by Roni Loren
“Motherfucker? Isn’t that what you’re trying to be?” Foster called after him.
“Fired!”
TEN
Oakley stared at the open red package she’d set on her bed. It had arrived on her doorstep this afternoon with instructions not to open until she was alone, Pike’s slashy, masculine signature on the note.
She’d had no theories about what could be inside, but she definitely wouldn’t have guessed this. She’d thought this whole Pike detour had been effectively shut down. They’d worked together a few days this week at Bluebonnet and he’d been nothing but professional. He hadn’t so much as hinted at their late-night phone call or the run-in at Wicked. He’d respected her wishes to keep all of it confidential, and she’d figured he’d moved on just as she would’ve expected him to. He’d gotten a little something out of her and was over it. Bored. They could go on as co-workers.
Based on this box, she’d been wrong.
Inside were things from almost every aisle in Wicked. Vibrators of varying sizes, plugs, clamps of some sort, lubricant—the works. He must’ve spent a small fortune.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Hello, most inappropriate gift ever. What in God’s name was Pike thinking?
She removed all the items and dug through the black satin everything had been wrapped in. A card was tucked into the very bottom along with a longer envelope. She pulled them out and opened the card.
If all you want are fantasies, you should at least make them really dirty, well-equipped ones. Hope you enjoy what I picked out for you. Best, Pike.
She ran her fingertips over a dildo made of smooth glass, a shiver moving through her at the thought of Pike hand-selecting things that would bring her pleasure, things that would be inside her. What had he imagined when he’d picked out each thing? Her neck went hot and her sex pulsed with a dull ache.
P.S. There’s a key taped to the bottom of the box. You can lock this stuff up so Reagan doesn’t find it.
P.P.S. I included four passes to the show tomorrow. Don’t deny yourself the joy of watching me bang on things.
P.P.P.S. I did not include Mr. Pink. Unrealistic expectations are unhealthy.
She snort laughed and put her face in her hands. Who was this guy? She reached back, grabbing her phone off her bedside table, and typed out a quick text.
Oakley: Thank u 4 the gift, but u know I can’t accept this.
Pike responded within a minute.
Pike: No returns on that stuff—already licked each piece to make sure.
She snorted.
Oakley: U r a sick, sick man
Pike: PSA—silicone is not tasty.
Oakley: The more u know …
Pike: Tonight, on a very special episode of Family Ties …
She groaned and fell back against her pillows. He wasn’t supposed to be funny. Slick, she’d expected. Charming, yes. But funny was like her kryptonite.
She tried to think of how to respond to cut things off before they went too far, but he messaged her first.
Pike: U busy? I could come over after rehearsal and show u how they all work ;-)
She closed her eyes, breathed through the urge to be reckless and say yes.
Oakley: I’m always busy.
Pike: The scandalous night activities of Oakley Easton …
Oakley: You mean Sasha
Pike: I’m not interested in her. Is Oakley taking calls tonight?
Oakley: Good night Pike
A few long seconds passed before he responded.
Pike: Sleep well, mama.
She sighed and tapped the phone lightly against her forehead. This guy was good. And so … damn … dangerous.
She needed to shut this speeding train down because she was losing control of its direction. Despite her best intentions, she found herself flirting back with him, playing the game, encouraging him. He made it too easy to let down her guard. And that night on the phone made him too hard to forget.
But it was all fantasy. She had to remember that.
Pike was not some single dad down at the PTA meeting. He wasn’t some guy looking to date her and see where things went. He was a drummer in a successful band. A guy who toured the country and most likely the beds of many, many women.
She had to get that message through to her misguided libido. It was easy to trick herself into thinking Pike was some normal, dateable guy because she was seeing him out of his element. Hanging out at her house, eating in dive restaurants, volunteering at a charity. But this wasn’t his life. This was a small diversion in between his real-life activities.
