by K. K. Allen
“What’s the deal, anyway? Why don’t you want any credit for the song?” He’s watching me. I can feel his eyes probing for a reaction. I give him nothing. Instead, I toss his phone on the bed, walk to the door, and turn around to face him.
“Can you pause the movie? I’d really like to shower and change before I crawl back into your crusty bed.”
His eyes crinkle when he laughs. “You’re insulting me. I love it. After offering you millions and then rescuing you from the couch and letting you drool in my bed. You’re still insulting me. That’s fine, Lyric. At least you’re not screaming at me anymore.”
I smirk and turn toward the door. “Day’s not over.”
The moment the movie credits begin to roll, I turn to Wolf, ready to unleash my fandemonium and tell him he was right. But that doesn’t happen because he’s asleep in his chair, head propped against the wall, mouth hanging open. I laugh and tiptoe over until I’m directly over his ear. “Boo.”
His eyes fly open, and I gasp when he grips my waist.
“Shit,” he says when he realizes it’s me.
My stomach is heaving with laughter. “I’m sorry, you looked uncomfortable. I’m going to get some work done now. You can have your bed back.”
His hands are still on my waist, and his grip tightens as if he’s about to tell me something. “Okay,” he says instead, dropping his hands.
“Thanks for the movie.”
I grab my laptop, pass the bunks, and head to the main living area of the bus. When I reach the kitchen, I see Crawley pouring himself a cup of coffee and spiking it with something from a metal flask. I chuckle and slip past him to set up my computer in the only available space left.
The guys take up most of the couch spaces, their eyes focused on different activities. Hedge has got his face in a book of poetry. I do a double take when I read the title: Leaves of Grass. Well, damn. I would have never pegged Hedge for a fan of Whitman, or a poetry connoisseur at all. Derrick and Lorraine are playing Grand Theft Auto, and Stryder’s busy nibbling on Misty’s neck while she nibbles on a PB&J.
I get into the groove, plugging away on emails, making phone calls to the venue to confirm load times and ensuring shipments have arrived. Other than the music, this is what I live for. Creative organization. Managing chaos. I love every bit of it. I call the union teams to relay the confirmations and then call around to find dining options for the bands in the next few cities where we’re stopping. We’re hitting North Carolina first, and we’ll be stopping at two hotels on the way to give the bus driver, Rory, a break and to let the guys stretch their legs for the night.
It’s late afternoon by the time Rory pulls up to our hotel in El Paso, Texas. This is one of those times in my professional career when I worry. I worry that the band will have a fit when they see that there is no glamour in tight-timeline traveling. We should have left days earlier if we wanted to do this right. But the San Diego show was booked by their last road manager. I’m assuming it’s one of the reasons he was fired.
Still, the band could have opted to fly into North Carolina, but Wolf wanted his bandmates and crew close leading up to the show. Maybe he has a thing for bonding time. I don’t know. Not my job to worry once the lead singer demands something. I just make it work, even if that means less than five-star accommodations need to be booked.
No one says anything about the budget hotel as we gather outside the bus and stretch. The guys are too busy on their phones to notice much, anyway. Wolf collects his room keycard from me but doesn’t take off right away. To my irritation, he follows me to my room and then smirks when I turn to face him at my door.
“Can I help you?”
His smirk turns into a frown. “So cold. I thought we were on the fast track to friendship after our movie date.”
I purse my lips, begging my face to behave. “Your definition of friendship and mine are contained in two different dictionaries. And you don’t date, remember?”
“Have dinner with me.”
“You’re serious?”
He nods, eyes gazing intently into mine. He’s serious. “We’ve got three months together, Lyric. We might as well attempt to have a pleasant working relationship.”
“Or what? You’ll fire me like the last guy?”
He raises an eyebrow. “You heard about that, huh? That jerk deserved to get fired. He double-booked us twice and left zero time for Rory to rest. Scheduled the San Diego show the same night we’re starting a new tour. He was an idiot.”
