by Emily Snow
“You don’t want me to do bar shows.” He’s using the voice, the one that’s an octave higher than how he usually speaks. It’s tender and laced with a healthy dose of surprise.
“Babe, you can do whatever you want.” Using the hand he’s not holding, I jab at the keypad on my phone. “I just want to find Lucas—” But Wyatt stops me mid-sentence by plucking my phone out of my grasp. “What are you doing?” I ask in a heated voice.
Sitting up, he punches a number in before tossing the iPhone into my lap. “Helping you work out Lucas’s bullshit again.” His incredible blue eyes are full of amusement as he rolls over to the other side of the mattress.
For a long time, I stare at his chest, specifically at the tattoo on his rib that says, Worse At What I Do Best, before I climb out of bed.
When I turn my back to him and drop my gaze to my phone and the number Wyatt has saved as Private Jet, he adds, “How the hell do you think I got here from Nashville so fast last night?”
Oh hell. He didn’t mention he had gone through so much trouble to get to me. I assumed he flew in through Southwest, his usual airline of choice. I’m glad that my face is turned away from him, so he can’t see my look of surprise and how I then have to squeeze my eyes shut because of the sudden burn I feel from the tears threatening to escape.
“Thanks for this.” I pick up and drag my green shirt from last night over my head. “For the travel information, I mean.” My jeans go on next, and when I wiggle my bottom to finish pulling them up, he sighs.
“Hate to see that ass disappear.” Because my bra cups aren’t exactly overflowing, Wyatt’s always had a thing for my butt. “It’s too perfect to cover up, beautiful.”
I flush. “I’ll see you around.”
He doesn’t respond until I’ve opened the door to his hotel room, and what he does say will stay with me for the rest of the day. “Tonight, Kylie. Tonight you’re fucking mine.”
As if I need a reminder.
My face is still prickly when I let myself into my room five minutes later. Cautiously, I peek around the corner to where our queen-size beds are separated by only a nightstand, and I see that Heidi is alone. She’s sitting on her bed in a midriff-baring tee and boy shorts, plucking food off a tray loaded with the continental breakfast.
“You’re up early,” I say.
She takes a long sip of coffee and makes a face at the Styrofoam cup. “So are you. Did you screw Prince Albert to get him out of your system?” When I slide down on the edge of my bed to face her, she lets out a dramatic sigh. “You didn’t, did you?”
Heidi’s been my friend for the last four years. I met her on tour when she was dating the lead singer of the band that had opened for Your Toxic Sequel. We bonded instantly over our mutual love of music. Our similar backgrounds—my parents are both youth ministers, and her dad is a former televangelist—brought us even closer. She’s been there for me through the bullshit and the tears and our inability to commit because of the past, and she gets me.
When I glance up at her, I don’t even try to keep the misery from creeping its way onto my face. “He took the Prince Albert out a couple of years back, remember?”
I still have memories of the tiny piercing that was on the head of Wyatt’s cock, and they’re all vivid enough to flood my mouth with moisture.
She snorts and bites into her bagel. “Sorry, I don’t keep up with what Wyatt McCrae is doing with and to his junk.”
“Which is why we’re friends.” I scan through my phone, searching for the number Wyatt programmed earlier. “Sin is back in rehab,” I say quietly. She’s going to find out sooner or later, and it’s better if I tell her myself.
She sinks her small teeth into her lip. Heidi’s been around for a lot of Sinjin’s ups and downs, too. “What the fuck?” she finally says.
So, I tell her everything Wyatt told me last night, and when I’m done, she shakes her head to each side. “What’s going to happen to him?”
“I don’t know, but as soon as I speak to Lucas directly, I’ll sure as hell find out.” In the meantime, I need to handle his flight details before I can even think about confronting him. I fish my credit cards from the nightstand drawer.
Heidi cocks an eyebrow as I take off in the direction of the bathroom. “If you want to talk dirty, I can cut you a discount,” she calls after me.
I spin around to face her. “It’s impossible for me to take you seriously when you’ve got cream cheese on your upper lip,” I say.
