Skipped a Beat

by Salsbury, JB

  “So? What’s up?”

  I take a long swig of my beer and sink a little deeper into the plush leather seat. “Not much.” Oh, a woman snuck on our bus today. Don’t worry, she’s not a crazy groupie who’s after me. I’m pretty sure she hates my guts. But ever since I left her behind on the bus, I can’t stop wondering what’ll become of her. Is she walking the freezing cold streets of Chicago looking for a warm place to sleep? I imagine her arms wrapped around her middle as she fights to stay warm, all that gorgeous hair blowing around her face, getting caught between her pouty lips, purple from the cold.

  I am such a dick. At the very least I should’ve made sure she had a safe place to stay for the night. Not that she would’ve accepted my offer. Every time she looked at me, I felt like she was seeing shit on the bottom of her shoe. I can’t help someone who refuses my help. That’s what I’ve been telling myself ever since I stomped out of that bus.

  “…and then Sire said I had some real potential.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Are you even listening to me?”

  No. But I did catch some of what she said. “Who the hell is Sire?” I chuckle, because honestly, what a dickhead name.

  “DJ Sire. Hello? Only one of the most famous deejays in Las Vegas.”

  “One of the most famous,” I say dully. “There’s a million deejays in Vegas.”

  “You don’t understand. In my field—”

  “Your field. You’re a cocktail server.”

  I’m met with silence. Shit.

  “I’m sorry.” The word leaves a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Here we go again. You undervaluing my job. And you know being a cocktail server is just a stepping stone for my modeling career.”

  I roll my eyes, grateful she can’t see me. “Right. I forgot.” Because every cocktail server in Las Vegas is told she’s on the cusp of becoming the next big thing. I’m pretty sure every skeezy bar owner includes that in the new-hire paperwork. Work for us, and you’ll be the next big thing! Here’s your string bikini uniform.

  “What has gotten into you?”

  Feeling the same old fight brewing, I take a different tactic. “DJ Sire is right. You’d make a great model, you’re beautiful, bab—Rach.”

  “You know, I’d have a much better chance of making it if I lived in LA.”

  “No reason why you can’t move there.”

  She sighs. “I meant move to LA and live with you. I can’t afford it on my own.”

  How romantic.

  I pick at the label on my bottle and ask myself why I’m trying so hard to be with a woman who clearly doesn’t care about me, only about what I can provide for her. When an immediate answer doesn’t come to mind, I let my head fall back and groan. God, what are we even doing? “I should probably go. I’ll try to text you when I get back on the bus.”

  “Try?”

  “Goodnight, Rach.”

  I hang up my phone and down the rest of the bottle. My foot taps impatiently, but what could I be impatient for? I’m restless, agitated. I hop up and pull out my workout gear, then toss it on the bed and hit Chris’s number.

  “What’s up?” he answers, sounding like I woke him from a nap.

  “You want to meet me at the gym?” On tour, we try to fit workouts in when we can. It takes a lot of stamina to play as often as we do, and after sitting on a bus for twenty-four hours, we’re all restless as hell.

  “Yeah, I’ll call Ethan and Jesse.”

  “I’ll get security. Meet at the elevators in ten.”

  “Later.”

  * * *

  Eight minutes later, I leave my room and find one of our security guards, Ty, waiting in the hallway with Chris and Ethan. Ty’s dressed in workout clothes too. No point in sitting around while keeping us safe. He may as well get sweaty with us. Chris is holding a bottle of Fiji water and Ethan a Bud Light.

  “No water?”

  Ethan holds up his can and looks at me as if I missed seeing the beer in his hand. “It’s basically water.”

  We head to the elevators, hotel security waiting at the double doors and pressing the lighted button for us. “The fitness center is empty and closed to the public until you’re finished.”

  Ty thanks the guy, and just when we’re about to head inside the elevator, Jesse comes jogging down the hallway.

  “Hold up!” He’s tying his drawstring on his shorts when he slides through the closing doors. “Sorry I’m late. I was FaceTiming Bethany for a little TMI.” His lazy yet satisfied smile says it all.

