by Eva Haining
“Hey, Knox.”
“Hey, girl. You ready to take a ride?” She doesn’t even wait for me to unlock the front door, her hand rubbing over the front of my jeans, turning my semi into a full-on boner.
“You’re clearly ready. You never disappoint, Knox.” She pushes up onto her tiptoes, pressing her lips to mine as I mess with the lock. The minute I feel the doorknob twist open, I grab her around the waist and lift her inside, kicking the door shut behind us.
“Now, let’s see what’s under this coat of yours.”
“You’re going to be disappointed. There’s nothing under there.” She has a wicked glint in her eye.
“Just the way I like you. Saddle up, sweetheart, it’s going to be a long night.”
When my alarm clock starts buzzing, I reach to hit the snooze button, happy to note I’m alone. Getting up when it’s still dark out doesn’t generally go over that well with the ladies, but I’m not about to hand them a key and tell them to make themselves at home. That would be the antithesis of what I’m looking for in my life right now.
Dragging my ass over to the bar parking lot to retrieve my car and head to work just hammers home the fact that I need to finish my house on the farm. This shit is getting old. When I arrive, my employees are already making a start and are way too chipper for my liking.
“Another late night, Knox?” Ben knows me too well.
“Yep. How are we shaping up today?”
“Great. Maddox Hale called. They bumped up the order for their riding therapy center. Apparently, they’re hosting some kind of conference this week and want extra supplies.”
“Okay. If you want to get their order ready and take it out there, that would be great.”
“He asked if you could take it.”
“Did he say why?”
“Nope. Do you want me to call him back and ask?”
“Nah. It’s fine. Just get everything they asked for put together. I’m going to milk the cows. When I’m done, I’ll swing by the ranch on my way to the diner.”
“You’re like clockwork, bro. Have you ever thought of getting breakfast from somewhere else? Or even a different order? Walk on the wild side.”
“The wild side is overrated unless it’s between the sheets. In that case, the wilder, the better.”
“You trying to take on Jax’s mantle of the town bad boy? The notches on your bedpost must have turned that shit to kindling by now.”
“There are worse burdens to bear. If the women of Kingsbury Falls need a cock to ride without judgment, I’m happy to oblige.” I slap him on the shoulder before heading out to the barn. It’s easier to be the town manwhore than it is to be the object of everyone’s pitying stares.
If there’s one place I don’t get those pathetic looks, it’s in the bedroom. The gods have seen fit to make me hung like a horse, and I know how to use it—I can satisfy a woman any which way she chooses. Rough and ready. Slow and steady. I’ll even take two at a time if they’re into it. That’s a no-brainer. Any guy who says he wouldn’t be down for a threesome clearly hasn’t been offered one.
When I’m done with the super early morning work, I head off to the ranch, wondering why Mad specifically asked that I make their delivery. Maybe because I’ve been steering clear of Mustang since my foray into being a film extra. I didn’t think anyone would notice my absence.
Pulling onto the gravel driveway, Mad and Jax catch sight of me and drop what they’re doing to come and say hi.
“Knox! Where the hell have you been, bro? Licking your wounds like a sad little kitty or licking the pussy all over town?” Trust Jax to call a spade a spade. “People talk, my man. You trying to break my record?”
“My cock would fall off before that happened. Surely, I’m nowhere near the body count of the great Jax McKinney?”
“When you two are done discussing your cock conquests, I have work to discuss.” Mad is no stranger to the joys of uncomplicated sex, but these days he’s a family man and one of the shrewdest businessmen I’ve ever met. That might not be saying much, considering I’ve never been more than a hundred miles from Kingsbury Falls, but it doesn’t change the fact that he could stop working today and never have to worry about money for the rest of his life. If he wants to talk business, I’m all ears.
Two
BELLE
It’s all coming together. Everything we’ve been working for is at our fingertips. All I need to do is sign on the dotted line, and my dreams of being signed by a big record company come true.
