by K. K. Allen
So as tempting as Lyric’s offer is, I know I should decline. Especially since I’ve had enough trouble keeping my thoughts of Lyric pure all night. I blame the alcohol, and the fact that I’m fucking horny. It’s been a few weeks—a lifetime for my cock. And I’m certain I wouldn’t be able to hide my bulge sitting next to her in the backseat of a car. I could probably come just from saying her name again.
Besides, I’ve got all two hundred and thirty pounds of Rex at the ready. I pull my hoodie over my head and place shades over my eyes. I’m such a cliché.
“Nah, I think I’ll go sightseeing. Alone.”
She smirks. “Suit yourself.” Her eyes dart behind me to Rex. “Looks like you have a companion though.” With a wink and a teasing smile, she pinches her tongue between her teeth and slides into the car.
She fucking winked at me. Maybe I should hop in her car. Teach her a few lessons on how to handle that tongue of hers. Instead, I contain my grin to just a tug at one corner of my mouth.
As her car pulls away, I cross the street and take the path through the park toward the main road. Rex stays several yards behind me, giving me as much space as possible. He’s a good guy. Ex-MMA fighter, always ready to take someone out. Never fucks around with the girls, even though they try. Grunts more than he speaks, but he’s completely focused on the job. Protecting me from the crazies. Keeping the paparazzi from getting too close.
We’re all staying at the Ritz. It’s a thirty-minute walk if I keep a steady pace. I’m in no rush tonight. Time to myself like this is a rare occurrence I cherish when I get it, just not for too long. I can only handle this kind of silence in short sprints.
We wander through Balboa Park, winding through the intricate landscaping and animal-shaped hedges to get to Fifth Avenue. We’re only a few blocks from our hotel when Rex clears his throat, signaling he’s about to warn me of something.
“Cameras aimed at you at seven o’clock, sir.”
Well, shit. There goes my leisurely walk.
It’s not like I’m doing anything exciting, but they don’t care. Tomorrow morning my leisurely stroll in the park will turn into some fabricated headline news story. WOLF SPOTTED ON DRUG RUN or WOLF CAUGHT HAVING MELTDOWN IN THE PARK. I laugh. The media is good. I’ll give them that. I’m hardly as exciting as they write in their articles.
I can see the flashing camera lights now. We pick up the pace. Our strides are longer, steps quicker, until we’re only a few blocks from the hotel.
“They’re closing in,” Rex says, his tone carrying a warning. He’s right next to me now.
We start jogging. So do they. I catch one glimpse as we turn a corner. There must be at least five of them. Not so bad. But now they’re close enough to start asking questions.
“Wolf, can we have an interview?”
No.
“Happy birthday, Wolf!”
It’s not my birthday. At least they didn’t bring a fucking cake this time.
I swear these fuckers will do anything to get close. They don’t even care what they’re capturing, as long as they can make up a story about it. They brought me a cake once to get me to laugh, smile, what-the-fuck ever, because it was when my name was blowing up. They wanted a piece of it all. Now, they don’t care what they find me doing. I could be tying my shoe and they’ll make it seem like I’m snorting coke.
“Wolf, can we just get one picture?”
I throw them a smile over my shoulder. Every now and then I do what it takes to play nice. But it’s not enough for the vultures, always on the lookout for their next meal. I know what they’re going to ask if I give them the time they so desperately want, and I don’t want to deal with it.
“Wolf, your fans are getting bored of the same songs. Got anything new planned for the tour?”
Heat starts in my chest and radiates outward. They want to wind me up to give them something to write about. Not going to happen.
We reach the hotel and Rex stands back, blocking the reporters from coming any closer as I walk into the lobby.
There are several people milling around the entrance, and they all turn to stare at me, the panting dude wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. I must look like a creep. I remove the disguise and head straight for the elevator.
Just as the sliding doors are closing, I reach into the divide to stop them. They retract. I let out a sigh of relief before stepping in, but as I do, my toe catches on the open grooves at my feet. I fall forward, straight into Lyric. Her eyes dart to me with alarm as I propel toward her, catching myself, palms on either side of the mirrored wall she’s resting against.
“Well, hello again,” I say, unable to hold back my smirk. Maybe I should have let my hands fall onto her chest instead. Payback and all.
I’m breathing quickly, still recovering from my unexpected workout. I catch a glimpse in the mirror of Rex stepping into the elevator behind me, but my focus is on Lyric. I watch, amused, as she straightens her shoulders and looks around me as if I’m not standing right in front of her. If I had a dime for every person who pretended to be unaffected by my presence, I’d be filthy rich—even more than I already am. I chuckle.
Her eyes narrow. “Why are you staring at me?” she says exasperatedly.
Still amused, I turn so that I’m no longer facing her. We’re shoulder to shoulder and I’m about to respond, but when a gaggle of teen girls shove their way inside just before the doors close, I change my mind.
“Girls, I’m going to have to ask you to step out,” Rex rumbles. He’s not a mean guy, but his deep voice is always alarming to those who aren’t used to it.
The teens look at him wide-eyed. One looks back at me like she might cry.
