Everything I Have (Everything I Want #3)

by Natalie Barnes

  “How are you doing?”

  “I’m fine…” I drawl.

  I keep my eyes locked on him as I press against the vanity. The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes turns to silts. The sight of his cocky grin teases my clit. My teeth pull at my bottom lip to suppress a groan. I know damn well he’s watching my thighs. Take that, fucker. With my nerves in total recall, my outer appearance plays it cool. I think? I hope…

  “Didn’t shower yet?” he asks, leaning in casually, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt.

  “No.”

  His grin turns up slightly more, the white of his teeth peeking through his lips. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, leaving only his top lip showing. His strong jaw is covered in a few days’ length, which is laced with thick brown hair.

  Tristan steps closer, lazily throwing his hip to the side as he stalks his way into my space. I don’t move, but feel my body’s energy starting to rise the closer he gets to me. He places a hand on each side of my head, framing my face, then gently tugs back the pieces of hair. His dark eyes stare down at me adoringly as his mouth holds that sexy, shit smirk of his.

  He exhales through his nose over my neck as he bends in even farther over me, molding my body to how he wants me to be. Taking hold of his biceps, my grip loosens the more lost I become in him. Just him holding my head and feeling his breaths on my skin sends a rush of pleasure to my core. Everything loses gravity in a split moment over my body as the rush spread through.

  Tristan’s hands loosen their hold on the side of my head and his fingers begin to comb through my hair. He drops his hands to my shoulders, lowering them down the sides of my arms, coming to a stop when he reaches my hips.

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Peeking up at him as he towers over me, I don’t say or show anything, but stare up at him while my arms reach for the hem. Keeping my eyes on him, I raise the shirt above my head then let it slide down one arm right off onto the floor. I’m standing here in front of him bare-chested and wearing a pair of black cotton sleep shorts I pretty much use as panties.

  Standing there not bold, but not timid either, I watch Tristan through my lashes. A sharp hiss escapes his lips. His face looks as if he were in pain as his eyes take in every inch of me. My hands clasp together in front of me resting below my belly button, my index fingers pushing against each other.

  “Why?” he breathes.

  Pinching my eyebrows together, my eyes scan over his face.

  “Why?” I ask, confused.

  Why, what? Tristan closes his eyes for a moment before, catching me off guard, he wraps his arms around me and crushes me into his chest.

  “Why me?” he asks, his voice raw.

  Not giving my fucked up head a chance to think, my lips move with my heart.

  “Because, I love you.”

  My eyes scan over his. Something happens then. I can’t explain what, but that’s it. Something in my being actually tears open. It feels like it does for him, too. Our wounds pour into each other; he’s in me and I’m in him. Then he kisses me... eyes shut tight, lost in everything, kisses me. By the time our “kiss” ended, we didn’t get out of the house until almost eight.

  ************

  Stepping onto the jet, I smile when I see my boys spread out. Thank fuck Lux let us take it. Jared and Gunner are setting up at the table in the far right corner, while Roger is leaning against the bar with his ankles crossed, chatting with Dave and Caleb who are sitting on the sofa against the wall beside him. Jeff and Matt are on the other couch, Matt on his phone and Jeff joining the conversation with Jared and Gunner, yawning after every couple words.

  I kind of feel bad. I mean, we were supposed to have taken off already, but by the time Tristan and I got here, everyone had been waiting for almost an hour. I blame pregnancy, is all I gotta say. A full-blown smile spreads across my face when I see the curtain thrown open in front of me, and lo and behold, Frankie steps through in black silk pajama pants with a matching black tank and a captioned hat on his head.

  He salutes me then winks.

  “Welcome aboard!” He circles his wrist in the air as if he were showing off something like those women do on The Price Is Right, then stretches his arms out in front of him, pointing to the door that leads to the only private quarters on the plane. “Your room is to the rear, with mile high VIP access.” He winks again.

  Damn it! Can’t tell Frankie shit. My eyes narrow on him. I kind of told him one time when I was drunk about the flight back to L.A. from Hawaii… he almost came.

