KADE: A Second Chance Rockstar Romance

by Jane Anthony

  I look around, wondering how the sleeping arrangements work. The bus is large, but surely not large enough for seven people. Walking in further, I get my answer. Four pods line each wall—two up and two down. Each pod contains a bed with a curtain that could be closed for privacy. The maximization of the space is impressive. It all seems so futuristic.

  With the crew in another bus that will trail behind this one, Vic and the band pile on. All those extra bodies make the open space feel tight. JJ, Banger, and Konner fall into pods, and Vic follows in behind them. “Yes, we’re leaving here shortly, and we’ll be right on schedule. Okay, excellent.” He disconnects the call and turns his attention to me. “Oh, Ms. Daniels, nice to see you again. I hope you and Ms. Price are getting along well with everyone.”

  “Oh hey, Vic. Everyone’s been wonderful, thank you.” Jenny snorts, and I shoot her a look. “So how does this all work? Do we just grab any bunk, or are they assigned? Should I wait until Kade gets on to make sure he gets his pick first?”

  “The prima-donna never sleeps in a bunk,” grumbles Konner.

  “Doesn’t he take the bus?”

  “Yes, of course, Ms. Daniels, the band always travels together, but Kade feels . . . more comfortable sleeping on the pull-out couch in the lounge room.” He points to another room at the far end of the bus. It looks like a little “hangout” spot with a large couch, some chairs, and a coffee table.

  Jenny’s already settled into the bunk right next to Banger, their matching blond heads bent together in deep conversation. Of the four, he’s the hardest one to pinpoint. Tattoos cover his upper body right down to his fingers. His flaxen hair hangs long past his shoulders, which he always covers with a beanie regardless of the summer heat. As far as rocker stereotypes go, Banger lives up to every one, but he’s so quiet, almost reserved. Much like Kade is to me, he’s the polar opposite of Jenny. I guess it’s true—opposites do attract.

  The scraping sound of heavy boots shuffle down the walkway of the bus. The delightful mixture of leather, spice, and man assaults my senses before he even makes himself known. It’s the very same fragrance he left on my sheets after leaving the hotel this morning. His large stature fills every available space as he comes into view. Looking at him against the row of pods, I can see why he sleeps on the pullout. I don’t think he’d fit in there.

  “Nice of you to join us, Mr. Black,” Vic snaps.

  “Get off my case, Vic. I made it, didn’t I?”

  Vic purses his lips then claps his hands together. “Well, now that everyone is here, the bus leaves in five minutes!” The Diamonds grumble and go about their business as Vic joins the driver up front.

  I turn away to claim my bunk. Kade’s hand runs down my bare arm, evoking an army of goose bumps to arise. “You’re not sleeping in one of these coffins on wheels. You’re with me, A.”

  He walks ahead, his hand settling into mine, pulling me into the lounge room with him and closing the accordion door. “Won’t the guys want to hang out in here?” The leather jacket slides off his shoulders, exposing his bare arms and a T-shirt with the phrase Singers Do It With Their Mouths written across his broad chest in bold letters. It feels like baby birds are hatching in my chest. I’m intimidated and intrigued both at once. Turned on and terrified beyond belief.

  “I don’t care.” He glides onto the couch, pulling me down onto his lap. “I’m not real big on sharing,” he whispers, nipping at my ear. “And I usually get what I want.”

  Holy crap.

  “Yeah, but there isn’t really a lot to do on the bus.”

  His teeth release my ear then scrape against my neck in a pinching sting that elicits an unexpected reaction. Arousal. So much so, I’m sure he can feel it on his legs. “I can think of a few things to do.”

  His hand burns hot on my bare thigh as he spreads my legs and swipes his nimble fingers across my slit without venturing inside. My hips buck. He laughs at my distress and does it again. I mewl and whine and writhe on his lap, but he isn’t curing the ache that’s slowly building, threatening to split me in two. “Are you sore?”

  I shake my head. “I thought we agreed on one night.” Turns out, I do purr. I barely recognize the breathy sound of my own voice. It’s wanton and needy—two things I’ve never felt before.

  “Does that mean you want me to stop?”

