by Lisa Suzanne
“The car is here,” Griffin says.
I glance up at him from my laptop. I have over a thousand emails to sort through, but somehow it always falls down to the last thing on my To Do List.
“Can you grab my bag? It’s on the bed. I’ll be out in two minutes.”
He nods and sweeps past me, and my eye catches on the subject line of one of the emails sitting in my inbox: About Your Father.
I don’t click it. I’ve lost count of how many emails or letters or phone calls I’ve gotten over the years from people claiming to know something about my life, claiming to be a long lost relative or an old family friend or something else. And that’s me—someone who has worked hard to erase her past. I can’t imagine how someone like Ethan or Mark must fare, two men who’ve lived full lives in the spotlight.
I shut the lid of my laptop and stick it in my purse. I’ll finish going through my email after some room service and a hot bath while I lie on a king-sized bed in a terrycloth bathrobe.
I realize only now, as I slide into the backseat of a limousine, that I haven’t even washed Ethan off yet. It feels like ages ago he fucked me over the dresser on my bus, but it was just earlier this morning.
There’s a knock at my window. I jump, startled, and then turn to meet Ethan’s eyes.
“Where you going?” he asks once I roll down the window.
“Hotel.”
“Which one?”
I turn toward Griffin because honestly I don’t have a clue.
“The W,” Griff answers for me.
Ethan nods and turns away without another word. I don’t know how to read him. I wonder if it’ll get easier in time as I get to know him, but who just walks away without another word? Why does he care where I’m staying?
Why didn’t he kiss me?
He didn’t kiss me when he left my bus earlier, either, and part of me is stung. I hate that I don’t know what he’s thinking.
We pull up to the hotel and Griff helps me get to my room relatively unnoticed. The email with the subject line about my dad is still pulling at my conscience.
I’ll read it and then make the judgment later.
Once I check into my room, I take out my contact lenses to give my eyes some rest. I pull on my black-framed glasses and stare in the mirror at myself for a beat. It’s funny how much eye color is part of a person’s identity. I look like a different version of myself with brown eyes—I look like the innocent girl I once was, just with hollowed cheeks from weight loss and a few lines on my face that didn’t used to be there.
I have a million things to do, things I’ve put off because I was busy flirting with Ethan, but I don’t care. I just want to luxuriate in a tub and think about him. The way his eyes crinkle when he graces me with a rare smile. The way his deep timbre rumbles out of his chest when he talks. The way he bounces his knee restlessly when we’re talking, like he can’t wait to get behind his drum set so he can work out his nervous energy—perhaps even nervous energy created by my own presence.
I’ve just connected my laptop to the hotel’s WiFi as I lie on the bed in my bathrobe when my phone alerts me of a new text.
Ethan: Can’t stay away.
A few seconds later, just as I’m coming up with some witty response, there’s a knock at my door.
I quickly close my laptop and set it on the nightstand. The emails, the administrative work, the approval of new t-shirt designs and headshots, checking our load-in time for tomorrow, communicating with Bridget…it can all wait.
Ethan cannot.
I run to the bathroom and pop my colored contacts back in. I’m not wearing any make-up, still fresh from the shower and then a bath, but at least I can hide the real person underneath with my fake blue eyes.
I open my door, and he stands there looking like my teenage dream come to life in adult form. Hair a wild mess, ocean blue eyes wily as they dart around, stubble lining the sharp angles of his jawline, which is currently clenched. His cheek twitches as he works his jaw, and his eyes are so intense when they finally land on mine I stumble back a step.
He eyes me for a long minute before he speaks. “Jesus Christ. I’ve never seen anyone make one of those huge robes look sexy.”
I can’t tell if he’s a little drunk, a little high, or a little out of his mind. Maybe all three, or maybe none at all.
“Are you wearing anything under that?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath. “Add it to the song.” He steps into my room. I close the door behind him.
“Add what to the song?”
“Something about how I can’t stay away.”
“Are you drunk?” I ask. Everyone knows alcohol is truth serum. That must be what’s got him so intense.
He shakes his head. “I’m not on anything right now. Add something to our song about how I lost what could’ve been in the past, but how the moment I met you, none of that mattered anymore. Everything changed.” He shoves his pointer finger to his chest in a passionate plea. “I changed.”
He takes a step toward me, and his big hand comes around my neck. When he speaks again, his voice is quiet and takes on a tone of wonder, and I know he’s talking about himself now, not the song. “Once I’m done for the night, I’m done with the girl. It’s how I’ve always been, how I was raised, how I’ve always seen life. This is so goddamn confusing and fucking painful and stupid.”
“What’s painful about it?” I ask, my voice a raspy whisper as I stare up into the blue depths of his eyes.
He shoves his hips toward me, proving to me how much he wants this…wants me. “You telling me no. No one ever says no to me except the one girl I finally want.”
“So I’m a challenge.” My voice comes out breathlessly. “You’ll get over it.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not some challenge.”
“Then what is it?” I’m terrified to hear his answer because I know what it is. I just don’t think he has it figured out yet.
