Tulsa

by S. L. Scott

  A wadded-up napkin bounces off my face, and I see her laughing too. It’s good to see her smile. No, it’s better than good; it’s what I need somehow.

  With the truce in place, now we get to have fun.

  After checking into our hotel in Tempe, we’re driven to Sun Devil Stadium. I want to say I’m used to this, playing the largest venues in the country, but I’m not. With my arms out wide, I say, “The Rolling Stones played here.”

  Rivers embraces the awe of the venue. “U2 performed here too.”

  “Arizona State football,” Dave adds. When we look at him like he’s insane, he shrugs. “I like watching college ball.”

  Whether it was Super Bowl or the Pope—this stadium is legendary, and now we’re playing here. The Resistance has given us this chance, and I’m not going to waste it.

  Our band stays close to the stage while Faris Wheel does their sound check. We try to stand out of the way of the roadies, but this is still too new. I feel spoiled, so when my kit makes it up on stage, I sit on the stool and make the adjustments myself. Those guys have plenty of other things to do anyway.

  Tapping the skins, I start into the rhythm of the first song of the set.

  Tommy walks onto the stage and says, “You’re not used to having help. I get it, but I want you backstage preparing—mentally and physically—for each performance. We’ve got the best crew in the business. Let them do their job so you can do yours.”

  I see his point. After playing through three songs, the band lets the crew take care of the equipment. I feel solid about rocking this stadium tomorrow night.

  The Resistance walks in as we walk out. They don’t have to do a sound check if they don’t want to, but the musicians who care the most still do. Getting to know them over the past year has been an unexpected perk to the job. They could be assholes who believe the hype and treat everyone like they’re beneath them, but that’s not how they are. They’re demanding, but the fame doesn’t touch them outside the arena. They have families and respect the women in their lives. Not like a lot of asshole musicians.

  I’ve read a few stories about Holli, Rochelle, and Jaymes saving the men in their lives as much as finding love. Seemed cheesy at the time, but it makes me wonder if there’s a woman out there who can save me, and by save me, I mean make me want to settle down.

  “Hey.”

  Nikki’s standing behind me when I turn around. “Hey. How are ya feeling?”

  “Eh. Been better, but I’ve been worse too.”

  “We’re about to head back to the hotel. You coming?”

  Today, I get a happier vibe from her. It’s a nice change. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

  In the SUV, I end up sitting next to her. Unfortunately, it’s in the first row with her brother and cousin behind us . . . staring, or maybe glaring fits Laird’s expression better.

  I don’t dare talk to Nikki. Every word would be heard since everyone else is quiet, but I underestimated her. Nikki Faris is a devil in a short dress. I’m starting to think her sole objective on this tour is to torture me with her great legs, even greater tits, and a smile that only an angel who’s broken a lot of heavenly rules can sport.

  How am I supposed to resist this siren? Especially when she taps my leg covertly so no one else notices. When I steal a glance her way, she’s biting her bottom lip trying to hold that mischievous smile inside and failing miserably.

  And what’s up with the thudding in my chest? Why is my heart suddenly making its presence known? Can the whole damn vehicle hear it?

  Is it hot in here? We’re in Arizona, so we sure as fuck better not have the heat on. The air feels like it’s gotten ten degrees warmer in the past two minutes.

  I tug at the collar of my shirt and lean over to let the air vent blow on my neck, hoping to cool off. When the little minx starts laughing, I realize I could be in trouble. It’s not the heat making my heart pound.

  It’s her.

  10

  Tulsa

  Rivers opens his adjoining hotel room door but blocks me from entering. “What?” he grumbles.

  I need to sort my head out. I need to stop thinking about her. It’s been boggling my mind for over a week now. We’ve chatted on and off, but to cope with not wanting more of her—more time with her—I’ve often avoided everyone just to avoid Nikki. Which is crazy because she’s cool, and this gig is amazing, but Phoenix was a bitch.

