by Jamie Shaw
“Yeah,” Shawn answers Adam. “I think we have to.”
Chapter Fifteen
ONCE, WHEN MY parents took our seven-person family to Florida for summer vacation when I was ten, we all packed ourselves into one giant hotel suite. It had two bedrooms, a small kitchen, and a modest living space. My parents got the first bedroom; I shared the second with Kale, Bryce, and Ryan; and Mason took the couch. We were all in awe of how big it was.
Van’s penthouse hotel suite, which is filled with the most decadent furnishings I’ve ever seen, could easily fit ten of that Florida suite within its two-story walls.
Crystal chandeliers sparkle from the ceiling, glinting off of black marble columns that stretch all the way to a black marble floor. A bar lines most of the left wall, and beyond that, tropical fish swim in a built-in aquarium that stretches halfway around the room. The water casts waves of light onto the diamond-dust bar top and across the floor, which steps down into a sunken seating area in the middle of the suite. Sparkling side tables, priceless antiques, plush leather couches—Van’s suite was built for a king, and the far wall proves it. Made entirely of glass, it boasts the glimmering Nashville skyline, a kingdom to be admired.
His Royal Highness’s private quarters are to the left of the suite, and in another room off to my right, I catch a glimpse of a lap pool as someone splashes into it. A hairspray-scented group of girls races by me, already giggling and tearing off their clothes, and in front of me, Van spins around. He faces me and the rest of my bandmates, spreading his arms wide with a proud smile on his face. “Mi casa.”
Someone turns on the music, and the entire suite comes to life. Van’s entourage doesn’t stop racing past me—girls, girls, guys with girls, more girls. I get jostled by one and step forward, angling my body to get a better look inside the pool room.
“If I put my arm around you again,” Van questions from beside me, “will I be safe from getting another wet willy?”
I straighten and shake my head. “Nope.”
He chuckles and throws his arm around me anyway, leading me to the bar and telling the guy who’s busy stacking liquor bottles on top of it to pour me something. Everyone else is helping themselves, pouring top-shelf tequilas like they’re nothing but unfiltered water. All of the guys but Shawn have dispersed throughout the room, and when he presses up against my other side, the air charges with a static that fizzles thickly in my throat.
“So on a scale of one to ten,” Van says, “what are my chances with you tonight?”
I turn toward him so that his arm drops from my shoulder, smirking at the overconfident grin he gives me. My back is pressed against Shawn’s front when I hook a thumb over my shoulder. “You realize Shawn has a better chance with me tonight than you do, right?”
Van glances at Shawn and laughs, but he has no idea how serious I’m being. He toasts my jab and tells me to have fun, and when he disappears, Shawn’s fingertips slip into the waistband of the tight jeans I’m wearing.
“On a scale of one to ten,” he echoes in my ear, “what are my chances with you tonight?”
With goose bumps skipping down the back of my neck, I turn around to meet his eyes, but instead, I catch myself staring at those impossibly soft lips. I know what they feel like against my neck, my shoulders, my chest. And I can think of a dozen other places I’d like to feel them.
When he leans in, I don’t stop him. I know that anyone could see us—Adam, Joel, Mike, any of the roadies we brought with us tonight—but I don’t have it in me to care. I’m lost in him, lost in some place I never fully escaped from and now never want to. His lips are a caress against mine, a promise that deepens until I’m drowning in it, and it isn’t until someone pops a bottle of champagne that the spell is broken. Shawn and I both jerk out of the trance we’re in, my heart hammering against my ribs as my eyes swing up to meet his shocked expression.
“Oh my God,” I blurt, and we both start chuckling. I look around to see if anyone saw us, but the only people looking our way—Shawn’s way—are a few scantily dressed groupies who undoubtedly caught our performance tonight and are patiently waiting their turn for his attention.
I’m glaring at them when Shawn’s lips press against my neck, making my toes curl. My fingers press into my palms, and I nibble my lip between my teeth.
“I’d rather be back on the bus right now,” he says, and I couldn’t agree more, but that doesn’t stop me from wondering why the hell two of those chicks are still staring at me—me, not Shawn. When they grin at each other and start walking my way, I can’t help feeling like a meal about to be made.
