughty?”

  My smile grew wider. “Am I that obvious?”

  “Mm-hmm.” Yeah, like he hadn’t encouraged it.

  “Okay, so let’s take care of this last frame.”

  “But the bet—”

  “How about…” He lifted my ball off the return and held it in his palm for me to grab. I stuck my fingers in the holes and he con
tinued. “I choose my prize if I win?”

  Oh. Okay. That would involve a lot of trust. Two seconds and I decided—I knew I trusted him. Two more seconds and I felt a thrilled shiver charge through my spine wondering just what he’d choose. I nodded. “All right. Wish me luck.”

  “Absolutely. Good luck, babe.”

  Another shiver darted through my body. He hadn’t called me babe often, but I loved when he did. I couldn’t quite smile at him as I took my ball out of his hand and walked up to the line. I adjusted my wrist, trying to compensate for the weird veer the ball had been doing for every frame I’d bowled. Then I took a step forward and swung the ball, closing my eyes as I let go of it. I kept them closed, listening for the sound of the ball hitting the gutter. But that sound never came. In fact, I heard the steady whirring sound of the ball rolling down the lane in a straight-ish path.

  I finally peeked through the slit of one of my eyelids and saw that my ball was still traveling right down the middle, ready to hit the front pin.

  And it did. My first strike of the evening. I couldn’t help but squeal (not metal at all, I know) and then I jumped up and down. I knew I’d get to throw the ball twice more now, and I turned around, smiling wide. “I got you now, mister!”

  CJ grinned and brought the fingers of both his hands to his mouth, imitating the act of biting all his fingernails off. “Oh, no.”

  Even had I hit all the pins twice more, I would haven’t beaten his score. But I didn’t even come close. Nope. I knocked down five pins on my next roll and three on the one after. I was still behind, and CJ hadn’t even had his turn yet.

  He picked up the heavy black ball off the return and said, “This doesn’t even seem fair.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Just get it over with.”

  He threw the ball, this time not getting a strike, but he did get a spare and an extra ball. Talk about adding insult to injury. So, as we took our bowling shoes off and put our street shoes back on, I said, “Well?”

  He looked over at me. “Well what?”

  “What’s it gonna be?”

  He shrugged. “I have to think about it a little bit.”

  So we turned in our shoes and threw away our paper cups from the cocoa and walked outside into the cold. “Have you decided yet?”

  He laughed. “Nope, not yet.” We got to his car and, after letting it run for a few seconds, he turned the heater on.

  “Okay…now?”

  He laughed. “Impatient.” He reached over and turned down the radio. “I think I’ll collect sometime this summer.”

  Oh. Oh, God, no. I knew what that meant. That meant he did want to have sex with me, but he was going to make me wait until I was eighteen. That stupid fucking rule of his. But I kept my anger in check and instead figured out a way to slither myself in between his body and the steering wheel to straddle him. He was laughing again and held his arms up to allow me to sit on his lap facing him. I pressed my forehead into his. It was only thanks to the glow of the dashboard and the lights in the parking lot that I could see his deep brown eyes in the darkness of his car. “I want you to collect now, dammit.”

  And there was that magnetism, that draw, that need I felt for him as my lips brushed over his. My eyes were closed by then and he responded—thank the heavens he responded—touching my tongue with his. It was another magical kiss, one that transported me out of that car and into the sky, out of the freezing night air and into a flaming furnace. My fists were gripping his leather jacket, and I could feel his hands on the small of my back through my coat. But as I kept kissing him, I got an inkling that he might be changing his mind.

  That inkling was getting harder against my jeans.

  Yeah. That was what I wanted, and that indication was all I needed to know that I could talk him into it now. So I kept kissing him, unwilling to let up, until the car actually started feeling too warm with all the layers I had on. I pulled back a little, as much as the steering wheel would allow, and started unzipping the front of my coat.

  “Mmm, Kyle. Stop.”

  “Why?”

  “We can’t do it in here.”

  “Why not?”

  “Seriously? It can’t be done. The space is too tight.”

  “That’ll make it more exciting.”

  He placed his hands on my cheeks, in effect, stopping me from kissing him anymore. “Kyle, I want to.” Yeah, I had no doubt, but I wasn’t going to say it. “But I told you I won’t. Not till you’re eighteen.”

  I squinted at him, although the effect was likely lost in the dim car. “You know that’s fucking stupid, right?”

  “To you, maybe, but if I don’t have my honor, I’ve got nothing, Kyle.”

  God. I thought that was fucking stupid too. Honor. And yet, I cared about CJ and I also respected the hell out of him. As much as I wanted him, I wasn’t going to make him break a promise to himself. I wasn’t going to exploit his weakness, either. If he wasn’t willing to sleep with me without me begging…then I didn’t want him.

