Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  The buxom blonde songbird is best known for appearing on the reality television show Redneck Roadhouse, where her red-hot show-mance with co-star Austin Mates famously blew up her friendship with co-star Ruby Nolan.

  Morgan’s team had no comment but it’s easy to see Shelby and her new mystery man have the look of love brewing in their eyes.

  Morgan is currently the opening act on the Back Road Dreams tour headlined by the newly single country super stud Dawson Roads. Concertgoers report later in the night, Morgan and Roads performed a romantic duet hot enough to light a thousand fires.

  Hopefully, sassy Miss Shelby learned her lesson from the Redneck Roadhouse disaster and isn’t entering another love triangle.

  Wow. Way to bring up one of the most humiliating moments of my life while insinuating I’m slutty. I’m never going to live down Redneck Roadhouse, am I? Worse, I’ll forever be mentioned in relation to my connection to some man. Never be taken seriously as an artist. Always reduced to my tit size and hair color.

  I grumble a few curses under my breath and fire off a text to Greg.

  Can we do anything about it?

  Better to ignore.

  “Then why’d you send it to me?” I mutter.

  “What’s wrong?” Rooster asks.

  I sigh. Should I even tell him about the article? While this particular blog’s a big deal in my world, I doubt it’s something Rooster is even aware exists. Then again, some of these so-called reporters are relentless and I should probably warn him that people might try to track down his identity.

  His attention’s focused on the road, so I don’t bother showing him my screen. “Just a stupid entertainment and gossip site. Someone snapped a few pictures of us last night and sent them in.”

  “Who’s us? You and me, us?”

  “Yeah.” I read him the dumb headline, and he roars with laughter.

  “Getting cozy, huh? What’s the picture?”

  I reach over and shift my screen in front of him, and he flicks it a quick glance. “Nice.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Why would I be mad?”

  “What if they had named your club?”

  “That wouldn’t be ideal.” He shrugs. “I’m more worried about you, though.”

  “They might try to track you down, Rooster. You can almost make out the vice president patch.” I squint at the screen again. “How many motorcycle clubs are in the area?”

  “It’s not exactly like we publish a yearbook.” He grunts. “Let ’em track me down. Ain’t gonna like what they find.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s fine.” He’s quiet for a minute. “Jigsaw is coming out to the show with us tomorrow. Dex is coming too.”

  “He’s the serious, quiet one, right?”

  “That’s Dex.” He glances over. “Actually, Z asked them to go with me. Is that gonna cause problems for you?”

  I blow out a long breath. “More people might try to grab pictures now. Why did Z want them to go with you?”

  He drums his fingers against the steering wheel for a few seconds before answering. “It’s in another club’s territory. We’re friendly with this club. Pretty close relationship that extends before my time, actually. There’s also some business we need to take care of on the way home.”

  “Oh.”

  “Since he’s coming anyway, I asked Jiggy to help me out at your meet and greet.”

  I blink. “You did? But I can’t pay him—”

  “He’s not taking your money.” He dismisses it like it’s a non-issue.

  “Rooster, I appreciate that, but I can’t ask him to work for free. I felt bad enough having you do it.” I reach over and run my hand up his thigh. “But I had a form of payment in mind.”

  He closes his hand over mine. “I don’t like what you’re implying on several levels.” He raises my hand, kissing the back of it before letting go. “You didn’t ask. I did. If the roles were reversed, I wouldn’t hesitate to help him out. It’s what we do for each other.”

  “Greg’s going to shit himself.” I smile with glee.

  “Tough. He needs to do a better job protecting you. You’re his artist. Your safety should be his top priority.”

  “Pfft. Every now and then I get some crummy, creepy letter or weird present. Besides that, and the occasional guy who wants to play grab ass, I’m fine.”

  “Wait, what? What letters? And no one should be grabbing your ass. Jesus Christ, we don’t allow ass-grabbing at our strip club. It sure as fuck shouldn’t—”

  “What strip club?”

