Rhythm of the Road

by Autumn Jones Lake

  “So?”

  I flick through the photos he’s posted. “Shit, he’s seen her in concert more than I have.”

  “Everyone needs a hobby. Don’t be so judgmental.”

  I grab a few screenshots of the guy’s page and shove my phone in my pocket. “What’s with you saying she’s your sister, by the way?”

  He shrugs. “I figured that would shut them up and take the attention off you.”

  I slap his chest with the back of my hand. “Thanks.”

  “You need me to go to the show with you tonight?”

  “If you don’t mind.”

  “She’s playing there tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Should be fun.”

  Finally, the inane interview ends. Scotty boy tries the whole “let me take you to dinner” thing with Shelby but she shuts him down fast. I’m so eager to get her alone, I’m practically vibrating out of my skin.

  “Thanks so much, Shelby.” Junior shakes her hand as they step out of the studio.

  The assistant who’d set Shelby up with her microphone and headset earlier returns with a camera. The three of them stand in front of the station logo, posing for a few shots.

  My eyes are glued to Shelby, so the second Scotty drapes his arm over her shoulder, my whole body tenses.

  “Easy,” Jigsaw warns. “Jesus.”

  Easy nothing. Five seconds later, Scotty “accidentally” brushes his fingers over Shelby’s breast. Back and forth. The twitch at the corners of his mouth announces it’s a deliberate move.

  “Get off me!” Shelby’s outraged shriek propels me across the room.

  But I don’t have time to wrap my hands around Scotty’s neck. Shelby reels back and brings her knee straight up into his groin.

  “Oof.” He doubles over.

  Jigsaw bursts out laughing. “Good job, Shelby.”

  Junior backs away from Shelby with his hands in the air, like she randomly decided to go on a ball-breaking spree for no reason.

  “You need a leash on your boy, Junior,” she snaps.

  Scotty’s still wailing over his aching balls. I lift my foot and press my boot to his chest, kicking him onto his back. I lean over and grab a handful of his shirt, yanking him up into my face. “You’re lucky she got to you before I did. That kick to your nuts is gonna feel like a tickle compared to what I’ll do if you ever come near her again.”

  “She’s a crazy bitch!” he gasps.

  I release his shirt and wrap my hand around his throat. “You wanna repeat that?”

  He gasps and scratches at my hand.

  “I saw you try to cop a feel, motherfucker,” I snarl right in his face. “Pretty sure your assistant got it on film.”

  “It was an accident! I didn’t mean any harm. Everyone knows we joke around here!”

  I squeeze his neck a little harder. The edgy, off-color jokes were bad enough. But that’s the show’s gimmick. I don’t like it or respect it, but it’s business. “She agreed to sit through forty-five minutes of your shitty attempts at humor—not a grope from your fat little sausage fingers.”

  “I…I…” he gasps.

  “What?” I release him and he falls to the floor, choking and coughing. “You got more excuses?”

  “Call security!” he says to Junior.

  “No need. We’re leaving.” I squat next to Scotty and lean in close. “If you even think of using whatever power you think you have to trash talk her or fuck with her career in any way, I’ll be back.” I stand and stare down at him, adjusting my cut and running my hands through my hair. “My next warning won’t be as friendly, Scotty.”

  Chapter Fifty-Two

  Shelby

  The three of us are silent on the way to the parking garage. I’m too stunned to speak. Jigsaw’s jittery, like he’s eager to get the hell away from us. And Rooster’s jaw is so tight I’m afraid he’s gonna crack a tooth or ten.

  Jigsaw slaps Rooster’s hand. “Meet you at the arena.” He nods to me. “Later.”

  “Thanks for coming.” I’m still embarrassed that he watched that jerk grope me. But it was awfully nice of Jigsaw to get up so early to help Rooster protect me and watch that hot mess.

  “Anytime, Shelby.”

  When we’re alone in the truck, I rest my cheek against the window. The cool glass soothes my overheated face. “What a disaster.”

