Replay: An Off Track Records Novel

by Shea, Kacey

  I stare incredulously. “How do you still have a nose?”

  “Huh?” He reaches to his face and rubs across the bridge as if to make sure it’s there.

  “The bone structure. It should be a mess by now.” I chuckle and shake my head. “I don’t know how you haven’t been punched in the face more.”

  “Ha. Ha.” He rolls his eyes, and then lets a grin spread across his lips. “Who says it hasn’t?”

  “He’s right. There’s only so many times you can push your luck,” Sean says from his end of the booth, his fork poised in his giant plate of pasta. “His mouth is the reason for at least a dozen bar fights. If we weren’t famous, it’d be more.”

  “What you’re saying is that your life would be boring without me.” Austin bats his lashes and then adds a few more spoonfuls to his already loaded plate.

  I repress the desire to roll my eyes or laugh at his joke, instead focusing back on building my health-conscience meal. The aromas of pasta, sauce, cheese, and fresh bread beg me to abandon my measly meal for something more satisfying, but I won’t give in. My hips will thank me later. Besides, as salads go, this one is packed with all my favorite things.

  “What the fuck is this?” Austin stares at my bowl and inspects it with mock disgust. He even makes a choking noise at the back of his throat for added measure.

  “A salad. Vegetables. You’ve heard of these things before, I hope.” I toss a few peppers into the mix, then close up the containers to keep in the fridge for later.

  “I have. I just don’t understand why you’d eat them.” He reaches across the small island and nabs an artichoke from my bowl, holding up to the light while his face scrunches up as if he tastes something sour. “Seriously? This looks like it should still be in the ground.”

  “Stop. Touching. My. Food.” I move my bowl out of his reach.

  His gaze snaps to mine, brows raised, and his eyes sparkle with mischief. Crap. “Oh? Do you not like it? Afraid I might have cooties?” He moves to grab a cherry tomato.

  I beat him away with my fork. “I’m not afraid of you, but you keep touching my salad and you should be afraid.” I pick up my bowl. It’s safer for my salad, and my sanity, if I relocate. I hate it when someone touches my food, and he’s just annoying enough to keep this up.

  He chuckles, rubbing his hands together from across the island. “Yeah? I remember you used to get like this about something else . . .”

  Oh no. He wouldn’t.

  “Don’t play.” I take a step back and then to the side, my food cradled protectively in front of my body. “You’ll regret it.”

  “Oh? Will I? You still as ticklish as I remember? I think I should check to make sure.”

  “You fucking touch me and I will take you down,” I threaten. Someone touching my food? I loathe it. But tickling? I lose my shit. I’ve always despised it. And he always did it anyway.

  “Take me down?” Austin laughs, casually advancing, which only pisses me off more.

  “Do it.” Sean grins, his eyes catching mine from where he sits.

  “This is the most entertaining thing ever.” Lexi leans forward in her chair, her eyes wide with interest.

  Trent holds out his phone, most definitely recording. “I’ve got ten on Jayla.”

  “You’re betting against me?” Austin scoffs and shoots a glare at his friend.

  I take advantage of his momentary distraction and set my salad safely out of range of the battlefield. I can take him down—I will if he pushes this—but I don’t want to end up hungry at the end of it.

  “Just going with the likely winner. Sorry, bro.” Trent laughs heartily. “Kick his ass, Jayla.”

  “It’s better if you let me eat my dinner.” I give Austin one last warning. My gaze trains on his hips in case he decides to lunge and take me by surprise.

  “Sure.” His lips widen, showcasing his white smile. I swear, even his eyes are laughing. “After I tickle you.”

  “Your loss,” I bite out just as he moves forward. I have to hand it to him, he’s quicker than I anticipate, but the fool doesn’t come close to hitting any of my ticklish spots. I have his arm over my shoulder and plow him down flat on his back before he realizes what hit him.

  “Ohh!” Everyone cheers like this is an actual wrestling match.

  “Damn, kid,” Trent shouts. “You’re getting your ass kicked.”

