by Shey Stahl
“No crazy shit,” Liz reminds us before we leave. “Let’s just have a smooth tour, no jail time, just do what you do and keep clean.” She points to me, purposely, the raging alcoholic. Probably by design. What the fuck do I care though? “I hired Glen here. Here’s your tour manager accountant.”
Cruz grins, slinging his arm around Liz and licking her cheek. “Is he gonna pay for our hookers?”
“No fucking hookers, you maniacs!”
He sighs, his shoulders slumping. “Fuck, Lizzy. How are we supposed to get our dicks wet?”
“Use your hand.” Liz shoves Cruz away from her, using the sleeve of her shirt to wipe his spit from her cheek.
“No fuckin’ way, Lizzy. I didn’t get here to take care of my needs myself.”
“I’m serious, guys.” Pausing, she points at each one of us standing in line next to the black sedan waiting to take us to the tour bus. “No fucking around this time.”
I don’t usually have a lot of say in my schedule during the day. In fact, I think it’s safe to say I have no input whatsoever in this tour. Aside from maybe who occupies my bed on any given night.
Everyone wants a piece. Whether it’s record companies, producers, executives, PR staff, each and every one of those motherfuckers want something from you. I got here because of me. Revved, every member of it, we got here because of our hard work, our talent. We find our fair share of trouble, but no fucking way am I going to let some number-crunching motherfucker named Glen tell me how I’ll live my life and spend the money I earned.
Cruz sighs heavily beside me. “I can’t believe we’re the biggest band in the world and we’re standing in a Walmart parking lot waiting on the princess of pop.”
It’s Deacon who asks, “When’s this Ash chick getting here?”
We’re standing around our tour bus, one we’re sharing with Taylan Ash because her bus had a flat tire and, if we want to make it to Portland by tonight, there’s no time to wait around for it to be fixed. I don’t know what city we’re in, other than it looks something similar to the desert and we’re clearly at a Walmart. I only know this because of the sign next to us. I also can’t tell you why we’re sharing a bus with anyone because that just screams ridiculousness to me.
“Who?” I ask, staring at Deacon and trying to get a rise out of him. If I get along with anyone better than the other members of Revved, it’s Deacon. We’re both crazy.
“Taylan. She’s riding with us. Apparently, her bus got a flat.”
I light a cigarette and give a halfhearted shrug. What the fuck did I care when she arrived. It’s not a fucking care. I’m betting she’s gone after tonight. No way the princess of pop is surviving this tour.
To my right, I notice some random chicks standing near us. It’s not unusual for groupies to be on the bus, and no, I don’t know who they are or where they come from, but there’s always a few who make it on and have no business being there.
I don’t do love anymore. It’s a useless emotion. It was a hard lesson learned, but now my life consists of one-night stands and nameless faces. Quickies. And to be honest, in this moment, thinking of being on the road has me on edge, so I can either turn to drugs—which are easily accessible—or one of these girls who are more than willing. Probably the better option here.
Turning my head, I look over at one of them, snuff my cigarette with my boot and then nod to the bus. The blonde with her tits hanging out follows me, laughter breaking out around us for what reasons I don’t care.
I’m sure she’d be disappointed to know this isn’t lasting long and she’ll be back in the parking lot in five minutes, but I don’t tell her that.
“Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m on Revved’s tour bus! You’re seriously so hot!” she squeals, giddy excitement barely controlled in her shaking. “This is so unbelievable.”
Sighing, I roll my eyes, wanting to punch myself. I have to get her to stop talking. “Yeah, totally fuckin’ crazy.” Leading her to the back of the bus, I leave the sliding door open and lean back on the L-shaped couch. Reaching for my belt buckle, I nod to her. “On your knees.”
Naturally, given who I am, she doesn’t think to question this and does exactly as I say. Fun fact, any chick I bring on the bus, or back to my room, they usually steal my clothes. Problem is I don’t have a lot on to begin with, so losing even one piece could mean full nudity. They’ll take anything, man. Socks, shirts, pants, shoes a few times, and almost always, if I’m wearing any, my underwear. I’ve seen it on eBay once. Let me tell you, it’s awkward walking back to the bus in the morning stark-ass naked, but it’s been done many times. Since those incidents, it’s like a game to me to see if I can get laid fully clothed.
