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

by Jayne Frost

  Had she been in pain?

  I swept my thumb over her wrist, felt her strong and steady pulse. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  Sliding her hand free, she lifted a shoulder. “You already witnessed the epic breakdown. I didn’t want you to think I couldn’t handle a day trip. I’m not, you know, damaged.” She brushed her fingertips over the faded Damaged logo on my T-shirt, and I felt it everywhere. “Or maybe I am. But it’s nothing I can’t fix.”

  Brutal honesty colored her tone, and without thinking, I tucked a fallen lock behind her ear.

  “Can I help?”

  The question had no target. And no limit. Just an open ended, utterly inappropriate invitation. I expected her to laugh. Because it sounded ridiculous. But her eyes shone with nothing but curiosity.

  “How?”

  I shrugged. “We can start with the stretches. Don’t you need a partner for that?”

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, contemplating. And then nodded, but it was more to herself than me. “Okay. Let me get my mat and a pillow.”

  I peeked at Logan through a crack in the bedroom door. What was I thinking, agreeing to let him help me stretch? I wasn’t exactly nimble. Shit. He was taking off his boots. He really wanted to do this.

  When he turned my way, I jumped back, wincing when pain shot through my hip.

  “You all right?”

  Hearing his footfalls, soft against the plush carpet, I limped over to the nightstand to grab a band for my hair.

  “Fine,” I called, hoping that would be enough to get him to reverse his course.

  It wasn’t.

  “You want to just do it in here?” he asked, and my attention shifted to the bed for a good twenty seconds. Long enough that he nudged the door open. He didn’t come in though, just leaned a shoulder against the jamb. “I don’t bite. And I won’t try anything.”

  My face went up in flames I could feel to the tips of my ears. “I know that.”

  I wasn’t Logan’s type. He preferred them brainless. Or maybe just … free-spirited? Like Paige. I smiled at that, because she would’ve been right up Logan’s alley. Paige was all about the love, as long as it didn’t include any strings.

  He took my smile as an invitation and stepped inside. “What are you grinning at?”

  I went to work arranging my hair in a top knot. “Paige.” His brow twisted, and I cringed. Not everyone was comfortable talking about the dead. When would I learn that?

  “What about her?”

  His gaze dropped to my legs, and I jerked the hem of my T-shirt down. But there wasn’t enough of it to cover the scar on my thigh. “Um … you would’ve been her type, that’s all.”

  Easing onto the bench at the foot of the bed, he crossed his legs at the ankles, holding me effortlessly with pale blue eyes. “And what’s your type?”

  My breath caught in my throat. Rhenn was my type. Since the day I’d met him, there was no other type. Except, now when I saw rich brown hair and eyes the color of the finest chocolate, the combination gutted me.

  He cocked his head to the side, concern furrowing his brow. “Is that too personal?”

  It was a struggle, but I forced my lips to bend. “No,” I lied. “I just … I don’t have a type. Anymore.”

  Logan nodded, though his eyes weren’t in agreement. After a beat of awkward silence, I stopped stalling and tossed a pillow onto the floor next to the rolled up mat.

  “You don’t have to help me with this,” I said, and then as gracefully as possible, I sank to my knees. “I’m used to doing it by myself.”

  One effortless move, and Logan was on the floor next to me. “No need to go solo when I’m around, princess.” He stared at me for a long moment, his lips flatlining. “It was a joke. You don’t have to do that thing with your nose.”

  “What thing?”

  A chuckle rumbled low in his chest as he went about unfurling the mat. “You look like you smelled garbage.” Sinking back on his haunches, he gave me a tight-lipped smile. “You ready?”

  Still reeling from his comment, I crawled over.

  Once I was flat on my back, Logan slid his hand to my calf. “What are we doing?”

  His tone no longer held a playful quality, and even though I couldn’t see him, I heard the seriousness in his voice.

