by K. K. Allen
As the guys start piling onto the bus, I hear Crawley’s heavy steps moving up the aisle. I know he’ll want to see my face, so when he nears my bunk, I pull open the curtain and smile. He nods and turns back around, satisfied. I slide the curtain closed again and lie back on my pillow, already knowing I’ll be hiding most of the way to Hampton, Virginia.
Just as I’m getting comfortable, my curtain is rudely tugged open, revealing the one face I am in no mood to see. Especially this early in the morning after I spent the wee hours giving myself amazing orgasms to thoughts of him. My cheeks immediately heat under his gaze. His expression is haunted, and I know he wants to say something. But what? Does he want to apologize for getting it on with that rocker skank, Rachel? No apology needed. I have no claim on Wolf, and last night was confirmation as to why that’s not something I should ever want.
“Where’d you go last night? I thought we were riding back to the hotel together.”
I assume a blank expression as I look back at him. He regrets something—it's all over his face—but I don’t want to know what. “Lorraine said she’d see you home. You were busy with a different kind of ride.”
I shouldn’t have said that. He’ll know I care. I don’t want to care.
His face falls. “Lyric, nothing happened.”
I laugh almost deliriously and turn my stare to the ceiling of my bunk. “It doesn’t matter, Wolf. You don’t have to explain anything to me.”
There’s silence as Wolf stares at me. I can feel his eyes burning a hole in the side of my face, but I won’t give him anything more.
“Shit,” he says, seething. Then he yanks the curtain closed.
He walks away.
A door slams.
My heart sinks.
What the hell was that?
Chapter Eleven
Wolf
Nothing happened with that girl at the club, but that’s not why I’m pissed. I’m pissed that I found myself trying to explain to Lyric what really happened. Since when did I let myself get so worked up over a woman? Never. Not even when I was a punk teen who pretended to be a hard-ass to impress girls.
When Lorraine said Lyric took off without me last night, I knew immediately that Rex hadn’t gotten Rachel off me in time. I knew Lyric saw, but she saw wrong. I was practically molested by our backstage assistant, and my own drunk ass couldn’t control her. This, under normal pre-Lyric circumstances, would have been fine.
I may have been lit, but I know Rachel was all over me, dry humping me in front of my band and crew and whoever-the-fuck else was back there with us. Lorraine joked about it the entire ride home, but I didn’t find it funny. I only had one thing on my mind, and her name is Lyric.
I went straight to her room and banged on her door, but she must have already fallen asleep. No one would let me in, so I finally went to bed.
Why am I so concerned about what Lyric saw? Or what Lyric felt when she saw what she did? Why do I feel this insatiable need to protect her as if she were mine? Why do I feel like she is mine? She’s the furthest thing from it, but that doesn’t change the fact that I want to bury myself inside her every time I see her.
There’s only one thing I can do on an eight-hour bus ride. If I can’t get my mind off Lyric, I’ll write my own.
* * *
Stay
* * *
Emotions blister, feelings fester
Beneath cold skin
You weren’t invited in
Your heart is puckered at the surface
Feathers ruffled, you’re so damn careless
* * *
Strange vibrations, impure intentions
Everything I fear
Our connection so clear
It’s the ultimate crime, these sensations I feel
It’s every damn thing I fear
* * *
Stay … stay away
You’re crawling beneath my skin
We’re putting a stop to something
Before it ever begins
Just stay … stay away from me
* * *
It’s missing a bridge and maybe another verse, but I need to get up and stretch. I’ve been staring at my notebook for hours, unable to keep the words from spilling onto the page. I put the lyrics away and leave the space of my room. Writing never takes a toll on me like this. But then again, my songs are usually about partying and one-night stands. Not infiltrations of the heart.
I let out an amused laugh. If my dad were here right now, he’d tell me I was being a pussy. He’d encourage me to fuck the next chick I laid eyes on hard and fast to get Lyric off my brain. And as much as I detest the man, he’d be right in this case.
Befriending Lyric was a mistake. She’s our road manager, and she’s got an engrained distrust for rock stars. Maybe a small part of me wanted to prove her wrong. Maybe for a short time I did prove her wrong, but any progress I’d made was shattered last night.
The guys and Lorraine are watching television when I join them in the main living space. Lyric is nowhere to be found. I breathe a sigh of relief, ignoring the dullness in my chest at the thought of her. I want to pound on it until it kick-starts back to life—to the way things used to be, when I didn’t obsess over how someone viewed me or interpreted my actions. I need to get over this shit. Because this isn’t me.
I reach into the refrigerator for a water, ready to wash down the frustration. When I peer above the door, I stiffen. The curtain to Lyric’s bunk is opened slightly, just enough to see her sleeping comfortably on a bright blue pillow. At least she looks comfortable. The soft features of her face and those long eyelashes make my heart beat a little faster. I’ve watched her sleep before. She’s kind of beautiful when she sleeps—and she makes these adorable fucking noises.
“Hey, Wolf.”
I jump, splashing water down my shirt. “Shit.” I close the refrigerator and set the plastic bottle on the counter.
“Check out this riff for ‘Dangerous Heart,’” Stryder hollers from the couch, completely missing my blunder. He starts strumming something before I can respond.