“I don’t know. I’ve never felt it before. I can’t eat, can’t sleep, can’t stop thinking about you.” He lowers his voice, confirming my thoughts and leading me to my first small victory. “Can’t stop regretting that I walked out after we fucked.”
“Why did you?” I ask.
He shakes his head and drops his warm hand from my neck. I’m left chilled as he takes a step back. “It’s just what I do.”
“You think it’ll be different with me?”
He glances toward the window, and I step closer to him, set my fingertips on that strong jaw, and angle his face back toward mine, forcing him to look at me.
“It already is,” he says. “I’ve met my match, Mace. You get me. You’re just like me in so many ways. You don’t care that I’m Ethan Fuller of Vail. You’re not some groupie out for one night of fun. You drink and you smoke and you cuss and you’re irreverent and you’re kind of a bitch to me and I think you might be the one tied to the other end of my thread.”
My heart melts in a way it’s definitely not supposed to, especially considering he just called me a bitch, but before I know what I’m doing, my hand is on the back of his head and hauling his face toward mine. I kiss him like it’s my last breath. In a lot of ways, it is. This may be the last time I have to try to get what I want. Everything has fallen into place so much easier than I ever thought it would.
I’m just terrified he’s right—that I’m at one end of the thread and he’s at the other. Because if that’s true, we’re both fucked.
As Ethan’s tongue caresses mine, he slowly guides me toward the bed. I’m moving backward, hardly even aware I’m moving since it feels more like floating, but when the bed hits me behind my thighs, I realize we’ve moved clear across the room. I tumble back on it, and my bathrobe falls open, revealing my truth from earlier—I’m fully naked underneath it.
Ethan arranges my body so my feet are flat on the floor but the rest of me lies on the bed, and then he kneels between my legs.
He forces my knees open as wide as they’ll go, and then he studies my most intimate body part for a beat. His eyes trail up my flat stomach to my tits, and then his hands follow his eyes. He squeezes both my breasts then tugs on my nipples. It’s pleasure edged with pain, and I cry out as I push my knees out even wider, suddenly craving his mouth on me. I thrust my hips up toward him to give him the hint, and he grins wickedly up at me then dives in face first.
His tongue glides along my slit, dipping into me and stopping at my clit to suck before he slides his tongue back down and dips it inside me again. His grunts hum against me, the vibrations pairing with the pleasure of his tongue and pushing me headfirst into a quick orgasm.
My body betrays me—I want the feeling to go on and on forever, but what he’s doing feels too good. I can’t hold it off, and my knees squeeze together against his ears as my body coils tightly and contracts with each pulse of pleasure. He keeps licking, fighting the thrashes of my body, and when I finally start to come down from the high, he delivers a few final licks, my body jerking sensitively with each one. He runs one of his talented fingers through me and dips it inside. When he pulls it out, he sticks it in his mouth and sucks it clean, closing his eyes as if he’s savoring the flavor of the sweetest candy he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting.
He stands and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and then he steps toward the door.
“Where are you going?” I lean up on my elbows.
He shifts and readjusts himself in his pants. “I just wanted to stop by to…uh…give you that. I have some shit I need to take care of.”
It doesn’t get past me that he’s walking out on me again. “But what about you?” I ask, nodding down at the obvious bulge in his pants.
“Don’t worry about me.” He winks at me and then disappears through my door, and I can’t help it. I am worried about him. He just worked himself up into a frenzy, and now he’s off to do God knows what with God knows who.
What he just offered me was a whole lot of fun, but the fact that he jetted out of there faster than I could say thanks just doesn’t sit right with me.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
MACI
Rather than getting out to enjoy the Big D otherwise known as Dallas, I hole myself up in my hotel suite the next day to work on my administrative shit. I delete over five hundred emails, ignore the one that’s been pulling at me so I can get some work done, touch base with Griffin, who is visiting some relatives in Dallas, and video chat with Bridget. She has several interviews set up for me over the next few weeks, a few of which she said she’ll email to me.
A little after three, I take a limo over to the venue for my soundcheck, and it’s as I’m leaving the stage that I run into Ethan.
I press my lips together in a weak attempt at a half-smile. “Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” His single word is laden with both meaning and emotion, but I feel like both are written in a language I haven’t studied. “You okay?” he asks.
I nod. “Why’d you run out?” I ask.
He looks over at his drum set rather than at me. “Let’s talk later.”
I don’t like the sound of that, but what choice do I have? I head back to my dressing room to study my set list, wondering if I should make some changes.
Griffin brings me my water and an iced tea, and I smoke a cigarette before I drink the water and finally the tea. Griffin reads me some interview questions and I talk while he types out my responses for Bridget, and then there’s a knock at my door. Griff goes to open it and when he sees who’s there, he excuses himself to the restroom.
“There she is,” Mark says, stepping into my room. “We still on for the finale?”
“If you want me there, I’ll be there,” I say.
“I want you there.”
“Does everyone feel that way?” I’m digging, which is stupid and probably emotional suicide, but I have to know.
“What’ve you done to him?” Mark asks quietly.
I chuckle. “What has he done to me?” I shoot back.