  Resisting the urge to call the whole thing off, I willed my muscles to relax. “So, first take my right leg.” His hand moved north to my thigh, and I froze. “No … uh … my ankle. Put it on your shoulder. And then …” Before I’d even finished with the instructions, my leg was elevated, and my foot rested an inch from his ear. He tipped forward slightly, and I felt the first tug at the back of my leg. Panicked, my fingers dug into the carpet. “Easy.”

  It came out in a strangled gasp.

  Curving his hand around my calf, Logan inched forward at a snail’s pace. “Don’t worry. I’ll go slow.” A few seconds later, and he was above me, tranquil blue eyes roaming over my face. “Is this too much?”

  When I shook my head, he bent my knee, his palm sliding over the top of my thigh as he pushed forward.

  “Hold it there for a second,” I said, breathing through the pain as I willed my hamstrings to give. Please give. Something about the heat from Logan’s body made it more bearable.

  As if he knew exactly what to do next, his hand moved to the inside of my thigh and he exerted a tiny bit of pressure.

  “It wasn’t the joke,” I blurted through a labored breath. “Before, when I made the face? It wasn’t the joke.”

  Slowly, he lowered my leg, releasing his hold when my foot touched the carpet. My lids fluttered closed in relief, only to fly open a second later when his hands came to rest on either side of my shoulders. Even though our bodies weren’t touching, he had me trapped, one knee slotted between my legs, and those eyes boring into mine.

  “What was it then?”

  “It was the name.”

  He smiled, almost wickedly. “You don’t like princess?”

  “I don’t like Belle.” The truth slipped over my tongue, surprising us both. “I know it’s not the same. It’s just … I don’t know. I’m a little too old to be any kind of Disney character, don’t you think?”

  His gaze dipped to my mouth, then lower to the column of my throat before making the slow trek back to my face. “I don’t know. You look like a princess to me.”

  Before I could reply, he rose to his knees. Panic seized me when his hand coiled around my left ankle.

  “Wait,” I croaked, struggling to my elbows.

  “What is it? What did I do?”

  My injuries were the worst kept secret on the planet. But since I never spoke about them publicly, it was mostly just speculation. Only a select few people knew the truth.

  Was I really about to let Logan into the club?

  Resting my heel on his thigh, he waited. One beat. Two. Five.

  I licked my lips. “I don’t have good range of motion in this leg. My hip … the joint was replaced. I have pins holding it in place. My pelvis was shattered, and the femur was broken as well.”

  I don’t know what I was expecting. Shock. Pity. Revulsion. But Logan simply held my gaze, his palm gliding back and forth over the top of my foot.

  “Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”

  Swallowing any lingering embarrassment, I lowered myself back onto the mat. “Same. Just, you know … less. A lot less.”

  Clenching my jaw tight when he lifted my leg, I traveled to another place in my head as he went through each maneuver. When sweat soaked through my T-shirt, and I couldn’t take a breath without wincing, I knew I’d had enough.

  “No more,” I managed.

  Once both legs were flat on the ground, I melted into the mat, my lids fluttering closed in sweet relief. As the searing pain receded, the tension in my hamstrings and quads faded too.

  “Thank you,” I whispered hoarsely. To Logan, or the universe, I wasn’t sure.

  I nearly groaned whe
n he began to knead the muscles in my calves.

  “Does that feel good?”

  So good. Since I was a pile of goo, I couldn’t find the words, so I hummed my approval. His hands traveled north, long fingers digging into the tiny knots. I sucked in a breath when he grazed the skin graft on my upper thigh.

  “What?” He froze, alarm etching his tone. “Did I hurt you?”

  It was the absence of pain or any sensation that startled me. Meeting his gaze, I forced a smile. “No. It’s …” Dead, was the accurate term. “There’s no feeling there. I had a skin graft.”

  Or five.

  Expecting Logan to sneak a peek, I stayed perfectly still and prepared myself, but his eyes never left my face.

  “I guess we’re done with that, then,” he finally said, leaving sparks in his wake when he pulled his hands away. “What’s next?”

