I grit my teeth.
“God, I haven’t had a Becks since the Christmas party,” he says, filling the cooler.
The Christmas party. That’s what he’s calling it. I prefer to remember it as The Kitt Kiss Night, but whatever.
“Yeah, me neither actually.”
I don’t think I can have one. I still remember the taste of it on his mouth.
“Have you drunk at all since then?”
I frown. Have I? Not that I can remember. I feel like I want to daily. “No, don’t think so.”
“Well, we’ve got all summer on tour for that.” He winks and walks out.
For what? Drinking or kissing? Or drinking and kissing. I growl inwardly and throw ice in the cooler, like it’s burning me.
Kitt is a total mindfuck.
When I’ve calmed down, I join the guys in the living room and hold a beer up, so Dad can see it. With my best pout and puppy-dog eyes, I silently ask him if I can join in tonight.
You’re nineteen, for Christ’s sake.
He frowns, so I flutter my eyelashes and mouth, Please.
It’s not like I want to get off my face—well, I do after my conversation with Kitt in the kitchen, but I won’t. It’s not hard to understand why Dad’s so against me drinking, but double standards isn’t something I’m okay with.
“Your limit for the night is three,” he says sternly.
I know he means it. There is no way I will get another one out of this, but I did only expect one, so I’m getting more than I thought already.
“Score!”
“Three, Texas.” His hazel eyes darken as he bores a hole into me.
Holding up my thumb, I reply, “I got it, Dad.”
He’s seen so many celeb teens with drinking problems that he’s obsessed with me not adding to the statistic. He must stress about raising me to be a well-rounded, normal person at least ten times a day. If Dad could see me at after-parties once he’d left, he would crack down even more. Thankfully, Kitt, Cooper, and Milo know when to keep their mouths shut.
“You know, you’re a bit too old to be getting a limit from daddy,” Kitt says, smirking.
I smile as sweetly as I can. “Bugger off.”
Kitt is right, but my relationship with my dad is a little…different. For the last nineteen years, it’s only been us, and he’s busted his arse to make up for the fact that Jennifer isn’t really interested. That’s kind of left us in a place where I’m still a child to him, and I automatically seek permission. It’s unhealthy, but that’s where we are.
“Open it, please,” I say, handing him my bottle.
Kitt pops the lid with his teeth and hands it back. There’s a bottle opener in Jimmy’s hand that I could have used, but I wanted it in Kitt’s mouth.
See? Totally well-rounded and normal.
“Thanks,” I say before taking a swig.
“So, on a scale of one to pissing your pants, how excited are you right now?” he asks.
“Pissing my pants,” I reply. “What about you?”
“I’m holding it in.”
“You know you get moodier every time I see you, right? Be more enthusiastic.”
“I thought I was supposed to? Goes with the territory and all that.”
I shake my head. Not on my party bus. “It’s absolutely not allowed. No one wants to travel with miserable, so please cheer up.”
“I’m not miserable.” He puts his beer down and holds his hands up. “Right now, I’m just not…”
“Pissing yourself?”
Laughing, he replies, “Exactly. Pissing will commence on the bus, I promise.”
“I really wish your scale wasn’t so disgusting. We could have a scale of one to bursting into impromptu song in a mall.”
“You’re such a girl.”
“Thanks for noticing.” Sometimes, it doesn’t seem like he does.
His eyes flick down to my chest. There is nothing casual about it, and he doesn’t even make an attempt to try to conceal his perv. Kitt goes for it every time. He’s so sure of himself. I clear my throat, sweeping the room to see if anyone is looking. Thankfully, no one is. Kitt looks up, grins, and shrugs one shoulder. He doesn’t care that I caught him because he’d intended me to.
“I apologise,” he says, grinning in a way that’s clear he’s not at all sorry.
This is what we’re like all the time. There’s a lot of banter and flirty moments that mess with my head. Then, he’ll turn cold or go distant, and I won’t know why. But at least the awkwardness—on my part—in the kitchen is over.
