Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful Book 2) Page 4

  Just beyond the circle of shade cast by our umbrellas, the sea sparkles and glimmers, the sand white-hot with the eighty degree heat. There are a few older people around, but there's no real crowd and we haven't seen any sniffing around from the media hounds—thank god.

  “It's okay if you need to, for closure or something,” Lil says, leaning back into my hands, murmuring with pleasure as I caress and knead her flesh, our little sunscreen session taking on an erotic edge. I can't help it. Since I came to Lilith in that kitchen, we've only had sex twice. Well, maybe three or four times if you break up last night's group session and count orgasms instead of actual sessions. “I'm sure there must be something you want to say to her?”

  “I already said it yesterday: fuck you. That's all there is to it.”

  “What about your brother?” she asks me as I slide my hands around her rib cage and dip my fingers under her arm to cup her breasts. Lilith gasps as I knead the tender flesh with my slick hands, feeling her nipples pebble against my palms. I scoot forward on the chair and press my erection against her back, leaning in to breathe against her neck.

  My bare chest presses against her nearly naked back, making her gasp.

  “I don't know,” I whisper roughly. “I'm having a hard time thinking about my brother right now.”

  “You should—” Lil starts and then gasps when I squeeze her breasts harder, pressing my mouth to her neck. She smells like sun and sand, the faint whisper of my shampoo hiding beneath the scent of the lotion. “Oh God, Michael, not here,” she whispers, but I can't help myself. Lilith is wiggling her hot, slick body against mine, the heavy weight of her breasts sitting in my hands.

  “This is a public beach, you know,” Pax murmurs from beside us, but he sounds like he's enjoying the show almost as much as I'm enjoying putting it on.

  “People have been arrested for exactly this,” Lilith whispers, pulling my hands away from her breasts and fastening her halter around her neck. “In Florida, too.”

  “That's fucking bullshit,” I growl as I kiss her neck and slide my greasy palms down her arms instead, curling our fingers together. It occurs to me then that I don't even know this girl. I've spent the better part of a week treating her like shit. Honestly, I'm surprised she's even giving me the time of day let alone … this. “Puritanical crap. A hefty fine maybe, a slap on the wrist, a ban from the beach. But arresting someone for consensual sex?”

  “Maybe so,” she says, her breath coming in sharp, panting gasps. “But I don't want to spend two and a half years in prison.” Lilith sighs and leans back against me as I add some lotion to my palms and rub them down her inner thighs. “The couple has to register as sex offenders, too.”

  “That's up there with the dumbest shit I've ever heard in my life,” I say as I rub lotion across the smooth skin of her belly, up and over her collarbone, the front of her throat. I can feel Lil's pulse thrumming at my touch. “I bet they'd have gotten less time if they'd projected a video of a live murder on a screen for everyone to watch—just as long as they hadn't actually committed it.”

  “Violence is okay; sex and sensuality aren't,” Lilith says, turning to glance at my face with a sad smile.

  “But you don't agree with that?” I ask, curious as she takes the bottle from me and finishes up with her face, her hands, her feet. The movement of her palms sliding across her skin is fucking fascinating to me.

  “I'm still coming to terms with my own sexuality,” she says, her voice a near whisper that's hard to hear above the sound of the surf and the call of gulls in the distance. At the moment, there's nobody nearby. Ran, Muse, and Cope are in the water directly in front of us, but that's it. The six of us. I like it that way. “I think it'll take the public a lot longer to figure out that sex is just a part of life; it's not evil. I think the less we hide from it, the less it'll be flaunted, too. It's a double-edged sword. Demonizing sex turns it into a lewd form of theatrics.”

  “Well, this is getting too heavy for me. I prefer to swim in the shallows, thank you.”

  Pax rises to his feet and shoves his shades up and into his blonde hair.

  “Enjoy your little pseudo intellectual chin-wag,” he says, flicking his fingers dismissively at us. “While you're at it, make sure you cover politics and religion, too.” Pax grins and tucks his fingers into the black swim trunks hanging off his thin hips, swaggering off to join the others at the edge of the water.

