Muse stares at me for several long moments and then nods briskly.
“Right. If we're going to keep this thing in our circle, let's just do that. Michael is … well, if he's with Vanessa, then he's not with us. And since we're not using condoms, we have to be pretty damn clear about how all of this works.”
I nod again, feeling my cheeks flame with embarrassment. But it's not the sex stuff that's embarrassing to me, it's everything else. For a second there, I feel like the cheater and it's awful. I can't even imagine how Kevin was able to put on airs with me when he was the one that got caught dicking around. I can still remember the evil twist of his smirk, the way he tore the diamond bracelet from my wrist.
Just the memory is enough to make me shiver.
“If you two like each other,” Muse starts with a strange sigh, “then we should talk about that.”
“There's nothing to talk about,” Michael says, not unkindly.
“Well, it's either Vanessa or Lilith,” Muse says softly, looking at me. I return his stare and have no idea what to say in response. What I do know for certain is that I don't want to be responsible for breaking Michael and Vanessa up. I won't do it. If they're meant to break up, then something else will have to be that catalyst.
At the time, I felt almost sick at the idea of losing Michael—not that I ever really had him in the first place. But I wanted him. Good thing that for once, fate was on my side. She'd been a bit of a fickle bitch lately, so it was no surprise that I didn't expect it.
Lil and her five rockstars.
Because I would have five of them.
They were always meant to be mine.
“But this isn't like an open relationship sort of thing,” Muse continues, snapping me out of my daze. “The five of us … we have a different kind of bond. Normally, I wouldn't even dream of sharing a girl with anyone else. But we're … Beauty in Lies,” he ends softly, looking down at the ground in front of my feet. “Nice shoes, by the way.” When he looks back up at me, he's grinning.
“There aren't any other guys that I could ever want,” I promise him, letting him fold me back into his arms again. I know we only have about nine days left in our arrangement, but it feels more permanent than that. I tell myself not to fall into that trap, but like an idiot, I don't listen to my own instincts.
“Good. Because I think four or five, those sound like pretty healthy numbers to me. Don't you think?” I laugh and pull away, giving Muse a playful slap on the shoulder. I also notice that Michael's watching us, and that he hasn't exactly answered Muse's question. Vanessa or Lilith. I almost don't want him to answer.
“We have a ton of extra time tonight,” Michael says, putting his hands in his pockets, “but I am partied the fuck out from Minneapolis. You want to grab the guys and we'll go to dinner somewhere?”
“Somewhere fancy?” Muse asks with a boyish grin. “With fucking steak and cloth napkins and waiters that look at us like we're hoodlums?”
“What do you think, Lil?” Michael asks me, his anger bleeding out and fleeing into the darkness of night. I feel a huge surge of relief that he's willing to drop the subject. If nothing else, I'd like us to be friends. If the other boys like Michael so much, there's no doubt in my mind that he's got a good heart.
“I think that sounds like fucking heaven,” I respond honestly.
So, for the first time in my life—but not the last—I get taken out to a nice dinner by not one, not two, but five strapping young men.
Let's just say this: it was the best date I've ever been on.
And the sex afterwards?
Even if Michael wasn't a part of it, that night in the Bat Cave was easily one of the best nights of my life.
No family, no apartment, no job … but four passionate, skillful lovers?
It might not make everything in my life better, but I was starting to feel okay. Really fucking okay. And at that point in my life, that's all I could really ask for.
The boys and I sleep together in the Bat Cave again—well, all of us but Michael obviously.
When I wake up, I'm wrapped in Cope's arms, my head pressed tight to his chest. I don't feel the bus moving, so I get up and peek out the curtains. We're definitely not in Chicago anymore, and I can see the other trailers and buses parked nearby. St. Louis, then. Rain drives against the pavement as I squint and try to make out any distinctive city landmarks. Can I see the Gateway Arch from here?
My charm bracelet jingles as I flop back onto the bed between Copeland and Ransom.
It's the only thing I'm wearing.
