by K. K. Allen
“This is no Cinderella shit. No impostors need apply. We aren’t offering glass slippers or happily ever afters. We just want whoever wrote this song to come forward so we can make this single number one together.”
Wolf gives the crowd time to soak this all up. I don’t even know if they heard him over the screaming, but he’s grinning and giving the band their cue to start. “All right, lucky motherfuckers. This is ‘Dangerous Heart.’”
And then the beat starts back up, and I have to hold onto something. That title. I grab the rail in front of me, bracing myself to hear what has got to be a strange coincidence. But then I hear the familiar words as he sings the first line. My words. Two wrongs don’t mend hearts like ours.
No fucking way.
Somehow, Wolf got his hands on my song. The one I trashed—for good reason. I should have never had to think about it again, and now he’s playing it in front of thousands of people.
What the hell?
I want to scream as I rack my brain for an explanation. Did he see me toss it in the garbage?
Rage is starting to bubble inside me until I’m seething with anger, unable to see anything clearly. There’s a ferocious beast inside me preparing to attack, banging down the walls of my cage, snarling and dripping with contempt.
There’s nothing I can do but contain the beast. For now. But my fury only builds as I stand by, listening to Wolf sing my words to a crowd of thousands. Thousands of his dearest fans whom he’s asked to make this shit go viral. And they’ll do it. Because he’s Wolf.
Chapter Six
Wolf
She’s fucking crazy.
Jenn practically chases me from the stage the entire way to the bus and then demands a private interview, which Lyric has apparently already arranged without informing me. When we’re alone, she stalks her way to the back of the bus where my bedroom is. I follow her, but only to tell her this isn’t happening. Not tonight. Not with her. She needs to get the hell out.
“What the fuck are you doing, Jenn?” I practically explode. I’m already on fire from the concert, and while I usually like an easy lay, I’m not doing this with radio’s best-known skank.
I’m a hypocrite, but I don’t care. When I sleep around, it’s not with girls who openly spread it for any musician on the planet. I have an ego that requires me to believe that the girls who wait outside my door are there for me and only me.
She’s giggling, her arms around my neck, tequila and lime breath blowing in my face. “I said we had an interview. I was thinking we could get real deep.” She grabs a handful of my cock and it immediately reacts.
“I appreciate the offer, Jenn. I really do.” I grit my teeth to keep from giving in. “The bus takes off soon. No time.” I gently pry her hands from the waistband of my pants, but she’s fast, quickly wrapping her arms around my neck again and plastering her body to mine. She’s like a leech. Her grip is so tight, and one of her legs has slithered around my waist. If she hadn’t locked us in my bedroom, I could have called for backup. Where the hell is Rex?
There’s a crash from outside the bedroom just as Jenn steps away to remove her top. Two perky breasts are now exposed, begging for me. Fuck. Her tits are nice, and it has been awhile. She sinks down to her knees, a wicked smile lighting up her face as she eyes my crotch and licks her lips.
If she sucks me off, I won’t be returning the favor. I should let her know.
She has my fly undone in seconds and her hands are on my waistband, ready to unveil the goods. I want to tell her to stop gawking and get to work, but before I can open my mouth a small figure bursts through the door, eyes red as the devil.
Lyric. Gorgeous Lyric. She shouldn’t have eyes of the devil but she sure as shit does right now. Her arms fold across her busty chest, and she glares at Jenn. “Put your tits away and get the hell out.”
Jenn looks between Lyric and me, confusion written all over her face. And then disappointment, realizing she’s not going to get what she wants. “Shit. Are you with Lyric? Why didn’t you tell me?” She scrambles to her feet and tries to find her shirt.
Lyric takes a step forward, and I’m afraid she’s going to throw a punch. I’m too turned on to stop her. “He’s not with me, but that shouldn’t make you feel better. Your tits are still hanging out. Leave.”
