But later, when I shower, a few of my tears swim down the drain with the rest of the water.
This is it, though, I promise myself, leaning my head against the tiles lining the wall. Yes, it hurts. But I'm a big girl and I made my decision and the point of leaving was to avoid pain. For both of us.
Gage will be okay. And I will be, too.
I will be.
I mean, I'm on the road with a freaking rock star. One who just rocked the hell out of my body.
Good God. Not that I was a complete virgin before this summer or anything, and it's not like I haven't enjoyed sex before, but I could kind of take it or leave it. Now, though? Between Gage and Luca, I finally understand what all the fuss is about. Knowing that Luca's waiting outside the door, ready to take me back for another round, is almost enough to snap me out of the dampness of my mood.
Luca, actually, isn't waiting outside the bathroom door. I find him back on the first level, whipping up the French toast he promised earlier.
"I totally thought you'd burn the bus down if you tried to cook," I admit, slipping behind him and running my hands across the ridges along his stomach—something I could do all day, every day.
He turns, ducking down for a quick kiss and then giving me a little shove toward the booth across the aisle, where I see a platter already set up with syrup and butter and utensils. "I make a few things very well. French toast is one."
I take a seat and he brings over a plate stacked high with fluffy, coated bread. There's a smear of powdered sugar across his upper lip. I wipe it away with my thumb and am about to lick it off, but he beats me to it, taking the pad of my finger in his mouth, sliding his tongue along it.
He laughs at whatever he sees in my expression. "Do you want breakfast or do you want me?"
"C. All of the above."
"Good." He rocks on his toes a little, like he's excited, which makes me smile. "Me, too."
But after we eat, he wants to work out. Which means I'll be left alone with my thoughts. Which is a bit scary.
"Where?" I ask.
"There's a space with weights next to the bedroom." He shoves away from the table, his plate still mostly full. "Help yourself to anything, okay? Mi casa es su casa. Or bus, whatever."
I laugh because he seems so jittery, like he's so full of energy—and I wonder if there's any way I'm the cause of it. He treats me to a quick kiss with a chuckle of his own and leaves me at the table. I sit still for a moment, taking it all in.
Luca James's tour bus. Who ever would've thought I'd end up here? Certainly not me.
I take a few more bites and then clear our dishes to the sink. Because, you know, what bus is complete without a kitchen sink?
I meander through the bus, amazed at how easily my system's adjusted to the perpetual motion. Eventually, I make my way to the bar area on the second level, taking a seat at one of the stools by the counter. There are two taps for beer, and I wonder if they're already stocked. A drink might help to calm my nerves and keep my regrets at bay—but it's just too early in the day for me to justify it. Instead I text Teagan and Vera, asking them how the hotel party was. Smiling when I add, as though it's an afterthought, Oh, by the way, I'm texting you from Luca's tour bus.
Teagan calls me immediately, demanding details. She proceeds to lecture me for going off this way while in the exact same breath telling me how unbelievably jealous she is.
"Well now you just sound like Vera," I tell her, spinning in my seat.
"Oh yeah," she says, laughing. "Is she even talking to you anymore, now that you've run off with the love of her life?"
"I'm here with her blessing," I assure her, hoping it's actually true. Vera told me to go for it with Luca, not necessarily to go with him. "Or I will be, when she finds my note."
"You didn't even talk to her before you left?"
Guilt makes me pause before answering. I didn't speak with her this morning. It was so early when I stopped by to pack a few of my things, and Jared's yellow Hummer (God, so ugly) was out front… I didn't want to wake her—and I didn't want to deal with him. So I left a note on the counter.
When I hang up with Teagan, after promising to say hello to Norris and his wife, if she's around, I check my text messages, but there's nothing from Vera. Not in response to the note I left and not in response to my text. A little flutter of concern runs through me. And then I forget all about it because I discover I do have a missed text.
From Gage.
Jesus, Cassidy. A note?
