How do I lie my way out of this? “I didn’t write that. Mia did.”
“It’s in your handwriting.” I want to smack the smug smile off his face. He’s eating this up.
I decide to just admit to it so we can move on. “Oh shut up, a girl has to release herself sometimes.”
“Why can’t you use me as your release? I guarantee you I’m better than any toy you can buy. Don’t pleasure yourself with plastic.” He looks down at his swim trunk covered cock. “The real thing is always better.”
“I don’t want the real thing.” I can’t believe we’re having this conversation. I’m so pissed at myself that I was stupid enough to let that get out. I should’ve thrown it away when I finished packing.
The amusement of my humiliation is still evident on his face. “So you’re saying you prefer artificial stimulation? I can tell you one thing for sure, there’s no way I’d prefer artificial pussy.”
“Have you ever even tried artificial pussy?” And why the fuck are we saying artificial pussy?
“Fuck no. Never have. Never will.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it.”
“I think you’d look at me completely different if you walked in on me fucking a fake pussy.”
He does have a point there. “Probably, but I prefer using a vibrator because I don’t have to worry about my vibrator giving me the clap or any other venereal disease. I stay clean with my orgasm machine.”
“Did you just say orgasm machine?”
“It’s better than saying artificial cock!”
“I’m traveling across the country with a pervert.”
I scoff. “No buddy, I think it’s the other way around.”
He throws his head back and groans. “Do you know how bad it’s going to kill me to know you’re in the hotel room next door pleasuring your pretty little pussy with some cheap imitation? Let’s make a deal.”
“Let’s not.”
“If you feel like you’re in need of an orgasm, you call me. You won’t even have to worry about taking care of me. I promise. I’ll come in, do my job, and then leave.” The excitement on his face as he talks about pleasuring me is mesmerizing, and I can feel myself getting wet between my legs.
“How about no.”
“I swear if I see said vibrator, I’m burning that sucker.”
We need to move on from this conversation. “Has anyone told you you’re annoying?”
“No, but I have been told I’m phenomenal in bed, much better than some ridiculous vibrator.” He shrugs. “Maybe I’ll steal your batteries and you’ll get desperate enough to come knocking on my door.”
He’s so wrapped up in our conversation that I catch him off guard when I snatch the paper from his hand. “We need to get to packing because I can’t stay long.”
“Why? Do you have a date with your vibrator?”
“Say vibrator again, and I’m leaving.”
“Fine.” He laughs. “One more thing, though.”
“What?”
“We haven’t done our secret of the day yet.”
I roll my eyes. “This is the wrong time for that discussion. We have packing to get done.”
“My secret is that I’m positive I’ll be up all night thinking about you pleasuring yourself.”
“My secret is that I’ve changed my mind and the vibrator is staying home,” I lie.
“Looks like you may be in need of my services after all.”
20
Knox
I wasn’t lying yesterday.
I did jack off to the mental image of Libby using a vibrator to get herself off last night … and then I did it again in the shower this morning. I should feel guilty about it, but I don’t.
She’s breaking through my barriers. I can’t get her off my mind. I planned on having whomever my fling of the month was to come over last night for a goodbye fuck. She texted, but I never replied, changing my mind because I couldn’t get Libby off my mind.
I drag the bags Libby helped me pack down the stairs. There’s not much in them because I don’t keep personal shit with me when I travel.
I head into the kitchen, grab a bottle of water, and open up the sliding glass doors to find Nate lying by the pool. I pluck the sunglasses off his face when I reach him.
“I’m about to head out,” I tell him. “Take care of my house. No throwing parties.” I point his glasses at him. “And I’m not kidding. I have people watching the place and tattling on you every second.”
He squints at the bright sun and scrunches up his nose. “You threw parties here almost daily,” he argues. I knew I had to have this talk with him to lay down some ground rules.
“And? This is my house. I can do whatever the fuck I want to do in it because I pay the bills. Not you. You want to buy the house from me and throw parties? Cool. Until then, no parties. I don’t want my house trashed, my shit stolen, or people lurking around here.”
He snatches the glasses back from me. “Yeah, yeah. I got it. I’ll be a good boy.”
I’m not sure if I believe him or not, but it’s too late to find him a new place to stay. I’ll have Libby look for rentals while we’re on the bus. Nate has been working long enough to start paying his own bills, and I don’t give a shit if my family gets pissed about it. It’s not my job to take care of everyone.
I head back into the house and pull out my phone to text Libby.
Me: You almost here?
I gave her a hard time about the whole vibrator thing and hope she doesn’t decide to bail on me for it. I contemplated texting her and apologizing last night, but decided against it.
My phone beeps with a response.
Libby: About 5 minutes out.
I open up the front door to find most of the crew already outside waiting to leave. My chef, Marvin, and personal trainer, Lucas, are loading their bags onto their bus. I don’t keep a large staff on tour with me or do the outrageous shit like cigar rollers and foot massagers, but I keep my barber, trainer, and chef with me.