“You can’t tell me to leave.” She glares at Lyric and then turns to me. “Right, Wolf?” Jenn gives it one last desperate attempt. I almost feel sorry for her and a little bit shitty about myself. Guilt isn’t an emotion I experience often, but part of me hates that women like Jenn assume I’m a given, even though I kind of am. That’s not the point. I take pride in my right to choose who and when and where I fuck. But chicks like Jenn think all they have to do is waltz in, strip, and my dick is theirs for the night.
As delicately as I can, I reach her shirt on the floor and hand it to her. “I’m sorry, Jenn, Lyric’s the boss. We’ll catch up when I’m in town again.” Not if I can help it.
Lyric holds the door open—avoiding Jenn’s death glare when she exits—and then slams it behind her. When she turns back to me, her eyes are still red and heated. It’s my turn to get mad at her, but I can’t. With anyone else, I would go off on them. If it was any other road manager, she’d be fired. But it’s Lyric. And I find myself amused and a little bit aroused that she just kicked someone out of my bedroom.
She’s still fuming, flushed and panting, and it’s hot as hell. I’ve imagined making her cheeks that color more times than I can count. And I’m still hard. I shift slightly and she takes notice of the massive erection trying to fight its way through my boxer briefs. I quickly yank up the zipper of my jeans.
Too late.
Lyric gasps and looks up at me before squeezing her lids together and shaking her head. Good luck purging that from your memory, sweetheart. I snicker internally.
I thought she might have been hiding a little crush on me, but I had no idea she already wanted to stake a claim. I’ll have to figure out how to deal with this for an entire tour—how to fuck her and then go back to business as usual.
“Care to explain why you kicked down my door?”
Her eyes move around my room until she spots something, and then she’s moving to the set of drawers by my bed. What the hell? My eyes go wide. I run over and slam the drawers shut before she can see my pile of Polaroids, gifts from dirty girls who want to leave me with something to remember them by.
“Look, Lyric. I’m giving you a pass on barging in here because I didn’t know how to let Jenn down gently. You saved me there. But I draw the line at going through my stuff.”
She swivels, and I swear she’s grown a few inches when she stares back at me. “Really? You have something to hide? You think you can steal intimate lyrics from people and then pawn them off as your own? Make a huge scene about it so that the world is on your side? You rock stars are all alike, aren’t you? Caring only about yourselves.”
“What the fuck are you talking about? Is this about that new song? I cleared it with Crawley and the label. We’re ready to make a deal with whoever wrote those lyrics. They'll be set for life.”
She squeezes her eyes shut, and it has a direct effect on my insides, like she’s got my stomach in a vise. Just that look tells me what she hasn't said.
I’ve found my Cinderella.
“How did you find it? I threw it away.” Her voice is still heated, but it’s shaky now, hitting me straight in the chest.
“It’s yours? Shit, Lyric. If I knew that—”
“What would you have done?” She glares, causing a sudden tightness in my throat.
This woman does things to me. And I fucking hate it.
“I would have talked to you before doing anything with it. I didn’t know who wrote it. It was about to fall into the pool, and I caught it. If it meant so much to you, why did you throw it away? There was no name on it, nothing—”
“So you stole it?”
I shake my head, completely thrown off bala
nce. “No. I didn’t steal anything. Didn’t you hear me out there? We want to offer you a deal.”
She laughs, a sarcastic laugh, as if I’m insane. This is not the reaction I expected from the owner of those lyrics. Then again, I didn’t expect the owner’s name to be Lyric. There’s a coincidence for you.
“Some things can’t be bought, Wolf.”
“I know that.” I do. I absolutely know that. Shit. “Honestly, we thought we were doing a good thing.”
“You didn’t know it was my song?”
“No, I swear.”
“You liked it?” Her voice is softer now.
That stops me in my tracks. I want to take her face into my palms and lay one on her. Is this insecurity coming from Ms. Feisty herself? “I love it, Lyric. The band loves it. Our manager loves it. The crowd fucking ate that shit up. We want it to be our next hit, and with the publicity we’ve brought to it tonight, we’re well on our way.”