“Earth to Belle. You actually have to sign the contract.” My lead guitarist, Johnny, shakes my shoulder, pulling me back to this momentous day. I turn to face him, seeing the toll this last stretch of touring has taken on him.
The record executive sitting across the table hands me a pen, but I reach into my purse, pulling out the ridiculously priced pen I bought for the occasion. It seemed like a good idea at the time, but now I feel a little dorky as I shun the Bic he offers.
“I brought my own pen.” The guys snigger at my side, nervous energy coursing through all of us as we sign a five-album deal. I have a second song-writing deal which I’ll sign after this. I write all the music for the band, and my years of scribbling on the back of beer mats and napkins have finally come to fruition.
I feel like I’m having an out-of-body experience right now. The culmination of all our efforts—lugging gear around the country, playing to half-empty bars for years—comes down to a conference room and a piece of paper. In my head, this moment had fanfare and a soundtrack written by yours truly. There’s nothing more rock and roll than signing with the biggest record company in the country, and yet being here with a bunch of suits seems oddly underwhelming.
I sign my name, dotting the ‘I’ and there are no ‘T’s. Though the guys were amused by me bringing my own pen a minute ago, they each ask to use it when they sign their names on the contract. It makes me laugh when Johnny turns to me and says, “It’s got a nice weight to it. I like the way it writes.” He’s a hardcore musician—the stereotype of the touring manwhore. Women throw their panties at him on a nightly basis, and he does his best to sleep with as many of them as his dick can handle.
When we’ve all signed our names, one of the executives pops the cork on a bottle of champagne. That’s more like it. It’s eleven in the morning, but it’s five o’clock somewhere, and I’m ready to celebrate. He pours everyone a glass and defers to the record executive to toast the moment.
“To all of you. Congratulations. We’re looking forward to getting you guys to the top of the billboard charts. Here’s to Beyond New York and an amazing debut album.”
“Cheers,” we all say in unison. The thought of seeing our band name in lights at Radio City gives me chills. We have a month before we start cutting the first record. Until then, we have a tour to finish out. Three weeks of gigs and a week to kick back and relax. I don’t remember the last time I took actual time off. If gigs were slow, we each had side hustles to pay the bills. There have been months when I had to stall my landlord and weeks when all I ate was ramen. Knowing that I won’t have to worry about rent is something to celebrate.
I put down the first and last month’s rent on an apartment here in LA, but I don’t get the keys until next month. It’s bigger than anywhere I’ve ever lived before. Growing up in foster care, I never even had a room to call my own. When I aged out of the system, my life became a string of crappy apartments. I made the mistake of living with a boyfriend for a while. It turns out he had a penchant for slapping me around. He didn’t deal well with coming to watch me sing and getting angry when guys would come up to talk to me after my set. I never encouraged them, and I always turned down their offers of drinks, phone numbers, or a bed to share for the night.
There was nowhere for me to go at that point, so I stayed for a few months until I could scrape together enough money to leave him, but not before I took some self-defense classes and learned how to kick his ass. I was already pretty scr
appy after growing up in the system, but I didn’t want to get in an eye-gouge. I wanted revenge.
The night I had my bags packed, I waited for him to come home from work. He flipped out, and when he raised his hand to me, I threw every ounce of strength I had behind a sucker punch. I caught him off guard and followed it with a kick in the balls. I vowed that I’d never let myself be put in that position again, and I’ve been self-sufficient ever since. No more roommates, not even the band. It meant dive apartments, but it was worth it, and next month I get to set up home in plush digs with a healthy bank balance.
When the guys leave to keep celebrating elsewhere, the executives hand me a second contract. This one is just for me, and for that, I’m proud. The dream is in the band deal, but my personal stability will come from this contract—a publishing deal for my songs.
As I sign my name to this one, I feel an incredible sense of achievement. I’ve arrived!
