Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “Go for it.” I close my eyes.

  She’s slow and methodical, no longer ruffled by Rooster’s presence once she starts working.

  “Lash time,” she announces minutes later.

  I open my eyes, staring at the little packet in her hand.

  “What do you think? Not too dramatic.”

  Only a portion of Rooster’s long legs are visible to me in the mirror, so I can’t tell what he’s up to or if he’s even listening to us. I study the long, feathery lashes for a second. “They’re okay.”

  She sets the packet on the counter and peels one off its backer, slowly flexing it between her fingers.

  “Sit still, Shelby. Look right here.” Cindy points to a spot over her shoulder. The same ritual we go through every night. You’d think I’d be an expert by now, but I still flinch as the tweezers holding one of the lashes comes at my eye. “Close.”

  She gently presses it down and then we repeat it with my right eye. When Cindy’s satisfied with my face and eyes, she steps back and studies her work. “Good. Go ahead and drink your tea while I start on your hair. We’ll do your lips last.”

  “Thanks.”

  While she works on brushing my hair, I sit forward and tear open the packet of honey and suck it down in one shot.

  “Not for your tea?” Rooster rumbles.

  My face heats enough to melt the foundation off my forehead. “A straight shot of it works better for me than diluting it in my tea.”

  From the corner of my eye, I catch him nodding.

  Even more nervous now that I know he’s paying such close attention, I sit forward and squeeze the slice of lemon into the paper cup of tea. Before taking a sip, I dip my finger in to check the temperature and take the tea bag out, setting it on a few tissues.

  Rooster scoops it out of the way.

  “You don’t have to—”

  “Might as well be useful.”

  I sip most of the tea down before I start warming up. Some nights, I’ll vocalize out loud. Other nights, I’ll hum some scales and concentrate on breathing exercises. Tonight feels like a humming night. Cindy’s careful tug, brush, and curl of my hair soothes me. I close my eyes, humming my favorite scales, concentrating on the show ahead of me.

  Don’t trip. Don’t croak. Don’t flash butt.

  Nope, too negative. Concentrate on more positive mantras.

  You’ll project the voice of an angel.

  The sound will be great, not tinny.

  Someone knocks, startling me out of my trance. Disoriented, I stare into the mirror, assessing Cindy’s handiwork while she leans over to open the door.

  “Oh, Mr. Roads.” Her voice wobbles.

  My heart stops.

  “Hey, Cindy. Shelby.” He greets me with what my mama would call a thick East Tennessee brogue. Thumbs hooked into his belt loops, he strolls into the room. His gaze lands on Rooster and he tips his head. “Shelby’s guest.”

  “Oh!” I spin around in the chair so fast I almost knock Cindy over. “Mr. Roads—”

  “Dawson,” he corrects.

  “Dawson, this is my friend, Logan. He lives nearby and came to see the show tonight.”

  Rooster stands and the two men perform a slow assessment of each other. Dawson’s older than Rooster by at least ten years. In height they’re almost evenly matched but Rooster’s a lot bulkier muscle-wise.

  “Good to meet you,” Rooster finally says.

  “Shelby doesn’t have guests. So, this is nice. Welcome.” Dawson dips his chin, then returns his attention to me. “Shelby, how do you feel about coming out onstage with me for ‘Let the Night Go?’”

  I blink. My mouth opens but no words or sounds make it past my lips. Maybe I fell asleep while Cindy was working on my hair and now I’m dreaming?

  “Huh?” I grunt like a cowgirl who just took a mule kick to the head. “I mean, are you sure? That’s, uh, I mean, that’s your song with…” The dark expression on his face forces me to swallow down the name of his ex.

  “You know it?” he asks.

  “Every word.” That might be an exaggeration, but I’ve always been a fake-it-’til-ya-make-it girl.

  “Great.” He claps his hands like the matter’s settled. My inner fangirl threatens to break loose and embarrass the tar outta me, but I manage to remain calm and professional.

  Until Dawson swaggers out the door.

  Cindy presses her hand to her chest. “Mother of sin, Shelby. Did he really just ask you to—”

  “I think so.” My gaze lands on Rooster. “Did he say what I think he said?”

