“Anyway, painting isn't exactly an easy or lucrative trade as far as making a living goes. I'll have to find something else. I have my high school diploma but not much else. I took a few classes at the community college …” Lilith trails off with a small sigh, her shoulders sagging a little. I want nothing more in that moment than to see her succeed at something. “I'm trying to decide if I should move back to New York. Even though my dad's gone, I know the people in Gloversville. Then again, my car's already in Phoenix, so I guess I could go back there, beg for my waitressing job back.”
“You sound like you're discussing funeral arrangements,” Paxton says and Lilith's head snaps up.
“I wish I were discussing funeral arrangements,” she whispers, her skin getting tight, face going pale. “My wicked stepmother isn't having one for my dad. If she has her way, I doubt he'll even get his name inscribed in the Goode family mausoleum. That is where he should be, with his parents, with my sister. I could've scattered my mom's ashes there so they could all be together again. I guess I still can …”
Lilith rakes her fingers through her hair. I see her eyes going glassy, fading, her spirit drooping below the floor, diving straight to hell. I was literally just there, so I get it. I feel her pain. I want to pull her close and mix it with mine, press my face to her hair and breathe in her scent.
So I do.
I take her coffee away, set both our mugs on the side table, and then drag her into my lap.
“Oh,” she says as she settles against me, staring into my face. I wonder what she thinks about last night, about the sex, or maybe how I called her my girlfriend to that guy at the club. My girlfriend. Muse's girlfriend. Both. That's what I said. But can we even do that? I don't know the answer to that question.
“You could ask for his name to be inscribed yourself,” I say, thinking of my mom's grave back in Seattle, that rain drenched plot of earth shaded by a handsome red cedar tree. The first night she was buried there, I slept on it until the caretaker came and woke me up in a pool of wet moonlight. “Then sprinkle his ashes there with your mom's.”
“Assuming Susan really does give them to me like she promised,” Lilith whispers, leaning into me, letting me use her for comfort as much as she's using me. “I hate her.”
“You should try not to, sweet thing,” I whisper, feeling an answering call of rage inside of her. She should let it out before it breaks her the way it broke me. “Hate like that will destroy you.”
“That it will,” Pax says and when I glance up, I see him looking straight at me and I wonder for a second there if the expression on his face … is the beginning of an apology.
After the show that night, Michael catches up to me outside the venue and pulls me aside. His fingers are slick with sweat when he grabs onto my bicep and drags me over to the front of the bus. I'm slightly annoyed; all I want right now is to see Lilith. After our little coffee chat on the couch, she got dressed in his sexy as fuck green dress and skipped out on the rest of us. I have no idea where she went, but I didn't catch sight of her before or during the show so she must be up to something.
I'm ridiculously interested in what she's been doing.
“What do you want?” I ask, my hands shaking from adrenaline as I light up a cigarette and raise my brows in question. Michael looks awful. I figure it's because he was the drunkest out of all of us last night, waking up only when he absolutely had to to get ready for the show. While he was scrambling to wash his face and get eyeliner on his lids, he was having a screaming argument with Vanessa over speakerphone.
“Did I have sex with Lilith last night?” he asks and I blink suddenly at him.
“What?”
“Did I have sex with her?” he asks, raking his fingers through his dark hair and looking like he wants to kill something or somebody. A few of the roadies rolling equipment past give us both a wide berth.
“Um.” I take a drag on my cigarette and look at him, standing there in a purple t-shirt with a flock of black bats across the front. The color looks good with his tattoos—they're all in these cool, dark jewel tones. Royal purple, navy blue, hunter green, svelte black. “I was drunk as fuck, Michael. I have no idea.”
“Shit, shit, shit,” he says, spinning in a tight circle, looking up at the sky with this disgusted expression plastered on his face, like he hates himself almost as much as Vanessa does. Because the way she talks to him, she must hate him. I get it—I was cheated on, too. It fucking hurts like hell. It's hard to explain how deep something like that cuts into your soul. If I ever got bored with my girl and wanted to move on, I'd break up with her before I fucked somebody else. Even it's only ten minutes before. Jesus. How hard is that?
