A Stolen Melody Duet: A Summer Romance Boxset

by K. K. Allen

  “Fine.” I'm seething. “Just book it, and please provide us with transportation. We’ve already sent the buses away.”

  The man gives me no argument, which is smart. He also acts as if his hotel didn’t just humiliate me at the worst possible time. I push off the counter and meet Crawley at the door. He pulls his mouth away from the phone and waits expectantly for me to give him good news.

  “Seven can stay here. They’re providing other accommodations for the rest. Transportation is on its way. I’m so sorry about this, Crawley—”

  “Lyric, don’t start.” His agitated voice runs over me like cold water as his eyes scan the room. No one seems to be paying any attention to us, but he’s clearly heated because of my fuck up.

  “I’ll tell the band they can stay,” Crawley says. “Rex and I will stay, too. Ride with the others to the other hotel and email me with room details.”

  I nod and straighten my posture, then hand him the keycards. Everything will be fine. I breathe. “Will do.”

  Just as I’m turning away, Crawley calls me back. I halt and turn to face his narrowed eyes. A shudder vibrates through me as I wait for his words.

  “I hoped you would prove me wrong. You’re here for the tour, not Wolf’s todger.” His voice is low and controlled. “I don’t bloody care who your parents are. A mistake like this happens again and I’ll see to it that your reputation is permanently fucked.” He waves a hand, dismissing me as he walks away.

  My jaw drops. There it is. Crawley is officially a dick. It takes all my strength to control my body and mouth from reacting to his ugly words. I may have screwed up by not calling to confirm our reservations again, but I don’t deserve that shit.

  My stomach is in knots by the time I finally stumble out the door. Wolf is walking into the hotel and slows when he sees me, but I don’t stop. I breeze by him to round of the rest of the crew. I can’t lose my cool now. Not until I’m safely alone, locked up in my hotel room.

  Our shuttle is slow as hell to arrive, but the crew and I finally make it to the sister hotel. No one seems to care about the botched hotel plans but me and Crawley, so I try my best to act like I don’t care either. We’re already checked in by the time we arrive, and the management passes out our hotel keycards. After listening to a drawn-out apology from the Manager that comes with free future stays, hotel discounts, and as many room upgrades as they could give us, I rush off to my room, ignoring Melanie’s pleas to get me to go out tonight. No fucking way.

  As soon as I close the door behind me, the sobs heave from my chest. I've never been so embarrassed. I fall into my bed and wrap myself up safely under the comforter. I can’t wait for this day to be over.

  It’s just after nine p.m. when Wolf finally calls. I knew he would contact me eventually, but after everything that went on today, I throw my phone across my bed instead of answering it. My eyes are swollen and red from the tears that refused to let up after the hotel room disaster, but that was only salt in the wound. The truth is, I’m really messed up over Wolf.

  I have no doubt sex with him would be mind-blowing, but where would that leave us when it’s all over? Wolf doesn’t do repeats. I’ve heard it from him and from his bandmates a million times. It’s a joke every time a familiar face tries to get close to him. And the thing is, Wolf doesn’t give women the wrong impression. He’s straightforward with his preference for one-time fucks, and he’s never had an inclination for anything else.

  I’d be a fool to think I’m any different.

  Our flirting was one thing, but when he put his hands on me, that was when it got real. When his finger slid inside me, I knew I never wanted another man’s finger to sink into me again. How did my heartbreak over one man so quickly turn into a deep, festering desire for another? My heart should still be healing; instead, it’s thriving, and I’m not sure there’s anything I can do to stop it.

  But then there’s Crawley’s words. Crawley. He can be such a prick. He has some nerve threatening my career. Sure, I should have triple-checked the hotel arrangements before our arrival, something I would have done if I wasn’t getting oral stimulation from the lead singer at the time. But in the end, it was the hotel’s fuckup. Not mine.

