by Shey Stahl
The photo shoot is a game of choreographed Twister. Not to mention we’re naked and it adds an interesting dynamic to it. It’s a lot of look over here, move your hand there, smile this way, now don’t smile. Which I’m good at. I’m good at it because do you notice who has his hands on Red?
Not. Me.
The photographer has her on Cruz’s lap, her body painted with lyrics from her latest album and his drumsticks over her nipples. I’m irritated she’s on his lap, but I’m unexplainably enraged he’s touching her tits, and I’m not.
Irrational behavior of heavy sighs and eye rolls become my demeanor. It’s a lot like a spoiled child who hasn’t gotten their way, and that’s a lot like me. The whites of my knuckles give away my mood.
The photographer notices. “Relax, Revel,” he says, adjusting the guitar in my left hand.
I level him a stare that makes him wilt with fear. “You tell me to relax again and I’m going to show you what this Gibson tastes like.”
Laughter erupts from those around me. I remain stone-silent. I don’t know why they’re laughing. I’m being serious.
My eyes drift to her but catch on Hensley. Tears surface and she blinks regretted emotion at me.
“Fuck you,” I mouth, because she deserves it. If you haven’t noticed by now, I’m an asshole, and if you fuck me over, I’m intolerable.
“Okay, let’s mix it up a bit,” the photographer says, stepping away from me like he’s suddenly terrified I might hit him. I haven’t dismissed the idea just yet. “I want Revel and Taylan front and center, then the rest of the bands beside them.”
Finally. Yes. This I can fucking work with.
We’ve rearranged, adjusted, and within minutes, I’m standing next to Red whose lipstick matches her hair color. I’m irritated they’ve put so much makeup on her face I can’t see her freckled cheeks. The photographer asks my band to go the left of me, aside from Cruz.
“Cruz, I want you to play the drums on Taylan’s behind, or act like you are. Don’t hit her.”
The fuck? Is this like “piss off Revel to the point where he explodes” kind of day?
“She’d like it,” Cruz mumbles, only to have me trip him in the process.
He smirks. I don’t.
“Now, T, I want your hand over Revel’s manhood.”
Cruz snorts. “Manhood? Just say cock, man.”
Red pauses, hesitates, stares at the photographer. Pink surfaces in her cheeks.
I glare at the photographer, and he steps back, again, rushing to add, “Only if she wants to.”
“I. . . uh. . . .” Red stumbles over words.
“You don’t have to,” I whisper, only to her. I breathe in, deep, the scent of her wild red curls washing over me. It’s peachy, or maybe strawberry with a hint of lilacs wilting in the summer heat.
Her body straightens up, her eyes wandering. She’s looking around the room, no doubt questioning what the perception of this will be.
I look down at her chest and the words, “I’m the forever kind. He struggles with the forget her mind,” written across her chest in purple body paint.
How fitting.
Struggling with the decision, she chews on her plump bottom lip. “I’ll do it.” Drawing in a ragged breath, her hand moves to my thigh, then over the loincloth to cover my junk. Tangled locks blind my vision of the green I so desperately seek.
My breath hitches. Fuck me, man. Of all the places to have her touching my cock, it’s in front of fifty people, and I can’t act on it.
I swallow through harsh breaths I can’t seem to control. I look down at her, bent over so her ass is facing Cruz, who’s one smiley motherfucker, and her head eye level with my junk. I could say I try to fight the semi I’m sporting, because it’s rather inconvenient timing, but it’s the position of her body that aids it and makes it impossible. So many pornographic images flood my brain. Ones of her opening her mouth and sucking on the head to ones of me grabbing the back of her head and choking her on it.
Fuck. Stop.
Camera clicks, lights flash, and I’m not sure how well the photos turn out because I’m not looking at the camera in any of them.
Cruz laughs beside me, low and dirty. “Goddamn, T. You got an ass like—”
He doesn’t finish his sentence. You know what, if that photographer had any sense at all, he’d use the image of me grabbing Cruz by his throat with a murderous expression plastered on my face—him laughing—and Red with her hand on my cock and everyone else with their mouths gaping wondering what the fuck just happened.
