by Vi Keeland
“I can understand why no one brings their wives and girlfriends on for the whole tour,” I say to Mick as we reach the bar and order two shots. We’re the first two from the band here.
The bartender pours two tequila shots and Mick lifts one into the air with a toast. “Over the gums and down the hatch, keep the wives at home and collect the snatch.”
I drink to his anthem with a chuckle, but then step out on a limb. “How is all that gonna work when Lucky’s shacked up in the bus permanently?”
“It’ll slow Dylan down, that’s for damn sure. But I’d bet the bus it doesn’t stop him from his visits with Jamie.”
“Jamie?” I don’t let on that Duff has already filled me in.
“Retired porn star. Been seeing her for a decade. Mark my words, Ryder will go missing one night while we’re here in Sin City.” He motions to the bartender for another round. “No ring is going to change that shit.”
Ring? A figure of speech, I hope. “Him and Lucky aren’t engaged.”
“Not yet. Think he’s planning on popping the question when we get out to LA.”
I only realize how much I drank when I stand to go in search of a men’s room and stumble up the step from the sunken bar. Turning back, I curse the step. “Who put that fucking thing there?”
Shit just goes downhill from there. Returning to the bar, I find Dylan, his arm wrapped around Lucky’s tiny waist. Even the simple touch bothers me tonight. Maybe it’s the familiarity his hands have on her body, I’m not really sure, but I find myself staring at his fingers. I’ve known what I was getting myself into from the get-go, yet anger bubbles from within tonight.
A petite young woman with dark hair, tan skin and pale blue eyes works at capturing my attention from a few feet away. Her eyes are so pale, with lashes so thick and dark, they hold me captive for a beat too long. She smiles, her tongue swiping over her glossed lips, then she leans in and whispers something to her friend.
My attention is diverted from the pretty little lady when Dylan says something to Lucky I can’t hear and then kisses her on the lips. The alcohol has slowed my response time and, when he releases her mouth, he turns and finds me staring. His eyes meet mine, and in some sort of unspoken challenge, he turns back to Lucky and kisses her again. Really kisses her.
I clutch the beer bottle in my hand so tightly I’m surprised it doesn’t break. Pale Eyes calls my attention away from the car accident in front of me. “Are you…Flynn Beckham?”
“That’s me.” I smile¸ turning on the charm. “And you are…let me guess…the woman with the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen.”
Pale Eyes giggles innocently, but the way she’s looking at me is in stark contrast to the sound. “I have tickets to the show tomorrow night.” She takes a step closer and runs the nail of her pointer finger down my chest.
It’s been a while, but it’s just like riding a horse…so to speak. “And what are your plans for tonight?”
Her eyes light up and she cocks her head coyly. “Whatever you want.”
Duff chuckles next to me. “Don’t forget your old pal Duff.” He turns to Pale Eyes’ friend and says, “You and me should probably stay with them. Looks like they could use a chaperone.”
If I wasn’t feeling like such a selfish bastard at the moment, Lucky’s face would shred me alive. Instead, I focus on the hand still wrapped possessively around her waist. I raise my eyes to meet hers before speaking to Pale Eyes, although my gaze doesn’t leave Lucky’s. “I’m starving. Haven’t had anything to eat since this morning. What do you say we get out of here and take care of my appetite?”
Who knew blowing off a woman would be more difficult than picking her up? After a quick bite to eat, Duff is steering the ladies back to the hotel room we’re sharing tonight, only I have no desire to join in on the festivities.
The elevator dings and the doors slide open at our floor. “Think you can host the party without me for a little while?” I ask, my arm holding the door in its pocket, allowing the trio to step out of the car, but I don’t join them.
“You’re not coming?” Pale Eyes giggles. “I was hoping we’d both be coming.”
“I need to take care of something. Duff will entertain you while I’m gone. Right, Duff?”
Slinging an arm around each woman’s neck, he grins from ear to ear. “You won’t even know he’s gone. I’m that good at entertaining.”
