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“You look cute and murderous at the same time,” I said.
She smiled, one of her real smiles, and I melted. I moved closer to the middle of the bed. “Come here.”
She shook her head. “Axel.”
“Jesus, I’m not trying to fuck you. Come here.” She slid over, and I got her positioned between my legs, leaning back against me. I drew her still-damp hair into my hands and twisted it over one shoulder so it was out of my face. The TV droned on about a serial killer who liked to cut people in half and dump them in ditches.
I reached down and untied her bathrobe, loosening it. I moved the cloth from her shoulders and slid my hands over her skin, around the straps of her top, gently digging my thumbs under her shoulder blades.
The response was a longooohhhhsound, and she shifted, her body going even softer. I worked her muscles slowly, digging in, silently thanking the woman from the drugstore for the advice. I owed her. She was right on every single point.
“Brit,” I said when the woman between my legs moaned again, “you didn’t even sound like this when I made you come.”
She poked my thigh in reproach, but then she couldn’t quite drop her hand, and she left it resting on my leg. “That was different.”
“Was it?” Still working her shoulders, I leaned down and kissed the exposed skin of her neck, trailing my lips over her. Brit gasped softly, her body rippling with lazy tension against mine. I kissed up beneath her ear, listening to the sounds she made.
“Yes,” I said against her skin. “Definitely different.”
I kissed back down to where her neck met her shoulder, listening to her, feeling her, tasting her shower-clean skin on my lips. There was nowhere else I’d rather be than here with this woman, with her sweet body and her smart mouth, the warmth of her resting against me on this big bed, with murder on TV.
Brit wiggled her hips as I kissed her, getting more comfortable. “Don’t get a hard-on,” she warned.
“I love it when you talk dirty to me.”
She melted all the way back against me, and I felt like I’d won a victory.
TWENTY-THREE
Brit
I wasn’t supposed to like Sienna Maplethorpe, but the truth was, she was pretty cool. She had long, dark hair and dark-framed glasses that made her look smart, and she could pull off a skirt-with-Doc-Martens style that would look ridiculous if I tried it. I wasn’t supposed to talk to her, but she was the only other woman I saw consistently on this tour, so screw it. We talked, and I didn’t tell her any secrets, and she didn’t try to make me. We had an understanding.
Besides, Sienna had secrets of her own. One of which she didn’t know I knew.
We were in Cleveland, and sound check was happening for the show. Axel didn’t need me when he was at sound check, and Sienna was skipping it, too. We were sitting in a café, talking, drinking coffee, and eating pastries. I could barely remember my real life anymore; I felt like I’d been born on the road. Neal’s sort-of ex, Raine, was coming to town for tonight’s show and to join the tour for a few days. Neal was quiet about it, but I could tell it meant a lot to him. I didn’t know Raine, and I hoped he wouldn’t get his heart broken.
“God, I’m tired,” Sienna said, taking a deep swig of coffee. “I’ve never joined a tour before. It’s been fascinating. I have so much to say, but I’d rather sleep than write at this point. And I’m not the one playing the shows every night.”
I picked up a spoon to stir my drink, though it didn’t need it. “So how is Stone sleeping?” I asked casually. “Since you’re rooming with him and all.”
Sienna set her mug down, looking stricken. “What? How did you know?”
“Relax. I didn’t mean to panic you. But I figured out a while ago that you’re sharing a room, and it started to feel weird not to tell you I know. You can feel free to hate me if you like.”
She took off her glasses—which must be a sign of distress, since she never took off her glasses—and rubbed her eyes. “Shit. Oh, shit. Would you believe me if I told you that nothing’s going on between us? Because nothing is.”
“On one hand, yes,” I said, because I’d thought about this. “I can’t think of two people less likely to hook up than you and Stone.” They were polar opposites in every way—Sienna brainy and nerdy, Stone gruff and torturously silent. Not to mention the fact that Stone hated journalists. “On the other hand, you’re staying in his room every night, and he’s Stone.” I widened my eyes, not elaborating, because Stone’s particular brand of hotness was self-explanatory. “So you have to tell me what gives, because otherwise my head might explode.”
Sienna gave a gusty sigh and sat back in her chair. Her glasses were still sitting on the table, and I had that weird double vision you get when you see someone you’ve only ever seen with their glasses on, like you recognize them but you also don’t. She wasn’t wearing any makeup, and she had pretty gray eyes and flawless skin. She was somewhere in her late twenties, I thought. I could probably give her a really great haircut if she’d let me. “I barely even know how it happened,” she said. “The tour is trying to get me to quit. In New Orleans, I found they hadn’t booked me a hotel room and I was stranded. I suppose they wanted me to give up and go home.”
“Why didn’t they just fire you?”
“It took me a while to figure that out. It’s because the tour has a contract withSoundcheckmagazine. They bankroll me to follow the tour, and I write pieces to run exclusively in the magazine. If the tour fires me, the magazine gets no articles, and can sue them for breaking the contract. But if I quit, then all of the blame goes on me, the flaky female journalist who couldn’t hack it.”
I sat up straight. “That’s low. Really low. Fuck them.”
“Exactly. There was no way I was going to quit.” Her voice was grim and determined. As Aunt Ellen would say, this girl had spine. “This opportunity is my dream. But in order to stay on the tour, I was going to have to book my own hotel rooms and pay out of pocket.”