She wipes it off with the back of her hand, smearing it even more.
“Making a call for Lucas before I talk to him about Sin. Be out in a little.” I start to close the bathroom door, but then I poke my head out. “I meant to ask you—how’d things go with Shiner Bock?”
Heidi looks confused for a moment, but then she figures out to whom I’m referring to and laughs. “Eh . . . I guess he was okay.” She lifts her hand, wobbling it from side to side. “Finn and I are having drinks tonight. You should come.”
Meaning he has a friend Heidi wants to play matchmaker for. I roll my eyes. “So-so isn’t exactly grounds for drinks and round two, babe, but I’ll think about it,” I say as I close the restroom door and dial the number Wyatt gave me.
Arranging the flight for Lucas takes longer than I initially assumed. By the time I’m done and I’ve emailed the details to Sienna, assuring her that Lucas will be okay with the extravagant cost, Heidi is passed out in bed, making soft noises that she swears up and down isn’t snoring.
I curl up in my bed and grab my iPod and earbuds from under my pillow. Out of habit, I let the sounds of Chevelle and HIM rock me to sleep.
Chapter Four
“So, how do you and Heidi know each other?” Finn asks me after he takes a swig of his drink-of-choice for the evening, Bud Light.
We’ve been out barhopping for at least an hour, and this is the first thing he’s actually said to me all night. All he’s talked about is the gym, and although Heidi claims he’s from Florida, I expect him to bring up tanning and laundry at any moment.
“You two work together?” he continues before I can answer his first question.
Across the table, Heidi’s cornflower blue eyes widen slightly. She gives a slight jerk of her head that Shiner Bock and his friend, James, don’t seem to notice.
I down a sip of my drink before asking him, “Hmm?”
Shiner Bock curls his arm around Heidi’s bare shoulders and shifts a lock of her wavy brown hair through his fingers. “Customer service rep, right?”
So, that’s what Heidi’s calling phone sex now. Smoothing my own hair back, I shake my head, and Heidi’s nervous smile—the one that, paired with her bright red lipstick and the lighting in the bar, makes her look like a hot version of The Joker—stretches across her face. “No, I’m my older brother’s personal assistant.”
Heidi instantly relaxes and bobs her head up and down in agreement. If she felt the need to lie about what she does for a living—and she’s damn proud about her voice-banging gig—then things must have gone much better with Shiner Bock than she let on this morning.
“You like it?” he asks.
I squint down at my drink. “Best job in the world.” Besides the fact that I’m almost always with the band. That’s one of the reasons Wyatt and I have never been able to move forward properly. I know what goes on behind the scenes. There’s always been too much temptation, and after Brenna, too much doubt on my end about what’s happening when I’m not around. And then, there’s the fact that I’ve had to watch Sin’s fast, tumultuous downfall over the last few years.
Yes, I love my job, and I love Your Toxic Sequel, but sometimes it’s too much, even for me.
A hand brushes up against my thigh. I flinch and turn my head a fraction to James, who’s smiling back at me. He’s good-looking enough. He has a dark tan, like Shiner Bock, with auburn hair and sea green eyes. Unlike Shiner Bock, he’s taller, standing at least a half a foot over my five-four stature. And he�
�s got a bad case of the feels. This is the fourth time in the last hour when James’s fingers have made contact with my body, which includes two “accidental” boob pokes and one bold-as-hell ass grope.
“You okay, Kyla?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I ignore the fact that he doesn’t know a little detail like my name.
His hand inches down toward my knee, causing me to let out a little breath of relief. “I was just asking what your brother does.”
“He’s in a band,” Heidi and I say at practically the same time. After running my tongue down over the center of my upper lip, I continue, “My brother is in a band, and I travel around with them.” Lifting my beer to my mouth, I drink a quarter of the contents in one gulp.
James’s eyes narrow skeptically. “Anyone worth listening to? Or one of those small town things?”
The derision in his voice snaps my head up. Setting my drink down on the table a little too hard, I give him a withering glare.
