I pad down the hallway and dig into the bags of clothing that Muse and Michael bought me, selecting a pair of white jeans and a tank top with an American flag on the front. I toss the outfit on, slip my feet into those stupid red heels I wore the first night I met the boys, and then rake my hair up into a ponytail.
When I step back into the living room, I get more than one appreciative look from the crowd.
“You look fucking hot, sweetheart,” Ran whispers, giving me a kiss on the cheek as I smile and rub my suddenly sweaty palms on the white denim. Facing Octavia is either a really smart move … or a really stupid one.
“Thanks,” I say as I head toward the door where Muse is now waiting with Pax.
“You ready?” he asks me, looking at me through the thick lenses of his glasses, his expression carefully neutral, like there are so many things he wants to tell me but isn't quite ready to yet.
“Is it okay if I do most of the talking?” I ask and Pax sighs, leaning his back against the metal wall of the short stairwell.
“You don't owe that bloody scrag a thing,” he says and I smile tightly.
“I know.”
Pax holds his hand out and lets me down the steps first—groping my ass as I go by, of course. I give him a look over my shoulder as I open the door and step into an already warm morning. It's in the late sixties and it's not even eight o'clock yet. For a second, I just stand there and close my eyes against the heated caress of an ocean breeze.
“Miss Goode,” Octavia says as I open my eyes and find her standing nearby, her ever present clipboard and tablet clutched to her chest.
I stare at her brown eyes and let myself remember how awful and cruel they looked last night, narrowed and pinched with hate in my direction. She looks apathetically neutral now, face frozen in polite professionalism. I notice she doesn't look at Pax or Muse as they come down the steps to stand behind me.
“What did I do to you to make you hate me so much?” I ask, emotions warring in my chest as I try to figure out why it was that I wanted to come down here in the first place. I should've let Pax fire her and been glad that I never had to see her again. Instead, here I am, watching the warm morning wind tease brown hair around her face.
“I don't hate you,” she says with a tight swallow and a slight lift of her chin, like she already knows what's coming.
“What you did to me last night …” I tuck some errant strands of red-purple hair behind my ear and look up at her. “That was fucked up on so many levels. You seemed really angry, Octavia.”
“Let's just get this over with, shall we? I've already called the label and started making arrangements for a replacement to meet us in Montréal.”
“Montréal?!” Pax asks from behind me. “Hell no. You aren't staying here until Montréal.”
“Her name is Tamasin Perez, and she'll be coming in all the way from California. While she finishes up a project, I'll be getting her up to speed via email and video chat.”
“No fucking way,” Pax snaps, but I lift my hand back and curl my fingers through his, silencing him. Octavia watches the interaction with a pinched mouth and dark eyes.
“If you have until Montréal,” I start as her gaze lifts to mine, “then you have plenty of time to face this.”
“I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about,” she says with a slight sniff. But I can see the tremble in her hands, the tightness in her neck and shoulders. Being the manager for Beauty in Lies was a dream come true for her, and she doesn't want to let it go. Last night, I was ready to see her get her just deserts, lose her job, walk away with her head dropped in shame. This morning, in the easy glimmer of a coastal morning, vengeance doesn't seem quite as important.
“You made a huge mistake because you were jealous about Paxton and I becoming a couple.”
“You're a couple?” she asks, and I feel like something awful's about to come out of her mouth as she flicks her attention to Muse.
“You have a week left to own up to your mistakes,” I tell her with a slight shrug, dropping Pax's hand. I miss his warmth immediately and smile slightly. It feels good to miss something that I can still have. If I just reach back, he'll be there waiting. “And I don't have any friends.” I pause. “Well, except for the boys.”
“Are you saying you want to be friends with me?” Octavia scoffs, turning her head, her ponytail rustling around in the salty ocean air currents. “That's ridiculous.”
“Only as ridiculous as you make it out to be. I was all ready last night to see you burn for your mistakes. This morning … I just don't feel like anymore suffering would negate the pain you caused me last night. I forgive you. I hope you can find it in your heart to apologize to me.”