“I’m Nikki,” the taller one says when she’s finished stalking across the black marble floor. She’s only an inch or so taller than me, with hair as long as mine, a nose ring even sparklier than mine, and curves a hell of a lot curvier than mine. She’s one of the prettiest girls here, but not a single guy is hitting on her, and I’m guessing that’s for a damn good reason—she has Van’s groupie written all over her.
“And I’m Molly,” her shorter counterpart says. The girl is five foot even at best, and petite all over, with an eyebrow piercing and the most doe-like eyes I’ve ever seen. Both girls have fake lashes, fake nails, neon pink hair, and an air about them that says they’re well-taken care of.
“I’m . . . ” Confused, curious, lost. “Okay?”
Molly giggles. “Nice to meet you, Okay! We loved you at the show tonight. You’re like this hot dangerous sex kitten that can play the guitar even better than Asshat over there.” She nods across the room, to where Cutting the Line’s rhythm guitarist is drinking Cîroc straight out of the bottle, and then grins up at Shawn. “Isn’t that right, Shawn?”
It clicks in my head then, what those predatory smiles meant. They saw me kiss Shawn. They know Van. Van knows Adam, Joel, Mike.
Shit, shit, shit.
“Stop being a pain, Molly,” Nikki scolds. “Shawn, we’re borrowing Kit for a minute. Go take a cold dip in the pool or something.”
I follow them because I have no choice. They have unspoken blackmail, and I have everything to lose. Shawn and I aren’t ready for the world to know about us because, frankly, I’m not even sure there is an us. He likes me . . . I think. Or maybe he just likes kissing me. Maybe we’re friends with benefits.
God, are we friends with benefits? Am I a fuck buddy like Kale said?
The girls lead me through open glass doors out onto a balcony that has what I have no doubt is the best view in the city. The skyline twinkles before me, a collection of sparkling skyscrapers that don’t hold a candle to the magic-filled suite behind me. But out here, I’m swathed in shadow.
“So, you and Shawn—” Nikki starts, but the vulnerable girl I was with Shawn is still somewhere at his side, and I cut her off.
“What are we out here for?”
She looks through the glass wall separating the balcony from the suite. Everyone is laughing and carrying on in a frenzy of excitement, but her voice is apathetic when she says, “We were bored.”
“Are you and Shawn a thing?” Molly asks excitedly, but when she sees the worried look that must spread across my face, she scrambles to add, “Oh, don’t worry, we won’t tell!”
“It is a secret, right?” Nikki asks, and I give her a half confession.
“How’d you know?”
My question makes Molly scoff, and my head spins back in her direction. I’m going to need physical therapy for whiplash if these girls don’t stop answering for each other.
“We knew Joel and Dee were together before they even did.”
“You know Joel and Dee?”
“I got the first Dee original T-shirt creation there ever was!” Molly squeals, and Nikki smiles at her. “I love yours though. That shirt is so hot.”
I stare down at my cut-up purple shirt, feeling so weird being out here with two very girly girls. I think I’m supposed to act like a girl too, but, uh . . . how? “Thanks . . . ”
Nikki turns around and
leans back against the glass. In heels, booty shorts, and a curve-flattering belly-top, I’m sure she’s getting way more attention than the one-of-a-kind art pieces sprinkled throughout the suite. A breeze blows her hair back. “So why the big secret?”
“It’s complicated,” I answer truthfully. At first, we kept the secret for fun, but now, it’s for a million reasons—none of which seem quite good enough anymore. It’s because I have no idea what Shawn wants, and I don’t want to embarrass myself by asking. What if he says he wants us to stay a secret forever? What if he says he doesn’t? When he finds out I want more from him than he’s probably willing to give, will the kisses stop coming? Will it be another six years before he calls me again?
A reckless part of me almost wanted Adam or Joel or Mike to catch us when we were kissing. Then, it would’ve been out in the open, and it would’ve been out of my hands. Instead, it’s still a secret—and it’s still mine to keep.
“Oh, sweetie,” Nikki says, patting me on the shoulder. “It always is.”