  Working my leg over his body, I straddle his hips and keep him pinned to the ground. From beneath me, he bucks to flip me over, but it does no good, not while I have his arms pinned against his head at an unnatural angle. If I used my full strength I could choke him out, or break his arm, but I have no desire to do either of those.

  He struggles even though it’s a lost cause.

  “Sorry yet?” The words spill from my lips more breathlessly than they should. I’m suddenly aware—very aware—of our bodies, and how close they are. My breasts press into his heaving chest. My legs squeeze as they straddle his waist. His strong, hard muscles strain against my curves.

  “Not even a little,” he whispers and lifts his hips, pressing another hard part of him into my body. Our grappling excites him. Fuck. I don’t want to like it, but I do.

  “Don’t touch my food. Or my body without permission,” I add, but my words lack conviction. I wonder whether he can hear in my voice how much so. “Got that?”

  He swallows, his body tense and eyes excited as he whispers, “Yes, ma’am.”

  My breath quickens. The room heats to a thousand degrees. Everything about this moment feels intimate. I should climb off of him. Release his arms and go back to my salad, but I don’t, not immediately, and I swear he senses the desire in my hesitation.

  “Lexi, I think we should wrestle later. Damn.” Trent waves his hand, exaggerating as he fans himself and sets down his cell.

  Shit. I practically jump off of Austin, my feet tangling as I climb away from his warm body. Embarrassment washes over me at the unprofessionalism of my actions. That and the fact I’m keyed up and turned on in front of an audience.

  Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I twist open the lid and drink in vain to cool off. I can’t bring myself to meet any of their gazes, most of all Austin’s.

  “Dude, she kicked your ass.” The mirth in Trent’s voice is clear. “She kicked it good.”

  Opal’s slight drawl holds astonishment. “I didn’t even see you go down.”

  “You and me both.” Austin releases a soft chuckle. “Jayla doesn’t play.”

  “I sure as fuck won’t be going near her food!” Sean snickers.

  “Jay? Grab me a water, too?” Austin says, drawing me back into the group. “Please.” His lips tip up, and for once it doesn’t feel as if he’s making fun. If anything, his stare holds more respect and admiration than I’ve ever witnessed from him.

  I ignore how that one look makes my stomach flip, and get him a water before re-joining the group. I take the empty chair and dig into my salad.

  “Send that to me?” Austin tips his chin at Trent.

  “Why? You gonna add it to your spank bank?” Trent jokes.

  “Maybe.” Austin smirks, drawing a roar of laughter from his bandmates.

  “Ignore these idiots. There a lot to take, but you get used to it,” Lexi meets my gaze across the table.

  “We’re like a bad case of chlamydia. At first it stings, but eventually you learn to live with us.” Austin grins.

  Leighton balks. “That’s a horrible analogy.”

  “It’s rather fitting, actually.” Trent lifts his beer to his mouth.

  Lexi shakes her head. “Comparing yourselves to an STD?”

  “Well, you can’t get rid of me, so yes?”

  She rolls her eyes, but I don’t miss how she doesn’t appear put out by the idea of being stuck with Trent. They’ve only been together a year, but from what I read in the file, they are making the celebrity couple thing work. She swipes a slice of bread off Trent’s plate but meets my stare again. “It’s
nice to have another woman in this circus.” She takes a bite. “Helps even out the testosterone.”

  “Plus, I love boobs.” Austin leans back into his seat at my right. Without looking, I feel the heat of his gaze on my body.

  “Seriously? You can’t say that. To her or anyone else.” Lexi throws her hands up, and then after a short silence, “I’m with Jayla. I don’t know how you still have a nose.”

  Austin grins. “It’s my face. How can you think of hitting something so beautiful?”

  “I can think of a few ways,” I grumble.

  “See! I love her.” Lexi’s laughter joins with everyone else. “Welcome to tour life, Jayla.”

  “Thank you. I’m happy to be here.” I sneak another glance at Austin and throw him some shade. “Mostly.”