  With more agility than I thought possible, I hauled myself to sitting. “Nothing. Thanks. I’m good.”

  Smiling, he jumped to his feet and then offered his hand. When he pulled me up, I rocked on wobbly legs, and his palms molded to my hips to steady me. Warmth spread to my limbs, and with nowhere to go, the heat settled in my belly. It was an odd feeling. Light, and heavy, and foreign. But good.

  After a long moment, his arms dropped to his sides. “You should get some sleep. We’re headed out early tomorrow.”

  I didn’t want to think about tomorrow. Not the bus ride or the next venue. Or even what I was having for breakfast.

  Following him into the living room, I rubbed my arms to ward off the sudden chill when the air-conditioning met my damp skin. “Thanks again.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  He didn’t look at me, just grabbed his boots and strode to his room, leaving the door wide open. I thought about closing it, but instead, I wandered over to the small dining room table by the window.

  Picking up the plate of half eaten pasta I had left over from dinner, I nearly jumped out of my skin when I turned and found Logan standing behind me.

  “Jesus … you scared—”

  “I’m not taking the bus to St. Louis. I’m driving.”

  Sinking onto the brocade covered chair, I gaped at him. “What?”

  “You should come with me.” The invitation flew out in a rush. Hasty. Almost like he didn’t mean to offer it. Grabbing his guitar, he headed for the door. “I’m outta here at seven on the dot. Be ready if you want a ride, princess.”

  18

  Two coffees sat on the dresser, the green goddesses on the side of the cups mocking me. Those smug smiles followed me around the suite as I picked my dirty clothes up off the floor and tossed them in the suitcase on the bed. It’s like the judgmental bitches could read my thoughts. Like they knew I’d been awake half the night with a hard-on, obsessing about everything from the freckles on Tori’s nose—I counted seven—to the way her eyelashes fluttered when she was nervous, to the little humming sound she made when she was happy.

  My gaze shifted to the clock. Almost seven.

  Maybe Tori wasn’t going to take me up on my invitation after all. For all I knew, she was already on the Leveraged tour bus. And that would be the best thing. We could arrive in St. Louis separately and go about the tour in much the way we started. Maybe a little closer. But there would be no more adjoining rooms. No pizza and movies. The more I thought about it, the more I warmed to the idea. It was for the best.

  I’d just convinced myself when I felt a little tickle, like fireflies dancing under my skin. And something else.

  Relief.

  Because I knew Tori was there, hovering behind me by the door, all wrapped up in a cloud of cinnamon and sugar. The girl smelled like a cookie. And all I wanted to do was taste her.

  Banishing the wayward thought, I turned to face her, and when I got a load of what she was wearing, my casual smile slid right off my face, along with any lingering hope I had of arriving in St. Louis without a massive case of blue balls.

  Tori’s cheeks pinked, and she tugged at the bottom of her cut-offs, but it was the red cowboy boots that had my full attention. Maybe you had to be born in Texas to appreciate the visual.

  “Nice boots,” I managed to say when I finally peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth. “You ready, princess?”

  Her nose barely twitched. And that was a good thing. Because the name suited her, and I wasn’t going to stop using it.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “Why are we driving?”

  We.

  The added bit of assurance chased away any doubts about her intentions. She was going. That is, if I could convince her that my offer had nothing to do with pity. Instinctively, I knew Tori detested the emotion as much as I did. But it’s not like I could tell her the truth either—that I wanted to lay her down in my backseat on some deserted road and fuck her stupid.

  “You ever seen the world’s largest ball of twine?” Tori’s brow arched, and she shook her head. “I have. And yeah, it’s as boring as it sounds. Anna and Lily mapped out a bunch of stops between here and St. Louis. In case you were wondering, I don’t feel like visiting the thimble museum either.”

  She pondered for a moment, her brow scrunched with worry. “But what happens after that? Once you get as far as St. Louis, you can’t just drive back.”

  I closed the distance between us. “We play it by ear. I was never planning on driving back anyway. That’s what transports are for.”

