Tulsa

by S. L. Scott

  When his snoring stops, I realize I’ve disturbed his sleep. Good. But not good enough because he’s happily snoring again within seconds. I grab a tank top and a pair of boxer shorts, putting them on before I climb back into my bed.

  Lying in the dark listening to Laird reminds me of the times he slept at the foot of my bed on nights I couldn’t sleep and woke up reliving events I wished I could change. The tips of my fingers slide under the band of my boxers and find the rough, scarred skin that Tulsa tenderly kissed.

  My breath is ragged, and I pull back, pressing my hands together, remembering the stars, remembering everything from that night.

  My breathing picks up when fear creeps in. I scream for help until I’m muffled. I struggle to get free until I’m held down. The pain as the blade cuts into me is unbearable.

  . . . Squeezing my eyes closed, I try to forget that night. I try to forget that I ever met Andrés. I try to forget the threats, the fights, and the final battle—the one where I lost a piece of my soul to a man who tried to keep it all for himself. He tried to keep me, but I proved stronger than he expected.

  I would never wear his ring. I most certainly would never wear his mark. I chose a scar over his name, and I will never regret removing him from my body. I would die before I allowed him to own me—and almost did. I couldn’t live in shame any longer. My pageant days ended, and having them taken from me so suddenly—so violently—stays with me. Standing on the edge of life and what felt like death changed me forever. For the better.

  I became focused. I gave up the things that felt shallow and put my heart into the music that filled my soul. Taking my favorite part from my pageant days—the talent portion—and bringing it into the band gave me something to put my mind on, to work at, to distract me. No, not just a distraction, but challenging myself as a way to stretch and heal.

  It’s been easy to get caught up in a career with the trajectory Faris Wheel is on. We’ve been lucky.

  I’m a part of this because of my sheer will. But there’s always been that empty space inside my chest. The one I hope would be filled with love. Tulsa said beautiful when he looked at the scar I thought made me ugly. He wasn’t turned off or grossed out. He let me say what I was comfortable sharing and then let me drop the topic simply because I wanted to.

  Maybe his kisses have the power to heal. Maybe he’s the one meant to fill the void.

  Respect. He respects my privacy. He respects me, and I trust him. Not only because he treats me well, but because he’s shown me who he really is on the inside. He makes me feel safe. I can breathe freely again because of him.

  Snoring invades my thoughts, and I grab a spare pillow, hugging it to me. Laird ruined my good time with Tulsa, but the sound of him reminds me of how comforting he was at one time.

  Thinking of him brings my thoughts to what he’d said before he passed out. Why tonight? Why was he so worried about me tonight?

  Laird loves me, and I understood just how much in those nights he slept on the end of my bed. Protecting me from the darkness. From the nightmares that had been reality. We’ll need to talk about this, though. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

  I close my eyes and pull the pillow over my head. The snoring starts to fade away as I fall asleep. I’m protected.

  The sun is rising and the light filters into the room, burning my eyes, reminding me I left the drapes open. I turn over and squint to find Laird standing at the window looking out. When he hears me, he says, “I don’t want to lose you.”

  My eyes start to adjust, along with my mind. “You’re not going to.”

  “I almost did.”

  “Almost isn’t the same thing. I’m here.”

  “You disappeared from the club. I got worried.”

  I close my eyes again and rub them, trying to wake up. “I know. I’m sorry.”

  “Rivers told me you left for the hotel, so I figured I’d check on you before I hit the bed.”

  “You hit the bed all right. Face first and not yours.”

  Making a move to sit on the end of my mattress, he spots my vibrator and detours back to the other one instead. I’m too tired to laugh. He says, “I don’t want to know about that shit or that my baby sister even owns one of those. Just like you don’t want to know about my sex life.”

  “You got that right. I tried to get you out of here last night by grossing you out. It didn’t work.”

  “It’s working now,” he replies, putting his shoes on. “Do you mind hiding that thing?”