“Congratulations, Mirabelle. You’ve earned it.” Stuart has been my manager for the past five years, and he’s been there through the ups and downs of life as a musician.
“Thank you. Now, it’s time to celebrate. Are you coming out for dinner with me and the boys tonight?”
“Wouldn’t miss it.”
“Awesome. I’ll see you at the restaurant. I want to swing by the hotel and freshen up.”
“I might see you there. I spilled some of that champagne on my shirt.” He has that sly look in his eye, the one that tells me he means something else entirely. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything in front of the record executives. I’d be mortified if he did.
Stuart and I have chemistry, we always have. The best part about it is that neither of us wants a relationship. We scratch an itch with each other on occasion, and tonight I’ll definitely take him back to my hotel room to celebrate.
His panty-melting smile makes me eager for the day to be over. There’s no better way to celebrate than with a screaming orgasm.
Waking up late and knowing my dream life starts now is an amazing feeling. Stuart’s gone, which is even better. I don’t like dealing with the morning-after crap. He knows I want to ride him and then be left alone, and he’s good with that.
Today, we hit the road for a three-week stint before getting down to the business of recording the new album. Our gear has been loaded onto the tour bus, and we’re ready to go.
“Are you okay, Johnny? You look like ass.” My lead guitarist has been burning the candle at both ends recently. Touring is exhausting at the best of times, but he’s been hitting the drink harder and dabbling with some hardcore drugs. I’ve tried to steer him back to weed, but he has an addictive personality, and he’s looking for a new high. I thought he’d dial it back after the stress of waiting for the contract to be final was over. Last night proved me wrong. He and Stuart got completely blitzed, and I’m pretty sure they were doing coke in the bathroom. It’s a hazard of the business we’re in, but I thought they were smarter than that.
I shouldn’t have taken Stuart back to my place, but even when he’s high as a kite and drunk as a skunk, that man has skills I can’t resist.
Johnny’s voice is barely a whisper as he answers my question. “Can you lower the decibels? I have a banging headache. Do we have any beer on this bus? Hair of the dog.”
“The last thing you need at nine in the morning is alcohol.”
He covers his ears. “Volume, Belle. Geez. Cut a guy some slack. I barely got any sleep. Those girls we met at the bar last night were into some freaky shit. I think they wore my cock out. It may never recover, and now you’re practically shouting at me.”
“Tell me you didn’t ride the STD gauntlet. And I’m not shouting, you’re just hungover. I think your liver needs a rest just as much as your cock. Lay off the hard stuff, okay? I need you lucid for recording. This is our big shot, and we can’t waste it.”
“Yes, mom.” He pulls his shades from the neck of his t-shirt and slides them on before heading onto the bus. I can’t deny he’s the epitome of rock and roll, but I worry about him. The others are strictly about booze and women—no drugs.
The first stop is San Diego, so it’s not crazy travel time or anything. But by the end of this stint, we’ll be clear across the country in New York. I think we’re hitting twelve states along the way, including another trip to Kingsbury Falls in Texas. Apparently, the movie star, J.J. Savage, is a big fan.
The last time we did a gig there, I was talking to a really hot guy, but he didn’t try to make a move on me. It’s a shame, he definitely had the look—the one that tells you he knows exactly what he’s doing when it comes to a woman’s pleasure. Maybe I’ll see him again.
As we hit the highway, the guys all doze off after a full-on night of reveling in this milestone. There were times we never thought it would happen, but as I look around, it starts to sink in—this is the beginning of the big time.
I pull out my notebook and grab my guitar. Nothing inspires me like the knowledge that what I’m writing will likely end up on an album. By the time we reach our destination, I’ve fleshed out the lyrics, the melody, and I can hear the harmonies in my head.
I’m pumped for tonight’s gig!