“Do you … want to have sex with Lilith?” I ask, feeling a tiny spark of jealousy. Kind of ridiculous considering I've been sharing her with three other guys since the beginning, but there it is.
“No.”
The way he pauses and turns that violet glare of his on me tells me that he's most definitely lying. We stare at each other for a moment before he pushes past me and storms up the steps to the bus, shoving the door open and spilling some bouncy pop music into the air.
I follow after him and shove him out of the way when he blocks the door, catching sight of Lilith in a white apron, dancing and grooving to the song, those generous hips of hers rocking with the beat. The music's so loud she doesn't realize we're standing there watching her.
“Jesus Christ,” Michael says as I grab onto the doorframe to keep myself upright.
When Lilith turns away to grab something off the counter, apron strings trailing behind her, I see that she's wearing, like, nothing underneath but a bra and panties.
“Move,” I growl and push Michael out of my way, moving across the wood floor and pausing at the edge of the counter. When Lilith turns around, she screams and nearly drops the baking sheet full of rolls clutched in her mittened hands.
“Oh my God!” she gasps and then flushes red from chin to forehead. “I thought … is the show over already?”
“It's over, honey,” I say as she glances around for a place to set the tray and ends up balancing it over the sink. I notice then that the counters are covered with cooking utensils, a stack of plates, a giant wooden bowl brimming with green salad leaves and vibrant red tomato chunks. “It's over,” I whisper as she reaches back, trying to tie up her apron, like that'll provide any coverage for the colorful turquoise lingerie draped over her pale skin.
Putting my hands gently on her shoulders, I turn her around and slide the apron strings through my fingers, putting my mouth to her ear.
“What are you doing, doll face?” I whisper before placing a kiss to her neck and tying the apron in a neat little bow. What I really want to say ask is, 'Why am I falling for you so quickly?'. I must be crazy.
“I was about to get dressed up, but I was afraid of overcooking the rolls …”
“You look dressed up to me, baby,” I whisper as she turns back around and sweeps a few loose strands of her mahogany-red hair from her face. The rest is up in this flirty ponytail that sways when she moves.
I am fucking mesmerized.
“Hey,” Michael says, moving up next to me, his stance aggressive and forward, shoulders taut, face locked in a frown. But when Lilith turns to face him, flushing slightly when she realizes he saw her dancing in her lingerie, too, he softens up considerably and sighs. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Of course,” Lilith says, sucking her glossed up lower lip between her teeth. “But first, maybe I should get dressed?”
“You can do whatever you want,” Michael says, not unkindly, as he tucks his fingers into the pockets of his black skinny jeans. “I'll go tuck myself in my bunk with some headphones and you guys can … do whatever it is that the five of you do.”
“You don't have to do that,” Lilith says, sounding slightly disappointed. “I was hoping you'd join us for dinner? I made bread from scratch. Oh, and these ridiculous mac 'n' cheese BLT things t
hat my dad was in love with … I made them every Sunday after church for years.” Her voice trails off and her eyes get glassy for a second.
“Did we have sex last night?” Michael asks and surprisingly, Lilith's blush actually seems to fade a little. She blinks in surprise for a second and then smiles.
“No,” she says with a small laugh. “You all might've been blackout drunk, but I remember what we did.”
“What did we do?” I ask and she gives me this scorching look that drums up memories of sweaty naked bodies and wet, wet heat. I shiver slightly.
“You're sure?” Michael asks and Lilith nods, looking him straight in the face.
“You collapsed on the edge of the bed and feel asleep. Honestly, I guess I was pretty fucking drunk because we shouldn't have … done anything with you around like that.”
“I was passed out,” he whispers and then runs his hand through his hair again. This time, he actually smiles at her. “I don't care what you guys do if I don't have to see it.”
