That's what I'm going to do.
“You mean like that movie the other night?” Cope says, his voice flirty enough that I can't keep my smile from growing at least three shades brighter.
“I mean …” I start, leaning forward and grabbing the front of the coffee table, using the built-in mechanisms on the sides to push the top back and reveal an entire sea of board games hiding away underneath. “Something interactive, like a game. Do you guys want to play Scrabble?”
“Strip Scrabble?” Ransoms asks, his low chuckle like a dark chocolate truffle melting against my tongue. I shiver and he wraps his arms tighter around me.
“No, not strip Scrabble, regular Scrabble,” I say, but the box is already being lifted out by Pax, the coffee table lowered, the board set in place. I sigh. “Okay, fine, strip Scrabble. But only because you guys turned me on at the mention of art supplies.”
“If that's the case,” Paxton says, glancing sidelong at me … maybe saving a little of that heated gaze for Ransom? Or maybe that's just wishful thinking … “Then I'm buying you bouquets of paintbrushes instead of roses.”
“I'd love you forever,” I say and the room goes briefly quiet.
Love you forever.
That's what I'd like to do. But can a situation like this one, drenched in rock 'n' roll and glitter, really last a lifetime?
I didn't know it then, but the answer was a resounding yes.
I'm still exhausted from 'strip Scrabble' and all the things that came after it when we hit the town the next morning, using one of the label's trucks—the same hideous purple one with the black flames that Michael drove to breakfast with Vanessa—to get to a local art store.
Lilith is like a kid in a candy shop, her eyes so big they look like cool forest pools, the water reflecting back the green of the trees above it, deep and full of wonder. I swear, she makes three passes around the shop before she decides on anything at all. I mean, even an eraser is a big deal to this girl.
“That brand smudges,” she tells Paxton, plucking the square white rectangle from his fingers and setting it back in the basket on the shelf. I smile softly, trying to imagine that she's looking at drumsticks or cymbals or snare drums instead of pencils, paper, and erasers. When I do that, her obsession and eye for detail makes perfect sense to me.
“One rubber's the same as the next, isn't it?” he asks and Lilith giggles. “What?”
“Rubber is slang for condom,” she says, flicking red hair over her shoulder flirtatiously, glancing my direction to smile brightly. Apparently art supplies are a big turn-on for my new girlfriend. “Right? Have you ever used the word rubber in place of condom?”
“All the time,” I say and we both grin.
Paxton just rolls his eyes and digs a smoke from his pocket.
“Well, then, Yanks, enjoy picking out an eraser together. This expat is out the doors to have himself a fag,” he says, dressed in a light grey suit that matches the color of his eyes. With the exception of casual loungewear on the bus, I've literally never seen Paxton Blackwell in anything but a well tailored suit.
“You know,” I start, wondering if Muse has already thought about what I'm going to suggest. Knowing him, he definitely has. “If there's anything you want that you can't take on the plane with you, pick it out and have them ship it to us back home. Or hell, order it from Amazon or something and have it delivered.”
“Back home?” Lilith asks, pausing with her hand tucked into a basket of pink erasers. Her green eyes lift up to find mine, widening slightly in surprise.
“Yeah,” I say, stepping around the corner of the white metal shelves to stand beside her, reaching over to finger the frilly lace sleeve of her purple dress. It's the color of Michael's eyes, and it hugs her body like it was made for it, draping those curves with the same elegance that Paxton's custom suits drape his. Lilith is a seriously gorgeous girl, but I'm not sure that she's at all aware of it. “To Seattle.”
“Seattle,” she whispers, like the thought hasn't occurred to her. But it's occurred to Muse (obviously), to me. That's why I got so serious about this dating thing. I'm not playing around here. This tour—even with the world portion—is only going to last three more weeks. And then what? All five of us live in Seattle.
I own a nice suburban three bedroom that my mom lives in; Muse has a downtown apartment; Ransom lives in an old purple Victorian; and Michael and Paxton share a fancy as fuck condo.
