Reckless

by Priscilla West

  "I’m supposed to believe that?"

  "I’ll sleep on the floor. Will that fix it?"

  "Well, what about the band?"

  "What about them?"

  "I can't have your band thinking that I'm having sex with you when I'm the tour accountant."

  "Relax Riley. Even though the tour bus is the biggest one we could find, everyone knows that it's cramped in here and we have to share. Kev and Chewie sleep in the same room and nobody thinks they're having sex in there."

  I looked at his face. Was this a trick? He didn’t seem like he was being sly or dishonest. Just the same, the band called the room his Fortress of Solitude for a reason. From what I’d gathered, he almost never let people inside. Now he wanted me to sleep here? Even in my daydreams, I only ended up in Jax’s room for sex. Moving into his space didn’t figure into my fantasies.

  "Jax, I don’t want to say no," I said cautiously, "and I don’t want you to sleep on the floor."

  "Then just say yes. It’s an easy word. Three letters, one syllable." He studied my skeptical expression. "I swear to you, nothing will happen in this bed, except that you’ll finally get a good night’s sleep."

  I looked at the bedding around us. "Fine," I agreed. Sighing, I flopped backwards on the intensely comfortable bed. "But get out some pillows, because they’re going between us."

  He reached down to a corner of the bed and pulled up a body pillow that was nearly as long as he was tall. "Think this will do?"

  I looked at the pillow and crinkled my nose. "Promise me you don’t use this for anything gross."

  He shook his head, smirking, and strands of his long dark hair fell across his face. "Hadn’t even occurred to me until now."

  I looked into his eyes. "If I sleep here, we’re only sleeping okay? No games."

  He didn’t say a word. He just sat up and slid a thick, downy blanket up over my legs. I hadn’t been tucked into bed in a long time, but when Jax did it, I felt somehow safe, protected. I couldn’t say no to that—and I didn’t want to.

  "I wish your bed wasn’t so damned comfortable . . ." I said softly, my words fading as sleepiness took over.

  A dim light overhead turned off with a gentle click.

  "Good night, Riley," he said turning over on his side of the bed.

  I clutched my pillow close as the room went black, realizing that Jax’s earthy scent lingered on it. In the pitch dark, I buried my face deeper and fell asleep to the soft, steady sound of his breath.

  Chapter Eleven

  THE MILE-HIGH CITY

  The faintest hint of sunlight woke me up the next morning. Feeling well-rested and alert, I rolled out of Jax’s bed while he continued sleeping. I admired him laying there for a moment. He looked so peaceful. It was almost hard to believe I was looking at the same guy who’d taken my bikini hostage yesterday morning.

  I smirked and shook my head. I hadn’t really expected him to make a move on me last night, but I was somewhat surprised that he didn’t so much as put his arm over the pillow wall we had between us, or at least, I hadn’t noticed if he did.

  I quietly slipped out of his room, went through my morning routine, and then grudgingly spent the rest of the day drowning myself in work in order to avoid thinking about my evolving feelings for Jax. Work provided a momentary distraction, but the second I stopped, my mind immediately went back to thinking about him. The only trouble was, I didn’t know what to think about him anymore. When I’d first met him, I’d thought he was only about rocking out and getting his rocks off. But after seeing a more down-to-earth side of him yesterday, I began to suspect he wasn’t just some sexy Siren who was constantly having backstage orgies. He might even be someone I could actually fall for.

  It didn’t help that my physical attraction to him hadn’t lessened since we’d first met. If anything, it had grown, and now that I was sleeping in his bed, a part of me was afraid of what might happen in a momentary lapse of self-control. Ever since that massage he’d given me, I’d been more than a little sexually frustrated, throwing myself into work to try to keep myself distracted. It helped a bit.

  Hours passed as I worked. We’d been halfway through Nebraska when I started, and by the time I paid any attention to the passing scenery, the flat plains had given way to rolling foothills—we were well into Colorado. The bus had made stops here and there for the band to get legal pot, but I didn’t pay too much attention, since I didn’t intend to smoke on the job.