“Wow,” Cope says when he climbs the steps to the bus and smells the rich velvety scents of cheese and bacon, fresh bread and warm butter. My heart flutters a little because this whole scene—minus the lingerie—reminds me of my mother.
I breathe out low and deep as Cope comes to stand beside me and smiles.
“You cooked us dinner?” he asks and Lilith smiles back.
“Don't get too excited: this is partially me being selfish. My mom and dad went to the same church my whole life and if any member of the congregation passed away, they had this big potluck in the Sunday school building …” She pauses and takes a breath that looks an awful lot like the one I just took.
I want to fucking marry her.
And I've known her, like, five days.
“This is my dad's funereal potluck party,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “His celebration of life dinner.” She pauses as Pax and Muse join us on the bus next and take in the scene with a similar expression to the one I must've been wearing when I walked in here: surprise, excitement, heat. “Let me get dressed,” she says suddenly, turning and giving us one last look at that gorgeous ass wrapped in lace.
“Damn it, I missed the show?” Pax asks, wrinkling his nose at the pop music and surveying the food on the counters. Sometimes, Cope cooks but otherwise, it's takeout, the occasional restaurant or bar food. This is … nice. Totally unexpected, too.
“I don't think so,” I say when Lilith reappears, her red hair shimmering down her back, this floor-length red dress sparkling on her curvy frame. “I think the second act is about to start.”
“It was my prom dress,” she says with a slight cringe, like she has no idea how fucking hot she looks in it. “But at least it still fits, right? I don't have a lot of clothes with me …”
“I could give you some money to shop with,” Muse offers and I kick myself for not thinking of it. Muse always fucking thinks of everything. I smoke my cigarette and then pause to reach up and throw my hood back.
“I can't take your money,” Lilith says with a shake of her head, the beaded fabric of her dress swishing as she walks, pulling a couple glass pans from the fridge that are full of macaroni and cheese.
“Who bought all of this stuff?” Muse asks, hazel eyes sparkling as he takes in Lilith's glittering form. All of that femininity breaking up the masculine on our bus is fucking refreshing as hell. I'd forgotten what it was like to have a girlfriend. I mean, not that all girls cook or whatever, but there's just this … aura that women have that I like. Or maybe I'm just imagining it because I'm straight as hell? I have no clue.
“I did,” Lilith states proudly, putting her shoulders back as she takes a knife and starts cutting the cold mac 'n' cheese into squares. “I made some iced tea and lemonade, too, if you're thirsty.”
“Vodka and lemonade,” Pax says, licking his lower lip and watching Lilith like he's considering throwing her over the counter and fucking her. “That's what I'm having. Should I mix you a drink, Miss Lilith Tempest Goode?”
“I'd love that,” she says, smiling at him in a way I haven't seen a girl do since Chloe died. Oh, girls smile at Paxton all the time. But not like that. Like they see something other than the music or the money or the suit.
“If you bought all of this,” Muse continues, completely unperturbed by her avoidance of the subject, “then how much money do you have left?”
“It's …” Lilith starts, but I can see the tense set of her shoulders as she greases up a pan and drops the first block of cold mac 'n' cheese into it. “I wanted to do this for my dad. For you guys. You've been great to me.”
“Really?” Pax asks as he grabs a bottle of vodka from under the cabinet. “If that's what you think then people haven't been treating you right, Miss Lily. All we've done is fuck you.”
“It's more than that,” she says as she adds several more blocks of mac 'n' cheese to the pan, flipping them over when they brown and transferring them to a plate. “And anyway, two hundred dollars is nothing. I'd rather celebrate my dad with it here and now than use it to scrape by later. I'll figure it out. I think I'll sell my car.”
Lilith keeps cooking the food while Muse digs in his pocket, pulls out his wallet and removes a wad of cash. When she isn't looking, he grabs her pink purse off one of the swivel chairs and shoves it in the side pocket, smiling at me when he catches me looking.
I don't say anything.
“If you guys want to sit down, I can bring you your food.”
“Let me help,” Cope says, stepping up next to her at the stove. “What can I do?”
