by Kacey Shea
She blinks and opens her mouth, then hesitates before snapping it closed.
I’ve got her. “Eighty percent of my followers are women.”
“I’m not sure that’s a stat you should be proud of.”
“Manwhore,” someone coughs. Probably Trent or Sean. I can’t even be mad because I’d give them the same shit.
“Come on, Jay. It’ll be fun. Do this with me. Please?”
Her gaze flicks to my friends, and when she speaks her voice is too low for the others to hear. “I didn’t come here for insta fame.”
“I know. That’s why I want you. Besides, we both know your ass looks better in the camera frame than mine.”
“I don’t know why I’m even considering this.”
Come on, Jay. I’ll be your personal snuggle fuck buddy for the remainder of the tour? I almost speak it aloud. Instead, my mind conjures a stroke of brilliance I know she won’t turn down. “I’ll owe you a solid.”
Her glare softens, the nostalgia working its magic. Growing up, I never had money. Neither did she. So we used to trade favors—a solid—even though she never really needed to. If she told me to jump off a bridge, I would have. I know before she opens her mouth that she’ll do it.
“Fine. But no takebacks.”
“I wouldn’t dream of it. Any time. Any place. You can cash in and I’ll do whatever you need.”
“This just got interesting.” Lexi claps her hands, her laughter joining with Opal’s, but I can’t see anything other than the woman before me. She’s so much more than the girl I used to trade favors with, and yet the root of who she is—her inherent goodness—proves she hasn’t allowed life to change her. Not where it counts.
15
Jayla
As soon as I agree, Austin stares, almost in admiration, and before I know what’s happening he’s by my side, his phone held out and camera flipped to capture us in a selfie.
Scratch that.
He’s gone and lost his mind.
“What are you doing?” I ask the question, but I already know. We’re live. On Facebook or Instagram or one of his other channels and I’m fighting the urge to either kick him in the balls or run off-screen because holy hell! I’m not wearing enough makeup for this and I certainly haven’t fixed my hair.
“This woman right here”—he waggles his perfect eyebrows and flashes one of his panty melting grins—“just agreed to make my dreams come true.”
“I’m gonna kick your ass if you don’t stop filming me.” I try to shove the phone away but he only holds it out of reach and laughs.
“That a promise?”
“Damn straight.”
He steps away and I exhale a sigh of relief. I don’t like being the center of attention. I can’t believe he got me to agree to do this.
“You heard it here first. The beautiful and slightly terrifying Miss Miller is going to help you learn some sick moves.” He glances over his cell, eyes twinkling with mischief as they meet mine. The lazy smile that stretches across his lips causes my stomach to flip. He’s way too handsome, and entirely trouble. “She’s gonna use my body, and I’m gonna get one of my bandmates to record so we can bring you weekly videos. A series, if you will.” He pivots, his back to me, and holds out his phone so we’re both on camera.
“A series?” I repeat, irritated at myself for agreeing without setting better terms. I’m not doing this forever. A few lessons, tops. And only if he keeps it educational and respectful.
“That’s right. Self-defense 101, rock star style.” He stares at the cell and laughs as hearts and scrolling comments burst onto the screen. “See, they already love the idea. What do you say, Jayla? We put together a series of tips and tricks for all the ladies? Keep those thwarted advances at bay. Teach them all to be a badass like you.”
“Stop sucking up. It’s unnecessary. I said I’d do it.”
“Because you like me.”
“Because I like kicking your ass.” My lips twitch and I consider giving in to a smile.
“See.” He stares at the phone. “My sexy head of security is gonna give it to me good for you all to witness.” He winks and clicks a button before stuffing his cell into his pocket.
“You don’t get told no often, do you?”
“On the contrary. I get rejected all the time. But I don’t give up. Not when it comes to something I want.”
