by Kacey Shea
I practically drop the guitar to my lap as my hands fly to cover my mouth. “Oh, my!” I can’t believe I said that. Lord! How did those words come from my mouth?
His gaze holds mine, his face full of the same shock I feel. Then, his lips split into a full smile. Laughter, deep and throaty, flows from his belly.
“I’m so sorry!” I apologize, but the ridiculousness of the situation causes a giggle to escape my lips.
He continues to laugh and shake his head. “No. It’s fine. Really, I deserved it.”
“You did!” I’m smiling. I can feel it in the way my face pulls, and it hits me that I miss this. The joyfulness that I used to experience regularly has now become a rare occurrence.
“But I wasn’t wrong about the guitar. Try it again.”
He’s doing it again. His bossy demands, but I don’t want to sour the easiness between us by calling him out so I set my fingers on the strings, pick up my pick, and try again.
“Good. Don’t pause, keep the rhythm.” He pats his hand against his jeans, and sets a pace I try to match. “That’s it.” His affirmation means more than it should. A happiness settles with his encouragement. For the next hour I play and he tells me where to put my hands, or how to move my arm. I think he might know his stuff, and may be a better teacher than Austin, because the longer I play, the more my songs resemble actual music. He even teaches me a few new chords and my transitions aren’t a complete failure.
“Keep playing.” He pushes up to his feet, stretching as soon as he stands straight.
I glance up and catch a glimpse of his lean stomach. Sweet Jesus. My hands falter, blundering my near perfect streak. Blushing, my gaze falls back to the strings before he catches the source of my slipup.
Not two minutes later he returns with two bottles of water. Lowering next to me on the floor, he scoots closer this time so his jeans brush against my knee. The touch sends goosebumps across my skin, but if he notices he doesn’t mention it.
“You’ve earned a break.” He holds out one of the bottles while I place the guitar safely in its case.
“Thank you.” I uncap the lid and take a sip. The cool water is soothing to my parched lips. I glance at the clock on the wall. A quarter after one. The guys should be back soon. Curious as to why he’s not out with everyone, I stretch out my legs and lift my chin to meet his eyes. “So, why did you come back early?”
“To correct your technique.” He squishes up his nose and his lips spread wide with a grin.
I roll my eyes. “Seriously.”
“Seriously?” He picks at the label on his water and lifts his gaze, the hint of a smile still at play, but with his stiff movements, he almost seems nervous. Or embarrassed? He clears his throat. “I wasn’t old enough to stay at the bar.”
“You got kicked out for being underage?” I can’t help but smile at the thought.
“No . . .” He drags out the word. “I left before I was asked to leave.”
Now I’m curious how much older he is than I am. “How many more months before you get to stay?”
He coughs. “Years.”
I lift my brows. I mean, sure I assume he’s closer to my age than the rest of the guys, but that’s because they’re pushing thirty. Before I can ask his age, he offers the knowledge freely.
“I’m eighteen.”
“Eighteen!” To say I’m shocked is an understatement. Between the two of us, I’m older. Not that there’s an us. I let loose a chuckle at the ridiculous idea. “You’re practically jailbait.”
“Ha!” He laughs, his gaze traveling over my body, brazenly checking me out. “And you aren’t?”
“I’m older than you.” I go for smug, preening at his hungry gaze. “By one year.”
He lifts his brows playfully. “When’s your birthday?”
“December.”
“Technically you’ve only got me by ten months.” He holds my stare and heat spreads across every square inch of my skin.
Grams warned me about men like him, the ones with a touch of the devil in their eyes, but I can’t seem to look away. “Good to know.” I’m very much aware of how closely we sit, and how warm his body feels next to mine. A longing begins at my fingertips, goes straight to my heart and lands at the desire pooling between my legs. I want him. And I don’t know exactly what to do with that, other than scoot a few inches away and settle the instrument back in my arms. I don’t watch for his reaction because I don’t think I can handle the disappointment I might find there, or worse, indifference.
