by Scott, S. L.
Jet stands. “I’ll see if we can get an SUV.”
Holli returns. “Already done.”
Rivers walks toward the house with Laird and Dave, who says, “I noticed that riff on the second chorus of . . .” talking about notes and fingers on the fretboard. Shane goes in at the same time as Johnny and Jet, who are discussing touring with kids, leaving Tulsa and me alone. To avoid another confrontation with him, I decide it’s best to keep my mouth shut while I gather plates to take inside.
Stopping to look up, I see Tulsa is clearing the plates on the other side of the table. He says, “Don’t be so surprised. My mom taught me how to clean up after myself.”
I like that he talks about his mom. It makes him much more relatable. “My mom taught me how to hire people to clean up after me.”
I didn’t mean for that to sound so solemn, but when sadness fills his eyes, I feel like I’ve said too much, given away too much about my life. Most people don’t understand that money doesn’t make you happy. He says, “I’m sorry.”
“No reason to be sorry.” I shrug. “We’re fortunate to have the means not to worry about that stuff.”
“Fortunate,” he repeats, rolling the idea I’m trying to peddle around in his head.
Feeling defensive, I try to let it go and turn the conversation back to him and his mom. “Did your mom cook a lot?”
A smile returns to his face; I prefer that to any other on him. “Every night. How about yours?”
“Sometimes. We ate out a lot too.”
“Ah.”
“From a young age, we took over cleaning the dishes.” He chuckles. His laughter causes my lingering irritation to temper. “I remember Jet would scrape off the food. Rivers would load the dishwasher, and I was in charge of putting the soap in the dishwasher. One time, I put dish soap in by accident. After the kitchen flooded with suds, my mom let us play in it on the condition we’d clean the mess.” He sighs, and his smile disappears. “She was the best.” His smile returns. “I was taken off soap duty after that and put on table clearing.”
“Your mom sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She was.”
Was.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d passed away.”
“It was a shock to all of us. A car accident.”
“I’m sorry,” I repeat, not sure what to say. “I must sound terrible.”
“We’re all dealt a different hand.” He picks up a mountain of plates and walks inside.
I take my stack and the silverware I’ve set on top and go inside, delivering them to the kitchen. Holli smiles. “Thank you, both. You didn’t have to do that.”
Tulsa says, “It was a great meal. Thank you for having us over.”
“I enjoyed tonight. Maybe next time I’ll be more prepared and cook for you.”
“I love a home-cooked meal.” Rubbing his stomach, his shirt slides up. He has an incredible body. Some guys just have it. No wonder he’s so cocky.
With Holli setting the dishes in the sink, my eyes find Tulsa’s, and he silently mouths, “Busted.”
Holli turns back around and asks, “Do you cook?”
“I grill and do some basic cooking, but nothing with more than two ingredients.”
Their attention turns to me, but my face feels hot from being caught staring at him, and I blurt, “I know how to cook an omelet.”
Holli and Tulsa are looking at me like I’ve suddenly stripped down naked in the middle of Times Square. She laughs. “I bet it’s a great omelet.”
Tulsa’s smile isn’t the cocky one I’m used to. It’s softer around the edges, kinder in nature. “I love omelets.”
“Maybe Nikki will make you one sometime.”
“Yeah. Maybe,” he replies before they leave the kitchen.
I release the counter I’m holding with a death grip and close my eyes. “What am I doing?”
“Being yourself.” My eyelids fly open to find Tulsa standing there. He’s still got that genuine grin on his face when he adds, “It’s a good look on you.”
Mortification heats my cheeks. Before I speak, ready to make up a thousand stories about what he heard and how he misunderstood what I meant, he lets me off the hook by saying, “The car is here. Are you ready to go?”
“Never more.” I say my goodbyes with Tulsa by my side. He then becomes the perfect gentleman by making sure the car waits for me and that I get in safely.
In the back of the dark SUV, I watch Tulsa in the seat in front of mine, sitting next to Dave. Jet’s up front. Rivers and Laird continue their conversation on the ride back to the hotel, but the rest of us are quiet.
