Real Ugly Read online

  “Are you talking about Hayden or Turner?” Blair asks as we both look up and watch our driver/roadie/personal bitch, Spencer Harmon, step into the RV. She's got two armfuls of groceries and a wrinkled lip.

  “God, what is that smell?” she asks as she sets the bags down and watches Blair go back to work, leather clad ass up in the air flashing a three inch line of butt crack. If I was into chicks, it'd be kind of hot.

  “Turner Campbell's leftovers,” I say as I pop in a cigarette and smoke it with short, sharp puffs like it's a cigar or some shit. I watch with disgust as goose bumps spring up all over Spencer's arms and legs. Her full lips part gently and her dark lashes flutter.

  “Turner Campbell was here?” she whispers, and I can't hold back the scowl that crosses my face. I shouldn't get so annoyed at the girl. I mean, she's only one of thousands who've fallen for that man's charisma. Myself included.

  “Yeah, and he's trashed as shit. I walked in on him and Hayden fucking.”

  “Hey,” Blair snaps as she sits up and pushes her bucket away, wiping an arm across her forehead. “I had to watch the whole thing happen and even listen to it.” I ignore her, and I don't ask why she didn't put a stop to it. Nobody stands up to Hayden except for me, and even then, it's questionable. Same thing goes for Turner Campbell, but not because he's scary like Hayden. He's just a god of the stage. He can do no wrong. I resist the urge to spit on the floor. It's already bad enough down there.

  “Oh,” Spencer says, but the wonder in her brown eyes doesn't die and her skin prickles and crackles like it's been lit on fire. She removes the groceries like she's in a daze, pulling out healthy snacks like celery and carrots and broccoli that only she and Blair will eat. I can only hope there's something in there that's loaded up with carbs and sugar. “What time did he leave?”

  “He didn't,” I say, gesturing over my shoulder with my chin. I stab my cigarette out in an ashtray that's overflowing onto the table and shrug nonchalantly. “He's so fucked up that he couldn't stand. I put him in my bed.” Spencer's eyes open wide, and I have to cut her off before she can even offer. “No, I'll sleep on the couch,” I say and I can practically see her heart bursting out of her chest at the thought of spending the night within touching distance of Mr. Campbell. As irritating as the whole scene is, I'm glad because there is no way in shit that I would spend another night anywhere near that man. The first was bad enough. Jesus, Naomi, that was six years ago. Get the fuck over it. You know he doesn't remember, so why should you?

  “Look at you,” Blair says as she stands up, pulling the bucket along with her. “All empathetic and shit. Good for you, Naomi.”

  “Fuck you,” I say as I give her the finger, grab a can of beer from the fridge and curl up on the black sofa that sits across from the door. I pop the top and nurse my drink while I watch Spencer finish putting away the groceries. When she's done, she just stands there and wrings her hands like she's about to walk into an interview or something. “He doesn't bite,” I say and immediately wish I hadn't. Oh, wait. Yes, yes, he does. I suck down half my can as I watch her watching me.

  “You really do hate him, don't you?” she asks, and I shrug nonchalantly. But when I speak, I'm dead fucking serious. I raise my eyes to meet Spencer's.

  “More than anyone else on this godforsaken earth.”

  Shit. I wake up in a cloudy haze with a pounding head and a churning stomach. Where the fuck am I? I wonder as I slam my forehead into the bunk above me and struggle to sit up without retching all over the goddamn place. Across from me, there's a girl with brunette hair sprawled out naked. I look her up and down, but she's skinny as fuck and not very attractive, at least not to me. I stare at her for awhile trying to figure out if I should know her, but the face doesn't ring any bells, so I stand up and take stock of the situation. I feel like shit, but hey, things have been worse. At least I didn't wake up in an alley or in some stranger's car on the way to friggin' Mexico. I touch my stomach with gentle fingers. And it doesn't look like anybody cut out your organs while you were passed out. It's a good day for you, Turner.

  I eye the bathroom for a moment before deciding I've probably done enough damage here for one day. I can retch at my own place. Better to get out of here before any of these bitches wake up and start accusing me of shit. I've already got one pending suit because some whore told the cops I pissed on her. Fucking slut.

