Idol (VIP #1)

by Kristen Callihan

  Chapter Nineteen

  Killian

  Anyone who tells you it’s easy to go on tour is lying. Performing is basically your reward for constant travel, no sleep, fighting exhaustion, and making nice with endless people who view you as something not quite human. Idolized, adored, isolated. Worst of all are the long nights on a damn tiny bus where I can’t crawl into bed with Libby. It makes me…twitchy.

  I’m not sure I even like this dependence on another person. But, like any addict, I’m not looking to break the habit. If anything, I crave more.

  Thank God for Chicago and two nights at a proper hotel—and the suite with an adjoining door to Libby’s that Brenna booked me.

  Unlike other tours, we’re keeping the partying to a minimum. We have tonight off and have taken over the hotel’s private movie theater. It’s fairly small, about fifty seats, with a small lounge just outside.

  While the staff loads up the movie, we hang out in the lounge and have drinks.

  “I’m going to ask Libby out on a date,” Whip announces, casual as fuck.

  The beer I’m holding almost slips out of my hand before I clutch it tight. “What? Why?”

  “What do you mean ‘why’? She’s hot in that girl-next-farm-over kind of way.” He flicks his tongue against his teeth. I want to punch those teeth in.

  “Lots of hot women on the road,” Rye says, his attention half on a group of women he gave passes to last show. They’re now walking into the lounge. One or all of them will get lucky tonight.

  “Pick one of them,” I say to Whip, trying to calm down. Honest to God. Because I’m having a hard time not launching myself at my friend.

  Whip scowls. “I told you chuckleheads, I want a girl I know. No more groupies. And Libby is fun.”

  Fun. Yeah. I know exactly how fun Libby is, and I don’t share. The thought of stomping my foot like a two year old and shouting “Mine!” runs through my head. That would go over well.

  Jax gives Whip a long look. “We don’t fuck the staff.”

  “Libby is not staff,” I snap. Though why I point that out now, I don’t know. Stupid. Let Whip think that if it means he’ll back off.

  “We pay her a lot of money to perform with us,” Jax says in a bored tone. “So I’d say that makes her staff.”

  “She’s an equal,” Whip retorts. “Which makes it even better.”

  “And when shit goes south?” Jax asks. “What then? You’re stuck with someone who hates you, and it brings us all down.”

  Whip rubs the back of his neck. “That would be awkward.”

  Thank fucking God. I might not have to kill him after all.

  “Worse if she turns you down,” Rye adds. “Then you have to face her knowing…” He trails off when Brenna bursts into the room with a loud laugh, stumbling on her sky-high heels. She’s arm in arm with Jesse, one of our sound techs.

  Whatever Jesse’s telling her must be hilarious, because she’s snorting and burrowing her face in his neck while his hand travels down to grab her ass.

  At my side, Rye growls like a feral dog. The rest of us exchange a look. Here we go.

  Brenna gives Jesse’s ass a squeeze back before she heads to the bar, her hips moving in an exaggerated sway. Rye jerks to his feet, his eyes tracking her.

  “Man,” I say. “Don’t do whatever it is you’re thinking.”

  He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to. Rye brushes off Whip’s attempt to grab his wrist and stalks off. Heading for trouble.

  “Should we stop him?” Whip asks.

  “Too late for that,” Jax mutters. “Years too late.”

  Rye’s already in Jesse’s face, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. “Man, we did not hire you to fuck around with our publicist.”

  “Are you kidding me?” Brenna all but screeches as she rushes over, getting in between Rye and Jesse. “You did not just say that.”

  “I’m pretty sure I just did,” Rye snaps. “Seriously, Bren, have some self-respect.”

  Oh. Shit.

  “You have some fucking nerve, Ryland. Can’t keep your dick in your pants for five minutes, and you’re lecturing me?”

  “Yeah, well, I’m not the one in charge of PR.” He’s red in the face now too. “You set the example, honey.”

  “Don’t you ‘honey’ me, asshat.” She pokes his chest. “Or go around acting like some jealous—”

  “Jealous? More like disgusted.”