With Lilith dating all of us … we might have to come up with some other arrangement.
Unfortunately, she can't live with me, not yet. My mom is … she's not fucking well. If I brought a girl home to live with us, she'd either make my life a living hell or drive Lilith off for good. That much I'm sure of.
“The tour won't last forever, Lil,” I whisper, sliding my fingers through the rich mahogany strands of her hair. My eyes trace the slight brush of freckles across her nose as I watch her process the idea of what's really going on here. “Just a few weeks and then we'll be back in Seattle. As soon as we get there, we're starting work on a new album. We'll probably record a few singles, shoot some music videos, and then eventually we'll be back on tour again.”
She looks up at me, taking a handful of the pink erasers in her palm and dropping them into the red plastic shopping basket I'm holding for her.
“Where will I live?” she asks, but more like she's trying to puzzle out the answer for herself than she's really asking me.
I feel fucking awful though when I hear that question because the only answer I want to give is with me. But I can't offer that, I can't. Maybe if my mom and Lilith meet, if things go well with the new medication Mom started before I left on the tour … there are too many fucking ifs.
“You can live with us,” Michael says, strolling down the aisle with his hands in the pockets of his black jeans, a leather belt with silver bullets stuck through the loops. “Pax and me. We have a nice two bedroom near Pike Place. We have a spectacular fucking view of Elliott Bay.”
Lilith looks up at him, breathing hard, the rise and fall of her chest hard to look away from. The dress she's wearing has a sweetheart neckline, emphasizing the pale white mounds of flesh that it frames in with dark purple fabric.
I glance at Michael and realize I'm not the only one that's noticed.
“Or,” I start, thinking about her story, about Kevin and the apartment she shared with him, how her whole adult life she's been the girlfriend with the successful lover, the one without any real power in the relationship, “we could all pitch in and get you a place of your own.”
“I can't ask you to do that,” she says, but Michael's already shaking his head, threading his fingers through his raven-dark hair.
“You're not asking. We're offering. Fuck, we could start looking at places now, online. If there's something that stands out to you, I could send some friends to look at it, give us a video tour with their phones or something.”
Lilith bites her lip, shiny with pink gloss, the faintest breath of roses wafting from her smooth skin.
“Maybe if you could help me with the security deposit, I could get a job and take over the rent.”
“I wasn't talking about renting,” I say, looking up at Michael. Our eyes meet and I see that we're on the same page here. “We've made a lot of money, Lilith. Between the five of us, it wouldn't really be that extravagant of a gift.”
“You can't …” she says, closing her eyes and taking a long, slow breath. “No, you can't buy me a house. You've only known me for two weeks.”
“Why do you think I was so serious about agreeing to this?” I ask her, my voice almost as low as Ransom's usually is. I close what little distance there is left between Lilith and me, raising her head by putting my fingertips gently against the sides of her throat. From here, I can feel her heart thundering.
There was only so much he could say with words. The rest of his feelings—all of those deep, rich murmurs inside his heart—he had to say those with a kiss. How else could he
explain the strength of his emotions to her? They'd just met and already, he couldn't imagine life without her.
I blink against the black and white text in my head, the words of some long forgotten book burned so perfectly in my brain that I could recite them drunk and not miss a single syllable.
“You don't have to decide now,” I tell her, breathing in the pomegranate spice scent of her hair. I drop my mouth to hers, closing my eyes, feeling the moist strawberry glazed perfection of her lips press up against mine. That urge to care for her, to make sure that her every fucking need is met, satisfied, exceeded … as scared as I was of having a new relationship, I still can't shake that feeling. All I want to do is make Lilith Goode happy.
Our kiss mimics the one we had in the bookstore last week, soft at first, quickly heading into the same territory that strip Scrabble took us last night.
When we break apart, I find myself gasping for breath, my cock throbbing inside my blue jeans.
“Hey Cope,” Lilith starts, her gaze focused low, on my wrist it looks like. She raises her face to look at me. “Do you think we have time to fit in a tattoo?”