When I first started, I didn’t bring a chef. I thought I could count on my mom to cook for us, but she bailed on that idea, and I hired Marvin so I don’t eat like shit the entire time.
I talk to them until I see the Jeep roll up. Libby gets out wearing another one of her dresses and unloads her bag from the back before I get the chance to help her. I notice a small paper bag shoved underneath her armpit as she wheels her suitcase towards me.
She hands me the bag, and I grin as I open it up. “You brought me an Egg McMuffin?” I ask, pulling the breakfast sandwich out.
“I did. I know your trainer is traveling with us, and I have a feeling he’s not going to let you get your hands on these very often.”
“I know I didn’t hear you say McMuffin?” Lucas yells from across the driveway.
I hide the bag behind my back. “Nothing to see here,” I holler back. “Move along.” I tilt my head towards my bus and look at Libby. “Come on, let’s get our shit in here.”
She leads the way and turns back to look at me when we make it inside. “This is seriously your tour bus?”
I nod. “Go big or go home. I like to be comfortable when I’m traveling.”
My bus is the most kickass one I’ve ever seen, and I paid a pretty penny for it. There’s a full kitchen with granite countertops and stainless steel appliances. The sectional couch provides plenty of sitting room, and the flat screen TV will help keep us entertained. In the back, there’s a bathroom with a nice size shower and a master bedroom that doesn’t make you feel claustrophobic.
“Do I stay in here with you or on the bus with the others?”
“You’re my personal assistant. You stay here.”
“But those guys are your personal chef and trainer.”
“They make me run and prepare my food. If I ask them my schedule, they have no clue. If I ask them to take care of something business related, they can’t do it. You’re the most important person to me on tour, so I need you by my side
.”
“Knock knock,” Thomas yells, coming up the stairs. He looks straight at Libby before acknowledging me. “You ready for this?”
“What am I?” I ask. “Chopped liver?”
“I think so,” Libby answers him. “It’s definitely going to be a more peculiar experience than what I’m used to.”
“If there’s one thing I can guarantee about this tour, it’s that. Knox can be a handful, but he keeps his bus clean, doesn’t allow groupies on it, and you don’t have to worry about walking in on guys snorting cocaine off the bathroom counter. You’ll be safe in here.”
“That’s good to know.”
I keep my eyes on her, and she doesn’t seem phased with Thomas talking about cocaine on bathroom counters. Damn, maybe her dad did give her a rough time when she traveled with him.
Thomas is right, though. If I hook up with someone on tour, I take her to my hotel room. There’s something personal and sacred about my bus. Magazines have offered thousands for pictures inside, and I always decline. It will take away the sanctuary of it all.
“I’ll keep in touch with both of you and try to make it to as many stops as I can. If anything important comes up, call me immediately,” he goes on.
We both nod in response and then wave goodbye to him when the driver tells us it’s show time.
“So … what do we do now?” she asks, plopping down on the couch.
Tours are pretty damn boring, to be honest. You’re stuck on a bus for thousands of miles and countless hours. We thankfully have Wi-Fi, cable, and plenty of movies, but that can only keep you entertained for so long. Maybe that’s why this is where I get my best writing done. I don’t have shit else to do.
“We can make out on the couch?” I suggest.
She picks up a pillow and launches it at me. “We haven’t even left yet. You can’t start pissing me off this early.”
21
Libby
I haven’t wrapped my head around this yet. I’ll pretty much be with Knox seventeen hours a day, every day. I scheduled myself to stay at a hotel after every show, but sometimes that isn’t realistic. If the show gets delayed, or we’re running behind on time, we’ll have to crash on the bus while the driver gets us to our next destination. Some of his shows only have a day between them, so we’ll be pressed for time.
“First stop, Vegas,” I say. He’s playing at the MGM Grand Garden Arena tomorrow night.
“First stop, Vegas,” he repeats, sitting on the other end of the sectional.
He doesn’t seem excited about going to Vegas like most people are. I’m personally not a big Vegas fan, either, but that probably has to do with the fact that my dad would go out and have a good time while I stayed in the hotel bored out of my mind.
“Where’s your favorite place to perform?” I ask.
“Houston.”
“That’s where you grew up, right?”
“It is.”
“Why is it your favorite?”
“I feel like there’s a personal piece of me still there, you know? I used to go back to the spot I was playing when Thomas discovered me. It seems surreal to go from that to this.” His hands go out to gesture to the massive bus we’re in. “It was my favorite spot to think, although it’s a bit hard for me to go there now without people asking for autographs.” He pauses, scraping a hand through his hair. “Secret of the day. I bought ten acres out of the city there for when I finally decide to retire.”
“Really? I can’t see you giving up the limelight to hang out in the middle of nowhere.”
“I’ll keep my house in LA but go to Houston when I want to clear my head from the madness. If by crazy chance I end up having kids, that’s where I want them to grow up. I don’t want privileged brats who think everything should be handed to them.”
His words hit me like a slap in the face. Is that what he’d think of me if my dad didn’t lose anything and still paid my bills? “Not all kids who grow up with wealthy parents are spoiled brats.”
