Skipped a Beat

by Salsbury, JB

  “You and Ethan have a good night last night?”

  That eat-shit-and-die stare slides up for a direct hit between my eyes.

  “Good movie, huh? What was it called again?”

  She tilts her head. “You got something to say?”

  I shrug because I don’t really care, even though I do. “Nope.”

  She turns toward the front of the bus where Charles usually is. “What’s the plan?”

  “We go to a hotel until our show tomorrow night.”

  She doubles over, her elbows on her knees, and rubs her eyes.

  “You can come with us if you want. I’m sure Ethan has plenty of room in his bed.” I can hear myself being a complete dick, and yet I can’t stop the words, fueled by what feels an awful lot like jealousy, from pouring out of my mouth.

  Her gaze darts to mine. “That’s great. Thanks. Much better than squeezing into those tiny bunks, huh?” She smirks.

  My teasing grin falls and I frown, feeling all the blood drain from my face. “You’re serious.”

  She shrugs. “I don’t know, Ryder, you’ve already got me figured out. Why don’t you tell me?”

  I should not like the sound of my name coming from her lips as much as I do, but… I stare at her mouth, her lips thinned in anger, and imagine it all over Ethan’s throat. “Fuck.” I push up and stomp to the kitchen just as Chris comes down the hallway.

  He punches Ethan’s thigh. “Wake up, dickhead. I want to go to the hotel.”

  Ethan grumbles and then rolls to fall out of his bunk onto the floor grabbing his thigh. “You gave me a dead leg, nipple-dick!”

  Chris smiles and greets us. “Whose ready for some five-star-hotel sheets and room service?”

  I watch Ethan carefully as he pulls himself to standing. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxers. It’s not uncommon for him, but I have to wonder if Jade helped him undress with those long, nimble fingers—stop it, no!

  It’s none of my business.

  I have a girlfri—

  “Mornin’, Agent Jay.” Ethan winks at Jade, but she only shakes her head. “What? Not even a smile.”

  He drops onto the couch next to her, and when the dick hole of his boxers threatens to gape, I throw a pillow at his crotch, hoping the landing stung like a motherfucker.

  “I think I drank too much last night,” she says and sinks back into the couch. Her head lolls to the side to look at him.

  “So what?” Ethan holds up a finger. “I’ll have you know, it’s a scientific fact that you always mean what you say when you’re drunk.”

  “That’s bullshit,” I blurt, earning a scowl from Ethan.

  “Don’t argue with me, bro. It’s science.” He goes back to looking at Jade, even throws an arm over her shoulder. I’d rip the fucker off, but then we’d be down a bass player. He playfully tugs at loose strands of her hair that have fallen around her neck. Yep, totally worth finding a new bass player. “You agreed last night I could call you Agent Jay and you would start calling me…” He rolls his hand in the air to coax the words from her mouth.

  “I’m not going to say it,” she mumbles, but there’s a hint of a smile on her face.

  “Come on, Agent Jay.” He rubs her head. “Slick, Junior, Hoss—”

  “Okay!” She’s smiling now. “Just shut up, Agent Kay! There, happy now?”

  “Yes!” Ethan squeezes her closer to his side. “There it is!”

  “What the fuck are you guys talking about?” I ask, and everyone’s eyes jerk toward me. I clear my throat and try to act casual even as my legs get ready to spring on Ethan and rip his body away from hers.

  “Critically acclaimed cinematic masterpiece, Men in Black, dude.” Ethan nods proudly to an unimpressed-looking Jade. “We watched it last night. Greatest movie ever made.”

  “No, it’s not,” I say.

  “Experts agree it is.” Ethan stretches his free arm out to the other side of him.

  “They really don’t,” Chris says.

  Jade seems completely uninterested in the conversation. Whatever moment the two of them had bonding over horrible movies last night, Jade doesn’t seem as invested as he does. Unless she’s just feeling bad about whatever they did? God, I hope she does.

  I almost feel sorry for her.

  Nothing about Ethan’s sex life has ever been a secret. His favorite pastime is sharing stories of his varied sexual experiences.

