Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Good. They treat her with respect?”

  “Eh.” I shrug. “One was a bit of an asshole, like she said. But I think that’s their schtick.”

  Maybe if you want people to be respectful, don’t send her to the prick and dick show.

  He reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a wad of cash.

  “Ice, come on. You don’t have to pay me.”

  He levels a frosty glare my way. “Don’t start that shit with me, Rooster.”

  I did the respectful-decline-the-money-first routine, so now I feel comfortable reaching for the cash. “Appreciate it.”

  “How long you in town?”

  “My girl gets in late tonight. Probably leaving with her early next week.”

  “You bringing her by tonight? Probably gonna be rowdy. Celebrating the launch of the site and all.”

  “I might get a room downtown, but I’ll definitely bring her by the next night.”

  “It’ll be a party all weekend but anyone you want to bring is fine with me.”

  “Thanks.”

  After I leave Ice’s office, I pull out my phone and text Shelby.

  Me: Make it to Philadelphia?

  Shelby: Just finished rehearsal.

  Me: How’d it go?

  She responds with a few thumbs down emojis.

  Instead of answering, I jog upstairs and slip into my room to call her.

  “Hey,” she answers right away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  She laughs softly. “Nothing’s wrong. I just didn’t like the sound setup. It’ll be okay.”

  “I miss you,” I blurt out.

  “Miss you too,” she says softly. “Whatcha been up to? I don’t have any mental pictures of you in that clubhouse.”

  Yeah, my day isn’t one any woman wants mental snapshots of. Here’s my boyfriend escorting a porn star around town. Oh, look, a shot of my boyfriend spending his afternoon setting up accounts on adult film sites. Here he is deciding which bare-assed photo will bring in the most subscribers.

  Nope.

  “Nothing you want in your mental photo album.” Points for honesty, right? But I really need to come clean about what I’m up to when I see her. Not the intricate club-business details but at least the broad strokes.

  “Hmm. That sounds ominous.”

  “Club business. Nothing exciting.” Not to me, anyway. To Shelby? Yeah, I think she’ll have an opinion or two.

  “You really want to pick me up tonight? You don’t have to. I can—”

  “What are you talking about? Of course I’ll be there.” Somehow, I need to make it clearer to Shelby that I mean what I say and she can trust me.

  “Shoot. I have to go. Sorry, Rooster.”

  “Hey, before you go, any more creepy messages?”

  “Wh-what do you mean?”

  It shouldn’t be that hard of a question to answer. “Like that ‘marry me’ one you got the other night?”

  She lets out a high, thin laugh. Not like Shelby at all. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare at it for a second.

  “Probably dozens of ’em. I haven’t checked my email yet,” she finally answers.

  Hasn’t checked her Instagram either, or she might have noticed the King of Cocky Roosters profile that started following her recently. Still not sure how I’ll explain all the porn stars I’m also following. But those are for business reasons. The way I’m stalking Shelby’s pervy admirers is purely personal. I’ve already zeroed in on at least three grown-ass men who seem to be obsessed with her.

  From what I’ve seen, her social media’s full of bullshit that Greg should be keeping better tabs on. Someone needs to go through and delete the shitty comments, report and investigate the creepy ones, and answer her genuine fans.

  Not my business.

  Not yet anyway.

  Shelby

  After my set, Greg walks me to my dressing room, Bane close on our tail.

  I’m buzzing to get the heck out of here. We have a long drive ahead of us.

  Greg drops down on the couch while I pack my stuff.

  Paper crinkles and I glance over. “What’s that?”

  “Your schedule for tomorrow.”

  “My schedule?” Except for this dumb interview that got tacked on, my only plans were to spend time with Rooster. He better not have added anything else. “Email it to me.”

  “You need to be at the interview early. Are you sure you’ll be ready? I’m not comfortable having Logan take you.”

  I pace the length of the couch, throwing glares at Greg each time I pass. “Well, I really wish you’d consulted me before you set it up.”