“What state are we in?” I ask the driver as we speed through the darkness at two in the morning. I can’t make out any landmarks, and the past week has been a blur—gigs, interviews, calls from Stuart updating our itinerary, and emails from the record label giving us details for making a start on the new album. I sent them a selection of songs that were popular with the crowds in recent months. They narrowed it down to ten tracks they want to focus on and another three for good measure. When I read who will be producing for us, I let out a squeal, waking everyone.
“What the fuck?” they yell in a collective curse.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you. Go back to sleep.”
If it were me, I’d be awake and asking what caused an excited squeal, but the guys are different. They don’t bat an eyelid and are sound asleep again within seconds.
After a few minutes, the driver whispers in my direction. “We just crossed into Texas. We’ve got a fair few hours before we get to where we’re going. You should try to get some sleep.”
“Good point. Are we heading straight to Kingsbury Falls?”
“Yeah. K Falls is our first stop in Texas. Then it’s on to Houston later in the week.”
Perfect. I’m horny as hell. If I see the guy I met last time, I’m riding that cowboy like a bucking bronco.
I manage to grab a few hours of shut-eye, and by the time we arrive, I’m raring to go. The sun is shining, and as we pull up at the venue, I’m enthralled by how serene it looks. Mustang Ranch is a beautiful place, and the owners are waiting on the front porch looking thoroughly delicious. There must be something in the water in this town.
Tonight is an open-air gig, no dingy bar or the stench of stale beer.
I try to coax the guys awake, but they just murmur when I shove them, so I leave them to it while I say hello.
Maddox Hale greets me as I step off the bus, and I’m achingly aware that I look like crap. Tour buses don’t make for a fresh-faced, sweet-smelling morning.
“Hey, Mirabelle. Welcome back. We’re excited to have y’all here.”
“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Mr. Hale.” It really is a pleasure, he’s seriously handsome.
“Please, call me Mad. Mr. Hale makes me feel about ninety years old.”
“Sorry. I’m a little starstruck. I grew up in Louisiana. I used to watch you on TV. I didn’t get the chance to go to the rodeo in person, but you were amazing.” I can’t believe I just fangirled all over him. Thankfully, his business partner, who is equally as stupid-handsome as him, steps in to save me.
“Don’t give him any reason to grow his ego any further, he already struggles to get through doorways with that thing. I’m Jax, nice to see you again.”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t give it a second thought, darl
in’. It happens all the time. Can you imagine what I had to deal with going to school with this pretty boy?”
I speak before my filter kicks in. “I’m sure you didn’t have any problems finding a throng of girls willing to drop to their knees for you.”
He throws his head back and laughs so hard I think he’s going to puke. “I like you already.”
I decide to just go with it. “Am I wrong?”
“No,” Maddox interjects. “He was a full-on manwhore.”
“Was? Not anymore?”
“Afraid not. Happily married now.”
“And the women of Kingsbury Falls are left to fend for themselves.”
The guys stumble off the bus, squinting in the sunlight like vampires about to burst into flames.
“What time is it?” Johnny asks. He reeks of booze.
“Time for you to take a shower. God, you stink.”
“Can we help unload your gear? The stage is already set up.” I’m distracted by Jax’s southern drawl. It’s something sorely lacking in LA and New York. As a southern girl, I still go weak at the knees for a good drawl.
“That would be great, thank you.”
It takes us an hour to get everything set up, and when we’re done, the guys and I head for the local B&B. We all need to shower and throw on some fresh clothes before the gig.
I’m so tired. I never sleep well on the tour bus, but I know I can’t lie down on the bed, or I’ll never get back up. I need coffee—a lot of it. With my makeup done and my hair styled, I’m ready to get this night started.
The boys are waiting downstairs for me, dressed in their favorite stage gear. Johnny is wearing his shades indoors which only means one thing—he’s high. There’s no point in chastising him right now, but I need to have a serious conversation with him about this. It’s getting out of hand, and he needs to shape up if we’re going to make the most of our deal. He’s the best guitarist I’ve ever met, but his private life is in shambles.