  “I appreciate you sparing us the details, bro.”

  He isn’t always so private.

  Sure, there’s a little venom in my voice. I mean, he’s lucky to have a woman who can’t wait to get in front of a camera with him and do whatever it takes to make him happy.

  “Oh, no, I wasn’t being modest. TMI is what it’s called.” Jesse side-eyes me through heavy lids. “Timely Masturbation Intervention.”

  I laugh. Hard. “That’s not a thing.”

  Ethan nods. “It sure as shit is, man. Like, you don’t want your woman fuckin’ around while you’re gone, so you gotta make sure she’s taking care of business on her own and vise versa.”

  I look at Chris, the only married guy in the group, and he simply nods.

  No way. Not Chris? “Really?”

  “Newbie. We gotta teach Ryder the tricks of tour survival.” Jesse chuckles, and the elevator door pings and opens to the fitness center. “Are you telling me you and Rachel don’t have daily video sessions to get each other off?”

  I ignore Jesse and glare at Chris. “Daily? Even on the bus?”

  Chris laughs, but he doesn’t deny it.

  “Shit, Ryder.” Jesse strolls into the gym ahead of us and goes straight for the treadmills. “If you’re not making sure she’s orgasming daily with you, she’s definitely getting it from someone else.”

  I set down my water and drop to the bench next to where Jesse has started ramping up his speed to a jog. “I would know if she were getting it from someone else.”

  Four pairs of eyes, even Ty’s, focus on me, but none of them say what it seems they’re all thinking.

  They’re thinking I’m a naïve dumbass.

  Jade

  I took the longest shower of my life, over twenty minutes. I stood under all five sprayers until I was red and splotchy and a little woozy from all the steam. The experience was fantastic. After I toweled off and slipped on my Jesse Lee sweats and tee, I came out to find the RV spotless and the bag I stuffed my dirty clothes in gone. I checked that the door was locked, the blinds all closed, then made myself a bowl of canned beef stew and snagged a couple pieces of bread with butter. After eating, I crawled into the unused bunk. With the sun still up but feeling safer than I have in weeks, I fell asleep.

  When I wake up it’s dark, and it takes me a minute to remember where I am. I slide off the bunk and walk down the narrow hallway toward the kitchen. Through the blinds, the faint light of sunset glows in the distance. I check the clock on the microwave, and it’s after five o’clock. I squint and lean closer.

  Five o’clock in the morning?

  Did I sleep for fifteen hours? My stomach answers that question with a long rumble, a demand for food.

  I pop a coffee pod into the fancy maker, and brew a cup of coffee, then snag a Pop-Tart from the pantry and settle on the couch. Part of me is grateful I got sleep. Who knows how long it’ll be before I get another chance? Part of me wishes I’d had time to watch some television, maybe do a little snooping. I suppose it’s for the best. Charles wasn’t specific about what time anyone would be back, and the last thing I need is to get caught digging through drawers.

  The sound of activity from outside sends me to the window to peer between the blinds. Silhouettes of roadies wearing all black are back to work early as they unload more gear. I wonder if I could get inside and watch. I’ve always wondered what kind of work is involved in these huge production shows. I s
tare down at my clothes. Yeah, I’m sure they’d let me in.

  I flop back onto the couch, finish my breakfast, and clean my mug. There’s nothing much to be seen out here, not many personal touches outside of some loose guitar picks and drumsticks. I play a game where I try to guess which instrument each of them plays and settle on Chris as the bass player because he’s so laid back. Ethan is nuts and Ryder is too pretty to be hidden behind a drum kit, so I vote Ethan for drums and Ryder up front and center with Jesse on lead guitar.

  I head to the bunks and know immediately which one belongs to Chris because of the dozens of family photos pinned to the wall. He’s married to a pretty woman and they have two kids together, a little girl and a baby boy. The bunk under Chris’s has a Penthouse centerfold pinned to the wall. I assume that’s Ethan’s. The bunk I slept in is below Ryder’s. I don’t know why I’m so nervous. I peel back the curtain and see nothing at all of interest. It looks as generic as the one I slept in last night.