“I’m serious. I’ve known the kid since elementary school, and he’s totally fucked over you.”
“How?”
Mark shrugs. “Before I met my wife, Ethan and I would have these stupid bets with each other every time we were on the road. Ten grand for whoever bagged the hotter chick, as judged by a roadie we chose at random. Five grand for whoever got a girl naked on the bus faster. I’m not proud of it, but Ethan always was. In fact, it was usually his idea. When I met my wife, I didn’t take part anymore, but he’d still throw out a goal to me and name what he thought it was worth. If he accomplished his goal, I’d pay him. If he didn’t, he’d pay me.”
My brows draw down in horror. “Seriously? What made you think that was okay?”
Mark shrugs. “He hasn’t set a goal since the day you walked into Ashmark. Nothing on this tour. It’s been our tradition for twenty years—it started as dumb bets, like whoever could chug a beer faster got five bucks or who threw up first when we took shots of tequila had to do the winner’s laundry for a month. It progressed to higher stakes, but he hasn’t even mentioned it this tour. You know what I think?”
I just stare at him with no words.
He points at me. “I think it’s because of you.” He sits on the couch, just plops right down like he owns the place and makes himself comfortable. But he’s so casual and charismatic he looks like he belongs wherever he sits even though this is my dressing room. “I told him to play nice with you, that I didn’t want him to fuck things up because I respect you both as an artist and as a person, and I think he went and fell for you. But I also don’t think he’s realized it yet.”
“Why are you telling me this?” I sit in the chair across from him and fold my arms across my chest.
“Because I think you need to hear it. I see the way you look at him when you think no one’s watching. My wife’s the one who pointed it out to me. You two would be great together. Explosive and passionate, fiery and dangerous, but great.”
“Has he mentioned anything about me to you?” I suddenly feel like I’m back in high school, asking the best friend of the boy I like what he said about me. I wonder if high school Ethan ever said anything nice about little Dani Mayne to Mark or if the only words they ever shared about me were the ones I overheard.
Mark looks at me guiltily. “It’s not really my place to say.”
I nod. “So he has. You can’t come in here and say all this to me only to back out of it now.”
He chuckles. “He mentioned what happened on your bus.”
“A lot happened on my bus.”
“He told me about last night, too.”
My cheeks redden to know someone outside of Ethan and me knows he buried his face in my pussy last night. I blow out a breath. “It is what it is,” I say.
“I used to know a girl who would respond to that phrase with and it isn’t what it isn’t. You said that at our first meeting. You remind me of her.” He chuckles at the memory and shakes his head slightly as he narrows his eyes at me. Meanwhile, my heart pounds in my chest. I remind him of a girl who said it isn’t what it isn’t—a stupid phrase in its own right that anybody could’ve said, but still…I need to be more careful about what I say. These men who were once boys didn’t know me all that well back then, yet somehow I made an impression on them—unless I’m completely delusional and they’re referring to some other girl they both knew way back when.
“Anyway,” he says, “your secret’s safe. Ethan’s a douchebag, but he’s my best friend. Just be careful. He’s navigating unfamiliar territory, and he’d kill me if he knew I was in here talking to you, but I felt like you should know.” He stands and heads toward the door. “He’s a lot to handle, but if anyone can do it, you can.”
“Thanks, Mark.”
“Oh, and Vick booked a studio in New York. We’ve got four days there toward the back half of the tour and she booked out a few hours. That gives us over three weeks to set t
he words to music, but I already have a few ideas.”
“Great. I’m up for whatever.”
“Let’s chat tomorrow afternoon.”
I give him a thumbs-up and he shoots me a smile before he disappears out the door.
When my set’s over a few hours later, I expect to rush off the stage and see Ethan standing there, just like he has every night of this tour so far.
When I don’t find him there, my heart drops in disappointment. Griff hands me water and cigarette, and then I rush to my dressing room, wondering if he’ll be waiting there for me, but he isn’t.
I’m sure he’s just busy. I was quite frankly surprised he took the time to watch my set all those other nights when he has his own shit to do, but it was somehow comforting to know he was standing there watching me. It made me delve deeper into my performance, draw more deeply and sing more passionately, maybe as a way to impress him.
Rather than sit in my dressing room tonight while Vail performs, I stand on the side of the stage—the same place where Ethan usually stands—and watch their set. My eyes are trained on Ethan, as if there’s nobody else in the room when in reality there are over twenty thousand fans on one side of the arena and probably hundreds of venue employees backstage and around the place. Despite all that, though, I can’t see anyone else when he’s in my line of sight. It’s terrifying. This isn’t supposed to be anything more than getting what I’ve needed for my own self-esteem since I was a teenager, yet it’s becoming so much more than all that.
I’m falling into something I’m sure I won’t be able to get out of.
My eyes fall to his hands as he does what he was born to do. He grips the sticks and then tosses one up in the air. It makes a series of somersaults before he catches it only to hit the cymbal in perfect stride with the song. His talent on the drums never ceases to amaze me, and seeing him from this angle sends a shiver down my spine as a wave of something plows through my chest. I’d like to say that something is simply lust. I can’t admit it might be something more than that.