  “This is a big deal for you, Shelby,” Greg says in his “be reasonable” tone that usually has the opposite reaction from me. “This isn’t a country station. ‘Big Lies’ has more of a mainstream feel and they’ve been getting tons of requests for it.”

  “Then why didn’t you tell me about it ahead of time?” I stop pacing and squint at him. “And why don’t you look more excited?”

  “They had a last-minute spot to fill,” he hedges.

  “And?”

  “They’re shock jocks.” He sighs. “Have a bit of a reputation for being obnoxious.”

  “Wait, shock jocks are still a thing? I thought all those tools moved to podcasts and satellite radio.”

  He frowns at the question. “This duo’s still popular. They got fined into oblivion a few years back but returned with a bigger audience than ever. They do a variety of interviews, from porn stars to pop stars.”

  “And you think that’s good for my image?”

  “I do. You’re getting airplay on mainstream radio. I know your roots are country but we’ll go anywhere the money’s green, right?”

  “If you say so, I’ll do it.”

  Another frown. In Greg’s head, this wasn’t up for debate.

  “Bane should be the one to escort you. Keep it professional. Your boyfriend’s got a hair trigger for anything he deems offensive against you.”

  I snort and then full-on belly laugh. “I’m not sure what it says about you that you think that’s a negative quality in a man, Greg. But I’ll tell you one thing: I’m sure as shit not going without him.”

  He sighs and stands. “Just keep him on a leash.”

  As if anyone could leash Rooster. Or I’d insult him by asking him to sit there and say nothing, denying his true nature. “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

  “It would be a better use of his time if you’d tell him about the letters.”

  “Why? How’s he supposed to track the guy down? With the power of his mind?” I scoff. Greg just wants to use Rooster as free labor, and I’m not havin’ it. Nor am I gonna worry him by telling him what’s going on. I snap a quick picture of the schedule and send it to Rooster, so he at least knows what to expect.

  After Greg leaves, I poke my head outside the door. Bane’s standing guard like he has been every night since Dawson assigned him to me.

  “Need something?” he asks.

  “Just help moving my stuff out.” I’m not bothering to change out of my dress. Rooster said he’s picking me up in a truck so I can bring my guitar to the radio station tomorrow, and I want to look pretty for him.

  “I’ll find someone. Stay put.”

  As if I’d bother with an escape attempt.

  I haven’t personally received any more letters but between Bane’s constant vigilance, Dawson stopping by to check on me every night, and Greg’s arguments with the record label, I have a feeling more have been delivered and no one wants to tell me.

  I shut the door with a quiet click and face the empty, lonely dressing room. Eagerness to see Rooster shoots through my belly. If I could sprout a set of wings, I’d take flight right now.

  A few minutes later, Trent’s usual rapid-fire three knocks hit the door. “It’s me,” he calls out.

  “Come on in.”

  He and Bane grab my stuff and sandwich me between them for the long walk to
the van.

  The fire of a dozen bees are stinging my eyes tonight. Sleep. I just want to sleep in a reasonably comfortable bed.

  We reach the van and I help the guys load everything, remembering to take my backpack and another bag up front.

  “Go ahead, Shelby. We’ve got the rest of this.”

  Stretching out on the thin mattress of my tiny bunk, I groan and close my eyes.

  Rooster. Can’t wait to see him.

  An instant replay of tonight’s show flashes behind my eyelids. It was good, but not my best. Besides my stinging eyes from whatever pollen is floatin’ in the air, my throat’s raw and scratchy. Dawson hadn’t asked me to perform with him, and instead of being insulted, I was relieved.

  I pop a lozenge in my mouth and roll to my side. As I’m drifting off, the guys step into the van. Poor Bane’s been riding with us in our less luxurious surroundings but hasn’t complained.

  How the heck am I supposed to explain his presence to Rooster?

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  Rooster

  The spot Shelby asked me to pick her up from tonight is a few rows over from where her van’s parked. The lot’s empty at this hour. I’m about to start up the truck and move closer when she pops out of the van, hoisting her backpack on her shoulder.

