by Salsbury, JB
Ryder
Dimples.
Jade has two kissable dimples, perfectly placed on either side of her smile. Her smile—fuck me. The tilt of her lips, even just barely, changes the entire shape of her face.
My thoughts skid to a halt as her words sink in.
She’s staying. On tour. On our bus. For the next three weeks.
I have never wanted to celebrate and simultaneously put my head under a car tire before. This woman brings out so many of my firsts.
On one hand, having her around is stimulating—my dick the first to stand and agree. Those ten minutes in the bathroom were spent rubbing visions of her naked out of my system while burying my nose in the clothes she wore last night. And damn, she smells fucking amazing, like sunshine and fresh, wet earth. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but my only other option was to walk out with a pepper-grinder-sized hard-on tenting my jeans.
On the other hand, she can’t seem to tolerate being around me. She picks at my every last nerve and makes me say things I end up hating myself for. She brings out the worst in me.
Oh, and there’s the other tiny little detail that I have a fucking girlfriend!
Rachel is going to shit knowing there’s a woman living on the bus with us. She even throws fits when Chris’s wife travels with us. I don’t tell her about the countless faces of nameless women Ethan has in his bunk. If she knew about them, she’d really lose her shit.
How could Jesse do this without consulting us first?
“No.”
“Excuse me?”
“You can’t stay. You have to go.”
“But Jesse—”
I reach for my wallet. “How much do you need for a plane ticket?” I pull out a stack of hundreds. “I’ll get you a cab to the airport. You can get to wherever you’re headed by dinnertime.”
“I can’t. I don’t have an ID.”
“No drivers license, why am I not surprised.” I shove the money at her and shake it. “Take the bus.”
She eyes the money for a few seconds, and I worry she won’t take it. Finally, she lifts her hand and pulls the paper bills into her palm. Her head tilts slowly up, her eyes the last to lift, and when they meet mine, there is a bright and unholy fire burning behind them. “You entitled, privileged son of a bitch.” She throws the money in my face, sending the bills fluttering to the ground, and she advances a step. “I don’t want your fucking money. I’m not looking for handouts. Jesse gave me the opportunity to earn his assistance, and I’m taking him up on the offer.” Her frown twists into a sneer. “Rich, white boy like you wouldn’t understand that, would he?”
“You don’t know me.” I try to put flames of my own behind my words, but they still come out sounding weak.
“Don’t I? Allow me to speculate. I bet your parents are loaded, you grew up in a big house in the ’burbs, got your first guitar when you were a kid that came with a lifetime of expensive lessons. You got good grades because your parents hired you the best tutors, gifted you a tricked-out SUV for your sixteenth birthday… Tell me I’m wrong.”
She’s not. She’s pretty fucking spot-on actually, except I got a drum kit, not a guitar, and I never had lessons. Didn’t need ’em. Mentioning it seems pointless, so I keep my mouth shut.
“I’m sure your dad wanted you to take over the family business, right? But you got a rebel streak in you, so you went into music just to piss him off.”
My eyes dart around the living room, wondering if she was able to Google me because how the fuck does she know this shit?
She straightens her shoulders, knowing she’s won. “Yeah, I might not know you, but I know your type, and you boys are all the same.”
“You think just because a person comes from some money they’ve never been through shit?” My hands quake with the urge to grab her, shake her, and kiss the fucking scowl off her perfect goddamned face.
She sticks her bottom lip out, having no clue the temptation she’s putting before me. “Aww, did you have your iPhone taken away for lying about drinking Mommy’s expensive champagne?”
I laugh at how easily she thinks she can shove me into a box. “Funny. And you’re the one who accused me of making assumptions.”
The only tell that my words rattle her is the flutter of her eyelashes.
I step closer and lean into her face, so close I can feel the heat of her nervous breath against my chin. “You. Are. A. Hypocrite.”
Our gazes lock, dance, tangle in a hold I find impossible to break. Tension builds between us, so alive it’ll take brute strength to snap us apart. Is it possible to hate this woman yet still want to spend hours bringing her pleasure until her voice is raw from screaming my name?