Blow jobs work the best when you’re short on time and want to keep your clothes.
Almost immediately this chick starts deep throating me and staring at me like she’s ready to scribble my name on her binder with hearts and arrows. They’re all the same. Fucking groupies.
I will say this. She’s skilled and knows how to work her tongue ring around the dick piercing I have without getting the two tangled. I’m impressed.
It’s about a minute into it when I hear commotion on the bus and wouldn’t you know it, there’s an audience. Pop princess has arrived with her entourage. It’s been a while since I’ve seen her, but I know those red curls anywhere.
Taylan’s eyes flash theatrically, and then her gaze clings to my face. Despite what I think of her professionally, she’s hot, and I’d like to fuck her. I’m not sure what it is, maybe because it’s Taylan Ash who is standing there staring at me while this chick is sucking my dick, but it sends me over the edge, and I come in the blonde chick’s mouth.
With my hand buried in her hair, securing her face to my cock, she sucks up every bit of cum and then smiles, finally noticing the two people behind us. “Oh, uh. . . .” Her timid voice trails off, pink in her cheeks but it’s nowhere near the redness in Taylan’s.
Righting my jeans, I motion to the girl on her knees. “It’s time for you to go.”
Our tour manager slips in and helps her off the bus, his eyes on mine like he can’t believe I just did that, but it really shouldn’t be a surprise to him. I’ve certainly done worse.
Do you notice the pop princess still standing on the bus, color in her cheeks and disgust in her eyes? She hasn’t moved. Not an inch. It’s almost like she’s locked in this battle with herself. Should she stay or should she go?
But I notice something. This princess is looking for a king.
WHAT THE HELL?
TAYLAN
My stare locks on Revel’s, revealing a clouded mixture of restlessness and curiosity. I want to look away, Christ, I want to so badly, but can’t. Hell, even Bella who usually has something to say about everything is either starstruck or taking pointers on the girl’s technique. I’m not entirely sure. As disgusting as it is to see, it’s equally fascinating witnessing him in this position, and I’m trying to keep myself staring when I see him tucking himself back into his jeans. Just a quick peek won’t hurt anyone, right?
Girl, you know I looked! Did you? Pft, you did. Don’t be ashamed. And I know, you weren’t disappointed.
Despite this, I roll my eyes, showing him, or rather trying to convince him—and maybe myself—that I’m unfazed by his petty antics to get a rise out of me. I don’t care if he fucks the entire planet.
Bull-fucking-shit. I do care. I can’t tell you why but the pounding in my chest, the warmth that runs through my body watching him reach his climax, I care more than I want to make of it. I care so much, I’m practically burning a hole through her as she shuffles past me, and him as he stands there in stoic silence watching for my reaction, his taunting eyes over the brim of his shades never leaving mine, and I know in this moment I’m being tested. My first of many on this tour.
He’s still standing there, waiting for a reaction from me. The longer we stare at each other, the more I’m weakened, falling under his spell. It’s
a sweet yet bitter fog only he can create around me. It’s sexual and completely inescapable. I want to hate him, if not more than I did before. How can men do this to you? How can they have such control? Does it happen to you?
I attempt to break free, blinking a few times rapidly, but for the life of me, I can’t. Or maybe it’s that I don’t want to? I’m playing with fire, but I want to see what he’s going to say to me.
Stepping out from the back of the bus, he fastens his belt buckle as he walks toward us. Revel lifts his sunglasses and winks at Bella.
He invades my space, his warmth radiating into me, and his lips find the shell of my ear. “Enjoy the show?”
Utterly embarrassed, I try to say something in reply, but my mouth won’t form the words.
Remember that girl who was confident yesterday and knew she could handle a tour with a bunch of rock stars? Yeah. Me neither. What the fuck was I thinking?