  The second Jade is out of the room, he’ll be flapping his lips about all that happened between them. I’ll do what I always do, shrug and act like I don’t care.

  Because I don’t care.

  I just need some time to convince myself it’s true.

  Jade

  My head pounds.

  And Ethan’s loud voice and misplaced energy isn’t helping. I only had two beers last night, but my head feels like I had four. However many it was, they hit me harder than I thought they would.

  I stayed up laughing with Ethan as we watched Men in Black, and he insisted on repeating all of Tommy Lee Jones’s lines. When I blurted a Will Smith line, he looked at me in awe and dubbed me Agent Jay. At the time, it was funny. Now? Not so much.

  The door to the bus swings open, and Charles appears with a pretty woman in tow. She’s short, has highlighted blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail, and is dressed in leggings, a sweater, and a pair of Adidas, sporty and cute. I’ve seen her around the band from time to time and assumed she’s some sort of assistant.

  Ryder stands upon seeing her. “Hey, Helen.”

  She holds up her hand at waist level and keeps her eyes on Ethan’s. “Would it kill you to put some pants on?”

  He chuckles. “Just admit it. You like what you see.”

  She dismisses him by turning toward Ryder with a shake of her head. She stares at him waiting for instructions. Whatever he says to her makes her gaze dart to me. She smiles, kindly, then looks back at Ryder and nods. I read her lips as she mumbles a string of okays.

  I sense Ryder shifting to turn, so I look away, focusing on Chris as he tells Ethan all the reasons why Men in Black is not in fact a cinematic masterpiece. There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I don’t have to look to know it’s Ryder. Is this it? Is this when they kick me off? After our brief interaction this morning, he seems convinced I hooked up with Ethan. Is that the deal-breaker that’ll send me packing?

  I turn toward him just as he settles into a squat at my knees.

  His expression is guarded, as if he’s worried about how what he’s about to say will affect me. I swallow a sliver of nerves. “I need to put something out there.”

  I swallow again through a dry throat. “What?”

  He opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again, and I have to admit I find his nervous stammering endearing. “You’ve been surviving now for a week on the same two pairs of clothes. We would like to know if you’d be interested in running out to buy some. On us, of course.”

  “You want to buy me clothes?”

  “We. The band. We’d be more than happy if you’d let us buy you some clothes so you don’t have to sleep in your jeans and wash your… stuff… in the sink.”

  So he knew about that. Great.

  “I can’t let you—”

  “I know this is hard for you, accepting favors from people, but please understand we really want to do this, and the money is not a factor. What it will cost for you to pick up a few new things? We won’t even notice the difference in our bank accounts.”

  I narrow my eyes at the spoiled rich boy. “How supremely embarrassing for you,” I say as irritation stirs in my chest. “But did you ever consider maybe I don’t like feeling indebted to people? That maybe I’m not comfortable knowing that at anytime you could call in a favor and how could I say no after accepting so many of your offers?”

  He recoils and shakes his head. “Call in a favor? What kind of favors are you talking about?”

  “I think you know.”

  He glares at me. “That’s what you think
this is—”

  “Of course.” I stand so quickly, it knocks him off his squatted balance. “All men are the same. You included.”

  I’m halfway down the hallway toward my bunk when I hear him say, “It’s going to happen with or without you. If you go with Helen, you’ll save her time and a lot of guessing.”

  “That’s on you. I don’t need anyone taking care of me.”

  “You sure about that?”

  I freeze with my back to him. I’m allowing to be taken care of—to be fed, sheltered, and even entertained. Isn’t there a saying? Beggars can’t be choosers.

  “You enjoy sleeping in jeans? Be my guest. But only a prideful idiot would turn down what we’re offering you,” he says.

  I’m shaking my head because, dammit, he’s right. “Fine,” I grumble because I could use an extra set of underwear, and sleeping in my jeans last night was not comfortable. Also, Ryder is going to want his sweatshirt back eventually. We’ll pop into Wal-Mart for a few things, and I’ll keep track of what I spend and pay them back. Eventually.