This needed to be a strictly professional relationship. Tomorrow, she’d take Reagan to his concert. Reagan would love it, of course, but Oakley was going for herself, too. She needed to see the real Pike, remind herself what that world was like. This had already gone way too far. And it probably had less to do with Pike and more to do with the fact that she’d shut down this side of herself for so long.
Now that interest was stirring again, maybe she needed to open herself up to dating. Regular dudes. Guys who would take her to dinner and a movie. Ones who would bring her flowers—not send her a box of nipple clamps and butt plugs.
She inhaled a long breath, feeling better now that she had a plan, and sat up to shove all the toys back into the box. Tomorrow she’d fix the Pike situation. Tonight she’d take a necessary leap.
She grabbed her laptop from her desk and sat on the bed. She had a little while before she needed to sign in for her shift, so she opened up a site she’d never thought she’d visit. Perfect Match. She’d seen the commercials enough times to know it was a pretty popular one. Before she could let herself chicken out, she opened up an account, uploaded a pic, and filled out the profile information. When she was done, her finger hovered over the button that would make the profile active.
Nerves crawled up her throat. She’d never truly dated in the normal sense. The only long-term relationship she’d ever been in had been bent from the start. And after that, she’d been a teen mom. Not exactly the type who’d be hot on the dating market. She’d tried a few years ago to go out with a guy she’d met at the grocery store. Things had gone well for a while, but then he’d asked about her night job when her schedule kept interfering with dates. She’d been dumb enough to think honesty was the best policy. He’d been so disgusted, he’d left her in the restaurant to finish her dinner alone.
Hell, maybe she wasn’t even capable of sustaining a real dating relationship. She had no idea. But she only had five minutes before she needed to take a call, and this was how people did it now, right? She closed her eyes and hit the button. A perky dinging sound let her know her profile was live.
She kind of wanted to vomit.
But she didn’t have time for a full-scale freak-out. Work awaited. She closed the window for the dating site and signed in for her nightly shift.
Strangely, there was some comfort in putting on her headset tonight. This was predictable. Safe. Once she was on duty, the only men she needed to worry about were the ones who were paying.
They could be annoying and needy and misogynistic, but at least they couldn’t rip out her heart when the line went dead.
Oakley eyed the concert tickets she’d set on her bedside table as the first call connected. She’d take care of everything tomorrow night. Life would get back to normal.
Whatever that was.
Oakley squinted through the orange rays of the setting sun, keeping an eye on the two kids in front of her. Reagan was bouncing on the balls of her feet and rapidly talking with her younger cousin, Lucas, as the stage crew turned over the set between bands.
“Mom,” Reagan said, peeking back at her and talking too loud, “I can’t believe you’ve never taken me to one of these. This is awesome!”
Oakley pointed to her ears. “You still have your earplugs in, baby. You’re talking loud.”
“What?”
She waved her hand. “Never mind.”
Reagan gav
e her a toothy grin and turned back toward the stage.
“She really loves this stuff. It’s like she’s on some music high,” Devon said from beside her. “You used to be like that. Remember when you had that complete breakdown after Mom found your Alanis Morissette CD and confiscated it? It was like you’d lost your religion.”
Oakley tucked her hands in her back pockets and smirked at her older brother. “And she made me go to church every day for two weeks to pray for forgiveness. I didn’t really know what most of those songs were talking about at the time, but I felt them in my bones. I knew I needed to write music like that.”
“You were an angst factory for sure. I think Mom still blames Alanis for your defection from the righteous path.”
“Yeah?” She bumped his shoulder. “And what does she blame your defection on?”
“Group showers at church camp? George Michael?”
She rolled her eyes. “Right.”
Devon shrugged, his blue eyes shifting toward the stage. “Nah, she only blames me. And maybe Jake Walton, the neighbor she caught me making out with behind the cow pasture when I was sixteen.”
“God, I had such a crush on him. He had these lips …”
Devon smiled broadly, adjusting his baseball cap over his dark hair. “Yes, he did.”