Shane nudges me so no one else sees, then whispers, “I know you, Nik. You’d be more offended if he didn’t try something.”
He can’t see, but I roll my eyes. “I would be relieved, not offended.”
“Okay. If that’s what you think, I’m not going to argue, but remember he’s riding the wave of their well-earned success as far as I can see. So, yeah, he’s arrogant, but he has a right to be. Doesn’t matter, though. We’re going to be with them for the rest of the tour. How about you try for a truce? I don’t want to be kicked off this gig because you can’t handle being around Tulsa.”
He’s right. I can’t let the sexy drummer throw me off my game. This is about Faris Wheel and nothing else. So I’ll put a truce on the table and see if we can get back to business like we were hired to do.
“This is our time, too, Nik. Whatever it is you feel about Tulsa, deal with it now.”
Deal with it now. Yeah, I can do that. He’s gorgeous, talented, mouthy, and cocky. Don’t get absorbed by that, Nik. Shane’s right. I would be offended. But I can do this. Fun and flirty. It never leads to anything. Tour secure.
Let’s do this.
6
Tulsa
Rolling onto my stomach, I pull the pillow out from under my head and put it on top, but it doesn’t hide enough light for me to fall back asleep. “Fuck.”
I wonder if it’s the light shining in through the window that bothers me or that I didn’t get laid. Both are fucking irritating right now.
The success of the kickoff of the tour should have been celebrated balls deep inside the warmth of a beautiful woman.
Instead, I’m waking up alone in a hotel room in Hollywood because everyone decided to call it a night after two drinks down in the hotel bar last night.
What the fuck? I hope the rest of the tour isn’t going to be this boring.
Lying here, I slam the pillow to the side, still pissed I’m waking up alone. If I had Nikki here, I’d already have her on top.
Shit. Why’d she even come to mind?
Doesn’t matter. I close my eyes and let the fantasy play out, imagining I’m holding her hips as she fucks me nice and slow while waiting for breakfast to be delivered.
She acts all high and mighty, like she doesn’t need to get off like the rest of us. But I have a feeling she’s more of a wildcat in bed than a pearl clutcher. That’s the only explanation for a woman like her looking that fine but acting that innocent.
One thing’s for sure—Nikki Faris is missing out.
I’m a giver. I’d make sure she got hers first and then double down while I chased my release. Throwing the covers off me, I’m frustrated I’m even thinking about her and her great ass. Fuck. I head for the shower, my cock wanting to do more than think about her great ass.
Images of that ass flash across my mind while I grab a towel and fling it so it’s hanging over the shower rod. I step under the warm water, relaxing my shoulders even though my dick is uncomfortably stiff; I could blow just thinking about her. I won’t, though. I’m not giving her the satisfaction.
Reaching for the shampoo, I squirt the pearly cream into my palm, but detour down below. I haven’t had to jerk off in ages. I blame Nikki Faris for my balls being so tight, and my cock bordering on exploding.
I should have stayed at the bar. If I had, I wouldn’t be jacking myself of
f. The image of a warm mouth or hot—Fuck. I lose myself in the water, letting it cover me as I come back down from the tense high.
Fucking Nikki Faris. I’m almost disgusted with myself for having to take matters into my own hand. Almost. It still felt damn good, and the shampoo smells fruity like her. It’s ridiculous I’m even thinking about her. Is it the chase that interests me, or her?
I finish showering and get dressed by tugging on jeans from yesterday and a T-shirt I pull from my suitcase.
Coffee needs to be in me before I face the day. Even though I got off, my mood is still sour. I shove my feet in my shoes and head downstairs, looking for the nectar of the gods while texting Jet and Rivers: I can’t sleep. Getting coffee.
It’s a bit delayed, but I hear from Jet first: You can’t sleep, so you had to wake me the fuck up?
Rivers: Fuck you both. It’s not even nine o’clock.
Though I shouldn’t, I chuckle and text to both: Good morning. Rise and fucking shine.
