“We just got here,” he adds as he takes a few more drags on his cigarette and puts it out in a nearby ashtray. “I was about to come in and wake you up. You sleep okay, honey?”
“I slept too much,” I say, feeling a little groggy and disconnected from the world.
Ransom nods and turns to me, reaching up and putting a thin hood over his head. Wow, even his tank tops have hoods on them.
“Last year, when my mom died, I slept for a week straight. So, in my scorebook, you're doing a fuck of a lot better than I did.” I close my eyes as he speaks, just telling his words brush across my cheeks like sensual caresses. I love the way he talks.
When I open them, I find him studying me with his rich brown eyes. In this light, I can actually make out the faint scar on his left cheek.
“We don't have a show tonight,” Ransom says, breaking the moment as he turns away from me and picks up a dark brown bottle from the small table between the swiveling leather chairs. “Most of the guys are off stretching their legs; Cope always runs a mile or two when we get to a new city.”
I force myself to stand up straight, moving away from the door and pausing awkwardly in the center of the room. The truth is, I don't have anywhere to go. And now, I'm not even in Phoenix, a city that I actually know. I'm in fucking Denver, Colorado. I don't know anything about Denver.
“Can I get you a beer, honey?” he asks as I cross my arms over my chest, aware that the square neckline of my dress reveals a whole lot more of my breasts than I'd like it to. It's not that I'm generally a modest person, just that it feels disrespectful to Dad. But then I think of what Muse said to me and I feel a little better. “Punishing yourself, that won't help your dad, not at all.”
“Sure,” I say, tucking some wet strands of reddish purple hair behind my ear and gratefully taking the cold beverage from Ransom's outstretched hand. When our fingers brush, I get this wild tingle that shoots up my wrist, my arm, straight into my chest. I can't even believe that I sucked this guy off this morning, that he fucked me from behind, that he used a toy on me. Kevin hated toys of any kind—probably because he knew that no matter how cheap the vibe or how small the dildo, they'd be better at sex than he was.
“I'll just, you know, get my shit together and be out of your hair,” I say as I think about maybe booking a plane ticket from here back to Phoenix. As much as I want to go back to New York, what's the point? What'll I do once I'm there? At least if I go back to Arizona, I can maybe get my car back. I need to ask Muse where exactly he had it towed, figure this all out.
“There's no rush, baby doll,” he says, and he sounds pretty genuine about it. “Have some beers, hang out for a while.”
I smile at him and move over to the couch to sit down, twirling my beer on the arm and picking at the label with my other hand as Ransom sits, not across from me, but right next to me. He's wearing these long black cargo shorts, so the skin of his calf is pressed up tight to mine. Looks like he has a tattoo there, also, this big black and grey owl that I'm envious of.
“So, what do you guys usually do on your nights off?” I ask, glancing over at him, wondering if I'm going to regret that question. I know I just met Ransom yesterday, but I guess I just don't want to hear if what he and his friends do for fun is pick up … well, groupies.
He shrugs his shoulders loosely, his warm skin brushing up against mine, and takes a swig of his beer.
“Sometimes we work on music together, practice, party, but usually by about halfway through the tour we're so fucking tired that we just sleep.”
I smile at that.
“How popular are you guys exactly?” I ask, wishing I had my phone so I could look them up again. I keep thinking of all those professional pictures I found when I looked them up before, to find their names. They seem so stern and posed in all those shots, when really they're just regular guys. “Like, Metallica in their heyday popular or … ?”
Ransom laughs and even that sound is low and languid and dripping sensuality.
“No, not that popular, but our newest album went multi-platinum.” He doesn't even sound like he really cares when he says that, staring ahead, towards the door of the bus and drinking his beer. Even the way Ransom moves is slow and sexy, inviting me in.
I look away and take a drink of my own beer. I'm so numb right now, I barely even taste it.
I can only keep my gaze away for so long and after a moment, I glance back. I can't believe I fucked this guy, I think as I stare at him. He's about a million levels above Kevin in the looks department and about a billion above him in the niceness category. Sitting here now, I feel like a complete tool for dating the guy for so long.