  I push to my feet as Brenna goes bright red.

  “You mother—”

  “All right,” I cut in. “Why don’t we take it somewhere else?” I nod to the very interested crowd forming. Someone giggles, a few people duck their heads. But most stare.

  Brenna blanches, her gaze darting around before zeroing in on Rye, who doesn’t appear to be bothered at all. “You are an asshole,” she hisses beneath her breath.

  It’s the lowest she’s kept her voice the whole time, but the force of her anger is enough to make Rye flinch. He opens his mouth like he’s going to reply, but Brenna turns away from him, grabbing a mute Jesse by the hand and stalking off.

  Jesse glances back, clearly fearful for his job.

  I wave him off as Rye snorts.

  “Little wuss didn’t even stand up for her,” Rye mutters.

  He brushes past us, stealing a beer out of some guy’s hand as he goes. The door slams on his way out.

  “That right there.” Jax shakes his head in disgust. “That’s why you don’t fuck with your crew.”

  Libby

  “I bet they’re doing it within the week,” one woman says to another as they drink martinis and watch Brenna and Rye stomp off in different directions.

  The other woman snorts. “They’re probably already doing it. And can you blame her?” She sucks at her teeth. “Rye is hot as hell.”

  “Mmm…all those massive muscles.”

  “Personally, I’d rather do Killian. Tight and lean, with those sinful eyes. And that walk of his. You know he’s loaded for bear.”

  “I have no idea what that means,” her friend says with a laugh.

  But I do. I turn away before I have to hear more speculation over Killian’s equipment. Or the women who clearly want a chance to find out how big it actually is.

  After-parties are a fact of touring life I never really considered. Frankly, I think they blow. Oh, meeting true fans is fun. They practically vibrate with joy when they finally face one of the guys. It’s cute. At least, those types of fans are. Then there are the groupies. Women whose job, it seems, is to put another notch on their proverbial bed posts. I shouldn’t hate on them, and I try really hard not to. But watching them hang on Killian like he’s a steak thrown into a pack of lionesses isn’t easy.

  And they will do anything—anything—to get attention. I’ve seen more tits in these past weeks than in the whole of my life. Tops coming off at the oddest times. Like, oh, hey, the music started? Let me rip off my top and shake what my mama gave me. Or my plastic surgeon. Same difference.

  Doesn’t matter if it’s a room full of journalists, record execs, roadies, and other hangers on. In fact, that somehow appears to make a strip show more thrilling for them.

  Killian doesn’t encourage them. If anything, he always shoots me a pained look that says, “See what our hiding is making me do?” I love him for it. And hate myself a little more each time.

  Oddly, Whip is also shying away from women. I’d wonder if he didn’t fancy them, but his eyes always stay glued to the displays of female flesh as if he’s hypnotized. Jax appears as apathetic about women as he is about everything. Oh, he goes off with a few, but the enthusiasm isn’t there.

  Rye is the only one who seems to enjoy it. At least he did until he blew up at Brenna. Now that they’re gone, it’s business as usual: overly loud and fake laughter, people looking around to see who’s looking at them.

  “Always something to talk about,” says a female voice at my side as I lean against the bar and sip my drink. A pretty
blonde who’d look right at home in a Southern sorority gives me a pleasant smile. “Or write about, as the case may be.”

  A press badge on her chest identifies her as Z. Smith.

  Protective of both Rye and Brenna, I give the woman a quelling look. “Must be a slow day if a little argument is something to write about.”

  She shrugs, her gaze drifting over the room. “Depends on who’s arguing.” Her sharp blue eyes settle back on me. “I’m Zelda, by the way.”

  I take her offered hand. “I love that name.”

  “I hate it,” she says with a nose wrinkle. “But it’s mine, so what can I do? You’re Liberty Bell.”

  “Which makes me an expert on oddball names,” I say with a laugh.

  “I don’t envy the jokes you must have heard when you were younger.”