  A big mountain of a man follows her. Dude could give Pants a run for his money in the scary fucker department. Why the fuck’s he following Shelby?

  I step out of the truck, keeping my eye on both of them. She turns and stops him, speaking a few words I can’t catch. She points my way and motions with her hands.

  Mountain man nods, and she races across the blacktop.

  She turns and waves at the guy before flinging herself at me. “Hey. I’m so sorry about that—”

  I slam my mouth over hers, swallowing the explanations she doesn’t owe me. When we part, she’s fidgety and keeps glancing around the parking lot.

  Shelby's smiles are usually sunlight melting my frosty corpse heart. But tonight, her face is tight. Strained. Is she tired? Not thrilled to see me?

  Headlights sweep over the parking lot and the van honks twice as it drives away.

  I hold her door open, my hungry eyes roaming every inch of her. A hint of her lemon-sugar scent teases my nose. I fit my hands on her waist and boost her into the truck.

  “Rooster.”

  One more kiss, then we’ll get going. She twists in her seat so her boots are resting on the running board. Her dress grazes her knees, hiding enough to annoy me. I step closer, slide my hands up her legs, under her dress, until my hands are on her hips.

  She tilts her head to the side. “What’re you doing?”

  “I need another kiss.” The pull is too strong to ignore. I push my big body between her knees and she squeezes my sides. I brush my nose along her temple to inhale her sweet scent again.

  She loops her arms around my neck. “So kiss me.”

  I brush my lips over hers. She lets out a sharp sound that ratchets up my need for her. Her tongue flicks against mine.

  “Shelby,” I groan, barely leaving her lips.

  She lets out a softer moan, clinging to me tighter.

  How does this woman always taste so good?

  A wild need-to-have-her-now fever consumes me. We’re a tangle of limbs and clothes, and too many car parts in the way, but I finally squeeze my big body into the front seat with her and slam the door shut, locking it.

  Shelby wastes no time straddling my lap. I run my hands up under her dress again, savoring every inch of skin. My fingers tease the edge of her underwear, trace the small of her back.

  “Fuck, I really didn’t plan to do this in the parking lot,” I mumble as I kiss a path from Shelby’s ear to her neck. “You smell so good. I missed you.”

  “I missed you too.” She gathers her dress in her hands, tugging it up even higher so I catch a glimpse of peach thong. “Why do you think I’m wearin’ a dress at midnight instead of my jammy pants?”

  “Clever girl.” I fumble with the top button of her dress, torn between getting my mouth on her tits but not wanting to leave her exposed in case someone knocks on the truck window.

  I slip my hands under her dress, shoving it up around her waist. “I love how perfectly you fit in my hands.”

  She presses her palms to my cheeks and swoops in for another kiss. Her hips roll, crushing her soft center against my hard cock. I thrust up, giving her something to really grind against and groan. I haven’t ached for a woman this painfully in years. Maybe ever.

  “We can do foreplay later.” She reaches for my belt. “I want you inside me.”

  “Not arguing.” I suck in a stuttering breath as she frees my cock and wraps her fingers around me. “Fuck.”

  I’m so wild for her, my hands get tangled in the long fabric of her dress and the tiny strap of her underwear.

  “Logan, wait.” She groans as I rub between her legs.

  “You’re so wet.” I continue exploring, slipping my fingers underneath the tiny strip of satin between her thighs.

  She rocks her hips back and forth. Short, quick movements, chasing the friction of my hand. “I…I know.”

  Her plush little body radiates heat. That thong’s so damn tiny, I can slip it to the side. No reason for her to leave my body for a second. I dig my fingers into her hip, pulling her closer.

  Oh fuck, I need to be inside her.

  She braces her hand against my chest, pushing me away. “Condom, condom,” she chants.

  Well, fuck.

  This is the first time I’ve ever completely forgotten about wrapping my dick. “I, uh. Are you on the pill or something?”

  She stops cold.

  That’s not good. “What’s wrong?”

  Her body trembles as she tries to shift off my lap.

  I clamp down on her hips harder. “No. Talk to me.”

