Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1)

by C. M. Stunich

  “When your—” I start, intending to ask about his mom again, but the door to the bedroom opens and I turn to find Paxton Blackwell standing in it, smoking a cigarette and staring at me with his steel grey eyes.

  “Get the fuck out, Pax,” Ransom growls, and even though his voice is quiet and dark, it's terrifying. Clearly these two have a history,

  I pull away from him and sit up, tucking tangled red hair behind my ear as I watch the two men stare at each other. The two men that I just fucked.

  Holy fucking shit.

  I just slept with four dudes in a row.

  My cheeks flame and I snap my gaze down to my knees; I can't seem to look at either of them right this second.

  “The fuck is going on in here? Are you poaching my groupies now, Ran? That's low—even for you.”

  “You left a girl tied up with your belt,” Ransom says, and I close my eyes. I do not need him to defend me, but I have the sense that this is about a lot more than just last night. These two are letting some old hurts boil up. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”

  I finally get the courage to look up, finding Pax staring at me with a bored, neutral sort of expression on his face. It's weird, looking at him like this, thinking about his cruel mouth on my pussy, his cock driving inside of me. One-night stands … this is my first experience with them and I'm not sure how to act.

  “I'm not a groupie,” I say finally and they both turn to look at me. I know what it looks like: I got on their bus, proceeded to invite all five of them to fuck me, and ended up actually doing it with four different members of the band. So yeah, I guess groupie would be the word, but that's not why I came here or why I slept with them. “I'm not starstruck and I'm not here for Beauty in Lies. I … just needed to forget for a little while.”

  “Yeah, well, hate to fuckin' tell you, love, but that's what we're all here for.”

  “What do you want, Pax?” Ransom asks, voice low and simmering, drawing the other man's grey gaze back to his face. Seeing Paxton again this morning, after what he did to me last night, I should probably be pissed off, too. My tired soul just doesn't seem to have room for that kind of emotion though and instead, I end up studying Pax almost as apathetically as he seemed to be looking at me. He's still wearing his slacks and button-up from last night. The shirt hangs off one shoulder, exposing most of his bare upper body to me.

  That's when I realize that the cursive words on his chest are accompanied by musical notes and when I squint, I start to read the lyrics.

  “Look into her eyes and say goodbye; never let another day go by; don't miss the quiet moments in between; never love and never leave again.”

  Holy shit.

  Those are the lyrics to that song, the one I heard in the car when I first … got that fucking text. The only difference is that in the actual song, the words say his eyes; Paxton's chest clearly says her. He notices me looking, adjusting his position in the doorway so that he's facing me fully, smoking his cigarette with inked fingers covered in trees and night sky. He's gorgeous, just as gorgeous as he was onstage—maybe more so. But he also looks like he's had a hard fucking night. His dirty blonde hair is mussed and tangle, his eyes shadowed, black liner smeared next to one eye. Pax looks seriously hungover.

  “Want?” he asks, finally, studying me with that practiced cruelty that he does so well. Obviously, it's a mask for a seriously fucked-up individual underneath. I don't let it bother me. “I want to know what the hell you're doing back here, all shacked up through the afternoon with this girl.” He gestures at me with his cigarette like he doesn't give a fuck, maybe even like he's somehow disgusted with Ransom for staying in here with me. But there's a sharp undertone there that I don't miss. “With this Miss Lilith Tempest Goode,” he adds, tilting his head slightly to the side and smirking at me with his mean mouth.

  “I'm like a connoisseur. A collector, if you will.”

  Pax's words ring in my head and I take a deep breath, meeting his gaze without flinching.

  “None of your goddamn business,” Ransom says quietly, grabbing his hoodie and putting it back on, like it's a security blanket or something. No, maybe more like it's a costume, as much a shield for his emotions as Pax's wicked mouth and steely glare. “How does that sound?”

  “It sounds,” Pax starts, glancing down at the trash can on the floor by his feet. My cheeks light up with red and I make a groaning sound, putting my head in my palms to hide my face. There are four condoms in there … from four different guys. From last night and this morning. Oh. My. God. “Like you're getting awfully defensive of something that doesn't belong to you.”