“No, Rex. Let them ride. It’s okay.” I smile, effectively causing them to swoon.
Then the doors close and they immediately start with the squeals. Shit.
“It is you! Wolf! Oh my God. I love you so much. Can we take a picture with you?”
It’s an elevator selfie ride all the way to the twelfth floor, where the girls reluctantly get off. I step out with Lyric on the nineteenth floor, thankful when Rex doesn’t follow us down the hall. Still, he watches us, and I know he will until I’m safely in my room.
“Are you following me?” she asks.
This time I roll my eyes. “What makes you think I’m into you?”
Her eyes bulge. “You stared at me all through dinner. You followed me into the elevator…” She trails off when she realizes that’s all she’s got.
Room 1924 comes into view, so I stop and face her. “You, sweets, need to get over yourself. I haven’t hit on you once today. And if I did, you wouldn’t be fighting it.”
She crosses her arms and glares. “Is that right?”
I step forward and stare directly into her eyes. But Lyric doesn’t weaken beneath my gaze. She stands taller. I’m not sure if I like that or not. It’s refreshing and infuriating in one tiny, sexy, package.
“Lyric.” Her name is so fucking sexy as it rolls off my tongue; I could make out with it. “If I wanted to, I’d have you inside my room and naked in seconds. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a pretty girl, but where I come from, looking at you during dinner and you walking me to my room is hardly flirting.” I wink. “This is me.”
She steps backward, seeming startled, and when her back hits the door to my room, I have a vision of her naked flesh pressed against it with me deep inside her. Fuck. I know what I’ll be getting off to tonight. Her eyes are searching mine inquisitively as the fog lifts from my fantasy. “So I’m really not your type?”
“Not at all,” I lie.
She sighs. “Okay, then. That’s settled. Nothing to worry about.” She pushes off the door and slips past me.
“Nope.” I focus on sliding my keycard into the slot.
“That should make this upcoming tour much easier on both of us, then,” she says, her voice fading the further away she gets.
My smile never wavers as her footsteps cease, and then I hear her
door open and close with a bang. I let out a rush of air at the realization that Lyric Cassidy, after only a few hours, has somehow managed to creep under my skin.
Chapter Three
Lyric
My songbook keeps me company wherever I go—an important lesson I learned years ago after inspiration struck and I realized I'd left it at home. It’s like a spontaneous orgasm. An idea can come at any time, and my songbook is my condom, catching my word babies as they fall. I’ve had this particular book for only a few months now, but that’s because I fill them quickly. I have stacks of them in my storage unit back in Seattle.
As my feet soak in the warm pool water and my songbook rests beside me, I’m overcome with inspiration. I knew I would be. San Diego is a beautiful place filled with beautiful people, and I see stories everywhere I’m aching to write.
It’s been a few days since I’ve gone there. To that place in the deep, dark part of my mind where emotions and words collide, sparking honesty and vulnerability. My songbook is my private place—my only place—to unleash these emotions. Because of that, it’s safe to say this is my addiction. My obsession.
A shriek and giggle—a shriggle—fills the air, turning my attention to the couple at the other end of the pool. There he is. My new boss, the rock god himself, threatening to toss a cute and entirely too willing victim into the deep end of the pool. My stomach rolls. I don't want to watch, but I'm unable to take my eyes from the scene. Such noncommittal happiness. It’s not like they’re doing anything inappropriate. He’s not even groping her yet, but it’s a painful reminder of what I left in Seattle. Tony and Joanna. Fucking assholes. Despite their betrayal, I can admit that they happen to be perfect together.
Joanna had been my best and only friend since I moved in with my mom. I asked her to tour with me and even found her a job on the road so she had a good excuse to take a break from college. As it turns out, I am shit at choosing friends. I had been dating Tony for two years when Joanna decided to jump into an affair with him.
To make things worse, I hadn’t even considered that Tony would be capable of cheating on me. Bad boy rocker and all, I thought our connection was mutual. We’re both cut from the same cloth. Born into the industry. Emotionally detached, but not in ways that make us cold. We’re just both able to separate emotion from all the other bullshit going on.
At times, our relationship felt more like a business transaction than anything else. There was a friendship there, and he made my heart beat fast in the beginning, but over time, he only wanted me around when it would look good for him. He got too busy and too big for our relationship. It wasn’t about us anymore, it was about the music. But the sex was good. I guess. I’ve never been the easily stimulated type, but he could still get me to climax some of the time.
Whatever. In the end, he followed his heart—or dick—even though it meant damaging mine. My heart, that is.
I stare across the pool and shake my head as Wolf wraps his arms around the girl’s slick body. At least I’m not the only one with issues. That bad boy might just be worse off than I am. At least I’ve made the decision to abstain from sex until I figure my shit out. Wolf doesn’t date. At all. And it sounds like he’s perfectly content hopping from one girl to the next. His heart is destructive. Dangerous. The last thing I need. Like Tony. Like Joanna. Fuck all of them.
A tingle races up my spine as an idea strikes. My hands fly to my songbook and the words splatter onto the page. I can barely write fast enough to keep up with the lyrics racing through my mind.