We spend most of the night sitting on the sofa together, talking and occasionally chatting with everyone else.
Tonight though, most of our focus is on each other. A little while ago, he started to lean in closer, so now, our arms are touching.
“Okay,” he says, “what’s the first thing you’re going to do in…France?”
“Easy. Eat cheese.”
“Italy?”
I don’t even need to think. “Ice cream. Or crepes. Or both. America?” I ask.
“Shit, that’s a hard one. Corn dog.”
“Pancakes! Hershey!” I say.
“Oh my God, will you two stop talking food?” Cooper says. “We’re going on tour to rock, not to make some lame cooking show, you boring fucks.”
I laugh along with Kitt. Coop really has a way with words. Kitt makes a wanking gesture with his hand and then grabs another beer from the cooler off the coffee table.
As soon as Coop goes back to listing names of celebrity women he wants to bed, Kitt starts another conversation about things we’re going to do on tour. He sits even closer to me, his arm firmly wedged against mine. I feel warmth wherever he touches me, and it’s starting to drive me insane.
You can’t kiss him. It won’t end well.
I smile up at him, desperate not to look like I’m completely crazy about him. He bumps my shoulder and sips his beer, like nothing is wrong.
Same as always.
Texas is in love with Kitt.
Kitt only likes Texas.
TEXAS
TUESDAY, MAY 5
OXFORD, ENGLAND
I stand beside the massive tour bus in the cool night air and sigh. As much as I love our house, I also love being on tour. I don’t get to see a lot of the countries we visit, but I love the freedom of traveling.
Jimmy bought the bus a couple of years back and had it heavily modified. Upstairs has bedrooms and a shower room, and downstairs has large seating areas and a very small kitchen. The bedrooms are small cupboard-size singles, but we all get a bed and the privacy of having a door rather than the typical bunk-bed style with curtains. The two drivers and two full-time security guys have the bunk beds, but they each have a door.
“You ready, Texas?” Will asks.
I blink up at him. “Yeah, sorry.”
He smiles. “In your own little Kitt world.” And then he disappears back on the bus.
He just said…oh God, no! No, no, no. Not good. He knows. Does my dad know? And Kitt?
I want to die. I want to throw myself under the bus.
This is bad.
No, Dad doesn’t know. He would’ve brought it up for sure. We would’ve had many conversations about not getting caught up in the whirlwind of Kitt’s impending success and saving myself for someone I’m sure of. Someone who will never let me down or hurt me. Someone who isn’t famous. They’re safer apparently.
Would’ve been for Jennifer.
“Texas, will you get your arse on the bus?” Coop shouts out the window.
I don’t want to now, but I still step on and make my way to the seating area behind the driver’s seat. Two big half-moon–shaped sofas face each other, both with a table in the middle. Hanging from the wall is a large flat screen TV that’s playing some football match.
Everyone besides Milo is in the living room area. He’s in his room, mentally preparing himself and running through the set list in his head. He’s a worrier and always scared he’
ll start drumming along to the wrong song and embarrass Filthy Sound and himself. Either that, or he’s doing something else I really don’t want to know about. Gross.
I sit down and try to catch Will’s eye.
Does anyone else know I’m hopelessly in love with Kitt? I need to know. The thought of them talking about me liking Kitt behind my back makes me feel sick. Do they think it’s just a phase, and it’ll pass?
Because that’s what I thought…two years ago.
I shouldn’t still like him, let alone love him. But who gets to control that? If I could’ve stopped, I would’ve done that after the first time I had seen him with another girl.
We had been at a club in central London where they were playing. I’d just started talking to my ex, Xander, keeping things friends, only because I liked Kitt. Then, I had seen him with his tongue down some girl’s throat, and they’d left together.
My heart aches at the memory, equally as hard as it did that night. I told myself I was done, and I gave things with Xander a chance. We didn’t even last a year. I couldn’t stop myself from loving Kitt, so I ended it.