  She was everywhere, and I think her skirts are getting shorter. Mmm, those legs—that smile.

  She slays me with her cute little waves from across the backstage area.

  Her mouth seems to fuck me with that gorgeous smile. She wears this shade of pink that speaks to my dick like it’s calling its name. But we’re just supposed to be friends. FRIENDS.

  I’ve jacked off more in the past two weeks than I have since I first discovered tits and the glorious beauty of women when I was a teen.

  I can’t take it anymore—seeing her gets me hard on the spot. What the fuck is that about? Before I lose it completely here in Denver, I need to talk to someone, and my brother’s the lucky guy. Rivers will have advice for me. He’s the king of real talk.

  I move his arm and push my way in, heading straight to the window. “I need to talk to you.”

  “About?”

  “You have a better view than I do.”

  “Guess they like me more.” A chuckle follows his joke, but I can’t laugh with this lump in my throat. He flops on the bed and leans against the headboard. “What’s up, Tuls?”

  The leather chair by the window is cold when I sit down, but I ignore it, push my elbows into my legs, and rub my hands over my face. I stand back up, too anxious to sit still. “It’s been years since you were together. Do you still miss her?” I’m careful not to say her name because that’s a surefire way to get him to shut down.

  I see him brace. It’s quick, then his body relaxes again, but his jaw remains tight and his eyes are more narrow than before. He looks away from me and out the window. “All the fucking time.”

  The heaviness of his tone keeps my attention. “When was the last time you talked to her?”

  “Four. Five years maybe. I don’t know anymore. A long damn time. I’ve tried to talk to her over the years, but she won’t answer my calls and she won’t return them.”

  “You were together at fifteen. You’ve spent ten years of your life with her or thinking about her, man.”

  “I don’t want to talk about this.”

  “She was like a big sister to me. Mom loved her—”

  He lands on his feet, his hands fisted at his side. “I said I don’t want to talk about her. Got it, Tulsa?”

  “Got it.” It was a mistake coming here. What was I going to do? Whine to him about having weird feelings stirred up inside me . . . feelings of the lighter variety, like finding Nikki Faris more appealing every time she opens that pretty mouth of hers, even if it’s for a smartass remark. I head for the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  “What was it you wanted to talk about?” His tone is calmer as he sits on the edge of the bed.

  When I glance back, he reminds me of how I felt a few minutes prior. “I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, but maybe it’s time to go see her.”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I shrug. “Maybe I don’t. Maybe I do. We won’t know sitting here talking about it.”

  “You came in here to talk about my fuckups?”

  “No, but can I ask you something about it?”

  Mulling the idea, he finally looks up. “Go ahead.”

  “Was it worth it?”

  “Losing her?”

  “Being with her. Is all the pain worth the years you had together?”

  This time, he doesn’t have to ponder anything. He knows already. “Yes. She was worth the pain. If I could do things differently . . . if I could have one more day with her . . . I’d give up everything.”

  “Music?”

  “Ever
ything.” He comes to stand next to me. As we both stare out at the incredible view of the Rockies, he adds, “She’d never let me give up music, though. She knows it feeds my soul like she once did.”

  “We’re back in Austin in a few weeks.” He gets the hint without me having to spell it out.

  “She’s moved on. It’s long past time I did too.”

  My situation with Nikki is trivial compared to what he’s gone through, so I’m not going to burden him with it. He’s given me plenty to think about. “I think I’m going to grab a beer. Wanna come?”

  “I ordered room service. I’m going to eat and work on a song.” A knock on the door causes him to turn. “There it is. What did you want to talk about?”

  “Nothing.”

  He opens the door, and the cart is pushed in. “Sure?”

  Ducking out of the way, I reply, “I’m sure. I’ll see you later.”

  With my head still clouded, I decide I really do need that beer.

  Night has brought a cold wind whipping down the street. I didn’t bring a jacket, so I shove my hands in my front pockets and head into the hotel. Maybe room service is the way to go.