I turn away and head back up the stairs before I lose my nerve.
“Whoa,” Muse says from behind me as I pause next to the swivel chairs and run my hands over my hair, adjusting my ponytail as I glance back at him. He looks impressed as he smiles at me, and I catch a snippet of angry conversation from outside. I can't stop whatever Paxton wants to say to Octavia, but I tried to take the high road out there. Hopefully that wasn't a mistake? “That, I did not expect.”
“What happened?” Michael asks, appearing in the hallway with his shoulder length hair damp and feathery. He pulls a black t-shirt on as I watch, stretching the fabric over his lean muscular frame.
“Octavia's staying until Montréal,” I say as I take a deep breath and put my hands on my hips, my heart thundering suddenly in my chest. I feel shaky and wired, like I'm standing at a precipice. This is the moment my new life begins, and I'm not going to start it by gleefully destroying a woman's career—not even a woman as mean-spirited and awful as Octavia Warris. “I told her that if she wanted, we could try to make friends.”
“Have you completely lost the plot?” Pax asks, storming up the steps in his expensive loafers, looking at me with a strange expression on his face, almost like he feels betrayed. “That bitch deserves the boot, not a goddamn handshake.”
“People make mistakes, Paxton,” I tell him softly and his grey eyes widen almost imperceptibly. “In most cases, it's worth it to give them a second chance.”
His gaze snaps straight over to Ransom, who's frozen up next to the coffeepot like he's bracing himself for another fight. Dark brown eyes meet ash grey ones for a long, tense moment before Pax looks away and shakes his head.
“If you think you and Octavia will be holding hands by the end of this thing, you really are mental,” Pax says, getting out another cigarette and pausing next to me, his breath hot against my ear. The sensation makes me shiver. “But it's your fight to fight, yeah? Let's hope you struck the right sort of blow.”
He scoots around me, ignoring Ransom's tense shoulders, and disappears into the back of the bus, sliding the hall door closed behind him. I watch Ran for a moment as he relaxes with a long sigh of relief and pours himself some coffee. I want to see him and Pax work through their differences; that's one of my goals. It's something I've wanted to do since I first laid eyes on their conflict, but I didn't think I'd have the time.
I do now.
“I need a swimsuit,” I say and the four boys left in the room with me seem to perk up considerably. Considering the shit storm that was last night, I feel hopeful, cheerful. I know it won't last indefinitely, this feeling. Grief doesn't just stop. That, and I know where this trip will end up by the end of the week: New York.
No matter how my plans with the boys have changed, I have to go home and see the place I grew up one last time. I need that closure.
“Is there a chance we could squeeze in a trip before the show tonight? I could really use an afternoon at the beach.”
“We've got twelve hours to burn,” Muse says, putting his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. Last night, something broke in him. His touch is laden with need, tinged with fear. I really scared the crap out of him. “Neptune Beach is supposed to be a nice date spot, fairly mellow. And there should be pl
enty of shopping nearby.”
I reach down and curl my fingers around the tattooed bats on Muse's hand.
A date.
With all five of my boyfriends.
Holy shit.
I'm either the luckiest girl alive … or the craziest.
I'm sure that I much care either way.
Last night was weird for me.
I mean, I was freaked all the hell out that Lilith was missing, but now that she's here, safe and sound and browsing bikinis in a small seaside boutique, I should be okay. Only … I'm not. Each minute that ticked past, I imagined something awful happening to her. Each scenario was worse than the last, dredging up my own past like bones from a muddy grave.
“Are you alright?” Cope asks me, a few pairs of swim trunks tossed over his arm. His red hair is tousled into an easy mussed style today, not shaped into the small ridge of a faux hawk. But his eyes … those are worried and distant.
I'm not the only one with skeletons in my closet.
“Are you?” I query back at him, studying his expression as he looks at Lilith laughing at whatever stupid thing Paxton's just said. He stares at her for a moment and then glances away sharply. I know he's thinking about Cara, the girlfriend he couldn't save. It wasn't his fault yet he holds that failure so close that it's poisoning him.