  Cramped from sitting on the second-floor couch all day, I was stretching out my arms and legs when I heard footsteps bounding up the stairwell.

  One by one, Chewie, Sky, and Kev filed through, their arms loaded with brown bags. From the Christmas-morning looks on their faces, I could tell they were eager to unwrap their presents.

  "Oh man, Riles, you totally missed out," Chewie said, lifting up his shades to look at me. "We’ve got enough stash to last a lifetime."

  "Or just a typical day in your life," Sky said, jokingly slapping him across the chest.

  I smiled. "Sounds like it was a blast." Returning to the budget tables on my laptop, I couldn’t help but feel a little jealous. I would’ve loved to check out the shops, just to see what they were like and say I’d been in them, but unfortunately work came before fun.

  While Kev rummaged around in the fridge grabbing bottles of beers, Sky slid a record from its cover and placed it on the stereo system. She handed the album cover to Chewie, who plopped down on the couch opposite me and immediately went to work breaking up a variety of weed strains on the album cover and then rolling it all up into a blunt.

  "Time to hotbox this whole floor with the dankest nugs the fine state of Colorado has to offer," Chewie said as he lit up the blunt and puffed on it.

  I reluctantly turned down a beer from Kev since I wasn’t quite done with my work yet, and I scrambled to finish my lingering tasks as the room quickly filled with a murky marijuana haze and the bombastic rock of the Black Keys. I looked up at them. "Can you guys do me a favor and give me any receipts you have if you’re using band funds? It’ll make my job a lot easier."

  "No sweat, Riley, consider it done," Sky replied sweetly.

  Chewie held up a blunt that was as thick as a magic marker. "You know that smoking some of this sticky icky will make your job a whole lot easier too, right?"

  I laughed at the generous offer. "Thanks, but maybe some other time. You guys can roll papers down here, but I gotta unroll spreadsheets upstairs."

  "Suit yourself, more for us," Chewie said. He had a big cheesy grin as he puffed away.

  I shut my laptop and headed to the sundeck. Opening the door, I was greeted by the shining sun and a cool breeze—just the type of fresh air and silence I was hoping for.

  "Just can’t get enough of me, can you?"

  The deep, flirtatious voice caught me by surprise. I turned and saw Jax standing where the side-railing met the bar. Wearing a black v-neck and black jeans, he looked unusually relaxed in the middle of the day, slouching against the bar with a drink in one hand. The band had a show tonight and Jax was usually in a serious mood on show nights, while the rest of the band was usually already in party-mode.

  "Yeah right," I said coolly, used to deflecting his teasing by now. "You wish."

  "Yet you’re here. And I’m here."

  "It’s a coincidence. Your bandmates were smoking up a storm and I just came up here to get some fresh air."

  "Ah yeah. That sounds like them." He nodded slightly and took a long sip.

  "Sure you don’t want to join in the fun with them?" I asked.

  He finished his drink, looked down into his ice-filled glass, and shook his head faintly. "Not really in the mood right now."

  Jax seemed off his usual game. I wondered if he came up here to be alone.

  "Do you want me to leave?" I asked, taking a step toward the door.

  He waved away my question and rattled the cubes in his glass. "Want a drink? I’ll fix you one."

  I’d p
lanned to get work done, but sensing a rare vulnerability in Jax, I decided that work could wait. I shrugged. "Sure, why not? I’ll have whatever you’re having."

  His expression lightened. "It’s pretty strong. You sure you can handle it?"

  I smiled. "I know I can."

  I left my laptop on the table and went to lean back against the bar next to Jax as he fixed two drinks, pouring them into matching glass tumblers.

  He handed me one of the glasses filled with amber liquid. "A Godfather for the lady."

  "Thank you, Mr. Corleone," I replied, holding up the glass to toast him.

  "My pleasure," he said. He clinked his glass against mine, smiled, and took a drink.

  It smelled like pure rubbing alcohol, but I bravely took a sip, only to almost spit it right back out. I liked a strong drink, but he must’ve liked his as stiff as a board. The liquid burned my throat the whole way down, but it left a surprisingly pleasant aftertaste in my mouth. The drink reminded me of Jax’s kiss—dangerous but worth it.

