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“You’re not. I usually hang out by myself for as long as I can. I’ll meditate. Do some stretches. A few vocal exercises. Hair and makeup. When there’s a meet and greet set up, I do that. Right before I go onstage, I slip into my dress of the night and huddle with the band.”
Her lips quirk as she casts a look over her shoulder at the trunk. “I’m not big enough for costume changes yet. So, I try to make the one dress count.”
Laughing, I push a stray piece of hair off her face. “You don’t need costume changes. You’re already stunning.”
“Thank you,” she whispers.
“‘Big Lies’ sounded good.”
Both eyebrows crawl up her forehead. “You recognized it?”
“Hell yeah. I told you, they’ve been playing it on the radio constantly. And every time I’ve been to Southwest Steakhouse lately it’s been on.”
She narrows her eyes. “How often do you go there?”
I shrug, not getting the change in her demeanor. “We’ve been using it as a meeting point between the two clubs. Told you we had Heidi’s graduation party there too.”
“So, you’re not stopping by to pick up pretty waitresses?” Soft laughter follows her question, but the tense lines around her mouth remain.
That’s what she’s worried about? How adorable. The club has plenty of girls prowling around on a nightly basis. No need to troll for waitresses if I want female company.
Saying that out loud probably won’t take this conversation in a pleasant direction. And I don’t want to do anything to upset her before she goes onstage tonight. “No waitresses, Shelby.”
She flicks a bit of hair out of her eyes. “I’m just messing with you.”
Sure she is. Her spark of jealousy sends an inexplicable thrill singing in my veins and eases the awkwardness between us.
She moves to her trunk and pulls out a small tube from a shiny purple bag. Flipping it away from her, she unrolls a small, thin mat and gracefully kneels down. She slides an elastic off her wrist and gathers her hair into a ponytail. “I won’t have a chance to do this later.”
With that, she kneels down, and sits on her heels for a second before inching her knees apart. Slowly, she folds her body forward, extending her arms in front of her, palms down, resting her forehead on the mat.
Is she trying to drive me insane?
It’s way too easy to visualize myself directly behind her, gripping her by the hips, sliding her back a few inches…
She shifts her body up and forward, until she’s on hands and knees.
The fuck, Shelby?
Slowly, she arches her back, pushing her tits up and out before rounding her back, pulling her stomach up and hanging her head.
It’s taking all my control not to mount her like a wild grizzly bear.
But I’m a grown-ass man. I can watch a woman…stretch her arms in front of her and raise her ass high in the air while keeping her palms on the mat…and not whip out my dick.
Pretty sure each of these poses can double as a sex position. Her routine is excruciating to watch and I’m panting by the time she returns to the first position with her forehead on the mat.
Damn, she’s making it difficult to honor my promise to keep my hands to myself.Chapter SixShelby
The weight of Rooster’s gaze settles over me as I attempt to center and ground myself. I work through a few of the yoga poses and stretches I do every night before a show. The other rituals, I’ll probably skip. It feels too pretentious to sit and meditate in front of Rooster. Besides, the negative energy from my anxiety could make things worse.
That’s not superstition. It’s caution. Caring for the energy around me that I’ll take onto the stage later. Every night is a new chance to impress a new audience. I can’t afford an “off” performance on this tour. There are no second chances.
I can’t find words to explain any of that to Rooster. Instead, I remain in extended child’s pose—butt resting on my heels, arms stretched in front of me, and forehead to the mat, rolling my head from side to side, hoping to stimulate my third eye for a creative energy boost.
Rooster clears his throat. “I promised myself I would keep my hands off you until after your show, but you’re making that…difficult.”
I turn and peer at him under my arm. “No one said you couldn’t touch me.”
“I want to do a hell of a lot more than touch, Shelby,” he rasps, so low the words move right through me.
I shift onto all fours and go through a few other movements without answering, keenly aware he’s still watching. After I’ve finished, I carefully roll my mat and tuck it into its slim, satin bag.
“Come here.” He curls his finger and pats his leg.
As I move closer, my leg brushes against his knee. He sits forward and grips my thigh, pulling me closer until I lose my balance and fall into his lap.