  I shake my head at him and laugh as I make my way over to the other side of Jeff and take a seat. Tristan walks by me and heads over to the bar, stepping up behind Roger.

  “Want anything?” he asks me.

  “Water’s fine.”

  Tristan bends down and opens the door. Roger stops talking for a moment and stills, kind of looking uncomfortable.

  “Sophia,” he says then glances behind him real quick, peeking at Tristan grabbing a couple of things. “Since you’re gonna be a mom and shit, I know the partying will have to cut back since we’ll have a little dude with us… but is it all right that I give ’er one last round?”

  He shoves his fist through the air when he says “give ’er”. Aw my. Damn hormones. Just the fact that Roger is picturing the baby being around warms my heart. Smiling back at him, I tilt my head to the side.

  “Give ’er away, man,” I tell him, then give him a nod.

  His unsure grin slowly widens, his eyes alight. Fucking alcoholic.

  “Right on!”

  He pounds his fist on the bar, then spins around, grabs his phone, and walks up to the front of the plane. A minute later, he grins as he walks back over to the bar. He leans over it, his curly ponytail sliding off his shoulder, and grabs a bottle of Patron.

  “Time for a fucking toast!”

  He yanks the top off the bottle and raises it in the air just as the Team America World Police theme song starts playing over the speakers. The jet’s engines grow louder as it gets closer to take off. Jared gets up from the table and grabs another bottle.

  “Dollar Settlement and you guys,” Roger laughs, looking at Tristan first before scanning the rest of the jet. “About to give Europe a most epic fucking show. And, to all those European guts that need to be pushed!”

  “Here, here.” Jared agrees as they each take a shot from their bottles.

  The other guys laugh and clap a couple times, agreeing with them, too. Gawd, that’s gross, but funny. Tristan walks over to me and hands me my water before sitting at the edge of the sofa, his legs instantly sprawling out. Each bottle takes off counter-clockwise around the group, everyone taking a swig from it.

  Gross. I wouldn’t have noticed it before because I would’ve been there doing it right along with them, but now all I can think about are germs. But I love the fact that my band is including the baby already and are willing to sacrifice how they do things on tour… at least while my child is around. But, still. They deserve to have a good time now.

  The next ten hours are filled with jokes and some drunk guys trying to walk the small aisle up and down and falling over each other. Roger picks Jared up from behind, holding onto his torso and legs. He leans over so it looks like Jared’s about to snap like a twig over his back. Tears well up in my eyes from laughing so hard at them, but after the fifth hour, I already feel tired again. I just can’t stay up anymore. I mean, I’ve been up since four this morning and now it’s going on one. Well, one L.A. time. I don’t know where we’re over right now to give local time.

  Ryan, who wasn’t out here when I first came on board, snuck out when I totally didn’t expect it. It actually kind of spooked me. It’s always those damn quiet ones. I don’t think he’s as drunk as some of the other guys, but he’s pretty toasted, smiling and chatting with some of us.

  He normally just chills back and puts in his two cents here and there, but his eye is now on Frankie. Frankie has been passed out on the opp
osite sofa for over an hour, his ear buds in to block out the obvious noise of drunk Roger. The way Ryan is watching him now brings back memories of junior high school sleepovers. You know. If you were the first one to pass out… it was game over.

  I look up at Tristan, leaning my head back against his shoulder.

  “I think I’m gonna crash,” I say, yawning.

  His eyes study mine.

  “Okay. I’ll be in later.”

  He bows his head and presses his lips against mine. When he lifts up, I grip the bottom of the cushion to push myself up. Roger is sitting at the table with Jared and Gunner and they’re playing some card game with Caleb taking the fourth spot.

  I glance back over my shoulder. Tristan’s eyes are locked on me as Jeff keeps on talking to him about something, not even noticing that Tristan isn’t even paying attention to him. I turn back around and head for the bedroom. The boys tuck in their feet as I pass by.

  “Crashing, Sophie?” Roger asks as I walk by him, grinning ear to ear as Primus’s Wynona’s Big Brown Beaver jams transistor-style from his phone.