Liz tosses my shirt at me where it hits my face. “I thought I told you to behave?”
“No, you said not to be an asshole.”
“And you don’t think that,” she points to Cruz with red marks on his throat, “was being an asshole?”
“Nope. He had it coming.”
Red appears from the dressing room, finally with clothes on, her skin pink from rubbing off the lyrics on her chest. She keeps her distance, talks to her assistant, but do you notice the way she’s side-eyeing me? I’m guessing she wants to know what that was about. I don’t have an answer for her. I don’t even know what the fuck that shit was.
Liz motions to Red. “Taylan, I’m setting up a meeting with your manager to talk about the duet. Have you guys had a chance to talk about it?”
Red looks to me for an answer.
“No need to. It’s not to be recorded under her label. Ever.”
Liz nods, typing away on her phone. “I understand that, but she should have representation, Revel.”
“She does.” Reaching over, I yank my jeans on and rip the stupid cloth off in the process revealing myself to probably thirty people. “Me. I’m not going to fuck her over.”
Liz looks at me, rolls her eyes, and then stuffs her hand in my face. “Ugh. You’re such a monster.”
Next to me, probably wondering what the fuck’s going on, Red stares at me with curious eyes. My heart thuds louder. Probably because all I can see in my head is her naked last night with her fingers pumping into her pussy.
When Liz leaves, Red whispers, “Did I make a fool of myself last night?”
I count the freckles on her nose. “No.”
Her shoulders relax, but I can tell she’s holding onto a shield, afraid of what I really know. “Would you actually tell me if I did?”
I fight the urge to touch her. Just a taste, my mind taunts. Unprepared for the reaction of my body, I lean into the wall beside me to keep from wrapping myself around her like a fool. “That depends.”
“On what?”
My tongue darts out, licking my lips, and you better believe she watches the motion carefully. Princess, my tongue can do so many things for you. “What you’ll give me for the truth.”
Laughter slips past her lips and she steps back from me. “Liz is right. You’re a monster.”
I despise the distance, the lack of heat, and grab her hand, yanking her toward me. “Just remember, Red. I’m the only one looking out for you.”
Pussy. You couldn’t hold out.
Her breath expels in a gasp, her hands on my bare chest. “There’s a rumor going around about us now,” she breathes, her words blowing over my face.
I search her eyes and find the gold flakes I crave. “Yeah?”
She nods, keeping our eyes locked on one another. “Yep. We’re. . .” Pausing, she looks around and then whispers, “Fucking,” like it’s something dirty she could never say out loud. “US Weekly says so, and a ‘friend close with the explosive couple.’”
I fight back a smile. “I don’t have any close friends.”
“So unfortunate,” she teases, winking at me.
My hands around her hips tighten. “Should we give them something to talk about?”
Drawing her bottom lip through her teeth, she blinks slowly, her breathing kicking up a notch. I can feel it rising and falling, mirroring my own. “What did you have in mind?”
There’s a wall behind
her, so I push her up against it and corner her. My voice is somewhat hoarse when I ask, “What about this?”
Shadows dance over her cheeks. Sliding my fingers under her chin, I angle her face up and lean down just enough that our noses brush.
I could kiss her.
I should, but I don’t.
I can’t wrap my mind around what’s happening, let alone fucking rumors. She’s trembling against me, lips parted and waiting. All I have to do is close the distance. We’re so close we’re breathing the same air. Despite the crowd around us, there’s something incredibly intimate about it, vulnerable even.
And then I brush my lips to hers and kiss her again.
This time with purpose.
“I can’t stop myself,” I mumble against her lips. “I tried to stay away from you.”
UNTOUCHABLE
TAYLAN
We play at a sold-out show at the Staples Center in front of twenty thousand fans, but it’s after the show, when we’re backstage in my dressing room that I can’t forget. I wondered what his reaction would be to me tonight. I swore on two things. I wouldn’t drink, and I wouldn’t take anything from anyone.