I sigh.
I guess I thought I was in love; love makes people crazy stupid.
And I was about to do just that … five times over. If I'd known that in that moment, sitting on the couch with Ransom, I might've run out that door and into the cool dark Denver night and never looked back. Okay, so maybe not, but things were definitely about to change for me—forever. I'd never be the same after that tour.
“After your mom died,” I start, looking up at Ransom through my lashes, wondering if I'm making a bad decision by bringing this up again, “did you have family around to comfort you?”
His caustic laugh answers that question for him.
“No family, honey,” he says, finishing his beer and setting it on the floor by his feet. He turns to look at me and I get swept into the darkness of his gaze. “Single mom, tough luck, hard times. You know the story. My dad died in a motorcycle accident when I was six, and I never really got to know his side of the family. Mom didn't have any family.”
“I'm sorry,” I say, and I mean that, even if it sounds like a canned response.
“This band, the music, that's what got me through,” he says resolutely, meeting my eyes, making my heart pound wildly. In his darkness, I see my face reflected a thousand times over. We could be … either perfect soul mates or terrible toxins for one another.
I breathe out sharply and shove the end of the beer bottle between my lips, flicking my eyes to the door of the bus as it swings open and Paxton walks in. No, he swaggers in. Definitely swaggers.
As soon as our eyes meet, a rush of heat shoots through me, cutting into that numb feeling like a knife. It's nothing but sexual attraction, obviously, because Pax is a serious dick, but it's a nice distraction.
“Still here, Miss Lilith Tempest Goode?” he asks, dressed in another of his stupid suits, all pressed and polished and looking like a damn CEO or something … I mean, except for the tattoos. Before I can come up with a response, he's sauntering around the couch, putting a hand on the back of it and leaning it to press a scalding kiss to my mouth.
I can't help myself; I lean into his touch, arching toward Paxton, curling the fingers of my left hand around his starched collar. God, he smells good, I think as his wicked tongue parts my lips, takes over my mouth, my thoughts, my pulse. He sends it racing a million miles an hour.
From beside me, I hear Ransom make a noise of frustration and manage to pull myself away.
“You going to stay the night, then?” Pax asks against my right cheek, the feel of his mouth on my skin sending goose bumps up across my arms. Wow. He's a serious prick, but he oozes sexuality. Maybe it's his only redeeming quality?
“I … I don't know,” I say, because the thought of walking down the metal steps and leaving this bus behind makes me feel queasy. I know I don't know any of these guys, but I feel like I have a connection with a few of them: Muse, Cope, and Ransom. And then there's this sex thing with Pax …
“Well, if you are, I'm up for another shag,” he says, standing up straight, tucking his fingers into the pockets of his black slacks. His button-up, tie, and jacket are also all black today, making him look sinister but irresistible at the same time.
“After you left her tied up last night?” Ransom asks softly and Pax's grey eyes drift over to him. His look switches from cocky but bored to disgusted bu
t triumph. Um. I watch their interaction play out with undisguised curiosity. Clearly, these guys have issues of their own to deal with. “Why the fuck would she want to screw you again?”
“Because I'm bloody brilliant,” Paxton says, looking back at me, like he's waiting for some sort of confirmation from me.
“Why did you run away like that?” I ask him and he raises both of his blonde brows.
“Run away? Oh, love, I didn't run away. I was just done with you.”
Ransom tenses up beside me, like he plans on kicking Pax's ass, but I stand up off the couch instead, looking the man in his grey eyes.
“No, you ran away. Because of something I did. Why?”
Pax runs his tongue across his lower lip and drops his hand to my beer. When he tries to take it, I let him have it. He tosses back the remaining half, smiles at me, and walks away, dropping the empty bottle in the sink. Then he disappears into the hallway and closes the door behind him.
“Don't let him get to you,” a voice says from behind me and I turn to see Cope and Muse coming up the steps. Copeland smiles at me, his turquoise eyes focused wholly on my face, completely ignoring my little black dress. Muse takes me all in, starting at my toes and working his way up. He grins when our eyes meet.