  He glances over. “I told you upstate runs a strip joint. Crystal Ball.”

  “Do you hang out there a lot?”

  “I work there when the club needs me to help out.” He glances over and gives me a playful smirk. “You’re not jealous, I hope.”

  “Nah. I was thinking if this singing thing doesn’t work out, maybe I can audition at your place since I’ll have an in with the owners.”

  “Fuck that,” he growls. “That’s not even funny.”

  “Why? It’s honest work.”

  “Yeah. Hard work too. High turnover rate.” He flicks his gaze my way again. “You got a need to dress up and twirl around a pole, you can do it for me. And only me.”

  “I was kidding. But it’s cute that you’re all riled up.”

  He makes more growly noises, which make me laugh harder.

  “I’m way too shy to get naked in front of a room full of people, Rooster. So settle down.”

  “You have nothing to be shy about. Trust me.”

  “Are you trying to talk me into it?”

  “Fuck no.” He glances over. “How can you say you’re shy? Don’t you basically take the stage and get emotionally naked every night?”

  Unsure of how to respond, I stare at him. From someone not in the entertainment business, it’s an awfully accurate description. “That’s exactly what it feels like sometimes.”

  He reaches over and rests his hand on my leg. “I think that’s why people relate to you so well.”

  “You think they do?”

  “I know you don’t draw the same crowd Dawson does—yet—but yeah, you captured their attention last night and kept ’em hanging on ’til the last note.”

  My eyes water and I turn to stare out the window. Huh. Must be allergic to something in New York. “Thank you. That’s really sweet.”

  “Hey, what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. I appreciate what you said is all.”

  “I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t think it was true.”

  “Oh, I know you wouldn’t. You’ve already been in my panties. Several times.”

  He busts out a laugh. “I’ve been in more than your panties, chickadee.”

  No joke. Rooster’s slowly, but surely, taking up residence in my heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Rooster

  Shelby and I don’t run out of things to talk about on the way downstate. Usually this much conversation would have me crawling the walls, but I can’t get enough of her voice and stories.

  She reaches for her water bottle, taking a long sip. “I should probably pipe down or I won’t be able to sing a note tomorrow.”

  Shit, why didn’t I think of that? “I should do a better job holding up my end of the conversation, huh?”

  She laughs softly. “You’re a good listener. Even my mom can’t listen to me for long without offering an opinion.” Her gaze shifts to the window. “Whether I want it or not.”

  “You two have a fight this morning?”

  “No.”

  Obviously, that’s a topic of conversation she wants to avoid. Which probably means I should investigate it more.

  The overgrown grass and shrubs lining the clubhouse’s property comes into view. Much to Z’s irritation, we keep things looking a little raggedy around the edges to deter visitors. I flick the blinker on. Outside the newly installed gate, I have to stop and punch in a code.

&
nbsp; “So much security,” Shelby comments.

  “We just added this a little while ago.”

  “Was there a reason?”

  “Nothing specific.”

  Shelby accepts that answer, which I appreciate. Few things she’s encountered about MC life seem to bother her. Unusual attitude for a woman who’s never been around a club before.

  I park in the spot reserved for the VP, noting that Tawny’s big, black Cadillac is parked right in front of the large wooden clubhouse doors. Of course, the one chance I get to bring Shelby by the clubhouse the old president’s wife would be prowling around. Stirring up trouble, no doubt.

  Upstate likes to joke about using Tawny as some sort of test for whether a woman will survive as a Lost Kings ol’ lady. Used to think it was kind of funny until right this second.

  We haven’t been…whatever we are…long enough for Shelby to be subjected to Tawny yet.

  I walk around and open Shelby’s door.

  “Thought you said everyone was upstate?” She glances around at the few bikes and cars in the lot.

  “Couple brothers stayed behind, and a few girls live here and help us take care of the place.”

  A flash of…annoyance, maybe suspicion, crosses her face, but she doesn’t question me.

  I pull open the heavy front doors and motion for her to go inside.

