Skipped a Beat

by Salsbury, JB

Ryder came off stage with his jeans hung low on his hips, showing the elastic waistband of his Calvin Klein’s hugging solid muscle. I tried not to stare at the light dusting of blond hair that went from his taut belly button to disappear behind his pants, or how his muscles would swell and flex when he’d wipe his face with a towel. When I noticed the tattoo on his chest, the one right over his heart, it was a hefty douse of cold water zapping me back to reality. Beautiful scripted letters spell out the name Rosie. I assume she must be the bombshell blonde woman I saw on his phone, his girlfriend, who could be a doppelganger for Dove Cameron.

  Leave it to me to find myself attracted to a guy who’s already taken.

  At least I’m not drooling over Chris, the married one. That’s a step in the right direction.

  Ryder’s eyes land on mine as if he’s waiting for something, maybe for me to give him a dirty look or blow him off completely. I’m at a loss for words. Maybe even a little starstruck. So I do the only thing I can and smile.

  He seems satisfied with that and smiles back. Suddenly something passes over his expression, and he frowns. Without warning, he turns on his heel and walks away.

  For the rest of the night I see only his back until he mumbles something to Jesse and leaves for the bus.

  I sit on the couch in their dressing room, while one by one, each band member disappears and comes back in similar-looking attire—baggy workout pants, T-shirts, and wet hair.

  “I’m fucking hyped.” Ethan claps his hands. “Lets get back on the bus and have a few beers.”

  Chris pats his pockets, snags his phone off the coffee table, and Jesse tosses his towel after drying his hair. “See you bitches in Omaha.” He lifts a chin toward one of the big security guys who leads the way out the door and, I assume, to Jesse’s bus.

  “You have everything?” Chris asks me and then blushes a little when he remembers I have nothing to claim. “Let’s go.”

  I follow him and Ethan out of the arena basement, their voices echoing off the long concrete hallway that leads to the loading dock where the busses are parked. Crew members pass us in the opposite direction, each one looking like they just downed a pot of coffee. Probably necessary for the job of breaking down the entire stage, loading it up, and hitting the road.

  Security pushes open the door, and we’re hit with a wall of freezing air and the distant shriek of screaming female fans. They’re a good one hundred yards away and held back by police and a half-wall barricade. Ethan and Chris wave, sending them into a frenzy, and I have to wonder how they responded when Jesse walked out just before us.

  We’re kept in a tight huddle by the big men in black, and Charles meets us at the bus door wearing a thick-quilted jacket and a knit cap covering his graying hair. “’Evenin’.” He tips his head. “Jade, I had some things brought in for you. They’re in the bathroom.”

  I freeze in front of him and resist the urge to hug him for looking out for me. “Thank you.”

  “’Welcome. Did you enjoy the show?”

  “I did, very much, thanks.” I’m so lucky I met him. If it weren’t for Charles, I’m sure Ryder would’ve had me thrown off the bus in the middle of the highway. I frown. I need not to forget what kind of a person he really is, not to allow my body to betray my sense of preservation.

  Ryder isn’t my friend.

  He’s dangerous. In more ways than I can count.

  The bus is warm, and Ethan heads straight to the refrigerator and grabs three beers. He pops the tops and hands Chris one and me the other. I’ve never been a big beer drinker, but my nerves are frazzled, my adrenaline high, and as tired as I am a little alcohol will send me into a deep sleep.

  I feel like I’m dreaming and still can’t believe I’m here.

  “Ryder, get out here. Your beer’s getting warm.” Ethan sets an open bottle in a cup holder near where I’m sitting, and I wonder if it would be too obvious if I move.

  Too late. Ryder comes strolling out of the bathroom, his elastic-waistband pants hanging dangerously low on his hips, as he pulls a gray T-shirt on over his wet head. I try not to stare at the semi-erection that bobs between his legs with each step as he closes in on me.

  I turn away, ignore the subtle throbbing between my legs, and stick my face to the blinds that are cracked open just enough to see the crowd of fans illuminated by streetlights in the distance. They jump up and down, some with signs reading anything from a simple I love you to the more disturbing I would die for Jesse.