“I managed to get everything you asked for, Ran,” Muse says, a giant cardboard box in his hands that he carries over to the coffee table. A heavenly smell drifts in along with him, and suddenly, my stomach grumbles. I'm starving. In the last forty-eight hours, I've had a stale donut and a strawberry milk, plus the food Muse made for me. That's it. “There's plenty for you, too, Cutie,” he says as Copeland takes his white t-shirt off and rubs the sweat dripping down the sides of his face. Based on his flushed cheeks and heavy breathing, it's obvious that he was out running like Ransom said he was.
“I …” I don't even have the energy to be polite. Now that I've realized how hungry I actually am, I feel dizzy, and buzzed from that half of a beer. Happens to me on an empty stomach. “Thank God,” I breathe and Muse chuckles; Ransom grins.
Cope moves to the cabinets, gets a glass and fills it up, chugging water and letting some of it sluice over his lips, down his throat, across the pair of heart tattoos on his chest. I stand transfixed for a moment before I manage to pull away, feeling my nipples harden and crossing my arms over my breasts to hide it.
I have no idea what the fuck happened to me last night. It's like … like my grief broke something open inside of me, killed my inhibitions, and thrust me into the midst of a wild sexual awakening. I just … I want one of these boys to fuck me again. And then I also feel awful about it because I'm supposed to be grieving …
“Burgers and fries?” I ask with a smile as Muse hands me a brown paper bag and I peek inside. “I'm ridiculously excited about this.”
“Um, now that I've seen you wearing that dress, so am I.” He smiles at me again and passes over a frosty cup. When I take a quick sip, I get strawberry milkshake. What a weird coincidence; I'm literally obsessed with anything strawberry flavored. “Eating that, you'll look like the star of a naughty Carl's Jr. commercial.”
A laugh escapes from my throat, and I clamp a hand over my lips, smearing my red lipstick. When I pull my palm away, I see it bright and vibrant against my skin, like blood. Yeah, maybe it was a mistake to wear it. It's definitely too red for the day after my dad died.
“I'll take that as a compliment,” I say as I sit back on the couch and start in on my food.
“Oh, it was meant to be,” Muse adds as Cope collapses in the chair across from me, still shirtless, totally beautiful. Muse takes the other chair, and all three of the guys dig into the food with gusto. Looking at them all, I guess I should feel self-conscious about having slept with them, one after the other. Only … I don't. Right now, I'm just sort of drinking in their companionship. They're making it really easy to want to be here, and I just don't want to leave and be alone yet.
We eat in silence for a few moments before Michael appears in the doorway, looking pissed.
“Have another fight with Vanessa?” Ransom asks quietly, but Michael ignores him, shrugging out of his leather jacket and tossing it over the back of Muse's chair. Muse makes a face when the zipper smacks him in the back, but he doesn't say anything about it.
“She's acting like I'm on some leisurely vacation or something, like I want to be trapped on a fucking bus day in and day out. She basically implied that I, personally, made the decision to tour again so soon. I fucking told her that it wasn't my choice, that the record label made the decision, but all she does is act like I'm in love with the goddamn idea of being away from her.”
Michael runs his hand down his face and pauses his rant suddenly, turning to look at me with his beautiful violet eyes widening in surprise.
“You're still here?” he asks, and I feel my stomach drop. Suddenly the burger clutched in my fingers doesn't look all that appetizing.
“I'll get out of your hair as soon as I can,” I say, keeping his gaze, refusing to look away first. He challenges me for a long moment and then shakes his head.
“Whatever. I don't care.”
“Bugger off, Mikey,” Paxton says, swaggering back into the room and snatching another bag from the cardboard box. He peers inside and makes a happy sounding sigh. “If the girl wants to stay, let her stay.” He gives me a measuring look and lets his mouth quirk in a seductive smile. But if he thinks I'll stay just to fuck him again, he's wrong. This guy has a serious attitude problem.
“Don't call me Mikey,” Michael growls at Pax. “I fucking hate it; you know that.”