  “That would be your specialty, not mine,” Ransom breathes, his voice so low and dangerous that I have to lift my head up.

  “Please stop,” I say as I grab Muse's phone and credit card off the shelf, scooting forward on the bed and swinging my legs over the end. I put my feet on the narrow strip of floor, surprised to find that the wood is pleasantly warm. Wow. On a bus, no less. The only place I ever lived in that had heated floors was in the apartment Kevin moved us to when we first came down here, the apartment I left when he gave me … his awful parting gift. “You two don't need to fight on my account. As soon as we get to Denver, I'll be out of your hair.”

  I look up and find myself so close to Pax, close enough that I can remember why I let him take me to bed last night.

  “Is there a bathroom I can use?”

  “Right this way,” Pax says, flicking his gaze back to Ransom with a flash of triumph. I have no idea what that's about, but whatever's going on between these guys, it'll take a lot longer than one day to fix it. Not that I have any interest in doing that anyway.

  Pax backs up down the hall, dragging his fingertips along the wall, his cigarette shedding ash as he walks. I follow him, a little nervous at the exchange between us, like we're playing a game of cat and mouse. Clearly, I am the mouse.

  Jesus.

  “Toilet's here,” Pax says with a smirk, pointing to his left. His white button-up finally gives up the ghost and slides down his other shoulder, leaving his glorious body open to my gaze. I swallow hard. “But clearly, there's no bath in there. The bath,” he starts, using his bare foot to slide open a door on his right, “is in here.”

  I glance around the corner, surprised to find that the entirety of the little room on my left is a bath with a showerhead in the ceiling, black and silver tiles covering every square inch of floor, ceiling, and wall. To even get in there, I'd have to step over the edge of the tiled half-wall that makes up one side of the bath.

  “Take your pick,” Pax says, still bracing himself in the narrow hallway with his forearm. He smokes his cigarette and then drops it in the toilet on his left. It sizzles out with a small sound. Behind him, the door to the kitchen is closed, but my heart starts to pound when I think of Copeland and Muse, sitting out there, possibly wondering what I'm doing, possibly judging me.

  I can't quite bring myself to care.

  “Excuse me,” I say and I try to duck under his arm into the toilet. He doesn't let me slip past him, caching me around the neck with his forearm and pulling my body against his.

  “What's your story, Lilith Tempest Goode? You follow me onto my bus and then fuck all my bandmates? I didn't peg you for such a naughty girl.”

  “My dad died yesterday,” I say and it has exactly the sort of effect I thought it might. Pax releases me like I've tossed cold water in his face, giving me just enough time to slip into the little room and close the door behind me. I lock it and flick the switch for the overhead fan, putting my back to the wall and sliding to the floor.

  Silent tears stain my face as I weep quietly for everything that I've lost.

  I guess I don't realize yet just how much I'm about to gain.

  “Why the fuck is that girl still on our bus?” I demand as I watch Pax let himself out of the hallway with a disturbed sort of a look on his face. I know that look; I'm just not sure why I'm seeing it right now. “Are you okay
, man?” I ask, changing my tone suddenly. My friend looks like he's just seen a ghost or something.

  “Why does it matter if she's on the bus?” Muse asks from behind me, drawing my attention around and finding him standing in front of the counter, making himself a cup of tea. Tea. Like he's not already weird enough. “It's not really your business, is it?”

  “Who is this chick that all four of you would fight over each other's backs to stick your dick in her? She have some kind of special vagina magic or something?”

  “Hey, watch your mouth, Michael,” Cope says, slamming his book on the table next to the sofa. The look he throws me is dripping with disdain. He thinks he's better than me, charming the panties off girl after girl after girl. Because he's nice to them, that makes him a sweetheart or something, some heartthrob boy next door or whatever. Fucking hypocrite. “Muse is right; what do you care?”

  “Because we don't generally drag groupies from one city to the next. I like my peace and quiet when I'm on the road. After that nightmare roadshow you all put on during the last tour, we had an agreement.”