  Her brow went up again. “You’re going to put your car on a transport?”

  “It’s just a car.” Somehow, I said it with a straight face. “Where’s your suitcase?”

  She mulled over my response for a good ten seconds before she relaxed and said, “It’s in my room.” When I took a step in that direction, her palm met my chest. “I can get it.”

  Why was everything with this girl a fight? And more importantly—why was my dick twitching?

  She took off, and with a sigh, I followed. Cutting in front of her, I lifted the rollaway off her bed.

  As soon as the suitcase was on the floor, she took the handle. “I got it.”

  This time, I knew she was serious and I figured something out from the exchange. Tori would let me help her but only if she really needed it.

  I held up my hands in surrender. “Suit yourself.”

  On the way back to my room, she snatched a flannel shirt from the chair.

  “It’s going to be hot as hell today,” I said as I scooted around her to zip my suitcase. “I don’t think you need layers.”

  By the time I looked around to see if I’d missed anything, Tori had the shirt tied around her waist. Adjusting the fabric, she took great care to cover the scar on her thigh.

  I realized I was invading her private moment when she blinked at me. And once again I found myself behind her wall. She pinned a small smile to her lips that I wanted to kiss right off.

  Stalking to the dresser, I grabbed the coffees. “How about I get the suitcase and you take care of the important stuff?”

  Slowly, her fingers unfurled from the handle of her rollaway. “Okay,” she said quietly as she took the tray.

  I wanted to tell her this wasn’t a battle. There was no surrender. But I didn’t think she’d listen. So I decided I’d just have to show her.

  19

  St. Louis, MO.

  I could hear it, like tin in my ear. Off key. We’d rolled through the number three times, but no. It wasn’t right. From her spot atop the high, canvas chair tucked way back from the stage, Tori looked up. It was brief, just a tilt of her head. But she heard it too.

  I held up my hand, and the music stopped. “Something’s off. Let’s do it again.”

  Cameron pulled a face and stalked over, boots echoing in the large auditorium. “It sounds fine. Maybe your ears are still plugged. Once we get thirty-eight thousand bodies in this place, you won’t notice one note.” He patted my shoulder. “Besides, you need to rest your voice.”

  Sean and Christian nodded their agree
ment. Because they thought I was sick.

  The lie started out innocent enough. I’d sneezed a couple of times on the day we’d arrived. I knew it was allergies. But once I was in my suite with Tori in the adjoining room, she’d heard a particularly bad fit. And then she’d ordered soup. The soup had evolved into a movie. And then dinner. And then breakfast the next morning, followed by another movie.

  I never got around to telling Tori I wasn’t sick. But, in my defense, I didn’t tell her that I was either.

  She took it upon herself to tell Elise, who in turn told the guys.

  “My voice is fine,” I assured. “Let’s take it from the top.”

  Ignoring Cameron’s eye roll, I took my place at the microphone. In my periphery, I spotted Dylan and the rest of his band walking up the ramp. He broke from the group as soon as he spotted Tori. Before he got to her, she hopped out of her seat and headed for the exit. Persistent fuck that he was, Dylan followed.

  “Dude,” Cameron called from a few feet away. “You missed your damn cue.”

  Clearing the non-existent tickle from my throat, I placed the mic in the stand. “I think y’all are right. We’re good.”

  I gave a nod to the guys from Leveraged to let them know we were wrapping up. Beckett set his guitar case down and took off, presumably in search of his lead singer.

  Cameron grinned as he pulled the cord from his Fender. “You mind repeating the part where you said you were wrong?”

  I gave him a bland stare. “I didn’t say I was wrong. I said you were right. There’s a difference.”

  Since I had zero fucks invested in the conversation, I punched him lightly on the arm and headed for the exit. I was seconds from a clean getaway when Christian fell into step beside me.

  “Melody flew in this morning,” he said. “We’re all going to hit the town tonight and hear some blues. Are you in?”

  I continued to inch toward freedom. “Nah, man. I’m still feeling a little under the weather.”