  * * *

  Less than an hour later, a driver drops me and Helen off outside a mall in Denver, and there isn’t a Wal-Mart or a Target in sight. Cherry Creek Shopping Center is a sprawling space, a virtual city within itself, and if the modern architecture is any indication, I’d say we’re in the upper echelon of shopping centers.

  “Shit,” I mumble to myself and check my ratty jeans, thin sweater, and boots. I’m without makeup, my hair tied in a messy bun, and my bra and underwear are still damp from the shower washing I gave them yesterday. Women who pass us smile at Helen and scowl toward me or just ignore me completely: probably thinking I’m the help.

  “We’re going to need some fuel first,” Helen says, her Louis V handbag hanging from her forearm as she guides me from the curb toward a Starbucks.

  I follow her in and order myself a venti black coffee. We gather our drinks from the counter and head toward the bustling epicenter of the mall.

  “You can order whatever you want, ya know.” Helen sips her skinny vanilla latte. “Ryder has an expense account he rarely uses.”

  “Ryder? I thought this was a band-supported shopping event.” Event is exactly what it feels like. I bet there isn’t a store in here that sells underwear in an eight-pack.

  “American Eagle.” She makes a sharp right into the store. “Let’s start here.”

  Funny, if I didn’t know better, I’d think she purposefully avoided my question.

  * * *

  Turns out, a venti coffee wasn’t nearly enough to keep up with Helen and her overeager shopping. She kept insisting I try something on, and before I was able to get it off, she’d have the thing rang up and paid for. This went on until I started to refuse her. At that point, she already figured out my size and picked up on my style and would leave me sulking on a bench to go ring up God knows how much money in clothes.

  We broke for a quick sandwich at an outdoor café, then it was back to shopping. She dragged me into the shoe section at Nordstrom, and when I refused to try on a single pair, she said, “Ryder made it clear that if you didn’t come back with running shoes, I’d be fired.” She smiled when she said it, and I don’t really believe Ryder to be the type to fire anyone, but it still pisses me off.

  He’s manipulating me into accepting his help. What kind of person does this? A completely evil asshole, that’s who. I sigh in defeat. He’s not an evil asshole though, is he?

  Finally, at three in the afternoon, we’re in an executive car on our way back to the stadium with a trunkful of shopping bags. I’m grumpy as hell, knowing only about one-fourth of what’s even back there, and my irritation escalates when we pull up to the front of the Ritz-Carlton Hotel.

  “I thought we were going back to the buses,” I hiss.

  Helen simply smiles and holds up her hands in surrender. “I’m just following orders. Don’t get pissed at me for doing my job.”

  “What exactly is your job anyway?”

  “I’m Brent’s assistant which translates into me being the band’s assistant on tour.” She gathers her purse. “Come on.”

  A bellman meets us at the car and assures us he’ll bring up our things. Helen makes a quick stop at the concierge before having me follow her. Sleek polished floors and mahogany walls with a Titanic-like staircase in the middle, the hotel is pretentious, and maybe I’m a little grateful to have some nicer clothes in a place like this.

  I cross my arms at my chest and keep my eyes down until we get onto the elevator, and Helen slips in the card key before hitting Club Level. When the doors open, there’s one of Jesse’s security guards waiting there.

  “Hey, Roger,” Helen says. “The boys back from the spa yet?”

  “Not yet,” he answers, and it’s all business. I wonder what it must be like for Helen to get paid to know where the band is at every second of every day and report back to Brent. She’s a professional tattle-tale.

  We pass a few doors, and Helen stops at one on the right. She slips a key in and motions for me to go inside.

  I take two steps in, and my feet freeze to the floor. “Whoa.”

  She chuckles softly. “Amazing, isn’t it?”

  “This isn’t a hotel room. This is… something else.”

  She slaps the card down on the entry table in the foyer and waves me to follow her. “Come see the rest!”

  An overstuffed couch with a fireplace that hums and gives off a welcoming warmth. A separate bedroom complete with king-size bed, a comforter so thick it looks like a second mattress, and enough pillows to swallow a body.