With all my focus I strum the chords, this time taking into account all of Leighton’s modifications from the last hour. The sound is better. More like the song that builds in my mind.
“Good. Louder. Don’t be afraid.”
He doesn’t understand. I’m afraid of everything. I worry my lower lip between my teeth, and a douse of self-doubt hits like a tidal wave. What the hell am I doing here? I don’t belong on this bus. With these people. Or with this instrument in my hands. It’s all a front to the tired and scared little girl who ran away from home.
“Hey.” His fingers skim across my forearm, the slightest of touches.
I raise my gaze to his. Gone is the teasing. The laughter. Or any trace of sexual interest. Instead all I find is warmth and encouragement. “You’ve got this. It takes time.”
I know he’s referring to the music, but his words extend and chase away the voice that belittles the huge changes I’ve made over the past month. I’m doing the best I can. Transformation doesn’t happen overnight. With another deep breath I lift my arm and try again, this time with a forced confidence I don’t really feel.
“Good. Yes. That’s it.” His encouragement means more than it should.
I continue to practice until my hands ache, and Leighton never leaves my side. He must be exhausted. Bored to death even, but if he is he doesn’t let on. The chords come together with more ease and he hums along.
Words form in my mind of their own accord and maybe it’s because I’m sleep deprived, or on a freaking rock tour, but I open my mouth and give voice to them.
“She won’t let on.
She won’t cry.
She’ll never let you see her say good-bye.”
I don’t lift my gaze to Leighton’s. Too much doubt already clouds my own mind. But he surprises me, his voice joining with mine and my made up lyrics. Boy. Can. Sing. I can’t deny that makes him more attractive, or this guitar lesson much more intimate.
A loud clang at the door halts my movements. My gaze darts across the space to find Trent, Sean, and Austin as they push inside.
“Quiet. Don’t wake the neighbors,” Trent stage whispers and the three of them fall into a fit of laughter. I study their movements, the heavier footsteps, the sloppy smiles. They’re most definitely inebriated.
“Hey, baby.” Austin’s gaze finds mine, his eyes lighting up when they find his guitar in my hands. Almost as if it pleases him to find it there. “Trying to make me jealous?” The heat in his gaze scrambles all reason from my mind. He stares as if I’m the most beautiful woman in the world. Or rather, the bus. Which is completely stupid. I am the only woman on this bus.
My answer catches in my throat and my reply comes out more squeak than words.
He closes the space between us in a few strides. “I thought you only played like that for me.” He’s teasing, and though there’s no reason, I feel as if I owe him an explanation.
“Sorry. Leighton offered to . . .”
“Movin’ in on my girl. I see that.” He knocks his boot against Leighton’s leg, as if to push him away, but focuses his stare back on me. “You tell him you’ve only been playing a few days?”
“What?” Leighton actually sounds impressed.
“It’s nothing.” Heat travels up my cheeks as I put the instrument back in the case. “I’m not any good.”
“But you will be. She’s got natural talent,” Austin says, a hint of pride in his tone that I want so badly to believe.
“I
agree.” Leighton’s voice is soft, the low reverberations of his cadence a direct hit to my heart.
Oh, Lord. With both men’s gazes studying my every move, I know for certain I’m in over my head. I will not fall for a rock star. Not the way my mama did. I won’t throw away my virginity, and my life, on a man who can’t see past his own ambitions.
I will not fall. To temptation. To lust. It’s not worth the consequences. As much as I know it’s true, there’s something even more powerful that begs to differ. To challenge everything I’ve ever been told. And that feeling? It’s terrifying.
83
Leighton
“All on board and on time? This has to be a record.” Our driver Jay chuckles after climbing inside the bus.
Trent laughs, kicks off his boots, and flops into one of the chairs. “We might be growing up.”
“Let’s not get carried away,” Jay says.
“Gotta piss.” Austin pushes off the floor and strides unevenly to the bathroom.
Jay takes his place at the wheel, laughing again. “Point in case.”