  “Crazy, isn’t it?” Chris is behind me, leaning over my shoulder to see out the window. “I’ve been with Jesse for coming up on ten years now, and I don’t think I’ll ever get used to the way fans act around him.”

  “It’s not just him.” I point through the blinds. “There’s a Wave to me, Chris sign being held by a very enthusiastic…” I squint. “Young man.”

  Ethan snorts. “Dude, Chris is eye candy for our gay fans. They love him.”

  Chris shrugs. “What can I say? I may be married, but my stuff still works.”

  I sip from my beer while trying to ignore the fact Ryder is twelve inches to my left and noticeably quiet. Ethan and Chris talk about the show, mostly music stuff I don’t understand, and then they regale me with stories of what they witnessed in the front few rows.

  “I thought the woman up front was going to faint when Jesse knelt and sang to her. Did you see how pale she got?” Chris shakes his head. “Last thing we need is another New Orleans episode.”

  Ethan sucks air through his teeth as if remembering whatever the New Orleans episode was and the memory being far from pleasant.

  “What happened in New Orleans?”

  The question came from Ryder, the first he’s said since we all sat down.

  “This was what?” Ethan looks at Chris. “Four years ago?”

  Chris gulps his beer, nodding.

  Ethan leans back, legs open, relaxed. “We were in the middle of our second set, and Jesse—” He fixes me with a stern look. “This was BB, okay? Before Bethany. So don’t go passing judgment. Back then, Jes was hitting the sauce and the powder pretty hard before shows. Anyway, he jumped off stage in the middle of singing ‘Expulsion.’”

  “Ahh, yes, I’m familiar with the song.” Rumor has it Jesse recorded himself masturbating in the background. His label denies the claim. I’ve heard it a million times, and after meeting Jesse personally, I’m convinced the rumor is true.

  “Right, so Jes jumps off stage, and with nothing but a barrier bar between him and thousands of screaming, horny-as-hell women, he grabs one by the back of the head and kisses her.”

  “Oh, shit,” Ryder mumbles, but there’s humor in his voice.

  “He had his tongue down this girl’s mouth for a good forty-five seconds, and when he finally broke away to sing, she went down. Hard.” He slaps his hand on his thigh. “Boom! But see, the women, they were in a frenzy now. Everyone wanted to be the next receiver of the tongue. They didn’t give a fuck about the poor girl who just had all the blood kissed from her brain. They rushed to Jes, stomping all over the poor girl. And he was so fucked up, it took him a minute to notice.”

  I can’t imagine seeing something so horrific and being completely helpless to stop it. “So what happened to her?”

  “Once Jesse figured out what was going on, he yelled in the mic for everyone to back the fuck off. We stopped playing. The arena went nuts, so no one could hear what was happening. Jesse jumped over and started pushing people off her, but then he got mobbed. Security was pulling chicks off Jes. Chris and I dropped our guitars and jumped in. We finally got her out of there.”

  “Was she okay?” I pull my hand away from my mouth, not even realizing I had my fingers pressed to my lips.

  Ethan shook his head and looked at Chris.

  He shook his head too. “She was fucked up. Concussion, broken arm, broken vertebrae. Her face was all fucked up and bloody. Jesse felt so bad, he cancelled the rest of the tour. Jesse refused to leave New Orleans until he kne
w she was going to be okay. He paid for all her bills and shit, and as soon as he was told she’d survive, he checked himself into rehab.”

  “So that’s why he doesn’t drink,” I say.

  “No, actually, he uh…” Chris clears his throat. “That was only one of the times he sobered up.”

  “And why did he sober up this time?”

  All the guys, including Ryder, share some kind of non-verbal communication.

  Ethan’s the one who finally answers. “He fucked our old drummer’s fiancée.”

  I suck in a hissed breath. “Ouch.”

  “But we got Ryder.” Chris nods at the oddly quiet man sitting next to me. “So it worked out okay.”

  “Thank God for Bethany,” Ryder says quietly into his beer.

  “No shit,” Ethan agrees.