“It’s not nice to gloat. And good thing Hunter isn’t here. You look a little too wistful about young Jake Walton.”
“Nah, Hunter wins on every level. But you never forget that first one, that first time.”
Oakley went cold at the words and wrapped her arms around herself. Not everyone remembered their first relationship so fondly. “Yeah.”
Devon made a sound under his breath. “Damn, sis, I’m sorry. I didn’t think …”
She put her finger to her lips and shook her head, reminding him that Reagan was only a few feet away. “It’s fine.”
Devon was one of the few who knew the whole story. The ugly one. The one she hoped she’d never have to tell her daughter. Of all of her six brothers and sisters, he was the only one who she trusted to love her no matter what, to listen without judgment. Her other siblings were good people, but they hadn’t strayed from the very conservative lifestyle that her parents had raised them in. Home-schooling. Church. Unbendable rules about right and wrong.
Most of them still lived within a hundred miles of her parents’ farm in Oklahoma. Only she and Devon had bailed. Devon had gotten a scholarship to attend college in California and had moved out before her parents could realize that whole kissing-a-boy thing hadn’t been a drunken whim but a life plan. And Oakley had followed him out to California shortly after when she’d gotten discovered at fifteen by a music producer while singing in a local Christian group. She’d moved in with Dev until Pop Luck had gotten popular and started touring. He’d been her closest family since.
“So,” Devon said, obviously searching for a change in topic¸ “you know a guy in the next band?”
“The drummer. He’s the one helping out with that music project at Bluebonnet. He gave us tickets, thought Reagan might have fun.”
Dev’s eyebrow arched. “Right. Because he thought your kid might have fun.”
“It’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh.”
Guitar chords blasted through the speaker for a moment as the crew on stage did the sound check. Oakley turned her head as the big screens on the side of the stage lit up with a publicity photo for Darkfall—the wind making the screens ripple and the bodies in the picture come to life. The crowd cheered.
“Look, Mom!” Reagan shouted back at her. “It’s Mr. Pike!”
“I see, baby.” Boy, did she. The larger-than-life image had Pike staring down the camera with his bandmates. Badass. Tough. Beautiful.
“Which one is he?” Devon asked, following her gaze.
“The blond.”
“Whoa,” he said low enough for the kids not to hear. “You had that guy over for pizza and managed to keep your clothes on? You have more restraint than I do.”
He had no idea. “I have no interest in being a groupie.”
“Can I be one?”
She shoved his shoulder. “You’re such a tramp. I’m so telling Hunter when he gets back in town.”
“Tell him. He’d agree. But seriously, is the guy a jerk? He looks like he has high potential to be an egomaniac. I don’t want that kind of guy around my baby sister and niece.”
She frowned and dragged her eyes away from the picture. “Oh, he’s got an ego, all right. He’s entirely inappropriate most of the time and a shameless flirt. But I wouldn’t say he’s a jerk. He’s kind of, I don’t know, weird and manic and … funny.”
Devon tipped up the bill of his hat, eyeing her with a sly smile. “Oh, so we have a mad crush then?”
“What? No.”
“Oak, you’re here in the Texas heat at a hard rock festival. You don’t even know these bands. And a few weeks ago, when I asked if you wanted to take Reagan to see that eighties cover band, you told me she was too young for concerts.”
Oakley crossed her arms. “Rae has since proven her maturity.”
He smirked. “Bull. Shit. You’ve got the hots for this guy.”
“He’s not my type.”
Dev shook his head and draped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close so the kids couldn’t hear. “Come on, don’t freak out about it. You work too hard and spend too much time alone. This could be good for you.”
“An ill-advised hookup with a drummer who will drop me as soon as he gets bored could be good for me?”
“Exactly. Look, I know I’m your brother and shouldn’t be saying this, but there’s nothing wrong with finding yourself a hot, temporary fuck buddy.”
“Dev!”