  “Seriously, Michael, you need to get laid,” Pax says, pretending he's perfectly fine when he didn't sleep a damn wink last night, drank himself into a stupor and passed out on the kitchen floor. “That girlfriend of yours make conjugal visits?”

  He doesn't look at me as he pours himself a cup of coffee and lights up another cigarette.

  “How long is this chick going to be here?” I ask, knowing I'm being a hard-ass and not caring. I don't want her on my bus, stirring up shit from day one. Last night's gig was the first of this tour—a world tour—that starts in the states and takes us everywhere: Montréal, Dublin, London, Sydney. One little hiccup on this tour and everything could go to shit.

  And I for one have plans: tour, new album, marriage proposal, kids.

  My longtime girlfriend, Vanessa, is waiting for me back in Seattle. I won't let anything fuck that up—not even a curvy redheaded groupie with dark green eyes.

  My lip curls as I lean against the counter between Muse and Pax, trying not to think about how hard I got when I saw that girl stretched out on the bed in front of me, holding up her hand, inviting me in. Jesus. What kind of man am I? I won't do that to Vanessa, not ever again.

  She was thrilled when I called her for a little round of phone sex though; I put my stiff cock to good use.

  “I don't know,” Muse says, lifting the black mug to his lips and glancing at me from the corner of his eyes. “As long as she wants, I guess.”

  “Oh, hell fucking no—” I start and then pause when Ransom lets himself out of the hallway, closing the door carefully behind him. He's got his hood up, hands tucked into the front pocket. He ignores me as I focus my glare on him, watching as he moves to the fridge and gets out a beer. “You, too, huh?” I ask as he continues to ignore me. “Guess everyone's drank the Kool-Aid, but me.”

  “Guess so,” Ransom says in a low voice, flopping into one of the two leather chairs facing the sofa. He swivels it around to face the hallway and tucks his bare feet up underneath himself. When he looks at me, his dark eyes hold a challenge. We never really had any problems before, but since I refuse to alienate Pax the way he's done, I guess I'm the enemy by proxy. “Why are you in here so early in the morning bitching about some poor, lost girl? Does that make you feel good about yourself?”

  “I just don't want some random fucking groupie digging her nails into all frigging four of you and causing drama. The last time you fought over a girl, bones got broken and people got sent to the hospital.”

  Ransom tosses his hood back and stands up, getting in my face. Sometimes I forget how fucking big he is, since he's always swimming in sweatshirts and talking in low voices, calling everybody sweetie and honey and darling.

  I slide away from the counter and take a step back from him.

  “What happened with Kortney is hardly the same as what's happening now,” he says. I expect him to yell, but he doesn't. He never does—unless he's onstage. “Why would you even bring that up?”

  Paxton keeps his back to the situation, but Ransom doesn't miss the smirk that crawls across his lips.

  “I swear to fucking god, I will kill you if you don't wipe that look off your face.”

  “What bloody look?” Pax asks, turning around and challenging Ransom with a stare. “I haven't the faintest idea what you're fucking talking about.”

  I step forward, prepared to get in between them again when the door slides open behind me. I turn and find myself staring at the girl from last night, the one with the VIP badge. As soon as our eyes meet, her cheeks flush and she sucks in a deep breath.

  “Good morning,” she says, meeting my stare head-on and refusing to look at all ashamed about bagging the entire band last night. She doesn't look coy either, just neutral, distant, but like there's this inner core of steel inside of her soul that she's fighting to hang onto.

  I hate her instantly.

  My mouth gets tight and I step aside. Let her talk to one of her lovers instead.

  “If it's still okay, I was hoping I could book a flight out of Denver?” She holds up a phone and I notice she's looking at Muse. Of course this is all his fault. I bet he's the one that invited her to stay the night. He has no fucking boundaries, that guy.

  I follow her gaze and step back, leaning against the counter opposite Pax.

  “Oh, definitely,” Muse says, stirring a second cup of tea in a pink mug. He hands this out and the girl steps forward to take it. “There's coffee, too, if you want some of that instead.”