  That does make me laugh. It’s light and genuine, a lot like my mood these days. Grabbing the pink, plastic toy, I pull it under the sheets next to me and out of his view before sitting up. “We can’t live in fear of what almost happened.”

  “I should have been there to protect you.”

  Fluffing the pillows behind me, I lean back. “You couldn’t have. There were too many lies in place to keep you from knowing the truth.”

  “We’re twins—”

  “We’re not telepathic. You trusted me, and I lied to you. But look where we are now. It’s amazing what we’ve done, what we’ve accomplished since then.”

  Glancing over his shoulder, he says, “The gloves are off if I ever see him again.”

  I hate seeing the worry I’ve caused him. I hate that I disappointed him. I hate that he feels he can still lose me. Throwing the covers off, I tackle him into a tight hug from behind before he has a chance to leave. Leaning my cheek against his back, I whisper, “I love you.”

  Reaching behind him, his arms hold me there. I can see the smile in my mind though I can’t see him. “Love you, too, sis.”

  He never looks back when he walks to the door and leaves. I know why because I know Laird better than anyone. He will always hide the pain he feels inside, and the unwarranted guilt.

  Like him, I don’t know what I’d do if I lost him. I despise the man who caused me pain because he caused my brother pain as well.

  If there’s one man I never want to hurt, it’s Laird. But, equally, he needs to know I’m stronger now. I’m in a better place, ready to keep moving forward with my life.

  18

  Nikki

  The text came at six. These guys are driving me nuts with their early hours. Thank God Laird had already left.

  Tulsa: Be ready to go at 6:30. Meet me out front.

  The first thing I notice are his legs. Sure, I’ve seen them already, but not in shorts. They are awfully nice and muscular. “Are those swim trunks?” I ask upon reaching the sidewalk where Tulsa’s holding a Jeep door open.

  “Yeah, it’s all I had left that was clean.” He laughs and looks down, almost like he’s bashful. “Your chariot awaits.”

  “You rented a car?”

  “I thought it would be fun to drive.”

  “It’s early.”

  “We can nap later.”

  “I like your style, Crow. Let’s go.”

  The top is down; the wind is blowing through our hair. The scenery is beautiful. “Are you going to tell me where we’re going?”

  “No, it’s a surprise.”

  Oh, wow! Tulsa knows how to surprise a girl. When I see the signs and we make our way to the parking lot, I’m in awe—of the stunning outdoor amphitheater and of him for pulling this surprise off.

  “We didn’t play Red Rocks, but it’s always been a dream of mine. What are we doing here?” I ask as he parks.

  Hopping out, he says, “Come on.”

  At the back of the Jeep, he pulls out two big bottles of Smart Water and two yoga mats. “You do yoga?” I don’t mean to sound so surprised, but . . . he does yoga?

  “No, but you do. Hurry, it’s starting in five minutes.”

  “I don’t understand,” I say, taking a bottle and a mat from him.

  “You will.”

  And I do. “This is incredible.” We stand at the top of the amphitheater and look down toward the stage. The entire place, every ledge, is full of colorful yoga mats and people stretching. “T
his is a yoga class?”

  “Yup. There’s a spot for us down there.”

  I spend the good part of the hour staring at Tulsa—upside down, between my legs, over my shoulder, facing him. Any chance a pose gives me a view of him, I take it. Tulsa Crow is doing yoga for me. He’s not mocking it. He is trying his best. Even when it’s not quite right, he does the moves and poses anyway. For me.

  As the sun rises, the like I feel for him is threatened by the love blooming inside.

  Sweaty and worn out, we make our way back to the Jeep. “You sure know how to charm a girl.”

  “Yeah? So it’s working?”

  “It’s working.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I see his smile. The heat of his hand warms me through my workout pants. I tie my pullover around my waist by the sleeves and climb into the Jeep. “What’s next? The hotel or breakfast?”

  “Breakfast. I’m taking you to a place that was recommended by the concierge.”