  “No!” My hand closes around his thick forearm to keep him from pulling away, and his lips twist into a devilish grin. Clearly, he gets off on tormenting me. “Please.”

  “You’re a big girl, Ainsley,” he croons, swirling his middle finger around my opening, giving me a glimpse of relief while still keeping it far from reach. “If you want something, you’ll have to ask for it.”

  “Please . . . make me come.”

  He slips inside my slick heat, and my head falls back with a gasp. Everything about him is larger than life. His personality, his talent, his cock, his hands. All of them are bits and pieces of a man that’s opening me up to new pleasures unnumbered.

  A second finger joins the first, crooking, bending, teasing my inner walls and drawing out a cry I’m sure can be heard through the thin plastic accordion door. His mouth covers mine, stifling my bliss-induced moans as his fingers fuck me to the brink of insanity.

  “I’ll make you come, sweets. Then I’m gonna lick it off my fingers when you do.”

  His thumb presses against my sensitive nub in small wicked circles, as his fingers continue slithering in and out. My nails dig into the soft flesh of his arm. He’s about to get his wish. The climax swirling in my gut rages inside of me, grabbing hold and not letting go until I do.

  I come apart. Ripped in half, shuddering and whimpering, soaking his hand with my release. The moment his fingers slide out of me, he sucks them into his mouth like he said he would. His tongue dips between them and down his palm like a tiger cleaning his paws, lapping up every last drop like its candy. “Damn, sweets, that was fucking hot,” he murmurs, adding a breathy “mmmm” for effect.

  “You keep calling me that. Why?”

  He finishes his snack and crudely wipes his hand on the couch. “I thought that was obvious.” A hint of my own flavor lingers on his lips as they brush against mine. “You have the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted.”

  “Oh.”

  Caught off guard by his vulgar answer, I slide off his lap and onto the couch, keeping my legs draped over his. This kind of attention is unsettling. Earlier this year, the love of my life threw me away like trash. Now, I have the world’s hottest rock star indulging in me like I’m his own personal piece of dessert.

  Whatever this is between Kade and me isn’t just a one-night stand. His ravenous need to please me is primal and obscene; two qualities I never thought would turn me on this much. The tingling in my skin hasn’t subsided since last night. Every time Kade touches me, I feel more alive. Like a lethal narcotic, I need more to sate my hunger but know it’s ultimately going to kill me in the end.

  CHAPTER 8

  KADE SITS IN the corner with a guitar on his knee. Skilled fingers move deftly across the frets on the neck as his pick hand plucks the strings. He hums along with it, pausing to write, then continues.

  He rarely plays the instrument on stage. Only when a specific song requires a second guitar line does he strap it on and work the strings. The baritone of his voice calls to me from across the room. My gaze keeps wandering in his direction as I absentmindedly doodle on a magazine on the table.

  “Wow, did you just draw all that?” Konner and JJ are engaged in an Xbox battle on the couch next to me. Konner’s eyes flicker back and forth between the magazine and the screen as his thumbs click rapidly around the game controller in his hands.

  “Yeah, I guess I did. It’s nothing, just doodles.”

  I’m forever drawing little pictures on everything. It’s something I do to relax. Peering down at the magazine on my lap, I see the entire page is covered in ink. The band’s logo starts in the center, and the picture works outwa
rd from there. In the distance is a face, with a snake for a tongue that wraps around a hand. The snake writhes down the arm and back around, biting the face. Beyond that, a series of vines and leaves litter the rest of the page. It’s not my best work.

  Konner’s on-screen character erupts in a splatter of red as some unknown assailant blows him away with an assault rifle. “No way, that’s pretty good. JJ, check this shit out.” He snags the magazine out from under me and chucks it at his friend. His appreciation for my artwork has me flustered. I haven’t created anything real since college, and even then, I was shy about sharing it.

  “Hey, that is a seriously kick-ass picture. You drew all that in ten minutes?”

  The controller sits in JJ’s lap as he runs his fingers over his shaved head. He and Konner seem attached at the hip. The two play like children and bicker over everything.

  Reaching over Konner’s camouflage-covered legs, I grab the magazine from JJ’s hands. “It’s no big deal.” I shrug. “You guys are all artists too, right?” I stuff the magazine under the couch, hoping they’ll forget about it.