  “Seems so,” he answers in a neutral tone. “First time he’s asked you to come onstage with him?”

  “Yes.” I yank my cell phone out of my pocket. “I need to text my mama.”

  “Go ahead, honey.” Cindy places a few small barrettes in my hair, pulling it off my face. “I’m almost done here. Then we’ll get to your lips.”

  I tap out the quick text and receive an answer right away.

  Please send video.

  Chuckling, I turn to show Rooster her request.

  “I’ll record it and send it to her,” he promises.

  Not expecting that, I blink a few times before answering, “Thank you.”

  I relay the message and her next text has me doubling over with laughter.

  “What?” Rooster asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head, too embarrassed to repeat her request.

  “What?” He slips my phone out of my hand and chuckles when he scans the message.

  Rooster’s there? Send me a picture of that fine-looking man, please.

  “Oh, Lynn.” A smile flirts with the corners of his mouth and he shakes his head. He holds the phone out to Cindy. “Will you take a picture of us?”

  “Sure.”

  Rooster wraps his arms around me, and I angle my head back, to stare at him for a brief second before Cindy asks us to smile.

  She hands the phone back to Rooster and finishes my makeup.

  “What are you doing?” I mumble, barely moving my lips while Cindy outlines them.

  “Sending her a picture,” Rooster answers.

  In the mirror, I catch Cindy’s swoon. “Marry him,” she mouths to me.

  I’d elbow her if I didn’t love her so much.

  I’m sure marriage is the last thing on Rooster’s mind.

  It’s definitely way, way down on my bucket list.

  Or at least it always has been.

  Chapter Seven

  Rooster

  I’m trying hard to be the better man and not storm out of here to hunt down Dawson Roads. Shelby’s clearly enamored with the guy who just casually asked her to hop onstage and sing what I assume is some ‘let’s fuck’ ballad with him tonight.

  It’s only a performance. Something that could really help her career.

  Must not kick Dawson’s ass.

  Instead, I concentrate on the pictures Cindy captured of Shelby and me. The first one’s us facing the camera, but it’s the second one—us looking at each other—that seizes my lungs. I send the first to Shelby’s mom and the second to myself before handing the phone back to Shelby.

  “All right!” Cindy squeezes Shelby’s shoulders. “Perfect.”

  “Thank you, Cindy.”

  “You need help getting into your dress?”

  “Nah.” Shelby checks the clock. “It’s almost time to run down to the meet-and-greet room.”

  “All right.” Cindy gives me a quick wave. “Nice to meet you.”

  I nod at her, then focus on Shelby. “You need anything?”

  “What do you think?” She spins around in her chair to face me, tilting her head at a seductive angle.

  Honestly, with the layers of shit spackled on, she’s barely recognizable. Cindy transformed my girl into some red-carpet-walking pageant queen version of herself. “You’re beautiful no matter what.”

  “I sense a but.”

  “No buts.” I shrug. “You look like Shelb
y Morgan, country superstar.”

  “Hmm, I guess that’s a compliment.” She slides out of the chair and walks over to her trunk. “Shoot. I should’ve hung these up earlier.” She pulls out two balls of colorful fabric and some contraption that looks like a tan lace cage.

  She shakes out the dresses and tosses a bright blue one over the back of the couch before stepping inside the small bathroom. Again, I watch her all creeper-style while she carefully strips off her top to avoid messing her hair. “Can you help me?”

  “Putting clothes on you isn’t really my thing.” But it’s not like I’m going to say no to touching Shelby.

  Reaching behind her, she unhooks the bra she’s wearing and slowly slips it off, baring the creamy expanse of her shoulders and back.

  That’s it. My steps quicken and in seconds I’m close enough to trace my finger down her spine.

  She shivers from the contact. “Cindy will kill me if you smudge my makeup.”

  “I can work around that.” I hug her against my chest. “Mmm.” I pepper kisses from her neck to her shoulder and cup her breasts. “Fill my hands nice. Just like I remember.”