I tuck my phone into my pocket, knowing I won’t hear from them again until closer to noon or even after. In the lobby, there’s a small restaurant. When I look around, it seems to be the only place other than a sushi bar and a steakhouse, which are both currently closed.
Stepping up to the hostess stand, I watch as the pretty girl smiles, eyeing me up and down. She has the looks of a model, but since we’re in LA, I’m going with struggling actress. She greets me with a super-white-toothed smile while adjusting the neckline of her shirt to hang a little lower. “Good morning, sir,” she purrs, letting the R linger a little longer at the end.
“Good morning.” I lean my elbow on the podium and lean in, lowering my voice. “Maybe you can help me.”
“It would be my pleasure to serve you, sir.”
That “sir” makes my jeans feel a whole helluva lot tighter. I’m determined to stay focused on my mission, not the buxom beauty before me. “I’m looking to get a large cup of coffee to go.”
She smiles and arches her back, pushing her tits out. “You’ve come to the right place.”
Every word out of her mouth feels like a come-on I could come on. Damn those fuck-me lips drawing me right to them. I shake my head. I need coffee. Like Rivers said, it’s not even nine in the morning.
“Follow me, sir.”
I catch her name on the tag situated on the upper roundness of her left breast. “Thank you, Brandy.”
She leads me to the counter with swivel barstools, and I slide onto one. When she turns, her hair flicks through the air like a whip. Leaning back over her shoulder and using a menu to hide our faces from the rest of the restaurant as if she’s about to tell me the code to the nuclear war room, she whispers, “They’ll be able to help you get that coffee, but if you need anything else, come find me,” and then serves me a little flirtatious lip pout.
“Thank you, sweetheart.” My words drip from my lips like honey, and I amp up my Austin accent just for her. Last night here, so maybe there will be action between the sheets tonight.
She giggles and then rushes to help a woman in jogging clothes who’s waiting at the hostess stand, impatiently it seems, by the way she’s tapping her sneaker.
Swiveling toward the counter, I come face to face with a scrawny guy with heavy lids and a toothy smile who is nothing like the one I was just charmed with by Brandy. “I’m Pete. What can I get you today?”
“Um. Hi, Pete. Coffee please.”
“Black? Creamer? Mocha? Latte? We have a special cinnamon bun that I cannot get enough of. Do you like buns? I bet you do.”
My blink is slow, my lack of amusement obvious. “Coffee. Black.” I almost grunt at the end. I hate black coffee. It’s bitter, but my regular mocha latte doesn’t seem manly enough, considering he’s insinuating I like buns—man buns—not the pretty, tight female buns I prefer. Fuck, why am I even bothered? This is stupid.
He reaches his hand out, almost to my chest, so I lean back. He better not try to touch me. He suddenly drops his palm, hitting the counter. “Coming right up,” he says, too perky and sassy for my taste.
While Pete whistles behind the counter, taking his time pouring a black coffee, I swivel around and check out the place. I stop almost as soon as I start and squint my eyes. Can it be the queen herself?
My smirk doesn’t even have time to pop up at the corners before she says, “Stop staring at me, Tulsa.” Nikki rolls her eyes and then continues to read the menu.
After blowing me off at the dinner, it’s a good thing she’s not attracted to me, or she might be witnessing the smile that drives the girls wild stretching across my face. I turn back. “Hey, Pete?”
“Yes?” He looks up in anticipation like I’m about to name him Miss Universe.
“Make that coffee to go.”
“You got it.” He sets it in front of me and caps it off. “It’s only three dollars,” he whispers conspiratorially. “But I’ve got you covered.”
“More tip for you. Thanks for the brew.” I drop a five on the counter and spin to leave.
“Anytime, sweetie.”
My head jerks back at him. He just smiles and says, “I meant anytime.”
Sure. I nod and make my way two tables over to the woman of my wet dream this morning in the shower and sit down, causing her to look up.
“I want to eat breakfast alone, so if you’ll excuse yourself.”
I set my coffee down and rest forward on my elbows. “You’re awfully sweaty this morning. Rough night? Alcohol sweats?”
