by Salsbury, JB
“That’s fine.” She shifts nervously.
I lean in. “You’re safe with me. Whenever you want to go home, just say the word.”
“Thank you,” she says to her lap.
I study her profile. She’s a beautiful woman, mid twenties and less aggressive than I’m used to, but I find her sexually reserved nature a turn-on. If my fingers brushed her thigh, would she blush like Taylor—no. Fuck no! I refuse to think about her! I clear my thoughts and my throat. “What do you do for a living?”
I internally smack myself upside the head. Why aren’t I flirting? Using my charm? Holy fuck, have I lost my touch?
“I’m studying to get my master’s in psychology.”
I lift my brows. “A psychologist?”
“A counselor, family therapist, or work with troubled teens.”
“Huh…” I look out the side window and consider her education, consider her insight. I turn back to her. “Can I ask you something?”
Chapter Fifteen
Ethan
I wake up the next morning and eye the female in my bed. Her form is a lump under the comforter, a silken mass of long, dark hair splayed over the pillows. I stretch as much as I can on the cramped hotel room couch, and my muscles cry for a massage and some heat therapy.
Amy and I stayed up most the night, doing something that exhausted me both emotionally and mentally.
We talked.
We only took a break to order room service and eat, then we dove right back into my issues—pride, fear of abandonment, and commitment.
Last night, when the SUV pulled up to the hotel, I realized there was no way I could kiss Amy, much less have sex with her. I offered her a T-shirt and sweatpants, dinner, and a comfortable king-sized bed if she’d be willing to hang with me for the night. As friends.
Thankfully, she agreed.
I snag my phone off the coffee table. It’s just after ten o’clock in the morning. We have a radio station interview at one, which gives me plenty of time to go for a run, eat, and shower.
I yawn, go take a leak, wash my face, and brush my teeth. When I head back out into the room, Amy is sitting cross-legged on the bed, texting.
“You’re not selling my story to TMZ, are you?” I’m only half-kidding.
“Of course not.” She smiles at me, her face puffy from little sleep. “I’m requesting an Uber.”
“I’ll have security take you home.”
“Are you sure?” She scoots off the bed and reaches for her clothes from last night neatly folded on a chair.
“It’s the least I can do for the five hours of free therapy.” I pull her in for a hug. “Thank you.”
She hugs me back, quick and chaste, not a spark of electricity between us. How could there be? I told her I have feelings for Taylor. Feelings that go well beyond the sexual kind.
“You’re welcome.” She steps back and gathers her clothes. “I’ll just get changed—”
“Don’t worry about it. Keep the clothes. You could sell them on eBay, payment for your time.” I wink.
“Thank you. I was dreading having to squeeze back into these jeans after the double cheeseburger and hot fudge sundae I ate last night.”
“Don’t forget about the cheesecake.”
She rubs her stomach. “Ugh… that’s right. And the cheesecake.”
“I was going to offer to take you to breakfast…”
She spots the clock on the bedside table. “I could use a coffee, but I’ll pass on breakfast.”
“I’ll have Ty swing you through a Starbucks.” I send a text to the man, explaining what I need and adding an ASAP.
A few minutes later, Ty knocks on my door. Ever the professional, he smiles politely at Amy. She’s leaving in my clothes; he has to assume we spent all night fucking like animals.
Amy must sense his assumption because she blushes when he offers to carry the hotel dry cleaning bag filled with her clothes. “I’m good, thanks.”
I give her one last hug and close the door, then I grab my hat, sunglasses, and AirPods. I head out the door and see Amy and Ty still in the hallway. Amy’s squatted down, digging in her purse.
“Did you forget something?”
“My keys.” She takes the small bag and turns it upside down onto the carpet. “I can’t find them.”
I squat alongside her to help her look. I don’t see any keys. “Did you check the pocket of your jeans?”
She shakes out her folded jeans, and sure enough, her keys are in her back pocket. “Ugh, thank you.”