“A tattoo?” I ask, surprised, looking up to exchange a glance with Michael. His lips are already quirked in a slight smirk. “You're afraid of committing to a house, but you want a tattoo?”
I laugh.
“I … a house is too big of a deal, too much money. I can't accept a gift like that. It's not really the permanence that scares me, Cope. I just don't want you guys to commit to something that might not last.”
“And why wouldn't it last?” I whisper, still holding her by the neck, my thumbs stroking over her rapidly beating pulse.
“One day you guys might want wives, houses, kids …”
“Not me,” I say, still smiling, even as my chest gets tight at the idea of never having children. “And we all already own our own places. None of us rents.”
“What part of this arrangement would prevent us from having kids anyway?” Michael asks, stepping in close. Lilith's body tenses up slightly, her nipples pebbling beneath her dress. If we were back on the bus, this situation would definitely take a turn towards the torrid. “Stop thinking so hard about this. Fuck. You and I both know how shitty traditional relationships can be. Either one of us could have easily gotten married, bought a house, had some kids and lived a typical life with our exes. But that's not where fate sent us, Lilith.”
“No, it's not, is it, Mikey?” she whispers, her glossy mouth curving into a smile.
“I like the tattoo idea though,” he says, running his palm over his inked hand. “What did you want to get?”
My eyes meet Lilith's again.
“I think we should get something together, all of us. Matching tattoos. No matter what happens, I want to remember this moment. I want to remember being connected to all of you.”
“Stop talking like we're doomed for failure,” I say with a smile, kissing her again, loving the feel of her fingers curling in the fabric of my pale green t-shirt. “I'd much rather talk about getting new ink.”
“I have no fucking clue what I'd get,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh. I slide my thumbs down the sides of her throat, across the perfect whiteness of her skin.
“Can I make a suggestion?” I ask, my mouth curving up into another smile.
“Shoot,” she says, eyes locked on mine as I pull my hands reluctantly away from her warm skin and point out the tattoos on either of my forearms. I have bass clef hearts on one side, and eighth notes arranged into stars on the other.
“We could do something like this, a design made up of notes.” I shiver as Lilith lifts her hands up and slides her palms down my multicolored tattoos. “Maybe a circle of bass clefs with treble clefs in the center? If we did six of them, it'd make a perfect loop.”
“Six of them,” she says, her mouth twitching. “I like that. Would you do it with me?”
“I'd fucking do it,” I tell her because goddamn, her excitement is infectious.
“Michael?” she asks, turning to him, chuckling at his loose shrug.
“Ink is ink,” he says, running his palm up his arm. “I'm always down for more.”
“Oh my god, then let's do this,” Lilith says, lighting up, her green eyes sparkling. “My first tattoo. I want full sleeves,” she says, pointing at the bare skin of her arms.
I can't help the warm laugh that bubbles from my throat.
“Full sleeves would look good on you, but maybe we should grab your art supplies first?” I ask, taking her in my arms again and giving her a kiss that thrills me all the way to my fucking toes. Holding her like this, I am totally and completely convinced that I made the right choice by giving this a try.
“Art supplies,” Lilith says, licking her lips, “and then ink.”
Sounds like a plan to me.
There's no shortage of tattoo studios in Philadelphia—and no shortage of artists willing to go out of their way to make room for Beauty in Lies. And Beauty in Lies' collective girlfriend.
After the art store, I leave with a heavy glossy black bag and a heart aching with questions and affection both.
Seattle.
I haven't given a single thought to what might happen after the tour. Being here with the boys, living in the moment, it feels like this is it, my whole life. Travel, music, sex, the Bat Cave. I wouldn't mind sleeping in that giant bed for the rest of my life.
I'm moving to Seattle, Washington.
I try to let that thought sink in as the guys and I head to lunch, browsing tattoo artist portfolios on our phones until we find one that we all like. A quick phone call from Michael and that's that; we've got ourselves an appointment with one of the best artists in the city. I have no idea what other work the man had lined up for today, but having a multiplatinum selling rock band in his portfolio has got to be priceless.