“Baby steps. It’s all about improvements.” Trent reaches his arms up with a stretch and tucks them behind his head. His half-lidded gaze looks about thirty seconds from falling asleep, but Sean plops onto the chair next to him and it doesn’t take long before they’re deep in conversation.
This sucks. With everyone back from the bar, my time with Opal is over. By her reserved movements I have to wonder whether I pushed a boundary I shouldn’t have. I swear I didn’t know she was really with Austin. If I had I wouldn’t have flirted, or been so drawn to her. Or barged in to critique her playing.
Liar. Okay, so maybe I wouldn’t have been able to resist flirting, but mentally I would have put up a wall. I don’t move in on someone else’s girl. That’s not cool. A little head’s up from my uncle would have been nice, but it’s becoming ever so clear he has no clue what’s going on with his own band.
“Thank you,” Opal says loud enough so only I can hear her over Trent and Sean. She sets the guitar back into the case, scooting it a few inches away. “For the tips.”
“Anytime.” I nod and glance down the hall before twisting to meet her stare. “So, you and Austin . . . ?” God, I can’t even say it. How could she be with him? I’ve only known him a few days and while he’s a fun guy and talented musician, I can say with the utmost certainty he’d be a horrible boyfriend.
“What?” Her brows shoot up and she lets loose a giggle, shaking her head. “No!” She glances at Trent and it’s obvious when she lowers her voice that she doesn’t want anyone to eavesdrop. “He’s just really friendly.”
Friendly. Hmm. Not sure I like the sound of that or what’s implied, but friendly gives me a shot. A chance. For a reason I can’t explain, I really want a chance with her. “Oh, okay. ’Cause I guess it seemed like—”
“Yeah. No.” She cuts me off as a blush stains the fair skin of her neck and cheeks. I wonder whether it trails down to her breasts, but I know better than to try and look. I want her to like me, not think I’m a perv.
“Interesting.” My lips pull with a grin and her cheeks only grow pinker.
“How is that interesting?” she sasses, but her lips still hold a grin.
“It would have been surprising, that’s all. I can’t see you with someone like him.” The moment the words fly from my mouth her smile falters.
“Oh.” Her gaze falls to her hands.
“Wait, that came out wrong.” What I should have said was how she’s way too good to be with someone like him. He doesn’t deserve her. I don’t, either. But now she won’t even look at me.
“It’s late. I’m gonna turn in.” She pushes off the floor and her gaze meets mine for a brief moment. “Thanks again with the guitar.”
“Of course.” I want to ask her to stay. Apologize for being an idiot. Beg her not to write me off just yet. But instead I don’t do a damn thing and watch her walk away. Coward.
Austin emerges from the hall and I know whatever moment I had with her has passed.
She’s already sliding into her bunk for the night.
“If we get too loud, tell us to shut up!” Trent says before she draws her curtain shut. He points to where I’m still sitting on the thin carpet. The vibration of the engine shoots up my spine as Jay fires up the bus. “You play guitar too?”
“I play a lot of things.”
“Cool.” He purses his lips and nods. “I’m not tired. Who’s up for a round of poker?”
“Fuck yeah.” Austin grabs hold of the counter and begins humping against it.
“I told you those Jager bombs were a bad idea.” Sean drags his feet with heavy steps and plops into the bench at the table.
Austin doesn’t show any sign of stopping; if anything, his thrusts gain zest as he adds in hand motions and sound effects. “Oh, yeah. Give it to me, Austin!”
“Someone make it stop.” Sean groans and flops his head into where he folds his arms atop the table.
“Austin. Stop fucking the counter.” Trent doesn’t glance up from the cards he shuffles, as if his request is as ordinary as asking Austin to shut the door or flip off the lights.
“Beer?” Austin flings open the fridge and glances over his shoulder. A chorus of yeahs answer him and he joins us at the table with three beers and one water bottle. “Sorry, kid.” He pushes the water to me but he doesn’t appear sorry at all.
Part of me wants to flaunt that I’ve been drinking alcohol since I was twelve, but then I’d have to explain about my parents and how easy it is to swipe liquor from their parties. I’m smart enough to leave that alone. Drawing attention to myself and my background will only lead to more questions.