  “This is probably the first real conversation that we've had,” Lilith says and I smile.

  “Maybe the first one where I haven't been a fucking asshole. I'm sorry about that, by the way. I completely misread you. I don't know how I ever thought you were just another random groupie.”

  “And now I'm the only groupie,” she says, and I don't miss the smile in her voice. “Since we're at it already, are you religious?”

  “I'm spiritual,” I say and she laughs.

  “Cop-out. Politics?” Lilith draws a D in the sand with her foot on one side of the chair and an R on the other.

  “Democrats or republicans?” I ask and she nods. “Fucking neither.”

  “Good answer.” I watch her curvy body unfold as she stands up and holds out a hand to me, green eyes sparkling. The pair of necklaces I bought her—the rhodonite heart and the opal tear—swing as she leans over and smiles at me with those full lips of hers. “As fascinating as I find this conversation, there's no way I came all the way down to Florida just to talk. It's been years since I've been anywhere near the ocean, let alone an ocean I could swim in.”

  I take Lil's hand and stand up, deciding to be bold and yank her against me, swing her up in my arms. The press of her body against mine takes my breath away, especially when she reaches forward and pulls off my shades, fisting a hand in my hair and pulling my mouth to hers for a kiss.

  I made so many mistakes with Vanessa that I can't even remember if we had it good in the beginning or if I just imagined it. I won't make those same mistakes with Lilith.

  Our kiss breaks off with reluctance on both sides as I carry her down to the edge of the beach and jump straight into the waves. Lilith squeals as I toss her into the water and she disappears under the easy rolling surf for a second, popping up with her red hair slipping out of her ponytail and sticking to the sides of her face.

  “About time you two showed up,” Muse says, ruffling up his mohawk with a smile, giving me a look that trails over to Ransom, shirtless and staring up at the sun with his eyes closed. The fact that he's not wallowing in shadow and drowning in one of his big baggy hoodies is a miracle. But then I look over and see Cope kneeling down to pick up a seashell, examining it with a strange sort of intensity and then standing up to chuck it into the water.

  He looks almost miserable standing in the sea and sun and surf.

  It's gotta be about Cara. Has to be. But I get a feeling that if one of us fucks this thing up, the whole ship sinks with him.

  I just got fucking started here and I'm not letting the heavy weight of anyone's baggage drag us down.

  Not even mine.

  The speakers on either side of the stage ripple with the sound of a bass, guitars, and drums, the soft sexy sound so similar to Ransom's decadent voice that I get chills down my spine. I clap my hands and pump my fist, cheering along with the crowd as the animated short finishes playing on the curtain and it rises up to reveal the boys.

  My boys.

  A ripple of pleasure snakes through me at the idea, so thrilling in its newness, so fucking exciting. It doesn't seem possible to feel this … good after last night, but I do. Our day at the beach was as relaxing as it was fun, and I felt like I got to spend some quality time with Michael. I had such a good time that I don't even mind the slight burn I got on the back of my neck or the glare Octavia was throwing my way when we came back with sand in our hair and clothes, slightly tipsy from a small beachside bar that we stopped into after we finished swimming.

  “I'm broken and cold with no place of my own,” Paxton sings i
n a soft low voice, kneeling near the front of the stage and panning his grey gaze across the audience. His suit today is white, his tie bloodred. “You trashed and bloodied my only home.” He rises slowly after the next verse, hooking his left hand around the mic stand and tilting it toward the hushed faces of the crowd. The lights are so low, they shadow his face as they spin around and away, across the rest of my boys and then back to Pax as he raises his voice. “You stole the light, snuffed out the flame. You destroyed the entire world as a game.”

  His face splits into a wry grin as he lifts his chin and belts out the next lines with a force that turns my blood to ice. I can feel the emotion there; I just can't decide if it's his emotion. If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was Ransom's song.