I’M THANKFUL WHEN Adam appears a few minutes later, outside for a smoke break that interrupts the girls’ interrogation about me and Shawn. I practically drag him into the conversation, and Nikki and Molly behave themselves well enough for me to actually start to like them. They don’t seem as desperate for attention as the other girls here, but maybe that’s just because they don’t need to be.
We talk about touring and buses. We talk about Rowan and Dee. And when Adam’s cigarette is nothing but a dimming red cherry in the dark, he smashes it under his shoe and we all head back inside. The four of us pass by the sunken sitting area, where Van’s drummer and bass guitarist are hanging out with a cluster of other people. There’s smoke and bottles and paraphernalia on the table that I know better than to inspect too closely or ask questions about, and I let the pool room distract me as a wall of bubbles wraps itself around the laces of my boots. A hot tub in the corner is overflowing with half-naked chicks and vanilla-scented suds, and Nikki ignores the girls calling to her as she beelines straight for Van. He’s sitting on the opposite side of the pool, in a makeshift sitting area of leather couches and chairs that look like they’ve been moved from some other room. The other guys from my band are all with him—aside from Joel, who’s cannonballing into the pool. His splash arcs toward the ceiling, and my eyes travel up to the LED lights sprinkled in the deep blue concrete sky. The pool room is just as magical as the rest of the suite, even when the spray of chlorine-scented water wets the bottoms of my shredded black jeans.
“KIT!” Joel yells from the water, his voice bouncing through the cave-like room. “Get in!”
“Nuh-uh,” I say from the edge, shaking my head for extra emphasis.
He argues, argues, and stops. And then his eyes flit behind me and my training kicks in—all eighteen years of it that I got from living with Kale, Bryce, Mason, and Ryan. In one swift movement, I sidestep and spin, latching on to Adam’s reaching arms and using them to launch him into the pool.
I’m caught off guard when Molly grabs on to me, but end up laughing when she simply starts bouncing up and down, laughing hysterically as Adam’s head pops back out of the water. He’s laughing so hard he can barely breathe, and when Joel jumps onto his back and dunks him under, I’m pretty sure he might die.
I turn to Molly and shrug. “Serves him right.”
“I fucking love you!”
I jump out of the way of the splashes that come my way from Adam and Joel as I circle the pool, flicking them off when they boo me. Karma attempts revenge by making me slip and nearly eat floor, but Molly catches me at the last moment, and we both laugh as we cautiously finish maneuvering around the pool. When I get to the couches, I take the first seat I see, which also happens to be right next to Shawn. I’m propped on top of the plush leather arm of his couch when his fingers brush the suds away from my shins, traveling much higher on my leg than they need to. He gazes up at me, and the red in my cheeks boils to the surface.
“What are the boards for?” Molly asks about the mini dry-erase boards on each of the guys’ laps.
Shawn hands me his, and I give him a confused look as Van says, “You’ll see.” He gives Molly a playful smile, and then he pulls a megaphone from next to his leather chair. Where in the hell these guys got dry-erase boards and a freaking megaphone, I’m sure I’ll never know. “Okay! Contestant one!”
A member of the bikini brigade in the hot tub climbs out and positions herself at the arced entrance of the room. In a sparkling pink two-piece that’s covering her crotch, her nipples, and little else, she faces the pool and waits as Van chants, “On your mark! Get set! No!” Van chuckles as the chick jumps forward a step, tries to stop herself, and slips around like a newborn donkey on ice before he shouts, “Go! Go! Go!”
She’s barely regained her footing when she takes off running, her bouncing boobs threatening to knock her head right off her shoulders. She nearly slips again, catches her footing again, and makes a poor attempt at cannonballing into the pool. The guys are all unmerciful, holding up ones and twos as her wet blonde head emerges. When I realize everyone is staring at me expectantly, waiting for my score, I uncap my marker with my teeth.
“NO. JUST NO.” is what my sign says when I finally lift it above my head. The guys all laugh, the girl giggles like she’s cute, and I roll my eyes as she makes a show of climbing up the ladder of the pool, her bikini bottoms pinched between tan ass cheeks that are pushed out for Van’s benefit.