  “You really did plan this all out. I’m flattered.”

  He backs out of the parking spot and starts driving, but his right hand runs over the back of my neck before settling there. I like how natural it feels to spend time with him, how easy we are together.

  Sitting across from him at the Denver Biscuit Company, I peek at him over my menu. When he looks up at me, he says, “No one recognizes us in gym clothes.”

  “We should always wear them when we go out.” Chuckling, he stirs his coffee while I sip my juice. “Doing yoga at sunrise with the rocks as a backdrop—you took me one step closer to heaven.”

  He moves his hand across the table, and our fingertips press together. We sit quietly for a moment, our eyes on each other. “Spending time with you is heavenly.” Turning his wrist, he holds my hand between us, not moving when the server shows up to take our order and top off our glasses of water.

  “I love that we worked out so we can eat all the biscuits now.”

  “I can pound down some biscuits and gravy.” He eyes me and says, “You’re really good at yoga. Have you always done it?”

  “No. I started toward the end of my pageant days to help me stay flexible and to keep my muscles toned but lean. After . . . the breakup, I needed to direct my energy in a positive way. Yoga teaches great breathing exercises as well as every move having a purpose and focus. It became a place where the outside world disappeared, and I found peace. It still helps me stay strong—body and mind. What about you? You jog. You work out with weights. You’re very athletic. Did you play sports growing up?”

  “Anything I could. If my brothers did it, I did it. I played everything from football to basketball. How about you?”

  “Tennis and golf. I was on both teams, but I preferred surfing with the guys.” When he chuckles, I ask, “What’s so funny?”

  “Just shows how different our childhoods were. I wore hand-me-down cleats and used a basketball Rivers got for his birthday one year to practice. I don’t think I ever had anything of my own.”

  “You had love.”

  “I did.” Our food is served, but he takes a moment to think about what we’ve said. “I never knew any different, so I never knew I didn’t have the world at my feet. Between my mom making sure we were taken care of and Jet making sure we had the shit we needed to get our jobs done—sports and school—we never lacked anything.”

  “I admire how appreciative you are of the life you’ve led.”

  “We didn’t need money to be happy. What about you?”

  “I learned the hard way. Now, I appreciate charming men taking me to the edge of heaven to watch sunrises.”

  “We’re just getting started. I have all kinds of plans up my sleeve when it comes to you and me.”

  “I can’t wait to spend more time with you.”

  We finish our biscuit breakfast and need a nap after carbing out. My favorite part is that he takes the long way back to the hotel. For the first time in forever, I feel wild and free. I feel like me, and I love it.

  When we arrive, he asks, “Do you want to sneak into my room and nap together? I’ll feed you room service when we wake up.”

  I rub his leg just because I want to feel him, touch him, spoon with him. “You’re spoiling me, Crow.”

  “It’s okay. It’s good to be spoiled every now and then.”

  Our day flies away. After the wonderful morning we had, a nap, and room service, I couldn’t have asked for a better day off.

  After hiding away most of the day, we resurface to go to dinner with the group. The Resistance flew home right after the show last night, but Tommy stayed. Talking like we’ve known each other for years, the remaining eight of us sit in a private room of an Italian restaurant—loud and boisterous—having dinner.

  The other tours we’ve done were nothing like this one in scale or the level of exhaustion. When I give everything of myself on stage, some nights it feels as if I have nothing left. Today rejuvenated me, and I have the man down at the other end of the table to thank for that.

  When I see Tulsa laughing, telling stories with broad strokes of his hands, healthy and happy, my heartbeat quickens, and I bite my lip. He’s more than a pretty face; his heart is made of pure gold.

  It’s good to hear the stories that led all of us to this moment in time and the journey we’re taking together. It bonds us in such a unique and memorable way.

  I may not be sitting next to Tulsa like I want, but I have a damn great view of him. If eyes could talk, we’ve held full conversations without anyone else noticing. And when it’s time to leave, everyone else decides to go out, but we decide to stay in.