  “Yeppers,” I smile back, giving his solid shoulder a pat. Roger nods, then looks back down at his cards.

  As I slide the door open, Roger’s buzzed laughter booms all around and so does the other guys’, at whatever. The sound of it brings a blanket of comfort over me. My fingers hook through the handle and begin to slide the door closed. I admire Tristan’s profile one last time as he leans over, resting his forearms on his thighs as he talks with Caleb, who is sitting opposite him on the other sofa. My eyes skip over to Caleb one more time before I shut the door.

  He’s been kind of… off. He still smiles widely all the time, his lip ring always pushing out every time he does. But his eyes. I don’t know. I shake my head. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. Maybe I’m just freaking because we’re halfway through our first tour off the new album and other than getting pregnant, everything has actually been pretty good.

  Taking a seat at the edge of the full sized bed, I slip my boots off one at a time and crawl up. The tiny bed is immediately inviting and once my side hits the bed, it’s on. When I wake, it’s dark in the cabin. Trying to adjust my eyes to the light, I feel around for my phone. My fingertips knock into it and it falls off the bed.

  “Shit,” I whisper, leaning over.

  I rest the palm of my hand on the coarse carpet and reach under the bed for my phone. The brightness from the glow temporarily blinds me when I turn it on. Squinting, I check the time. Holy shit! I’ve been passed out for almost five hours.

  Crawling the rest of my way off the bed, I stumble for a moment when I get up to the door. My head is heavy with too much sleep. Shining my phone downward so I can see the handle to the door, I pull it open.

  The side of my mouth curls up when I see all the boys and even Tristan, crashed. Tristan and Jeff are still on the left sofa, Jeff’s body hunched over with his hat tipped forward and Tristan, ah, my big man. His body is slouched and his knees separated with his boots firmly planted on the floor. His arms are crossed over his muscular chest, his t-shirt straining against it. The sight makes me want to touch him.

  I glance around at the rest of the guys all passed out. Pulling up my phone, I face Tristan again and take the first picture, then after him I press record and turn in a small circle. When I come back around to Tristan, his eyes are open and he’s watching me. I jump at the surprise which causes Dave, behind me, to stir.

  “What in the fuck?” Frankie screeches behind me, giving me another little heart attack.

  My head whips around and Frankie is standing up, holding his tank out, away from his body.

  “Who’s the fucking piece of camel shit?” he screeches again.

  “What, Frankie?” I ask him, stepping in closer to get a look.

  Some kind of syrup or honey looks like it was poured down the front of his top.

  “Well, on a positive note... good thing you trim,” I say, pointing at his underarms while trying to hold my smile. “It could’ve been a lot worse.”

  Frankie looks at me like I’ve just barfed on him. Then he twists his neck around, his mouth pursed tight as he scowls at Roger.

  “You did this, motherfucker!” His head snaps, his blonde hair waving.

  Roger looks hung over as he blinks his eyes open.

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” he mumbles.

  “This was a Derek Rose!”

  “What do you mean, was? Just fucking wash it,” Matt laughs as he heads to the bathroom, giving me a nod as he passes.

  “You can’t just wash fucking cashmere!” He stomps his foot.

  Cashmere? Here I thought it was something else. Well, I don’t know. It looked really soft and smooth, though. Now it clings tightly to Frankie’s chest.

  “Frankie, I’ll just pick you up a new one,” I reassure him to try and calm him down, but he shakes his head at me.

  “No, sweetie. This has nothing to do with you. This is pure evil from somebody with no fashion sense.”

  “All right then, since no one is gonna fess up, I’m just gonna have to take out every single one of you,” Frankie says, his voice deepening with dark threat.

  Whoa. I’ve never heard Frankie’s voice go that low. I guess when you fuck with his clothes, you bring that shit out of him.

  “What are you gonna do, Frankie? Mascara me?” Roger laughs, and I glance over at Ryan, who is sitting quietly in the corner, with a knowing smirk on his face. Maybe I should tell Frankie later it was most likely Ryan, but it’s too funny watching him and Roger battle it out.