  The bathroom is bigger than the living space on the tour bus, and pressed in the corner is a gigantic bathtub. But calling it a bathtub is like calling a Rembrandt a finger painting. This tub is big enough to fit three full-sized men, and it’s built against floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the Denver mountains.

  “I’ll leave you to get settled in.” Helen checks her Apple Watch. “Your bags should be here shortly. Don’t worry about tipping, I’ve taken care of it. If you decide to go out to dinner or order in, charge it to the room.” Her warm smile meets mine. “Oh, I almost forgot.” She reaches into her Louis bag and pulls out a white box with an Apple on it. “Here’s a phone—”

  “No. I will not accept that.” I back up a step, shaking my head. “Absolutely not.”

  Her eyes widen, but the corner of her mouth kicks up in a half smile. “Okay. Well, I’ll just leave it here, and if you have any questions at all, my number is programmed into the contacts list.”

  My entire body heats with anger, and my skin flushes with rage, but I bite my tongue as Helen scurries out of the room because, like she said, she’s just doing her job. The person responsible for all this is who I need to talk to. Sooner or later, he’ll have to see me, and when he does, he’ll wish he’d kicked me off the bus and left me on the highway when he had the chance.

  10

  Ryder

  We’re headed back to our rooms, and I feel looser and more relaxed than I have in days.

  “Everyone still down to go to The Church tonight?” Ethan asks.

  The Church is one of Denver’s most elite nightclubs. It’s built in an old gothic-style church, hence the name.

  “I’m down.” We spend so much of our time locked in our bus or hotel rooms, getting out always appeals.

  “What time is it?” Jesse asks our security detail for the tenth time in as many minutes.

  “Four forty-five.”

  Jesse’s smile stretches across his face. “Bethany’s plane landed five minutes ago. When she gets here, we’ll be occupied for most of the night.” He winks. “But maybe we’ll meet you guys there.”

  “I’ll go,” Chris says. He’s been quiet today, much quieter than usual, and he’s not the type to go out, never willing to give Dina something to worry about.

  Red flags flicker in my mind, but I figure if Chris wanted to talk about it, he would. After all, no relationship is
perfect.

  “Let’s plan on leaving here at eleven,” Ethan says.

  “Sounds good.” I stop at Jade’s door, earning a look from Ethan. “I’m just checking in on her really quick.”

  I still haven’t asked him about what went down between them last night. I expected him to brag about being with her at some point today, but he never did. His eyes narrow, and he gives a quick nod. “Cool. Ask her to come out with us tonight.”

  “I will,” I say to his retreating back as he disappears into our shared suite.

  I know I told her to bunk with Ethan. I lied.

  I knock with a quick tap of my knuckles. The sound of shuffling from behind the door is followed by the click of a lock. I grin, surprised she’s not at least giving me shit before opening the door. My smile falls when I’m met with one very pissed-off-looking female.

  “You.”

  I point to my chest. “Me?”

  She rolls her lips between her teeth as if to bite back the instinct to attack. She’s wearing her same faded jeans, same blue sweater.

  I lift my eyes to hers. “What happened? You didn’t find anything in your size?”

  I know I shouldn’t have poked her, but when her eyes flare and fire flickers behind them, I feel damn giddy for what’s to come.

  “You presumptuous, lying, hypocritical piece of sh—”

  “Whoa!” I make a show of looking down the hallway, first left and then right. “You might want to watch that mouth. Security is everywhere, and if they hear you ripping me a new asshole, they may kick you out.” I wink and push past her into the room. “Damn, this place is nice, right?” I turn toward her still standing in the entryway, and I smirk.

  With one forceful throw, she slams the door, making the chandelier rattle. She struts by me, her bare feet slapping on the marble floor. “Yes, it’s very nice,” she says through clenched teeth.

  I follow her through the space into the living room where the couch and every inch of floor around it is covered in bags. Abercrombie, Lululemon, Nordstrom, Urban Outfitters, Free People, and True Religion. My lips tip up on the sides when I zero in on two of the bigger bags. Victoria’s Secret. Nice.