Her eyes glaze over and shift away from me.
“Look at me,” I say. She does. “I’m not just saying this… It’s yours. If you want me to put a stop to it all, I will. If you want me to let the world know you wrote it, I can do that, too. Anything you want. Totally your call.”
She looks at me, and by the way her eyes are scanning mine, I swear she’s seeing me for the first time. It’s possible. People get closed off when they’ve been burned; I know from experience. And Lyric’s pain runs deep. So deep she couldn’t see past the smoke when she first met me, but something is changing. Maybe she isn’t ready to believe me, but she wants to.
There’s a bang on the bedroom door, and Crawley’s voice is low but clear. “We’re taking off. Lyric, Wolf, you two in there? I need to see your faces before this bus leaves.”
I roll my eyes and move to the door before Lyric can get to it. When the door is open, I see Crawley and Rex standing there. I make a mental note to talk to Rex later. He gives me a knowing nod and walks off. Crawley lingers longer than I’m comfortable with, glancing between Lyric and me, and then nods. “Thanks. See you in the morning.”
“Wait,” Lyric calls, stepping forward. I slam the door before she can leave. “What are you doing? I need to claim my bunk—”
“Not until we’re done talking.”
She shoves my chest, and I want to lift her up, making it easy for her to wrap her legs around my waist. Resistance makes for hot sex when it’s consensual. “You can’t imprison me.”
“You can’t kick girls out of my room.”
“You can’t steal song lyrics from innocent people.”
“Then you shouldn’t throw them away like they’re nothing to you.”
My breaths are heavy. We’re only a couple of inches apart. My hands are itching to grip her waist and slam my mouth onto hers. Shut her the hell up, at least for a few hours. It might relieve some of the tension between us because, while it may have been questionable when we met, it’s now painfully obvious. I want Lyric beneath me, wrapped around me, slipping and sliding with me until her moans turn to screams. I fucking want her. And I want her words, too. Her angry lyrics, her vulnerable confessions. I want it all.
“I don’t want anyone to know I wrote it,” she whispers, but she doesn’t back away.
“What? Why?”
She shakes her head, ignoring my questions. “You can have it. You’re right. I threw it away. It was too—”
“Real? Lyric, those make for the best songs. You should know this. It is real, and that’s why I love it. That’s why I became obsessed with it and holed myself up in my hotel room for a week. I can’t write that shit. Not for lack of trying, but writing lyrics like that—the ones that come from life—real fucking life—taps into a part of me that I can’t get to.”
The softness that caresses her features tells me she understands. “You can. You’re just afraid.” She takes a small breath. “Please, don’t tell anyone it was me. It’s yours. No money. Just take it. I’ll sign it over to you. Okay?”
“Okay.” But I don’t back down, and I don’t remove my eyes from her although she’s already looked away. I notice the way her long lashes flutter to the top of her cheeks. The way her small body is still shaking from the adrenaline rush of barging in here. The way she still stands straight, shoulders back, like a fighter. Lyric is a fighter, but she’s also vulnerable, and I’ve glimpsed a part of her that makes me vulnerable, too. Her words. Her truth. I’m so totally fucked.
“I should claim my bunk.” She looks up, begging me to let her go, so I open the door, although it’s the last thing I want to do.
“Goodnight, Lyric.”
She pauses and looks as though she’s going to turn around. If she does, I might pull her back into my room, and this time I won’t let her leave.
It’s better if she leaves.
She’s still facing away when she says, “Goodnight, Wolf.”
Chapter Seven
Lyric
I’m awakened at the sound of my whispered name and a gentle gust of air scraping my cheek. A groan escapes. It’s all I can muster. My body is heavy, my lids heavier. I’m not sure I could move if I tried.
“Lyric.”
There it is again. I squint before opening my eyes, knowing whoever is waking me will appear blurry and asshole-ish. “You’re on the couch and the guys are waking up. Come on, I’ll take you to your bunk.”