“You’re absolutely right. I’ve spoiled my little brother, well at least tried to, and he doesn’t act entitled at all. He’s studying law and likes to stay out of the spotlight. Instead of buying him expensive shit and taking care of him the rest of his life, all he asked me to do is help with his education, which I’m happy to do.”
I’m surprised his brother isn’t trying to ride his coattails. “I didn’t know you had a brother.” I feel dumb not knowing it. “He sounds like a great guy with a good head on his shoulders.”
“He is. Easton is five years younger than I am. You’ll meet him when we’re in Houston. I tried to get him to come on tour with me, but he’s taking summer classes and doesn’t want to leave his girlfriend. What about you? Any brothers or sisters?”
“Not that I know of.” He gives me a look, waiting for more of an explanation. “I wouldn’t be surprised if my dad has illegitimate children running around we don’t know about, but as far as right now, I’m an only child.”
“What about your mom?”
“She hasn’t been around since I was four. She was a D-list model that assumed having a baby with my dad was her meal ticket to a fabulous life and fame. It didn’t go according to plan. She tried to rape him in child support and then would spend the money on plastic surgery and clothes. My dad got pissed and took her to court for custody. As soon as the checks stopped coming in, she stopped coming around.” I shrug. I had dreams she’d come back when I was younger, but I’ve given up on that idea. She didn’t even bother getting in touch when the news broke about my dad’s tax troubles and his prison sentence. “What about your dad?”
“Similar story to your mom’s. He was MIA for as long as I can remember. I don’t even have his last name. When he was around, he was drunk and used to beat my mom. He didn’t claim me until I became famous. He even went to magazines and sold his story to them. He got in contact and started asking for money. I paid him off to keep his mouth shut and stay away from me.”
“Oh, the joy of having opportunist parents.”
He raises his beer bottle in the air. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”
I laugh and do the same, except with a glass of wine. “To those of us with fucked up parents.”
We both finish off our drinks, and Knox gets up to grab another. “You want a refill?”
I shake my head. “What should we do now?”
“We can watch a movie? Or Netflix?”
I look at him with excitement. “Let’s Netflix binge!”
“Netflix what?”
“You’ve never heard of Netflix binging?” He shakes his head. “It’s when you start a new show with like a gazillion episodes and watch them non-stop.”
“Oh, you mean kind of like Netflix and chill? I’ve heard of that before, but as far as I know that’s code word for fucking.”
“We’re not Netflix and chilling. We’re Netflix binging. Two totally different things.”
“With the same result?”
“Negative.”
“I like Netflix and chill better.”
“That isn’t happening.” I grab the remote. “So what do you like? Cheesy? Dramatics?”
“Put on your favorite.”
“You sure about that?”
“Positive. Show me how Libby Netflix binges.”
I turn on Friends, and we start to Netflix binge.
I’m not sure how many episodes I make it through before dozing off.
My eyes flutter open, and the only light is a faint one coming from a desk lamp. I softly yawn and blink a few times while I make out the figure sitting behind the desk.
“What time is it?” I ask, stretching. How long had I been out?
Knox raises his wrist to look at his watch. “A little after two.”
“Why are you sitting alone in the dark?”
“I’m doing some writing.” He grins. “And looking at you. I’ve decided you’re my muse for the song.”
I cover my face with my hands.
“Well stop looking at me.” I can only imagine what I look like right now. Did I snore? With my luck, I probably snored, slobbered, and talked about him in my sleep. “You need to get to bed. You have a show tonight.”
He shakes his head and keeps scribbling on the paper. “I’m on a roll right now with this new song, so I’ll be up for awhile. You can have my bed if you want.”
“No, this couch is pretty comfortable.”
“You’re lying, but that’s okay, you’re the one who’s missing out on the giant, comfortable bed with sheets that smell like this rock star.”
I roll my eyes. “Dear God, it probably smells like BO and herpes, so I’ll have to pass.”
“You know what I like about you?”
“My boobs?”
“Those are fantastic, yes, but I like that you’re straight up with me. Not too many people are. They tell me what I want to hear, which can get old at times.”
“I’m sure it’s a very complicated life having people constantly kissing your ass.”
22
Knox
Libby hands me a towel, and I start wiping the sweat dripping from my forehead. Next comes a bottle of water from her, and I chug down the entire thing. Damn, I forgot how exhausting and demanding being on tour is. It’s been two years since my last one.
I pull off my damp shirt and toss it onto the couch in my dressing room. Adrenaline spreads through my chest when I watch her eyes skirt up and down my body.
I stroll over to the clothes rack and pull a t-shirt from its hanger. “Two down, dozens more to go,” I say, pulling it over my head.
“I honestly don’t think I’ve heard that many fangirls screaming in my life,” she says, shaking her head and sitting down. “I thought my dad’s fans were overdramatic, but they’re like mimes compared to yours. I swear I almost burst an eardrum.”
“All the ladies love me,” I say, falling down next to her. She gives me a brooding look when I lean over and ruffle my hand through her soft hair. “Including you, sunshine.”
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