I help her put her purse back together and gather her things back into the bag. “I’m headed down too.”
The three of us go to the elevator, and we stop on the fifteenth floor, where Jonny, a member of our security team, joins us, wearing workout gear. Brent insists we never go out alone, which is annoying. At least when I run, I can pretend I’m not being followed by a two-hundred-pound man.
Jonny smiles at Amy and me. “Good morning.”
I grin wider and bigger than I have in days. “It really is, isn’t it?”
Amy giggles.
The elevator door pings open and we exit into the lobby. Ty and Jonny flank Amy and me.
The SUV waits by the double doors and I hug Amy one last time. “You’re an angel, you know that?”
“Remember what I said?” She lifts a brow.
“Ask myself what I want most and settle for nothing less.” I smile at her. “I’ll never forget it.”
“Good.” She blushes a little before sliding into the SUV.
I watch the car pull away until the taillights fade from view, then I sense a tension in the air. Figuring I’ve been spotted by a fan, I pull my hat lower on my eyes and take off at a jog with Jonny on my tail. As the distance between the hotel and me grows, the feeling fades, and I lose myself in pounding the pavement.
Taylor
I will not cry. I will not cry. I refuse to cry!
And yet, while I stand in the lobby of the Ritz with a hot coffee in hand, my eyes ignore the command and fill with tears.
Ethan’s arms are wrapped around a tall, slender brunette with Pantene-commercial hair. He speaks softly close to her ear and the way he smiles at her steals my breath.
I spotted them when they came off the elevators. I had just received my coffee from the barista when I heard a woman gasp. I turned around to see what she was seeing and I gasped too. Although not for the same reason I’m sure.
I tried to convince myself that the woman with Ethan was someone on his staff, maybe a hotel guest who’d had the honor of riding in the elevator with a famous rock star, but then I got a good look at her oversized sweatshirt. The same one I’ve seen Ethan wear. And although I had never seen Ethan wear the red sweatpants the woman had on, I have to assume, because of how she was drowning in them, that she was leaving in Ethan’s clothes.
Bookended by two security guards, the couple smiled at each other as he walked her out to be taken home in a company SUV by one of his own security team.
This woman isn’t some groupie he used and cast aside. This woman is special to him. And fuck if that doesn’t make the hurt even worse.
I suck back my silly, girly emotions and scurry to the elevator. I had planned to go for a walk, see a little of the city before I had to be back for a crew meeting/dinner and then head out to the dive bar. Instead, I lock myself in the hotel room, curl up under my comforter, and go back to sleep.
Chapter Sixteen
Taylor
I don’t have a lot of experience with dive bars, or bars in general, but Copper’s uncle’s bar is the epitome of what I imagined a dive bar to be. Dark, exposed brick walls decorated in beer signs, old baseball hats, dartboards, and not a single window to speak of. The bar is small, so our group of forty-plus fills the space to the walls. Copper’s uncle is behind the bar, pouring draft beers and sending out shots like candy on Halloween.
I’m at the far end of the room, tucked in a corner table, out of Prophet’s view. Pau
l heads my way, a beer in one hand and a shot of something amber in the other. He looks around before discreetly using his body as a shield as he dumps the booze into my Coke.
I stir it around while he slides into the seat next to me and says, “If Prophet knew I was filling your drink with rum, he’d cut my nuts off.”
I shrug and sip the potent concoction while trying not to cringe at the horrific taste. I’ve had alcohol in the past—mostly sips from Dad’s beer. This shit is disgusting. But no one drinks because they like the taste; they drink because of the way it makes them feel. Three shots in, I’m finally feeling like something other than the trash Ethan cast aside and replaced with an upgrade. Sexier. Prettier. Everything I’m not.
“You feeling it yet?” Paul says, leaning in and watching my lips.
I suck down a healthy gulp. “I’m gonna put something on the jukebox.”
I stand too fast and sway on my feet, using the table to keep me upright. Once steady, I push off and scurry to the music machine before a stiff breeze blows me over. I shove a five-dollar bill into the box and sift through my music choices, lingering on the music my dad raised me listening to.
