“Excellent. Any of the video things you can’t handle just let Lila know and we’ll make other arrangements. Simon and Nick do well with the interviews.”
Simon drew in a slow breath and let it out. Awesome. Then he looked down at the bank statement in his hands and couldn’t even complain in his head.
Fuck. Ton. Of. Zeroes.
“I set up accounts for you and if you go the route of an accountant or financial advisor, which I recommend you look into, then it can be transferred anywhere you wish. But with that kind of money, it needs to be protected.”
That kind of money didn’t even compute. Being on tour they didn’t really worry about money. Harper took care of their feeding and the bus was for sleeping. Booze seemed to appear upon request.
It wasn’t real life, but he sure as shit had gotten used to it fast. Especially since he’d been used to having next to nothing all his life.
He looked over at Nick, who was the only one not chattering excitedly. He had the paper trapped against his chest with his arms folded.
Simon slapped him in the arm. “You know that piece of paper was good news, right? Not that you owed that total. Paid, son.”
Nick swallowed, and blew out a breath. His mouth tipped up at the corner. “Yeah. I can’t even…that number doesn’t even look real.” He stood up and slipped out the door as everyone else talked over one another.
Simon caught Lila’s worried gaze and he waved her off. He followed after him. “Nicky, don’t get all…Nicky.”
“I’m not. I just—it’s happening really fast, man.”
Simon leaned a shoulder against the wall. “Not really. We’ve been scrimping and hoping for a long time. This is a good thing.”
Nick tapped the paper. “I know. I know.”
“Then don’t get all upset about it. This is cause for a celebration. And a car.”
Nick laughed. “Two cars.”
“A house.”
“Fuck. I don’t even know what to think about that. I don’t want to leave the Hills, man.”
“So, don’t.”
“What are you going to do with your money?”
Simon took off his hat and scrubbed at his hair. “I don’t even know what a financial advisor does besides gamble with your money.”
“We suck at gambling.”
Simon laughed. “No shit. But man, imagine going into some badass casino like Bond and putting down one of those million dollar chips?”
“Fuck yeah,” Nick said on a laugh.
Simon slapped him on the back of his neck and steered him down the hall. “This requires day drinking.”
“So much day drinking.”
* * *
Margo dragged her shredded bow over the strings of her Starfish. She had so much fiber blowing around her wrists, she was probably going to have to get it restrung.
But she didn’t let up. Her arm screamed and her fingers were numb from trying to keep up with Nick’s guitar. Bent at the waist and as tense as her strings, she spit out heat and passion from every note.
She stared him down as he lowered to meet her gaze. The crowd was screaming and the sweat coated her from neck to ankle in the Georgia heat.
Simon skidded onto his knees between them and bowed back, his chest slick with sweat. His abs quivered with each bounce.
Jesus.
He held the note. The long cry of “Torn to Pieces” last verse emptied her out and his vibrato was flawless. Her eyes widened and then he popped up, his chest heaving.
She blinked out of the surprise and shredded another length of her bow as Nick waggled his eyebrows and stood tall.
Out of breath and so turned on she couldn’t even stand herself, she staggered back and caught her heel on the cord behind her.
Simon rose off his knees and scooped her up. He dropped the mic into her lap and she juggled it with her violin and bow as he brought her to the front of the stage. He lowered his mouth to her chest. “And I rescue damsels, too.”
“You wish.”
Delighted, she clapped as the deafening roar of the crowd surged and the people on the lawn stood. Okay, so it was cute, but not that funny. She looked over her shoulder and Deacon stood behind her.
“Is this man bothering you?”
She laughed and wrapped her arm around Simon’s neck in a mock clingy damsel reaction. “He’s my hero,” she said in her best Marilyn voice.
Jazz beat the shit out of her skins and Nick picked out the first notes of “Holding Out For a Hero.”
Gray leaned into the mic and sang the opening verse in a surprisingly husky, deep voice.
Simon put her down and turned around with his hands on his hips. “Hold up, hold up.” He waved. “Excuse me, sir.” The crowd screamed from behind him.
Gray cleared his throat. “Yes?”
“I don’t believe we allowed such nonsense. I’m the singer, boyo.”
Gray peered around Simon. “Is it okay if I sing?” He looked back at Simon. “I think they like it.”
Suddenly the piano tones of the song started. Margo twisted around and Lindsey York from Brooklyn Dawn was on the keys.
Simon stalked around the stage in a fake temper and the crowd went insane. Margo fit her violin to chin and twisted her pins to loosen the strings slightly. She bounced her bow against the strings until it made a similar sound to an old eighties tone.
By the end of the song, they’d all dissolved into a fit of hysterics and Simon was hanging off the archway by the knees with his arms crossed, fake sleeping.
Lindsey waved as the song ended and she ran backstage. Simon snorted into the mic. “Oh, are you done now? Do I get to sing again?”
The crowd screamed back a resounding yes, and they finished the show with every single person in the pavilion on their feet and half the lawn crowding the railing.