Surrounded by soft lighting and enough costume changes for a drag queen show, Revel’s touch lingers on my hips for a moment, calloused roughness scraping against soft. I don’t know what this is, or what we’re doing, but I desperately want everything I’m feeling from the racing heart to the fluttering in my stomach and that newly found jump every time he touches me.
Needing more from him, I tug at the collar of his leather jacket and pull him closer so I can kiss the divot between his collarbones. Revel hums quietly and his head drops back. “Fuck,” he whispers under his breath, capturing my mouth with his own.
I did that. I made him hum. An instinctive smile tugs at my lips, my breathing heavy. When my hands wander lower, there’s a sound of vague disappointment, but the high of the night has him too far gone to make any proper complaints. My guess is, me being untouchable to everyone including him, is wavering slightly.
My fingers trail down his stomach, beneath his T-shirt, and tug at his belt. “How about you come back to my hotel room with me tonight?”
Revel’s head shoots up, his eyes squeezing shut. “No.”
“Why not?”
He pulls back. “Because.”
Because? What the heck is wrong with this guy? He’s all over me and then pumps the brakes so fast I don’t know what the hell is going on.
“You’ll kiss me, touch me,” I whisper, trying again, kissing his jaw and the corner of his lips. “But that’s as far as it goes?”
He takes a step back, and I can see the war raging inside him. “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”
“I think I do.” I cling to him, pathetically. “I want you.”
Leaning in, he places his finger on my lips. His erection digs into my stomach, giving me false hope. “Not yet. Not now.”
“Why not?”
He squeezes his eyes shut, every inch of his body rigid. “I want to keep you the way you are, princess,” he rasps. “Innocent and untouched.”
I draw back, my eyes widening. I told him I wasn’t a virgin, and though I think he believed me, in some ways, I was. I hadn’t been touched by someone like him. Revel Slade is a revelation and slowly becoming everything I don’t need, but can’t live without. He made it clear no one was to touch me—including himself. And in a strange way, I’m looking forward to the day he becomes a promise breaker.
Taking a seat in my chair, Revel remains standing. I catch sight of my face in the mirror—pink cheeks and neck, all indications I want more from him. For some reason, I tell him again, “I’m not a virgin.”
“You might as well be.” He swallows, backing up against the vanity next to an artful display of food laid out, watching my reaction as he says, “You’ve never been touched by me.”
I don’t say anything, at first, my eyes drifting to the empty mug of honey tea I’d been sipping on. “What do you want from me then?”
“Everything you can’t give me.” Revel breathes in deeply, his chest expanding as he adjusts himself. For a moment, silence fills the room and our eyes connect again. He stares at me, and I can’t breathe. “Once you get to know me, I’m undeniably unlovable,” he murmurs, quickly avoiding my eyes as I look up at his face.
He thinks he’s unlovable? More like obsessable. That’s totally a word, right? The kind of addictive personality that makes you want to stalk them and obsess over their every detail.
I twist toward him. “I don’t believe that.”
“You’re in denial then. My mystery draws you in, sure. But you’ll realize under the layers there’s not much left to give, or take.”
I lick my lips, teasing him as I wink and bump my knee into his. “What makes you think you’re in control of me?”
He smiles, twists to face me, and rests his hands on either side of my chair, leaning in. His body heat consuming, even with the shade of space between us. “You fucking know I am.” Sadly, this is true. In so many ways. And then he reaches for my hand. “Let’s go. I’m hungry.” He pauses and gestures to the untouched food. “And this shit is for birds.”
I follow him out of my dressing room, our hands connected. We ditch security, not exactly an easy task, but he’s surprisingly really good at going unnoticed in a crowd when he wants to.
We walk for what seems like forever. Until my feet hurt. I ask him if I can have a cigarette and the glare I get makes me think he might possibly be the devil in a leather jacket. We talk for hours while both our phones vibrate in our pockets, no doubt everyone wondering where we disappeared to. Conversation is easy and relaxed. How’d we get like this? How’d this happen that I’m walking around downtown after midnight with a guy I couldn’t stand a few weeks ago?