  “That was disappointing.” My eyes gravitate toward the door in the back, the one right next to the bathroom. Charles implied behind this door was all their valuables, and after a tug, I discover he wasn’t kidding. Locked.

  Huh… What could they possibly have in there?

  God, what am I doing? These guys trusted me enough to let me stay in their personal space unsupervised, and I’m repaying them by snooping through their shit.

  I need something to kill time. I mess with the television remote, but it’s static.

  Eventually I am so desperate, I grab magazines from the bathroom.

  * * *

  I’m another two cups of coffee in, and I’ve eaten a yogurt and an apple by the time the front door clicks open.

  “I thought you said you’d be back early.” I smile in anticipation of Charles and then frown when a pair of hazel eyes, set in a strikingly handsome and familiar face, zero in on me.

  “What the fuck?” His voice is so familiar, as if I’m listening to an old friend.

  But he isn’t a friend.

  He’s Jesse fucking Lee.

  “Uh….”

  His eyes form into thin, angry slits. “Who the hell are you?” He doesn’t sound as mad as he looks, and I wonder if he suffers from the same resting bitch face I do.

  “I, uh…”

  His eyes dart to my chest, or rather my shirt. They then slide to the magazine I have open in front of me, a naked woman spread eagle on the left page. He takes a step closer. “Is that Penthouse?”

  “I’m reading the articles.”

  “No shit,” he says sounding bored. “If that’s true, then please, enlighten me.”

  “Well.” I swallow air through my dried throat. “This one here is about Joshua Tanner, a five-star Uber driver who was killed in a car crash. He was on his way to pick up Judy and Ellen from a party when he lost control of his Accord and drove off a bridge. His family said he would never intentionally—”

  “Okay, okay…” He nods, and oh my gosh, I am having a conversation with Jesse Lee! THE Jesse Lee. “I believe you. Although I’ll admit, I wasn’t expecting that. I was kind of hoping you were lezzing out in here.” He immediately puts his hands up. “Don’t get me wrong. I have no interest in that—not anymore—but…” He stares off dreamily. “It would’ve been a great story though.”

  “I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Eh… I’ll forgive you. Eventually.” He frowns and shrugs. “What happened to your face?”

  My fingers drift to the sore first-degree contusion on my cheek. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

  He doesn’t seem satisfied with my answer, but he lets it go. “So… who the fuck are you, and what are you doing on my tour bus?”

  I close the magazine, feeling my leg muscles coil a bit with the urge to run past him, out the door, then away for as far as my legs will carry me. “I’m waiting for Charles.”

  “Is he your dad?”

  These fucking white boys. Now we’re matched, glare to glare. “Of course you’d think we’re related. I suppose I could assume because you’re white you must be related to every other white person tooling around outside, right?”

  He purses his lips, his expertly shaped brows pinching together.

  I stand quickly, my legs getting the signal to take off. “Don’t think too hard. You might hurt yourself.” I stomp past him and down the stairs, determined to find a familiar face so I can then locate my clothes and get out of here before someone calls the police. The asphalt is cold under my bare feet, and the midmorning breeze cuts through my T-shirt and bites at my skin. I fold my arms over my chest, look left, then right, and decide to head toward the loading dock. I jog, crushing my braless boobs with my forearms, until I find a man with a black T-shirt that reads “CREW” on the back. “Excuse me, could you tell me where the people who bring the laundry back to the buses are?”

  His eyes make a quick pass over my body and, of course, he must think I’m a deranged groupie. “You’re not supposed to be here without a pass.”

  “No, I’m not a fan. I’m a friend of Charles.”

  “Henderson?”

  “Uh… yeah.”

  “He’s inside. I can’t let you in, but I can go get him.”

  “Okay, yes please, that would be great. Tell him Jade needs him. It’s an emergency.”

  He allows himself another visual drink of my person, then walks off. I lean against a wall, huddling from the wind, as I wait for Charles. He’ll vouch for me to Jesse, and once my clothes show up, I’ll get out of their hair.