My heart wrenches and drops with a thud into my stomach. I hate myself. And I miss him. But I can't tell him that. So I respond the only way I can. I'm sorry. And I don't hear from him again.
The trip to Nashville is over nine hours. And I can tell Luca's confused as to why I avoid touching him the rest of the trip, but he doesn't comment on it other than to ask if I'm all right. I nod and tell him the motion of the bus is unsettling. We leave it at that.
When we arrive, he's thrown into pre-show madness, and I'm left mostly to myself. He tells me to meet him in his dressing room before the show, but there's some sort of mix-up. I'm not allowed past arena security, and Luca doesn't answer my phone calls. Marx finds me right as the opening act plays their first set. Instead of taking me to Luca, he leads me to my seat. And then, being Marx, leaves me by myself.
Great way to kick off this whole going-on-tour decision.
Granted, my seat is in a suite. A glass-lined box above the crowd, giving me an amazing view of the stage. Giving me an amazing view of Luca. It's just not the same, though, enjoying his performance alone. I miss Teagan and Vera.
It's like she's read my mind from all those miles away, because Vera finally texts me back. I can't believe you went! I've been dying to text you all day but Jared's been in a MOOD so I've been taking care of him instead. I totally hooked up with that roadie Jeff again last night. We missed you at the hotel. Where are you now? I WANT DETAILS.
I call her because there's just too much to text back and I don't want my fingers to fall off. She squeals for a good minute straight into my ear. I tease her about having Jared over last night after she'd spent the hotel party making out with Jeff. She teases me back, telling me I'm the pot calling the kettle black and, even though I try not to let it show through the tone of my voice, my mood plummets again. She's right. I was with Gage last night. Even if we didn't sleep together, I was still there, in his bed, and now I'm with Luca.
When we hang up, I wonder, once again, if I've made a huge mistake. And I wonder, too, if Vera wasn't just teasing. If there was a hint of censure in her reminder.
But when Luca takes the stage, his lips pressed to his microphone, I hear the screams of thousands of other girls. Knowing what he was doing with that same mouth between my knees, only hours ago, gives me no small amount of smug pleasure.
This is good, being here. This is what I want.
What I need.
And after the show, Luca's all apologies. "I forgot there was a pre-show meet and greet thing," he says. "I left my phone in my dressing room and couldn't get away to grab it."
I almost point out that he could've sent someone back to grab it—but it's our first night on tour together and I don't want to ruin it with an argument that doesn't matter now, anyway.
"Whatever," I say, keeping my expression sly. "You'll just have to make it up to me. Tonight."
His mouth cracks into a smile. "Oh, is that right?"
"It is."
"Maybe we should hurry our asses back to the hotel then?"
"No maybe about it."
He yanks me through corridors and out to the tour bus. One of his bodyguards follows a few feet behind us. There's a quick introduction to his driver—a sweet older man with gray hair and friendly eyes—and then we're back in the bus. We lounge in the plush leather seats of the cinema room to wait out the ride. But there's a sharpness in the air, a sweet, sweet sharpness between us. We barely make it two minutes before he's up, standing in front of me. I s
tart to rise, too, but he pushes my shoulders back into the seat and drops to his knees between my legs.
"Luca." I can't fight the grin stretching across my mouth. "The hotel's only a few blocks away."
He says nothing, just cocks an eyebrow and tugs my pants down over my hips, pulling them the rest of the way off.
And then he makes it up to me before we get there.
Twice.
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
The after-party at the hotel is much more like what I'd expect the scene to be for rock stars after a concert than what I witnessed backstage in Virginia. We're in a huge suite, packed practically wall-to-wall with people. Music thumps through the room, shared with the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses.
Some of what's going on I couldn't dream up on my own in a million years.
Case in point: Right in front of me—right in front of everyone—right on a couch, Polly's pushing some guy's head between her thighs and under her skirt. She catches me looking and winks at me. My face bursts into flames.