  Still, I can’t help but feel like a joke to the band now. If any of the guys heard me coming beneath Wolf’s magical tongue, I’m officially a rocker slut. And the worst road manager ever. I can see it now. Every fuckup will be attributed to the fact that I let Wolf put his hands on me. It pisses me the hell off. And that, above anything else, is why I won’t answer his call. That’s why I refuse, from here on out, to let him get to me.

  Wolf’s life was just fine before I came along. He said it himself. From now on, I’m not stepping foot in his bedroom. I don’t even think our runs are safe anymore. I’ll avoid every room he’s in unless it’s for official business. I’ll kick ass at my job because I’m great at it, and he’ll kick ass on stage because he’s great at that. He’ll have his lineup of girls waiting for him at the next show, so it doesn’t matter how I choose to play this. The important thing is that I put my focus into my job instead of the many inches of Wolf.

  My phone vibrates from the floor, but I continue to ignore it. Instead, I put on my workout clothes and head to the hotel gym. For a full hour, I run nonstop on the treadmill, cleansing my body—inside and out—of Wolf. I’m wrecked by the time I make it back to my room and hop in the shower. I allow the warm steam to soak through my pores and fill me until there’s no room for anything else.

  I finally reach for my phone before hopping into bed and pulling the covers over my chest. There are four messages from Wolf. I cringe before opening them, hoping that reading his texts won’t completely sabotage my detox efforts.

  * * *

  9:04 p.m. | Wolf: U ok?

  * * *

  9:35 p.m. | Wolf: Meet me for dinner

  * * *

  10:20 p.m. | Wolf: At club. U should be here. Fuck Crawley. I told that fucker to see a doctor for his stress. He needs medication. Call me.

  * * *

  11:15 p.m. | Wolf: Lyric. U know what! Duck it them.

  * * *

  I’m pretty sure he meant to type Fuck it then. Which means two things. He’s drunk and done. Whatever he truly means, the last message snaps through my heart as if he’s holding the strongest set of pliers. I curse my heart. Not a single ounce of resistance. And I curse Wolf for tying my emotions into knots because that was the one thing I was trying to avoid. It was my entire reason for taking this job.

  Another text comes through. I hesitate to open it, but it’s screaming at me. I tap the screen and gasp.

  * * *

  12:19 a.m. | Wolf: Im at club, drunk as duck, tits n ass everywhere, but urs r the only ones I wnt in my mouth.

  * * *

  It’s hard not to laugh a little. Wolf is confused and drunk. That’s all. People don’t change overnight, and men who love to play the field certainly don’t decide monogamy is for them the moment they meet the one. That’s the stuff of romance novels. I believe in strength and happiness and loving yourself. Wolf is no knight in shining armor. He’s not going to swoop in and fix my fucked-up insecurities. No. If I’m not careful, he will completely ruin me, and I’ll be left on the curb mending yet another broken heart.

  Convinced that I finally have my shit figured out, I power off my phone and close my eyes, giving my racing heart a few minutes to relax before finally drifting off to sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Wolf

  I hate the chase. Fucking hate it, but there’s one thing I hate more: rejection.

  What the hell? How did we get here? It’s been two weeks since our orgasmathon, and we haven’t spoken a word outside of conversations about the tour. Even those are brief and cold—a lot like my showers lately.

  Every attempt I’ve made to get Lyric alone has been skillfully thwarted. It seems like Crawley is on her team, too. Every time I think I’ve found my chance to talk to her, Crawley swoops in a
nd pulls me in a different direction. I get that he doesn’t want the distraction, but it’s my life, my band, my tour, my crew… His job description doesn’t include being a cockblock.

  If I’m honest with myself, though, I haven’t made the grandest of attempts to get Lyric alone to talk to her. My ego is still bruised by the words she left me with.

  I could let her in. Tell her things. If she only knew what my life was like before she walked into that elevator and how vastly different I want it to be now, she wouldn’t be so quick to judge. I never used to think twice about hurting a girl’s feelings. All I cared about was making my intentions clear so I could justify my actions.