“I don't want another girlfriend,” he whispers and I feel my mouth tighten up as I slip my hands into the pockets of my red skinny jeans. “I like Lilith, but I … I just can't do it.”
“You're not in this alone, not this time,” I tell him, but when I try to put a hand on his shoulder he pulls away and heads for the dressing rooms. I watch him go and then turn my head to see Lilith following him with her eyes. As soon as Cope disappears through the archway that connects the two small rooms of the boutique, she refocuses her attention back on me.
I make myself smile.
“Is he okay?” she asks as she makes her way over to me, and I try to distract her from the question by reaching out and fingering the sleek shiny material of the black swimsuit in her hand.
“One-pieces?” I retort with a wrinkled nose. “Gross. Come on, Cutie, you could totally pull off a bikini.”
“What's wrong with Copeland?” she asks again, tilting her head to the side, her red ponytail swinging with the motion. Those emerald green eyes lock on my face and I find it hard to breathe for a second there, my heart thundering in my chest. God. I've got it bad.
I reach a hand up and cup the side of Lilith's face.
“It's not my story to tell,” I whisper, wishing I could just spit it all out, tell her that Copeland had a girlfriend named Cara, that Cara was sick in the head, that Cope tried to take care of her the way he took care of his mom and grandma. But Cara committed suicide and there was nothing he could do to stop her, no favor he could perform, no amount of love he could shower her with.
“It's Cara, isn't it?” Lilith asks, surprising me.
“He told you about her?” I ask and she shakes her head.
“No, but he mentioned her name …” Lilith trails off, sighs, and then puts a smile on her face.
I make myself return it because I feel damn lucky to be standing here with her right now, alive and whole and safe. I know better than most how dark humanity can get, the awful things people do to each other.
Without even realizing it, I curl my hands into fists by my sides.
Don't think about it; don't think about it; don't think about it.
“You really want me to try on a bikini?” she asks coyly, turning and flipping her hair in my face. The soft strands brush across my skin and send shivers down my spine, turning my shitty fake half-smile into a real one. I can smell Michael's shampoo on the long, silky strands of her hair, some sort of body spray or perfume clinging to her clothes. “Help me pick one out and I'll try it on.”
Lilith plays with the pair of necklaces at her throat as I step up beside her and start to slide hangers across a wooden bar, tiny scraps of bikini hanging from metal teeth and swaying with the motion. My tattooed arm, the one covered in bats, presses up tight against the bare empty canvas of her white flesh. The feel of her soft skin brushing against me ignites the slow burning ember in my belly.
Then the rest of last night comes rushing to the surface, the good parts of it anyway.
Fuck.
I've never had a sixsome before.
It was definitely a unique experience. I certainly know my friends better than I ever really expected to.
“You see this?” Lilith asks, taking a bikini and showing the cups to me. There's an eyeball on either one, artistically rendered with rainbow irises and diamond pupils, long dark lashes sweeping up to the halter straps. The bottoms have a grinning mouth with pink lips and vampire teeth. “I wonder what it takes to get your art on something like this? This is part of a famous painting by an up-and-coming artist from New York City. I used to have a print of it on my wall in Phoenix.” She pauses for a moment and purses her lips. “Until Kevin burned it, that is.”
Lilith rubs her fingers over the fabric fondly. I don't know anything about art outside of music, so I can't really comment on the piece or the artist, but I can hear the longing in Lil's voice, the desperate need to be seen, to be heard.
All artists feel that pull eventually. Some of us get lucky. Some of us don't. It's really only part talent, part drive … a whole lot of chancy dice rolling.
“We can find out,” I say as Lilith pushes the bikini aside and keeps browsing. I trace my fingertips over hers and her breath catches. “We'll figure out some way for you to make a living with your art, if that's what you want. Just … promise me you'll keep trying while you're with us. I have to admit: you were right.”