The bus rumbles quietly and pulls away as we head off on the two-and-a-half-hour journey to Dover to get a ferry to France. We have a ferry booked to Calais, and then it’s a three-hour drive to Paris.
Flying would have been easier, but Jimmy hates to fly. It’s the reason he bought the massive bus and had it pimped.
There is no way he is “being shot toward any-fucking-where in a tin can” if he can reach it by car or boat.
Even with all the cases of sinking ferries, he still refuses to fly. “I can swim, Texas, but I can’t bloody fly.”
So, we drive where we can. It takes a lot longer to get places, but some of my best memories are on the tour buses. And we’d all rather drive than listen to Jimmy’s constant bitching with death-by-plane-crash statistics.
“What are you drinking?” Kitt asks, knowing full well that alcohol is off the cards for me since my dad is right there.
Besides, it’s too early to start—or too late.
“Coke, I guess.”
“Good choice, Tex,” Dad says.
“Only choice, more like,” Milo teases. He sits down with us after finishing whatever he was doing.
Narrowing my eyes, I give Milo the finger. “I hate you all. I hope you know that.”
“Hmm,” Dad mutters at my action.
He wants me to have a clear head at all times, I think. He and Jennifer drank a lot when she was following him around. She was desperate for Dad’s attention, and she didn’t care about the consequences. I won’t be the same because I know better. There is no way I would ever put myself in the position Dad and Jennifer were in. No one should be an unwanted child. I’m lucky that Dad wanted me.
“Whatever. I don’t need to get drunk to have a good time,” I say.
“Of course not. Look at the company you keep,” Kitt says, jamming his thumb into his chest.
“Right. You’re a treat,” I reply.
“You have no idea how good I taste, Tex,” he murmurs low enough not to be heard.
My throat dries, and I lick my lips. Don’t let him see that he affects you. “Oh, yeah? Come chocolate, do you?”
He laughs, throwing his head back. The neckline of his T-shirt is stretched, revealing one of the many star tattoos that cover his body. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. Even that is sexy.
You need help.
“Well, I’ve never had any complaints.”
No, of course not. When you’re the lead singer in one of the hottest rising bands at the moment, you’re not going to hear women complaining.
I force a smile. The thought of him with other women makes my skin crawl.
“Maybe none that you’ve heard, but there’s not a Facebook group for unhappy KD conquests for no reason.”
His face falls, and I pretend like I’ve said too much.
I sit up straighter. “Oh God…you didn’t know.”
“You’re joking,” he says slowly, narrowing his eyes.
From the look on his face, I know he thinks I’m being serious. He grabs his phone from his pocket and starts desperately tapping on it.
Part of me hopes there really is one.
While Kitt frantically searches for his own name on Facebook, my phone rings. It’s Jodie, Filthy Sound’s manager. She usually deals with me if she’s not here because the guys are kind of forgetful and mostly always drunk. Jodie wouldn’t be caught dead on a bus. She has flights booked for each stop she’ll attend.
“Hey, what have they done?” I ask.
She laughs down the phone. “Nothing yet. I just want to check that you have the up-to-date schedule for the tour.”
“If it’s the one you sent yesterday, I do. Don’t panic. I’ll make sure they attend every engagement on time and fully dressed. Besides, Carl will be with us.”
Carl is Enigma’s manager, and he is so efficient that he makes everyone else on the planet look lazy as hell.
“The radio interview in Paris—”
“Is an early one. I got this. Believe me, I’ve already planned at least five different ways of getting them up on time.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Coop make a fist and move it back and forth, pretending it’s a blow job.
I tilt my head to the side and mouth, You wish.
“Thank you, Texas. I know Carl can handle everything in my absence, but I do appreciate your help. You have the dates where I’ll be joining you, and you can call anytime you need.”
“It’s fine, Jodie. I enjoy it. I like to help.”
“You’re a godsend, girl. I’m trying to add a few more dates when I can join you in America, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to swing it.”
