Detour Complete Series

by Kacey Shea

  I’m assigned to the fancy bus, the one with all the talent. I even have my own sleep bunk to show for it. Which also means I’m never off the clock.

  It’ll be fine. I can do this. It’s only six weeks. Besides, I will have a few breaks as the tour includes a few overnights at five-star hotels. Too bad we can’t stop for hotels every night. I’m already looking forward to them, to letting my guard down and not being in a constant state of ‘on.’

  I don’t know how I’ll handle the complete lack of privacy. Or Austin and his playboy ways. He agreed to stop hitting on me, and we actually had a nice conversation this morning on the plane after he apologized. However, I’m not thrilled about the women he’s sure to drag to his bedroom, especially on the nights the band is booked for after parties. I don’t know that I can stand by and watch. Yet, it’s exactly what I’m being paid to do. One of the responsibilities in my contract is to clear any ‘personal visitors’ of band members. I shake my head, thankful we won’t have time for any of that tonight.

  Double checking with the security team, I finally board the band’s bus and check in with the driver. “Hey, Ace. You good to go?”

  “You know it, Miss Miller.”

  “Please, call me Jayla.”

  “Sorry, habit.” He reaches for the gear shift. “You sleep well tonight. And get some of that food before those animals eat it all.”

  “Thanks, Ace.”

  “Hey! There she is,” Austin calls, and maybe I imagine it, but there’s a hint of pride in his voice.

  “Hey.” I lift my hand and give a polite smile.

  Most everyone is gathered around the table in a long booth, and the aroma of Italian food fills the space. I make my way to the kitchen, pulling open the refrigerator and searching inside for the ingredients I asked to have stocked. Finding the freshly cut lettuce and cleaned veggies, I pull them out to set on the counter.

  “Jayla, eat. Please. There’s plenty.” Trent points at the take-out trays as I turn around.

  “I’ll have the salad. Thanks.” I grab a big bowl from one of the cabinets and fill it.

  “That’s enough? You won’t be hungry?” Sean asks as he slides out of the bench seat and joins me at the island. He makes quick work of filling two plates with what appears to be seconds.

  “I don’t know how you guys do it, eating like this. I’d be a thousand pounds.” I already feel like a whale next to these girls. Lexi’s at least a foot shorter, but she’s built like a pixie. I don’t think she clears a hundred pounds soaking wet. Even Opal, who’s five months pregnant is smaller than me.

  I’ve always had curves. Those I’ve made peace with for the most part. But it’s the extra weight I’ve put on since I stopped daily running that I can’t kick to the curb with diet, try as I might. Maybe being away from my mama’s cookin’, it’ll finally happen. At least, that was my intent when I filled out the request for stocked food a few days ago.

  A pang of ridiculousness hits me for even worrying about such things when I have the safety of the band and concert venues to prioritize. I open a container of sliced veggies and stab a cucumber, sans dressing, with my fork and shove it in my mouth.

  “Careful there, tiger. Save the stabbing for the bad guys.” Austin grins, stepping to my side and filling his plate full of baked pasta and piling on several slices of garlic bread.

  “I don’t stab people.” I glare, holding his cocky stare. I’m annoyed that he picked up on my anger. I work hard to hide my emotions; I don’t need him peeling back the layers. I’m here to work. That’s it. “Besides, I prefer the Taser.”

  “Fuck, you’re hot.” His voice rumbles and I look away.

  “Austin—” Sean groans from across the kitchen island and then levels his stare on me. “I’d say he’s not always like this, but I think we both know that’s not true.”

  “Not cool. You’re supposed to be on my side. Bros before—”

  Sean slaps a hand over Austin’s mouth. “Point proven. Now, please don’t quit.”

  I laugh. “You think his filthy mouth will scare me away? I’ve worked the beat all over LA. Then private security for more than one asshole client. This is nothing.”

  “You must have some good stories,” Opal says.

  Sean scoots in next to her and Leighton at the table.

  “I wouldn’t call them good, but yeah.” I tip my chin to Austin. “This guy is harmless compared to what I’m used to.”