In another corner, the only thing keeping Steve from having sex with a groupie is the fact that they still have clothes on. Though she's wearing so little, they might not even count.
The oily, pungent scent of weed lingers in the air. I wonder if it bothers Luca, but he's sitting next to me, watching me take everything in with a smirk across his face. He leans over and raises his voice in my ear. "Can you handle this?"
I shrug—though I'm completely reeling on the inside. And, okay…to be honest, there's a part of me that's actually turned on by it all. But mostly I'm doing everything I can, including crossing my feet under my legs, to keep from running out of the suite.
Plus, regardless of all the hooking up going on around us, it's Luca people can't keep their eyes off of. Which, sitting next to him the way I am, means I'm getting stares, too. And some of them aren't very nice. From groupies with huge boobs spilling out of their shirts. (I thought my cleavage-skimming tank top was revealing, but it practically makes me a nun here.) From slick-looking industry up-and-comers who want Luca's time. From Marx across the room—though I can't tell if he's giving me dirty looks, or if his expression is just always that surly.
But I'm the one who has Luca's attention. Every few moments he tickles his fingers along my arm or nudges me or leans in to share a bit of gossip about someone he's noticed. He's trying to make me comfortable, but…I'm completely out of my element.
I don't want to show it, so I shrug again. "I can handle it. This party's tamer than I'd imagined, actually."
"Liar." He scoots closer.
"Always trying to call me out…" I nudge his knee with mine. He covers my thigh with his hand, squeezing until I giggle and try to break his grip.
"God, you're cute." He doesn't let go, but loosens his grip. "Wanna get out of here?"
"Yes." The word comes out a little too fast, giving away my discomfort, so I try to play it off by adding, "Take me to your room—and then take me."
I sound ballsy instead of awkward. I like it. And so does he, judging by the wicked little look he gives me as he pulls me to my feet. "As you wish."
We make our way slowly toward the door of the suite. Luca says goodbye, shoots the shit. I stay in his shadow. I should make an effort, probably. I'm sure I'll see these people a lot over the coming weeks, but I'm suddenly exhausted and tongue-tied.
There's a girl waiting near the door, gorgeous with long silky brown hair and bright blue eyes. She reminds me of a slightly edgier version of Quinn, my college roommate. This girl's lips are painted bloody-murder red and she's wearing next to nothing over a body built like a dream. And her gaze is eating Luca right up.
He sees her, too. I glance at him from the corner of my eye and catch him staring. The way his gaze surveys her body has dread tingling under my skin.
"I'm not into threesomes," I blurt out—and am immediately embarrassed when he turns his head to look at me, confusion across his face.
"What?"
"Polly said… She said you liked that stuff."
"Cassie. Don't listen to a word out of that girl's mouth." Annoyance shapes his features. "She was just trying to scare you off. She's way overprotective of me."
"So you're not into…those?"
"I didn't say that. But now that I know how you feel—it won't be an issue. I won't corrupt you more than you want to be corrupted. Don't worry." He winks at me and nods to the girl by the door. His eyes linger a little longer than may be necessary—but then he walks right past her.
Don't worry.
Sure.
Don't worry.
No problem.
Right. I follow him out, ignoring the scowl of the brunette as I pass her.
Luca's suite—or, rather, I should say the Penthouse—is even bigger than the one we just left. We step into the space and my jaw falls open. Because whoa. My father used to take us with him to fancy hotels for work conferences sometimes when I was younger, but I've never set foot in anything even close to this luxurious.
Floor-to-ceiling windows, stretching up twice the height, at least, of a regular ceiling, place us well above the heart of Nashville. The bright lights of the city twinkle out below us. Swanky furniture in shades of cream arranged in multiple sitting areas, a full white marble kitchen, at least four bedrooms… Sparkling chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. A huge balcony with a hot tub right out in the open. If it wasn't so unbelievably humid outside, I'd be all over it. Well. All over Luca in it.
I can't stop taking it all in—but Luca doesn't even seem fazed. He heads toward the fridge, grabbing a sparkling water and tossing one to me. "Hungry?"