  In the lobby, I pull up short. I don’t know how I missed it before, but as I look around, couples are everywhere—on the couches, at the front desk, at the elevators, walking into the bar. Couples everywhere.

  What the hell?

  I need to get to my room, and fast. Seeing them makes me feel weird, but fuck if I’m not stuck behind a couple making out at the elevators, which reminds me of Nikki. I try to mind my own business, but they make it hard when they moan.

  I reach around them and push the button. They don’t even notice, but they do react when the door opens and finally stop mouth fucking. The reprieve is temporary. As soon as the door closes, they’re back at it with a vengeance.

  Fuck me.

  What’s up with the love in the air? It sucks for a single guy. Makes me wonder if it’s always around, and I’m just now noticing, or maybe it’s the high altitude.

  The guy’s hand slides over her ass, and he pulls her hard against him. I’m already cornered, but I press against the wall even more, hoping to time warp up to my floor.

  But then the elevator dings, and it’s not on either of our floors. “Fuck.” My head hits the back as exasperation with this day gets the best of me.

  The couple glances at me as the door opens behind them, then they return to groping each other with their tongues.

  The relationship that’s transpired with Nikki has been nice, more buddy-buddy, but do I need another buddy? A female buddy at that? How does that even work?

  Do we go grab drinks and chat about hooking up with others or maybe we play pool and trash talk? At what point in the night do I leave her to take home another woman when it’s her I want to take home?

  Watching this couple makes me wonder if Nikki tastes like the cherry she smells like or if she’s more attitude and tequila like the night she got drunk.

  Speaking of . . . Nikki stands there looking so goddamn gorgeous in jeans and a Doors T-shirt that’s two sizes too big for her frame, licking a lollipop. Fuck me. With lips like those . . . and great taste in music too? She’s a dream come true. She’s just not a dream I’m allowed to fantasize over without ruffling a lot of feathers on this tour.

  Nikki steps onto the elevator with her face scrunched up as she walks around the kissing couple. When she reaches my corner, her arm presses against mine, and she points her candy at me. “I’ve been looking for you.”

  Annnnnd . . . my cock gets hard.

  “Why?” She’s taken aback by my accusatory tone, so I clear my throat and try again. “You were looking for me?”

  This time, I get a smile as she presses against my side, trying not to get tangled up in the middle of the couple. “I’m hungry.”

  I like where this is going. “So you thought of me? Candy’s not doing it?”

  “These help coat my throat.” She shrugs. “And I like Blow Pops.”

  Fucking hell. All the dirty thoughts crowd my mind.

  What’s my name? Where am I?

  Dead. Right here at her sexy feet. She killed me with sexual references she doesn’t even catch. When I see a sly smile slide into place, I rethink that. Maybe she does know what she’s doing to me.

  The back of her hand hits my chest when her eyes return to the kissing couple in front of us. I swear this is the fucking slowest elevator ever. Catching Nikki by the wrist, I hold it against me long enough for her to look my way. She mouths, “What?”

  Shaking my head, I release her, though it goes against what I really want to do, which is hold her hand.

  What the fuck is wrong with me?

  The bell for my floor dings, and I pat Nikki’s ass. “This is my stop.”

  She maneuvers around the couple, but waits for me right after she steps off, tossing the stick in the trash. When the door closes, I ask, “Wanna order room service?”

  “I thought you’d never ask.” Walking ahead of me like she has a purpose, she blows a small bubble and then asks, “What’s your room number?”

  “Thought you’d never ask,” I throw her words back at her, but add a little wink. “Darlin’.”

  Nikki stops in the middle of the corridor, turns around, and presses her hand to my chest. Pointing a finger at my face, she smiles. “You better not be getting up to any monkey business, Tulsa Crow.”

  “Monkey business? Never.” I use her favorite word. Touching her nose, I boop her without the sound effects this time. “As for other types of business,” I say, holding my hands up, though the woman’s wearing me down. “Who knows?”