  “Ouch.” He rubs his chest as if it stings. “That hurts.”

  “And he does have a heart! We knew it was in there.” Leighton grins.

  “Fuck you. You’re only pissed your girl likes me better.” Austin blows a kiss at Opal, but she hardly takes notice. Her eyes never seem to leave Leighton.

  I stare incredulously. “How do you still have a nose?”

  “Huh?” He reaches to his face and rubs across the bridge as if to make sure it’s there.

  “The bone structure. It should be a mess by now.” I chuckle and shake my head. “I don’t know how you haven’t been punched in the face more.”

  “Ha. Ha.” He rolls his eyes, and then lets a grin spread across his lips. “Who says it hasn’t?”

  “He’s right. There’s only so many times you can push your luck,” Sean says from his end of the booth, his fork poised in his giant plate of pasta. “His mouth is the reason for at least a dozen bar fights. If we weren’t famous, it’d be more.”

  “What you’re saying is that your life would be boring without me.” Austin bats his lashes and then adds a few more spoonfuls to his already loaded plate.

  I repress the desire to roll my eyes or laugh at his joke, instead focusing back on building my health-conscience meal. The aromas of pasta, sauce, cheese, and fresh bread beg me to abandon my measly meal for something more satisfying, but I won’t give in. My hips will thank me later. Besides, as salads go, this one is packed with all my favorite things.

  “What the fuck is this?” Austin stares at my bowl and inspects it with mock disgust. He even makes a choking noise at the back of his throat for added measure.

  “A salad. Vegetables. You’ve heard of these things before, I hope.” I toss a few peppers into the mix, then close up the containers to keep in the fridge for later.

  “I have. I just don’t understand why you’d eat them.” He reaches across the small island and nabs an artichoke from my bowl, holding up to the light while his face scrunches up as if he tastes something sour. “Seriously? This looks like it should still be in the ground.”

  “Stop. Touching. My. Food.” I move my bowl out of his reach.

  His gaze snaps to mine, brows raised, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. Crap. “Oh? Do you not like it? Afraid I might have cooties?” He moves to grab a cherry tomato.

  I beat him away with my fork. “I’m not afraid of you, but you keep touching my salad and you should be afraid.” I pick up my bowl. It’s safer for my salad, and my sanity, if I relocate. I hate it when someone touches my food, and he’s just annoying enough to keep this up.

  He chuckles, rubbing his hands together from across the island. “Yeah? I remember you used to get like this about something else . . .”

  Oh no. He wouldn’t.

  “Don’t play.” I take a step back and then to the side, my food cradled protectively in front of my body. “You’ll regret it.”

  “Oh? Will I? You still as ticklish as I remember? I think I should check to make sure.”

  “You fucking touch me and I will take you down,” I threaten. Someone touching my food? I loathe it. But tickling? I lose my shit. I’ve always despised it. And he always did it anyway.

  “Take me down?” Austin laughs, casually advancing, which only pisses me off more.

  “Do it.” Sean grins, his eyes catching mine from where he sits.

  “This is the most entertaining thing ever.” Lexi leans forward in her chair, her eyes wide with interest.

  Trent holds out his phone, most definitely recording. “I
’ve got ten on Jayla.”

  “You’re betting against me?” Austin scoffs and shoots a glare at his friend.

  I take advantage of his momentary distraction and set my salad safely out of range of the battlefield. I can take him down—I will if he pushes this—but I don’t want to end up hungry at the end of it.

  “Just going with the likely winner. Sorry, bro.” Trent laughs heartily. “Kick his ass, Jayla.”

  “It’s better if you let me eat my dinner.” I give Austin one last warning. My gaze trains on his hips in case he decides to lunge and take me by surprise.

  “Sure.” His lips widen, showcasing his white smile. I swear, even his eyes are laughing. “After I tickle you.”

  “Your loss,” I bite out just as he moves forward. I have to hand it to him, he’s quicker than I anticipate, but the fool doesn’t come close to hitting any of my ticklish spots. I have his arm over my shoulder and plow him down flat on his back before he realizes what hit him.