The commotion of roadies chatting outside filters in through the thin walls, breaking the spell.
She backs up, her expression weary. “I’m staying.”
“Suit yourself.” With those parting words, I push my feet to move and hunt down the band for sound check. “Just stay the fuck out of my way.” And out of my head.
6
Ryder
Sound check was the perfect cure.
When I’m behind my kit, the rest of the world disappears. I played until I was sweaty and exhausted—drum solos, new patterns I’m working on perfecting—and finished feeling strong and blissfully free of thoughts of the angry little stowaway.
We’re now one hour before the first of two opening bands takes the stage, and my focus is slipping.
Jesse is off with Brent doing press while Chris and I hang in the arena’s basement with a few of the guys from the opening band, Dearest Jenny. Dinner was a spread of Italian food from a local restaurant, everything from shrimp scampi to Chicago-style pizza. I never have much of an appetite before shows, but tonight my lack of appetite was magnified tenfold, thanks to Jade. I drum my fingers on my denim-clad thigh while flipping my phone in my other hand.
She’s at the next table over, talking to Ethan about movies, and her voice is all I can hear.
Why is she here anyway?
I didn’t expect her to go hungry. I figured someone would bring her food or that she’d eat in the bus, so I was surprised to see Ethan usher her through the door thirty minutes ago.
Jesse told Ethan and Chris about his offer to allow Jade to stick around. Neither of them voiced a single concern, and when Jesse turned toward me and asked if I was cool with it, I opened my mouth to say, “Fuck no, I’m not cool with it,” but he cut me off by laughing and said, “Your dick spoke volumes for you earlier. It’s unanimous. She stays.”
I still have my one ace in the hole.
Brent.
Jesse may be the name in lights, but Brent is the tour manager hired by the label. If anyone has power over Jesse, it’s Arenfield Records. Once Brent finds out about Jade, he’ll make sure she’s sent packing, and to alleviate any guilt I have at kicking a homeless woman out of our bus, we’ll make sure she has enough money to buy herself a car and drive herself wherever she wants to go.
So that’s what I’m doing, waiting for Brent to walk in and come face-to-face with our little stowaway. I check the time on my phone, and Chris pushes away his empty plate that was once piled high with linguini.
“Waiting for a call?”
He means from Rachel. Funny, I haven’t heard from her since last night, and I’ve hardly thought of her since. I glare at Jade who’s nodding animatedly—not smiling, just listening to whatever Ethan is saying. I blame her for taking up space in my head, making me forget about my own girlfriend.
“No, I’m not waiting for a call.” I find Rachel’s contact info and hit Call.
Chris’s brows jump in surprise. He knows I’d usually make the call from my room, but not tonight. Why not tonight? I don’t know, and I don’t care to explore my reasoning.
“Ryder?”
“Yeah, hey. I have some free time before the show and figured I’d give you a call.”
“Where are you? I hear voices in the background.”
&nb
sp; Another reason why I don’t like talking to Rachel in a room filled with people, she immediately assumes the worst. “Just the guys from the other bands and crew.”
Jade isn’t an overly boisterous talker, and I’ve never heard her laugh outside of her quick, humorless chuckles when she’s pissed. There are a couple other women in the room, and they’re fairly quiet too. Knowing Rachel, she’ll probably hear all of them anyway.
“I miss you. I miss you so fucking much.” Yep. There I go again, spouting ridiculous shit I feel horrible about instantly.
Jade’s eyes track to mine. She heard me. How could she not? I practically announced it to the entire room. Even Ethan is staring at me like I have a dick growing out of my forehead. Chris just shakes his head.
“Okay. Are you drunk?”
“No, I’m not.” I can’t take my eyes off Jade as I talk to my girlfriend. “Just missing you.”
“That’s sweet.” I picture Rachel standing in front of the full-length mirror in her room, posing and making stupid pucker faces while she’s listening to me. “I wish I were there.”