  Be grateful it’s not snowing, Jade. Focus on the tiny blessings because it’s all there will be for a while.

  I tense when a big guy with light brown hair wearing the same black-on-black outfit as the first guy heads toward me. He seems confused, looks around, and as he steps closer to me, he frowns. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  “No, but no worries because I don’t know you either.”

  He throws his thumb over his shoulder. “Mitchell just told me you wanted me for something? An emergency?” His eyes take in my outfit, clearly recognizing it. “If you’re looking for a way to sneak in, I can’t help you with that. You’re not supposed to be here.”

  “I know, and trust me, I don’t want to be, but I’m stuck. I’m looking for Charles, the one who drives the bus.”

  “Ahh, yeah. I haven’t seen him.”

  “You must be Charles Henderson.”

  He nods. “You should go before security finds you.” He turns away, giving me the chance to escape in privacy.

  Rather than run away barefoot and underdressed, I do the only thing I can and return to the bus. If nothing else, I can grab my boots, try to buy some time for my clothes to come in. I can’t go roaming the streets of Chicago braless, pantyless, and dressed like Jesse Lee’s biggest fan. Not that I’m not a fan. His music kept me awake during many late-night studying sessions.

  I pop the door to the bus, grateful Jesse didn’t lock me out, and climb the steps only to find the superstar leaning over the open magazine on the table. His gaze comes to me, and I brace for his anger, or at the very least his irritation.

  “There had to be foul play.” He stabs his finger to the open page with the written words, directly across from the brunette with the generous labia. “Not only did he have a five-star rating, but he’d never had a speeding ticket in his life.”

  “Maybe he was drunk.”

  He gapes. “Drunk? Did you not read? His BAC was zero.”

  “That must’ve been at the end. I never got the chance to finish it.”

  He blinks a few times, shakes his head, and goes back to reading. “You ready to tell me who you are and what you’re doing here?”

  I suppose I owe him something. “I’ve been hitchhiking my way across country. Found myself in a bad situation last night and Charles gave me a ride.” I don’t dare say I boarded the bus without permission.

  He studies my bruised cheek and frowns. “Where’s home?”

/>   “Don’t have one.”

  “Huh.” His frown deepens and he goes back to his magazine.

  I spot my boots and slowly inch toward them, thinking if I don’t disturb him, maybe he’ll forget I’m here. Just then the door swings open.

  Footsteps sound, and I await the appearance of my clothes or Charles.

  Blue eyes zero in on me immediately, and Ryder freezes midstep. “Jade?”

  5

  Ryder

  I can’t believe she’s here.

  I can’t believe the relief I feel, the uncoiling in my chest at seeing her on the bus, safe and warm. As hard as I tried last night to forget about the mysterious stranger, my brain couldn’t let her go.

  I pictured her cold and hungry on the streets of Chicago and then kicked myself for being such a dick and not offering her some money to stay somewhere safe. To make matters worse, I then imagined all the different scenarios that could’ve put her in such a desperate position as to sneak onto our bus and hide overnight. Someone hurt her. Her bruised face says as much. A lover? Even as my blood boils at the thought, I realize she doesn’t strike me as the victim type. I can’t imagine any man getting the upper hand on her, not if he values his balls. She probably collects the castrated testicles of past lovers who do her wrong. Shit, as beautiful as she is, they probably hand them over freely.

  “Finally,” Jesse says with exasperation. “I’ve been waiting for you for an hour.”

  Jade cocks her head at Jesse. “Twenty minutes. Tops.”

  He slams closed a magazine that I recognize as a Penthouse from our bathroom stash. I study Jade, waiting for her to make some wisecrack about the slap-mag.

  Jesse groans and rubs his eyes. “Felt way longer. Anyway.” He peers up at me. “Grab your shit and let’s go.”

  I’m still studying Jade. “Why are you here?” I wish I could take back the words or at least drape them with a little more nonchalance rather than douse them in accusation.