“You’re disgusting.”
His side smirk lingers even behind the cigarette now placed between his lips, Def Leppard’s “Pour Some Sugar On Me” playing in the background. How damn cliché. “Yet I bet your panties are wet thinkin’ of me making you bleed.”
I blink. Twice. “What. . . why would I bleed?”
He raises an eyebrow, and then rights his sunglasses, bowing his head to his lighter, the cigarette between his lips coming to life, the solitary flame illuminating the stubborn shadow draped across his face.
With a nudge from Bella, it dawns on me what he’s referring to. “I’m not a…” He thinks I’m a virgin. Again. Such a jerk. I blow off my embarrassment with, “Whatever. Think what you want. You’re disgusting, and I wouldn’t want you, let alone allow you to touch me, ever.”
There’s something about the arrogant set of his jaw that makes him look scary. He inhales deeply, maybe from boredom and then shrugs. “Then why are you still standing here?” he asks, his deep voice fit for blues and just as intimidating. He takes a drag on his cigarette, waiting for me to react.
Before I can think of anything better to say, I make matters worse by saying, “I’m not a virgin.”
Smoke billows from his nose and mouth with a scoff, his attention remains downcast, his callused fingers handling his cigarette. “Bullshit.” Even through his shades, I can feel his eyes assault me with the full force of his attention. He’s staring at my chest. I know it. Probably eye-fucking the crap out of me.
I stand my ground, my hands on my hips as if I’m a rebellious teenager trying to prove my point, my independence. In many ways, I suppose I am. I want him to know I belong here and I’m not going to let him or anyone else tell me I don’t. But instead of that, I’m trying to defend my non-virginity to him. “I’m not.”
He frowns, as if I shouldn’t be talking to him at all. His expression shifts slightly as he brings his cigarette to his lips again. “Prove it.” My eyes are drawn to his jawline, and words like chiseled, strong, square, they all come to mind when describing him. And the eyes? They’re like angry, icy blue glaciers, and they’re narrowed at me, probably in anger.
Yep. Anger.
With careful consideration, I settle on my next words. “No. I don’t have to.” And I don’t. I refuse to prove anything to this asshole.
The slight lift of his head shows his annoyance. “You’re the one trying to convince me,” he says, moving past me toward the front of the bus. As he moves by me, the heat of his body scorches me, makes me breathe heavily as his gaze drops to the rest of my body. I can’t tell if it’s a look of interest or a look of disdain. As he finally breaks our eye contact and walks off the bus I realize, taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time since I got on this bus, I may be in over my head.
Just as I’m about to throw up my white flag and call my dad up to tell him I’ve changed my mind, Bella plops down on the couch, her cell phone in hand. “I don’t know about you, but that was strangely hot. I’m thinking that’s gonna be a regular thing on this bus. Oh! Do you think they’ll have orgies on the bus?”
Her sudden eagerness strikes me silent. I stare at her. “You need help.”
“He has a sex tape,” Bella notes, her eyes twinkling as she sucks her teeth, making a clicking sound. “I think I’mma need to watch that shit.”
I’m still staring. “Why?”
She blinks her pretty dark lashes. “For pointers,” she whispers. “To see what rock stars like.”
Sitting next to her, I sigh, my heart finally calming. My curiosity gets the better of me. “He really has a sex tape?”
“Yes, he does. It’s all over the internet. It’s him and Hensley.”
Of course it is. And why do I desperately need to see this?
Taking a moment to look around the bus. Guitars and sheet music are strung all over the place, and there are about fifty bottles of alcohol stashed in boxes on the ground.
Revved’s tour manager resurfaces on the bus, this time the other members of the band follow him, including Revel himself.
“I’m sorry about him,” the man says, reaching for my hand and rolling his head back to Revel. “I’m Cliff, Revved’s tour manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ash.”
I offer a smile, shake his hand, and then sink back against the couch, wondering if I should be sitting on it. I can’t imagine what’s happened on this very piece of leather beneath me. I’m positive I don’t want to know.