I remove my arm, letting the elevator glide closed. After an hour with those two, I’m positive neither will be upset I have no plan on returning. A night with any member of the band and a signed-postcard departing gift would be enough. The face that came with the evening wasn’t important to them.
Inside the lobby bathroom, I splash water on my face and stare at myself in the mirror. What the fuck am I doing? Everything I’ve ever wanted is right in front of me. Playing to sold-out stadiums, women with expectations of nothing more than a good time, traveling with a band of guys who are as passionate about music as I am. And I’m doing what? Leaving a very ready and beautiful woman and instead fucking up the chance of a lifetime by going down on the lead singer’s girl while he sleeps five feet away.
Inhaling a deep breath, I gather my thoughts, tuck them away in the back of my mind and do the only thing I know I won’t regret doing in the morning. Getting shitfaced in the bar.
The next morning I wake sprawled between two chairs in the dark lounge. Vaguely, I remember Brett trying to get me to vacate the bar at closing time, but by then I wasn’t even capable of putting one foot in front of the other. A wad of bills stuffed in the bartender’s hand later, I was in the quiet, dark bar—just me and my good old friend Jack. Daniels, to be specific.
A jolt of pain grips my skull as I straighten to upright. The new position arouses the slumbered headache that’s been lurking in the back of my head. “Fuck,” I grumble. My mouth taste like shit, my body aches from sleeping on a goddamn chair, and if the empty bottle wasn’t next to me reminding me of just how much I drank last night, there’s a good chance I’d think I had a brain aneurysm detonating in my head right now. Not to mention, my bladder might explode if I don’t get my shit together and go in search of a bathroom.
Elbows on my knees, I drop my head into my hands and let a string of curses fly before finally standing my ass up. What the hell time is it anyway?
The artificial light in the hallway causes a throb behind my eyeballs. That’s new. I squint to shield my retinas from the fluorescent glow and find the nearest bathroom. After relieving myself of a gallon of alcohol, I realize it’s still early in the morning and I haven’t slept for very long. Unfortunately, my natural alarm clock doesn’t seem to have an off button, and has gotten me up somewhere between drunk and hung over. You’re supposed to sleep through this shit.
Not surprisingly in the city that never sleeps, the lobby is alive. People come and go, some still sporting the dressed-up attire of the night before, others looking ready to start a new day. “Coffee?” I ask the woman at the front desk. She directs me to a nearby Starbucks inside the hotel.
I stop at the glass front door, peering in for a long moment before Lucky even sees me. Her eyes jump at the sound of the bells rattling to announce a new customer. Her beautiful face looks conflicted, a mix of relief and uneasiness. Exactly the way my insides feel. She offers a hesitant smile and drops her eyes to the table in front of her. Two coffee cups.
“Good morning,” she offers uncertainly when I make my way over.
“That for me or your boyfriend?” My voice is flat, battling against the unevenness I feel inside of me.
She flinches. “It’s for you.”
I nod and take the seat across from her. We stare at each other, me trying desperately to hold on to my dignity and her reflecting back the pain I’d been clinging to as an excuse to wallow away my own sins since last night. The weight of the silence becomes too heavy. “Sleep good?”
“Not really. You?”
“Barely at all. I might hav
e went at it a little too hard last night.”
The facade she was putting up crumbles as she stares at me, speechless. Her lips screw in disgust. She abruptly stands. “I realize I’m not one to talk, but I don’t need to hear the sordid details.” She’s striding away before I can replay exactly what I said that she misinterpreted.
Fuck.
I grab her arm. “I meant I went at drinking a little too hard last night.”
Her face changes, but the anger only softens to hurt. The pain in her voice causes my chest to ache. “I’m sorry. I don’t have any right…I…I should go,” she whispers.
“I slept in the bar last night. By myself.”