“Actually, I’ve found that some of my favorite bands are the ones who are small town things.” Douche bag. I’m already on edge because Wyatt hasn’t texted me, and Lucas brushed me off earlier this afternoon when I called to ask him about Sinjin, so I inhale and exhale a couple of times before I speak. “But, yeah, I think Lucas’s band is worth listening to. My brother fronts Your Toxic Sequel.”
Beneath the muted lights hanging overhead, James flushes—three different shades of red, in fact. When he moves his hand away from my knee, I scoot my chair as far away from him as the limited amount of space will allow. Across the table, Heidi glances down at her napkin, and Shiner Bock chokes on his drink and then pounds on his chest a few times.
“You’re kidding, right?” James asks.
As I move my head from side to side, he gives Heidi and his friend a look before turning his eyes back to me.
Heidi clears her throat. “She’s not.”
Because James and Shiner Bock more than likely think I’m the biggest bitch who ever existed, the next twenty minutes of conversation is a strained and incredibly awkward tribute to my brother’s band. Finally, James wanders off because he swears he sees one of their other friends.
Heidi shoots me a sympathetic look and mouths, Sorry. I respond by giving her an apologetic smile. It’s not her fault that I’m in a bad mood. The last thing I want to do is ruin her final evening in New Orleans by being a buzzkill.
When I push my chair back, she bites the corner of her bottom lip, frowning, as she starts to get up too, but I shake my head. “I’ve got to take care of a few things in the room, but I’ll be back.” Of course, I have no intention of returning, and I’m sure she already realizes that.
“Text me if you need me, okay?” she says, which actually means, Come drink with us if Wyatt lets you down again.
“I will.” I force a smile as I pluck my thin skull-print jacket off the back of the chair and slide it on over my black lace halter top. “Nice to meet you, Shi...Finn. Tell James I had fun.” Wherever the hell he is.
As I leave the building, I’m able to tell James good-bye myself. He’s at the bar, leaning over a shot glass and making conversation with a skinny girl who has purple-and-green spray-in color blended into her blonde hair. My eyes connect with his, and he smiles sheepishly. I raise my hand to wave, and he lifts up his chin in return.
“Better you grope her ass than mine,” I grumble.
Stepping out onto Canal Street in the French Quarter to walk back to my hotel, I pull my jacket tightly around me. It’s unusually cold tonight, and I wish I would have brought along my coat instead. I walk faster as I dodge the crowd, hoping that I’ll warm myself quickly.
Though I really want to, I fight the urge to stop and check my phone to see if Wyatt called. I know he hasn’t, and looking at a screen that shows nothing but the background image of me with Cal and Sinjin making duck faces and holding up metal horns in a bathroom will just turn me into a frustrated pile of whiny-ass. Plus, it’s cold as hell, and I want to get back to my hotel room sooner rather than later.
My head is down, and I’m contemplating a long bath as I dip into the front entrance of The Veranda ten minutes later. I’m not aware that someone has been calling my name until that person grabs my wrist as I skulk through the middle of the lobby.
“You’re fucking deaf, Wolfe,” a male voice says from behind me.
I spin around so fast that my pumps make a squeaking noise on the glossy floor. I pause for a moment, taking in Cal’s lanky but toned body and disheveled shoulder-length jet-black hair, before I launch myself into his arms. He’s initially surprised, but then he wraps me up in his arms as I bury my face into the front of his shirt.
“You do realize that I could’ve maced you, right?” I demand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He pulls away from me, smirking, his dark eyes amused. “Flew in, so I can head out with McCrae tomorrow morning.”
Somehow, sleep and making sure my brother made it to Atlanta in one piece completely shoved that little detail out of my head. Wyatt and Cal are going on the road together…to play bar shows. “I’m sure that’ll be fun.”
Cal winks at me. “Fuck yeah, it will. Shitty food and grimy hotel rooms.” We both know that he and Wyatt are more than capable of paying for any hotel they want while they’re on the road, so it’s my turn to look skeptical. “And before I forget and you blast me, sorry about the Foursquare thing.”