He looks completely at home in the kitchen, even in his torn jeans and vintage band t-shirt. Cope's used to helping out like this. He practically raised himself. Both his mom and his grandmother had severe mental issues—anxiety, depression, loads of other shit—and he had to take care of all three of them. He's just lucky he doesn't seem to have inherited any of it. He did tell me once that he'll never have kids, just on the off chance they might get the wrong combination of genes from him.
That fucking sucks.
My mom was … she was everything to me. Cope, he was everything for his mom. Even now, she treats him like the husband she never had. She cuddles him inappropriately—like way inappropriately—and takes his money and doesn't do shit for herself. It's weird and totally fucked-up. I know he hates it, even if he won't admit it. And I've known Copeland since I was twelve and he was sixteen; he was my 'mentor' sent from the high school to my middle school.
“Maybe butter the bread?” Lilith asks, gesturing over her shoulder with the spatula. “But be careful; the rolls might be hot.”
Cope nods, reaching up to ruffle his hair with his fingers, messing up his careful faux hawk until his red hair's just mussed up and laying across his forehead. He washes his hands in the sink, shakes them out and dries them on a black dish towel. When he notices me watching, he smiles and raises his eyebrows.
“Want to show Lilith that we're not complete slobs? We do actually have a proper tablecloth and some fucking candles in here somewhere.”
“Do you now?” she asks with a smile as she dishes up the hot squares of macaroni and layers them with bacon. “I've been snooping all over this place today and I haven't found them. Are these hidden away like the chairs?”
“Like the sex toys under the Bat Cave bed,” Pax says with a cruel laugh, handing Lilith a glass with lemonade and vodka in it.
“I'll show you,” I say, moving over to the couch and kneeling down, reaching underneath it for the small silver handle. In a space as tight as this, there's shit hidden everywhere. We could probably hide drugs here and survive a DEA raid.
Yanking the drawer open, I find the promised tablecloth and a few white pillar candles with a metal holder. Honestly, I think this shit's been in here since I was dating Kortney three fucking years ago. This is the same bus we used then and even though the entire interior was overhauled shortly after I broke up with her—including new leather on the couch—the s
tuff in this drawer's remain untouched. See what I mean? Even a remodel couldn't uncover these fossils.
I stare at the shit for a long time and then yank out the tablecloth, sending a flutter of floral napkins scattering like a flock of birds.
As soon as I see them, I feel like I'm about to puke.
“Jesus,” Muse whispers, bending down and gathering them up as I sit there and shake like the pathetically useless piece of shit that I am. “Ransom,” he says, trying to get my attention. I ignore him, staring at the napkins with wide eyes.
My mom gave me these napkins. She said even bachelor boys should have nice napkins, just in case they meet a nice girl. Because nice girls need nice dinners. She taught me how to fold them into shapes—bow ties, fans, pinwheels, hearts.
I sit back on my ass with one of the napkins in my hand, just staring at it and wondering if it, too, smells like violets or if it's just the perfume I spray on all my clothes.
Muse throws the tablecloth and candles on the couch, shoving the drawer closed and gathering up the rest of the napkins. They're white with tiny purple flowers—fucking violets—all over them. My mom was raped and killed on a violet bedspread that looked just like this.
“Ransom,” Muse says carefully, getting on his knees in front of me and trying to catch my attention. I jerk my hood up over my face and close my eyes tight against the rush of feeling. It's not like this shit happens everyday; it doesn't. But something about Lilith, about her own grief for her father, it's bringing mine rushing up to the surface.
“Ran?” Lilith asks, using my nickname. I like that, her acting familiar with me when she doesn't know me for shit. I'm just this weird, scarred up, fucked-up guy with a dead mom and blood on his hands. I wish I'd died that night, from all the times that piece of shit stabbed me before he died.
I should've bled to death in that alley.
I would've probably if Copeland hadn't followed me that night and found me lying there next to a dumpster, next to a corpse.
Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1) Page 23