“NEXT!” he shouts, simultaneously curling his finger at a different girl in the pool. No questions asked, she hauls herself out of the water and rushes to his side. “Grab me something to drink, will you?”
She turns toward the bar like it’s her privilege to serve, and even though it’s a total bitch move, I seize the opportunity before she gets too far. “Me too!” I shout, and when she turns back around, Van gives me an appreciative smile before smacking her on her ass.
“Her too.”
Nikki, sitting on Van’s lap as he pays attention to every girl but her, hooks her fingernail under his chin and stares down at him until she’s the only girl in the room. When she kisses him, I look anywhere else, accidentally meeting Shawn’s eyes while my cheeks are flushing as red as the next contestant’s bikini. It’s decorated with tons of polished hardware, and when it’s clear Van’s thoroughly preoccupied, his lead guitarist picks up the megaphone and shouts, “GO!”
Van tears his lips from Nikki to watch the second contestant frolic the length of the floor, stop at the edge, and pinch her nose. She jumps in toes-first—in a cannonball competition—and I’m left sitting there with my face scrunched up and my head shaking in disgust.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask, but when her top floats back up without her—yanked off by her pathetic splash—most of the guys start cheering. They hold up eights and nines as the girl covers herself with one arm and tries to catch her drifting top with the other. Adam—fully clothed, dripping wet, and sitting on the side of the pool—covers his eyes while Joel lifts it with two fingers and launches it in the girl’s direction before she can get too close to him.
Another few pathetic jumps. Another few pathetic scores.
“I think we need some kind of incentive,” Molly suggests as she squeezes onto the arm of the couch with me. I inch over to make room, but she continues nudging me until I have to grab on to Shawn to keep from tumbling into his lap. I catch myself just in time—
And squeal when he tugs me the rest of the way.
“The winner should get to spend the night with Mike,” Nikki suggests with a mischievous undertone to her voice, and Mike’s protests are lost under the volume of Van’s megaphone. I might have been able to help back him up if I wasn’t so busy trying to act normal, like being on Shawn’s lap in front of everyone isn’t making my heart want to explode.
“Highest score gets a night with Mike!” Van shouts, laughing when Mike makes a play for the megaphone.
I laugh too
, quieting when I realize how much it makes me wiggle on Shawn’s lap. Adam and Joel don’t even seem to notice us, but when I glance up at Molly, I can tell she knocked me off the arm of the couch on purpose. She winks at me, and Shawn’s middle fingers thread through my belt loops, his thumbs caressing the sensitive skin under my top.
“NEXT!” Van shouts again, and I take the drink his groupie finally brings me, sucking it down to calm my nerves. I’m on Shawn’s lap, struggling to breathe evenly as he touches me like he doesn’t even care who sees us.
The next few girls to compete are all just as pathetic as the first—some in bikinis, some in skimpy underwear. One falls. One suddenly realizes she can’t swim—after she jumps in the water. And the rest barely manage a splash because they probably don’t even break a hundred pounds.
“NEXT!” Van shouts once again, and a girl in a blue bikini, with implants bigger than my head, climbs out of the hot tub. She makes a show of rubbing the suds from her body in the brightest spot of the room.
“Oooh, she’s pretty,” Molly says. “What about her, Mike? I think she’s winning.”
“She’ll probably float,” he argues, and I chuckle against Shawn. He pulls me tighter against the ridges of his body, giving me one big reason to bite my tongue—and my bottom lip. It’s all I can do to not beg him to take me somewhere private so we can finish what we’ve started.
“You ready, sweetheart?” Van asks the G-cup groupie, and she nods her tiny head.
“GO!”
I expect her to rush, and hopefully fall, but instead, she’s unhurried and confident. She walks to the edge of the pool, curls her fingers under her bikini top, and lifts it up over her designer breasts. At least ten jaws fall to the floor, including mine, and then earsplitting cheers and hollers fill the room. Dry-erase boards start flying up, all with giant tens on them, and while everyone is distracted, Shawn’s fingers slide up and trace the underwire of my bra. When I gaze down at him, his molten green eyes are only for me, and my heart skips into my throat.