Trent cuts the deck. “What should we play?”
“Five card, man.” Austin shakes his head. “I drank too much for hold ’em.”
Trent distributes the deck with the practice of a Vegas dealer. “Leighton, we know nothing about you.”
I pick up my cards. “What do you want to know?”
Sean cusses at whatever cards he’s been dealt, discarding four of them before lifting his gaze to mine. “First album you fell in love with?”
“Black Sabbath. Heaven and Hell.”
“A man for the classics. I can appreciate that.” He nods.
Trent lifts his brows. “First concert?”
Shit. Can’t very well admit my first were of the classical music variety. But thanks to a secret gift from my uncle for my fifteenth birthday I don’t have to completely lie. “First rock concert. Foo Fighters.”
“Nice.” Sean drags out the word and holds his knuckles out for me to bump.
“Worst place you’ve had sex?” Austin discards two of his cards, peering over the rest with a shit eating grin. “You have had sex, right?”
The guys chuckle and I roll my eyes. I get that he’s giving me shit because he can. If anything, it makes me feel less an outsider and more a real member of the band. “Yeah, I ditched my virginity years ago. Okay, strangest place . . .” I race through my experiences of pool houses, closets, and bathrooms, none of which seem strange or exotic in the least.
“Please don’t say bed.” Austin shakes his head as if that’d be the most embarrassing answer possible.
“I got it.” My face lights up with the memory. It was a stupid fucking party, but a great story. “A yacht. On a deck. With my Spanish teacher.”
A chorus of “ohhs!” erupt as I knew they would. This story works every time.
“Details, man. We need details,” Austin goads.
“Last year, my friend invited me to some fancy yacht party for his father’s fiftieth, when lo and behold, who shows up? The hot student teacher from my Spanish class. And hell, we all thought she was banging with those long pencil skirts, but that held nothing to her in a fire-engine red bikini. Ended up she was working the event serving food, but that didn’t stop me from working my charms.”
“You nailed her on the deck?” Sean’s brows r
ise.
“Yeah, at the end of the night. The party was mostly over anyway, the boat was docked, and only a few people were hanging around. I could tell she was into me, though. We’d been eye-fucking each other the entire day. Add in a few drinks, a shared hatred for a fucked up school administration . . .”
“Our little boy’s all grown up.” Austin mimes wiping fake tears from beneath his eyes, “I’m so proud.”
Trent slaps the back of Austin’s head. “You’re such an idiot.”
Austin levels Trent with a stare. “You have to admit that’s a baller move.”
“It’s impressive.” Trent nods, his lips pulling wide with a smirk. “If it’s true.”
Austin and Sean let loose a chorus of “ohhs” and they all watch for my reaction. I get it. The story seems far-fetched, but it’s the truth. “I wouldn’t make this up.”
“You’re telling me a woman who is what, at least a solid four years your senior is gonna risk her future career to play with your dick?”
“About that. . .” I wince at the truth, not my proudest moment. “I lied about my age. Told her I’d just turned eighteen. She’d finished her semester, so in her defense she didn’t think she was breaking any rules.”
“That’s bad, Leighton.” Trent shakes his head but he’s smiling.
“Like this one can talk.” Austin shoves his thumb in Trent’s direction. “He was the biggest dick before he started dating Lexi. Remember Tasty Tuesdays?” He stares whimsically out the bus window.
Sean nods, his face fighting a full smile. “Don’t forget about Slutty Sundays.”
“I am a reformed manwhore. I admit it.” Trent chuckles and lays out his cards. “And I just beat all your sorry asses.” Four aces. Yeah, he did.
“Fuck that.” Sean throws his cards down face first and takes the deck from Trent. “I’ll deal next.”
“Hey, there’s something we need to talk about.” Trent’s gaze turns somber and his voice lowers.
Returning his stare, I’m proud of myself for keeping my features neutral. “Okay.” Shit. Why do I suddenly feel I’m being called into my father’s den for a lecture?