E9: “All Out of Love” by Air Supply
G2: “Every Rose Has its Thorn” by Poison
“I love this song,” I say to myself and punch in J6: “Love Stinks” by The J. Geils Band. D12: “Pictures of You” by The Cure, F3: “I Hate Myself for Loving You” by Joan Jett & The Blackhearts, E5: “Don’t Go Away Mad” by Mötley Crüe.
“Three to go,” Paul says way too close to my ear. “Let me pick.” He reaches around me, pressing the front of his body to my back.
I slip out from between him and the jukebox. I’m a little drunk and in no mood for men right now. No mood at all. I reclaim my drink, and when my first song selection plays through the speakers, a few people boo from the bar. So maybe the selections do have a depressing theme, but fuck them. They don’t live in my head, and right now, I need to listen to music that speaks to my soul.
I drink the rest of my Coke. My head is light and my body feels as if it’s floating. I sway to Bret Michaels as he croons about cowboys and sad songs.
“Wanna dance?” Paul says.
I squint my eyes to focus. “Why do you keep popping up wherever I am?”
He seems a little offended, but I don’t care. I’m well beyond my filter tonight. “Why do you keep running away?”
I bust out the chorus of the song, singing into the straw of my empty drink.
“You need to tone it down.” His hot breath is at my ear. “Your dad’s going to know you’re hammered.”
I jerk away. “I can take care of myself, thank you.” I give him my back just as “Love Stinks” comes on.
The bar patrons seem to approve of this song as they all drunkenly sing along. I catch my dad eyeing me from the bar and I give him a convincing wave while singing along. He seems to buy it and goes back to his conversation. Figuring I’ve bought myself a little free time, I really start dancing. Not on any dance floor—this is a dive bar after all—but in a spot near the pool tables.
By the time Joan Jett comes on, Paul hands me a fresh Coke. I drink it, not tasting any alcohol and grateful for the refreshment, because all this singing and dancing got me sweating.
Dixie shakes her ass, singing along while kicking Medicine Man’s ass at pool, and even Bear and Beeker are belting out the lyrics at the top of their lungs.
I can’t put my finger on when it happens or even what specifically happens. Maybe if I were sober, I would’ve seen it coming, but suddenly there’s a change in the air. As if my every molecule lit up with a subtle electricity. An electricity that calls to me. I look up and lock eyes with Ethan.
“What is he doing here?” I say to myself.
He must read lips because the corner of his mouth lifts up on one side.
He’s looking at me.
He hasn’t looked at me in weeks.
His eyes may as well be the sun’s rays because as he watches me from across the room, my body warms.
“You all right?” Paul asks, drawing my attention away from Ethan.
“Yeah.” I look back to where Ethan was standing, but he’s gone. Did I imagine him here? I look at my Coke. Does alcohol cause hallucinations?
As if the fates could hear my thoughts, Ethan appears in front of me. He drops his gaze to the drink in my hand, then studies my face. “Having a good time?”
“You’re talking to me,” I breathe.
His glare tightens. “May I?”
He doesn’t give me a chance to respond before he takes my drink from my hand, sniffing it first then putting his lips around the straw, the same straw I was just sucking on. Something about it feels intimate, nearly erasing the two weeks we haven’t spoken.
He wrinkles his nose and cringes. “How many of these have you had?”
“One. That’s my second.” Why am I even answering him? “Not that it’s any of your business, but that one doesn’t even have alcohol in it.”
His eyes pop wide. “No alcohol? Are you fucking kidding me? This pint glass is eighty percent rum.”
“What? I couldn’t taste anything.” I hear the lazy drawl in my own voice, giving myself away. Without thinking, I turn to Paul.
He dips his chin.
“Peter dickface been ordering your drinks?” Ethan sets my drink on a nearby table and hands me a glass of water he had in his other hand. “You’re so fucking naïve.”
