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“That’s thousands of dollars!” I exclaimed, more outraged by the minute. “The tour is ten weeks long! Why didn’t you come to me? You could have roomed with me, no problem.”
Sienna shook her head. “Come on, Brit. The band’s assistant, rooming with the journalist? Everyone would assume you were telling me secrets. You’d get fired.”
She was wrong about that. I wouldn’t get fired, because I was Axel’s sobriety babysitter—which Sienna didn’t know. But rooming with her would have made Axel second-guess trusting me. It would have put Sienna uncomfortably close to the truth of his rehab, which he wanted to keep private. It would have put distance between Axel and me. It would have made my job a lot more difficult.
And I didn’t want any difficulty in keeping Axel sober. Because I couldn’t lose him.
My heart lurched at the memory of that night in Chicago, the warmth of his body against my back as he rubbed my shoulders. I’d eventually fallen asleep with him there, a deep, relaxing sleep, cramps and all. I’d woken up the next morning still in my bathrobe, with a blanket tucked over me and the TV off. It was the nicest thing any man had ever done for me.
Then I remembered further back, how we’d been together. How he’d touched me. I was starting to think that sex with Axel would be pretty amazing, and not just in the orgasmic sense—though there definitely was that. It would be fun and hot and wild and honest, and our bodies fit together so perfectly, and we’d please each other, and we’d take our time. I’d had decent sex—before Pierre—but I’d never had sex like that. Not like I’d have with Axel. And I was starting to feel ready for it.
I cleared my throat, focusing on the topic at hand. “So how the heck did you end up in Stone’s room?”
Sienna put her glasses back on. “Like I say, I was stranded. And he offered.”
“Heoffered?” Every part of this was baffling. “Wasn’t he the one who wanted you to give up and go home?”
“I think it was pity,” she said, her tone bitter. “That’s the only explanation I can think of, and he never answers when I ask. He doesn’t like me, and he definitely didn’t do it because he wanted sex. He’s never made a move on me. I think the idea even grosses him out.”
I took a bite of pastry, invested in this story. “Wouldn’t he get in trouble if the rest of the band knew?”
“I’m sure they’d be angry.” Her tone was withering, though the withering was not directed at me. “But the great Stone Zeeland, get fired? Our generation’s most brilliant guitar god? No one has the guts to give him any consequences. He keeps it secret because he’s embarrassed, that’s all. And he feels sorry for how pathetic I am.”
I watched her carefully. I had no doubt that she and Stone had never even fooled around, and I wondered if maybe she wasn’t a little disappointed about that. I mean—I would be. “You’re not pathetic, you’re badass,” I told her. “You’re making your career in the male-dominated music industry, and you aren’t even thirty. And you’re a terrific writer.”
Sienna looked surprised. “You think?”
“I think. The Road Kings are overgrown boys, but I’ve gotten to know them, and deep down, they’re kind of nice. You just can’t let them get away with anything. I mean, look at Callie.”
We exchanged a look. “Callie is intimidating,” Sienna admitted.
I agreed. Sienna had met Callie when the tour kicked off in Portland, and I’d met her when she came to visit Denver in New Orleans. At first glance, she appeared like a pretty, somewhat introverted woman who played jazz piano. But secretly, she was the most self-possessed woman I’d ever seen, unshakeable and sure of her own worth. I couldn’t picture Callie having a gross period meltdown and making Denver buy her maxi pads. Then again, Denver would do anything she asked.
“Callie is a superhero,” I said. “Denver is so in love with her he can barely see straight. I mean, he’s Denver Gilchrist, and he worships her. I want to be Callie when I grow up.”
“So do I,” Sienna said. “But I see your point.”
“I’m willing to bet Stone’s bark is worse than his bite,” I said. “When he’s giving you shit, just ask yourself, what would Callie do? But don’t sleep with him. It would be a bad idea.”
Her look turned sour again. “It isn’t going to happen.”
“Okay, it isn’t going to happen. Still, my advice is not to do it.” I couldn’t help needling her a little. “Even though he’d probably be great in bed.”
“Okay, stop.”
“Like a beast, really. He would pick you up, then throw you down and—”
“Stop.”
“You’d be sore for days.”
“Brit! Please.”
“The quiet ones know how to talk dirty. Like, really dirty.”
She banged her cup down. “If you don’t cut it out, I’m going to have to ask you what’s really going on with you and Axel.”
But I only smiled at her, going warm at the thought. “Hating Axel isn’t my problem,” I told her. “Lucky me.”