“Carl and I have it covered.”
“I know. I know. Remind me to hire you! Okay, I’ve got to run. Call me if you need anything.”
“Will do. Speak soon.”
“Bye, darling.”
As much as I love Jodie, I like it when she’s not here. It gives me purpose to be able to contribute something to the tour. Plus, I really do enjoy waking them up, especially Cooper. He is not a morning person.
So far, I’ve used water, their own instruments, shaking them, and jumping on them. Tomorrow, if they’re not up, I might try screaming to watch them wake up scared and on high alert.
“What did she want?” Kitt asks.
His eyes are wide with…fear?
Every time I take a call from Jodie, he looks terrified, like he thinks she’s calling to tell us they’ve made a mistake, and the tour is off. They’ve put an obscene amount of money into this, so that’s obviously never going to happen, but he still panics.
It’s cute. Shows how much this means to him. I love seeing his passion for music. It makes me like their songs and him even more.
“Just making sure I have your schedule, and I’ll get you lazy bastards up on time.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Like I’d forget anything. The more PR shit we do, the more people will turn up at the show.” He smirks, and his eyes turn playful. “Then, the more women I get after the show.”
I feel sick.
“Right. It’s all about the women,” I say sarcastically, unable to keep the hurt from my voice.
He doesn’t flinch. His eyes keep a sparkle that’s gone from mine. At least he didn’t pick up on how his words had kicked me in the stomach.
He makes me want to run away and hide, and he doesn’t even know it.
It’s fine. You know he sleeps around. This is nothing new. Just breathe.
“Not all of it is about the women.”
“Great,” I reply tightly.
Shit. Stop it. I’m too hot, too angry, too hurt. I feel like I’m swallowing fire.
Kitt doesn’t owe me anything, so I shouldn’t let it get to me, but that’s way easier said than done. Without realising it, he hurts me so much all the time.
I take a much-needed breath and pr
ay my stomach settles before it empties.
You. Are. Fine.
“Hey, if you ever want a go…”
A go?
My heart cracks at the casual way he asked me to let him know if I want to be another notch. I stare at him, willing myself not to cry. I can taste bile.
My God, that hurts.
There is nowhere for me to hide away either. There’s only so long you can stay in a smaller-than-a-prison-cell room before you lose it. I don’t have anywhere to go.
Looking away, I purse my lips and rub the throbbing ache in my chest.
I want him so badly, but I could never be just a shag.
One night with him, if that’s all I could ever have, would be incredible. To have his hands on my body, his lips against mine—it’s what I think about before falling asleep. It’s what I long for, right down into my fucking bones. But, damn, I would be broken when I woke up alone.
How could I be around him, knowing I’d had him once? I couldn’t. Things would get messy. I can hide what I feel for him, but I know I couldn’t hide the level of heartbreak I’d feel after being another one of Kitt Daniels’s one-night stands.
Nope.
I can be strong. I can resist him because I can’t handle losing him.
And I can get drunk—when my dad’s not around, that is.
“All right, no shagging talk,” he says, his mouth lifting at the corner.
“I’m not one of the guys, remember?”
“Right. Occasionally, I forget.”
“Wow,” I mutter. Yep, that hurts, too.
“No,” he says, laughing. “Come on, I didn’t mean it like that. I don’t see you as a guy. But I’m just…really comfortable around you. Never had that with a girl before.”
That’s something, right? Right? I think so. Unless he’s thinking comfortable, like an old slipper. I want to be his everything, not his slipper.
“That’s good?” I ask cautiously. My heart is sprinting with nerves. This is a conversation that could go either way, and so far, not much with Kitt has gone the way I’d like.
“It’s good,” he confirms. “It’s just a little new, and sometimes, I suck at being your friend and remembering you’re a girl.”
Yep, didn’t go the way you wanted.
I blow out a breath. “Well, this has been enlightening. Drink?”
With the Band (With the Band #1) Page 3
