by Shey Stahl
The third night of the tour, we’re in Anaheim at the Honda Center. It’s one place I’ve yet to play at, but that’s not where my concerns are the next morning. Bella and I slept most of yesterday and while my morning is filled with radio station interviews, all prying into the escapades of the other night, I manage to avoid them. It seems Revel’s rubbing off on me.
I don’t hear from him either. I see his bus when we arrive, but not him. As I’m standing outside with security, my dad, and Bella, I notice Hensley exiting their bus. I tell myself it’s nothing. His actions don’t get to influence me. My lashes flutter, shaky breaths drawn in as I try to rein in my emotions and look away. Revel surfaces next, hanging out the door. He stares at me for the longest moment, and I’m too afraid to look away. He doesn’t engage her in conversation, that I can tell. His fingers reach to his lips removing his cigarette.
I swallow over the jealousy.
Who cares if she’s on their bus or around him? I shouldn’t. I want to shout and scream at myself, at my heart for the way it beats with uncertainty and the tears in the corners of my eyes.
I walk away, toward the meeting room where I have three more interviews to give.
Light filters in the gray room with cream carpet and I’m lost inside with the one haunting my every waking step. He accelerates my pulse and leaves me breathless at the thought. A vision I can’t forget. I should forget him, but I can’t. He’s swept my heart away in a cloud of smoke.
My focus lifts to Liz, his manager when she pulls me aside. I envy the relationship she has with him, to know him on a more personal level. A lump rises in my throat, and I remember why she wants to speak with me. The duet I proposed.
“I can only speculate at this point as I haven’t spoken to him about it directly, yet, or any of the members of the band, but Revel does have the final say on any new material the band agrees to,” Liz tells me, swiping through emails on her phone.
My shoulders hunch. My dad leans forward, his lips pressing into a hard line. I forgot he was standing next to me. “It’s not just him. It’s Revved and her together.” His words have a certain bite to them if not for the clench of his jaw and the stony expression he’s wearing. This is most likely his worst nightmare. His daughter teaming up with the one artist he could never sign himself.
You didn’t know that, did you? Not many people do, but I do. Back when Revved first hit the scene, they were unsigned—more than likely caused by Revel’s reluctance to agree to any terms provided by labels. Most of the time when an artist signs with a label, they’re granted a signing bonus. New artists, the unheard-ofs in the industry, they don’t see much of anything, and they don’t see another dime for a while, despite dropping an album and touring heavily. Not until their profits exceed the advance.
For that reason, or from what I’ve been told, Revved dropped their previous management midway through their first tour, got sued by them, and went solo for an entire year before signing with Xler Management and Garrison Records. In that year, my dad went to every show in an attempt to sign them and Revved, more importantly, Revel refused to meet with him.
Now do you see the reason behind the anger?
I do.
“Regardless,” Liz continues, unaffected by my dad’s status in the industry. Most people kiss his ass, yet Liz, she refuses to. “Revel has the final say. The band will not sign off on any music until he agrees.”
Dad blinks slowly, as if he can’t believe one member of the band would have that kind of power. “Why would they do that?”
Liz snorts, rolling her eyes. “Because he formed the band. It’s named after him and he can, and will do, whatever he wants. Whether you want to believe it or not, he’s very business savvy.”
“I doubt that,” Dad mumbles, stalking off toward the media center.
I remain where I am, next to Liz. She smiles at me, then nods at the guys entering the room. Revel’s the last to join us and presumably drunk from either boredom or by choice. He doesn’t look at me. Not once.
I’m not sure I want to be in the room when the duet is suggested, but Liz assures me it’s better this way.
It’s suggested, and denied just as quickly by Revel, who knocks over a table in the process, or falls on it. We’re not entirely sure.
Revel’s jaw clenches as he angrily shoves away from the band and the wreckage in the room. “Fuck that shit,” he says, his words like knives stabbing my heart.
“You knew he’d never go for it.” Hardin winks at me. “No offense, kid.”