“About what?” Lilith asks, grabbing a white bikini with red hearts scattered across the fabric, little gold handled knives digging into the throbbing flesh. She adds that to her stack and keeps searching.
“You really are a good girlfriend,” I tell her and she smiles, looking up at me with those full lips curved and shiny with red gloss. I lean over and brush my mouth gently against hers. “I don't want you to start taking care of me and the rest of these assholes and forget about yourself. Just promise me that, okay?”
Lilith pushes a few more swimsuits aside and I stop her, grabbing an emerald green and black striped one and pulling it off the rack.
“This one,” I say and she raises her red eyebrows. “Just trust me. And you haven't promised me yet.”
I turn to face her fully and she does the same, pulling in a long, deep breath.
“I promise,” she says and I smile, cupping her face again and pressing our mouths together for a long, languorous kiss, my tongue slipping between the cherry flavored softness of her lips. She kisses me back with a burning fervor that gets my blood pumping, turns my cock to diamond inside my red skinny jeans.
I wonder if she'll still kiss me like that once I tell her about my past?
I sure as fuck hope so.
“Your first official day without Vanessa metaphorically breathing down your neck,” Pax says as he lounges on a rented chair under a blue umbrella and lifts his shades up to look at me. “Must feel bloody fantastic.”
“She blew up my fucking phone last night—everything from death threats to sobbing apologies. I'm thinking of blocking her.”
“Thinking of it? Jesus, give me your phone and I'll do it for you.”
I tap my cell against my palm and try to enjoy the warm sunshine on my pale as fuck skin. I look like a goddamn vampire. I could use some color.
“Tim's been texting me, too. I have no idea what to do about him. I mean, the way things went down it really seemed like he was trying to spare my feelings.”
“By getting balls-deep in your girlfriend? Nah, sorry mate, but I'm gonna have to disagree with that. I say you block him, too.”
“He's the only living family member I have left; I'm not blocking him.”
“At least unfriend him on Facebook then? No? G
od, you're such a pussy.”
“Pussies are a lot stronger than balls,” Lilith says, startling both me and Pax. “Why would anyone say he's got balls to reference strength when a swift kick to the nether regions drops a man to his knees? As far as calling a weak person a pussy, well, pussies birth babies. Plus, they can take a pounding and enjoy it.”
“Keep saying pussy and I'll change my lingo however you want,” Pax drawls, dropping his shades back into place. His mouth makes a dangerous curve as he studies Lil's hourglass figure, skin as white as cream, her black and green striped bikini sexy as hell, curving low on her hips, the top just big enough to hold her full breasts in place. “Michael, stop being such a pair of hairy bollocks and block that cheating bitch and that arsehole brother of yours. How's that sound?”
“Better,” Lilith says as I cringe a little and watch her studying me with those big round eyes of hers. “Would you put this on for me?” she asks and my brows go up as she passes over some sunscreen. “I basically go from white to red; there's no in-between.”
“If you think I'm going to say no to slathering lotion all over your back, you're dead fucking wrong. Give me that and take a seat.”
Lilith hands the pink bottle to me as I lean back in the chair and put a leg on either side, my body responding to hers as she slides up close to me, her ass precariously close to my cock.
A year of celibacy. Finally fucking broken. And with the girl sitting in front of me?
It feels surreal, like Vanessa's noose is still around my neck.
“I haven't spoken to her since, in case you were wondering,” I tell Lilith as I squirt some of the lotion on my hands and rub it together to warm it up. My fingertips hover above her pale skin for a moment before she reaches up and unties the halter top, holding an arm over her breasts to keep the fabric from falling away.
My breath catches as I struggle to fight down a surge of wild hormones.
Holy shit.
This girl is beyond fucking hot. And she's my new girlfriend? It doesn't feel real.
I curl my fingers around her shoulders and Lilith shudders, goose bumps jumping up across her skin as I knead her warm flesh with my hands. My tongue runs across my lower lip as I struggle to keep my shit together. After a year of not touching anybody, I've got my hands all over a slippery lotion covered back.
Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 2) Page 3
