by Cari Quinn
Or so she’d believed.
And was he using the money she’d given him for rent to place bets? Her gut said no, but then again, she’d never thought she would have to rescue him from an alleyway either. Addiction was capable of affecting anyone. Even smart, savvy, level-headed, controlled guys like Ry.
And capable of controlling you, just the way you like it.
She forced back a shudder as she opened the door to the bus. Nope, she couldn’t do this yet. Couldn’t go inside and face an empty bus and know that Ryan might be figuring out how to go gamble or worse, maybe hooking up with that redhead. She didn’t truly believe that he’d do that, but then she’d yelled at him and probably hurt his pride. Men did dumb things when they were smarting after a blow.
For that matter, so did women, and she was about to prove it.
She released the handle and let the door close, then hopped back down. Expressionless face intact, she looped her hair over one shoulder and made her way through the half circle of determined groupies still clustered behind the bus.
“Hey, you with the band?” The chick had purple ponytails and smacked her gum loud enough to stomp on Denver’s last nerve. “I wanna fuck—I mean, meet Michael.”
Her friends giggled and cheered as if she’d just announced her candidacy for president.
“Michael is happily married,” Denver informed her icily, moving around the group and jogging across the wide lot before they could question her further.
There were a couple bars and a jazz club up the street that they’d passed on their way to The Egg. She’d just stop into the club, have an adult bevvie or two to take the edge off, listen to some nice jazz, and give herself a chance to get over being pissed. Hopefully, the drinks would make her tired so when she got back to the bus, she could just sleep off the rest of her mad.
And hurt.
And lust.
Couldn’t forget the lust. That was ever present since she’d made the glorious mistake of sleeping with her devious sex god of a best friend.
She crossed the street, darting between cars, and waved her ID at the bouncer outside the jazz club. Ducking inside, she gave herself a moment to acclimate before heading up to the bar. A tall guy with shaggy blond hair appeared beside her with a ready smile. “Hi there. This must be my lucky night.”
“Seriously?” She rolled her eyes and motioned to the bartender, then requested a gin and tonic.
When the bartender slid the glass her way, her new friend leaned closer. “You like the harder stuff. I approve. You don’t seem like a pink-umbrella type of lady.”
“Truer words,” she muttered, aiming for the first empty table she saw.
Thankfully, he didn’t follow.
She sat with her drink, soaking up the smooth, mellow horns and piano. This definitely wasn’t her usual scene, but she appreciated the break. A headache was brewing at her temples and her nerves were already frayed. Maybe a more relaxed kind of vibe would help even her out.
At least she wasn’t sitting around fuming on the bus. Anything was better than that.
She lasted through four songs. They were great musicians with a fun style and an easy way of interacting with the mostly disinterested crowd. On a different night, she might’ve gone up to talk to the bandleader to ask him for some artist recommendations. She was into all kinds of music, and she was eager to explore.
In all ways, huh? That’s how your ass got tied up to a headboard the other night.
God, that stupid, critical inner voice. She’d hoped two gin and tonics would kill it dead, but not so much.
Normally, she wasn’t one for a lot of recriminations or regrets. But it had been a while since she’d had quite so much on the line.
She settled her bill and resisted the urge to turn on her phone—which she had turned off during the second song just in case she weakened enough to check it—as she slipped out of the club. She’d also deleted that stupid app she’d used to keep tabs on Ryan. He was a grown man. His choices were exactly that.
His choices. His life. No matter how much she cared or worried about him, she had to let him find his own way.
Just as she’d found hers. It had been a rocky trip with a lot of fear and recriminations and too much looking over her shoulder, but she’d finally made some headway at figuring herself out again. Even if she stumbled now and then, as she had recently.
There was no time like the present to get back on track.
She jogged to the corner and waited for the cars to pass. Somehow it was much later than she’d realized. She’d just hurry back to the bus, take a quick, hot shower, and hope sleep came quickly.
No dreams of Ryan and his powerful cock and masterful tongue would be a welcome bonus.