I’ve never been one to respond to possessiveness. If anything, it sends me running in the opposite direction. But there’s an undertone to Austin’s words that stoke a fire I’d long but snuffed out. The desire to be cherished. The hope of being loved. My retort dies on my lips and instead I drop my gaze to my hands.
“If you really don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. It’s your choice.”
“Oh, right.” I roll my eyes. “You kind of backed me into a corner. If I back out now I’ll look like a coward. Everyone will be pissed.”
“Everyone?”
“Your fans.” I clear my throat, needing the reminder that he’s not doing this for me. He’s doing this to gain notoriety. A publicity stunt.
His brows shoot into his hairline. “You think I’m doing this for them?”
“To get them to buy your music. Concert tickets. Merch. Yeah, I do.” He has to be. What other motivation does he have?
“Then you, Jayla Miller, are sorely mistaken.” He almost looks put out.
I narrow my gaze. “Why, then?”
“You really wanna know?”
I lift my chin in a slight nod and he drops the teasing. It’s a look I haven’t seen him wear and it takes me off guard.
“Because there are too many men who don’t understand the concept of consent, and too many women who aren’t prepared to fight back.”
My initial urge is to look away. The way he’s staring, the depth of his gaze, it pulls forward memories I’d rather not recall. Maybe he knows? Maybe this is why he’s pushing my hand.
No. Impossible.
I’ve worked too damn hard to build myself into the woman I am today. One who faces ugly with power and strength. A woman who fights for what’s right. It’s for this very reason I agreed to his stupid videos. “Thank you.”
“Come again?” He holds his hand up to cup his ear dramatically and just like that, the glimmer of serious Austin is gone. “I think my hearing must be going because I swear you just thanked me.”
“Is everything one big joke to you? Because you don’t have to do that with me.” I raise an eyebrow in challenge.
He raises his back. “Nothing about you and me is a laughing matter.”
“I’m going to enjoy beating your ass. I hope you’re ready for this.”
“I can’t fucking wait.” He bites his lip. Fucking bites his lip, and a surge of lust pools right between my legs.
“So, do we get to watch?” Trent leans back against his seat, his arm draped across the back of the built-in booth. “Because I want to witness this go down.”
“I’ll tape y’all,” Opal volunteers with a bright smile. I can’t tell if she’s poking fun or genuinely excited, and just like that I feel every bit the hired outsider I am.
“You gonna script it, or go on the fly?” Leighton asks.
“I don’t know.” Austin opens the fridge and pulls out the carton of milk as he fixes himself breakfast. “We have plenty of time to figure it out.”
“Well, I think it’s a great idea.” Lexi meets my stare a beat before her eyes flick toward Austin. “Even if it was an asshole move to post that without asking Jayla.”
“Thank you for not quitting.” Leighton steeples his hands together. “I feel like we say that a lot.”
“That’s our boy. He likes to make things complicated.” Sean pats Austin on the shoulder as he gives up his seat and heads toward the back of the bus. As he passes by, he meets my gaze and lifts his lips with a faint smile—as if he knows exactly what’s going on between Austin and me. As if this is more than a simple publicity stunt. That maybe it’s al
so more than helping the masses equip themselves with the ability to fight off an intruder. That he knows I’m attracted to his friend.
And fuck me, because I’m beginning to think he’s right.
16
Jayla
I never put much thought into what goes into a concert, let alone a six-week tour across the United States. But holy hell, do I know now. The next eight days fly by in what often feels like heavily orchestrated chaos. I do everything I can to stay on top of security breaches between the miles of stretching highway.
The suspicious backpack in Dallas.
A fire alarm during sound check in Oklahoma.
None of which yields an actual threat, only accidental mishaps that give me and the rest of the staff near heart attacks.
I don’t want anything bad to happen on my watch. It’s no different from when I was on the beat, or working security at a party. I feel personally responsible for every single person who walks into a show, from the concession staff to the roadies to the talent themselves. Yes, the crazed and obsessed groupies deserve their safety, even though they are a pain in my ass. There hasn’t been one show that they don’t try to flirt, scheme, or buy their way past the guards. Everyone wants a piece of the band. In particular, a shot with the elusive last single Ugly Guy. Austin.