  “I have nothing left except this song. Just this song …”

  Pax drops his voice again on the last word and then Ran joins in for the hook as their words swell and amplify through the mics, crash into me and leave me breathless. God. The two of them together is like magic. I just don't think they know that yet.

  “I'm just a man; I'm not invincible. This is my goodbye, my farewell to the world!”

  Cope's drums take over for a moment as the lyrics trail off and the lights overhead flicker and flash, spotlighting him for a moment, the resigned expression on his face. He's been great to me, as nice as ever. But there's something deep down that's haunting him, something that was triggered either by last night … or this morning.

  I swallow through a slightly dry throat and try not to think too hard about. I just claimed all five of these guys as my own … what would it feel like to lose one already? It feels like an inevitability that my happiness will end someday. I mean, surely a relationship with five men—five straight men? I'm not sure—and one woman can't last. One day, they'll want families and wives and houses like everybody else.

  Right?

  “So fucking sick of wandering alone. The things you've done have cut to the bone. I have nothing left except this song. Just this song …”

  Pax sighs and the lights cut off Cope to highlight him and Ran again, plucking at the strings of his dark purple bass. He's rocking it hard, teasing the strings with his bare fingers, his face dark, eyes closed for a moment as he digs into the rhythm. In his black leather boots, black holey jeans and hooded tank with the green skull and crossbones on it, he looks like a specter. I let him sweep his shadowy wings over me with the grinding depth of the bass and close my own eyes.

  “I'm just a man; I'm not invincible. This is my goodbye …” The two boys sing together, their voices booming and haunting both at the same time.

  “This is my goodbye …” The other three repeat softly, Muse sharing a mic with Ran while Michael shares one with Pax; Cope has his own positioned so he can reach it while he plays his drums.

  “My farewell to the world,” Pax and Ran continue. “I'm just a man; I'm not invincible. This is my goodbye …”

  “This is my goodbye …”

  “My farewell to the world!” they finish as Pax leans his head back again and taps one of his expensive brown loafers against the shiny red floor of the stage. I'm not sure what it's made out of, but when the light hits it just right, it looks like the boys are standing in blood.

  “I think I hate you,” Pax continues on his own as Ransom layers his voice atop his.

  “I won't leave this world alone.”

  “Come see me; I'm through.”

  They both stop singing as the lights swing over and spotlight Muse and Michael as they step up close to the stage and lean back to back, their picks moving across their guitars at a speed that's hard to follow, breaking up the distant melancholy of the song with some electrified notes. They're both so into it, biting their sexy lips and thrashing their heads. Muse likes to let the tip of his tongue stick out when he's really into it.

  I cheer and bounce with the crowd as they both slide to the ground, continuing to play their instruments and then pausing suddenly, leaving a small sharp moment for the crowd to snatch a gasping breath.

  When Pax and Ran break through their mics to sing the hook again, I get more chills and find my arms crossed tight over the short pink dress I'm wearing, this one a gift from Ransom. He saw me looking at it in the shop today and bought it without my knowing. When he gave it to me, he said he liked the way we looked together, light and dark like that.

  They repeat the hook twice more, the sounds of their voices melding and twisting until it sounds like only one person is singing. As they trail off, Pax shoves his mic back in the stand and steps back with his arms raised, head down.

  Muse and Michael rise to their feet and take over the ending as Cope stops drumming and the three string instruments carry the song to its natural conclusion.

  “We're Beauty in Lies,” Michael shouts into the mic, short on breath as Pax smiles and claps his hands along with everyone else, pausing to adjust his tie. Surprisingly, it's still around his neck tonight. Usually he takes it off and chucks it at the crowd. “A big fucking thank you for having us, Jacksonville.”

  Cope pummels his kick drum a few times and then stands up, throwing his sticks into the crowd as the confetti cannon explodes and I reach up to catch some on my palm. Instead of just confetti, I end up with one of Cope's sweaty sticks, pulling it down to stare at it with wide eyes, my palm stinging from the impact.