The tour bus itself is extravagant, as expected. Mine is something like a sanctuary of tranquility and soft colors, a place where I can relax. Revved’s bus is something out of a luxury porno. I’m not joking.
Bella nudges me. “Is that a stripper pole?”
I nod. It’s a stripper pole right in the middle of the kitchen dinette. Remind me not to eat on this bus or touch anything.
My eyes roam over every inch of the space. Two overstuffed leather couches line the walls in the front with thick dark wood accents and leopard print carpet. A dinette table wraps around the side of the couches, along with two more captain-style chairs. Televisions are mounted on every flat surface along with black granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. In the back, where Revel had been so thoroughly enjoying himself, a bathroom, bunks, and a large L-shaped couch with a bar.
Take a look around at the band members making themselves comfortable. Everyone knows who they are, but you don’t, do you? Allow me to introduce you. Sitting across from me haphazardly, as though he fell from the sky and landed there, Revved’s drummer, and Bella’s fantasy, Cruz Rosanio.
Watching me, and then Bella, he brushes his thumb along his lower lip. “What’s your name, honey?” Cruz directs his question at Bella, winking at her, an introspective frown settling on his lips.
Poor girl, she practically chokes on her own spit to answer, “Bella. I’m Taylan’s personal assistant.”
“You in the business of assisting anyone else on this tour?”
She giggles and I sort of check out because sitting here with these guys is something similar to being thrown into, well, hell with the devil himself. I curse that damn flat tire. And why, oh why does Revel have to be so disgustingly gorgeous? And rude, sexy… I should stop. I’m gonna stop.
To our right, sitting at a corner table with Revel, is Deacon, their guitarist. I don’t know much about him other than he’s incredibly quiet and rarely, if ever, does interviews. I watch Deacon’s fingers constantly move, like he’s playing music no one else can hear, while he and Revel speak in hushed tones. A trickle of awareness trails along my spine as my eyes lock with Revel’s for a second longer than is comfortable before I force them to continue moving across the remaining band members.
Across from them, sits Hardin Helms, Revved’s bass guitarist. I don’t know much about him either. Most everything you read in the headlines is always directed at Revel, for good reason. He’s usually the one making a scene and looking for attention.
“Maybe we should just take another car?” I ask, looking to Bella and feeling incredibly unc
omfortable sitting here in his presence.
Her mouth opens, her eyes flashing with a “hell no” response and then flicker to Cruz, then back to me.
It’s behind me I hear the scoff, then the rough words of, “Why? Don’t think you can keep your virgin hands off me?”
Whipping my head around, I glare at the voice, the man who is constantly pushing my limits for no reason at all. And then, I blurt out quite possibly the most naïve response I could have said. “I’m not having sex with you.”
Shut up, Taylan. Just shut. Up.
Color heats my cheeks, and I want so badly to slap my hand against my mouth.
Revel’s throaty rasping laughter fills the space between us, deep and delicious, sending a pulse of awareness to the traitorous parts of me that disagree wholeheartedly with my last statement. “I feel safer now. I can keep my virginity,” Revel adds, just to piss me off.
Hensley makes her way onto the bus next, the door closing behind her. Damn it. Why is she here? I know the rumors. I despise the rumors and in part, I’m curious if they’re true. Did she sleep with my dad? Had he really seen something in her that could destroy twenty-five years of marriage to my mother? I can’t wrap my head around it. How could he? How could she? She cheated on Revel and looking at that guy, she must have been out of her mind. Or coming to her senses that he’s freaking crazy.
She doesn’t acknowledge me once she’s on the bus. Instead, she moves to sit on Hardin’s lap, her eyes on Revel’s. The tension is unbelievable. You can feel it radiating from everyone. All we need now is Breckin and my dad, and it’d surely be the worst experience ever.
“What the fuck are you doing?” Revel asks in his famous gravelly baritone, glaring a sinister smile Hensley’s way.
Mine and Bella’s eyes snap to hers, then his. Whoa. I don’t think I ever want to be on the receiving end of that look.