  It’s enough to earn smiles around the table, and for the first time since I started this job, I decide it might actually hold some fun. I anticipated I’d be babysitting pretentious assholes. Famous divas. But these people act like family. Slightly crazy, but still family. I like the guys, and their girlfriends too. It almost feels as if I belong, and that’s something I didn’t expect.

  14

  Austin

  We’ve only been on the road a few hours and yet I’ve watched the video over a hundred times. Stalker-ish even, and yet and I can’t help myself as I cue it up again and revel in the way Jayla not only tackled, but flattened my ass to the floor of the bus as if I weren’t a grown man. Shit. That’s not only hot, it’s impressive as hell.

  There’s one thought on my mind, in a constant loop, and it’s figuring out a way to get her to do it again. Preferably a naked version, but even I’m not stupid enough to proposition her for such a thing.

  Yet.

  Then there was her threat. The one she leveled at me before we both became acutely aware of an audience and our circumstances. “Don’t touch my food. Or my body without permission.” The implication of those words doesn’t sit right in my gut. The possibility of her consent being violated is enough to drive me mad. The thought of anyone touching her without her permission fills my chest with a surge of anger and an impulse to protect. Illogical, since she’s the one who laid me out flat with her skills.

  My mind wanders to the other women in my life whose path might have ended much differently had they been equipped with the same skillset and confidence to fight off unwanted advances. Lexi. Jess. My—

  No, I won’t go there. I squeeze my eyes shut and shake the past from my head, focusing on the now. I can’t live with regrets. I refuse to.

  But every woman should know how to do what Jayla did. If they had those skills, how many unwanted advances, how much abuse, could be prevented? I’m sad that’s even a thought in my mind. If people wouldn’t use intimidation or abuse power—physical or psychological, then self-defense wouldn’t even be a need. At least in a perfect world.

  Jayla has the knowledge.

  I have the eager fan base.

  Maybe together we could make a change.

  That, right there, conjures the impetus to a brilliant plan. I’ll get her to make more videos with me. Voluntarily, even. Seriously, how have I not already thought of this? It’s a win-win. I’ll get to spend even more time with her, and we’ll do a hell of a lot of good in the process.

  From inside my sleep bunk, I immediately get to work. By the hum of the engine and soft snores, everyone else on board is asleep, but I can’t think of rest, not with the idea playing out in my mind. This is going to be huge; I feel it in my bones. It’ll go viral. I can’t see how it won’t.

  An hour later, I re-watch the video one final time. My eyes burn with fatigue, but I can’t look away. I edited this version to include cheesy sound effects as well as freeze frames of the different moves Jayla swiftly and expertly executed, marked from my research.

  Satisfied with how it looks, I turn on the light inside my bunk and flip my phone to selfie mode to record the final clip. I run a hand through my hair a few times and adjust the angle of the lens so the tatts on my bare chest are as much a focus as my face.

  “If you enjoyed this video and would like to see more, please tag a friend, share, and let me know. I’m ready and willing to happily volunteer my body as tribute—for teaching purposes, of course.” Keeping my voice low and hushed, I know the fans will eat this up. I wink and allow a grin to spread. “If you’d like to see us demonstrate more self-defense moves, make some noise in the comments. And of course, I’ll also give you an exclusive, inside look into how we stay entertained on the road.” My lips curve suggestively and I end the recording, making quick work of attaching it to the video.

  “Here goes nothing,” I mutter to myself and post the damn thing to all my social media accounts before settling into my pillow for a few hours of sleep.

  It’s a long shot. Aren’t they all? But something tells me Jayla’s competitive enough to rise to the challenge if this thing goes viral. And I have a feeling it will.

  * * *

  The faint sounds of familiar voices, arguing and harsh with tension, register somewhere in the thick, sleepy haze of my mind.

  I snuggle into my pillow, pulling the sheets over my body as I turn, but before I drift back to sleep, my curtain is thrust open and light assaults my space.

  “Dude, what the fuck have you done?”

  I rub my eyes and in my state of half-consciousness it takes a moment before I realize where I am—on the tour bus—and who’s pulling me from rest—Trent.