Another bonus was that all but the most diehard groupies had dispersed from their stalking of the tour bus. She bypassed them without saying a word, going straight inside without even a glance in their direction.
All she wanted was bed.
The moment she stepped on the bus, she realized she wasn’t the only one who wanted that. Difference was, judging from the sex noises emanating from the bunk area, they were using the bed for a wholly more erotic purpose.
Denver gripped her purse in one hand and her throat with the other. Maybe it was Mal. The others had to be at the hotel, right? He was the only one who often seemed to eschew hotel rooms for his bunk. Antisocial and all that. He could’ve picked up someone after the show. Perhaps even one of the groupies. He wasn’t terribly choosy from what she’d seen.
She should go check it out. Reassure herself the action was in Mal’s bunk, and then just go get ready for bed. Certainly wasn’t the first time she’d had to pop in earbuds blaring hard rock music to drown out the sounds of fucking. Definitely wouldn’t be the last either. Not with this bunch.
Swallowing hard, she made her feet move forward. She couldn’t figure out why she was nervous. Big deal, someone was screwing. It wasn’t as if she was some prude. Even if she had been, driving around a bunch of horny rockstars would’ve killed the last of it.
But the bus was her responsibility, and she wouldn’t wuss out now just because she couldn’t take a full breath or walk without her shoulder blades hurting from the pressure on her spine. She’d just ascertain the noisy banger wasn’t someone who didn’t have a right to be there and go take her shower and zone out.
Mal’s bunk was across from Ryan’s. Just a few more steps and she’d be able to see if—
“Oh, fuck yes,” a woman cried out.
Not Mal’s bunk. Two forms writhed in ecstasy—or their version of it anyway. They didn’t even bother to close the curtain all the way. A sheet barely covered the guy’s muscular back as he rutted wildly into the woman beneath him.
In Ryan’s bunk.
Chapter Eight
God, was that really him? It couldn’t be.
Denver opened her mouth, on the verge of shouting she didn’t know what, when a blur of movement from the back of the bus stole her words. A blinding amount of bare skin made her throw up a hand to block her eyes. Jesus.
The defensive move didn’t stop her from hearing the absolute roar of rage as the guy—Mal—pulled the naked dude with a floppy dick out of Ryan’s bed. The guy who was not Ryan.
Denver let out a shuddering breath. Not even close.
“You fucking bastard! How dare you come on her fucking bus with this bimbo and do this shit?” Mal pulled back his fist and plowed it straight into the man’s gut.
It was K-Jerk. Or Kirk. Whatever the hell his name was. The guy who’d ridden from New York upstate with Elle on the bus, headed for locations unknown. He’d been hammering into some groupie with black hair and deeply lined eyes while Elle was back at the hotel, waiting for him to arrive after he’d finished up whatever he’d claimed he had to do. Sweet, hopeful Elle.
“Goddamn bastard,” Denver muttered, rushing forward.
She was tempted to level a few blows of her own. Not that Mal seemed to need her help. T
he sound of his meaty fists ramming into pliable flesh filled Denver’s head, as did squealing groupie girl’s shouts of distress. She was already getting dressed, hauling on her denim mini dress and cowboy boots in between screeches. She didn’t make a move to help her lover.
Loyalty was a beautiful thing.
Denver balled up her fists and resisted the urge to enter the fray. Much as she wished she could offer her own paltry assistance in kicking the fucker’s ass.
Steward of the bus. Keeper of the peace, remember?
“Mal, enough.” Denver tried to grab Mal’s arm, but she couldn’t get a hold on him. The guy was built like a frigging wrestler. Huge and muscular and filled with enough fury to make a man end up dead.
Not on her bus. She wasn’t going to spend the night cleaning up the mess.
“Christ, Malachi, I said fucking stop!” Denver beat on Mal’s back for a full thirty seconds. When that got no response, she reached around him and grabbed a handful of the one thing sure to make him take notice.