Deacon watches Revel leave the room, then smiles at Cruz. “Someone is selling his shirt on eBay for ten thousand dollars.”
Cruz raises a thick dark eyebrow. “The one that chick stole from him?”
“He gave it to her for the coat. But yes, that chick.”
Laughter breaks out between the band. Revel’s no longer in sight, and I’m left wondering what to do next. Had I made him that upset over suggesting we do a song together? Did he think I was using him?
Holy hell, this hurts. I mean, I knew this was a possibility, him saying no, but I didn’t realize how badly the denial would feel. Maybe I let myself believe he was letting me in and thinking of me as an equal, not someone incapable of sharing the stage with him. Maybe because he’s right. I don’t deserve to.
Drawing in a shaky breath, I stand from the chair, my emotions all over the place. Feeling heat rising up my throat, spreading across my cheeks, I say nothing when I leave the room, the large glass door snapping closed behind me. I walk about fifteen feet, intending on finding Bella so we can discuss the setlist tonight with the band when I’m yanked to the side and into a dark corner which happens to be the men’s bathroom.
Frantically searching for the source, my eyes land on him.
Revel pushes me against the wall and locks the door beside me. Holy crap. Is he going to murder me for suggesting a duet? I stare back at lifeless blue and the blackness that seems to overtake them. Is he high? Drunk? I can’t tell.
“I’m sorry,” are the first words out of my mouth, because I don’t know what else to say. I put him on the spot in front of his band and manager.
He doesn’t reply.
“I uh. . . .” Feeling hot tears behind my eyes, I squeeze my eyes shut and lose the courage to say anything else. What really do I have to be sorry for? Besides putting him on the spot. I don’t regret suggesting the duet though.
“Why?” he asks, though he seems to hesitate slightly.
“Why what?”
“Why are you sorry?”
“Because. I should have gone to you first.”
I turn away from him, but he grabs my arm and pulls me toward him before I can reach for the door. His palm against my skin is warm, a reminder he’s actually human, sometimes.
I turn my face away from his, trying to breathe. Being this close to him, he smells like cinnamon and cigarettes. I don’t like the smell of the smoke, but it’s another reminder of him, and I’m beginning to crave the unique scent of him.
“Hey,” he says, putting pressure on my cheek. “Look at me.”
I look up at him, unsure of the expression I’m going to be met with.
“Look,” he begins, his voice softer than I’ve heard before, a hint of southern roots finding its way into his tenor. He exhales through his nose, his gaze dropping to the floor. His body stiffens, and he lets go of me, running a hand down his jaw in frustration. “Why do you want to do a song together?”
“I’m not entirely sure. I think because I like the way we sound together. I mean, I saw the video of the other night,” I tease, attempting to draw some humor from our situation. “We killed that Garth Brooks song.”
His eyes soften, the glare giving way, and I want to keep joking with him, pulling back the layers of his hard exterior to see what he’s really like. And then his eyes narrow, the softness gone. “What’s in it for me?”
“I. . . uh. . . . ” Holy crap. Tension fills the air between us. Did he want me
to have sex with him in exchange for us doing a song together? Is that how this worked? I know I’ve been sheltered in this world, but Jesus, I had no idea business could work like this. Or does it?
He stares at me for a beat, and though I can see so much emotion in his eyes, I don’t know what any of it means. He steps closer, his intimidation nearly blinding. I watch as he swallows, his eyes locked on mine. “What’s. In. It. For. Me?”
I clear my throat and take in a big breath of air only to say exactly what I don’t mean. “I’m not having sex with you!” I blurt, my cheeks so hot they might as well be the same color as my hair. Truth is, I’d have sex with him despite the song. There, I said it.
To my surprise, Revel laughs. “Princess, when we do, and we will, eventually, you’ll be begging me for it, and there certainly won’t be any conditions attached to it. So I’ll ask you one more time, what’s in it for me?”
“I. . . honestly don’t know.” It’s the truth. I don’t.
He seems to consider that. “Okay, I’ll do it, but it’s never to be recorded under your label. I’ll have my manager do up a contract, and we will both sign it.”
