Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (19 page)

“T
his place is a pigsty. Dammit get the clothes outta the floor!” Gage never stopped wiping down the bathroom as he yelled from it into the main area of the bus.

Landon, his least favorite of the Rattler clan yelled back, his voice carrying over the explosions of the game onscreen. “Why? It’s that chick’s job. Tomorrow’s Monday. She’ll clean.”

How these Neanderthals had managed to secure travel options for a shared personal assistant slash maid slash whore—yeah she fucked them too—he had no idea. This tour wasn’t the size of Fire Flight’s last few, and they’d only had room for essential crew—managers, tech, and their one luxury had been a chef. Damn but a chef was a wet dream now after weeks of fast food and roach coach catering.

“She shouldn’t have to pick your shit up off every surface before cleaning it.” Gage tossed the scummy paper towels he’d been cleaning with into the wastebasket and washed his hands. Stepping into the galley, he grabbed a few clean squares to dry with.

“Wait!” Landon threw the game controller aside the moment the game ended. And he had the attention of the rest of the band when he dramatically jumped to his feet. “I get what’s going on. This bitch arriving today… She’s the one in your video… The famous chick…”

“Scarlette Conterra.” One of the other guys supplied.

“Yeah. Her! The sister or something he banged! I just put that together.”

As they mumbled on, he tuned them out for their own protection. He was managing his anger better these days. These guys still being alive was a testament of that fact.

The bus was currently parked at the venue where they would be playing a show in approximately eight hours. They had checked out of the hotel, had lunch, and were now killing time. He was excited that Scarlette would be with them once they began rolling again. However, he was not looking forward to sleeping on the road, and he wondered how she was going to handle it. That was another thing different about this tour. Hotel nights only happened a couple of times a week. With Fire Flight, they’d slept in a comfortable bed at least five nights out of seven.

Rattler was a talented band, but instead of being happy to be a part of it, these inconveniences made it easy to feel sorry for himself for being downgraded from a headlining band to a supporting band.

“…The chick from the video? She’s the one joining the tour?”

The inquiry sounded far too eager. He went to the back room for his shoes with the intention of getting away from this conversation before he went off on them.

“…Yeah. To babysit Landon’s ass.”

“Happy to let her babysit my
ass
…”

Okay. That was fuckin’ it. He jerked at his shoestrings and imagined how purple Landon’s face would be while being choked in about ten seconds. The rap on the door had him pulling his phone from his pocket to check the time. Yep. It could be Scarlette already if she was running slightly early. Jumping to his feet, he sprinted down the narrow aisle between the bunks ready to save her from the obnoxious men of Rattler when she entered.

“Damn… You lied, Landon. Wrong girl…” Disappointment dripped from their bassist’s words just as not Scarlette, but Allison ascended the stairs and came into view.

Her gaze was unsure as it bounced around the bus interior, skittering from one of his bandmates to the next. But when her thickly charcoal lined eyes landed on his face, she grinned, held her arms wide, and hurled herself at him. “Surprise!”

Ahh fuck.

“Yeah. Surprise is right…” Ignoring the scrutiny of his bandmates, he held still for her kiss of greeting and then gently set her away. “C’mon. Let’s get outta here.” He grabbed his pass and they debarked the bus. It was always a relief to close the door, even temporarily from the other guys. Outside was a hive of activity, and he scanned the area for a place to speak in private. “How’d you get back here, anyway?” She was the only person in the vicinity without a laminated card attached to a lanyard swinging with each step.

“How do you think?” Pushing her shoulders back, she proudly gave her titties a shake.

“Right.” Reaching out, he tugged her to a stop behind one of the line haulers without a hive of activity around it. Watching the handoff of a tour case to a pusher, he pondered his next words. “Alli, you should’ve texted or called. You can’t just show up like this. In fact, we agreed to only a couple of shows.”

“I miss you though.”

And I miss you
. He stopped the sweet-talking lie right before it left his lips. Obviously, he needed to be firmer—probably even a dick, to keep her at a bearable distance. “Then call me. Like I said. Don’t drop in. This is a tour, not a party.”

“I do call you. And you don’t call back.”

“Because I’m busy. I’m working. This is work. I’m either doing a show or sleeping.”
Or cleaning the blasted bus!

“The pics you’re posting look like you’re partying.” Her perfectly outlined lips mashed together.

Seeing the spark of accusation in her eyes and knowing the pictures she spoke of, he knew she was doing an admirable job of holding back a barrage of bitter words. Still, he deliberately antagonized her. “I don’t have time for this. For you. Here. Now.”

Was that a sheen of tears?
Okay, now he felt shitty.
But that was the problem, wasn’t it?
Assholes didn’t care when they made a pretty girl cry. They were pricks and eventually the girls got tired of being treated like shit and left. And that’s what he needed. Allison gone.

“I won’t get in the way. I’ll leave in the morning.”

“Damn it! Why are you making this so hard? “You need to leave. Not tomorrow. Now.”

“Are you cheating on me? Is there someone else in there?” Turning her chin toward the bus, she brought a hand up to wipe at her eyes.

“How could I be cheating? We talked about when I’m on the road. Right?” She nodded, and again he snapped his emotionless shield in place and forced ugly words out. “What happens on tour isn’t any of your business.”

“And I’m supposed to just sit back in L.A. alone while you stick your dick in every pussy you see? That’s bullshit.”

Yeah. It is. Don’t take that shit. Tell the asshole loser musician it’s over!
“It’s not bullshit. It’s how this arrangement works. I do what I want. And you better not fuck around.”

“I hate you.”

