Down To You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 5)

by Jayne Frost

  Swallowing hard, I lifted my chin and said flatly, “It’s nobody, Taryn. I’ve got to go. My bath is ready.” Ending the call, I folded my arms over my chest and glared up at Logan. “Can I help you with something?”

  His gaze dipped to my chest, lingering on the logo of the lion’s head on my T-shirt. His T-shirt. I had the urge to rip the damn thing off and throw it at him. But I wasn’t even sure why. And while I stood there, fists clenched at my sides, mouth twisted in a frown, Logan used his cat like agility and brushed right past me.

  I spun around, incredulous as he slid the pizza onto the table. Grabbing a beer, he dropped onto the sofa. “You can help me eat this pizza, for starters.”

  A smirk hitched up one corner of his lips. It did nothing for me, that smile. Nothing but tie my tongue into knots and steal my words. The unmistakable sound of water meeting the tile floor snagged my attention. Sure enough, the suds were creeping toward the carpet at a steady clip.

  “Goddamn it.” I moved without thinking, but Logan was quicker. Jumping to his feet, he headed toward the disaster before I made it two steps.

  “Don’t move,” he said, looking over his shoulder at me as he turned off the faucet.

  Ignoring his order— because what the hell was that about?— I continued into the room. Breaking our stare, he glanced down at my feet, which I didn’t realize were covered in bubbles. Repelled by the slick tile and slippery foam, I jumped back onto the safety of the carpet.

  And that made it all the worse.

  At twenty-one, I’d dived off a cliff in Hawaii. I’d swam with sharks, parasailed, and even bungee jumped. But now, the thought of what might happen if I fell the wrong way onto a hard surface turned my blood cold.

  Arms folded over my middle, I dug my fingers into my sides. “I can do that,” I offered weakly when Logan reached for a large bath towel.

  Shaking his head, he went to work sopping up the mess. For some reason, I didn’t move, my gaze roaming the length of his fit body. He was barefoot too, and he had on different jeans. Faded, with holes in the knees and frayed hems.

  “You changed your clothes?”

  “Yeah.” Slanting his baby blues in my direction, he tipped his chin to the living room. “Can you scrounge up some plates for the pizza?”

  He was dismissing me, and I wasn’t sure how I felt about that, so I lingered for a moment. Once I was sure I’d saved face, I wandered to the small kitchenette for the plates.

  Easing onto the edge of the couch, I glanced at the open door adjoining our rooms. When I spotted the guitar leaning against the chair, my thumb skated over my fingertips reflexively. The skin was smooth now, with no hint of the callouses that once marred the surface.

  And when had that happened?

  Logan flopped down beside me, rousing me from my thoughts. He loaded a plate with two slices of pepperoni, which I took with a frown.

  “What’s the matter, you don’t like pizza?” he asked, grabbing a slice for himself.

  “Pizza’s fine. I just …” As I tried to think of an excuse, any reason to get him back in his room and out of mine, he handed me a napkin. I forced a smile. “Okay … thanks.”

  He slid a beer in front of me, the same one he’d already opened, then reached for another. “Did you get things squared away with Taryn?”

  So that’s why he was here. To make sure I had a plan that didn’t include driving halfway across the country in his vintage Mustang. I drew my legs under me. “Yep. It’s all handled.”

  Pausing with the bottle halfway to his lips, Logan side-eyed me. Dammit. He wasn’t letting me off the hook, and after the shit show that was today, maybe I owed him an explanation.

  “The rest of the bands are arriving tomorrow,” I went on, peeling off a slice of pepperoni so I had something to do with my hands. “I’ll catch a ride on the Leveraged tour bus.”

  Tipping forward, he set his bottle on the table, then turned to look at me. “With Dylan?”

  Narrowing his eyes, he waited for my reply.

  “Yeah. That’s the best thing.”

  Nodding like he was mulling it over, he flopped back against the cushions, arms crossed over his chest. “Is there something magical about the Leveraged tour bus that’ll keep you from, you know …”

  As if he realized he may have cut too deep, he pressed his lips together. But I was in it now, so I tossed my plate on the table and threw his words from earlier back at him. “Freaking the fuck out?”