On our way to the tattoo studio, we stop briefly at another store so I can pick up a drawing tablet. Of course, I try to go for a cheap one, something under a hundred bucks, but Ransom, Muse, and Cope somehow end up talking me in a circle and getting me to admit what my dream tablet would be. I wind up with a piece of technology that's worth more than my car with a glass display that I can draw on directly with a stylus, watch my art translate into the digital world in crisp HD.
“You guys are going to spoil me,” I say, trying to still the frantic whisper of my heart in my chest, the one that keeps saying things like Dad is only four and a half hours away from here and what's going to happen when we get to Seattle? On the bus, we're all trapped together in a small space, sleeping together, fucking together, eating together. But in Washington, the guys all have their own places, their own lives.
Frankly, I'm a little terrified.
“Hey,” Muse says, sitting in the back row with me and Cope. “I got a message from the auto body shop where we sent your car.” He sips the brightly colored bubble tea he bought from the place next door to the Philly cheesesteak shop we visited for lunch (what else did you think we were going to eat in Philadelphia?). His eyes look down at his phone and then flick back up to my face. “The guy says it's worth about ten grand in good condition, but the damage is extensive. To get it back into prime shape the work estimate is around six thousand. If we ignore all the body damage and just go for getting it into working shape, it's about a thousand.”
I feel this flicker of fear trace across my skin. Wow. What the fuck would I have done if I'd taken that plane trip back to Phoenix? Even if I had been able to beg my old job back, where would I have gotten the money to fix the car? I would've just had to let it go for whatever amount I could get for something with no windows, no tires, a busted trunk, and extensive water damage.
“What do you want to do?” Muse asks, still looking right at me, still not wearing a damn shirt. Today's outfit is a sleeveless silver hoodie with black lining, the colors a perfect mimicry of his hair. “Obviously I'll pay—”
“We'll pay,” Michael corrects, glancing up in the rea
rview mirror as he drives us toward the tattoo studio. “We will pay for whatever you want to do.”
“I can't keep taking your money like this,” I say, wishing I didn't feel the need to protest so much. I almost wish I could just let them lavish gifts on me and smile my way through it all with nothing but a thank you. But I can't. I'm not too prideful to accept some things—this drawing tablet could change my entire life … and I really needed those new pairs of underwear—but my car, a house, that's just too much. I grew up lower middle class, with everything we needed but nothing we didn't, my dad a hardworking man who enjoyed providing for his family and a mother that chased her dreams until the very end, even if those dreams didn't exactly bring in a lot of cash.
“Why not?” Muse asks, raising his pierced brow at me, his tattooed hand covered in bats still clutching his phone. “We have plenty of money and you have none. It just makes sense. There's nothing else to it.”
“Besides, Paxton is distantly related to the royal family. His parents are beyond loaded,” Cope says with a slight smile, watching to see if he's going to get a reaction out of Pax.
“Beyond distantly related,” he drawls in that panty melting accent of his, waving his hand dismissively. But when he glances over his shoulder at me, he looks smug as hell. “It's hardly worth mentioning at all.”
“Oh, please,” Ransom snorts from beside him, his hood actually resting on the back of his shoulders and not his head for once. Oh, and he's sitting next to Pax. I keep hoping I'll catch them gazing into each other's eyes or holding hands or stealing secret kisses, but I guess they're taking it slow. I haven't seen anything like that. Yet. “The first thing you told me when we met was that you had royal blood.”
“No, I'm certain that was the second thing I told you. I'm almost positive that the first thing I mentioned was that I was rich.” There's a slight pause in his humorous tone, like he's just remembered something that makes him uncomfortable. I bet it has to do with the constant calls and texts to his phone. Thankfully, mine have stopped completely. I forgot to re-block Kevin's number after Michael's call and still, I haven't received any new insults or threats. “Or that I had a massive cock and a great big pair of bollocks.”
Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 2) Page 16