At first, I don’t know how to respond, or how I feel about it. Never to be recorded under my label. . . what does that mean? “Why not my label?”
He licks his bottom lip, his focus on a spot behind my head. “I don’t want your dad to be any part of this.”
Well, there it is. I can read between the lines and deep down, I know why he doesn’t trust my dad. “So that’s why you said no back there?”
His head dips in confirmation, but no words follow.
“What about your band? Will they agree? Do you want them to be a part of it?” I’m digging here. I want to know if he thinks I’m worthy.
He looks at me curiously. “What do you want?”
“I want what will sound the best. Something we can do together.”
His expression changes again, the line between his brows deepening. God, he’s so freaking handsome! “You mean on this tour?”
“Yes.” I nod, sheepishly feeling guilty. If people saw us together, on stage, they’d take me seriously too because let’s be real, if you’re worthy of Revel Slade, you’re royal blood.
“We’ll see what we can come up with.”
Then the tension returns and I dare to ask, “What was Hensley doing on your bus this morning?” As though I have any right to ask. We have no attachment to one another, and he certainly doesn’t have to confide, or whatever it is I’m trying to get out of him. I’m not sure I even know at this point.
He arches an eyebrow again, as if to ask, what the fuck does that have to do with singing together. “Huh?”
“I saw her coming off your bus this morning,” I sheepishly admit. I can’t believe I’m even asking. This isn’t me. I shouldn’t even care why she was, but strangely, I do.
Nodding, a smirk lifts one corner of his mouth. There’s a knock at the door followed by Revel yelling, “Use a different bathroom!”
I love the way the veins in his neck protrude with the raising of his voice, and I imagine what it must be like to hear him scream in pleasure. Again.
The knocking subsides, and we’re there in silence once more. He draws in a heavy breath, sways, and then leans into me, still backed against the wall. I want to jump his body. Literally, jump it and rub myself all over him. All. Over. I want that smoke smell to be fused in my bloodstream.
He licks his lips, searching my face. Our eyes lock, so much emotion, so little said between us. Leaning in, I hear him swallow before his lips faintly touch my ear. Thousands of nerve endings make themselves known and burst inside my body. I can’t breathe. No, actually, I can, and it’s to the point I’m hyperventilating.
Revel notices, chuckles, then whispers, “She thinks we’re fucking.” His words are so erotically spoken, my panties dampen, and I feel his hands, palms gliding up my sides. His nose sweeps the hollow spot where my collarbone takes a dip.
I swallow. “Oh.” That’s what I choose to say, when what I really want to ask is Why aren’t we? Probably because I just told him I wouldn’t sleep with him for a song, and I wouldn’t. But willingly fuck? Yes. I would. “What did you tell her?”
His exhale is shaky, his words strained. “I didn’t answer her.”
At least I’m not the only one he ignores. A hardness presents in his touch, a grip of fabric between his fists and I’m pressed against the wall. His chest draws back, but his heaviness against my body remains. He stares down at me, igniting goose bumps. I want to shatter at his feet. Is he going to kiss me?
Heat rushes through me, panic setting a steady thump of accelerated beats.
Please let him kiss me!
He’s so close, and I swear, I’m going to pass out if he doesn’t kiss me or back up. I can’t take the suspense. Then his fingers move, up my side, to my face and brush across my cheek. I can’t help but tremble.
I breathe, or try to, it’s too much feeling, and if I wasn’t backed against a wall, I’d think I was falling.
“Red?” he breathes, dipping his head forward to rest against my shoulder, his breathing just as heavy as mine.
“Yeah?” I know it’s crazy, but the way he says Red, it’s as if he’s stolen my heart with a stupid nickname, so suddenly, so selfishly, and I can’t get it back. It’s his to see what happens next. Where this goes is up to him, and though I never intended to give him control, especially him, it happens there in the men’s bathroom.
There’s no way this feeling is one-sided, but I might be wrong.