“What are you doing right now?” Please say something sexy, anything, something that’ll bring my thoughts back to you.
“Getting ready to go out. Heather and I are going dancing at Xtension tonight.”
Knowing Rach, she’s wrapped her body in a skintight something, her face painted up, hair primped and poofed to twice it’s natural size, all so she can go rub her ass on the dicks of other men and call it “dancing.”
“Great. You two have fun.” I look away from Jade before she has the chance to look away from me first.
“Here, wait…” There are a few beats of silence, then a vibration in my ear. “I just sent you a sexy pic. Show it to all the skanks who hit on you, okay?”
“Yeah, of course. Okay, I have to go.”
“Have a good show tonight.”
“Will do. And uh… be safe, okay?” Translation: don’t cheat on me.
“Always. Love ya.”
I lean forward and stare at the floor between my feet. “Yeah, you too.”
“Ryder?” she says in a whiney voice. “Say it!”
I roll my lips between my teeth, then grunt out a quick “love you.” The feeling of regret and embarrassment slams me in the throat. I end the call and flip the phone over in my hands.
I do love her.
I did love her.
Do I still?
Jade
I ate so much I can barely take a full breath. Growing up on food stamps, never knowing when the next meal would come, makes all-you-can-eat situations difficult for me to navigate. I stuffed myself. At least I have those Jesse Lee sweatpants waiting for me back on the bus. I noticed Ryder didn’t slip them into the dirty clothes, but they were left in his bunk, probably where he set them and forgot about them.
Speaking of Ryder…
I do my best not to stare at him slumped over in his seat. I’m assuming he was speaking to his girlfriend, but the end of the conversation didn’t seem to go well. Rather than continue to study him, I turn toward the other people in the room, and it’s easy to pinpoint who’s who. The rock stars are the ones with piercings, tattoos, and artfully disheveled clothes. If all that isn’t a giveaway, then the manner in which people respond to them is. These guys have assistants, managers, and stylists hovering around them like flies.
“You ready to hear about your duties for tonight?”
The question comes from Ethan, who has turned out to be my biggest ally. His love of movies and goofy personality remind me of my oldest brother, Harlan. I push back the flicker of sadness that accompanies every thought of him since he was killed.
Ethan doesn’t take anything seriously, which is such a relief from my own inner workings. If it weren’t for him, I’d probably still be sitting in the bus reading Penthouse for the second time, and honestly a girl can only handle so much vag. “Yes, fill me in.”
“There’s a table just off stage that’ll be stocked with water bottles. You just have to make sure they don’t run out.”
I scrunch up my nose. “That’s it? That’s hardly a job.”
“I wouldn’t say that until you’ve done it.” He winks playfully.
“And if I get bored, can I walk around?”
“Bored? Have you ever been to a Jesse Lee show?” At the shake of my head, he says, “That’s what I thought.” Ethan points to the lanyard hanging around my neck that says “GUEST.” “We’ll eventually get you an all-access pass, but for tonight, the guest pass will keep you backstage. But stick close to us so you don’t get lost.”
I bite back an excited grin. In the forty-eight hours I’ve been with these guys, I haven’t thought much of the life I left behind or the troubles ahead. I haven’t worried about all the what-ifs or tried to solve my inevitable obstacles. Maybe for these few weeks, for my own peace of mind, I could pretend to be someone else. Let this be my last hurrah before the shit that is my life gets so real I’ll struggle not to drown in it.
“I’m going to throw my plate away.”
Ethan hands me his, and my answering dirty look seems to amuse him. “I’m just taking advantage of your new position as helper to the celebrity folk.”
I turn away before he catches my smile and walk toward the large garbage cans at the far side of the room. I pass Ryder and pretend not to notice how he watches me, probably hoping I trip, fall, and knock out my front teeth. I dump the plates and wipe my fingers on my jeans when I feel a tap on my shoulder. I whirl around to find a guy with long, black hair, smudged eyeliner, and a lip ring.