Against my expectations, he doesn’t pay these overtly forward women any attention outside of the shows, meet and greets, and post-concert parties hosted by WMI. I don’t know why this pleases me, but it does. I expected him to be a player. Especially after that ridiculous list he gave me before we left on this tour. Maybe he was exaggerating? No. If anything, he was embarrassed. I don’t know what sparked a change in his manwhore ways, if it happened long before or whether my presence has anything to do with his sudden interest in a chaste lifestyle.
I’m lying. I hope I have everything to do with his behavior. Which is totally unprofessional and inappropriate. It’s not as if I’m planning to sleep with him. I wouldn’t do that. It would be a colossally bad idea. Yet the thought of him being intimate with anyone else makes me livid.
“What’s wrong?” The man at the center of my thoughts pulls me from my musings. He jumps from the parked bus with a hop to his step and struts over to where I stand in the shade.
We pulled into Kansas City an hour ago, way ahead of schedule. Most everyone is still asleep on the bus, tired from the late show and grueling pace of the tour.
I straighten my shoulders and try not to notice how good he looks in his tight jeans, or the tattoos that paint his arms, or how that cocky grin makes his lips look incredibly kissable. “Why does something have to be wrong?”
His lips pull up as if he can read my thoughts. He nods to the bus. “You want to bail on the video?”
Yes. “No.” The past week has been too busy to record content for our ‘series,’ but today we have hours to kill before the pre-show prep begins. Which means I have no excuse. “Let’s get this over with.”
“What every guy likes to hear before heading to the bedroom.” He winks.
“Good thing we’re not, then.” I cock my head and lift my brows.
“Actually, I was thinking it’d be a cool concept. We have the room in the back, and it’s as clean as any other space in the bus. I mean, we’ll change the sheets after we kick Opal and Leighton out of there.” His words flow from his lips with ease, but my body tenses as I realize where he’s going with this. “We could demonstrate how to fight off an attacker from that scenario.”
No. No bed. No. No. No.
My stomach bottoms out. My heart stops. I swear to God, I can’t force myself to suck in air, even though my mind knows it’s crucial to breathing.
“Shit. Jayla!” His arms come around my waist.
Instead of leaning against his solid frame I shove him away.
His eyes widen.
I can’t find my voice. My heart hammers in my chest so fiercely I’m certain it’s about to explode. My fingers curl into tight fists. The nails dig into my skin and pain, real and on my terms, is what brings me back to the present.
“Jay?” My name’s a question. His face is full of concern. Because he doesn’t know.
I never wanted him to witness one of my breakdowns, but the shitty thing about panic attacks is I can’t control them. It’s only as my feet move, a stumble before they transition into a fluid stride, that breath fills my lungs. I pace the length of the parked bus until my pulse steadies. I dig deep for the courage to meet his gaze.
He stares but doesn’t ask questions, and I can’t settle on whether I should be relieved or disappointed. I don’t want to explain. It’s easier to not, but I also can’t believe he’ll let me get away without breaking down what just happened.
“So, how about we film out here? Maybe over by the arena? The entry kinda looks like an alleyway.” He shoves his hands into his front pockets. “I mean, if you’re cool with that?”
“Not all bad guys hide in dark alleys.” The retort flies from my mouth snarkier than I intend.
His steady gaze doesn’t make me feel better about my jab. His eyes hold a compassion I don’t want to face.
I study the ground and kick my shoes against a stray rock from the pavement. “But yeah, that works.”
“Jayla.”
“Yeah.” I lift my gaze to his.
“What do you need?”
What do I need? It’s the most unnerving question. Almost as if he sees beyond my bullshit. Past my shield. I don’t know what to do because no one has ever been brave enough, or stayed long enough, to see me like this. No one asks me what I need. Ever.