  They go on to talk about tonight’s show, and eventually Charles crawls behind the wheel, and with the pop and wheeze of the air brakes, the bus lurches forward. Rather than participate in the conversation, I choose to pop open a small section of the blinds and watch the crowd of fans as they wait in the freezing cold for just a glimpse of the buses as they drive away and on to the next city.

  The women don’t look much different than me. Most look to be in their twenties—some younger, some older—and yet I find it impossible to relate to their mania. I’ve never been this crazy about anyone before.

  Liar!

  Okay. Maybe one.

  Ryder

  “I’m going to go to bed,” Jade says, and it’s just as well. We’ve been talking about music and shows for the past hour, and she’s sat quietly staring out the window.

  “We’ll try to keep it down,” Ethan says as she walks past him to toss her empty beer bottle in the trash.

  “Don’t worry about it. I sleep like the dead.” Her eyes settle on Chris and dart to me but only for a brief second before she says, “Goodnight.”

  “’Night,” Chris says.

  I keep my lips tightly shut as she disappears into the bathroom. I know what she’ll find in there, a brand-new toothbrush and toothpaste of her own, girlie soap, lotions, a brush, face shit. I stared at the items, her stuff in my space, and I didn’t hate it. Matter of fact, I liked it. My only complaint is I liked knowing she was using my body wash, and now instead of smelling like me, she’ll smell like a tropical orchard—whatever the fuck that is.

  “You gonna be able to keep your hands to yourself for the next three weeks?”

  My gaze darts away from the bathroom door to Chris. His expression is heavy with worry. “Why would you ask me that? I have…” A girlfriend.

  Why lie? He can clearly see it all over my face. Not to mention I came so hard I thought I’d blow the tile off the walls an hour and a half ago, and I’ve been semi-hard since.

  “I have more self control than you think.”

  Ethan chuckles. “That woman will eat up even the strongest man’s self control, and she isn’t even trying. You better make sure she doesn’t start feeling something back because I get the feeling once she turns it on, you’ll be fucked, bro. And I mean it in the literal.”

  I bite my lower lip against the image of Jade wanting me so badly that I have no other choice but to lie back and let her take what she wants. I’d tangle my hands in her hair and tongue-fuck her mouth while she rode me—stop it! I cross my legs, adjust, and grimace at the throbbing pain between my legs.

  “I should, uh…” I stand and shuffle uncomfortably toward the trash to toss my beer. “I’m going to bed.”

  Chris and Ethan laugh behind me. I throw up my middle finger and waddle the rest of the way to my bunk. The bathroom door suddenly flies open, and Jade walks out with her head down, looking at something in her hands, and she slams right into me.

  Her front to my front.

  My hard-on jabs into the softness of her belly.

  She grips my biceps to keep from falling.

  I realize I’ve circled my arms around her waist, holding her warmth against me and not caring she can feel just how hot I really am.

  “Sorry,” I whisper.

  Her eyes widen when she realizes the hardness pressed against her, and she wiggles out of my hold. “It’s, uh… I’m okay. I’m sorry, it was my fault.”

  Without looking at me, she ducks and crawls into her bunk, then slides the thick curtain closed with a snap.

  If I wasn’t so close to crawling into the bunk with her, I may have felt embarrassed about what just happened. I have a girlfriend. I have a fucking girlfriend!

  My dick deflates a little, and I crawl into my bunk and secure the privacy curtain. I dig my phone out from my pocket and see a few text messages from Rachel. She’s wondering where I am, concerned I haven’t texted her back yet.

  You better not be flirting with some skanky hoes!

  If she only knew I’ve been fantasizing about a woman sleeping just beneath me.

  8

  Jade

  After a week on tour with Jesse’s band, I hit my limit and go stir crazy.

  Between Ryder and his constant jabs and glowering, Ethan and his unnatural addiction to horrible movies, and Chris’s rich cooking, I needed to get out and move.

  While the guys were away doing press and whatever else, I used my all-access pass to get into the arena, slipped off my boots, and ran steps up in the nosebleeds. What started as a light jog up and down the stairs quickly turned into some Rocky Balboa shit. The more my legs burned, the more I craved until I was lapping the thirty-five-row section over, and over, and over again.