The reaction was so strong that they actually ended up doing a second encore. By the third song in the encore, Simon was pulling away from the microphone and coughing into his elbow.
He covered it up as laughter at Nick climbing all over Jazz’s drum kit to get to the ramp behind her.
But she saw his eyes.
The flash of pain and the crack at the end of “Summer of ’69” made even her throat hurt. They finally took their bows and all hugged like drunk puppies.
Simon slid his forefinger through the frown of her brows and hung his arm around her neck as he dragged her off the stage with the rest of the band.
The backstage was in an uproar and Lila was fielding a phone call and shaking her head at them as they all filed into the after show room that Harper had set up.
She went right for the watermelon, completely a convert of Harper’s hydration system. She was dizzy from exhaustion and sweating out eighteen buckets of fluid.
The whole band fell on the melon and water like wolves, moving onto food as they excitedly recapped the show.
“Good thing the ticket sales were good enough to cover that fine I just had to pay,” Lila said loudly.
Nick had switched out from water to beer. “Oops?”
“Yeah, oops. You went well over the midnight curfew for the park, kids.”
Gray looked down at his phone. “Shit, three hours?”
“Yes, three hours.”
No wonder she was still sucking down bottles of water to recover. Margo held a hand over her middle and laughed with everyone.
Poor Simon had dealt with three nights of long shows. By some slice of a miracle he’d still sounded good—well, until the very end.
She looked around, but he was gone. He’d been quiet, but after the shows he tended to be. Not because he was depressed, but lately Simon had turned into a watcher after the main event was over.
Watching everyone, taking everything in. Watching her. Always watching her.
She tried to ignore it. Ignore him. Some nights she had to disappear for her own general well-being. Because when they got into the same sphere, there was too much between them. They required the
buffer of the rest of the band. Or she required it.
She just wasn’t sure anymore.
But he was hurting tonight. She could feel it in her bones like she felt a song, like she lived a melody on stage.
She passed the lockers, but the room was empty. Sometimes he escaped to steam his vocal chords. She knew he didn’t want her to know that. Didn’t want anyone to know it.
Everyone was still too euphoric about the success of the tour to notice the little flubs here and there. But she saw the signs. Hell, she knew them better than anyone. Her friend Siobhan was a jazz singer and had been through three bouts of complete vocal rest when she’d toured too hard.
“Margo?”
She jumped. “Geeze.” For someone who habitually wore stilettos, Lila could be surprisingly stealthy. “Don’t sneak up on a girl.”
Lila leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I didn’t realize we were being sneaky.”
“No. I’m not.”
“Is it booty time?”
Margo scrunched her eyes closed. “Really?”
“Am I lying?”
Margo crossed her arms over her chest and sighed. “No.”
“About which?”
“I’m not being sneaky and I’m not looking to bag some naked Simon time.”
Lila’s eyebrows shot up. “You have been hanging out with these guys too much. You’re starting to sound like them.”
She straightened. “I do?”
“Yeah, you do.”
“That’s bad.”
“Eh. Depends on your point of view. You smile and laugh a lot more these days.”
“Oh.”
Lila smirked and rolled her eyes. “What are you doing?”
“I’m looking for Simon.” She held up her hand. “Not for what you think.” At her skeptical look, Margo rushed on. “He pushed it tonight and after two long shows, I think he’s…”
Lila stood up straight and her blue eyes went laser-sharp. “He’s what?”
Margo tapped her middle finger to her thumbnail. “His voice cracked.”
“Is that all? That happens all the time with singers.”
“Not Simon.”
“What makes him so special?” Lila asked with a bored look.
“Look, I work with the orchestra and a lot of different vocalists. Simon’s a natural. No training, at least I’m pretty sure no training.”
“Not that I know of.”
“Instinctively, he just finds the right notes to any song. It’s pretty genius, actually.” Margo held up a finger. “If you tell him that, I’ll break the heel off your pink Jimmy Choos.”
“Wow. Don’t hate on my Jimmys.”
“Anyway. He’s definitely straining. He rocked out tonight. Totally rocked out. I’ve never heard his vibrato so well-timed since the first week of the tour.”
“That’s a good thing.”
“Yeah, it is. But he got a little cocky on stage when they were having so much fun. We all did. I swear my triceps are still crying from all the high speed playing I did tonight.” She rubbed her arm as the ache came to the surface at the mention.
“So, he needs to relax tonight.”
“No. I think he needs more than that.”
“We have a show in Indianapolis tomorrow.”
“Right, but maybe you should let him sit out on interviews tomorrow.”
Lila sighed and pulled out her phone. “I don’t know if I can. The radio stations want him and they have an acoustic set in the park.”
Margo shut her eyes.
“I’m fine, Violin Girl.”
Margo’s shoulders instantly tightened. “Simon, I…”
“I appreciate it. I do. It’s been a big week, but I’ll be fine.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper and he barely spoke above a whisper.
Lila frowned. “Are you sure?”
“Yeah. I asked Harper to steep me a pot of my tea and I’m going to go back to the bus and sleep.”