  Though she’s simply chatting with me, I don’t relax. Brenna and her assistant, Jules, have drilled into me the importance of watching your tongue with the press. They can take anything you say and twist it.

  “The best response,” I tell her lightly, “is to just yawn in the face of idiocy.”

  “I’ll remember that.” Her expression becomes a bit sharper. “So what do you think of being on tour? This is your first public experience, correct?”

  Here we go. Interview time. “It’s a learning curve, but I’m enjoying it. The guys have been very supportive.”

  “Killian James brought you in, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “I heard some story that you were neighbors this summer.”

  Probably because that’s what Brenna put in my press statement.

  “That’s right.”

  “Lucky you.” Zelda nudges my shoulder with hers as if we’re old friends. “Out of all the guys, there’s something about Killian. He’s delicious in that bad boy, charm-your-panties-off kind of way.”

  “I try not to think of the guys that way,” I tell her, lying through my teeth, because her description is on point. “I have to work with them.”

  “Are you telling me you aren’t fucking him?”

  Her blunt question comes at me like a punch, and I recoil. “Excuse me?”

  Zelda gives me a smile that’s all teeth. “Sorry. I’m pretty blunt with my words after all these years in this business. But honestly? Killian James is infamous for being irresistible. And there are the facts. First you’re neighbors, and then he’s bringing you, a complete novice, on tour with him.”

  My heart thuds against my ribs. It’s not like I should be shocked; she’s saying everything I’ve warned Killian about. Almost verbatim. Expected observation or not, the humiliation I feel at being looked upon as nothing more than Killian’s whore, is nearly crippling.

  And then I get angry—at myself for predicting this, at her for thinking the same thing.

  I give her a long look, watching her fight not to squirm. “You’re kind of young to be a reporter assigned to Kill John.”

  “What are you talking about? I’m twenty-six, which is probably older than most of these groupies.”

  “Yeah, but they’re here for one thing. Are you too? Because most of the other reporters I’ve met are men in their thirties, at the very least.”

  Zelda’s eyes narrow. “It’s a tough business.”

  “And a girl’s got to use whatever assets she can to rise, is that it? Is that how you got here, Ms. Smith?”

  “Oh, I get it. Shaming me, are you? It was a valid question, you know. You’re linked with James. No one has ever heard of you before now. I have to wonder—”

  “If I fucked my way in? Of course you do. Because that’s what everyone wonders about attractive, successful women, don’t they? Did we get here on talent or by spreading our legs? If I was a man, would you ask the same?”

  “Killian hasn’t been known to like men.”

  “And that’s the reason you didn’t ask.”

  Her mouth purses. “Point taken.”

  “Here’s an exclusive for you, as honestly as I can put it.” I lean close. “Killian had to talk me into doing this. Because I told him people would make ugly assumptions about him bringing an unknown on tour with Kill John. But if you truly do know anything about him, you’ll know that he is stubborn as the day is long. And that for Killian, his love of music and what works for his band trumps any threat of stupid rumors.”

  “You’re quite loyal to him, aren’t you?”

  “Of course I am. He gave me a chance few others would dare. Every member of Kill John did.” I feed her the standard press line with a placid smile on my face. “Which is why it’s a joy to work with them and contribute in any way I can.” I stand and smooth my skirt. “Have a nice night. I hope you enjoy the movie.”

  She doesn’t say anything but follows my progress with her beady eyes as I head for the movie theater. And I pretend that my insides aren’t shaking from the cracks in my pride.

  Chapter Twenty

  Killian

  One good thing about being a rock star? Diva moments are not only expected, they’re never questioned. For once, I take full advantage of that as I enter the theater and make my way to the back row to claim a spot. My immense scowl wards off anyone who thinks of joining me.

  I’m scrolling through my phone when someone plops down in the seat next to me. Whatever send-off I’d planned to say dies with I see it’s Libby. She’s carrying a big bag of caramel corn and a bottle of water.

  “Libs,” I say in greeting.