  I feel like I've just caught a wedding bouquet or something.

  Tiny white hearts fall all around me and cling to my hair as Michael hands his guitar off to a roadie and heads for the front of the stage, sitting down and sliding off to land hard on his brown boots.

  Sweating and shaking with adrenaline, he reaches out a hand and I take it, letting him lead me down the narrow walkway between the security fence and the raised platform of the stage as the audience screams and demands another song. I don't think I've seen a concert yet where they don't at least try.

  “That was really intense,” I say as Michael drags me into the frenetic chaos that makes up the backstage area, slipping his arm around my waist. My pink dress has a drop waist, the short skirt fluttering around my thighs as sweat drips down my legs. It is hot as hell in here. But with Michael's hard, muscular arm pressing into me, each drop of sweat is a tease, a reminder that if his fingers were to trace that same path, my body would be on fire.

  “It always is when we play that song,” Michael agrees, still trying to catch his breath as we both catch sight of Octavia, gathering the VIP badge holders into a group. She doesn't meet my eyes when her gaze pans across the room, glazing over me like I'm not even there. For a second, I wonder if I've made a mistake in trying to give her a second chance. But no. No. If she wants to shit on the opportunity I've given her, that's her choice to make. It'll dictate the true content of her character, and it won't sully mine.

  “Did Ransom write it?” I ask as Michael's violet eyes drop down to mine and my heart starts to race. He's wearing a tight purple tee that brings out the color in his eyes, and a pair of dark jeans. Simple, casual, but with his tattoos, his hair, his eyeliner, he's got the rockstar look all the way.

  “Pretty obvious, huh?” he says as the rest of the band makes their way toward Octavia and Michael puts a hand on my shoulder. “Hang out here until we're done?” he asks and I smile. After last night, I guess we're all a little paranoid.

  “Sure,” I say as he leans down to give me a quick kiss, thrilling me all the way down to my toes. My heart patters in excitement as I watch the band gather together … and notice that Copeland is missing. I look around the glimmering dark beauty backstage and catch sight of a guy in a white tee slipping out the back door toward the buses.

  It's most definitely Cope.

  I start after him, squeezing between roadies and past the crazy lead singer of the opening band, Tipped by Tyrants, and her neon pink mohawk.

  Outside, it's a little cooler but still balmy, the breeze from the ocean making the whole world seem vibrant and tropical and alive. I move across the
pavement in my pale pink Docs and flash my badge at the security guard standing at the bottom of the bus steps. She must either recognize me or remember talking to Muse about the redheaded girl on tour because she barely glances my way.

  “Cope?” I ask as I open the door and move inside.

  He's not in the living room, but I can hear the shower running.

  I pause then, playing with the charm bracelet on my arm and running my tongue across my lower lip in thought. I mean, technically Copeland Park and I are dating now … right? But then, I've only really known him for a week. That, and he never really agreed to all of this explicitly, did he? Michael did; Ransom did. Paxton and Derek did.

  Cope's been … a little off today.

  I wonder then if I've made a terrible mistake, just assuming that this arrangement is something he wanted to participate in. Maybe I completely misread him?

  Taking a deep breath, I move over to the sliding door that leads into the hall and push it aside, stepping into the darkness beyond and closing it behind me before I raise my fist to knock.

  “Cope, it's Lily,” I say, listening to the sound of running water and glancing down to see steam sneaking out from underneath the door. “Are you okay in there?”

  I wait a few moments, knocking a little louder the second time, but there's still no response.

  The door to the kitchen slides open and I find Ransom standing there with one hand tucked into the front pocket of an enormous hoodie.

  “Is Cope in there?” he asks and I shrug.

  “Copeland.” Ran lifts his fist and hits the door with a surprising amount of strength, rattling it in its frame. “Hey, man, you have to show up to all the VIP shit. If I have to suffer through that crap, so do you.”

  He waits for a moment and we exchange looks, my heart thundering in my chest.