Okay, that’s pretty bad, even I have to admit. “I might screw up, too.”
Wolf narrows his eyes. “Do you want to get fired? Look, Lyric. Believe it or not, I do have a say on who travels with me. I knew who you were, and I approved you to ride along. It had nothing to do with your looks, or your parents, or your insane songwriting ability. Obviously, I didn’t know about the latter.
“Not to say I didn’t have my doubts—with you being a female and all. Lorraine’s the only chick I’ve ever shared a tour bus with for a reason. I let a beautiful woman on the bus, I know I’m inviting trouble. It’s only natural one of these bastards will want to fuck you, and then what? Drama. But your reputation in the industry is stellar, and I only work with the best.
“Shit, just the fact that you talked our openers back onto the tour is enough to secure your job. But it’s a mutual agreement. You can leave anytime.”
“Really?” I didn’t think that was the case with my contract at all. In fact, I remember reading pretty hefty rules regarding breach of contract. I’m Wolf’s until he decides to kick me off his team.
“Really,” he says.
I ignore the fact that I think he’s lying. It doesn’t matter. “I’m not going anywhere.” My answer comes out so fast that I’m not sure exactly what I mean by it. Wolf admitted he approved me to be on this tour. I guess that means something to me.
“Good. Get ready for dinner. I’ll swing by to get you at seven.”
Chapter Eight
Wolf
There are sexy women and pretty women … and then there are drop-dead gorgeous, beautiful women. Lyric Cassidy is all the above. She’s wearing the most unforgiving tight jeans and T-shirt ensemble. Her hair is thrown up in a messy bun, and her face looks as though it’s just been washed. No makeup. She’s not even trying, which makes her even sexier. I’m sure it’s some ploy to distract me from her fucktastic body. Joke’s on her.
“Where to?” she asks, shutting the door and facing me. Before I get a turn to speak, she gasps. “Shit. I didn’t get us a car.”
“You’re fired.”
I feel like a dick when her face blanches and her mouth falls open.
Chuckling, I lift my elbow for her to take hold of. “I took care of everything. You’re off duty tonight.”
She glares before hooking her arm around mine. “I’m never off duty. Besides, this isn’t a date.”
My chuckle rolls into a laugh. “There’s that word again. We should get something straight right now. You don’t have to worry. I sing. I fuck. I eat. I don’t fall in love, Lyric. I don’t date. I don’t play games either. You can always count on me to be straight with you. Some women find it refreshing; others hate it. You strike me as the type who might find me refreshing.” I wink at her.
“A bad boy who is honest and doesn’t fall in love. Interesting combination.”
“Thanks to my amazing mother and dirtbag father, I’m a hybrid.”
We're silent the rest of the walk to the car, which is waiting for us at the curb. Rex slips into the passenger seat and I turn back to Lyric. By the look on her face I can tell she’s thinking, probably about what I confessed about my parents. It’s not exactly a confession, but it’s telling enough. I know that. I’ve never hidden the fact that my father wasn't around when I was growing up, but I usually leave my mother out of things. It’s not her fault that my father disappeared on us, that she spent a good portion of her life silently heartbroken.
She hid her pain to protect my feel
ings, but I knew. As hard as she tried to be the perfect role model, I wanted to hunt my father down and hurt him for what he had done to her. I still shake with emotion every time I think of the day I went through her call log. My heart felt as if someone had used it as a punching bag. So many attempts to reach out to him. All unanswered. No return calls. He just … disappeared.
It’s not even like my dad was the biggest rock star. He was the drummer for an okay eighties throwback band. It was cute when I was younger, but the older I got, I realized they weren’t a band that would ever take themselves seriously. They wanted the lifestyle, not the hard work.
We slide into the backseat, Lyric first, and I signal to the driver, letting him know we’re ready to go. It’s then that I face her and smile, hoping to bust through the tension. “It’s nice to go to dinner with someone other than the band for once.”