  A few more tequila shots in Seattle would have ended with us in bed. Let’s see what being sober and stuffed with pizza does to her. This time, I take that pointing hand and hold it at my side, turning her around so we can walk the rest of the way together.

  She starts laughing, and when her head dips to the side and touches my shoulder, and her fingers weave with mine, I realize I’d rather have a sexless night with this woman I called a truce with than meaningless sex with anyone else.

  I’m used to casual, but this is more than that. I can feel the difference. She’s starting to touch parts of me inside that have always been off-limits, untouchable by others. Until now, I never knew what I was missing, but she makes it easy to see.

  This feels like what I want.

  She feels like what I need.

  11

  Nikki

  “I’m stuffed.” I think about passing out right here on Tulsa’s bed.

  I’m tempted to stay for more than just because I’m stuffed. I think I’ve watched him lying on the other bed more than the movie he ordered. Although I’m weak for a Hemsworth brother, when I catch Tulsa with his hand rubbing over his hard and very defined abs, I’m starting to think I’m weak for a Crow brother too.

  I’m not sure when this happened. When did I start looking at him differently? The past few weeks have been like a cupid’s arrow hit me in the ass, and now Tulsa’s quips that once annoyed me charm me instead.

  Sandy-blond hair that tends to the darker side and blue eyes that hold more depth than my boring blues aren’t my typical type. I’ve always been drawn to a bit of darkness—hair, eyes, mystery. That’s what got me in trouble in the past. It wasn’t mysterious, just cruelty. Lesson learned.

  But here Tulsa Crow is, with his wide-open heart being exactly who he is for the world to judge.

  It’s not one thing that’s drawn me in. All of him pulls at me—that handsome face with the strong jaw and straight nose with the slight bump like he’s been in a few fights. His almond-shaped eyes that seem to find me even in the dark of the backstage. His hair when it’s not slicked with gel but has untamed waves trying to escape. Broad shoulders and, from what I’ve seen in stolen glimpses, great abs. He’s tall like his brothers and has the same kindness in his eyes. He talks a big game about girls without making apologies, but I have a feeling tha
t, by the way he mentions his mother and seeing him interact with Holli and Rochelle, he respects women. It’s everything I’ve witnessed about him, and how he’s treated me that brought me to him tonight.

  He flirts with me, but he’s gentle. He held my hand to his chest with such heartwarming care. He held my hand while we walked down the hall. He fed me pizza and let me pick the movie.

  I’m not looking to be just another woman he sleeps with, but I’m starting to see why women find him hard to resist. Especially when he’s being sweet, and his ego is kept at bay.

  So while I lie here watching him, he lets me—

  Until he doesn’t. “Stop staring at me,” he says. His eyes stay on the TV, but his lips quirk up at the corners. Cocky bastard. Not that he’s wrong; I am staring.

  Okay, so he’s had it too easy with women. I’m not surprised, considering what he looks like. And I’ll give him credit where it’s due. He’s smooth with the lines and probably right about not having to work to get laid.

  “What do your parents look like?”

  His gaze flicks to mine. “Okay, that’s out of the blue. What do your parents look like?”

  I punch my pillow to get more comfortable and turn on my side. I’m tired of pretending I’m interested in the movie. I’ll just face him now. “I look like my mother. I’m not only told I look like her, but that I’m a younger version of her. It’s creepy in some ways, flattering in others.”

  He watches me, his gaze moving between my lips and eyes, sometimes dipping lower and back up. No apologies. “Why would it be creepy?”

  “Because in certain aspects I was expected to be her, not me. We look alike, but I’m still my own person.”

  “Does she sing?”

  “No, she has a terrible voice.”

  “You have an amazing voice.”

  My cheeks feel hot. Damn it. Blushing always gives my thoughts away. Distract. “She has a way of owning a room without any effort. It’s magical.”

  “Guess you share more than just good looks.”