  “The whole interview was a joke from the jump.” Rooster’s snorting mad and picking up steam. “What was Greg thinking? You shouldn’t have to lower yourself to answering bullshit questions and sleazy innuendos from disrespectful dicks.”

  “It comes with the territory.”

  “That’s fucking bullshit.”

  “Rooster, it’s my job. You can’t—”

  “You need to understand something.” He pauses until I meet his eyes. “No matter how much I hated it, I wouldn’t butt into the business end of your career and complicate things for you.” He stares down at his fists. “But once that fucker touched you, he made it personal. And I will not tolerate anyone putting their hands on you. End of story.”

  I’ve tolerated that kind of behavior my whole life, waiting tables, tending bar, and singing. Hell, just existing. It hadn’t occurred to me until more recently that men aren’t entitled to grab a handful of my ass whenever they feel the urge. “Thank you.”

  “You nailed him in the groin pretty good, Shelby. Turns out, you didn’t need me.” He shakes his head. “Real fuckin’ proud of you.”

  “Must be years of built-up rage from putting up with that crap. I wasn’t even thinking. My body reacted without my brain’s permission.” I glance at the building. “Guess that’ll be the last airplay I get on mainstream radio.”

  Finally, he cracks a hint of a smile. “Nah, I warned him I’d be back if he tried fucking with you in any way.”

  “You did?”

  “Fucking right I did.” He starts the truck without looking at me.

  My phone buzzes and I groan. Greg’s probably calling to scold me.

  It’s just a text though.

  Greg: Interview sounded great. Are you on your way here now?

  “Guess your threat stuck. Greg doesn’t seem to know anything went wrong.”

  “Good.” His tone suggests he really doesn’t give a hoot about Greg’s opinion. “Look up a place to grab breakfast.”

  “What are you in the mood for?”

  He slides his gaze my way. “Whatever you’re comfortable eating on a concert day.”

  That’s a short list. I scroll through a bunch of places and finally choose a diner only a few miles from the arena.

  He’s quiet, so I continue fiddling with my phone, looking up the Scotty and Junior show to see if they’ve posted anything about my appearance yet.

  Ugh. Someone had the nerve to upload a picture taken about two seconds before Scotty tweaked my nipple. His fat fingers straining toward my boob and a slimy smirk on his face. There’s no way anyone can claim that was an accident.

  I take a screenshot of the photo just in case it “disappears” later and anyone tries to sue me or Rooster.

  “What are you looking at?” he asks.

  “Oh, they posted a photo. Right before he tried to honk my boob.”

  “Son of a bitch.”

  “No, it’s fine. I saved it. Just in case.”

  He glances over with a half-smile. “Smart girl. Forward it to me, please.”

  I send it to his phone, smiling when I hear the distinctive chirp. “Do I have my own personal ringtone on your phone?”

  “Sure do.”

  I continue absently scrolling through the radio station’s website, stopping on a familiar face. The caption above it reads: Scotty and Junior go deep with porn princess Anya Regal.

  After the awful way the interview ended, I’d forgotten how it all started. That and I’d chalked up Scotty’s comment about “porn stars and pop tarts” as an exaggeration of how he viewed all women.

  But there she
is—the girl Rooster’s been spending all week helping do some project that he claimed he couldn’t explain because it was “club business.” Her bright, pretty face smack between Junior and Scotty.

  “Anya—the girl I met this morning—she’s a…porn star? That’s why she was on their show?”

  “I don’t know about star, but she creates adult films, yes,” he answers carefully.

  Sweet Jesus. Blood thunders through my veins drowning out all the other sounds around us. “You’ve been ‘working’ with her all week? On a project? Doing what exactly?”

  A hot flood of uncontrollable fear churns my stomach. I knew I fell too hard and too fast for Rooster. Were the cards right? Is this the breakup and infidelity coming? Am I a few clicks away from finding videos of the man who’s stolen my heart fucking Chesapeake Bay Barbie online?

  I’m going to be sick.