  "Impressive," he said before taking the glass from me with a smile, "but it’s alright, I’ll make you a mojito. You don’t need to finish it."

  I took it back from him with a smile of my own. "It actually tastes pretty good. I can see why you like it." I had to admit that he was being kind of sweet, and I thought maybe I wasn’t giving him enough credit. Underneath the bad boy veneer, he had a nice side to him. "Hey Jax," I said, "thanks for letting me sleep in your bed last night. I really haven’t slept that well since I got on the bus."

  "I’m just glad you were able to get some rest. Maybe you won’t be so cranky next time I hit on you."

  I nudged my shoulder into his, and it felt like nudging a brick wall. "Yeah, right. A few nice gestures go a long way, but the final verdict’s still out on you."

  "What I’m hearing is you’re keeping an open mind," he said, raising his brows at me.

  "And what I’m hearing is you’re actually listening to me, for once."

  "Wouldn’t keep your hopes up on that one," he said with a wink.

  I was really starting to like this side of him: playful, but without the games. I took another sip of my drink, but this time it didn’t burn as much. "You know, you were sure out cold this morning."

  "Oh, yeah . . ." he replied. His smile faded, and his gaze slowly drifted off into the distance.

  "I thought you said you never slept."

  He took a sip of his Godfather without looking at me. "I do. Just not a lot."

  I studied him as an unspoken tension hung in the air. I wasn’t sure if I’d said something offensive. I guess he really didn’t get a lot of sleep, and I briefly wondered if it wasn’t because of something more than insomnia.

  Jax pulled out a joint from his t-shirt’s front pocket. "You mind? I know you said you wanted some fresh air."

  A minute ago I might’ve minded, but I saw it as an opportunity to ease the lingering tension that had arisen between us. "No, by all means, go right ahead."

  He slipped the joint between his lips, sparked it up with a silver zippo lighter, and puffed on it a few times, causing the burning tip to sizzle and smoke. Pinching the joint between two fingers, he held it out to me. "Want to hit it?"

  I half-smiled and shook my head lightly. "No thanks. I’ve smoked a few times before, but it doesn’t do much for me. Wouldn’t want you to waste it."

  "If you say so," he said. He put the joint up to his lips and inhaled as he looked me up and down.

  Judging from the way his bandmates went through weed like bags of M&Ms, I’d always assumed he did too, but this was the first time I actually saw him doing it.

  "Do you always come up here to smoke?" I asked, idly swirling my drink.

  He nodded slightly and exhaled toward the horizon. "Most of the time. The band likes smoking together and playing around. It’s a social thing for them."

  From what I’ve seen of my friends, pot-smoking always happened in groups. I studied his expression. "Isn’t it always a social thing?"

  "It can be," he said then puffed again and shrugged. "It can also just help you clear your mind. Block out some thoughts, you know?"

  "What kind of thoughts?"

  "Bullshit ones," he said casually.

  Jax was being unusually open with me. I wanted to know more about him, but I was afraid of asking things that would make him uncomfortable. I smiled and nudged his arm in an attempt to lighten the mood. "Oh really? Before last night I would’ve thought you were bullshit central."

  He let out a small laugh. "Yeah, okay, I deserved that."

  I lifted my brow. I’d given him a playful opening to sling something back at me, but I was surprised when he didn’t seize the opportunity.

  "So you agree?" I asked.

  "What can I say?" he said coolly. "I like to have my fun, I can’t deny that. But don’t pretend that you don’t like it too."

  I wondered if I was ready to admit that in spite of his games being stressful, they were also kind of fun. I could feel we’d grown closer over the past two days, but despite our increasing intimacy—the kiss, me sleeping in his bed—I wasn’t ready to tell him that a part of me enjoyed his games.

  I took another sip of my Godfather, which tasted better with every gulp. "No, you’re right, I like having fun," I said as a general statement. "You know I can let loose. But that’s only on vacation or on the weekends. Most of the time I live a normal, professional life like everyone else. The real world has consequences, so unfortunately not everyone can live like a rock star."