“Yeah, about that…” I pull away from him and nod my head toward the elevators. He follows alongside me. “I’d actually forgotten, but thanks for reminding me that I need to kick your ass.”
“I had to tell him, Kylie. He loves—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice suddenly deep and all sorts of screwed up. “Please don’t, okay?” I don’t need Cal telling me how much Wyatt loves me because it will only be an assumption.
Wyatt has not once actually said the words to me himself. The closest he’s ever come was almost four years ago after our millionth break from each other. We lasted approximately five weeks without having any contact. Finally, he showed up at my parents’ house in Atlanta while we were celebrating Lucas’s twenty-fifth birthday. Wyatt and I sat outside, alone together, on the front porch swing with a foot of space between us.
“I fucked up, huh?” he asks me, referring to the cause of our latest fallout.
This time, he confronted me again about cutting, something I haven’t done in years, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he gave me a chance to speak during his rant. But he simply went on and on, reminding me of my ex, until the only thing I wanted was to get away from him and the pressure. So, rather than try to defend myself, I did just that.
I ran like a coward.
I ran like I would never have to face him again.
I take a deep breath, focusing my gaze on the bright orange and yellow tulips in my mom’s garden. “Yeah, you did. You screwed up, and I want to hate you for it, but I can’t.” I tremble violently while I sink my nails into my palms, hoping to control myself enough to finish speaking to him. “Just because I wear long sleeves or refuse to show you my wrists doesn’t mean I’m cutting, Wyatt. Because I’m not. I’m not saying that I don’t have moments when I feel like the world is crashing down on me, that I’m nothing but—”
As the words catch painfully in the back of my throat, he reaches out, raveling his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck.
“You’re everything. At least to me. You always have been, and that’s why I said what I did. I never want you to hurt, you got me, Kylie?”
His blue eyes are hard and honest, stripping me down to my soul, and I nod. He dips his gaze down to my shoulder, and since I know what’s coming next, I answer before he has a chance to ask.
“Twelve.” But I don’t tell him that the newest one is there because of me. I let myself down by being a coward and refusing to face him.
“Fuck,” he says between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Ky. I’m so goddamn sorry.”<
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“I’m sorry Kylie.” Cal’s voice reaches into the vivid memory, dragging me away from it. “I hate to see you hurting,” he adds.
I nod stiffly. “It’s fine.”
Cal stops with me at the elevator door. He doesn’t come inside, but he gives my hand a tiny pump as I shuffle in. “I’m going to grab something to eat before the fucker comes back with the rental car. You coming?”
So, that’s where Wyatt went instead of keeping his word to me—to pick up a rental car, so he can go play a few shows with a band he doesn’t even know. God, I know I shouldn’t be bothered over learning that, but I am. I can’t help it. Stepping aside so that an over-glitzed woman on wobbly heels can come into the elevator, I shake my head, my movements stiff. “I’ve got to do laundry before Heidi and I pack up to go back to L.A., tomorrow night.”
Cal snorts. “You’re officially the lamest person I know.”
As the doors close, I flip him off. Laughing, he shakes his head and returns the gesture.
“Should’ve gone with him,” Glitzy says. She’s balancing herself in the corner, squeezing her knees together like she has to pee. Releasing a massive hiccup, she adds, “He was hot and looks like that guitarist from that one band.” She bites her lip and scrunches her face, seemingly trying to remember the name of the band.
Thankfully, the elevator shudders to a stop on the second floor before she can venture a guess.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say as I speed walk off into the hallway.
My room is an inferno when I step inside. My plan to sink myself into a scalding bath flies out the window, so I throw my license and credit cards inside the nightstand drawer and grab my iPod from its spot under my pillow. I drop my change purse inside my laundry bag and leave the room, and this time, I take the stairs to the dungeon-like basement where the laundry room is located.
I’m the only person in the laundry room, and it’s probably because everyone else in this city had the good sense to go out tonight. I slide in my earbuds, turn on a random playlist, and since I have access to all the machines, I sort my clothes into three piles—whites, darks, and my delicates—instead of the two loads I planned on.