  I allowed thoughts of Steven to filter in. The anger and betrayal fueled me as I attempted again to exorcise him from my head completely. How did I not see it sooner? Why did I ignore the signs?

  Back on the bus and locked in the bathroom, I shake my hair down, strip off my sweaty shirt and sweats, and stare at my reflection in the mirror of the luxurious motor-coach bathroom. I imagine seeing what Mrs. Dr. Steven Fine saw when she saw me standing in her front yard staring at her.

  The unnaturally smooth skin around her mouth pulled into a tight frown as she took me in—my dark skin, thick curls, and finally my lips. Lips her husband had kissed, licked, and bit.

  Shame heats my body, and I drop my gaze.

  “Don’t do this. It’s over. Leave it behind.” I turn on the shower and step into the warming spray while peeling off my bra and panties. Using a palmful of bodywash, I scrub the modest cotton pieces, rinse them, and hang them on the knob before finishing by washing myself. I use the razor, the fruity-smelling shaving cream, and two-in-one shampoo Charles left for me and rinse my sweat along with the past away to swirl down the drain. I towel off, lotion up, and slip on my jeans and sweater sans bra and panties. I brush out my hair and groan when I catch sight of my nipples, cold and hard, poking at the soft fabric.

  “Great.” I have no other choice as my bra and underwear dry other than to put the clothes I ran in on over these, and they’re still wet with sweat.

  I stare at the door, wondering if anyone will even notice.

  They’re men. They’ll notice.

  I rub my palms against my nipples trying to warm them, but it only manages to make them harder.

  “Fuck it.” I squeeze out my undergarments deciding to leave them to dry in my bunk rather than the bathroom. I eyeball the magazines I put back by the toilet. I know what happens in here, and I refuse to give these guys any extra fantasy material.

  When I step out of the bathroom, Chris is waiting, leaning against the wall on the opposite side. He grins and then his gaze drops to my chest, and his eyes widen. “Uh… I, uh…” He licks his lips, blinks. “I… hard to—had to.” He laughs uncomfortably, and I fold my arms over my boobs, which seems to break the spell. “Sorry, I have to…” He points over my shoulder into the bathroom, and instead of finishing whatever he was going to say, he scurries inside.

  So the braless thing is going to be a problem. I lay my wet underwear at the foot of my bunk to dry, then stand with my dirties i
n my arms. Ethan’s wearing big earphones, his eyes closed and head bobbing. Ryder is texting someone, probably his girlfriend. “Hey, I thought the dirty clothes hamper was in the bathroom but I couldn’t find it.”

  Ryder glances up at me but doesn’t linger. “Yeah, dirty clothes go in the closet to the right.”

  Huh. I could’ve sworn he had taken them into the bathroom before. I shove the dirties into the mostly empty basket and head into the living room, doing my best to camouflage my boobs with my forearms. There’s no way I’ll be able to keep my arms crossed over my chest all night. I’m going to have to wear my wet bra for tonight’s show.

  “Cold?”

  I look up at Ryder, who does not have his eyes on my boobs, but he is smiling like he knows something. Maybe it’s the protective way my arms are folded at my chest. Maybe it’s just a thoughtful question. I find myself preparing to read into every word that comes out of his mouth. “Why do you ask?”

  He nods at my head. “Your hair is wet and dripping all over your sweater.”

  So it is. “Do you think it might be possible to get my hands on a sweatshirt?”

  His ample bottom lip pops out a bit, and he nods, then hops up. He heads to one of the four skinny closets near the bunks and comes back with a thick, black, oversized hoodie that has the letters UFL on the front in red. “Here. Figured you might be sick of wearing fan gear.”

  He’s loaning me his sweatshirt? “I am. Thank you.” I grab it from him, and when I do, his eyes drop to my boobs.

  I scramble to get the sweatshirt on, and he turns his back to give me privacy. My face warms at what should’ve been a simple exchange but felt strangely intimate. Maybe because this is the second time he’s loaned me clothes, as if he’s determined to cover me. To keep me warm and protected.

  When he sits and faces me again, he smirks and male pride shines in his eyes. “Better?”

  Or he could just be a smug jerk who knows he just got the upper hand by providing me with something I need. At least he didn’t make me beg.