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“What’s this?” I frown at the fancy ride. “I thought we were borrowing one of the roadies’ cars?”
“Nah, fuck that. That’s no way to pick up your lady. You need to do it in style. Romance her.”
“It’d probably be more romantic to pick up your lady without another woman’s saliva on your dick,” I point out.
“Don’t be smug, Chaser.” He wags his finger in my face. “Rock stars are supposed to fuck. You’re an abomination to our species.”
Maybe that’s so. I’m okay with it.
The driver holds the door open and we climb in. Inside is all slick, shiny black leather seats, a bucket of champagne, and bouquets of big, fat pink roses.
None of those things occurred to me.
Not that I think Mallory cares about that stuff. And, given the choice between the guy who appointed himself the captain of team fuck as many groupies as possible or the faithful one who shows up empty-handed, I’m ninety-nine percent sure most women would pick the flower-less dude.
“What’s all this?” I sweep my hand toward the flowers and champagne. “An ‘I’m sorry I fucked every groupie who flashed her tits at me’ apology package?”
“You gotta give the girl you’re fucking on the regular pink roses. It’s like a rule or something.” He plucks one of the tacky bouquets out of its equally tacky vase and wags it at me, spraying droplets of water all over. “You can give one to Mallory if you want.”
“No thanks.” I shove the flowers away. No way would I give Mallory sloppy-seconds roses from Andrew of all people.
“You ever think of doing something outside of Kickstart?” Andrew jams the flowers back into their vase. “Like, totally different?”
“Sometimes. You?”
“Fuck yeah. I’d love to do something like, funky or rap infused. Just crazy, bonkers sounds. Something inspired the suits can’t slap a label on. Sounds no one would ever expect from Vicious Vandals’ drummer.”
I don’t have the luxury of money to pay for a project no one will know how to sell and haven’t earned enough clout with the label to get them to fund a vanity project yet but it’s a cool concept. “I grew up listening to a lot of the old outlaw country artists—Waylon Jennings, Johnny Cash—”
“Oh, fuck yeah! Cash is the man.” Andrew punches his fist in the air, actually hitting the roof of the car. “Ow, dammit.”
“Easy, cowboy.”
“Aw man, those roadhouse blues... You could rock the fuck out of that, Chaser. It’d be totally rad.”
I shouldn’t be surprised Andrew’s so open to adding a little country music to his fusion project. If I even mentioned it to Garrett or Jacob, they’d roll their eyes and turn their noses up. They’re strictly rock-n-roll. Andrew appreciates every form of musical expression.
“One day.” It’s too hard to consider working on anything else at the moment. Especially when we’re headed to the studio to record our next album after the tour. “I like where the band is headed right now.”
“Yeah? You write anything good while you’ve been on the road? You sure fucking hide in your room enough.”
“I’ve got a lot of material.”
“Fucking awesome! You’re gonna have the best time working with Cutter.” He leans over and slaps my leg a couple dozen times. “So stoked for you guys.”
“Thanks.”
“We should do it, though.”
“Do what?”
He waves his hands in front of him, avoiding the roof this time. “The rock-country-rap-jazz fusion. It will blow everyone’s minds. Like get a whole bunch of different artists to collaborate with us. Maybe get a chick singer. No one would expect that from me.” He giggles like a little kid.
Since it’s totally bonkers and I don’t see it happening anytime soon, I indulge him in his little musical fantasy. “It could be fun.”
“You know who’d be totally off the wall? If we could get Crystal Gale to sing for us. Uh.” He squeezes his eyes shut and thrusts his fists in front of his face. “I just want to wrap my hands in her fucking hair and—”
“Calm down.” I cock my head. “Is there a woman you don’t want to fuck?”
He shrugs and opens his mouth but I cut him off. “Never mind. Don’t answer that.”
“Don’t worry. Pammy will keep me occupied. She’s a freaky nympho when she hasn’t ridden the D in a while.”
“Charming,” I mutter. “What makes you so sure she’s not doing the same thing you are when you’re on the road?”
“Fuck.” The goofy grin falls off his face for a second. “Serve me right, I guess.” He leans forward. “Why? Did Mallory tell you something?”
“No. Believe it or not, we don’t spend a lot of time talking about your love life.”
“You’re on the phone with her for fuckin’ hours every damn night.” He actually seems offended. “Mallory never asks about me?”
“Yeah, she asks if your bullet wound has healed and if you’re staying out of trouble.”
“And what do you tell her?”
“That you’re like the fuckin’ Tasmanian Devil.”
“Fuck yeah!” He claps his hands. “If I ever patch into a club, that’ll be my road name.”
Any club I’ve ever known would probably shoot Andrew before his crazy ass ever got near a patch. “You can’t pick your own road name.”
“Why not?”
“Your brothers have to give it to you. Sometimes, it’s meant to be more of an insult than a compliment.”
“Hah!” He points a finger at me and slaps his hands together. “You just said it. Done! You’re my bro. Now you gotta call me Taz.”
“Jesus.” Why aren’t we at the fucking airport yet?
“Nope, you gotta call me Taz.”
The car glides to a stop at the curb and I don’t even bother waiting for the guy to open the door. Get me the fuck outta here. Maybe Mallory and I can ditch the psycho limo and find a cab back to the hotel.
“Chaser!” Mallory’s voice stands out to me above all the other noise.
Like a missile seeking the heat of my better half, I scan the area. It’s dark and there’s a crowd of people waiting to get picked up. The second our eyes lock, I’m shoving people out of my way. It still takes too long to get my hands on her.
No time for mundane greetings. Nope. I wrap her in my arms, lift her up and press my lips to hers. She clings to me, parting her lips, kissing me back with the same urgency. My tongue searches her mouth, stroking against hers, the insides of her cheeks, her teeth, exploring every bit of her. I want to breathe her in, consume her, until we’re one and can never be apart again.
“Chaser,” she gasps and pulls away.
“I’m not done,” I murmur, dragging her closer.
I’ll never be done with her.
Chapter Eight
Mallory
The strange vibe in the limo makes it hard to do what I really want to do—concentrate on Chaser.
Andrew and Pamela take up the entire back seat, kissing and licking each other. I swear if either of them gets naked, I’m tucking and rolling right out the door.
Chaser seems to sense my discomfort and pulls me into his side, kissing the top of my head. “How was your flight?”
“I thought it would never end.”
He squeezes me tighter. “So glad you’re here, little dove.”
“Me too.” I tip my head back to take him in, so happy to be in his arms after all this time. “You’re all mine for the next few weeks.”
He leans down and gently nips my earlobe. “I’m all yours forever.”
My heart skips.
Is it crazy that we haven’t been together that long but I feel the same way?
Pamela squeals and I shut my eyes. Chaser’s laughter rumbles against my ear.
“I didn’t even notice.” Her shrill voice seems louder than usual in the confines of the limo. “How pretty. Ooo, smell them, Mallory.”
A bunch of pink roses are shoved under my nose
and I try not to gag. “Very pretty.” I nod and do the obligatory sniff.
“Oh!” There’s more squealing and a few seconds later, she waves a diamond tennis bracelet around.
Chaser leans down and whispers in my ear, “He could give her five of those and there still wouldn’t be a diamond for every groupie—”
I press my finger against his lips. “Shh.”
He sucks my finger into his mouth while staring into my eyes—a hundred promises of what’s to come later. I lean up and brush my lips against his bristly cheek. “I have better uses for your tongue tonight, Chaser.”
He groans. “I need you so bad, I’m seriously considering letting them watch.”