  “Ohh!” Everyone cheers like this is an actual wrestling match.

  “Damn, kid,” Trent shouts. “You’re getting your ass kicked.”

  Working my leg over his body, I straddle his hips and keep him pinned to the ground. From beneath me, he bucks to flip me over, but it does no good, not while I have his arms pinned against his head at an unnatural angle. If I used my full strength I could choke him out, or break his arm, but I have no desire to do either of those.

  He struggles even though it’s a lost cause.

  “Sorry yet?” The words spill from my lips more breathlessly than they should. I’m suddenly aware—very aware—of our bodies, and how close they are. My breasts press into his heaving chest. My legs squeeze as they straddle his waist. His strong, hard muscles strain against my curves.

  “Not even a little,” he whispers and lifts his hips, pressing another hard part of him into my body. Our grappling excites him. Fuck. I don’t want to like it, but I do.

  “Don’t touch my food. Or my body without permission,” I add, but my words lack conviction. I wonder whether he can hear in my voice how much so. “Got that?”

  He swallows, his body tense and eyes excited as he whispers, “Yes, ma’am.”

  My breath quickens. The room heats to a thousand degrees. Everything about this moment feels intimate. I should climb off of him. Release his arms and go back to my salad, but I don’t, not immediately, and I swear he senses the desire in my hesitation.

  “Lexi, I think we should wrestle later. Damn.” Trent waves his hand, exaggerating as he fans himself and sets down his cell.

  Shit. I practically jump off of Austin, my feet tangling as I climb away from his warm body. Embarrassment washes over me at the unprofessionalism of my actions. That and the fact I’m keyed up and turned on in front of an audience.

  Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I twist open the lid and drink in vain to cool off. I can’t bring myself to meet any of their gazes, most of all Austin’s.

  “Dude, she kicked your ass.” The mirth in Trent’s voice is clear. “She kicked it good.”

  Opal’s slight drawl holds astonishment. “I didn’t even see you go down.”

  “You and me both.” Austin releases a soft chuckle. “Jayla doesn’t play.”

  “I sure as fuck won’t be going near her food!” Sean snickers.

  “Jay? Grab me a water, too?” Austin says, drawing me back into the group. “Please.” His lips tip up, and for once it doesn’t feel as if he’s making fun. If anything, his stare holds more respect and admiration than I’ve ever witnessed from him.

  I ignore how that one look makes my stomach flip, and get him a water before re-joining the group. I take the empty chair and dig into my salad.

  “Send that to me?” Austin tips his chin at Trent.

  “Why? You gonna add it to your spank bank?” Trent jokes.

  “Maybe.” Austin smirks, drawing a roar of laughter from his bandmates.

  “Ignore these idiots. There a lot to take, but you get used to it,” Lexi meets my gaze across the table.

  “We’re like a bad case of chlamydia. At first it stings, but eventually you learn to live with us.” Austin grins.

  Leighton balks. “That’s a horrible analogy.”

  “It’s rather fitting, actually.” Trent lifts his beer to his mouth.

  Lexi shakes her head. “Comparing yourselves to an STD?”

  “Well, you can’t get rid of me, so yes?”

  She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss how she doesn’t appear put out by the idea of being stuck with Trent. They’ve only been together a year, but from what I read in the file, they are making the celebrity couple thing work. She swipes a slice of bread off Trent’s plate but meets my stare again. “It’s nice to have another woman in this circus.” She takes a bite. “Helps even out the testosterone.”

  “Plus, I love boobs.” Austin leans back into his seat at my right. Without looking, I feel the heat of his gaze on my body.

  “Seriously? You can’t say that. To her or anyone else.” Lexi throws her hands up, and then after a short silence, “I’m with Jayla. I don’t know how you still have a nose.”

  Austin grins. “It’s my face. How can you think of hitting something so beautiful?”

  “I can think of a few ways,” I grumble.