  Rooster flips on the turn signal and veers the truck to the right. The tires bounce onto the wide shoulder, stopping so fast I’m jerked forward.

  “What are you doing?” I gasp, bracing myself with a hand on the dashboard. “Drop me off at the arena. I don’t want breakfast anymore.” No, I’m about to puke up my guts all over the side of the road.

  “Shelby, look at me.”

  How could I be so dumb? All those vague answers he gave me about what he does for work make a lot more sense now.

  “Shelby,” he says in a sharper tone. “I’m not fucking around. Look at me.”

  I snap my head up. The intensity in his eyes doesn’t falter. He reaches for my hand, his touch warm and heartbreakingly gentle.

  “This isn’t how I wanted to tell you.”

  Lordy, here it comes.

  “Tell me what?” Hot tears burn my eyes. “I don’t blame you. You’re so good at it. I bet you look even better on camera.”

  “Wait, what?”

  “I get it. It’s just a job to you. But I can’t…”

  “Holy fuck.” He bangs his head against the steering wheel, his whole burly body shaking with laughter.

  My sadness and fear twist into anger. I smack my palm against the seat. “It’s not funny! How could you not tell me?”

  “It’s a little funny.” He sits up straight. “That you think I’m starring in porn. I’m flattered.”

  “If that’s not it, then, what?”

  “Job or not, I would’ve been honest if I’d been fucking other people, Shelby.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  He lets out a long sigh and stares out the windshield for a few seconds. “My club has a film company we bankroll. ‘Quasi-amateur’ is the best way to describe it. I run the technical end of things. After the films are made.” He pauses. “Well, that’s not completely true. I’ve had to be ‘on set’ a few times. As security for the talent, not as a performer.”

  “Oh.” Some of the knots in my stomach loosen. “But you said your club. Is Anya from New York too? Did she come down here with you?”

  “No. Our Virginia charter wants to build something similar to what we do. Z asked me to help them. Me taking her to the interview was a favor to Ice—not Anya. He couldn’t do it and asked me if I would. That’s it.” He turns his hands palms up. “Sorry it’s not more exciting.”

  “So, you spend your days watching videos of pretty, naked women having sex?”

  “That’s what you took from what I said? No, I spend a lot of my time staring at a computer screen, uploading files, filling out annoying forms, chasing down assholes who pirate our content, dealing with billing issues, looking at spreadsheets, and other mundane crap.” He slants a look at me. “I’m not a horny thirteen-year-old boy. Whacking it to porn all-day long isn’t that exciting anymore.”

  “Gross,” I mutter. “Why didn’t you just tell me?”

  “Well, for one thing, I’m really not in the habit of sharing club business with anyone outside the club.” He hesitates, drums his thumbs against the steering wheel. “I was worried you’d react…well, like this.” He scrunches up his face. “Actually, no, I didn’t expect you to think I was in the talent. I didn’t see that coming.”

  “Shut up.” I reach over and lightly smack his arm. “If you’re going on the road with me, who’ll manage this stuff for the club?”

  “I can do a lot of it remotely. I’m also trying to train Jigsaw so he can handle some of it for me.”

  “Oh.” I stare down at my hands, still not sure what to say.

  “I should’ve mentioned it sooner. I meant to say something this morning after you met Anya. We got sidetracked…and the interview.”

  His voice never falters. Except for the brief laughter, his body remains calm and relaxed. The posture of a man with nothing to hide.

  I’ve fallen so hard for this man. He treats me well. Shows me he cares in so many ways.

  I want to trust him. But can’t help that little piece of me still scared, still wondering if he’s hiding something else.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Shelby

  I’m two-stepping on shaky ground.

  After a quick breakfast, we’re back in the truck on our way to the arena and my anxiety shoots through the roof.

  How can I judge Logan for not telling me about his job? Here I’ve been assigned a bodyguard twenty-four hours a day on the tour. That’s the kind of detail he would’ve wanted the minute it happened.

  “Are you okay?” he asks. “You’re so quiet. Does your throat hurt?”

  Actually, it does but that’s not what’s keeping my mouth glued shut.