  “Fuck me gently in the ass with a chainsaw,” Frankie spits at him.

  Roger’s face twists up in what looks like disgust as the other guys laugh at Frankie’s blunt comment. Europe is gonna be a blast.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Tristan

  The weeks over here seem like they pass in a blink. Watching Sophia’s reaction to every city we’ve stopped in has been fucking priceless. In France, she wanted to hit up every sweet shop that she could manage in such short time. I asked her about her nausea and she just said she didn’t give a shit. I think she regretted those words one time, though, when that last éclair she devoured made its way back up somewhere around the Louvre.

  In England, while the guys wanted to hang at the pubs, Sophia and I did all the touristy shit, which I never did when I came over before. It’s the cutest fucking thing watching my girl snapping pictures with her phone, watching those big blue eyes of hers light up when she recognizes things. And it wouldn’t be Sophia if she didn’t act out every scene from National Lampoon’s European Vacation. She makes me laugh.

  Now we’re in Berlin for a small gig tonight, then we fly back out right afterwards. Most of the gigs this time around have been smaller ones than my band usually plays, and I know Sophia is grateful.

  Right before we left, we met up with her doctor to confirm the pregnancy again. At that time, she was eleven weeks or so. Now she’s about fifteen. With looser tops, you still can’t tell a damn thing, but when Sophia tries to wear her regular t-shirts or tanks, or anything tight, that baby is starting to show, and I fucking love it.

  “Get Caleb,” I say to Dave, who’s sitting across from me in the room.

  His shins bump the coffee table as he ties his hair in a knot on the top of his head.

  “Damn it,” he mutters.

  I look back out the window and the sky is gray. Everything below looks damp.

  “What up,” Caleb mumbles, slumping down in the wingback chair to my left. His arms hang over the sides.

  “After we’re done here, I’m heading out,” I tell him.

  “You guys ain’t waiting ’til tomorrow?”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. “Other than some local shit, I’m just going to chill with my girl until the baby is born.”

  Caleb nods, his grin widening.

  “That’s fucking dope, man.”

  I give him a half-grin ba
ck.

  “I know.”

  “I guess I’ll just fucking chill, too! I may go with a couple old buddies of mine and crash in Vegas in March. Other than that, I’ll probably just hang at the pier. You know,” he shrugs.

  Caleb was born and raised in Long Beach, Even though he’s had a couple condos here and there, he’s still never bought his own place there. He either crashes on his buddies' couches or at his parents’ place.

  “Knock, fucking, knock!” Roger laughs, pretending to knock on an invisible door. “I got to ask you guys something.”

  He glances around the room then looks at Caleb and me. “Where is everybody?”

  “I don’t know. Around.”

  “Whatever,” he shrugs and takes a seat on the arm of the couch. “You know how, since we’ve been over here, you guys have been doing Pieces Undone for the encores?”

  “Yeah...?”

  Roger grins and looks over at Caleb.

  “So check this fucking shit out. My band already talked it over and we think it’s pretty sweet.”

  “Oh, really?” I smirk at him, raising my left eyebrow up.

  “Yeah, for real. Sophia didn’t get a hold of you yet?”

  He sounds kind of surprised. No, she didn’t. I haven’t seen her since this morning when she left with Frankie to go and have breakfast. Roger rolls his eyes, shaking his head.

  “Anyways, at the end of our shows, we usually pick a good song by bands we like and mix it up for the encore, but this time we have something fucking sweet planned. And it will work for the size of the club.”

  Roger’s voice gets louder the more pumped he gets. Caleb and I exchange looks as he stabs the air with the flat of his hand as if he were doing a karate chop.

  “Got a hold of this wicked shop here in town and they have fucking Killer Klown costumes and shit.” He shrugs, smiling at me, then Caleb. “So we were wondering, if you guys would, you know, rock the fucking suits. Maybe get a couple squirt guns or whatever they have and fill those suckers up with Absinthe.”