  I wipe my hand across my mouth and grimace. The skin around my lips is crusted with dried puke and my whole throat feels like it's been washed in a bath of acid. Not good. I've got another show tomorrow, and the last thing I need is to screw my voice up. If I cancel another set, my manager is going to flip the fuck out. I should really fire that son of a bitch.

  I stumble out into the kitchen and look around for the fridge. You wouldn't think it would be that hard to find, but my vision is kind of blurry and my head is spinning like crazy, so I don't see the stainless gleaming at me in the moonlight. Not until I've tried half of the other cabinets. They do crap like that in these fancy as fuck buses. Hide fridges in cabinets. I hate that shit.

  I yank the door open harder than I probably should and jump when a groan sounds from behind me. A quick glance over the shoulder reveals a girl curled up in the rectangle of bright as fuck light that's coming from the fridge. She shifts her body and turns away mumbling something incoherent, and a light goes off somewhere in my clogged skull. I know this girl, I think as I turn back to the contents of the fridge with a pinched brow. There are cans of freaking tomato juice stacked side by side with beer. I take the stupid choice and grab a brown bottle before I turn around and pop the top off on the bottom of the counter.

  You know every girl, asshole, I tell myself as I step forward and stare down at her shadowed face. It's too dark, and I'm too whacked out to see much, but I reach out anyway and brush some of the pale hair from her forehead. The movement reveals a pretty face and moist lips, but not much else. A memory niggles at the edges of my skull, but when I try to reach for it, it pulls away and leaves me empty. Doesn't bother me much. Happens all the fucking time. I shrug and turn around, dropping my half empty beer onto the counter before I leave, pulling open the door to the bus and squinting at the quiet darkness around me.

  A man looms up out of nowhere and gets in my face.

  “Who the fuck are you?” he asks, breathing hot against my cheek before I reach out with both hands and shove him back. The man grunts and stumbles hard, coming up swinging. That only lasts so long as it takes him to catch my gaze. “Ah,” he says, and I watch with a smug smile as the fight leaves him and his arms fall to his sides. “Turner, sorry. Didn't know it was you.” The dude steps out of my way and pauses like he thinks I'm going to move past. Instead, I reach into my pocket and pull out a cigarette.

  “Must be nice having so much pussy onboard,” I say as I cup my hand around the cig and light up. The wind's starting to blow pretty hard out here. “So much cock on my bus that I wake up every morning choking on dick.” God, I wish I could get some blow. “Got any coke?” I ask real quick. Guy looks like he's about to burst the veins in his neck. The dude, whoever he is, snorts, but he doesn't leave. I think he wants to move past me, but knows better than to try. “Know anybody I could score some off of?”

  “No.” Real short and sharp. This guy doesn't like me. I smile.

  “What's your name?” I ask as I flick the butt of my cigarette to the ground and run my tongue over my lips.

  “Dax.”

  “No last name, Dax? You're a real rock star, aren't you?” I laugh and move away without waiting for him to answer. I don't really give a shit what he has to say. Some guy from a B-list band isn't my problem. These pretty boy drummers are a dime a dozen.

  I wind my way through the trailers and buses, bracing myself by putting my hands up against the sides. The world is fuzzy around the edges and spinning like a fucking tilt-a-whatever. I just need to find my bus and climb into bed. Shouldn't be hard to find anyway. It's the biggest, nicest, one o
f them all.

  Just as it should be.

  “Turner!”

  “Aw, fuck me,” I growl as I continue on and ignore the pound of footsteps behind me. I'm not in the frame of mind to deal with Milo's shit today. “Leave me alone.”

  “Things aren't like they used to be, Turner. This isn't the eighties. Rock stars have to do more than just drink and fuck. You've got an image to maintain.”

  “Yeah?” I pull my phone out of my pocket, snap an Instagram shot of my face and post it every-fucking-where. Status: Late night out, bitches. Enjoy. I reach into my pants, snap another shot and post that, too. From behind me, Milo groans.

  “You're going to get banned for that,” he says as I grab the handle to the door and pull it open. I slam it in his face and lock it, not caring that he has nowhere else to go. He can hang out on his iPad and do PR work, fix the mess I just made. And then he can get me a cup of coffee in the morning. I'm sure he'll be just fine. Guys like Milo don't need sleep. They get all their energy from sucking the life out of others.

