by Denise Marie
The girls placed a cushion on the floor for her too, and she sat with a huff. “So where do I start?” She scribbled at the corner of the paper to make sure the blue pen worked.
“Well Izzy, this could get as interesting as you want it.” Taryn winked and bit her bottom lip. The booze, beyond a doubt, impacted everyone’s ability to be subdued.
“No laughing?” She scanned the empty paper but could see their heads shake in her peripheral vision. She placed her free hand on her stomach to ground herself. In no way did her desires match the person on the outside.
“We know there’s a wild woman in there somewhere Izzy, do your worst.”
Abigail sparked her inability to ignore childish persuasion—games like truth or dare—at any time. She used her fingernails to make sure the two white sheets were tucked together, the pen in place but not quite touching.
Start with the easy ones.
1. Get a tattoo
2. Bungee jump
3. Sing karaoke in front of strangers
4. Dance in the rain
5. Eat caviar
“Come on girl, these could be done in one day. What happened to the woman who craved bold adventure?”
She gripped the pen tighter after Katherine’s not so gentle, nudge, a quality in her best friend that always helped, but pissed her off too.
6. Learn how to fly a plane
7. Shop on Rodeo Drive
8. Drive a Lamborghini
9. Learn to dance the tango
A tequila shot slammed down in front of her. She raised her head to see everyone with their own, held out in her direction. The room temperature liquid spilled over her fingers as she raised it in the air, unable to keep it steady. In one quick motion all shots disappeared, and she focused on her list, no longer fearing their judgment.
Cole’s responses on Twitter surfaced in her memory, and urged her on.
10. Go on tour with a band
11. Experience a knee-weakening kiss
She set the pen down on the table and wiped her sweaty palm on her thigh before she continued.
Have multiple orgasms during sex
12. Try anal sex
13. Be tied up during sex
14. Have sex in a public place
In slow motion, she put the pen down and raised her head to see their shock. Instead, they high-fived one another like they’d finally corrupted her.
“Damn Izzy. Goodbye prude, hello girl gone wild.” Taryn shouted and threw her fist in the air.
She fell back onto the hard floor and breathed deep. Her heart raced with a new release—freedom.
“This could take some time, Izzy. Are you sure putting off the surgery is such a good idea?” Not even alcohol could keep the concern from Katherine’s voice.
“Katherine, I love you, all of you. I know this means asking you guys to have patience, but I’ve made up my mind. The surgery will wait until after this list is complete, it has to.” She braced her hands on the floor and shoved upright. The room spun from getting up too fast, of course. She held onto the table to stop the motion.
Taryn and Abigail gossiped about an unrelated topic like her breakthrough was no big deal, but Katherine’s glare challenged her will. “I’m gonna need some help with this list. Any suggestions, ladies?”
Katherine’s stubbornness dissolved, and she joined the fun once again. She swayed and held her finger up to quiet them.
Isabelle clutched her arm to support her, still wracked with guilt. “Here we go.”
Abigail placed her hands to her hips. “Whatcha got, Miss Investigative Tabloid Reporter?”
Katherine’s day job always made secrets near to impossible, but the suggestions she could come up with were most often valuable.
“You still have a Twitter account?”
She squinted, not quite aware of where Katherine was going with this. “Yes.”
“Go viral.”
Chapter Two
Dear Diary,
If you put it out there, it will come back to you.
“Scandals! Scandals! Scandals!”
The short distance back to the bus always involved rowdy chants from stragglers who refused to let the night end. It was a show in itself, with shrieks, invasive gestures, and camera flashes in your eyes until you couldn’t see straight.
Catcalls could get a little sadistic. Most nights it fueled their adrenaline rush and on others, sheer hell. Though, as part of the business, the fans would never know any different. Annoyance masked by graciousness, they maintained the “devoted, rock stars who appreciate their entire fan club,” image. At least until they got on the bus.
“Atlanta kicks ass!”
“Give me something to jack off to, ladies!”
“Look at those tits!”
Cole stomped through the roped-off path from the arena with his arms at his side, jaw tight, and gaze focused straight ahead. The nighttime chill of Georgia cooled his overheated skin. He punched the bus door left ajar, not in compliance with the fan appreciation, and without caring that Derek would give him shit for it later. Nothing went right for him in tonight’s show. Not only was he forced to improvise through broken microphones, he neared a face plant when he slipped on a drumstick that got away from Brett. He trudged up the steps and stripped off his sweaty T-shirt on the way to the shower.
He let go of his foul mood, for a second anyway, and chuckled under his breath. Bass guitarist, Zander Wells, begged their very responsible driver, Derek McRae, to hold off leaving until he got a little ass.
“The drive to the hotel will only take thirty minutes. Get your ass in here.” Derek scolded, as he did every night. But invitations to party always took place before, during, and after a show.
Cole rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to get involved. That piece of ass would make an appearance in their hotel later anyway. The instant the hot water massaged his tense muscles, he sighed. He leaned forward and rested his head to his forearms, up on the shower wall.