  No one the wiser, but us.

  Us.

  Without effort, we slip right into an us. Our days are spent circling each other backstage, onstage, offstage, at the hotel, dinners, and afterward. Most nights become ours, whether we’re in his room or mine. Making out with him has become my most favorite pastime.

  A week later, this whole sneaking around thing is starting to wear on me. I snapped at him when he suggested we spend our free time grabbing a cheesesteak across the city. Looking back, I can blame Aunt Flo, but I think it was really that I just wanted to be alone with him, curled up in bed, talking or not, just being together.

  Tulsa loves a promise, a challenge, and the chase when it comes to me. Although I’m a fan of him and his music, I’m not just a groupie. I think he respects me more for being who I am with him.

  Sometimes, he’s tired and wants to sleep after a show when all I want to do is get naked. Why is he not ravaging me like I want to sex him up? I can’t figure out what he’s waiting on. Some great signal? A message from God? I’ve given him verbal and physical permission more than a few times, but he still insists on waiting.

  “I don’t understand why we’re waiting,” I say, twisting the towel around my head with my wet hair trapped inside.

  He clearly doesn’t want to talk about it, but he never does. He will, though. For me, if I insist, which I am. “You want the truth, Nikki?”

  “That’s such a bizarre question.” Throwing my arms up in the air, I stomp toward the window where he’s been standing since he got out of the shower. “Of course. I don’t want you to lie to me.”

  With a towel hanging low on his hips, it’s as if he’s torturing me on purpose. I walk my fingers up his back, and he turns to look at me, drinking me in, fucking me with his gaze.

  That’s why it makes no sense that he won’t do the deed.

  Reaching, he pulls me around until my back is against his chest. I stand exposed to the night sky and the mountains in my black bra and panties.

  With his clean-shaven jaw lowered to my ear, he whispers, “Because I care about you. I like whatever this is between us, and I don’t want to blow it.”

  I turn in his arms, wrapping them around his neck. “You can’t blow this. I’m already in too deep.”

  Leaning his forehead against mine, he closes his eyes. “In. Too. Deep.”

  I cup his face and whisper, �
��That’s why we can be together.”

  “Sex with you will be different. That means I have to be different. This isn’t a night of fun. It will be fun, but it matters. You matter to me, Nikki.”

  It’s becoming clear. The playboy can be played because his heart is on the line for the first time. He’s not only deep into me, but deep into vulnerability. His truth is not only heard in his words but seen in his eyes. “The only sex you’ve ever had has been meaningless.”

  “I’ve been able to walk away the next day without regret or shame.”

  “If you walked away from me, you’d feel both?”

  Touching my cheek, he gives me a small smile. “Don’t you see, my queen? There won’t be any walking away for me.”

  And there it is, clear as can be. I matter.

  Sex with me matters because he’s never made love before. That’s what we’re creating through our connection and chemistry—love.

  We didn’t talk about getting hurt or how it would be so easy to hurt each other because it’s too late. We both already have our hearts on the line.

  I know the time will come for us to take the last step, and I can’t complain about our current sexual activities. I’ve never felt better about my body. He treats me like the queen he calls me and my body as a temple he kneels before, offering himself nightly.

  As we become more of a couple, he calls me out if I’m rude or demanding just like I call him out when his moods get the better of him.

  There are good days and bad days. And then there are Tulsa days. Those are my favorite. Our days off between shows are spent exploring whatever city we’re in—seeing the Opryland hotel in Nashville and strolling down Music Row. We kissed while on the Brooklyn Bridge in New York City the other day, and this morning, we raced up the steps of the Philadelphia Museum of Art next to the Rocky statue in Philly. It’s amazing to be in such public places and still feel like our dates are very cloak and dagger.

  I didn’t fall magically under his spell the moment we met. But I fell quickly after. We may have gotten off on the wrong foot at first, but we’ve been getting off together ever since in every place we meet up.