Ugh. That’s right. My bunk. I open my eyes a bit wider to see a shirtless Wolf standing in front of me—the thief who stole a tiny part of my soul last night without even realizing it. To add insult to injury, there were no bottom bunks left by the time we were done arguing, so the couch was my only option.
“I can’t sleep on the top bunk,” I moan.
“What? Why not?”
I groan again and try to sit up, but my head immediately starts spinning—whether from the furious rage I spun into last night or from the few too many beers, I don’t know. “I just can’t,” I say as I fall back onto the hard couch. My damn bones are going to hate me when I wake up for real.
“Come on, you can have my bed.”
I’m too groggy and sore to move or speak again, so when Wolf takes me in his arms, I don’t resist. In seconds, I’m poured onto soft, plush, fabric, and a blanket covers me. I curl into the mattress and let it form to my body. Before I can think about where Wolf has placed me, I’m headed back to dreamland.
Too much silence. I’ve woken up on tour buses many times, and it’s never been this quiet. My body is accustomed to the noise, and I can sleep through it like a baby. So why so much silence? There’s a bright light through the thin skin of my eyelids, and I can tell it’s well past morning. I also feel better rested than I have in a long time. And why the hell am I comfortable? Tour bus bunks are the furthest thing from luxury.
Nothing is adding up until I open my eyes and gasp. I throw the comforter from my body and sit up with a lurch. I’m in a bedroom on a moving bus. A bedroom?
“Morning, sunshine.”
I gasp and turn toward the deep voice on the other side of the room. Wolf is sitting in a chair in the corner, his eyes glued to the television. He's watching a movie, but it’s on silent. He reaches for the remote and presses a button, turning on the sound.
“Why am I in your bed?”
“You passed out on the couch and didn’t look very comfortable. I tried to move you to a bunk, but you moaned about not liking it on top. Surprising. I took you for a woman who likes control of all things.”
He’s wearing a smirk, and I’d love to slap it off his face, but my body is screaming at me. I need to stretch, or run, but there’s no room to do either. And I need to get out of Wolf’s lair before he mistakes me for one of his groupies.
“I can’t sleep on the top bunk—fear of heights thing. Ever since I was little, I’ve had horrible nightmares anytime I sleep high up. It’s awful. I wake up constantly thinking I’m going to roll off. Not sure the boys would appreciate the screaming in the middle of the night.”
“What are you watching?”
“Boondock Saints. Ever seen it?”
Shaking my head, I make another move to stand. “No.”
“Stay,” Wolf says, surprising me. “It just started. It’s actually a crime to have never watched this movie, so I’d like to help you out. Since I owe you for your song.”
For a second I consider his offer, but then I remember why I’m on this bus. “I have work to do, phone calls to make, showers to take.”
He looks at me like I’m lying. “There’s nothing you’re doing that can’t wait two hours. Stay, Lyric.”
His eyes dig into mine, and I’m frozen. Since when did my brick walls begin deteriorating for Wolf? We’ve known each other for what, two weeks? I’d like to think of myself as one of those girls who learns from her mistakes. Wolf would absolutely be a repeat of something I do not want to experience again.
My decision to stay or leave is taking too long. All the while, I’m staring back at the guy who took my song and sang it to a crowd of thousands after asking them to make it go viral. Which reminds me…
“Speaking of owing me. Have you checked social media today?”
Wolf grins and tosses me his phone. I catch it easily.
“1.5 million hits on YouTube and counting,” he says. “Looks like we’ll have to figure out a way to break the news to the fans that we’ve found our writer but she wants to remain anonymous.”
I look up. “Have you told anyone?”
“Not a soul.”
Relief rushes through me as I watch the video. All I could see was red last night as the song played and my lyrics filled the theater. I’m still perplexed by how it all transpired, but even I have to admit the song is good—what Wolf did with it, at least.