He laughed. “Oh, don’t be such a prude. I mean, yes, you’re right. The guy’s probably not boyfriend material. But you’re a grown woman and deserve some fun. You know we’re always happy to have Rae over if you need a date night.”
“I think you just flunked big-brother school.”
He gave her shoulder a pat. “Okay, fine, want responsible brotherly advice? Use a condom. And don’t let him take video.”
She poked him in the ribs. But before she could respond to his comment, the lights on stage began to flash and the crowd surged forward, excitement like a contagion moving through them.
“Come on, Mom! Let’s get closer.” Reagan grabbed her hand and dragged her with the flow of the crowd.
They’d already been pretty close to the stage, thanks to the special passes Pike had sent, but now they were only ten or twelve rows of people back on the far left side of the stage. Bodies pressed close to them and she couldn’t help but get caught up in the fervor of the crowd.
She pushed onto her toes, knowing the drummer was almost always the first one to come out.
“Is that him?” Dev asked.
“Where?”
Devon pointed to the other end of the stage, and Oakley froze up the moment her eyes landed on Pike. Tight gray jeans, combat boots, and a black sleeveless T-shirt that showed off his ink. All swagger and sex and guyliner. Pike waltzed onto the stage like it’d been built just for him. He lifted his hand in greeting, earning screams from the audience, then hopped behind his drum kit. He put in his earpiece, raised his drumstick, and leaned over to his mic with a cocky smile. “Y’all ready for us, Dallas?”
The crowd erupted. Sound exploded from his drums.
And Oakley forgot to breathe.
Good. God.
The rest of the band ran onto the stage, adding guitars and vocals to Pike’s heavy rhythm, but Oakley barely heard the words.
All she could do was stare. Pike took command of the drums like he had a personal vendetta against them, banging hard and violent but with a sharp-edged grace that made it look like moving art. Every part of his body worked in perfect rhythm—muscles flexing, tattoos dancing, sweat flying—and the expression on his face wasn’t far from what she’d imagined he looked
like in the throes of sex. He was taking the songs in his fists and making them his with every swing of his drumsticks.
Oakley swayed on her feet, the pounding beat taking on an erotic edge, vibrating through her and invading her like a drug.
He looked possessed.
He sounded amazing.
And she was toast.
She felt the urge ride up her throat and she couldn’t stop it. Her hands went up with the rest of the crowd and she screamed Pike’s name like a goddamned groupie.
Fucking. Toast.
ELEVEN
Pike tugged off his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. His heart was still pounding and the adrenaline pumping hard after the set. Boom. Boom. Boom. His body felt ready to fight or fuck. They hadn’t played for that big of a crowd in a while, and the effect was potent. He’d missed that kind of energy blasting his way; made him feel like he could fly.
He snagged a bottle of water off one of the tables backstage, trying to cool down, and exchanged high fives with the guys along the way. Then he thumped Braxton, Darkfall’s lead singer, on the back. “You fucking killed today, man.”
Brax tapped his throat. “Felt good. Almost like the old days.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Braxton had gone through vocal cord surgery after their second album, which had screwed up a major tour and the publicity for the record. Nobody’s fault, but it had halted their ride to the top they’d been on after the first album. Then Geoffrey, their lead guitarist, had fallen off the wagon and ended up back in rehab, which had delayed things further. Now they were on the hunt for a big-time band to pick them up for an opening act—something that would give them a shot at arenas again. The local shows and festival circuit were cool, but if they wanted to break through to the next level, they needed more exposure than what they were getting here.
They had a few feelers out and their manager was hopeful. But if nothing else, at least all the guys were getting back into some sort of groove on stage. Things were gelling together again.
Pike moved through the crowded backstage tent, letting his eyes scan over the area. They had the usual suspects milling around—other bands who’d performed today, crew, spouses and girlfriends, promoters, and of course, the women they’d let backstage. Well, women and dudes. One of the other groups performing this afternoon was The Boys Club, which was an all-female band. They had their own groupies.