  A flashback comes to mind. Memories of Bob telling me art school was a waste of time. I spent my whole life working toward something, only to allow my husband’s lack of support to murder it like the pixelated soldiers on the television ahead. Art was in every fiber of my being. I lived it. Breathed it. But I set it aside to raise my daughter and play Stepford Wife to a man who never appreciated me.

  “Well, yeah. I can play guitar, and I can screw, but I can’t draw worth a shit.” JJ drains his beer with a belch.

  “Dude,” Konner mumbles in a drawn out lilt. “That’s fuckin’ gross. There are ladies here. Have some respect.” Konner’s attempt at chivalry makes me smile. Burping is offensive, but dropping F-bombs seems quite acceptable.

  “Here, you play. I need another beer.” The game remote lands in my lap as JJ heads for the kitchen.

  “Bring me one too, ass-face.” JJ flips Konner the middle finger as he backs out of the room.

  Day turns to evening, and the playful fighting gets more riotous as the beer supply dwindles. Kade stays focused on his guitar, locked in the zone as he continues to write. Laughing, Jenny flips her hair while she and Banger sit in the corner huddled together in yet another deep conversation.

  “Ah, shit,” JJ’s voice rings out from the front of the bus. “We’re out of beer! I’m fuckin’ starving, too. When do we stop to eat?” His Southern drawl turns from slight to pronounced the more he drinks. The guys are from somewhere around Georgia, but their accents have diminished from years of living on the West Coast. Kade doesn’t seem to have one at all anymore, but every so often, a random word will come out, and I’ll catch it like a foul ball.

  My stomach growls at the first mention of food. Jenny and I had eaten a quick breakfast before we left, but that was the last meal I had.

  “Yo, Vic! Tell the driver to stop at the next pizza joint he sees!” shouts JJ, walking back to the room. “And a liquor store!”

  Kade looks up from the guitar on his knee and peers into the night sky as if he’s surprised to see it. “Relax, JJ. You’re not going to combust if you have to wait ten minutes between beers, bro.”

  JJ scowls and drops onto the couch, pouting like a child and putting his feet up on the table. “Whatever, dude.”

  When the bus finally stops, Vic insists we get our food to go, but the guys run off, ignoring his attempts to keep us on schedule. The members of Black Diamond are like Vic’s wayward sons. He works so hard to keep some semblance of order, yet all his attempts fall on deaf ears. He’s a nice guy, but they disregard him as the annoying killjoy he is.

  The Pizza Castle is anything but majestic, as the name would suggest. It’s a dive in the middle of God’s country West Virginia, nestled not far beyond the outskirts of a trailer park.

  Kade’s hand rests possessively on the small of my back as he leads me through the parking lot. I like it. In his hands, I feel protected and safe. The dimly lit pizza place is half pub, half restaurant. A huge bar runs the length of the room opposite rows of tables with booths in the back. A handful of drunks loiters about, making inappropriate comments as we pass. They leer at us, and Kade’s grip on me tightens.

  We pile into a secluded booth in the back, hoping for some privacy away from the public, and a frazzled looking woman with a leopard print shirt under a white apron comes out to take our order. “What can I get ya?”

  “I’ll take a pitcher of beer and your phone number.” JJ waggles his brows, flashing an adorable grin while a flush creeps up the woman’s cheeks. Considering the classy folk we encountered when we came in, and by classy I mean completely disgusting, it’s highly doubtful that she ever gets hit on by cuties like JJ.

  “Bring out a few pizzas and, like, three orders of wings, too, sweetheart,” adds Konner. He winks and tucks a strand of blue hair behind his ear. His tongue stud clinks against his teeth, and JJ shoots him a scathing look. I’m not really sure why. The woman looks like she’s about fifty and is missing her front tooth.

  A jack-o-lantern grin flashes on her face as she jots the order down on her pad. “Anything else?”

  “Can I get an order of chicken fingers, please?” I add.

  “You got it.” The waitress nods and leaves to put in our order.

  “Wow, fried food? Don’t let Bob see you eating that.”