  She gasps and grinds her ass against me as I flick my thumbs over her nipples. “Rooster?”

  “What?” I move us in front of the small mirror over the sink. We’re an interesting picture. Beauty about to be devoured by the beast. “Look how pretty you are,” I whisper against her ear.

  She moans and wriggles against me. I plunge my hand down the front of her shorts, wedging my fingers between her thighs. “You’re soaked.”

  “It’s hot,” she whispers.

  I slide one finger through her slit and she gasps.

  “I want to make you come.”

  In the mirror, our eyes meet, but my expression doesn’t change. I’m dead serious. I press my hand more firmly between her thighs. “These need to come off, right?”

  She licks her dark red lips and inches her feet apart instead of answering with words.

  Works for me.

  I yank her shorts and underwear down her legs, stopping to kiss the small of her back before helping her out of them.

  These last few months, I’ve found myself wondering if my mind exaggerated how gorgeous Shelby is. Her hips couldn’t possibly curve in such a perfect way to fit my big hands, could they? Yup, they do. Her plush thighs and ass are as gorgeous as I remember too. None of that thigh gap nonsense I’ve overheard some of the club girls bragging about. Not on my Shelby. She’s got smooth legs, toned from years of hard work as a waitress and now the discipline she uses in her performances. “You’re beautiful everywhere. You know that?”

  “No,” she whispers.

  “Guess you need me around to remind you more often.” Now that she’s bare, I pull her against me again.

  “This seems unfair. I’m naked. You’re fully dressed.”

  “We’ll even up later.”

  “I’m nervous someone will walk in…”

  Without moving my eyes from the mirror, I reach back and slam the door shut. “Don’t worry about anything else. I’ll take care of you.”

  She has a point, though. We don’t have the luxury of time on our side. I nip her earlobe. “I want to thoroughly lick your pussy and fuck you for hours, Shelby. This is only a preview.”

  I skate my hand over her stomach, straight between her legs, pressing the pad of one finger over her clit.

  “Oh!” She jolts against me.

  “Spread your legs.”

  She inches her feet apart and I bend to get a better angle, gently sliding one finger inside her.

  “Oh God,” she whines.

  I add another finger, slowly stretching and opening her. My lips find their way to her neck, sucking at her skin. My other hand cups her breast, pinching her nipple until she squirms.

  “Pretty, Shelby.” I grind the heel of my hand against her clit, slowly working my fingers in and out of her. “So tight.”

  She arches her back and writhes against me. A silent scream parts her lips.

  “That’s it,” I encourage.

  I can’t help the dirty smirk on my mouth as she grinds herself against my hand, carelessly chasing her pleasure. A few tiny whimpers pass her lips. Sweat mists her skin. I slow my thrusting fingers but don’t stop until she drops her head. Her ragged breathing and trembling limbs are the only movement between us.

  “Oh my God.” She wraps her hand around my wrist, and tugs. “Too much.”

  Her little body jumps as I withdraw my fingers. Not sure she can hold herself upright, I keep one arm around her. “I can’t move,” she whispers.

  Beating on my chest would probably ruin the moment, but damn if I’m not tempted. I lean over and kiss her bare shoulder instead.

  “Let’s get you dressed.”

  “What about you?” She reaches back and strokes my painfully hard dick through my jeans.

  “No.” I shift away from her touch before I come in my pants. “Later.” I brush my thumb over her carefully painted red lips. “When I can properly smear this.”

  When she finally opens her eyes, they’re practically glowing. A deep sense of satisfaction hammers through my blood. She nips the end of my thumb and I groan. “Careful, Shelby,” I warn. “I’m short on restraint at the moment.”

  She pouts but takes a step back. I lean forward and flick the faucet on, quickly washing my hands and wetting a paper towel to dab the sweat off her chest and arousal from her thighs.

  “Still need my help?”

  A serene smile ghosts over her lips. “The orgasm was more than helpful.” She picks up the cage-like contraption from the edge of the sink and arranges her tits into the lacy cups. “But I could use your assistance with this.”