  What Lyric once said about one-night stands turned out to be completely true. I see that now. One person always has expectations coming out of it. Sex is rarely just sex. Even I know that. But I never cared before because I was never the one getting hurt. Sex has never meant anything more than pure fucking pleasure for me, but now it seems I’m getting a taste of my own medicine.

  Lyric may be the only woman I’ll ever want to claim as my own. She’s the only one who makes me crazy at the thought of another guy touching her. Like now, as I stare at her from across my dressing room while she laughs with a guy from security. The same asshole who's made it known to the band and crew the dirty thoughts he’s had about Lyric. I want to pummel him. Smash his face into a wall and carry her to our tour bus so I can remind her how my mouth feels on her pretty pussy.

  Stryder hands me a shot, and I throw it back without thinking. We’re in Columbus, Ohio and have the night off before heading to Louisville, Kentucky first thing in the morning. Which means tonight, we drink.

  Lyric’s eyes meet mine from across the room. She’s mid-laugh, looking gorgeous as ever with my face plastered on her breasts. I think she wears that shit on purpose. Seeing a hot woman in my merch is always a turn on, but Lyric kills the competition. Her innocent eyes search mine briefly before turning back to the security dude. I stand with full intention to head toward her, but she’s already making her exit.

  Those little glances she’s been throwing my way recently tell me this isn’t over. Whatever wall she’s put up is starting to crumble. Maybe she needed the past two weeks to help her realize this attraction isn’t going to fade. She has to know there’s been no one else in the time we’ve spent apart.

  Lyric is still mine. Or at least, I’m still hers.

  I’ll get to the bottom of her resistance, and I’ll fix this. It’s clear now. There’s no other goddamn option.

  The backstage traffic is heavy tonight. Concert security surrounds me as they clear a controlled walking path. The head of security, a big bald dude who even I wouldn’t mess with, leads us toward a waiting area just before the stage. Fans are lined up against the cement block walls, screaming, reaching for me, begging for autographs, trying to snap photos. Lights are popping off, faces become spotty, and I hear the roar.

  The waiting crowd is already chanting my name as they eagerly anticipate my howl—it never gets old, even for me—and my adrenaline is pumping triple-speed.

  Among the chaos, I see her leaning against the corridor wall like always, watching me as I make my walk to the stage. But this time is different. This time, when I ignore everyone but her and our eyes connect, my heart jolts to life. Even with the screaming crowd ahead of me, she’s all I want. And I won’t waste another second.

  “Over there,” I yell to Rex. I point to Lyric and he nods.

  Rex the lead, forcing security to follow until I’m right where I want to be—directly in front of Lyric. I lean in and brush my lips across her cheek, stopping at her ear. “Can we talk? After the show?”

  Her eyes are as wide as saucers, but she nods.

  I smile, loving that I still have this effect on her. With a quick nip at her ear, I continue the walk to the stage to join my band. I don’t care who just saw my display of affection. Hopefully everyone. Most won’t think anything of it, and the ones who care don’t matter. All that matters is ending this silence between us.

  One thing is certain as I cross the backstage gap from the hallway to the stage and hear the crowd roar at the opening chords of our intro—this is going to be a great night.

  I hang back, and Jimmy, one of our technicians, tosses me my mic. I check for the light, give him a wink, and jump from foot to foot, ready make a run for it when the band hits my cue. The intro morphs into a keyboard solo, and then a drum solo, and then when the guitar riff reaches a scream, I take the four steps in two long strides and run to my mark at center stage.

  I plant my feet, arch my back, and howl to the fucking moon. Like always, the crowd responds with an even bigger roar. While they can’t hear a thing, I start the first verse of “Joke’s On You.”