Her eyes are weary. “You don’t have to explain…”
“I know I don’t. But I want to.” I lean in and lower my voice. “I watched him kiss you and I wanted to hurt you back.” I search her eyes. “Did it hurt to think of me being with another woman?”
Her eyes are so expressive, she doesn’t even need to respond verbally. “Yes.”
“Then stay. Have coffee with me. Let me show you that starting our day off together is the way it’s supposed to be for us.”
She holds my gaze. I watch as a million thoughts fly through her mind until she lands on the one that matters. A small, but genuine smile tempts her lips and she sits back down. I breathe again.
We spend the next few hours sipping coffee and falling back into our daily routine. The hurt and fear behind us, I hate to leave our little bubble. I chance getting caught and weave her fingers with mine on top of the table before I speak softly. “I need you to choose. No more hiding. I want to kiss the hell out of you in public, whenever I want.”
Her eyes jump to me. I’m determined to stand strong, keeping my gaze fixed and resolute. “We’re leaving Vegas tomorrow night and then there’s a break for a few days once we hit California. I want you all to myself. Go away with me. Tell him it’s over before then. We’ll figure it out after that. But I need you to choose, Lucky.”
She considers my words, or more likely, the words I’m not saying. Choose me, or choose him. One or the other, because there’s no going back anymore. We’ve crossed the blur line.
Uncertainly, she nods. I walk away with a knot in my stomach, knowing what she’s likely walking into in L.A., if she doesn’t choose me. Ryder is planning on making things permanent.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Lucky
Dylan has never been a neglectful boyfriend, but the flip side is, he’s also not a very doting boyfriend either. Until today. It’s almost as if he senses I’m on the threshold of making a decision about us and has decided to pull out all the stops. Or maybe he just feels guilty about having to leave tonight after the show for a business meeting up north with sponsors.
“I made us reservations for noon today. We have to be downstairs a half hour before that.”
“Okay. I’ll jump in the shower. What are we doing?”
“Helicopter ride over Grand Canyon.”
“Really?” I’ve never been in a helicopter and it’s been years since I visited the Grand Canyon.
“Yep.” He smiles. “Figured between the bus and the hotels, you could use a little outdoors today.”
“I love the Grand Canyon. My dad and I went camping there when I was fifteen. We’d always talked about going back someday, but never got around to it.”
“I know.” Dylan walks to me and wraps his arms around my waist. “I remember you telling me about it. Your whole face lit up, so I figured it would be a good choice for today. I haven’t been making you smile enough lately. I’m going to work on that over the next week.” He leans down and kisses me softly. “Go get ready, I know how long you can take.”
I let the shower rain down on me, the heavy massaging pulses of water working to loosen my tense shoulder muscles. Hanging my head, I stare blankly at the water swirling around the drain. Dylan’s right, he hasn’t made me smile lately, but the truth is, I haven’t given him the chance since the day Flynn Beckham walked into my life. Maybe today is just what we need. Just what I need to finally know I’m making the right decision as the bus rolls on to California tomorrow.
“We camped right down there!” I point to a clearing along the river’s edge, yelling over the whirl of the chopper. There’s a microphone built into the headset I’m wearing so that the pilot, Dylan and I can all hear each other.
Dylan reaches for my hand. “Maybe we’ll go back one day.”
The pilot dips to the left, taking my stomach with him and making me smile. Dylan catches my eye. “There it is. It’s been hiding on me lately.” He cups my face with his hand and runs his thumb back and forth on my cheek. The contact feels…nice.
The pilot’s voice comes over our headset as he points out spectacular views—the Hoover Dam, Bypass Bride, Black Canyon. He brings us over an extinct volcano and then flies deep within the canyon for otherworldly views of the Colorado River running between multihued rock formations that are millions of years old.
I look down in awe of the natural beauty, a gift thoughtfully given by the man I’ve called my boyfriend for almost a year, and think to myself, the shade of blue in the shallow part of the river is almost the exact same as Flynn’s eyes. It’s at this moment I realize that although my brain may not have caught up yet, my heart has already made its decision.