“I’m dying for a milkshake,” I tell him when we pass by a small diner in downtown Los Angeles. “Think there are any good places around here?”
Revel takes a long drag of his smoke and gives me a smile. “Yeah,” he says, exhaling a slow stream of smoke through his nostrils. It dances through the night air mixing with the fog hovering over the city. He flicks his half-smoked cigarette into the parking lot. Like the guiding presence he’s become, he steers me in the direction of the door, his hand in mine. “Let go to this place.”
“Uh, what?” I stop at the door, afraid to go in, but I never release my hand from his. I’m not one to judge a place by the storefront, but this one place I think I should. It’s like that hotel in The Shining if it was a restaurant downtown and in the bad part of the neighborhood. Not the bad, but the bad. You know what I’m talking about too. The kind you enter and don’t walk out of. “It looks like a murder scene.”
He rolls his eyes, tugging me forward, his calm disposition surprising me. “Live a little, Princess.”
Live a little? Who is this guy? He’s certainly not the reclusive rock star I thought I knew. Look at his face, the smirk, the wild eyes. He’s serious.
My stomach churns with fear. “So what happens when they recognize us?” He had to know we’re not exactly blending in. Despite wearing hooded sweatshirts, jackets, and sunglasses, we’re walking targets. Him more so than me. Tie back my red hair and throw sweats on and I can go unnoticed. Most of the time. Revel, not so much. I don’t know what it is about him either, but he attracts attention wherever he goes.
Revel looks around the diner, shrugging. “There’s like two people.”
I draw in a deep breath and follow. Sadly, I’d follow him anywhere. “Okay.”
A strawberry shake for me, a chocolate one for him and twenty minutes later, we’re still alive and wishing we hadn’t stepped foot in that dive diner.
“Clearly I underestimated that whole scene.” Revel laughs, coughing around the cigarette in his mouth.
I grin at him, still sucking down my milkshake I had them put in a to-go cup after Revel signed every single menu they had. All thirty-two of them and G
retchen—the manager’s—tits. I smile at his missing hoodie that smelled like cigarettes and the vodka he spilled on it trying to refill his flask earlier. “Yeah ya did. Now I understand how the fur coat came about.”
“It seems women like to steal my clothes.”
I smile at him as we step off the curb to cross the street with no destination in mind. “I still have your T-shirt from the other night.”
Like it’s automatic for him, he reaches for my hand as we cross the street. I take it, willingly. “You really don’t remember that night?
“You mean when Hardin gave me the molly, or the other night I don’t remember?” I laugh, though his body tensing tells me he doesn’t think it’s funny. “I don’t remember the night we went to Mango’s either. Do you?”
He doesn’t look at me or respond for a moment. He looks straight ahead. We keep step, together, our footsteps the only sound on the quiet suburban street we find ourselves on. For Southern California in December, it’s surprisingly warmer than I imagined it’d be, but still, I hold his hand, not for the warmth, but the security. Just when I think he’s not going to reply, he breathes in deeply, exhaling slowly. “I don’t remember much really, but some details come to mind.”
“And?”
“Those details.” He flicks his icy blues to mine just for a moment. Long enough to make my breath catch. “They’re mine.”
They’re mine? What the fuck does that even mean? Stupid secret keeper.
Unprepared for the reaction my body has to basically everything he says and does, I point up the street. “I don’t live far from here. I think. We could go back to my place.”
He shakes his head, no words.
I won’t lie. His denial stinks. I fight off a frown, but I’m too obvious. “You don’t. . . it’s fine.”
“I want to. . . I just. . . .” His words fade, his hand rising to run through his hair as he draws in a heavy breath.
“Are you waiting until you’re married?” I tease, trying to find humor and keep from letting him know I’m feeling self-conscious.
He coughs and drops his hands to his side, burying them in the pockets of his jeans. “Yeah, right.”