  “This is great, thanks,” she says, dressed in a massively oversized Beauty in Lies t-shirt and some black sweatpants. Her red hair is wet from the shower, curling halfway down her back in mahogany waves. The way she moves, the way her face is pinched tight, I can tell there's something weighing heavily on her mind. Not that I give a shit. It's just, like calls to like or something.

  I slide a smoke from my own pocket and light up as I watch her sit in the chair next to Ransom's. He swivels his own to watch her playing with Muse's phone, shoving his hood back up to cover his hair.

  “Having any luck, darling?” he asks after a few moments, and I notice the way Pax's eyes watch their interaction, the fingers of his left hand curling into a tight fist. It's been like this between the two of them for years now, ever since Pax fucked Ransom's ex-girlfriend, Kortney. No, before that maybe, when Ransom was crushing on Chloe.

  “There's a flight that leaves around ten tomorrow morning, from Denver to Syracuse,” she says, her voice detached and empty, but then she cringes. “But it's almost six hundred bucks for an economy ticket.”

  “Book it,” Muse says, sipping his tea, looking at her over the tops of his glasses.

  “I don't want to impose on you for another night—” she starts to say.

  “I'll pay for a hotel room,” I say and five sets of eyes swing my direction.

  “For fuck's sake,” Copeland scoffs as I meet the girl's eyes dead-on. “Would you lay off, Michael? She can stay with us if she wants.”

  “Maybe she doesn't want to stay here?” I say, standing up and taking a drag on my cigarette. “Have you ever thought of that? Maybe she'd like a hotel room?”

  “She is named Lilith,” the girl says, standing up and turning to face me. “And I appreciate your offer. After last night, I can understand why you might not want me on this bus. I shouldn't have said what I said to you; I'm sorry.”

  I blink at her, wrinkling up my nose. This is the first time a groupie's ever apologized for hitting on me. I'm seriously fucking confused.

  “Whatever; I just have a girlfriend. It's not like I really give a fuck. I just don't like groupies spending the night on my bus.”

  “A girlfriend that you whored around on and got caught by,” Pax says from beside me, turning and lifting his coffee cup to his smirking mouth. Without thinking, I toss my cigarette into his mug and he curses, sloshing hot coffee all down his bare chest. “You fuc
king wanker!” he snarls, and then he throws the full cup in my direction. It hits the cabinets near my legs and shatters into pieces, burning my feet with hot liquid.

  “Hey!” that Lilith girl says, stepping up between us. “Look, I can see I'm causing problems here. As soon as we get to Denver, I'll take a cab to the airport, spend the night in the terminal. It's not a big deal; I've done it before.”

  “You don't have to do that on their accounts,” Cope says, running a hand over his red hair. “It's not a big deal if you want to stay the night again.” Is it just me or does he sound a little eager? I kick a shard of porcelain at Pax and he narrows his grey eyes on me.

  “No, really, I appreciate everything you guys have done for me, but I think I've overstayed my welcome.” Lilith smiles tightly and heads down the hall, barricading herself in the room we jokingly refer to as 'the Bat Cave'. Only, no crime fighting superpower prowess happens in there, just lots and lots of sex. I've had my fair share of groupies back there, before Vanessa and I got serious again.

  I cheated on my girl before; I won't make that same mistake again.

  I close the door in the back, lock it, and spend a good hour trolling my father's Facebook page to read all of the condolences from his friends. And he had a lot of them. Man, my dad … he was a volunteer firefighter and he knew everybody in our small town. I mean, everybody. Looking at the messages people have left, I start to miss him all over again.

  I trace a picture of his face with my thumb and feel my heart leap into my throat when I get an incoming call from Susan.

  “Hey,” I answer breathlessly, trying not to think of our conversation last night. When I called to tell her about my car and ask if she could wire that money Dad promised, she basically called me a gold digging brat and hung up on me.

  “Lilith,” she says with a sigh. Clearly, she's hurting and upset, but so am I. She was with my dad for six years; I was with him for twenty-one. I have a right to be sad and angry, too. “I just wanted to call to see if you'd gotten things straightened out back home.”