The water that trickled from his back and over the sliver of a tribal tattoo wrapped around his side, held his attention. He was in great shape for thirty-five, but adrenaline pumped through him like a drug and his breathing labored. He tipped his head back in the water and closed his eyes.
Many years of experience on the road with the Scandals and long-time friends led daily events, present shower included, to evolve into predictable routine. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. Alcohol consumption passed the time; women relieved certain needs, and when time allowed, they’d finally sleep. Living on the road as a musician fulfilled a lifelong goal, but he longed for a passion absent from his life—a woman to go home to.
A woman. That scared him more than any performance on stage in front of thousands of fans. Love was fragile. His mother taught him that lesson the day she left his father to raise Cole and his three younger brothers on his own. Relationships were fantasy, not reality, and his ex-girlfriend had confirmed this the night he caught her in his college dorm room, on her knees in front of his roommate.
Loud thumps at the door forced him out of his misery.
“Hurry the fuck up, Cole.”
Just like home.
He shut the tap off but didn’t respond. The hot water had run out long ago, and his greediness always irritated them. He wrapped a towel around his waist and whipped the door open to a young, pissed off drummer, Brett Young. His last name reflected his position in the band, since he was only twenty-three years old, and they never let him forget it.
“Zander is going to kick your ass if you used up all the hot water again. You should see the groupie he invited back to the hotel.” Brett nudged past him into the tiny three-piece bathroom, frustrations from moments ago already forgotten.
“I’m sure a little cold water would do him some good.” He nabbed his deodorant on his way out.
Brett rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back over his shoulder. “You okay, man?”
He waved back over his shoulder and stro
lled to his bunk, muscles tensed once again. The guys took turns in the cold shower and cursed him out in the process. A night in a hotel rather than the bus had evolved into a novelty everyone enjoyed on the road. It gave them time to party with select fans, choose a date for the night, and actually enjoy some privacy or take the opportunity to sprawl out in bed alone.
Or, have a warm shower.
“It’s party time. No diseases, boys, cover ’em up.” Derek McRae, long-time driver for the Scandals stopped the bus, swiveled in his seat, and gave them the usual “I’m not your father, but don’t mess with me” stare. Back up drivers came and went, but he’d stayed for the long haul.
Cameras flashed outside the tinted windows. The four men flung overnight bags on their shoulders and adjusted ball caps to shield their faces, along with sunglasses. Long-sleeve shirts and pants hid the visibly tattooed parts of their well-defined bodies. The piercings and tattoos drove the women wild and often drew crowds the hotel management didn’t care for. They were foul mouthed at times, partied hard daily but always composed themselves around businesses that could make or break their stay.
Customarily, Cole stepped off the bus first. After years of being together, the strangest of routines developed, but this time he waved at his best friend and lead guitarist, Drew Michaels, to take point.
“You and I are having a talk later, Cole.” Drew stomped down the stairs and just like the rest of the men, kept his eyes on the ground until inside.
Cole threw his bag over his shoulder, sighed, and trudged to the bus door.
“What’s up, Cole?” Derek grasped his arm and held firm.
“Nothing a little Jack Daniels can’t take care of, Derek, don’t worry.”
Derek shook his head and spun back around in his tall, leather seat. His gaze roamed to the picture that never left his side, his deceased wife and daughter.
“Shit.” Cole stepped off the bus with his head down.
****
The walls vibrated when the elevator doors swooshed open, and loud music filled the dimly lit hall. Cole smiled and tapped the wall with his fist on the way to Brett’s room. It had started out as a rookie ritual, being forced to put up with the never-ending party. That backfired. Brett liked it.
Cole took a deep breath and joined the always-predictable after party.
Hoots and hollers welcomed him in the enormous luxury suite, along with a bottle of Jack Daniels shoved at his chest by Drew. “Loosen up, buddy, leave the heavy shit outside.”
He swiped the bottle and drained a large amount into his mouth. He held it there until he couldn’t take the burn any longer and swallowed. “Since when do you dipshits need me to get the party started?” He gave the bouncer a high-five,” Please don’t let the beautiful ladies down. We have a reputation.”
He relaxed when the familiar warmth of the alcohol entered his bloodstream. The crowded room, with lots of lounge areas meant to entertain, offered typical rowdiness, with the odd girl who could get his attention. He scanned until the first, somewhat attractive one caught his interest.
The pretty brunette, huddled in a group of underdressed women over by the long, wall-mounted fireplace, blushed as he neared her. The group parted with schoolgirl-crush ogles when he put his arm around her and led her away. He stared ahead while she rambled.
The lack of challenge sucked.
The young woman, whom he was quite sure had mentioned her name in her blabber, sat very close to him on the oversized, brown-leather sofa. He eyed the bottle of amber-colored liquid in his hand. The urge to indulge didn’t strike him. He used the bottle to slide the cluster of empties out of the way on the table next to him, and set it down. While she continued to chatter, he leaned his head on the back of the couch and observed the rather typical evening. Her slurred words didn’t hold his attention, but the advance of her hand up his thigh to his cock—that got his attention.
