Page 20 of Animal Beats

“I doubt it.” Leaving me in the kitchen, he storms into his bedroom and slams the door.

I collapse against the quartz countertop, relieved he didn’t bring one of the women from the club back here with him. I set about looking for something that will make a noise if he leaves his room during the middle of the night. I seriously wouldn’t put anything past him.

After grabbing some string and a pair of metal tongs, I stretch the string across his door in a large X and hook the tongs onto it. If he tries to leave, they’ll clatter so loud they’ll wake the dead.

Satisfied, I slip into my own room and collapse onto the bed. My eyes slam shut. This leg of the tour can’t end soon enough.

7

RÍO

Istrip and take a shower, stewing about everything that’s happened to me since Rome. I didn’t mean anything bad at the Trevi Fountain—certainly not something as extreme as being assigned a babysitter. Better yet, one whose sole job is to keep me sober and out of trouble.

Sober? The water drips down from my head. I don’t drink that much!

Do I?

Luke mentioned something about my drinking at the police station. We counted seven drinks that day.

Guess seven is a lot.

I scrub my torso and back, then down my legs. I mentally calculate how much I’ve had to drink over the past week. Shit. Maybe Luke has a point.

I’m not a nasty drunk, though. I remember closing down clubs in Nice, France. A group of twelve of us were there until three, then we took our party outside to a local park. No one in the neighborhood complained about the music. And we all had a blast in the casino in Monaco. So what if I managed to get a conga line going? I was only encouraging people to have more fun, for fuck’s sake.

Soap mingles with water and flows down the drain. I wash my hair—which is growing nicely—and give it a good rinse. I’ve never done anything malicious. Unlike Pop, I’ve never set out to bring someone down in order to make myself look better. Or used another person as a pawn.

I give my cock a tug and it hits me. It’s probably been a full day since Pop entered my thoughts. Has to be some sort of record.

As I stroke myself, let my brain wander over the events of the past days. The call-and-repeat at the Trevi Fountain was epic, no matter what the cops say. Then the arrest, paparazzi, and Hayden becoming my babysitter. Even the flight out here and my little excursion into Barcelona today didn’t bring the usual recriminations from my father living inside my mind.

Widening my stance, I grow more erect. The biggest difference between this last twenty-four hours and the last year is Hayden. I picture her in all her preppy glamour, with her perfect makeup and jewelry. Her strawberry blonde hair and damn blue eyes—a lighter shade than 007. Without thought, energy ramps through my body and I come all over the shower floor.

I catch my breath. Nah. Hayden isn’t the reason why Pop left the building. I’ve been preoccupied, nothing more.

I rinse off again, then shut off the water. A drink would take the edge off, but Hayden threw away all the good stuff. I huff, wrap a towel around my waist, and pad into the main bedroom area.

Too amped to sleep, I flop into bed, turn on the television, and flip through the sorry-ass selection of channels, stopping on a crazy game show. The contestants answer questions and run through obstacles, but as everything’s in Spanish, it doesn’t hold my attention. My mind keeps wandering to the other end of my suite where Hayden sleeps.

I bet she’s wearing a prim-and-proper white nightgown, buttoned up to her neck. She probably flossed and brushed her teeth for two full minutes, too. My fingers itch with wanting to mess up her perfectly ordered world, but I keep them to myself. Last thing I need is to dirty up my babysitter for sport. No matter how intriguing she might be.

I turn over and close my eyes to raucous game show music.

The next morning, I rouse to the alluring smell of coffee. My body craves more sleep, though, so I toss the pillow over my head and burrow deeper into the bed.

The next time I wake, the scent of coffee lingers. My fingers curl around the phone, which states it’s two o’clock. Good. Plenty of time before I have to report for our soundcheck at four.

I get up and put on a pair of jeans. Knowing my bandmates will be otherwise occupied with willing chicks, I pick up the room service menu. Before I place my order, though, I guess I should ask Hayden if she wants to join me. I saunter into the main suite to find her in the kitchen. “Hey, I’m going to order breakfast. Want something?”

“It’s well into the afternoon. Don’t you mean lunch?”

I scratch my thigh. “Well, since I haven’t eaten anything yet today, I say it’s breakfast.” I shake the menu in front of her. “Anything?”

She takes the menu from me and examines it. Her pert nose is just the right size for her face. Stop it. She looks up. “Yeah. I guess I’ll have a⁠—”

I raise my palm. “I want two bacon cheeseburgers, fries, a chocolate milkshake, and a beer.”

The menu lands on the island. “Order your own damn food.” She turns toward the fridge. “No beer.”