  * * *

  There’s something waiting on the other side of fighting

  Living like there’s nothing, and it’s a damn shame

  Crying eyes are blinding, temperatures are rising

  Back to the beginning, and it’s all a lying game

  * * *

  Three songs into the show, I stop to catch my breath. This is the junkie in me right now. Addicted to the sound, to the stage, to the lights blinding everything but where I’m supposed to stand next. I’m not even aware of my movements most of the time. It’s like I’m transported to a fucking cloud every time I get on this stage. But there’s something extra-special about tonight.

  This is my time to talk to the crowd, introduce the band, and kick off “Dangerous Heart.” It’s been a hit since the San Diego show, but now that the song is officially ours, the label has been eating that shit up and promoting it like crazy on social media. We’re recording it at the end of the East Coast tour, which will make for a tired-ass week. It was supposed to be our week off. We rarely get breaks on tour, but when recording gets jammed into the schedule, that means less sleep and higher stress for everyone. We don’t care, though. We’re excited to officially release it and start celebrating our next hit.

  “This song, you should all know by now. If you don’t, well, pay attention. I stumbled upon these lyrics, and somehow, magically, they became ours. You know those people in life who do things because they love them? Not for the money, not for the fame, but because they have a passion for something? Those people are rare.

  “The writer of this song wants to remain anonymous, but I’ll have you know, she’s fucking incredible. Maybe one day you’ll get to meet her, but for now, this song is called ‘Dangerous Heart.’”

  The crowd responds with the second loudest roar of the night. They all know it already. The way social media took to this song has created a bigger buzz for it than any of our other songs. Even our biggest hits.

  I lock eyes with Lyric during the chorus the way I do every single night. Mad at me or not, she’s always on the side stage supporting the band—supporting me. After the show, I have every intention of showing her, not telling her, what that means to me.

  Somehow the backstage crowd has tripled by the time we finish our last song. I’m surrounded by security as they part the way, Rex on my tail.

  “Who the fuck invited all these people back here?” I explode when I’m in my dressing room. We couldn’t get out the back entrance due to an even bigger crowd outside.

  “They’re clearing it now. We can leave in ten,” Crawley says, pacing. “I’ll talk to Lyric.”

  My eyes narrow darkly at him. There he goes again. His problem with Lyric is goddamn pissing me off. “You and I both know this isn’t Lyric’s doing. How many passes did the label hand over to the radio stations? I want to know whose fault this is. It makes me look like an asshole when I can’t even stop to talk to my fans. I can’t even see them beyond security. It’s not their fault they were all handed badges. They expect to see us.”

  “So what do you want to do?” Crawley asks, annoyed.

  His constant stress and finger-pointing grates on my last nerve.

  “I can set up a meet and greet,”
a voice calls from across the room. At some point, Lyric entered, and now she stands here, calm as ever. “We can have security keep the line moving so it doesn’t take too long, but at least you’ll get to see some of your fans.”

  “Okay,” I agree.

  Crawley’s jaw is ticking. “Fine, but this is on you to set up.” He narrows his eyes at her.

  She shrugs. “I said I would.” Without missing a beat, as always, she pulls out her phone and makes a few phone calls to the promotion teams at the radio stations before radioing the head of security to meet her in my dressing room.

  For the hour it takes to set everything up and usher the crowds to a private room, my mind is on Lyric. I’m a jumble when I think about what I want to say to her, wondering how I can possibly convince her I’m not a bad guy. And although I’ve never been interested in a relationship with anyone before, she makes me want something different. Something more.

  When everything is ready, Lyric leads me into the room she had set up. I’m happy to see my band here with me. As much as I want it all to be over, our fans deserve this. Some of them have supported us since we started the band six years ago, and it’s because of them that we’ve catapulted into headlining arenas. The days of being an opening band are far gone. We want to thank the fans whenever we get a chance.

  Lyric stops at the table and turns to me, apparently surprised at how close I am. I smile; she looks away, but I catch the flicker of sadness. Whatever the reason for her avoidance, it cracks the surface of my normally ice cold heart. Okay, I’ve never been heartless, but I’ve never cared to be understood, either. Until Lyric.