“I can take care of myself!” I realize I said the same thing to Paul, yet here I am, stumbling drunk with little knowledge of how I got here. I suck back a few gulps of water. It tastes no different from the spiked Coke Ethan just took away from me.
“I can see that. You’re doing a stellar job.” Ethan looks behind him and lifts his chin at someone before turning back to me. “Get your shit.” He turns an angry glare at Paul. “I’m taking her back to the hotel.”
Paul must know he’s in deep shit if he protests, because he casually shrinks back to be absorbed by the crowd.
Rodger steps up to Ethan’s left.
“We’re taking Taylor back to the hotel.” Being an observant male, Ethan must know I plan to put up a fight. “You’ll leave this shithole without fuss or I’ll call over your dad and explain to him how his eighteen-year-old daughter is pissface drunk.”
“I am not that drunk.” Water sloshes over my hand and wrist and I stare at the cup, wondering how the hell that happened.
Ethan grips my elbow. “You come willingly or I’ll have Rodger carry your stubborn ass out of here.”
I spit fire through my eyes at Rodger. “He wouldn’t dare.”
The big man steps forward, all but daring me to test him.
I rip my arm from Ethan’s grip. “Fine. I’ll go, but just so we’re clear.” I lift my nose in the air. “I was going to leave anyway. I’m just using you for a free ride.” I try to infuse a hoity-toity ‘tude into my voice, but judging by the way Ethan smirks, I think I missed the mark.
Rodger leads and Ethan trails behind me as we leave the bar. I trip on something, stop and look around to find out what the hell it was, but I see nothing on the ground.
Ethan presses his hand to my lower back. “Invisible rock. I hate those.”
I crank my head back to look up at him. “Are you making fun of me?”
He’s laughing now. “Keep moving, twinkle toes.”
“Twinkle toes,” I mouth.
Outside, I suck in the delicious fresh air, hoping it’ll clear the fog in my head as Ethan pops the back door of the SUV. I crawl inside on my hands and knees. “Is this new? It’s higher than the others.”
“Gravity’s a bitch after a few drinks,” Ethan mumbles, hopping in behind me.
“Gravity I can handle. Twenty-five-foot-tall automotives I cannot.” I pull out my phone and send a quick text to my dad, telling him I’m tired and going back to the hotel.
“Automotives?” Ethan mumbles with humor in his voice.
Whatever. My head feels heavy and my stomach too full. I drop my head back and groan. “Why are you here?”
“You already asked me that.”
My head lolls to the side and I squint one eye to see him clearly. “Did you answer me?”
He rolls down my window. “If you’re going to barf, do it out the window.”
I turn toward the open window, and the fresh breeze on my face energizes me just a little. In the time it takes to blink, the SUV lurches to a stop at the backside of the hotel. “What is this?”
“Back entrance.”
The heat of anger and hurt fires in my gut. “God forbid someone see you with someone like me. I bet I’m the only girl you’ve ever taken in the backdoor.”
“No. That’s not true.” He rolls his lips between his teeth, his face turning red with repressed laughter.
“Admit it! You’re taking me in the back door because I look like a boy.”
He bursts out laughing, doubling over with the force of it. “You don’t know what you’re saying.”
Even Rodger is laughing.
“What’s so funny?” I point at my chest. “Just because I don’t have the Pantene hair and four-thousand-foot-long legs doesn’t mean I like being taken in the back door, you fucker.” I try to shove past Ethan to get out, but he catches my waist.
“What hair?” He hops out, still chuckling, and offers me his hand.
I put my hand in his face in a speak to the hand way. “I’m not a baby, I can get out by myself.” I scoot, scoot, swing out my legs, and drop the three hundred feet from the seat to the asphalt, landing flat on my ass. I turn and look up at the towering vehicle. “What the hell, man?”
Rodger and Ethan help me stand. I push them off, assuring them I’ve got it. I refuse to give them the satisfaction of using them as crutches. I’m not a damn invalid, for fuck’s sake.