I lean back into the pillows and rub my thighs and calves together, luxuriate in the silky feel of the sheets and the soreness in my core. It's a good kind of soreness, a carnal memory like my tender lips, a reminder that I was with someone and they cared, that we connected, that we touched.
There are two sleeping men on either side of me, not cuddling together exactly, but not terrified of each other's bodies either. I don't think any of them are bisexual, but they don't exactly shy away from accidental—or even purposeful—contact when they're fucking me.
I love it.
Right now, laying here like this, I get that worshipped queenly feeling again. And my sex drive is in fucking high gear right now. I don't know if it's because I'm just realizing how many years I wasted with Kevin, or if the grief inside of me has just washed all of my inhibitions away along with my tears, but I can't seem to get enough. Honestly, each one of these guys is a damn good lover in his own right … but I'm not sure that one man could satisfy me with the way I'm feeling right now.
“Let me take you out tonight,” Cope whispers, drawing my attention over to his sleep drenched face. I scoot close to him and drape a strand of my hair across his, comparing the color. My hair has this purple-y sheen to it while his is more of a rich red-brown.
Cope's turquoise eyes watch me and his gentle mouth quirks into a smile.
“Let's go dancing.”
“Dancing?” I ask as he pulls me into him, tilting my chin up with his fingertips and kissing me like I'm his real girlfriend, his partner, the love of his life. He kissed me like that my first night on the bus, so I imagine it's just something he does. But damn, it feels good. I wonder about him as he kisses me, tucks me close to his body and slips a knee between my thighs.
In the past few days, I've learned a hell of a lot about Ransom and Paxton, why they are the way they are.
Cope is a bit of a mystery to me.
“Do you want to dance with me, Lilith?” he whispers against my lips, the touch of his hand trailing down my side making me arch my body into his. Cope is naked, too. It wouldn't take much maneuvering for us to come together, his bare cock sheathed inside of my wetness. As soon as I have that thought, I feel my cheeks flush guiltily.
Last night, before we went to the steakhouse, I slipped into my room to change and peeked inside the drawer with the manila envelopes. I looked at Michael's test results and felt this stupid giddy thrill when I found out that he was clean, too.
God. What is wrong with me?
“I want to dance,” I say, gasping as Cope rolls on top of me and curls his fingers through my own. His short red hair is mussy and cute right now and his eyes are sleepy and tender. He has this way about him that makes me feel like I should spill all my secrets, my worries, just get them out there and trust in him to make them all better. “But I'm no good at it,” I whisper as he kisses the side of my neck, trails his hot mouth down to my breasts.
When he lets go of my hands, I tangle them in his short hair, wondering how I ever confused his and Muse's hairstyles. Cope's hair is short but not buzzed, and slightly longer on top. When he styles it up into a mohawk or a faux hawk or whatever you want to call it, it makes this sexy little crest along the top of his scalp that blends in with the hair on either side. Muse's hair is buzzed and dyed black along the sides, and his black to silver ombre hair on the top is probably three times as long as Cope's, maybe more. I've seen him style his mohaw
k into a gentle curve, into spikes, into a tall gelled crest.
I muss up Cope's hair as he disappears beneath the black blankets and puts his mouth between my thighs, tasting and kissing my sex with such gentle movements that I almost want to cry. It feels so good that it's almost too good. I curl my fingers into the sheets to keep from pressing his head down, fighting to breathe through swirls of easy pleasure that turn my tense body back into mush.
By the time he slides back up and mounts me, I'm completely and utterly enthralled with him, wondering how he could possibly be so loving, so gentle, to a complete stranger. What if I really were his girlfriend? How much love and care would he show me then?
My toes curl into the sheets as I bury my face against Cope's shoulder, knead the firm curves of his ass with my fingers and try not to moan so loud that I wake everyone else up. The sheer exquisiteness of his bare body inside of mine is too much to take, especially when his moans get rougher, less polished, more broken. Inside of the rocker boy next door persona, is a man that's desperate to let it all out.