  My death stare wipes the smile off Jenny’s face, but it’s too late. Her big mouth aired that tiny piece of my dirty laundry, and I can’t reel it back. My weight was a frequent topic of conversation between Bob and me. Before Shay was born, I was waifish and gaunt, but afterward, my body was never the same. Once skin and bones, I became curvy and voluptuous. I’m only a hundred and twenty pounds, but it may as well be two hundred. Every time food came near my mouth, he would ask me if I really needed that last bite, or roll his eyes if I dared to mention I was hungry. Bob had a clear-cut picture of how he wanted his life to be, and nothing was going to veer from that.

  The beer goes down smooth, and the urge to pee hits like a lightning bolt. When I stand up from the table, I sway on my feet, and Jenny grabs my arm to steady me. “You all right, babe?”

  “Yeah I’m fine. I just have to pee.”

  “You want me to go with you?” The look of concern on her face is sweet but unnecessary. I’m fine. Besides, from where I stand, I can see that the bathroom is only a one-person stall. I don’t need her to wait for me in the hallway and risk being accosted by one of the skanky-looking locals hanging at the bar.

  “Nah, I’ll be back.”

  On wobbly legs, I walk past the bar and the leering eyes of the drunken old men. The five-inch platforms on my wedged sandals do nothing for my ability to get there in a straight line. I avoid eye contact at all costs, hoping not to disrupt the herd and wishing I’d changed into jeans before going out. A couple of harmless whistles ring out as I pass, but I make it to the bathroom unscathed.

  The lights in the tiny room flicker as they come to life. The place is dank, and the lock on the door is busted. I hover over the toilet to do my business, holding onto the sink to keep from falling over.

  Drinking before I ate was not a smart idea. I only had a beer and a half, but with my stomach so empty, the alcohol went straight to my head in a bad way.

  I stand up, still clutching the sink for support. The beer sloshes around inside my belly, and my reflection swims in front of me. I splash some cold water on my face hoping to revive myself a little before making the trek back to the booth. My hands blindly feel around the room looking for a paper towel, when I hear the door click open and shut.

  “Jen, I said I’m fine. You don’t need to hold my hand.”

  “I’m hoping to do a lot more than hold your hand, darlin’.”

  The gravelly voice strikes a chord of fear deep in the recesses of my gut. Too frozen to turn around, I raise my head toward the filthy mirror in front of me. The man’s hair is greasy and combed straight ba
ck off his red forehead. He’s more than a few days past shaving, the silvery strands of wiry hair standing out bold against the remaining black ones on his muddy face. The whites of his eyes are yellow, and his teeth are gray with rot.

  “I saw you lookin’ at me, darlin’. I was watchin’ you in that cute lil’ mini dress, shakin’ your way up here.” The way he slurs the word “darling” makes my skin crawl. It reminds me of something you’d hear on Dateline. His back is against the door. My desperate mind races, trying to think of a way to get past him, but he advances upon me too quickly.

  His hand runs up the back of my leg, and I cower, cringing from the odor of bourbon and decay on his breath. “I’m sorry if you thought I was looking at you, but I’m really not interested. Please just leave me alone.”

  My voice trembles. He blocks me in on either side, gripping the edge of the sink in front of me. My plea does nothing to halt his attempt to seduce me. He buries his nose in my neck, smelling me like a flower.

  With my shoes on, we’re the same height, but he’s stocky and thick. The man looks like he’s spent a lifetime poisoning his body with God knows what. He grinds his pelvis into my backside, and I whimper with fear. “Yeah, you like that.”

  “Get away from me!” I want to scream for help, but I’m buzzed and terrified beyond the capacity for rational thought. The only thing running through my foggy brain is fight or flight, and flight isn’t an option.

  With all my might, I elbow the drunk in the side. He winces and stumbles, but his grasp on the sink tightens. I’m still trapped, only now I pissed him off.

  “Oh, you like it rough? It’s your lucky day, darlin’, so do I!”

  My back and head smash against the dirty tile with a heavy thud as he swings me against the wall. Tears stream down my face both from the pain and sheer terror that this man is going to rape me in this disgusting bathroom while my friends sit fifty feet away.