  “Fine.” I pulled myself off his lap—an awkward feat, believe me—and plopped back down in the passenger seat. “Then take me home.”

  “Come on, Kyle. Don’t be mad at me.”

  I huffed, but I tried to make my voice calm and steady. “I’m not mad at you.” He reached over and turned down the heat, and then he put the car in reverse. Soon we were on the way back to my house.

  I couldn’t help myself. Halfway there, I said, “You know you’re a pussy tease, right?”

  “What?” I repeated what I said and then he started laughing. “What the hell’s a pussy tease?”

  “Same as a cocktease, only for girls.”

  I saw him bite his lip as he turned into the residential section where my house was located. “I promise I’ll follow through, but—”

  “I know. I know. Not till I’m eighteen.”

  “Yeah.”

  We were quiet on the way home, and we arrived early enough that my parents actually invited him in, and we played a quick game of Trivial Pursuit before I walked him to the door. I stepped outside, even though he urged me not to, because I wanted to give him a kiss goodbye.

  I wanted to give him a last taste before I saw him again. I wanted him to have something to remember me by.

  “I’ll be waiting,” I said.

  He nodded and smiled and touched my nose with the tip of his finger. “I know. Not long now.”

  Yeah, right. For all my body knew, it might as well have been years—because that was what it was beginning to feel like.

  “Fully Alive” ~ Flyleaf

  Chapter Eighteen

  ON MONDAY AROUND noon, the Vagabonds were heading to Nevada. I’d glanced over the itinerary the night before, relieved that we appeared to be spending the rest of the winter in warmer states. We had a couple of stops in southern Nevada, then southern California, and on to Arizona, New Mexico, Texas and the rest of the extreme south until we’d wind up in Florida and start making our way up the east coast for a bit before veering inward again.

  I brought my coat anyway, because it had been well below freezing when my parents had driven me from Winchester to the Vagabonds’ meeting spot in Colorado Springs. I knew I’d probably wind up leaving it in the van once we got to our first destination, but I needed it for the moment.

  The vibes—oh, God, the weird vibes I was picking up when we got back together. I should have thought more about my bandmates while I was on our tiny break, but I hadn’t. I’d spent that time enjoying my family, relishing sleeping late and waking up feeling great, appreciating my mom’s cooking (there was nothing like her cooking, and she just got better and better as time went on), playing around online—not only “mingling” with new fans but also listening to and buying new music and also purchasing some ebooks for the times on the road when I’d get bored…and flirting with CJ.

  Although he was beginning to feel like a lost cause.

  But things now felt strange. We were standing in the parking lot,
waiting for Barbie to arrive (so what else was new?), and I tried to assess what was going on. Things were tense and unusually quiet. After my mom and dad left, Kelly said, “Hey, Kyle. I’m gonna go get some Starbucks for the road. You want some too?”

  I took that query for what it really was—an excuse to get me alone so we could talk. So I nodded, making sure I had cash in my pocket. The ruse wouldn’t fool anyone if I didn’t come back with something in hand.

  Liz said, “Me too.” Well…so much for that.

  But when we got close to the building and far enough away from both vans that we wouldn’t be overheard, Kelly said, “You missed it all, Kyle.”

  I nodded. “I could tell something was going on. What the hell happened?”

  Okay, so apparently Liz wasn’t part of the weirdness, because Kelly was fine talking about it with her. She pulled the glass door open, and I was hit with the smell that is Starbucks—you know, that underlying, slightly burned coffee bean odor that all Starbucks have, and I started salivating, knowing that sweet caffeinated goodness was just ahead.

  We walked toward the line and she said, “Peter, TT, and Bad Dog were already here when I got here, and Peter was doing something on his phone. It was just a few minutes later when Andrew and Vicki showed up together. I think they might have gotten a ride or, hell, maybe they walked here from somewhere else, but Peter immediately told Andrew he needed a word with him. They walked over to the other side of the equipment van, and Andrew was shouting after a minute or two. Vicki ran over there and started screaming too, and that’s when Liz got here.”

  “So what the hell were they arguing about?”

  We were interrupted while we gave the cashier our coffee order, but when we slid down the line to wait for our drinks, Kelly resumed. “I’m not sure what all the commotion was about. I only caught bits and pieces, but I get the idea Vicki and Andrew are together and they’re not hiding it.”

  I almost made a smart ass comment, because all the girls but me had fucked him as a group, and he and Barbie hadn’t been too secretive about their little relationship early on tour. Vicki, though? That seemed odd…and she hadn’t said a word to me about it. So I just nodded.