I feel like I have to hear his story. I just fucking have to.
“God, Lily,” he says, taking up one of my nicknames right then and there as he comes inside of me, satisfying some base biological impulse that makes me so giddy that I come, too. My body tightens around his, squeezes and pulses, drags a few rough sounds from his throat as he collapses and we spend a few minutes catching our breath together. “So, dancing,” he whispers against my ear and I shiver.
He rolls off of me and I turn on my side, squeezing my thighs tight. I should get up and clean up, but I don't want to leave the comforting darkness of the cave yet. It's too peaceful back here, with all of these warm, breathing bodies and Cope's gently smiling face. But I guess it doesn't matter so much. After last night, these sheets are toast.
I hope the boys have a lot of extras on hand.
“I'll go dancing,” I say and he quirks his smile to the side. “Hey, do you guys happen to have extra sheets? Now that we're not using condoms …” I start and he laughs. I smack him in the arm. “There are four of you. Sex is messy with just me and one dude. But four. Four?!”
“We have lots of extras,” he says as Ransom stirs behind him. We both pause, but he falls right back asleep. “They're in a hidden drawer around here somewhere. It's usually Muse that changes them—whether he's slept in the bed or not. I bet we could find them if we searched.”
“You guys must go through a lot of sheets and blankets,” I say and then blush. Now that we're talking about other girls with my boys, I get embarrassed. Or maybe that hot flush I feel is jealousy? “I mean, if you have to change them every single night. They must fade and go threadbare pretty fast.” Before Cope can answer, something comes to mind and I bite my lower lip. “And what about the toys?” I point up towards the headboard and its many mysterious drawers that I have yet to peruse. “Those don't get … reused, do they?”
Cope laughs again, this time so loudly that he wakes Paxton up.
“What fucking time is it?” he mumbles, his accent thick and adorable with sleep. I glance over my shoulder and find him snatching his phone off the headboard shelf.
“We throw those away after every use.”
“Isn't that kind of an expensive hobby?” I ask, looking back at Cope. He just shrugs and sits upright, the colorful tattoos on his forearms dancing as he rubs at his face.
“Now that you're here, we can just wash them, right? Save ourselves some money.”
I start to smile at Cope's joke—and the implied sentiment behind it—when Paxton starts cursing under his breath.
“Jesus Christ,” he growls, the anger in his voice making me jump. I glance over my shoulder again, but he's not looking at us. His grey eyes are focused on his phone. Before I can ask if he's okay, he's dialing somebody up and climbing out of bed, yanking on a pair of sweats that I don't think are even his. “Yeah, what?” he snaps at the person on the other end of the line, shoving the Bat Cave's door open and disappearing down the hall.
“What's that about?” I ask as I glance back at Cope. His face is pinched and he tilts his head to the side as he swings his eyes over to mine.
“Pax's parents probably,” he says, and there's a whole other fucking story buried in his words that makes me curious. I want to know everything there is to know about these boys. And I only have nine days left to do it. That terrifies me.
“What about your parents?” I ask and notice Cope's face shift into this sad but resigned sort of expression.
“My mom's still around,” he says mildly, looking down at the blankets draped across his legs. “But she's not well.” My heart skips and I feel sick inside. My dad wasn't well. He wasn't well and he fucking died. He died, he died, he died, and I wasn't fucking there.
I squeeze my eyes shut tight and feel Cope take me into his arms, pull me into his lap and hug me tight. He really is good at hugs, damn it. Within a few minutes, my panic's receded enough that I can think clearly.
“What's she sick with?” I ask, hoping I'm not overstepping any boundaries. I might be naked in this guy's lap with his come inside of me, but I don't know him at all. Not at fucking all.
“All sorts of stuff,” he explains on the end of a long sigh. “She has severe anxiety, depression. Most days she has a hard time even getting out of bed. And then sometimes, when she does, she has these awful panic attacks where her whole body locks up and she has to go to the hospital.”
“Damn,” I whisper, unsure how else to respond to that. “Your dad?”