  I’m running out of time to warn Logan about the letters and my new bodyguard. Bane’s kind of hard to miss, and I have no doubt he’ll pop up as soon as I arrive at the arena. “Rooster—”

  “Aw, fuck.” He peers into the rearview mirror and curses again.

  “What is it?”

  “We missed the exit,” he growls.

  Darn. If I’d been paying attention instead of figuring out how to explain this hot mess, he wouldn’t be driving around looking for a place to turn in an unfamiliar city.

  I hurry to reset the GPS and help him find the new turn-off. Guilt knots my stomach. But he’s trying to focus on the road while he’s in the middle of doing yet another favor for me. Not the best time to blurt out that I have a stalker.

  He follows the signs for the arena and I read him Greg’s instructions for how to find the loading area.

  As soon as we pull into the lot, I spot Bane’s big frame hanging out by Dawson’s bus.

  You’ve stalled long enough. Time to fess up.

  “Uh, Rooster. I, uh, have to—”

  “Who is that guy?” Rooster asks. “He was with you last night when I picked you up.”

  “Well, that’s what I wanted to tell you.”

  He blinks and waits. Doesn’t accuse me of cheating or anything silly like that. “I got this letter the other night…it’s stupid, honestly. But Cindy made a big deal out of it and got Greg involved. Then Greg told Dawson, who assigned one of his guards to stick with me.”

  “Whoa. Slow down.” He closes his eyes for a second. “That obsessed fan thing the DJs mentioned was true?”

  “I don’t know about obsessed. It was, like, two letters.”

  “Now it’s two letters?”

  “Well, three. That I know of.”

  “Shelby, are you fucking kidding me? How long has this been going on?”

  “Since right after Baltimore, I think.”

  “What?” His sharp question punches through the air. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “It was a letter! Paper, ink, and some stupid, creepy words. It’s not like it was a bomb or something. Dawson assigned one of his guys to watch me. I didn’t want to make you worry about something so silly.”

  “You let me decide what to worry about. Dammit.” He stabs his fingers through his hair and won’t even look at me.

  “Rooster.”

  “Don’t. I’m really fuckin’ furious with you right now.” While he claims to be
furious, he’s awfully gentle as he pulls me into his arms, crushing me against his chest. “I hate that you’ve been worrying about this and didn’t think you should tell me.”

  “I didn’t want you to worry or think you had to do anything about it.”

  He rests his hands on my shoulders and pushes me back so he can meet my eyes. “Of course I worry about you. And you’re mistaken if you think I’m gonna sit around and do nothing.”

  “Rooster.”

  “You’re a ballsy little brat, giving me grief about my job when your life’s in danger. You know that?”

  “My life isn’t in danger. And I honestly think I took the news of your job rather well, considering.”

  He kisses the tip of my nose and flicks a glance at Bane again. “At least I know why ol’ beefcake was following you around.”

  “Stop. Bane’s been nice to me.”

  Rooster continues scowling.

  “Don’t you dare,” I warn him. “You start pissing a circle ’round me ’cause you’re mad I didn’t tell you sooner, I’ll kick your firm, sexy ass back to your porno ranch right this second.”

  “Love to see you try, chickadee.” He smirks. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Now it’s my turn to growl some frustrated noises.

  He hooks his arm around my waist and leans down to kiss me. I lace my arms around his neck, tugging him closer. “That’s better,” I whisper.

  After one final kiss, he pulls away. “Let’s go.”

  We unpack my stuff from the truck quickly. Bane meets us halfway, giving Rooster a serious once-over.

  “Bane, this is my boyfriend, Logan.”

  Rooster sets my guitar down and shakes Bane’s hand. “Thank you for watching out for her.”

  Gee, and here I expected Rooster to go all caveman and tell Bane he’d handle things from here and to get lost.

  “Just doing what the boss told me to do,” Bane says.

  Rooster smirks at me. “My girl didn’t feel it was important to tell me about this until just now, or I would’ve been here sooner.”