He didn’t care, and suddenly it bothered him that he didn’t. That he’d had sex with and slept with this woman exclusively for more than a few months now, and he’d developed no feelings for her. He wasn’t a monster though. The stricken gleam in her eyes was almost his undoing. She’d put up with him—his new kinks, his seclusion in his studio, and his moods. On her part, she was more than everything a girlfriend should be. For a second, he pitied her ever meeting him. Instead of reaching to comfort her, he rested a hand on the trailer just to the side of her head and leaned in. “If you don’t like it, pack your shit and leave. There’s another one just like you in line.”

“I just might!” She shoved at him enough to maneuver away from the solid wall of the bus and spoke to his back.

Do it. Have some self-respect, woman
. Again, he resisted the urge to grab her in a hug and admit he was full of shit. But he’d already tried to handle the breakup straightforward with the old ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ speech before heading out on tour. He’d all but told her he was too hung up on someone else to continue the relationship. To drive home the point, he’d told her he didn’t want to be tied down while on tour. Instead of parting ways, she’d insisted they have an open relationship. Truthfully, he’d thought the few selfies of him and inebriated women he had posted on Instagram would enrage her enough to send her packing before the tour leg was over. But it had backfired. Instead, she was here.

Finally, he turned. Only seconds had passed, but they’d felt enough like minutes that he was surprised to see her still standing only a few feet away. The wind was ruffling her hair and drying the wet trails on her cheeks. She was staring just beyond him, and he followed her gaze to the space between the front bumper of this truck and the back one in front of it.

Ah fuck
. Scarlette.

The familiar sun-kissed, caramel colored tresses whipping around with the breeze had him wishing a sinkhole beneath the asphalt would manifest and swallow him whole.

Maybe she hadn’t heard anything.

But her famous eyes were giant round orbs, and her lips were parted in shock. The moment their gazes locked, she spun around, stumbled, caught her balance, and jogged toward the opposite side of this caravan.

Yeah. She’d heard enough.

Instinct had him swaying her way, prepared to run after her.

Chivalry had him closing the distance between him and Allison instead.

“That’s her. The one you were talking about.” Allison’s quiet observation was matter-of-fact and sad-sounding. “The one you can’t let go.”

“Yeah.” He stuck with honesty, unable to fabricate more lies and unsure if he did lie what the reason would be. To protect himself or to protect her? “That’s her.” When she was quiet, he studied the myriad of expressions crossing her face. “You ever have one of those?”

“Yeah. I do.”

God. He hoped she wasn’t talking about him and averted his eyes from her intent expression.

“It’s not you.” She read him well, and in self-defense, he made more of an effort at blanking his face.

She grilled him about how long Scarlette had been on tour while he counted Benjamins from his billfold. It took less than ten minutes with the phone travel app he habitually used to make sure she had a flight booked back to L.A. and a ride to a hotel inside the airport metropolis. Allison came from money and had flown in on an open-ended roundtrip ticket. So he paid for her room and the return ticket difference since she hadn’t stayed a week as were the travel terms.

A week
. He shuddered at the near miss and again felt horrible that after knowing her as intimately as he did, he couldn’t bear her company in close quarters for even a few days—much less seven.

Scar, on the other hand, was the bright star in the dark tour night. He knew her presence on the cramped bus and unending hotel rooms would lift his sprits and keep him sane.

If she wasn’t also on her way back to L.A.

He was counting on her dependability and hard work ethics to have kept her from bolting altogether.

After checking the time on his phone, he pocketed it while looking around. Five hours before sound check. Had Scar gone into the bus? He eyed it and the perimeter around it.

“Question.” Landon was puffing on a joint as he emerged from the space between the rear of their bus and the front of the other bus in their entourage. “How many women are you bringing along? And will they be up for shares?”

Ignoring the insolent inquiry, Gage nodded to the bus. “She in there?”

“Stepsister babe? No. Last I saw, she was headed in there.” In the same manner, Landon tipped his head to the coliseum.

Cursing under his breath when faced with the rat’s maze of hallways, Gage closed his eyes for a second and oriented by instinct. This was his first gander inside. He hadn’t gone along earlier with the rest of his band to check out their quarters for tonight. Most of these places were close to the same in layout. The tour cases were currently being wheeled down a wide hallway. While he knew the smaller passage jutting off at the mouth of the larger was likely the one leading to the dressing and hospitality rooms, he knew Scarlette didn’t have the same experience with these types of venues. So, she would likely veer away from the ant line of activity. Heading away from the ramp and up a small stairway, he continued with his intuition.

Sure enough, just as he rounded a corner, he almost ran headlong into her. “There you are.”

“Here I am.” Her breezy smile was so phony it appeared clownish, and she slid her fingers nonchalantly into her front pockets.

“Your flight was okay?”

“Mmh hmm. Thanks for asking.”

An awkward silence fell between them as they walked, and then at the same time, they spoke.

“About that shit you saw…”

“I’m sorry.” Her aloof delivery belied the contrite words. “They told me you were out there somewhere, but didn’t tell me you weren’t alone.”

Of course. His Rattler buddies. The guys had probably all lined up at the window hoping to watch the sparks fly. He’d been smart enough to walk Allison a ways down the line of vehicles to avoid prying eyes. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been wise enough to predict Scarlette would arrive in the fifteen minutes it would take to deal with Allison.

“It’s not what it looked like.” He all but stopped, hoping she would too, but she kept up a brisk pace, and he was forced to fall back into step.

Tossing her head, she flipped a long tress of her hair from one shoulder to spill with the rest down her back. “I don’t care what it was. It’s not my business.”

The blasé answer maddened him. Didn’t she care if he was an asshole? She’d been plenty disappointed in him a year ago when she’d first arrived at his door. And her disappointment, although infuriating at times and discomfiting at other times, had been oddly reassuring. He realized that now. She hadn’t been condescending—she’d cared. Didn’t she still? “It is though, you know. Your business.”