  “I can’t believe we’re going to see The Force Awakens. I missed it when it first came out.”

  “My little hermit. When was the last time you actually saw a movie in a theater?”

  She stuffs a handful of caramel corn in her mouth before muttering, “Shut up.”

  I help myself to some caramel corn…definitely better than movie quality. “You can thank Scottie for tonight’s pick. He’s a massive Star Wars geek.”

  “No,” she breathes, scandalized. “That’s so…”

  “Human? Yeah, I was surprised too.” I love Scottie. He’s my rock in this business. But the dude is twenty-eight going on eighty. Half the time I expect him to wave a cane and shout at us to get off his lawn.

  He’s staked a claim in the middle of the middle row and, like me, is giving anyone who approaches a death glare.

  Libby tucks her water bottle into the snack holder at her side.

  “Can you believe this place?” With big eyes, she glances around at the fiber optic art on the walls and the massive crystal chandeliers, and at the rows of double seats that are basically meant for two. Her hands smooth over the wide leather armrest at her side. “I mean, reclining loveseats? Shut the front door.” With a little “Whoop!” she hits the button that lifts our shared footrest.

  My lips twitch.

  “Calm down, Elly May.” I mean it as a joke, but my voice doesn’t quite get there.

  Libby stops her gawking and narrows her eyes. “Why do you look all pissy?”

  I give her an affronted look before leaning in a little to whisper under my breath. “Whip was considering asking you out on a date.”

  Pissy? Yeah, I’m pissy all right. What I don’t expect is Libby’s flush of pleasure.

  “Isn’t that sweet,” she says, pleased as fucking punch.

  “Sweet?” I hiss. “You like the idea?”

  The corner of her mouth turns down. She pokes my side, and I barely manage to hold in my yelp.

  “Stop thinking with your dick,” she whispers.

  Sadly, my dick isn’t the one doing the thinking. It’s the organ a little farther north, which is now pounding with agitation. I cross my arms over my chest and slump in the seat. Not exactly mature, but this is where she’s led me.

  Libby’s pleased expression doesn’t fade but grows. “It’s just nice to be liked, you know? It means he accepts me being here. Besides,” she says, looking out over the room as people finish taking their seats. “I don’t think he was serious, anyway.”

  “I’m pretty su
re he was.” The fucker.

  “Then why is he over there sticking his tongue down that reporter’s throat?”

  My head snaps up, and I’m greeted by the sweet sight of Whip making out with the pretty blonde who’s been trying to get interviews all night. Okay, it’s not a sweet sight, and I quickly avert my eyes. But my relief is palpable.

  “You know,” I say conversationally, as I kick back, “I want to fuck you right now.”

  Libby jerks as if she’s been pinched and sits a little straighter, before getting a hold of herself and slouching as if she’s completely chill. Cute.

  She gives me a smirk and sips her water. “And what?” she drawls. “Mark your territory? Assert your manly dominance?”

  “Yep.” I slide my gaze to hers. “But mostly I just want to fuck you all the time.”

  God, I love the way her lips part as her body flushes with heat. So subtle, but there all the same. It makes me hard as steel, my balls squeezing tight. I don’t look at her but pretend I’m observing the room. The lights are lowering for the movie now, the empty chairs in front of us obscuring our lower halves.

  My hand falls to the space between us and smooths along her hip. She delicately shivers as my fingers trace her thigh.

  “What about you?” I murmur, toying with her skirt in the darkening room. “You want to fuck me, baby doll?”

  “Right now I want to kick you,” she gets out between clenched teeth. “Keep your hands to yourself. There are nosy-ass people everywhere.”

  “They’re all watching the movie, not us.” Focusing on the screen, I keep my expression neutral as I ease my hand under her skirt. Her skin is smooth and warm. The movie starts in a blast of music and the familiar old logo as I trace over her knee and up her soft thigh. “And that wasn’t a no.”

  She makes a cute growl in the back of her throat, but her legs part just enough to give me room to delve between them. Her inner thighs are hot and damp, and my cock twitches.