Wrenching on his twig and berries, she held on even when he howled. And howl he did. He also let K-Jerk slump to the floor, a bruised, battered shell of a man.
Just as he deserved.
“Fuck you, Denver,” Mal said, kicking Elle’s dude aside as he braced an arm on the top bunk and cupped his wounded pride.
Probably not that wounded. Denver’s grip wasn’t anything to sneeze at, but she wasn’t used to wrestling with twenty-foot pythons as a rule.
Sweet lord.
Denver glanced at groupie girl—more accurately, at her backside as she scurried down the steps and out the door.
Rat escaping a shaking bus. That was a new fable she hadn’t heard before.
“You can’t kill him,” Denver said in a low voice to Mal, who stared at her out of slitted dark eyes. “You already did plenty. Later, you’ll thank me.”
She strode to the refrigerator and opened the freezer, pulling out an ice pack. The band had their share of hangovers, so keeping one on hand was a smart idea. She walked back to the men and tossed it at Mal.
K-Jerk whimpered. “You’re helping h-him?”
Denver crouched and dragged the guy up by the scruff of the neck, pursing her lips as his puffy black eye focused on her. She hadn’t seen Mal nail him in the face, but he’d gotten him just about everywhere else, as the canvas of bruises on his pale body could attest.
“I helped you by stopping him from killing you. Get off my bus.”
Kirk’s Adam’s apple bobbed and he started to speak. Then he shook his head and dragged his ass up. He stumbled over to the pile of his clothes, pulling them on with jerky, hesitant motions. She and Mal didn’t so much as spare him another full look. When he finally finished dressing, he wiped his mouth and pointed at Mal. “Asshole, I’ll see you again. Next time, you won’t get the first sucker blow.”
Mal didn’t even acknowledge the remark.
The guy shuffled off the bus after stopping long enough to grab his backpack—and only his backpack. Denver checked it before she let him leave. He’d cursed at her, but a single growl from Mal had shut him up quick.
Once the bus door closed behind him, Denver slumped at the small dining room table and buried her head in her hands. What a freaking night. And it wasn’t over yet.
“We have to tell Elle,” she mumbled, not expecting Mal to be close enough to hear. Definitely not anticipating the glass of sun tea that appeared at her elbow.
She gulped it gratefully and stared at the cheerful daisy pattern on the glass as if it could somehow fix all her problems. “Thanks.”
Mal grunted.
“Sorry about your dick.”
“Me too. You got some grip on you, Brownie. You must be popular.”
Instead of his response earning a snarl, she grinned and saluted him with her glass. “You too.”
Surprising the hell out of her, Mal grabbed a beer from the fridge, then pulled out a chair opposite her at the table and dropped his big body into it. He’d put on jeans while she was herding the riff-raff off the bus, which was a huge concession for him. To say Mal wasn’t one for worrying about polite social behavior didn’t come close to the truth. He rather enjoyed making others uncomfortable and delighting in their misery.
Yet he’d just kicked a guy’s ass for hurting Elle. Denver had heard Mal go off on the dude before lighting into him.
“Even if I don’t agree with your methods, what you did tonight was awfully stand-up,” Denver said. “You don’t even like Elle.”
He said nothing. Just brooded into his beer.
She didn’t mind his silence. If anything, she preferred to be the one talking. Around Mal, she didn’t feel like she had to pretty up her thoughts. She could be her genuine, unvarnished, often un-PC self and he wouldn’t judge.
“She’s going to be hurt. I don’t know how to soften that.” Denver swallowed another mouthful of tea.
“I saw your face,” Mal said after a few minutes. Denver jerked up her head to find him watching her. “You weren’t thinking it was that selfish fuck in Ryan’s bed. You thought it was Ryan.”
“It was Ry’s bed.” There was no missing the defensiveness in her voice. “What else was I supposed to think?”
You could’ve tried not believing the worst about him. You keep doing that.
Not that she hadn’t had cause, and not that some of it hadn’t borne out to be true. Those texts about the poker game tonight hadn’t exactly made her think he was telling her everything. Just because she hadn’t seen any replies from him wasn’t vindication either.