  I kick beer cans and boxes aside, cursing as I stumble towards the back. All the bunks are full, including mine. At first I think it's Treyjan, and I get all pissy, but then I pull the covers back and find myself with a nice, little surprise.

  “Well, hello there, beautiful,” I say as I examine the half-naked girl curled up in my sheets. She raises her head and smiles at me.

  “Your bandmates let me in. I hope … I hope that's okay.” I look the girl up and down again, and a grin curls the edges of my lips.

  “Oh yeah, sexy,” I tell her as I kick off my boots and slip under the covers. “That's more than okay with me.”

  Milo wakes me up in the morning by thrusting a cup of coffee under my nose. The smell of it makes me sick to my stomach.

  “Get that out of my fucking face,” I snap as my eyes water, and I struggle to sit up without bumping my head on the top bunk. When I put my hand out to brace myself, I come up against a bit of soft, warm flesh. It's a girl, of course. It always is. I've got one in my bed every night, same as the fucking pillow under my head. Unfortunately for her, the pillow's the only one that gets to stay. The blonde smiles up at me, and I smile back.

  “Good morning,” she whispers, snuggling closer to my arm.

  “Good morning, sunshine,” I say as I lean down and lock lips with hers. All the while, I'm aware that Milo is standing there clutching my coffee in tight fingers and frowning. I consider fucking the girl again, just to screw with his head, but at second glance, she isn't so pretty in the morning light. I pull away and keep smiling.

  “I don't mean to rush your good-byes, but we have to leave. We're on a tight schedule here, Turner. All unauthorized personnel need to get off the bus.” Both the girl and me ignore my manager's whining.

  “I had a good time last night,” she says, nibbling her lower lip and running her fingers up my arm. When she reaches under the blankets, I stop her with a gentle grip around the wrist. Lifting her hand to my mouth, I kiss her knuckles softly and look out from under my lashes. Think it's a chick trick? Guess you've never fucking tried it. Women love long eyelashes.

  “Me, too, babe,” I say as I press her hand against her chest and notch my smile up to a grin. “If I hook you up with a backstage page, you think maybe you can catch me at another show?” She nods vigorously and brushes some bleach blonde behind her ear. I tap her under the chin and wink, turning away before she can get another word out and slapping my feet on the gleaming wood floor of the bus.

  “Hook her up with some swag,” I tell Milo as I grab the coffee and make my way over to the bathroom. There's someone inside, but I don't bother to ask who it is. I just kick open the door and take a sip of my coffee. The glass door splits open and a wet face glares out at me. “Morning Treyjan,” I say as I glance over my shoulder and watch as Milo hands the girl from last night a white robe, throwing me a narrow eyed glare while he goes about cleaning up after me. I have a hard time feeling sympathy for him. It's what I fucking pay him for, isn't?

  “Have a good time last night?” Treyjan says as he slides the door closed and goes back to washing his hair. “Sure as fuck sounded like it to the rest of us.” I lean against the door frame, not caring that I'm still buck friggin' naked. Let 'em all get an eyeful and enjoy. I take another sip of the coffee. It isn't exactly doing much for my hangover, but at least it'll wake me up. I check to make sure the girl's far enough way that I can speak freely.

  “I guess it was alright,” I tell him as I step back and use my foot to pull open the drawer beneath my bunk. I fish out a T-shirt and a pair of jeans, throwing them on quick and finishing my coffee in a single gulp. “Where'd you find this one?” I toss my garbage into the can next to the toilet. It hits the rim and bounces off, but I don't bother to pick it up. I pay someone to do that, too.

  “When you didn't show up last night, we made a bet to see which chick would wait around the longest looking for you. Found her by the merch table flirting with Jason.”

  “Should've left her there, too,” I say and we both laugh. “And hurry your fat ass up, you fucking diva. The rest of us could use a shower, too. Especially Josh.”

  “Hey, fuck you, Turner,” Josh says as he pushes past me and disappears into the second bathroom, slamming the door behind him. I ignore him. He's always a bitch in the morning. Not as bad as Milo though.

