by Elise Noble
Fuck.
“Is there something you want to tell us?” Rush asked, holding up his phone.
“Yes. I’m dying.”
I’d made it onto the tour bus—just—and ignored Ian’s muttered complaints about me being late. My stomach hurt, my head hurt, my eyes hurt. Did the stupid guidebook have a “no puking” rule? My recollection was hazy, but I was fairly sure the answer was yes.
“I meant about last night. You joined a band?”
“Huh?”
He thrust the phone into my face, and after a few seconds of earnest concentration, I managed to focus on the screen. Oh look, there I was on stage with a microphone in my hand, midriff bared as I waved my arms in the air. Shit, shit, shit. Not only was the picture on some random person’s Instagram, but Zander was gonna kill me. He’d told me not to do anything stupid, and I’d certainly say that counted.
“Oh. That. It was Meredith’s idea. Or Verity’s. I don’t remember which. Please don’t shout.”
“I’m speaking normally, babe.” He pushed me gently towards the lounge at the back. “JD, get her a bottle of water, would you?”
“What the fuck happened?” Travis asked when I collapsed next to him on the sofa.
“Meredith and Verity happened,” Rush said. “They always pull stunts like that.”
“I’ll kill them. Alana isn’t cut out for this shit, and she’s supposed to be keeping a low profile.”
“We used to do exactly the same thing,” Dex pointed out. “Until we got too big.” He shuddered. “That near-riot in Milwaukee…”
Travis took the bottle of water from JD. “Drink this, blue. You need to stay hydrated.”
“I think I’ve got the flu.”
“No, you’ve just got a hangover.”
“Try having another drink,” Rush suggested. “Hair of the dog. Works for me.”
“Shut up, buddy. Another drink is the last thing she needs.” Travis smoothed my hair and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Did you have breakfast?”
“Feel too sick.”
“You should eat something if you can.”
“No way.”
“Then close your eyes for a few minutes. And when we get to the venue, stay here for a while and get some sleep.”
“You’re so sweet.” I reached over and stroked his cheek. “I’m sorry I got drunk.”
“We’ve all been there, blue-eyes. We’ve all been there.”
CHAPTER 28 - ALANA
AFTER THE BIRMINGHAM concert, I stumbled back to the bus and crawled into my bunk. I’d totally phoned today in. Slept until noon, done the bare minimum on social media, which included liking comments and replying to one or two on the boys’ behalf, then taken photos of the evening show. Meredith and Verity slayed it on stage, leaping around and whipping up the crowd, and I genuinely didn’t understand how they did it. We’d all drunk the same vile concoctions last night, and they’d had even less sleep than me, yet they managed to entertain thousands while I could barely function.
“How do you feel?”
Oh, hello. Travis slipped in behind me and wrapped me up in his arms.
“Better now you’re here. I missed you last night.”
“Really? I don’t think you even noticed I wasn’t there.”
His tone was light, playful as he nuzzled my neck and nibbled my earlobe.
“I missed you before we went out. Things got hazy after that.”
“Did you have fun?”
“Honestly? I’m not sure I could live that kind of lifestyle. Going out every night, feeling like I’ve been hit by a truck every morning…”
“It gets old.”
“You don’t mind that I’m not cut out to be a party animal?”
“I meant what I said about the time I spent at your home.”
“What are we gonna do?” I whispered.
“When? Now?” His hands moved downwards. “I was thinking of playing the alphabet game again.”
“I meant in the future. Next week. The week after.” Curiosity got the better of me. “Which letter?”
“Z is for zipper.” He undid my jeans. “And U is for underwear. There’s something so fuckin’ hot about pushing a woman’s panties to the side and sliding into her.” He demonstrated with a finger, and suddenly, I didn’t feel so tired anymore. “You’re soaked already, blue.”
“We’re on the bus. Not allowed, remember?”
“Ian’s at the front, on the phone to his girlfriend. He won’t even know.”
“Rush is above us. Dex and JD are opposite.”
“Then you’d better not scream my name. Just murmur it quietly.”
“You’re such an asshole, Travis.”
“But I’m your asshole.” He did something magical with his finger, and I bit my tongue. “R is for rule-breaking. What do you say?”
“I say I’ll never get enough of you.”
I heard the rip of foil in the darkness, then Travis scooched my trousers down a bit more and eased into me from behind.
“So fuckin’ tight, blue. I love your ass. Did I ever tell you that?”
I had no idea. My brain didn’t function properly when Travis did wicked things to me.
“I don’t think so.”
“Well, I do. I love every single part of you, Alana Graves.”
Aw, that was so… Wait! What? “Uh, you love me?”
“Yeah, baby, I do. I’m fucked. I love you, I’ve got three days left in England, and I don’t know how I can keep you.”
He spoke softly into my ear so nobody else could hear, but the gravity of his words wasn’t lost. Travis Thorne loved me, but he still had two years left in music-industry jail, not to mention a potentially homicidal stalker. I loved him too. A young love that would blossom and grow if it didn’t wither and die first.