  Something flashed across his features. Regret? From what I’d witnessed, Logan Cage didn’t do regret. It was anger. I would’ve bet money that the fragile truce we’d shared during most of our car ride was about to end. That he’d get up and stalk out.

  Instead, he licked his lips and then said, “I didn’t mean it.”

  With my features schooled into a mask of indifference, I blinked at him. “Which part?” Watching Logan try to cobble together a half-assed apology was more than I could take, so I shook my head. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter.”

  I picked up my pizza and dug in. After a moment, Logan did the same. We ate in silence and when I’d finished my first beer, he was quick to offer me another. I made a grab for the bottle, but Logan didn’t let go.

  His index finger glided over mine. Once. Twice. “I didn’t mean any of it, princess.”

  The moment evaporated as quickly as it came, and he picked up the remote. “So what’s your pleasure?” he asked as he turned on the TV. “The Last Jedi or Thor: Ragnarok?”

  Pins and needles raced up my arm, jolting me awake. Clenching my hand to get the blood flowing, I looked around. The On-Demand logo swam into view on the TV screen, the only light in the dark room. Drawing back slowly, I peered down at the body pressed to my side.

  Tori burrowed closer, warm breath skating over the exposed skin above the collar of my T-shirt. Her hair smelled faintly of cinnamon and sugar. Like cookies fresh from the oven. And though that shouldn’t have turned me on, my aching balls didn’t get the memo.

  A smarter man would’ve taken the girl in the bar up to her room for a quickie before I showed up at Tori’s door with my peace offering.

  Was that what it was—a peace offering? Or an apology?

  I cleared my throat. “Wake up, princess.”

  Stop calling her that.

  In the dark, it sounded more like a term of endearment than a thinly veiled insult.

  Irked, I gave Tori a little shake, but instead of waking up, she started to topple over. Catching her at the last second, I gently repositioned her in the crook of my arm. Her head tipped back, exposing the one-inch scar on her throat. And just like at the rest stop, I wondered what it was and how it got there.

  Pushing aside the bigger question—why the hell do you care?—I brushed my thumb over the raised skin.

  Tori’s lids flew open like a vampire meeting the dawn, her lips parting on a gasp. “What are you doing?”

  Since I’d already been caught red-handed, I had nothing to lose, so I traced the faded line again. “What is this?”

  As the seconds elapsed, I waited for Tori to push me away. Instead, she sighed. “It’s where they inserted the trach tube after the accident.”

  “What’s a trach tube?”

  She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing beneath my touch as I continued to brush my thumb back and forth over her skin.

  “I was choking when they found me. Bleeding internally, and I had a collapsed lung. So the EMTs put in a tube so I could breathe.”

  A tremor shook her body, and her lids fluttered closed. My thumb dipped lower, ghosting over her collar bone and up the side of her neck, beckoning her back from that place in the past.

  I knew I’d succeeded when her eyes popped open and she pushed herself to sitting. A second later she was off the couch, rubbing her arms like she had a chill.

  “You should go. It’s late.”

  With her cinnamon scent still lingering on my clothes, my mind jumped to places it shouldn’t, like what it w
ould feel like to steal some of her sunshine and taste it on my tongue.

  I hauled to my feet. “Yep.”

  Tori gave me a wide berth as I headed for the door, but when I crossed the threshold she was on my heels.

  “Night,” she said quickly.

  I didn’t reply, just crawled into bed and waited for the creaking hinges and the snick of the lock. Twenty seconds. Thirty. A full minute passed, and it never came.

  Sometime later when I finally drifted off, the door was still cracked, leaving a sliver of space between her world and mine.

  16

  There’s a hierarchy at rock festivals. The more popular the band, the later their time slot. Bands just starting out played early in the morning on the outer stages in front of small crowds. As the day progressed, the more experienced groups got their shot. The audiences were bigger. Livelier. But still, they were merely a warm-up. A down-ticket band.