“I . . .” Words catch in my throat. I can’t even answer because I don’t know what makes this better. I only know how to avoid triggers, to mitigate my reaction with coping skills. But the damage has already been done. My history can’t be erased. I close my eyes, take a breath, and face him with renewed determination. “I want to get this video done. The loading dock for the arena will work. Let me go fix my hair and makeup.” I move to walk past him, back to the bus, but before I can pass he reaches out and gently brushes his fingers at my wrist. It’s enough to make me pause.
“You don’t need it. You’re beautiful.”
I tilt my head and deflect his words with lightheartedness. “Such a charmer.”
“Yeah, well, I can’t help it.” He grins. “But about this I wouldn’t exaggerate. You’re gorgeous.”
I am not used to compliments. Not like this and not from him, and I can’t stop the smile that works its way onto my lips. “I’ll be ready in fifteen.”
But that’s a lie. I don’t think there’s enough makeup or hair product in the world to prepare myself for one-on-one time with Austin. He’s not only tearing off my masks, he’s obliterating the walls to my heart.
* * *
For the seventh time in the past hour, Austin pins me to the concrete wall, his forearm across my throat the way I instructed.
My move is second nature; I transfer his weight off me with a palm to his face, at the same time shoving his arm off my throat. “Don’t be shy. Hit him in the face hard. Go for the eyes. Use your fingers. Whatever it takes to get the pressure he has on your body to slip.” I speak clear and loud enough that Trent can catch my words from where he records.
Not a second later, I grab Austin’s arm and slam him back into the wall. I thrust my knee into his general groin area. I miss, on purpose. Okay, so I didn’t miss the first time we ran this scenario, but that was an accident. I’m not used to practicing moves without my opponent wearing the protection of padding, headgear, and a cup.
“Get off me!” I scream and dart away before turning to face the camera. “You yell, you run, and you get to somewhere public and safe. You aren’t trying to beat him to a pulp, you’re only creating enough space that you can escape.”
I glance back at Austin. He leans against the wall, posed like a fucking model and looking just as good. He shrugs before facing the camera. “I’d chase her, but
I like my balls.”
I can’t help it. My gaze drops to the front of his jeans. Damn. The tight fabric leaves nothing to the imagination. I’ve seen Austin’s dick before, but that was years before I could appreciate it, and our one-time fumble hardly rated as a pleasurable sexual experience. I’m sure he’s long since learned how to use that appendage to its full and more than adequate purpose.
“I need a cigarette.” Trent coughs and shakes his head. He stops recording and hands back Austin’s phone.
Austin glances at his friend. “You don’t smoke.”
“Yeah . . .” Trent laughs, a deep, low chuckle before sneaking a glance at me and then Austin. “I think my work is done here. I’m going back to bed.”
“Thanks, man.”
“No problem.”
Austin stares at the screen of his phone, flipping through the video clips. He worries his lower lip between his teeth and it draws all my attention. I don’t know whether he realizes he’s doing it or if it’s a nervous habit, but it’s as distracting as it is sexy. I can’t find it in me to look away.
If I’m being real, I haven’t stopped looking at Austin since we started working on this video. Being so close with our bodies pressed together feels intimate, and more than just acting out a play-by-play of how to push off an attacker. Out here, without the bustle of work or the tour as a barrier, his hands on me and mine on him . . . it’s personal. And I like it.
Besides my initial reaction when he suggested the bed, I haven’t freaked out. I can’t tell whether it’s because I’m in control or I know that nothing will happen between Austin and me. Either way, it’s a new sensation, being touched by a guy without wanting to puke. I almost feel normal.
My eyes train on his fingers and the ink that decorates them as he swipes across his cell. Those same fingers play guitar with skill, strength and precision. I bet they’d be just as talented at eliciting pleasure.
“Hey.” Sean bounds down the stairs of the bus and brings his hand up to shade his eyes.