  “What time is it?” I scrub a hand over my face and squint toward the light.

  “Time to wake the fuck up.” He grabs my pillow out from under my head and holds it to his chest, drawing my full attention. “Did you post that video on purpose? Or were you sleep walking? Please tell me you don’t have a death wish.”

  The video. Right. Ignoring my bandmate, I fumble around in my bunk until my fingers make contact with my cell. I don’t need to unlock the screen to know what happened. The sheer number of notifications says it all. That, and Jayla’s rants from across the bus.

  “I am going to hurt him. I don’t care if I’m paid to keep him safe, I am going to hurt that man and not for show!”

  “So, Jayla would like a word.” Trent levels me with one last insistent look before shoving my pillow back into my bunk. “Make this right.”

  “I will, I will.” I reach up and pull my curtain shut but he’s already walking back toward the commotion. With a brief moment of solitude, I check the stats on the video. My eyes widen and I rub them once more to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  Holy shit. Over a million views in what’s got to be less than six hours. They love her. I had no doubt they would.

  And now she wants to talk.

  Interesting.

  Exciting.

  Arousing.

  Shit. This is not the time nor the opportunity to sport a woody. I adjust my junk, count down from ten, and think about starving children and poisonous snake bites. By the time I get to one, my erected state is barely visible from the outside of my sleep shorts. It’s go time, baby.

  Jayla’s still ranting, though her exact words are inaudible through the sound barrier of my sleep shade and the hum of the bus. I don’t need to hear them to know she’s hella pissed, and a sick part of me can’t wait for the pleasure of being on the receiving end of her tirade.

  Isn’t that why I posted the video without running it by her first? I knew she’d probably shoot me down without a little outside pressure, but I also couldn’t wait to get a rise out of the woman I’d love to spar with, physically and otherwise.

  I climb out of my bunk, stretch my arms over my head, and strut out to meet my fate with more eagerness than I want her to see. “Morning, sunshine.” I grin and lift my eyes to meet her glare.

  She’s goddamn gorgeous, her hair a mess of curls and her legs wrapped in a pair of those black stretchy pants that hug her curves almost as much as her fitted tee. The scowl on her face doesn’t detract from her beauty; if
anything, it highlights her full lips and sharp gaze. “You.”

  “Me? Did I do something?” I point at my chest, satisfied when her gaze stutters briefly as it skitters across my naked chest.

  “I can’t believe you posted that!”

  “Not bad, huh?” I feign nonchalance. I nod at my bandmates, Lexi, and Jess, who might as well have a tub of popcorn with the way they’re watching us from the table’s bench seat. I return my attention back to Jayla. “My editing needs work, but a million views before breakfast isn’t bad.”

  “I am not part of some publicity stunt.” Her tone is sharp, but she’s not unleashed. She withholds her full wrath, and I hope it’s because she doesn’t totally hate what I posted. “It’s bad enough you twisted my arm with this job.” She glances around at my friends and her features soften as if she didn’t mean to say that part to an audience. “You can’t expect me to jump because you post some clip.”

  “It was a finely produced educational video,” I exaggerate to get a reaction.

  Bingo. “My butt takes up the entire frame!” she all but screams, closing the few steps between us.

  My lips pull wide, because yeah, she’s got a fine booty. “Your ass is the source of most of these comments.” I swipe across my phone and it only takes seconds before I find one to read aloud.

  “Don’t,” she practically growls.

  Maybe I do have a death wish, because I can’t stop myself. “ThatGuy22 says, ‘This girl can bring her milkshake to my yard any time. I vote for more videos and less clothes.’”

  “I hate you.”

  “You love me, and look, there aren’t just perverts watching. Here.” I take the time to find a more encouraging comment, and clear my throat. “‘Now, that’s what I’m talking about! Thank you for putting him down like the fool he is. More women should feel empowered to not put up with bullshit. Teach us how!’ Paints me in a bad light, but her heart is in the right place.”

  “Why did you post this?” Her voice is low, and oh, so frightening. I can’t decide whether I should lean in closer or cover my balls.