I walk over and sit across from him, listening intently and trying to get a feel for it. He repeats it a few times, and then I’m singing along with him.
* * *
Can’t rely on second chances
Since the first ripped my heart apart
You’re not welcome here anymore
Cause there’s no going back to the start
* * *
“Yeah, man. That’s the shit right there.” I’m nodding and making him play it again so I can get the vocals right. Lorraine plays a few keys on her portable keyboard, and I smile over at her, loving that we can do this. Jam like this at a moment’s notice. It’s not long before Derrick grabs his sticks and tinkers around with his beats, and Hedge joins in with backup vocals because his bass is tucked away in the luggage bay.
Over the past few weeks, the band has been working the social media outlets, sharing the video and recruiting help from our fans, searching for the owner of the song. We’re up to 15 million hits on YouTube, and radio stations are already calling our label rep, asking for the song.
“What are we going to do if we don’t find the writer of this song?” Lorraine asks, disappointment evident in her tone. She’s probably the most in love with it—other than me.
The rest of them chime in. Crawley’s eyes are on me from the passenger seat of the bus. He’s the only one who knows Lyric wrote it. I confided in him the next afternoon and asked him to keep it a secret. I didn’t have a choice if I wanted to do things legally. He happily obliged to handle all the legalities. Of course. And we agreed I should be the one to tell the band that we found her, although they would never know who she is.
“I’ve already found her.”
“What?” They’re all screaming at my confession, causing me to laugh.
“Who the fuck is she? You’ve been holding out on us?” Hedge glares at me.
“She wants t
o remain anonymous. Sorry, guys. I can’t tell you who she is, but she is letting us keep the song.”
“She doesn’t want money?” Derrick asks suspiciously.
I shake my head, just as bewildered as the rest of them. “She wants nothing but her anonymity.”
The bus gets rowdy, and before I know it, Stryder’s passing shots of whiskey around like it’s someone’s birthday. The jam session continues, and I almost forget that Lyric’s asleep in her bunk beside us. I’m not surprised when she wakes up and stumbles groggily into the wild party taking place.
I try to meet her eye, but she avoids me and sits beside Derrick. “What’s going on?” she asks him.
A pang of jealousy hits my chest as I watch their exchange and wish she had come to me. Sat by me. “Wolf found the writer of that new song. It’s ours. We’re celebrating.”
Her face tightens, and she immediately stands. “Count me out. I didn’t get much sleep last night, and I need to get some work done. See you guys.”
She starts to crawl back into her bunk, but I reach her first. “If you need to work you can use my room. It’s quiet back there. These guys will probably be rowdy the rest of the trip. They’re pumped about the song.”
Lyric gives me a half smile. I think she’s excited about the song, too, but she’s still pissed off about last night. I can’t blame her. I’m pissed at myself for last night, and as much as I could lay it all out there and tell her what I’m really feeling, it doesn’t change who we are. She doesn’t date guys like me, and I don’t date women like her.
So then why is Lyric’s smile enough to lift me above the clouds?
“Okay, thank you.”
I watch her walk away because I can’t exactly follow her to my room. Instead, I pick up the keyboard and mess around while Lorraine sings. She has a decent voice and sings backup on some of our songs, bringing a velvety softness to our usually deep-gutted raspy tone.
Derrick is the first to call our impromptu practice session quits when he gets a text message and slips into his bunk. Lorraine and Hedge turn on the PS4, and Stryder carries Misty to his bunk.
Without hesitation, I sneak back to my room and tap the door lightly before entering.
Lyric looks up. She’s lying flat on her stomach on my bed, her computer in front of her. She moves to sit up, and I wave my hand. “I’m just going to shower. You can stay.”
“I should go,” she says, avoiding my eyes.
“I wouldn’t go out there,” I warn. “Stryder and Misty get loud sometimes. Unless you’re into that shit, you should stay. I’ll be in here.” I point to the door to my bathroom. “Don’t worry.” With a final curl of my lip, I step into the tiny bathroom and close the door before leaning against it with a heavy sigh. My heart is pounding.
What the hell is wrong with me? I’ve never had to work so hard to keep a woman in my company before, but I don’t want Lyric to leave. Why am I even trying? Nothing good can come out of this.
Maybe I’ll feel better after we clear the air. It’s obvious we’re attracted to each other, but we both know anything more would complicate our worlds. Neither of us needs that kind of distraction.
Speaking of distractions… It’s hard—literally—to keep my mind off the fact that Lyric is lying on my bed right now with her tits pressed into my mattress. Her tight, round ass in the air. Her plush lips pursed as she works.
My hand instinctively finds my cock and begins stroking it as I start the shower. I need to take care of this problem if I’m going to spend any time around Lyric. There are no stops until we hit Pittsburg tonight. Then it’s late soundcheck, followed by showtime.
Just the thought of being on stage makes my heart rate speed up, causing my hand to work myself faster. A deep groan slips from my lips. Fuck. What if she heard that?
The last thing I want is for Lyric to freak out and leave to the sound of me jerking off. To thoughts of her.