  That’s where Caged usually fit in.

  But not today.

  Today, and for the rest of the tour, we were one of the four headliners. That being said, the other three bands were substantially more popular. Which meant Caged would take the main stage first, and we’d never get to play under the stars. But that was all right. We’d made it. It didn’t really sink in until we arrived at the venue.

  “Jesus Christ,” said Sean, jamming me in the ribs with his elbow when our caravan of SUVs rolled to a stop. “Are you seeing this?”

  Looking up from my phone, I peered out the window at the sea of people. Forty thousand, if the estimates were correct.

  My heart rate spiked. “Yeah.”

  I didn’t have time to ponder our good fortune, or how we’d landed here, on the shiny side of the coin. Because the door swung open, and out we went, single file, straight into the tunnel created by the small army of security guards. Usually, we’d stop to sign autographs, chat up the fans. But it was too risky with this many people.

  Keeping our heads down, we stayed in formation until we got to a group of tents behind the barricades. And then, as if by magic, the curtain of muscle surrounding us dispersed, and there was nothing but blue sky, thick fluffy clouds, and bright sunshine.

  Cameron twisted to peek at the stages in the distance. “This is intense.”

  Swept into the large tent where our preshow press conference was about to begin, we were greeted by a petite brunette holding a clipboard. Elise Donnelly, assistant PR director at Twin Souls. She looked way out of her element, all wide eyes, with her bottom lip tucked between her teeth.

  “We’re going to begin in a half hour,” she said as she led us to the long, elevated table in the front. “Have a seat and make yourselves comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

  Dumbstruck, we did as we were told. It was only after I dropped into a chair between Sean and Cameron that I fully took in my surroundings. Reporters congregated next to the refreshments, eating finger foods from small plates while they chatted each other up. The journalists from Rolling Stone, Alternative Nation, and the larger news outlets stayed to themselves, avoiding the bloggers and tabloid press.

  After a moment, Christian tipped forward and swatted my arm. “Where’s your babysitter? Shouldn’t she be here?”

  Tori. I hadn’t thought about her since we’d left the hotel. When I’d poked my head inside her room this morning, she was already gone.

  “No clue,” I said, scanning the knots of people for raven hair.

  Cameron chuckled. “She’s probably heading back to Austin.”

  Whipping my head around, I searched his face. “Why? What have you heard?”

  The smile fell from his lips. “Nothing. I was just kidding. Unless …” His eyes narrowed to slits. “Did you do something to run her off?”

  Despite my apprehension at the thought of Tori leaving, I forced out a laugh. “I wish. The princess isn’t going anywhere.”

  If I can help it.

  Even more shocking than the wayward thought was the conviction behind it.

  Cameron abandoned our stare off, and I followed his gaze to a roadie holding the tent flap aside to admit a group of fangirls. “Shit,” he muttered. “We should talk to someone about that. It’s not like we need any preshow entertainment.”

  “Speak for yourself,” I shot back, my automatic response drawing a collective groan from my bandmates.

  But as I looked the girls over, from their pretty faces to their scantily clad bodies, I couldn’t muster up one dirty thought. I was too distracted by what Cameron had said about Tori.

  Elise appeared out of nowhere and dropped a piece of paper in front of us. “Here are your talking points.”

  Since nobody else volunteered, Christian slid the document in front of him.

  As casual as you please, I leaned in, snagging Elise’s attention. “Where’s your boss, darlin’?”

  She cocked her head. “Taryn’s in Austin.”

  “Your other boss.”

  “Oh … you mean Tori?” Flushing pink when I nodded, she chewed the corner of her already pulverized lip. “Um … she’s around. Have you tried texting her? On second thought, she probably wouldn’t hear her phone. It’s pretty crazy out there.”

  Out there.

  It took a second to digest that tidbit.

  Tori was out there, not tucked behind the railings and surrounded by security. I pictured the cowboy at the truck stop yesterday, then my mind jumped to the next possible conclusion and I was on my feet.

  Panicked, Elise scrambled to block my path. “Where are you going?”