“I can shuffle a few things—”
“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” He swung his gaze to Margo. “I just won’t be talking tonight or tomorrow until the radio show.”
Lila nodded. “Right. Okay. I’m going to…go.”
Margo folded her arms. “I’m sorry.”
Simon seemed relaxed and tired, but he wouldn’t look at her. And she was learning he was a better actor than she thought.
He shrugged. “Just watching out for me.”
She stepped forward and curled her fingers around his hand. “You were amazing tonight. You didn’t hear me say that part.”
“No, just the part where I sucked.”
She jammed her molars together and forced down a growl. “Nothing about your performance tonight sucked.”
“Except that last part, right?” he whispered. He cleared his throat and swallowed, his eyes still not meeting hers.
She lifted her hand to his chest and he held up his hands. “Not now.” He headed down the hall.
She stomped her foot, unable to help her reaction. God, he frustrated her. “Simon, wait.”
He looked at his feet, but he stopped.
She hurried after him and stood in front of him, lowering her knees until she could catch his gaze, but he wouldn’t look at her. “I just don’t want you to overdo it.” She cupped his jaw and shook him a little.
His fierce winter blue gaze crashed into hers.
“I care, Simon.” She tipped her head up and rose onto her toes. He didn’t close his eyes as she brushed her lips over his. His fingers tightened on her hip, but he simply watched her as she lightly touched his mouth. She stroked his lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and then nipped his upper lip lightly.
“I wouldn’t have told Lila except she’s overscheduling you to compensate for Jazz. But no one’s thinking about you,” she said lightly against his mouth.
“And you are?”
She nodded and swiped her tongue in between his lips until he sucked her deeper, until his arms came up around her and squashed her against his chest.
He went from stillness to intense in the space of a heartbeat. He pushed her down the hallway and across the hall to the lockers.
He slammed the door and snicked the lock closed. No corridor this time, just tiles and the echo of their harsh breathing as he attacked her neck, his teeth clicking against the rose and filigree leaves of her ear cuff.
She groaned as he swiped his tongue over the space behind her ear, then over her fluttering pulse. The tiny nip of his teeth made her shudder.
The mark would be small. The tiniest star-sized bruise. But she had three there, for three nights that she’d taken him like this.
In secret, in hidden spaces around the venues they’d been at every evening.
He pushed at the short A-line skirt she wore and groaned when he found the crotchless hose she was wearing. He crouched down in front of her and breathed over the three inches of skin that showed between the top of the garter-style hose and the band around her thigh.
He dug the tip of his tongue through the see-through lace she wore. “Fuck.”
It wasn’t a whisper, it was a sharp, hard K that she heard over everything else.
The rasp of his tongue at her clit made her squirm. Just that. All it took was his breath on her and she was as wet as if they’d spent an hour in foreplay.
He rose and stared into her eyes as he pushed the scrap of panties aside and slipped his two middle fingers inside her. She wanted to close her eyes, to lose herself in the moment and the pleasure, but she couldn’t.
She watched his intense face as he thrust those fingers inside her again and again. The way his shoulder muscles flexed, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed with each swallow, and the sounds.
She whimpered at the sounds echoing around the tile. Her needy sounds that made her cringe warred with the way her body opened and soaked his fingers. Always for him.
As if he was the single key to her lock.
She did close her eyes at that tho
ught. He twisted his fingers so that his thumb came up and circled her clit until the little sounds turned to a sob.
With his other hand, he struggled with his zipper.
And finally, when she got her hands to work, she went for his button and found a button fly, not a zipper. The satisfying rending of buttons through their respective holes revved her higher.
“Inside me. Please.”
He palmed one of the condoms he always had on him from his pocket and stuck it between his teeth. He lifted one eyebrow and she stole it, jerking the plastic open.
“Shit.” She’d never actually had to put one on before.
His lips spread into a smirk. “Trampoline,” he whispered.
She looked down and flipped it, holding the tip as she firmly and slowly pushed it down his length. His face went from smirky to serious as she circled the base of his cock tightly.
“Inside,” she said.
He withdrew his fingers and pulled her knee up on his hip. These were the perfect moments when she loved her height. When they lined up like this.
He bent his knees enough to drag the head of his cock along her slit, rocking it up and over her clit in a wide, slick circle before he tucked himself inside her and lifted her onto her toes with the force of the thrust.
“God, yes.”
She gripped his shoulders and took each punishing slam of his hips, each dragging stroke as he found that spot deep inside and exploited it. Nothing else existed but the sounds of slapping skin and his harsh breaths against her neck.
She held on through the storm and pressed her cheek against his collarbone, following the tremor of pleasure until her thighs quaked and her insides trembled.
She scraped her nails up the nape of his neck and along the top of his head, gasping his name as she came. He didn’t stop, never stopped.
Never let up until she heard the tiniest moan through his chest as it crawled into her and she shook through the aftershocks of his release and a second one of her own.
She couldn’t let go. She cursed herself, but her arms wouldn’t unwind. She needed to breathe in his mint and ginger scent a little while longer.
Destroyed (Lost in Oblivion #3) Page 23