Maybe he hadn’t gotten around to it yet. Or maybe he hadn’t wanted in on that one, but he might’ve gone in on the next.
Too many maybes and mights, and most of them weren’t really fair. Ry wasn’t some stranger. He was an important man in her life. Too important.
And that wasn’t even touching the fact that she was hiding so fucking much from him as well. Not him in particular, but everyone. That she’d run and lied and used diversions mostly to save her own behind didn’t change the reality.
God, reality freaking sucked.
Even though Ryan hadn’t spilled his guts about the game, he was still the guy she cared about. The one she’d spent so much time with, getting to know and becoming friends.
Now they were in all new territory. Friends with benefits. Even if they never slept together again, could they really go back? Once that note had been struck, there was no un-playing it. No un-ringing that particular very dirty bell.
Especially when she wanted to play the fuck out of it again. Soon. No matter how much she told herself otherwise.
“It being Ryan’s bed doesn’t mean anything if you trust the guy,” Mal finally replied. “You don’t.”
She wiped up the condensation from her glass. “Sex changes things.”
“How? If the guy is decent, just seeing his dick isn’t going to make him turn into a jerk.”
“No. It’s not that. But people get mad and sometimes they lash out…”
Mal said nothing.
“Like you said earlier. He could’ve wanted revenge because I hurt him. Maybe. I don’t even know how. It wasn’t supposed to be mean anything.”
“How’s it not going to mean anything when you guys were tight before you fucked?”
The bald honesty in Mal’s tone had her huffing out a laugh. “I guess it has to. And that’s why I’ve been a royal bitch to him. I didn’t sign on for any of this. I just wanted to drive the bus. Make a few friends if the dice rolled that way…” Bad analogy. Moving on. “But overall, it was about the job. I drive. That’s what I do. This interpersonal shit is beyond me.”
“You should’ve been born with a dick. Makes your life much simpler.”
“I can’t argue with you there. Though women can—”
“Do anything men can do, blah blah blah, and do it in heels. Not arguing with you there, Oprah, just saying you don’t see me getting all twisted up about fucking someone I’m
close to.”
“Because you aren’t close to anyone who isn’t related to you by blood. And even then, you barely talk to Michael.”
Mal tipped his beer her way. “See? Answer all your own questions.”
“Was there a question in there? I don’t even know.” She pulled at her own hair then sighed as she flopped back in her chair. “What’re we gonna do about Elle?”
“We? I did my part, Susie Sunshine. This emotional shit is all on you.”
Denver sat up straighter. “You care about her. You have to, or else you wouldn’t have torn that dude apart. I know you. You don’t get involved.”
“He was on my bus. I’m not putting up with that shady BS on here. Not in my space when I’m trying to fucking sleep.”
“That’s not all it was. Maybe Elle matters to you more than you realize.”
“Little Ricki is in a band I’m in. If you wanna pretend that makes us besties,” he did air quotes around the word, “then fine, you just do that. But I would’ve done it for anyone.”
“Except it wasn’t for anyone. It was for Elle.” Denver glanced down at her phone as an incoming text came in and shut her eyes. “Fuck. How did she know we were talking about her?”
“Probably more like she knew her dick wasn’t there to ride.”
Ignoring him, Denver forced herself to read the screen.
Elle: Hey, sorry to bug you so late. You haven’t seen Kirk? He was meeting friends at Doc’s, but I’m there right now & the place is closing down for the night.
Denver bit her lip. “Fuck, she’s only a couple blocks away from here. She must’ve had the driver come pick her up again from the hotel. What do I say?”
“Tell her that the dude she was fucking was a tool and she doesn’t have to worry about him anymore.” When Denver didn’t move, Mal held out a hand. “Want me to? I’ll lay some truth on her.”
“No. God, she’s going to be devastated. I think she believed they really had a connection.”
“What connection? She barely moaned when he fucked her.”