I release my hardness with a silent cry and squeeze my eyes shut, thinking of anything to make the blood rush simmer. It takes a few minutes and a downpour of cold water, but I’m determined to make it through this shower without imagining Lyric moaning my name.
Still dripping wet, I wrap a towel around my waist and step into my bedroom. I’m expecting to find Lyric there. Still on my bed. Waiting for me. I’m already getting hard again thinking about it.
But she’s gone.
My heart starts beating erratically in my chest. I was hoping we could talk. I have no idea what I would have said to her if we got the chance, all I know is that I want that chance fucking desperately.
Looking down at the bulge in the towel, I see my standing ovation demanding attention. Again. “Shit, you’re needy today.” I rip off the towel and take hold of the rapidly growing purple monster.
Knowing this might take some time, I lean against the wall and close my eyes, thinking of Lyric again. My heart rate quickens with each movement as I imagine her petite, yet strong, hand wrapped around me, her pretty eyes batting up at mine before she takes a mouthful, moving down my shaft until it hits the back of her throat. She’s the perfect size to take against the wall, too, or a door, or the glass of a shower. “Ah,” I groan as I feel the rush of blood pumping through me.
“Oh my God!”
The sound yanks me from my daydream and my eyes fly open, my hand still wrapped around my beast of an erection. Lyric is in my room, the door closed behind her as if she looked up too late. She doesn't see that I’m staring back at her because her eyes are nowhere near my face.
What the hell do I do now?
She drops the notebook in her hand and backs up against the door, her eyes glued to every movement of my hand. I never stopped stroking myself. No way. She’s going to see what she’s doing to me. How much I want her.
A grunt escapes my throat as my balls tighten, begging for the release. I reach for them with my other hand and tug. Maybe this won’t take as long as I thought. With Lyric standing in front of me, frozen and practically salivating, I make my strokes extra dramatic.
My abs begin to tighten, my head feels like it’s ready to explode, and I’m grunting as I release my buildup onto the towel at my feet. I can’t remember ever being this turned on before.
“Holy shit,” she breathes.
I want to ask her if she enjoyed herself, but I need a moment to catch my breath and let the blood flow start circulating in my body first.
“Was that show for me?” Her unfaltering demeanor shocks me. She finally raises her eyes to meet mine.
“I didn’t know you were going to barge in. You could have knocked. Or left. You loved every fucking minute of it.”
I’m still breathing heavily. Masturbating in front of a woman isn’t a new thing for me, but somehow what I just did gave me the biggest rush. And she’s still here, narrowing those pretty eyes at me.
“You were right. Stryder and his girl are loud. I was coming back to wait it out, but I guess I’m not safe anywhere I go, now, am I?” A smirk appears on her face, building my confidence.
“Small bus, big problems.” I laugh.
She rolls her eyes, and I don’t blame her. That was cheesy as shit, but I don’t care.
“You can cover up now. I was going to do some writing.”
I reach for my towel, suddenly self-conscious, as she makes herself comfortable on my bed. I wash my hands and throw on shorts before she can get a look at my returning erection. Fuck. Not again. I have a problem, and it’s clear her name is Lyric. Just one look at her, and my dick reacts as if he’s never seen a woman before.
She lies flat on her stomach at the head of my bed, kicking her feet in the air. I join her, propping myself against the headrest, taking in the thin cloth that covers her ass. Barely. My gaze focuses on the crease between her legs and her cheeks.
She glances over her shoulder, and her light green eyes lock on mine. She’s smiling, looking sexy as sin with a thin strand of hair falling into her eyes. “What are you looking at?” she a
sks.
“You.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m picturing you naked. Only fair. You just saw me in all my glory.”
She laughs. “Not my fault.” Turning back to her notebook she mumbles. “It was one hell of a show.”
My chest puffs with excitement. Damn straight.
“So,” she says casually, “everyone’s stoked about the song, huh?”
I knew she cared.
“Yup. It’d be cooler if they knew who wrote it. They already have mad respect for you, but this would blow their minds.”
The blush that creeps up her cheeks tells me just knowing that is enough for her.
“So, what is it with you and that song?” I prod. “Are you ever going to tell me?”
Her cheeks darken before a thick curtain of hair falls over her shoulder, shielding me from catching any more hints in her expression. “It’s just … the pressure. Having music legends for parents didn’t make life easy. I always felt like I was disappointing someone, you know? Because I was never going to be a musician. But I loved the industry. I always felt a little lost and without anyone there to guide me…” she shrugs. “I wrote lyrics.”
“Did your parents know?”
She’s silent for a long time before answering. “Yeah, they knew.”
“So, what? You were afraid your lyrics weren’t good enough? I’m sure you’ve gotten better since then. Or maybe you just needed to get your songs in front of someone who needed them. Like me.”
Lyric flips her long brown hair over her shoulder and smiles back at me. “You think you have me all figured out.”
I let out a breath of air. “Actually no. I don’t. Not at all.” And it’s bothering the hell out of me.
Her feet sway slightly in the air, so I instinctively reach for the closest one and pull it to my lap. When I do, the fabric of her shorts leg stretches open at the center, revealing shimmering pink flesh. She’s not wearing any underwear.