He flung her hand away. “Don’t. Go find one of the other guys. I’m not in the mood for sloppy sex.”
His attitude sucked, and she deserved better, but he didn’t have time to apologize before she scrambled up on unsteady legs and staggered away with a snarl.
Cole huffed and leaned to the side so he could snag his phone from his pocket. Social media contact with the fans was a part of being famous he could take or leave, but there were always comments on Twitter that caught his interest enough to respond. The group tended to get a lot of sexual offers, words of fondness or hate, but anyone and everyone had an opinion.
He used his finger to swipe at the screen, scrolled past the negative comments, and responded to people who showed commitment to their band. With his finger on the power button, he lowered the phone back toward his pocket when a tweet caught his attention.
Need help with my bucket list.
It was from her, Isabelle. He’d responded to a couple of her tweets and even sent a private message but she never wrote back. It had become a challenge to get her attention. A woman who didn’t fawn over him felt new. Her profile picture and the innocent, untold story in her eyes captivated him enough to go back for more. He opened the attachment, too curious not to read further.
1. Get a tattoo
2. Bungee jump
3. Sing karaoke in front of strangers
4. Dance in the rain
5. Eat caviar
6. Learn how to fly a plane
7. Shop on Rodeo Drive
8. Drive a Lamborghini
9. Learn to dance the tango
10. Go on tour with a band
11. Experience a knee weakening kiss
After he read her list several times, his heart raced along with the twitch in his leg. The noise in the background faded, and desire for her overwhelmed him. Warmth that’d become difficult to kindle, traveled farther down to the bulge now straining against his zipper. He claimed the pillow beside him and placed it in his lap, not interested in what the easy to impress women would try to do to help him out. With his head still down, he scanned the crowd to make sure no one paid him any attention before he gawked back down at the screen again. He enlarged the picture.
Beautiful
“Your knee tells me your mood has either improved or will soon. What’s got you worked up?”
He jumped when the tall, dark-haired man sat next to him.
“Fuck, Drew. You’ve scared the shit out of me since we were kids. Will you fuck off already. Remind me again why I always ran away to your house?”
Drew punched him in the shoulder, but hidden underneath the scruff of his dark goatee, was a childlike dimple he would poke at if he needed to. This wasn’t one of those moments.
He handed his phone over to Drew and leaned back to gaze the room. Already intoxicated groups of people blabbed on about trivial matters, roughhoused, or over in the corner, had sex.
Drew read the list and stared at him, his eyebrow still raised. “So?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands and huffed. “I know I’ve been an ass today.”
“Yep.”
“I’m living my dream, but I can’t shake this twist in my gut. There’s still more out there for me.”
Drew maintained his perplexed expression. “And this ordinary girl is the answer?”
He threw the pillow at Drew; he no longer needed shelter. “I can see why you would say that. No, she doesn’t appear to be anything like the women we hang with but there’s something about her. I can’t explain it, just check out number ten?”
Drew stared at the phone and counted out loud to be an ass, before he landed on the item Cole referred to. The smile on his face didn’t agree with the concern in his eyes. “Cole, you know one of the reasons why people make these so-called, bucket lists, right?”
He shrugged his shoulders and jerked the phone away, “I know, idiot, who cares. Why couldn’t we help her?”
He scrubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand and leaned his head back like Cole. “If doing this will get you out of this funk, man, by all means do it
. I have to warn you though, if this is what I think it is, don’t get attached. Go crash for the night since this party sucks anyway. If you’re still drawn to this chick in the morning, do something about it. You know we won’t give you too much of a hard time.”
A very attractive blonde prowled up to Drew and held out her hand. He laughed, jumped up, and let her guide him away. Within seconds, he glanced over his shoulder and flicked his tongue between his fingers. Cole broke out laughing when his older, not so mature friend, ambled right out the door with the well-endowed bombshell on his arm.
****
Cole stretched out in the “much more enormous than his bunk” hotel bed. The sheets slipped down from his chest, but the chill it generated didn’t elicit the readiness required to start the day. With his eyes closed, he rolled over, away from the faint light of day he could see through his eyelids. He opened one eye and squinted at the red numbers that glared from the clock on the nightstand. “Ugh.”
There were so many unused pillows around him, he tugged one and covered his face with it. One hour until bus call, to make it in time for their interview with a local radio station.
Conversations from last night surfaced and he laughed; it’d become normal not to remember a damn thing after a hotel party. He threw the pillow across the room. It swooshed when it hit bare floor. No random person’s clothes thrown about or furniture bumped from its usual position in the throes of ecstasy for him. He slid his phone to the edge of the nightstand with his fingertips until he could take hold of it and groaned. His leg up, knee bent and already revved up with a twitch, he set the phone down on his chest and rubbed his eyes.
“Ugh. Okay.”
He picked up the phone and enlarged the picture again, shocked his reaction remained the same and wasn’t an alcohol induced attraction. With two things on his mind now, he copied the email address on Isabelle’s account into his contacts and typed a message he prayed would make his life a little more enjoyable.