Quick assessment: Band member.
He hooks his thumb behind his silver-studded belt. “Who are you?” His gaze dips to my boobs, lingers, and comes back to my eyes.
I hold up the laminated card on my lanyard, pretending it was what he was trying to read rather than study my tits. “Guest.”
“Nice to meet you, guest.” He holds out a hand. Four of his five knuckles wrapped in gigantic silver rings. “I’m Ansel.”
I don’t shake his hand. “Oh, my hands are dirty.” They’re not, but I wipe them on my thighs anyway. “Nice to meet you, Ansel.” I begin to walk away, but he shifts to block my path.
“You’re really beautiful.”
I muster up all the energy I have not to roll my eyes and make gagging noises. “Thanks.” I move to walk away again, but he cuts me off. Again.
“I’m serious. I’ve been watching you eat, and you’re really sexy.”
“That’s just creepy.”
He laughs and runs his ringed hand through his hair. I wonder if any of the strands will get caught on the skulls and dragonheads adorning his fingers. He winces as he frees his hand from his stringy locks, a few casualties stuck to the silver. “How’d you like to hang out with me in my bus after the show?”
I drop my head back, pray for patience, and look back to find Ansel staring heatedly at my neck. “Is that code for ‘do you wanna go fuck after I get off work’? Because I gotta tell you, I’ve heard that about a thousand times too many, and hearing it again makes me want to go Lorena Bobbitt all over the nearest penis.”
Ansel’s face grows impossibly paler, and he cups his junk.
“Have a good show.” I step around Ansel and wonder if all men really do only think about where they can stick their dicks next. I have to wonder if I have “USE ME” typed somewhere on my forehead. Maybe a sticky note on my back? My pulse beats a little too fast, and my head gets light. I stop at the nearest table, brace my weight, and take deep, calming breaths to regain my balance.
A warm hand covers mine. I blink through the dizziness at two pools of concerned blue eyes. “You all right?”
Ryder.
I rip my hand away and hide it behind me so he can’t snatch it back. He takes a retreating step. “You looked like you might faint. I was just trying to help.”
“Well, don’t.”
Concern morphs to confusion and then to indignation. “F
ine.”
Just then the double doors push open to reveal a cluster of large men, all wearing black except for one in a white polo shirt and slacks who leads the pack. When the bodies part, I see Jesse in the middle, his phone pressed to his ear. He sees Ryder, then me and lifts his chin and breaks away from his cluster of security.
“I will, baby. I’ll FaceTime you after the show. I love you so much.” Jesse makes a kissing sound, hits End, and slides the phone into his back pocket. He looks between me and Ryder and grins. “All right, which one of you did the hurting this time?”
“Yo, Jesse!” Ansel races up and shoves his body between Ryder, me, and the super-celebrity. He holds out his hand to give Jesse a high five, but Jesse shoves his hands in his pockets. The guy recovers from the rejection well by smacking his hands together. “You should come hang with us on our bus after the show.”
I gape at him. “Hold on, you just asked me to come hang out with you in your bus after the show.”
“He asked you that?” This came from Ryder, whose jaw is so tight it ticks.
“Whoa,” Jesse says. “I dig the whole androgynous thing you got going on, but dicks aren’t for me.”
Ansel laughs uncomfortably. “Nah, man, I just thought we could hang out, have a beer.” His lined eyes expand when he realizes what he’s done. News of Jesse’s sobriety isn’t a secret, and clearly Ansel had a momentary lapse. “Uh…” He nods his head in my direction. “Bring her. Maybe we could show her how to loosen up.”
The sexual innuendo was horribly delivered but in there nonetheless. I open my mouth to defend myself when Ryder steps in front of me and awkwardly close to Ansel. “She’s a guest of Jesse’s, show some fucking respect.”
“Shit, man, take it easy. I was just joking.” I can’t see Ansel from around Ryder’s big body, but I hear Ansel’s boots shuffle away.
“Who is that guy?” Jesse asks while watching his retreat.