  Fastening the long line of hooks down her back is a tricky job. Big fingers and tiny metal hooks don’t mix. But something worse occurs to me as I work each closure. “Who usually helps you?”

  She chuckles softly and shimmies to adjust her tits again. “I’ll usually hook it in front and twist it around, but it’s a pain in the ass.” She shrugs. “I don’t feel comfortable asking Cindy.”

  Her simple admission wraps around my heart and squeezes. Too shy to ask anyone else to help her with something so simple but intimate. I don’t know what to think about that. Actually, I suspect I do know—I just can’t afford to let the feelings form and take hold when she’ll be two states away by the beginning of next week.

  “There.” I pat her ass, enjoying the bounce of her flesh against my palm.

  She bends over to pick up her shorts and I groan. It would be so easy to have her grip the edge of the sink, arch her back, and—

  But a quick fuck in the bathroom isn’t enough. I want to twist my fingers in her mess of blond curls, kiss her until that lipstick’s smeared down her chin, and make her come so hard mascara-tinged tears run down her cheeks.

  “I’m almost out of underwear.” She peeks up at me. “Don’t suppose I can do laundry at your place tonight?”

  Laughing, I snatch the soaked garments out of her hand. “I had other activities in mind, but yeah, there’s a laundry room at the clubhouse.”

  “Help me into the dress?” She unzips it and holds it up off the ground, demonstrating what she needs me to do.

  Balancing on my shoulders, she steps into the dress and I help her pull it in place, finally tugging the zipper to the top.

  “Perfect.” Her eyes soften and she touches my cheek. “Thank you.”

  “No problem.”

  I follow her into the other room and reclaim my spot on the couch while she searches through her trunk, finally digging out a cute pair of the short-shorts I remember she likes to wear under her dresses when she’s onstage. Next, she wraps her fingers around a pair of socks and her brown, fringed cowboy boots.

  I groan while she shimmies the shorts up under her dress. Finally, she steps into her boots and spins to face me, placing her hands on her hips.

  “What do you think?”

 
; My gaze roams over her for a few seconds. “You look like a cowgirl about to conquer the world.”

  Her features soften. “Rooster.”

  I hold out my hands and she moves closer, curling her fingers around mine and leaning over to kiss my cheek. “Thank you for that.” She tilts her head toward the bathroom. “I intend to repay the favor.”

  “And I intend to collect, lil’ chickadee.” My gaze drops to the ample cleavage about five inches from my face. “Keep leaning over like that, and I’m gonna bury my face between your tits.”

  “Oh.” She presses her hand to her chest and stands up straight. Laughter flows past her lips. “I better watch how I lean at the meet and greet.”

  “Yeah, I’d hate to gouge out any eyes,” I growl.

  Ignoring my comment, she holds out her hand. “Come on.”

  Time’s brought a lot more people backstage. People stand around doing nothing but blocking people trying to do their jobs. Technicians push equipment; people wearing red T-shirts with STAFF in big white letters carry overloaded boxes of drinks; photographers hold their cameras up and out of harm’s way.

  “Is it always this busy?”

  “Worse, usually.”

  Fans have been corralled against one wall of the hallway by a line of black rope and black metal poles. Some call out to Shelby. Sweet as always, she shines a sunny smile their way and waves.

  Greg meets us and gives her a nod of approval. “You only have an hour. I’ll be back in a bit.”

  She gives him a questioning look before ducking inside a room to our left.

  He holds out his hand, stopping me from following Shelby inside. I turn the full power of my don’t-fuck-with-me glare on him, but he doesn’t back off.

  “You sticking with Shelby?” he asks.

  “Yeah. You’re kinda in my way.”

  His mouth twitches. “Listen, some of these guys get overzealous. Give ’em two minutes apiece. Let ’em snap a picture, ask her a question, sign an autograph, then move ’em along. Anyone puts their hands on her, eject them immediately.”

  I wasn’t aware I was serving as a bouncer tonight. “Who looks after her when I’m not here?”

  “I do.” He turns and searches the area. “Or Trent. But I need to be in Dawson’s room and Trent’s taking care of something else. Since you’re here, can you help out?”