“I just want to know why you're shitting in your fucking knickers over a beautiful girl? Are you tempted, Mikey? Is that what it is?”
“Fucking Christ, Pax,” Michael says, grabbing his own bag and pulling down a panel from the wall with his right hand. I watch, fascinated, as he grabs a folded chair off a hook from inside and opens it up with a flick of his wrist.
“Vanessa won't last,” Ransom says softly, and Michael's face gets tight and angry. He's staring at me again, but I don't care. I take a bite of my burger and try not to let him get to me.
“Why the fuck would you say that?” Michael growls—he seems to like growling a lot—and then tears into his burger with rage. I've never seen someone eat so angrily before; it's actually fascinating to watch. “After all the shit Vanessa and I have been through, why wouldn't we last? We've invested years into this fucking relationship.”
“If that's your reason for staying in it, then you won't last much longer,” I tell him seriously. I know this is none of my business, but I can't help myself. The words seem to just pop out of my mouth. “I just broke up with my boyfriend of five years and honestly, even though it broke my heart, it was also kind of a relief.”
Michael stares at me like he wants to stab me in the eye with his French fry.
“See,” Ransom says softly, smiling at me from inside his hood, “Lilith agrees with me. Now you have a female perspective on the situation.”
“And, uh, who the fuck is Lilith anyway?” Michael asks, and I figure he's gearing up for something mean, so I put a stop to his words by standing up.
“I'll save you the trouble,” I say and for whatever reason, Michael stands up, too. “Please don't.” I hold my burger up to my chest like a shield, wrinkling my brow and trying to take deep breaths. Fuck. I knew this would happen. It happened with Mom, with Yasmine. Whenever I lose somebody, I go in and out of grief. Like, I can push it down for a while, but it comes raging back at the most inappropriate fucking moments. “Whatever you want to say about me, can you wait until I leave?”
“And when, exactly, is that going to be?” Michael asks as Paxton walks around to his side of the room and grabs a second folding chair from the hook on the wall, snapping it into place. “Look, I'm not trying to be rude, but we've had groupies try to hang around here before. I'm sorry, but you really need to go.”
“Duly noted,” I say, feeling pain well
up from deep inside as I shove my food into the bag and toss it onto the couch.
“What the fuck, Michael?” Ransom asks, his voice never raising above a low half-whisper. “This isn't just your bus.” He rises to his feet and manages to catch my arm before I pull away. I'm not just going to run off into the night. I want to ask Muse maybe if I can buy that ticket to Phoenix, but the tightness of Ransom's grip on my arm makes me want to look at him. “I'm inviting you to stay,” he says, looking me in the eyes. “Me. I know what it's like to lose your parent, and I know what it's like to be alone. If you want to stay the night again, you can have the Bat Cave all to yourself.”
“Jesus Christ,” Michael curses from behind him as I stand there and stare at Ransom Riggs for a long, aching moment. “We have a rule: groupies on the bus for one night only.”
“Yeah, well, special circumstances and all that,” Muse adds, drawing that violet eyed glared over to his face. “What's it matter to you? It's not like you use the Bat Cave anyway.”
“It matters to me because I have to live here, too, you fucking asshole.” Michael shoves his wrapper back in his bag and tosses the whole thing back into the box. “Because all four of you fucked one chick last night and you're all staring at her like you want to be in her polygamist collection of husbands.”
“Polyandrous,” Muse says, lifting a finger up. “When it's one wife with several husbands, it's called polyandry.”
“Fuck you,” Michael says, storming around the swivel chairs and through the kitchen. He pauses at the hallway door and glances back at the rest of us, his violet eyes staring straight at me. “If you're going to insist on her staying, then here's the deal: no other groupies on this fucking bus. I'm goddamn serious about it. Not even one other girl or I will walk the hell off of this tour, contracts and obligations be damned.”
He narrows his eyes at me and then smirks, pulling a smoke from his pocket and lighting up.
“Let's see how long you last now,” he whispers cruelly, and then he's slipping into the hallway and doing his best to slam the wooden door on its slider.
Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1) Page 11