* * *
Two wrongs don’t mend hearts like ours
Two wrongs can never break our fall
I give, you take, it’s no mistake
We’re in too deep, losing sleep
Trying to forget what started it all
* * *
Angry eyes and a brick wall armor
Lessons learned, paths paved
Shield unyielding, it’s a heavy weight
One you’ll never penetrate
It’s hopeless, no use trying to be saved
* * *
You ruined us from the start
Your soul is black, your heart is dark
You tear me up like it’s an art
Stay away with your dangerous heart
* * *
Can’t rely on second chances
Since the first one ripped my heart apart
You’re not welcome here anymore
’Cause there’s no going back to the start
* * *
By the time I’m done, my heart is racing and my palms are sweating. That was probably the most therapeutic thing I’ve done since the breakup. It feels damn good. I’ve never written a complete song that fast in my life—not that it’s perfect. What first draft is? In my opinion, even final drafts aren’t really final. How can they be when every moment of every day, we’re learning new things and taking on new adventures? Stories change, just as we do.
I stare at the words on the page in front of me. No matter how healing they may have been, I’m not sure they’re words I want to hold on to. Tony was a mistake. One that I don’t want to remember. One who doesn’t deserve my words. Which is fine. Not every written piece is meant to be saved.
Slowly, I rip the page from my songbook, cringing at the tear line I’m creating. Who knew trashing something so personal would feel so painful. When the page is torn completely, I take a deep breath and walk it over to the nearest trash can, which is already exploding with waste. Without another thought, I add my lyrics to the pile because whatever heartache I feel over Tony is just that—waste.
The quiet night is startling when I finally come out of my songwriting haze. I hadn’t noticed Wolf and his lady friend taking off at some point during my writing spell, but the shriggles are gone and I’m alone by the pool. Daylight is fading and my stomach is going crazy with hunger, so I pack my things and head inside. Without bothering to change, I sit at one of the hotel bars to order dinner and a glass of wine.
When the bartender slides my first glass in front of me, I reach for it eagerly.
A throat clears behind me and I freeze, the glass nearly to my mouth. “A pretty woman should never eat or drink alone. I’d offer you company but I wouldn’t want your head to grow larger than it already is.”
The teasing voice should be grating, but it’s familiar and warm, and it is nice to not be alone for a moment. Wolf slips onto the stool beside me.
“Ha, ha.” I face him with a smirk. My eyes have a mind of their own as they flicker between his face and over his shoulder, expecting to see the woman from the pool with him. There’s no one there. The speed at which Wolf moves through women is impressive and disturbing.
“You can join me if you’d like,” I say despite my better judgment. “I promise I won’t assume you’re crossing an arbitrary line.”
He settles in without hesitation and steals my menu. “Sounds good.”
A deep breath later, I force myself to apologize. “I’m sorry for getting the wrong idea the other day. I just got out of something, and it messed with my head a bit.” I don’t want to give him more than that. He probably doesn’t want to hear it anyway, and it’s not an easy conversation to have, especially with someone who reminds me of the problem.
He doesn’t respond. I’m sure I just made things way too awkward.
“Weren’t you with someone earlier?” I ask. Because that’s not awkward.
He peers up at me with a tilt of his lips. “If you’re referring to my sister, she has a thing against driving at night, so she already took off.”
Oh. There’s an unwelcome flutter in my chest. “You amaze me,” I say before taking a sip of my wine.
This gets his attention. He turns his body toward me. “Please continue.”
I chuckle. “You’re a big, bad rocker with girls who follow you into elevators and trample you after every concert, yet you’re here alone, you declined an offer to party the other night, and, according to you, y
ou haven’t hit on me once. Either I’m losing my touch, or you are.”
He throws back his head and laughs. It’s nice and throaty, making me wish I could take back my frustrations with the male species and shove my tongue down his throat.
“First of all, I’m only refraining from flirting with you because you laid down the law the moment we met. But don’t let your head inflate. My natural instinct is to flirt. It’s what I do, whether you’re my type or not. Second, I’m not alone. I’m with you. Which means you’re not alone, either.”
I let his words settle in before changing the subject. “Were you born in San Diego?”
“Born, bred, and raised.”
“And you’re staying in a hotel?”
His response is a shrug. That’s strange.
It’s his turn to change the subject. “Where are you from?”
“All over. Most recently, Seattle.”
He sets the menu down and orders a whiskey water from our bartender before continuing. “My second favorite place in the U.S. Seattle kicks ass.”
“Agreed.”
“So then why are you touring? There are plenty of music jobs where you’re from.”
Coming from a musician, his question isn’t that odd. Life on the road is a necessity for him. I have a choice. “I don’t want to stay in one place. That’s what I was doing when… Anyway, I want to travel. The road is where it’s at for me. Visiting a new city every couple days. Always a new adventure.”
“So was I wrong about you? When I said you didn’t enjoy life?”
He doesn’t have to elaborate. That conversation has been replaying in my mind—haunting me—ever since. “Life moves fast while we’re on the road. Isn’t that how it is for you? Watching life pass you by while you sit behind the glass of a tour bus?”