  “Excuse me?” my manager asks as I step into the kitchen and open the fridge. I am fucking starving. I start to rummage through the crap inside, looking for something I can actually eat. Most of it is complete shit, and I end up closing it without finding a damn thing. I pull a cigarette out of my front pocket and stick it in my mouth.

  “Can't we get some fucking food on this damn bus? Am I supposed to friggin' starve to death?” I shove past Milo and reach for the door handle. “I'm going to Denny's. Try not to leave without me.”

  “Turner!” Milo screams as I snag my boots on my way out and hit the dust barefoot. “We have to be in San Diego by eight o'clock tonight. If we don't leave in the next half hour, we're not going to make it.” Fucking Christ. That man is worse than my mother.

  “Then buy me some goddamn food.” I pause and drop my boots to the ground, lighting my cigarette before I step into them. I don't bother to tie up the laces. “Get something on that bus other than red licorice and fucking chia seeds, whatever the hell those are.”

  Whatever Milo says next, I ignore, moving through the buses and trailers with my cig hanging out of my mouth and my phone in my hand. There's quite a load of messages on my Facebook page. Guess my fans liked last night's post. I smile and search for a Denny's, hoping to fuck that there's one within walking distance. If I don't get something to eat soon, I'm done for.

  I'm looking down, so I'm not paying attention to where I'm going. Doesn't matter anyway. When people see me coming, they get out of my way.

  “Hey!” a girl shouts as our shoulders slam together and my cigarette topples out of my mouth. “Watch where you're fucking going!” A crumpled ball of leather slams into my chest before I get the chance to process that the chick standing in front of me is the girl from the bus last night, the one on the couch. Holy fuck me. She looks even better in the daylight. She's tall, fucking got legs for days, and her tits are practically falling out the top of an asymmetrical tee that's cut up and hanging in long strips over her bare belly. Skin like porcelain, orange-brown eyes that bite, and swollen lips. Hell to the fuck yeah. She's exactly my type. My irritation at having her bump into me dissipates right away, and I switch on the charm.

  “Hey, baby, do I know you from somewhere?” I shake out the crumpled leather as she scowls at me and realize with a start that it's actually my jacket. Must've left it on her bus last night. I wonder if we fucked. If we did, then it's a memory I'm sad to forget.

  “Yeah, last night when I cleaned your puke off my carpet and pulled your dick out of my friend. Hey, next time you decide to screw a drunk chick, make sure she's sober en
ough to remember her own name. Can you do that for me, Turner?” I lick my lips and shake out the jacket, tossing it over my shoulder with a scowl of my own. Hot as this chick is, nobody talks to me like that. If I've ever fought for anything in my life, it's the right to be respected. Even a tight body and a dangerous scowl can't change that.

  “Hey, if I touched your friend, it's because she wanted me to.” I snap my fingers and lean in close. “Oh yeah, and it's none of your damn business.” Hands come out quick and hit my chest, knocking me back a step. Mostly from surprise. She isn't as tough as she thinks.

  “Next time you pass out on my bus, I take payment from you in the form of diseased body parts.” She waves her hand at my dick and then tries to turn away. My fingers on her shoulder spin her around and this time, she hits me right in the face.

  “You fucking bitch,” I snarl as she stands her ground and stares me down. “I could have you kicked off the tour for that shit. Or thrown in jail. Who the hell do you think you are?” The woman raises her chin and takes a deep breath while the wind teases her dirty blonde hair around her soft face. She's acting fierce, but I can see right through her. This chick is vulnerable, half ready to crack. Wonder if I could help her along a little? Broken souls are my specialty.

  “My name is Naomi Knox,” she says and then takes a step closer to me, so close that the toes of our shoes touch and her breasts brush up against my chest. Almost immediately, my cock springs to attention and gets hard as a fucking rock, expanding along the length of my thigh and pressing against the tight fabric of my jeans. Fuck that hurts. Guess this my penance for wearing girls' pants. “And I'm not afraid of you, Turner Campbell, so fuck off.”

  She spins on her heel and smacks me across the cheek with her hair. As she moves away, I see something in her face. I don't know what it is, but her words trigger something else in me. I know I've met this girl before, and I'm not going to rest until I figure out where.