  At least the place is clean and doesn’t smell like ass the way it used to.

  “Give me a second.” I squeeze Shelby’s hand and duck into the office I share with Z.

  Someone tossed a stack of envelopes on the desk. The red light on the phone blinks a steady, annoying red.

  Junk mail.

  Spam phone calls.

  Nothing that needs my attention.

  “You work here?” Shelby asks, leaning against the doorframe.

  “Work is probably stretching it.”

  She raises her hands to her face, forming a little square. “Click.”

  I set the phone down and come around the desk. “What’s that, chickadee?”

  “Just taking a mental snapshot for my collection.” She mimes shaking out a Polaroid and tucking it in her pocket.

  I grab her hips and yank her closer. “You’re fucking cute, you know that?”

  She opens her mouth.

  “Rooster!”

  I cringe. Somehow Tawny’s husky voice—that I’m sure she thinks is sexy—is more like nails down a fucking chalkboard. “What are you doing here? Thought you boys were gone all weekend?”

  Without bothering to introduce herself, she hip checks Shelby aside to hug me and press a kiss to my cheek, no doubt leaving hot-pink lipstick marks.

  Sway may not be our president anymore, but it’s still customary to show his ol’ lady respect. No matter how much I’d rather not. “Where’s your ol’ man, Tawny?” Why are you running around unsupervised?

  She points at the ceiling. “Upstairs. Resting.”

  “Tawny.” I slip my hand around Shelby’s and tug her closer. “This is my girlfriend, Shelby. She’s only in town for the weekend, so I thought I’d bring her by and show her around.”

  She rakes her gaze over Shelby. “Where you from, Shelby?”

  “Texas.” Shelby slathers on the southern twang. Is she nervous or annoyed?

  She curls an arm around my waist and pats my chest. “Rooster rescued me from drowning.”

  Tawny nods. “Sounds like our Rooster.”

  “Rooster!” one of the girls shouts. “Can you help me out a second?”

  I glance over my shoulder at Delilah. “Be right there.”

  Hopefully Tawny can behave for five minutes. And if she doesn’t, hopefully Shelby will forgive me.

  Shelby

  “Aren’t you a cute little thing,” Tawny says, slowly assessing me after Rooster dashes away.

  I study her tight red jeans, high-heeled sandals, ample cleavage, and helmet of shellacked red hair, and want to answer, “Well, aren’t you a scary bitch?” But my momma raised me better than that.

  “So, what do you do in Texas?” she asks like Texas is located in the sewer instead of the south.

  “I’m a singer.”

  She raises an eyebrow. I’m guessing she’s not a fan of reality television or country music, which is oddly comforting. I’d rather she not have any pre-conceived ideas about me.

  “You must be special.” Her lips curve into a cruel smile, and a lump forms in the pit of my stomach. “Rooster’s never brought a girl to the clubhouse he didn’t intend to share with his brothers.”

  Eww. Gross. Really?

  I flashback to the scene at upstate’s clubhouse last night. She’s probably not lying.

  Doesn’t matter. Rooster and I can discuss it later. I can’t let this lady think she’s rattled me. This woman’s giving off serious spotted hyena vibes. If she smells fear, she’ll probably claw me to ribbons.

  I shrug, all casual, like I couldn’t care less. “Well, he’s pretty snarly around most guys I encounter. And I don’t share, so, guess those days are over for him.”

  “Well, just make sure they know it too.” She points one manicured finger in the direction of the two girls perched on bar stools watching Rooster carry a heavy stack of boxes. “They’ve probably both fucked your man at some point. You’ll want to make it clear he’s no longer free dick.”

  Tawny’s still chuckling to herself—miserable old bitch—as I stomp over to the bar.

  The spark of jealousy burns maddeningly hot inside me. This right here is what I don’t need in my life. Why I shouldn’t be in a relationship.

  I catch the eye of the darker-haired girl and she beams at me, throwing a little wave. The urge to slap her scares me, it comes on so strong.