He stroked harder, setting a rhythm that sent ripples of heat through my whole body. I squeezed my thighs together, trying to prolong my inevitable release, only for Travis to slip a hand into the front of my knickers. Was he trying to kill me? Here lies the body of Alana Graves, whose heart gave out while being rocked by a rock star. Travis groaned, I moaned, and he put his other hand over my mouth.
“Just in case,” he whispered.
Shit, shit, shit. A starburst ignited, and I stiffened then turned to jelly. Travis followed, muttering a stream of nonsensical filth into my ear as he came. Once he pulled out, I twisted in his arms.
“I love rule-breaking.” I kissed him softly. “And I love you.”
“We’ve got a difficult path ahead, blue.”
“And we’ll walk it together.”
The bus rumbled on towards Nottingham, and I snuggled up against Travis, finally back where I belonged. I thought we’d gotten away with our illicit activities until Rush’s voice came from above.
“Promise you’re not gonna start shitting on the bus next.”
My cheeks burned.
“Shut up, buddy,” Travis told him.
But he smiled in the darkness—I felt it—and I smiled too.
Wednesday—Nottingham—and at least I had my own hotel room again. And privacy. And Travis in my bed until he crept back to the room he shared with Rush at six thirty. My phone rang at six forty-five, and I figured it would be Zander with an update, but Tessa’s name flashed up on the screen instead.
“You didn’t answer my email yesterday.”
“What email?”
“Alana Graves, I spent ages writing out a long, heartfelt email, and you totally ignored the whole thing?”
“Sorry, I… What did it say?”
“Okay, so I was kidding about the heartfelt part, but it was long. And it’s getting longer. Do you have time to talk? In private?”
“Private? Is this about the thing?”
“Is lover boy in the room with you?”
“No, he’s gone, and I’m alone. Why? What have you found that he can’t hear?”
“Okay, so Red Cat Records has literally the worst website ever. I
mean, it’s got nothing. No address, no ‘about us’ section, no blog. No-thing. So I started thinking, what have they got to hide?”
“And?”
“Don’t get mad, but I got a couple of people to help me.”
“Tessa, you promised you wouldn’t tell anyone! What if somebody decides to write a story on the band?”
“It’s not people at work, or even on our course. It’s Ziggy and Amin.”
Having been bullied mercilessly at school, Tessa now went out of her way to befriend people who didn’t quite fit with the “in” crowd. I’d followed her lead and met a whole bunch of interesting people because of it, including Ziggy from the Ukraine who solved maths problems for fun and could eat absolutely anything without putting on weight, and Amin, who’d come to England from Sudan six years ago and barely moved away from his computer since. They always saved us seats in the library, and if either of us felt down, Ziggy provided chocolate.
“Dare I ask why?”
“Because numbers hurt my brain, and Amin’s better at finding things on the internet than I am.”
“And what has he found?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Let me start at the beginning. Red Cat currently has six big acts, plus another dozen smaller bands waiting in the wings. And the six biggies are all touring. Incessantly, just like Indigo Rain. They never stop. Think of it as a giant machine where they take young, hungry bands, drop them in one end, and what comes out at the other is garbage. A waste product. Because nobody ever hears from them again. Five years, gone. Five years, gone. It’s like a cycle.”
“That’s pretty much what Travis told me. Five years, and he doesn’t want any part of the business anymore.”
“But you’d expect to hear something. A solo career. A few gigs or appearances on TV. But there’s nothing. Their social media pages die. None of them appear in the news either, or reality shows, or making a tit out of themselves in nightclubs. They just issue one last statement saying they’re taking a break, then vanish without a trace. You can still buy their albums, but that’s it.”
“That’s weird. Really weird.”
“Tell me about it. Red Cat’s great at spotting artists on their way up, at moulding them into exactly what the public wants to hear at that time, but none of them have longevity.”
“Maybe they all decided to retire and live off their millions?”
“Who does that? Nobody sits around at home doing nothing forever.”
“So where do Ziggy and Amin come in?”
“Ziggy’s helping me to compare Red Cat to other record companies. Their statistics—estimated turnover, the number of employees we can identify, the track records of their artists. Amin’s looking for contact details for the acts they dropped. So far, we’ve found nine, and here’s where it gets interesting.”
“Go on.”
“Do you remember Tower Ten?”
“I used to love their songs! But then they…” I trailed off.
“Disappeared without a trace? Right. Another victim of Red Cat. Anyhow, their drummer emailed me back and said he couldn’t answer any of my questions because he signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement.”
“An NDA? What for? Travis didn’t mention that he had one of those.”
“Can you double-check? At the moment, I’ve got no idea what it’s for, but I’m gonna keep digging. I just wanted to keep you updated.”
“Of course, and thanks, I think. I don’t know what to make of all this.”
“Me neither, but I’ve got a horrible feeling it’s not good.”
And the day only got worse. When I caught up with him in his dressing room, Travis confirmed he’d never signed an NDA, and none of the band members ever spoke to the other acts represented by Red Cat. Everything was kept separate—separate staff, separate tours, separate PR work. Styx and Stones and Vendetta came from different labels, and both were only there for the UK part of the tour.