"Not really." I gesture to the huge space around us. I almost feel like I should shout my answer to reach him. "This is amazing."
He looks around, as though trying to see it through my eyes. "I guess."
"You guess?" A small laugh escapes. "You're so used to this it doesn't even register, does it?"
"No, that's not it," he says. "It registers."
"So what? You don't love huge, spacious accommodations?"
"Honestly?" He pauses, waiting for me to nod. "It gets lonely."
Oh. His words bring out a tenderness in me. "I'm sorry."
He laughs a little self-depreciating laugh. "Poor, poor rock star. I know."
"No." I reach for his hand, but he wraps it around his bottle of water. "Why don't you stay with the rest of your band for company? Why do you keep so isolated from them, with a separate bus and everything?"
"It's complicated."
"I have all night."
"I can think of plenty of ways to fill your time." He wiggles his eyebrows, making me laugh.
But I pull out a chair at the edge of an island in the kitchen, dropping into it. I slide out the one next to me, too, pointing at its seat.
After a moment of hesitation, he joins me. Another pause, and then he tells me, "I had a thing with Polly."
"Oh." Oh. So many things start to make sense. "But you said she was like your sister?"
He shrugs. "I didn't want to scare you off."
Hmm. On one hand, I understand where he's coming from. On the other, he lied. I'm not sure how I feel about it. "So when you said she was overprotective of you…"
"It's true," he says. "Really. Things are just weird between us. And traveling together, crashing together… Everything was spiraling in a bad way. So I removed myself. I hang out with the rest of the band after our shows because I don't want to lose them completely—we've been friends our whole lives—but otherwise, we keep pretty separate. Polly's always with the rest of the guys, so it's a bit of a they do their thing and I do mine kind of a deal."
"You don't have anyone on your side?'
"There aren't really any sides. I just don't want to make anyone uncomfortable."
"But you don't mind flaunting me in front of her? Bringing me on tour?" I feel a little bad for Polly. That has to be so rough. Granted she was just completely getting it on with that guy at
the party, so, maybe not so rough.
"I'm not a saint," he says. "What am I supposed to do? Stay celibate? It's been over for months."
"But she has to see you every day."
"She should've thought of that before she snuck into my bed in the first place."
"Or you could've said no," I remind him. But then… Why am I sticking up for her? She's been far from nice to me. I don't owe her anything. Plus, screw this whole feel-bad-for-exes complex I seem to have developed. I gave up Gage for Zoey. Well, that was part of it. But I'm not doing it again. Not for Polly. "Actually, you know what? It's none of my business. Her loss is my gain."
He grins. "Exactly."
I shift in my seat and get a whiff of weed. Great. My tank top smells like pot smoke from the suite earlier. "Does it bother you that people were smoking weed back there?"
He shrugs. "Not really."
"Would you lose your campaign if the wrong person found out?"
"What? That other people smoked weed at a party where I was?" He shrugs again. "I doubt it."
"But you're so strict backstage…"
"Media's all over backstage. It's different here." He glances at me. "Why? Are you looking to get high?"
"No. Not at all." I take a deep breath before continuing. "I'm not into drugs. You should probably know, my brother—"
"And you know I don't like them either," he assures me, and I'm thankful for the interruption. Not having to share pushes away most of the pain of the reminder. Thinking the words is hard. Speaking them is worse. Luca takes another swallow of water, oblivious to the thoughts rushing through my mind.
"I do know." I nod. "I love that about you."
Then I blush because I said the word "love," and even if it's not something I feel for him, it's still an awkward word to drop between us in any context.
"So." He stands, leaving his water on the counter and taking my hands. "You're not into threesomes. You're not into drugs…" He walks backward, leading me toward a set of double doors that must be the bedroom. "How about you show me what you are into?"
I have his shirt off and his pants unbuttoned before the doors are even closed behind us.
Rock & Release Page 25