  Rooster’s mine. I don’t care who he’s banged in the past.

  What a whopper of a lie. I care way too damn much.

  Thinking about him with either of these broads has me madder than a three-legged dog trying to bury a bone on an icy pond.

  “Hey.” I boost myself up on one of the bar stools and none-too-subtly drape my arm over Rooster’s shoulder.

  To my great relief, he slips his arm around my waist. “Hey, chickadee.” He leans down and kisses my cheek. “This is Delilah and…”

  “Sheila,” the blonde answers for him.

  Phew. So either he’s never slept with her or he’s slept with so many girls he can’t remember all their names.

  Oh, this is so bad.

  “Right. Sorry, hon.” He squeezes me closer. “This is my girl, Shelby. We’re actually headed upstate again tonight, but I wanted to show her around.”

  “How’d it go up there?” Delilah asks.

  “Good. You could’ve come up.”

  “Nah, I had to work.” She winks at him. “My real job.”

  Rooster chuckles. “Appreciate you lookin’ after things here for us.”

  “No problem.” She nods to the staircase in the corner. “Sway and Tawny have been here to ‘monitor’ things as well.”

  She says it in a neutral tone but I sense she’s not too thrilled. Maybe Tawny’s full of “helpful” tips for all the women who stop by.

  Rooster finishes and walks me down the long corridor off the main room. At the end, we take a left and he pulls out a key to open one of the doors. “This is my room,” he explains.

  “Oh.” I step inside, admiring the dark gray, weathered hardwood floor that matches the rest of the clubhouse. The walls are painted a lighter shade of gray than the hallways, except for a deep blue accent wall behind the bed. While the colors are calm and soothing, the masculine vibe is reinforced with leather and metal details in the bedframe and a reading chair in the corner. “This is nice.”

  He shuts the door behind us. “What’d Tawny say to you?”

  Biting my lip, I back into the room, not wanting to answer the question. Now I feel a little silly for letting that woman bother me.

  “She’s the last president’s ol’ lady,” he explains. “So I still go
tta show her respect, but she’s not always kind to the girls.”

  The last flames of jealousy flare and die out. “Some stuff about you liking to share girls? And that you’d probably fucked both bartenders at some point.”

  “Jesus.” He pinches the bridge of his nose and drops his head. “Fuckin’ pain in the ass.”

  After a beat or two, he glances up, meeting my eyes. “For the record, Sheila just started hanging around here, helping out, more recently. Delilah’s more like a kid sister than…anything else.”

  “Oh.” Funny how he sidestepped the first part of what Tawny told me.

  “To me,” he clarifies. “What she does with anyone else isn’t my business.”

  “Well, I don’t care what anyone else does.”

  “Good.”

  We stare at each other for a few beats.

  “Tawny loves to stir up trouble.”

  Rooster’s frustrated tone plucks my guilt strings. I shouldn’t hassle him for horseshit someone else said to me.

  “I’m sure she’s still salty that she’s not in charge of the girls around here anymore,” he continues. “Lilly’s too nice to say anything, so I’ll talk to Z.”

  “I don’t want to start trouble.”

  “It’s not a big deal. I told her you were my girl—that should’ve been her warning not to start shit.”

  “No wonder she styles her hair so damn high. Gotta hide them horns somehow,” I grumble.

  He bursts out laughing and holds out his arms. “Come here.”

  I can’t get to him fast enough. The ugliness still lingers in my belly, mocking me for thinking this long-distance thing is possible.

  I peer up at him. “Rooster, I’m not interested in anyone besides you.” In a stronger voice, I add, “And so we’re clear, I don’t share. With anyone.”

  He cups my cheek, rubbing his thumb over my bottom lip. “I thought we talked about this last night?”

  “We did. This is just for clarification purposes.”

  His lips twitch.

  “Those stories about southern girls being crazy bitches are all true, Rooster. I got no problem taking a bat to your truck, bike, or shins if you ever cheat on me.”