  Cameron shot out of his seat, dragging her out of the way before I mowed her down. “Dude, what’s up?” he asked.

  It took every bit of my self-control, but I kept it light. “I’ve got to piss. I don’t really think it’ll take all three of us.” I smiled down at Elise. “But you can come along if you want.”

  Her mouth twisted, and she wrinkled her nose.

  “He didn’t mean that,” Cameron mumbled.

  But the look I gave Elise was convincing enough, because she couldn’t scoot out of the way quick enough. Shrugging, I tossed her a wink and headed for the door. Once I was outside, I picked up the pace, all my attention focused on the horde of people beyond the barricades.

  “Logan?”

  Tori’s voice rose above the din. Above the music. Above the chaos. And my own thundering heart. Relief swallowed me whole. And anger. That was there too. So I went with it, embracing the familiar. Because she deserved it, every single harsh word about what could happen to her, alone, out there.

  But when I spun around, the sentiment caught in my throat. Because Tori wasn’t alone. Dylan Boothe was with her.

  Rooted to my spot as they strolled up, I glanced from Tori’s tiny T-shirt, to the holes in her jeans, to the unlaced Doc Martens on her feet. The boots were scuffed, well-worn and out of fashion. Wrong in all the right ways. Just like her.

  Dylan held his fist up for a bump. “Hey, man. Good to see you.”

  “You too,” I lied, my gaze fixed on Tori. In the natural light, her eyes were more honey than amber, and laden with a different anxiety than the day before.

  But why the hell was she anxious at all?

  “What are you doing out here?” she asked, full lips curving into a smile. “Isn’t the press conference about to start?”

  If her tone were any indication, this was more of a personal inquiry.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. “Yeah, I was just …”

  Looking for you. Thank fuck I left that part out because Dylan let out a laugh.

  “I know what you were doing,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Let me help you out.” Smiling, he offered me a stack of VIP Passes. Not the fancy, laminated jobs we gave to family and close friends. These were made of paper. Disposable. Meant to be given to the girls who hung out by the buses or in the rope lines. “I don’t need these. But I know you’ll put them to good use.”

  His implication was clear; I was a dog, chasing anything that mov
ed. And he was above it. Yeah, no. Dylan and I were cut from the same cloth. The only difference? I gave zero fucks about what people thought. Except maybe the woman at his side.

  Tori quickly looked away.

  Well, fuck.

  Shaking my head, I took the passes, smiling at Dylan like I didn’t know how to repay him. Except that I did. “Appreciate you looking out for me, bud.” Freeing one of the cards from the stack, I tucked it in the front pocket of his T-shirt. “Better hang on to at least one, though. We both know you’ll be looking for it later.”

  Dylan’s eyes locked onto mine, the silver consuming the gray. “I said I was good.”

  And just to prove how very good he was, the asshole slipped an arm around Tori’s shoulder. I didn’t fail to notice her flinch. It could’ve been surprise. Or maybe she saw right through Dylan’s bullshit.

  While I was contemplating the best way to break every one of his fingers, Elise walked up and joined our awkward trio. “Hey, y’all.” A nervous smile played on her lips. “Sorry to interrupt. But I need to steal Logan. The press conference is about to begin.”

  “Guess that’s my cue,” I said, and as I took a step back, my eyes shot to Dylan’s hand, still resting on Tori’s shoulder. “You coming, princess?”

  The question came out of left field, and I hated the silence that followed.

  “You go ahead,” Tori finally said. “I’ll see you later.”

  When she turned her attention to the crowd, Elise took that to mean the matter was settled. Looping her arm through mine, she tugged me in the opposite direction, rambling a mile a minute.

  “Rolling Stone and Alternative Nation are in the first row on the right. Bloggers are in the second row. And refer all questions about Mac or the lawsuit with Metro to me.”

  My stomach flipped. “Why would they be asking us about Mac?”

  She kept her mouth shut until we were inside the tent, then turned to me with a serious expression. “Don’t you read your emails?” She rolled her eyes. “Of course you don’t.”