  Having this conversation with my naked dick so close to her soaked pussy isn’t the wisest choice.

  “That’s a deal-breaker for me.”

  Huh?

  “I’m terrified of getting pregnant,” she adds.

  Why are we talking about—oh, right.

  “Okay.” I’m having trouble clearing the fog of lust from my head and catching up.

  “I’m serious,” she says. “It would ruin my career right now. And—I can’t take the chance.”

  “Hey, shh. I hear you.” I run my hand over her shoulder, cupping the back of her head and sliding my fingers in her hair. Dragging her closer until we’re almost nose-to-nose, I stare into her wild eyes. “I don’t want to clip your wings, chickadee. Promise.”

  “Logan,” she whispers.

  “I have bad news, though.” My heart fists at the uncertain way her eyes widen. Guess it wasn’t clear I’m teasing. “I don’t have any on me. I really wasn’t planning this.”

  “Oh.” She covers her mouth with her hand and laughs softly. Arching and twisting, she leans back and reaches for her purse. “I have some.”

  “Fuck, woman. Why didn’t you say so? Hurry up.”

  She laughs harder, not doing a damn thing to soothe my aching dick. “Here.”

  I tear into that sucker so fast it’s not even funny. My whole body’s shaking with need. I roll it on and squeeze her hip again. “Come here.”

  Her body pulses like a live wire as she sinks down. She bites her lip. Stares straight into my eyes.

  “More,” she whispers.

  A flash of pleasure fires over my skin. She sinks her nails into my shoulders, easing herself inch by agonizing inch. I flick my gaze down. Wish I had more light to watch her take me.

  “Fuck, that’s good.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Stay like that for a sec.”

  My sassy girl slowly rolls her hips, ignoring my desperate plea for mercy. The sensation’s a gentle wave in my turbulent ocean of need.

  A frustrated noise passes her lips and she scrabbles to lift my shirt. I have to lean forward and yank the damn thing off. Not even sure where it
ends up. “Better?”

  She runs her hands over my shoulders and down my chest. “Much.”

  “Good.” I squeeze her hip. “Get to work.” I glance out the window. I hadn’t parked under any of the functioning lights. Truck’s windows are tinted. It’s unlikely anyone can see us. Still, I don’t like taking the chance with Shelby.

  But there’s no stopping her now.

  “Uh.” She rocks her hips faster. Leaning back, she braces her hands on my knees.

  I’ve never needed anything the way I need to see more of her. Fuck it. I flick open the few top buttons of her dress. The flowy material flutters and falls to the side. Still greedy, I push the cups of her bra down.

  There’s enough light filtering through the windows for my eyes to follow the outline of her body. I splay my hand across her chest, right between her breasts, feeling the thump of her heart against my palm. Sliding to the right, I cup her breast, brushing my thumb over her tight nipple.

  “Oh!” she gasps.

  “What do you need?”

  “More.”

  I shift lower in the seat and she leans back, resting her elbows on the dashboard.

  “Nice,” I mumble, licking the pad of my thumb before dipping under her dress to rub her clit. “How’s that?”

  Her hips buck and jerk. “Good.” There’s a frustrated catch in her voice.

  “Slow down. We’ve got all night.” That’s not technically true. Any minute, someone could ruin our reunion party and I think that’s what’s messing with her.

  “You feel so good,” she pants. “This feels…”

  “Keep going.” I roll my thumb around her clit in slow circles, listening carefully for the hitch in her breath saying she’s close. “Stop trying so hard. Relax.”

  “I…I can’t.”

  “Where’s that little bullet you were telling me about?”

  “Huh?” She tips her head up, staring at me with dazed, desperate eyes. Her movements slow.

  I pinch her hip. “Keep riding. Where is it?”

  Please don’t say “in the van.”

  “In…in my purse.” She drops her arm and twists her body, reaching for it.

  I say a quick, silent prayer for her magical bag that seems to have everything.

  Her body jerks and trembles with the effort of searching in the dark at a weird angle. Honestly, every movement goes straight to my cock, making the situation even more critical.