The ride back to the hotel in the town car is quiet. Dylan’s gaze is troubled when he calls my attention back from where I’m lost staring out the window. “Is everything okay, Lucky?” His forehead puckers to a frown that matches his lips.
“Yes,” I lie. “I’m just tired. I’ve been having trouble sleeping. Guess I’m not used to being on the road anymore.”
“It takes a while. But you’ll get the hang of it. You need to stop getting up so early. You get out of bed like you’re anxious to start the day.”
I force a smile. “I’m just a morning person.”
“Guess it’s a good thing one of us is. Will come in handy when we have kids someday.”
The frightened look on my face makes him frown. “What’s wrong? You do want kids, don’t you?”
“Sure. Someday. But that day is a long time away.”
“I don’t want to be forty-five when I start to have kids.”
The ten-year age difference between us has never mattered. “I’m nowhere near ready to have a baby, Dylan.”
“We’ll have to negotiate that one.”
“Negotiate?”
“Yeah.” He raises my hand and pulls it to his lips, kissing the top as we pull up in front of the hotel. “Would it really be the worst thing in the world if you were pregnant now?”
Yes. It most certainly would.
I watch the show from my usual place on the floor, taking note of the jam-packed venue. Only a month ago, Easy Ryder wasn’t selling out places as big as the MGM Grand Garden. Now ticket scalpers are getting twice the face value because the demand has spiked so high. Women in the audience are sporting T-shirts I’ve never seen before—the face of Flynn Beckham, not the usual Easy Ryder concert tee.
There’s a noticeable shift in the air when Flynn sings the songs he leads. An energy that seemed to have been missing prior to his arrival. There’s no playful banter between songs, like Linc and Dylan have, it’s more of a necessary evil that Dylan tolerates. I watch Dylan’s face as the crowd shrieks in delight when the limelight passes to Flynn for a song—he definitely doesn’t appreciate all the newfound attention going to someone else.
After the show, I take my time going backstage, knowing that Dylan is being whisked off for his late-night dinner with the sponsor. He didn’t ask me to join him tonight and I purposefully avoid running into him before he leaves so he doesn’t have time to extend an invitation at the last minute.
I check in with Brett and tell him I’m going to hop in the first limousine that shuttles back to the hotel. Cars run back and forth after the show, taking roadies and guys from the band with their guests wherever they wa
nt to go. It all gets coordinated through the tour manager.
Avoiding the lounge area backstage, already filled with excited groupies, I slip out the black door and into the black stretch limousine that pulls up outside. The driver tells me it will just be a minute or two while he waits for a few more passengers that Brett radioed him to expect momentarily.
I’m texting back and forth with Avery when the door flies open and a man hops in. It startles me, but I quickly see why he’s running. A gaggle of women are chasing after Flynn. He turns, not expecting to find anyone inside the sizeable back seat, and when he sees me sitting across from him, his trademark slow, lazy, smile washes across his face and he arches one eyebrow expressively.
“To the hotel, please. Too many fans out here.”
The limousine pulls away just as Duff is walking out with one of the roadies and a few women.
“Waiting for me?”
I roll my eyes. “No. Running to me?”
He grins. “Always.”
We stare at each other, and I watch the change in him occur right before my eyes. His mischievous smile turns heated, bordering on predatory. He calls to the driver, without breaking our gaze, “Can you drop us at the Wynn, please?
We’re staying at the Bellagio a mile away. “In the mood to gamble?”
He shakes his head.
“See a show?”
Another slow shake.
“Dance?”
That’s not it either.
“Dinner?”
“Only if we’re having breakfast for dinner.”
Oh my.
Neither of us says a word as Flynn whisks me from the reception desk to a suite, flipping the key around between his fingers impatiently as we board the elevator. When the elevator fills and half the panel illuminates with floors to stop at, he blows out an audible breath of frustration.