“You really should stay away from me.” His thumb touches my lip, and then he’s looking at me like I’m the only one. And then he leans forward, slowly, until his lips touch my collarbone.
Yep.
My.
Collarbone.
Damn it. Kiss me on my lips!
But here’s the thing, the moment his mouth meets any exposed skin on my body, I forget how to breathe, my knees weaken and I sag against him. I basically give all my intention away. It’s like I’ve been injected with poison and back to my theory on me becoming the Joker in the acid bath.
Revel pulls back, his eyes on my lips and I shiver, his body distancing from mine.
And then true to form, he leaves me standing there wondering what the heck just happened. I know one thing. I think I just bit the apple. Metaphorically speaking.
WHAT DID I AGREE TO?
REVEL
I should have kissed her.
No, I shouldn’t have.
I shouldn’t have taken her out the other night.
Yes, I should have.
I should have fucked her when she was drunk.
What are you, some kind of asshole? No. You shouldn’t have.
I didn’t. Believe it or not, I have fucking morals. You never take advantage of someone when they’re drunk or high.
Regardless of what I should or shouldn’t have done, I question whether or not doing a song together is going to work for us. We’re in her dressing room. It’s been cleared of everyone but the two of us prior to the show tonight. Revved is set to go on after her this time and I swear to God, if they boo her tonight, I’ll refuse to go on stage. I don’t know why I care so much, just that I do for some stupid fucking reason. Do I wish I didn’t?
Fuck yes, but like I said before, I can switch manic on like you wouldn’t believe, and I will if they do that bullshit again. They haven’t seen crazy.
Sitting at the vanity, Red looks over her shoulder at me lounged across her couch like I own the place. “Can you please take off that coat? I can’t take you seriously with it on.”
“Too bad. I like it. It’s part of the show tonight.” What Red doesn’t realize is I won’t be wearing anything underneath it. Oh, don’t freak out. No way they’d let me get away with that. I can literally light Deacon on fire with pyro gel we rubbed on his legs, yet they won’t let me be naked. Some people freak out about me being naked on stage wearing just a tub
e sock around my junk. The unfortunate part came when I twisted too quickly and it got snagged on a mic stand. You’re welcome Las Vegas. . . . After that, clothes were required. I actually prefer being naked on stage, or the fewer clothes, the better. Do you have any idea how hot it gets on stage when you’re running around for two hours? Sorry, I got off track there, but I plan on wearing a jock strap and this goddamn fur coat.
“You look like Zsa Zsa Gabor,” she tells me, toying with makeup. I can tell by her voice she’s nervous about tonight.
“Please.” I whip the coat open and reveal what’s underneath. “She wishes she looked as good as me in fur.”
Red twists in her seat, her eyes dragging over my body. The urge to kiss her returns, but the need to have her is far more intense. It’s fucking intoxicating being near her like this. She’s going to ruin me.
“Revel, we have to focus.” My name on her lips sounds so good, but still, I don’t move from my place on the couch. I know if I get closer, I can’t be trusted. “What about the song you sang on stage the other night?”
“No,” I snap immediately, hating that I even knew the lyrics to that one.
She looks crushed. “Why?”
“Because it’s about him.”
She knows damn well who I’m talking about. “Well, I could say the same about all your songs then.”
“I’ve never written a song about that piece of shit.” I crack a smile, hiding it behind my hand. “Honestly, I don’t know what you see in Breckin.”
“Saw. Saw in him.”
Relief washes over me. “Thought you said you have a boyfriend.”
She shrugs, playfully winking at me. “I lied. But again, I could say the same thing about Hensley. I don’t know what you saw in her.”
She could, but then I’d wonder how much she knows about Hensley and Jory. I don’t want to be the one that tells, even though she deserves to know the truth about that lying sack of shit, it’s not my place to tell her.
Leaning forward, I retrieve my cigarettes and then my lighter. “Here’s the thing.” I pause, lighting one and letting it dangle from my lips as I say, “I’m not going to agree to any of your songs, and I can’t see you pulling off any of mine, so how about we write something new?”