“He couldn't take it, so he left when I was really young and started a new family down the street. When I was a kid I used to sit on the lawn and watch him play with his new sons.”
“Are you … serious?” I ask, wondering how the hell Cope can discuss something so awful with such a straight face. My dad might be gone now, but I knew—I'll always know—how much he fucking loved me. I will always have that. To know that my dad didn't care? That he couldn't bother to walk down the street and see me? That, I can't imagine.
When I look up and see Cope's expression, I try to change the subject.
“You're such a nice guy,” I say and his lips twitch, “giving random girls at gas stations money and all that. Why don't you have a girlfriend?”
“I've had girlfriends,” he says with a careful sort of neutrality. I decide not to press the matter any further. Everyone on this bus is steeped in tragedy—including me. If Cope wanted to talk about his, he'd elaborate. I'm about to cajole him into going out for breakfast when he surprises me and keeps talking. “I grew up with my grandma, too. But she had the same problems as Mom. That's why I'm never having kids; I got lucky enough not to inherit whatever's wrong with them. But it feels like my genes are tainted. That's one of the reasons I don't have a girlfriend. A lot of girls want their own biological kids, and that's something I won't give them.”
“I'm sorry, Cope,” I say because it seems like an appropriate response, but he just smiles at me and exhales sharply.
“This conversation sucks,” he says with a smile, fingering my charm bracelet and examining my sister's birthstone. It's a diamond for April. In fact, her birthday's just a few short weeks away. Dad and I used to celebrate with ice cream cake and a marathon of Yasmine's favorite movies.
The thought of watching those movies alone makes me want to throw up.
“This conversation does suck,” I say with a laugh, shaking the thoughts from my head as I look up at Cope. “Do you want to get something to eat and like, go to a bookstore or something?”
This time, when he laughs, it's completely genuine.
“Food and books,” he says as he kisses the side of my face and makes my toes curl again. “You already know me so damn well. Let's get dressed and you can tell me all about you.”
Paxton picks out this hilarious bodice ripper and throws it at me, laughing as I fumble to catch it without wrinkling the pages. I give him a look as he manages to attract the attention
of every person in the store with his inappropriate commentary.
“You see the tagline on that shite? He destroyed me with his heaving love. What the bloody hell is heaving love? And who wants to be destroyed by some heaving bloke anyway?”
I turn the book around and examine the cover.
“I've read this one,” I say as he rolls his grey eyes at me and Lilith smiles. “I gave it five stars,” I tell her, passing over the book and bending low to examine the bottom shelves. A lot of people don't know this, but publishers pay extra to have their books put on higher shelves, so that they're at eye level with customers. That usually means all the hidden gems are hiding on the bottom.
“Why don't you get a Kindle or something?” Lilith asks, but not like she's judging, just curious. I like that. It's hard to find a person in this world that isn't judgmental as hell.
“Tactile experience,” I say, even though I know eBooks would make a lot more sense considering my situation. Our band spends a lot of time on the road, on planes, in hotels. Space is sort of at a premium for me. I should rightfully give up the random stacks of books around the bus, the mess of pages and ink stuffed into my bunk. But I can't. I won't. “It's not like I don't read eBooks. Indie authors are my favorite, but …” I tug an erotica novel off the shelf and flip it over to read the back. “I get sick of digital everything. Don't you miss CDs? DVDs? I just want to touch what I'm consuming for once.”
“Miss Lily's a bit young for CDs and DVDs, Cope, you old bastard,” Pax says as he parks himself next to me and squats down to read over my shoulder. He scoffs under his breath, but I smile and take the book along with me. The first lines read, When you fall in love, you disregard logic. Because logic and love are two sides of the same coin. Together, they make a beautiful sort of currency, but you can never look them both in the face at the same time.
I like that.
“Hey, I'm not completely unsentimental. I still have my mom's vinyl records—” Lilith starts and then pales suddenly, glancing away from me sharply. “I mean, I had her records. They got stolen from my car.”
Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 1) Page 28