Her head jolts back. “What the hell are alcohol sweats?”
“You know,” I say, shrugging. “When you drink too much and sweat it out all night.”
“That’s gross.”
“Because you wear white on stage doesn’t mean you’re the angel you pretend to be. Just thought you might have partied after we parted ways last night.”
The menu slaps against the top of the wooden table, and she rolls her eyes at me. “Look, Crow. Not a morning person. Go play elsewhere.” She scowls at me and adds, “I may wear white on stage, but I’m definitely a devil you do not want to dance with.”
I think she’s going for menacing, but she’s too cute for that. I try to keep a straight face; I wouldn’t want to laugh at her. That would be rude. Oh, who am I kidding? “Boop.” I tap her on the nose, fucking with her, and then burst out laughing.
Her chair skids out from under her as she stands, her ponytail whipping to the left and then the right as she walks away without another word. I’m quick to my feet, coffee in hand, walking after her.
When I pass Brandy, I say, “Have a good one, honey.”
She giggles. “You too and come back to see me. I get off at four.”
I could get off with her. I’m about to detour back to the hostess stand to get her number when Nikki’s laughter echoes through the fairly empty marble lobby. Fuck.
I stay on task and speed walk alongside Nikki instead. “I haven’t had any of my coffee if you’d like it. I didn’t mean to ruin your meal.”
Crossing her arms over her sports bra-covered chest, she tilts her head and angles toward me when she stops. “Your antics are not important enough to ruin a meal I didn’t even order yet. I’ll get my coffee later. For now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a shower with your name—” She purses her lips and looks away quickly. When her eyes return to mine, she corrects herself, “I meant my name all over it. I’ll order room service in the meantime, so keep your coffee.”
“Riddle me this, why are you so sweaty?”
Tugging her ponytail, she drops her head back. “Ugh.” Then she walks around me without another word.
“Guess I’ll have to find out for myself one morning.”
“Don’t count on it, Crow. You, me, and mornings will never mix.”
“We’ll see about that, Faris.”
“No.” Stopping, she says, “Never,” and then disappears toward the bank of elevators.
I like her. I like her feisty, quick-witted snark
, too.
Taking a sip, I regret it the second the bitter bean taste touches my tongue, so I toss it in the trash nearby. It would take a lot of mocha to make that taste better, but there’s no way I’m going back in to sit with Pete; he’ll think I’m there for him.
Since the band has another round of radio interviews today, I give Nikki her space to head upstairs before I go to the elevators and push the button. Room service is sounding good about now. And if I time it just right, I can take another shower with her name all over it. I chuckle at her slip. I’ve definitely gotten under her skin.
7
Nikki
“Tulsa Crow is the most arrogant, cocksure, man-whore musician I’ve ever met. And I’ve met a few, Lauralee . . . Lauralee? Are you still here?” I hold my phone in front of my face to see if the call dropped. Nope, the time is still being tracked.
“Here as in listening? Yes, I’m here, Nik. I was just waiting for you to take a breath after ranting about a drummer for the past thirty minutes.”
“I’m not ranting. I’m venting. There’s a difference.”
“I’m not so sure in this case.” She laughs, and it sounds a lot like she’s laughing at me, not with me. “Anyway, you hate all drummers except for Shane, and that’s only because he’s your cousin.”
Lying back on the bed, I start twisting my hair around my finger again. “I don’t hate drummers. I hate cocky musicians who think they’re God’s gift to women.”
“Good use of cocksure, but I’m thinking it’s similar to arrogant.”
“Probably, but I’m flustered and needed to fit his cock in somewhere.” I catch the slip too late, just like he caught my slip about his name in the shower. Damn it.
“I bet you do. Anyhoo, you leave in the morning. Are you going out tonight?”
“I’m supposed to meet the guys in a bit and go to dinner.”
“How’d the apartment stuff work out?”
I get off the bed and walk to the window. Staring outside, I look in the distance to see how far I can see. “The deposit is paid on a six-month lease. My dad will move my stuff in next month. They’re storing it until then.”