  “See! I love her.” Lexi’s laughter joins with everyone else. “Welcome to tour life, Jayla.”

  “Thank you. I’m happy to be here.” I sneak another glance at Austin and throw him some shade. “Mostly.”

  It’s enough to earn smiles around the table, and for the first time since I started this job, I decide it might actually hold some fun. I anticipated I’d be babysitting pretentious assholes. Famous divas. But these people act like family. Slightly crazy, but still family. I like the guys, and their girlfriends too. It almost feels as if I belong, and that’s something I didn’t expect.

  121

  Austin

  We’ve only been on the road a few hours and yet I’ve watched the video over a hundred times. Stalker-ish even, and yet and I can’t help myself as I cue it up again and revel in the way Jayla not only tackled, but flattened my ass to the floor of the bus as if I weren’t a grown man. Shit. That’s not only hot, it’s impressive as hell.

  There’s one thought on my mind, in a constant loop, and it’s figuring out a way to get her to do it again. Preferably a naked version, but even I’m not stupid enough to proposition her for such a thing.

  Yet.

  Then there was her threat. The one she leveled at me before we both became acutely aware of an audience and our circumstances. “Don’t touch my food. Or my body without permission.” The implication of those words doesn’t sit right in my gut. The possibility of her consent being violated is enough to drive me mad. The thought of anyone touching her without her permission fills my chest with a surge of anger and an impulse to protect. Illogical, since she’s the one who laid me out flat with her skills.

  My mind wanders to the other women in my life whose path might have ended much differently had they been equipped with the same skillset and confidence to fight off unwanted advances. Lexi. Jess. My—

  No, I won’t go there. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake the past from my head, focusing on the now. I can’t live with regrets. I refuse to.

  But every woman should know how to do what Jayla did. If they had those skills, how many unwanted advances, how much abuse, could be prevented? I’m sad that’s even a thought in my mind. If people wouldn’t use intimidation or abuse power—physical or psychological, then self-defense wouldn’t even be a need. At least in a perfect world.

  Jayla has the knowledge.

  I have the eager fan base.

  Maybe together we could make a change.

  That, right there, conjures the impetus to a brilliant plan. I’ll get her to make more videos with me. Voluntarily, even. Seriously, how have I not already thought of this? It’s a win-win. I’ll get to spend even more time with her, an
d we’ll do a hell of a lot of good in the process.

  From inside my sleep bunk, I immediately get to work. By the hum of the engine and soft snores, everyone else on board is asleep, but I can’t think of rest, not with the idea playing out in my mind. This is going to be huge; I feel it in my bones. It’ll go viral. I can’t see how it won’t.

  An hour later, I re-watch the video one final time. My eyes burn with fatigue, but I can’t look away. I edited this version to include cheesy sound effects as well as freeze frames of the different moves Jayla swiftly and expertly executed, marked from my research.

  Satisfied with how it looks, I turn on the light inside my bunk and flip my phone to selfie mode to record the final clip. I run a hand through my hair a few times and adjust the angle of the lens so the tatts on my bare chest are as much a focus as my face.

  “If you enjoyed this video and would like to see more, please tag a friend, share, and let me know. I’m ready and willing to happily volunteer my body as tribute—for teaching purposes, of course.” Keeping my voice low and hushed, I know the fans will eat this up. I wink and allow a grin to spread. “If you’d like to see us demonstrate more self-defense moves, make some noise in the comments. And of course, I’ll also give you an exclusive, inside look into how we stay entertained on the road.” My lips curve suggestively and I end the recording, making quick work of attaching it to the video.

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself and post the damn thing to all my social media accounts before settling into my pillow for a few hours of sleep.

  It’s a long shot. Aren’t they all? But something tells me Jayla’s competitive enough to rise to the challenge if this thing goes viral. And I have a feeling it will.

  The faint sounds of familiar voices, arguing and harsh with tension, register somewhere in the thick, sleepy haze of my mind.

  I snuggle into my pillow, pulling the sheets over my body as I turn, but before I drift back to sleep, my curtain is thrust open and light assaults my space.