“Red Cat’ll be getting kickbacks, for sure,” Travis said. “We had bigger acts wanting to tour with us, but those were the two they picked. Vendetta’s new, and Styx hasn’t managed to break the UK yet. But why all the questions, blue?”
“Tessa’s a better journalist than me, and she thinks the situation’s odd. The way the record label operates.”
“They do things differently, for sure. That was how they sold the contract to us. They stay small so they’re able to move nimbly when they spot new trends in music and marketing. Lean and mean, or so they said.”
“Lean and mean? Gary seems to spend a lot of money on expenses.”
“Right. Which is another reason we always screwed around in hotels. He wastes money on expensive suites and room service, so we figured we might as well do that too.”
“Is there any chance I could get a copy of the contract?”
“I can ask Frank. But it’s pointless; we can’t break it. A lawyer already looked into that. Two years, blue. Two years, and we’re taking the cash and running.”
A knock sounded at the door. “Travis? Your guitar tech wants you.”
Courtney still wasn’t a brilliant PA, but at least she didn’t grate on my last nerve like Reagan had.
“Gimme a minute.”
Travis tangled one hand in my hair and kissed me. Hard. I was breathless when he pulled back and grinned.
“I like snatching kisses.” He backed away. “And vice versa.”
Huh? Oh, that filthy… I blew out a slow breath as the door closed behind him. Filthy or not, I loved every inch of that man.
CHAPTER 29 - ALANA
“YOU’RE NOT COMING to the US with us?” Verity asked.
I shook my head. “No, Rush basically let me tag along on the UK tour for my university work placement. It was either that or write copy for a crappy website. But since I’m technically an American citizen by birth, I hope to visit someday.”
“If you do, you’re welcome to use my spare room. Or Meredith’s. She never minds people crashing, but it’s party central at her place.”
“I’m not sure my liver could take it. Or my head.” I touched my fingertips to my temple. “I’ve had a horrible headache since I woke up. Painkillers haven’t made a dent in it.”
“A migraine?”
“Not quite so debilitating, but going to a rock concert sure didn’t help.”
“What pills did you take?” Verity asked. “Somebody around here probably has something better.”
Undoubtedly. “I think I’m just gonna finish this drink and get an early night.”
And order room service for two.
Because my head didn’t hurt, not at all. I just needed an excuse to go to my bedroom, where Travis would join me for our last night together, at least for the moment. First thing tomorrow, he’d fly back to LA and I’d catch the train to London, a different girl to the one who’d left on the bus to Sheffield five weeks ago. Part of me actually would be going to America: my heart, because Travis held it in his hands.
Half an hour later, he knocked softly on the door.
“Fuck. That was the longest thirty minutes of my life.”
“What did you tell them?”
“That I had to make a phone call.” He waggled his eyebrows. “P is for phone sex, baby, but tonight you get the real thing.”
“You’ve got such a one-track mind.”
“Two-track. What’s for dinner? Smells good.”
“Steak, with chocolate mousse for dessert.”
“My three favourite things to eat.”
“Three things?”
His gaze dropped.
Oh, of course. This was Travis.
Except despite his words, he wasn’t all about the D. In fact, the first thing he did after he’d stripped me naked was turn up the heat and rummage in his bag.
“What are you doing?”
He didn’t answer, just got out a sketch pad and pencil and pulled up a chair.
“You’re drawing me?”
“I haven’t picked up a pencil in months. I can�
�t when I’m stressed. But you’ve put me in a better place, and I just want to play for a few minutes.” He smiled, which was sneaky because I could never say no to him then. “Please?”
“You won’t show it to anyone?”
“For my eyes only, blue.”
Being immortalised on paper was a strangely erotic experience. With each stroke of Travis’s pen, tingles skittered across my skin, and to draw me, he had to look at me. His gaze heated every inch of my body.
And he really could draw. When I could take it no more, I crawled across the bed to look at the paper he’d been shielding from view. Wow. This was no amateur Picasso with random body parts all over the place. He’d drawn my head and shoulders, delicate lines and soft shading with a mysterious smile I didn’t even realise I’d worn.
“Where’s the rest of me? Why did you get me to pose naked if you only wanted to draw my face?”
“Why not?”
“Oh, you’re such a lech.”
“Wanna draw me?”
“No, because I can’t draw.” Travis would end up as a stickman with three legs. Tripod. “I want to ride you like a wayward cowgirl.”
“A wayward cowgirl?” He tilted his head to one side in mock puzzlement. “No, I can’t picture it. You’ll have to demonstrate.”
“Okay.”
I reached out to do exactly that, but he held my hands against his belt buckle then leaned down to kiss me instead.
“And we have to finish the alphabet tonight.”
“Where did we get up to?”
“V.”
“Which is for…?”
Now he grinned. A filthy, promise-laced grin that made my girly bits clench in anticipation.
“Viagra, baby.”
No way. “Are you serious?”
“About you? Always.” He took a little blue pill out of his pocket and swallowed it before I could stop him. “W is for wicked thoughts, and I’ve been having those all day.”
“And let me guess… X is for X-rated?”