She’s smirking, and I know whatever she’s about to say will make me regret my last sentence. “Maybe you should rethink your no-dating rule. You’d get out more and, you know, get to know people. Preferably before they sneak onto your tour bus and go down on you.”
I almost choke on my own air as I breathe. “I have nothing against taking a woman out to dinner, but then it might give the impression that I want more than just food and sex. That’s never the case.”
“You’re having dinner with me.”
“You’re safe.”
Her face falls but hardens quickly. “Never? There's never been a female you thought maybe, just maybe, could turn you from One-Night-Stand Man to Monogamy Man? I find that hard to believe.”
“Monogamy Man sounds like a disease. No wonder I’m not suited.” She doesn’t laugh at my awful attempt at humor, so I shrug. “You don’t have to believe it, but it’s true.”
“You use women.”
“Women use me.”
She scoffs. Her mouth is hanging open in shock and maybe a little disgust. “Most of the women you sleep with are probably hoping for something more, but they’re content with what they’re getting at the time. I’ve never understood how one-night stands can end well, ever. One person has got to be into it more than the other.”
Okay, now she’s hooked me. I give her my bewildered stare. “You’ve never had a one-night stand?”
She shakes her head as if I’m the crazy one. “Absolutely not. Someone is bound to get hurt.”
“Not from one night. That’s the point. It’s a one-time event, a release of pent up energy. It has nothing to do with feelings. Feelings stay out of it, and it’s just a good time.” The more we talk about sex, the more I want to prove to her how great a one-nighter could be.
We pull up to the curb in front of the restaurant before I can shove my foot in my mouth. I help Lyric out of the car. She looks up in surprise at my chivalry and then smiles. I’m not an asshole. I want to tell her this, but we’re escorted into the restaurant and to our private table in the back of the room faster than I can speak.
“Is it this bad?” she asks, peering around us in bewilderment.
I cock my head as I pick up the drink menu. “Is what this bad?”
“You. Getting recognized. Having to request special accommodations everywhere you go.”
I shrug. “If I want privacy, it’s necessary.”
She lets out a rush of air, and I think I’ve finally succeeded in impressing her. At least for a moment. “You really are a rock star, aren’t you?” She smirks into her menu. It’s infectious. I smile, too.
A moment later, we’re ordering a bottle of wine and appetizers and talking about the tour. Somehow we get onto the subject of the crew. There are more than two dozen people on our tour, and she already knows every single one of their names and job descriptions. I don’t think she studies this shit. I get the distinct feeling that she simply has a superb ability to listen and retain information.
After ordering our food, there’s a pause, so I jump in with a question I’ve been wondering since we left San Diego. “You still writing lyrics, Lyric?”
“Don’t do that.” She cringes. “It devalues me.”
“How so?”
“Your name is Wolf. Does that mean you love wolves? It’s an expectation that wouldn’t exist if we were named something else. It just so happens I love music and write songs. My name has nothing to do with that. However, since my name is Lyric, it’s implied that I should love music. That I should write lyrics.”
“Names can tell a lot about a person. I’ll have you know, wolves have a sharp intelligence and strong instincts.”
She smirks. “Wolves also symbolize fear and distrust.” She cocks her head. “Maybe you’re right. Names do tell us a lot about a person.”
Interesting. So, she’s been looking up the meaning of my name. I’m certain she didn’t come up with that on the spot. My eyes wander across her face, down the base of her throat, and to the rise and fall of her chest before returning to her lips. Those kissable lips. I shake my head, biting back another laugh as I clear my thoughts. “I see you’ve put a lot of thought into this. How about you just answer the question?”
“I am always writing lyrics.” She says it quietly, confessing. “Since I was a little girl. I never kept a journal, just a songbook. I write poetry and lyrics.”
“Do you play any instruments?”