  He cocked his head. "You think I don’t live in the real world?"

  "Well, you do, but your real world is different from mine."

  "How so?"

  I narrowed my brows, confused that he didn’t see the difference between being an accountant and being a rock star. "You’ve got countless adoring fans fawning over your every word. Some even come by your voice alone. You’ve got groupies. You can drink and smoke pot at work. Your whole life is one big rock concert."

  After a few seconds, he raked his fingers back through his dark, windblown hair. "It wasn’t always this way you know."

  "Oh?"

  "I used to skip school, get into fights," he said before taking a long drag on the joint. "Surprising huh?"

  "You getting into trouble at school? Never would’ve pictured that," I said jokingly.

  He smiled and exhaled. "That’s when I picked up a guitar. Don’t know who came up with the idea first, but Sky and I decided to start a rock band. Back then we thought if we were going to be in a rock band, there’s certain things that we just had to do first. Like doing a lot of drugs, partying ‘til dawn, trashing hotel rooms, rocking out, and all that crazy stuff."

  I’d partied hard in my day—especially back in college—but I was pretty sure none of it compared to any of the crazy stuff he’d done.

  "I've always wondered what it would be like to be on stage with all the glitz, glamour, and groupies," I said as I motioned with my glass to the extravagance dripping from every inch of the bus. "Aren't you happy you’ve fulfilled your dreams?"

  He shrugged. "Sure, all those things are nice perks, but that’s not why I play music."

  I tilted my head, curious. "Is that so? Then why do you do it?"

  He gave a wry grin. "Why not? It makes me feel good."

  "Feel good?" I asked. I’d been half-expecting him to say something deep and philosophical, but what he said seemed fairly mundane.

  He nodded. "Yeah. When you think about it, that’s really all that matters. Feeling good." He turned his gaze to me. "You know, to be able to forget about the shit from the past, stop worrying about the future and just feel good in the moment."

  His words resonated in their simplicity. When I wasn’t working, I was always partying. The partying helped me forget about working—and the crappy parts of my past.

  "Maybe you have a point," I replied.

  "See, you and I aren't that different after all," he said with a smirk.
>
  "Hey, that doesn't mean I'm agreeing that being a rock star and being an accountant are the same thing," I said playfully.

  "Yeah they might be different, but we all want the same thing, no matter how we go about it," he said before his tone became serious again. "Whether you're a rock star or an accountant, some people are fueled by a drive to experience more pleasure. Others are just trying to avoid pain. But we all do it for the same reason: to feel good."

  "I never thought about it that way," I said, pondering the implications. "Then which one fuels you?"

  He took a long drag. "Pain," he said quietly. He turned to me and held up the joint, his onyx eyes focused on the burning end. "That’s what this is for."

  I couldn’t help but stare at the joint’s simmering orange tip reflected in his haunted eyes. As magnetic as his charm was, his pain was just as palpable. Overwhelmed with empathy, my own painful past tried resurfacing in my mind, and I struggled to push it back down into its dark, hidden corner. I could tell that he was also hiding his own personal issues, no doubt fighting against them just like I had to fight against my own.

  I reached out, plucked the joint from his hand, and brought it to my lips. He watched me as I inhaled, held in the warm smoke for a second, and then exhaled. Neither of us said anything, but then again, there was nothing else to say.

  We passed the joint back and forth in silence, smoking it down to a burnt nub while we watched the sun sink behind the mountains, casting a long shadow all the way across the sundeck.

  Chapter Twelve

  PYROTECHNICS

  As soon as we finished the joint, Jax said he needed his usual uninterrupted alone time to mentally prepare himself for the show, and he left to get ready. I stayed up on the sundeck for a little while finishing the drink he made me and reveling in my first-time high. I felt so mellowed out, enjoying the gorgeous evening as a radiant purple and orange sunset disappeared behind the city’s skyline.

  After sharing that connection with Jax, I was even more confused about him than I was when I woke up in his bed. I had to admit that he was giving me plenty of reasons to not only trust him, but also fall for him, and yet I still worried that I’d only end up getting used if I gave in to his seductive charms.