She freezes. I catch the moment of fear that splotches her chest, and then she breathes through it as if it were nothing. “It couldn’t be avoided when I was younger. Usually when parents shove something down a kid’s throat, the kid rebels. Not me. I learned piano first and then guitar, and I loved every second of it. But I haven’t played in a while.”
“You really are a marvel, aren’t you?”
Lyric makes a face. “Not quite. Disappointment is a better word for it.”
I want to lean over the table, take her face in my hands, stare deeply into her sage-colored eyes, and tell her she’s crazy. Instead of terrifying her, I remain in my seat, but I decide to let her know what I’m thinking. “You, Lyric, are the furthest thing from disappointment. Whoever helped you reach that conclusion is the problem—not you.”
She takes a sip of her wine, not tearing her gaze from mine. “My parents had expectations. I couldn’t fulfill them.”
“Couldn’t? Or didn’t want to?”
“Does it matter? Perception is everything.”
Her eyes gut me. They’re terrifying and beautiful and honest. I’m not sure if Lyric could hide an emotion if she tried. Not with such transparent armor.
“There is a difference. You could have fulfilled their expectations, but maybe you realized you’d rather fulfill yours.”
Her cheeks turn a rosy pink. “That’s what I’m doing. At least I think that’s what I’m doing. I don’t really know. It’s nice being around the music 24-7, but I’m not sure what’s in my future.”
“Don’t worry about that. You’re doing what you love now. The rest will fall into place.”
I watch her as she takes this in, wondering how on earth her douche of an ex could have traded her in for someone else. Whoever he cheated on her with must have had some magical pussy juice because Lyric is insanely hot, smart, and fun to be around. I’ve never felt so comfortable around a chick before. Not like this. Sleeping with someone is one thing, but talking to her, having her open up to me, is a whole other level of friendship I’ve never had with the opposite sex, besides Lorraine—but she doesn’t count since she’s like a sister to me. I can see that Lyric will change my opinion of the female species. Maybe she already has.
Conversation flows through dinner as I learn about the places she’s been and the places she wants to go. She tells me about the first song she ever wrote.
“It was called ‘Star Light.’ I was eight. My dad used to tell me that if you looked hard enough, you could find messages in the sky. It was silly, but as a little girl I clung to that. When he sent me to live with my mom, I’d stare at the sky every night, thinking maybe he was looking too. That way we would s
till be connected, somehow.” Her eyes are hazy for a second before she shakes her head and smiles. “Sometimes I still look up.”
I swallow, surprised by the tightness in my chest.
“Where do you get your inspiration when you write?” she asks.
I shrug. Something about Lyric makes me feel like I can trust her with anything, but I’m not sure I have an answer to give her. “It depends. You know well that inspiration can strike at any time. I’ve actually been having trouble writing lately. Maybe being off the road has something to do with it. So I’m hoping it comes back. The guys are begging for more.”
She seems to be considering my words. “It will come back.” She smiles, stealing my breath. “I can feel it, Wolf. Your inspiration will be found on this tour. You’ve only just begun.”
Funny. As she says this, I wonder if I’ve already found my inspiration. Maybe it’s sitting across the table from me.
Chapter Nine
Lyric
The gym is empty when I pop my head in early the next morning. We don’t have to leave until nine, so that gives me two hours to work out all the energy I have before we’re stuck on a bus for the next ten hours. I unzip my light sweater and hang it near the door before climbing onto the elliptical for a warm up. After five minutes, I grab a mat that’s propped against the wall and start stretching.
As much as I love touring, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m an active person by nature. Always have been. I wasn’t the best at sports, but I enjoyed them and joined the track team in high school. That’s where Joanna and I became fast friends. We both loved the idea of organized team sports, but we didn’t take home any trophies. Didn’t care to. We stretched together, ran together, and tied for last place like it was our job.
Chuckling at the memory, I stand and walk to the treadmill on the other side of the room. The gym is big enough to hold three cardio machines, a complete weight set, a stretching area, and a wall for free weights in front of a floor-ceiling mirror. Decent enough for letting off a little steam.
