Sexy Lies and Rock & Roll (9 page)

But she lifts her chin in the air and asks in a frustrated voice, “What’s it going to be, Evan? I’m really tired and would like to get some sleep.”

With a sigh, I push my fingers through my hair and, staring straight at Emma, I say, “Sorry gang… you heard the lady of the bus. There’s not going to be a party here.”

Dilana is the first to respond by spinning on her heel and careening back down the steps as she says, “Strip poker commencing in the other bus. Come on, dudes.”

Cap pushes up off the floor with amazing dexterity, but a little too fast as he falls onto the couch right beside Jimmy. But then he pops right back up and gives a little bow toward Emma. “Sorry for waking you up.”

He turns and slaps Jimmy upside the head. “Come on, man… Dilana might be getting naked right this very moment.”

Both men stagger their way out of the bus, leaving Emma and me standing on opposite ends looking at each other.

“I’m really sorry that—”

“Sirius… come,” Emma says sternly and the puppy jumps up and runs to her. Without another word, she turns her back on me and goes back into the bedroom, shutting it quietly behind them.

I stare at her door for a few minutes, still feeling slightly guilty but also acknowledging the little sting of rejection. So she doesn’t want to hang with us…

Fine.

My new band seems like they’re a ton of fun, and this is a night to celebrate. Our last night of freedom before the tour starts, and I’m not nearly drunk enough to do that justice.

Grabbing a six-pack of beer from the fridge, I don’t give Emma another thought as I head out to join my musicians.

Emma

There comes a time in life

It’s do or die

Truth or lie

Depending on the time of day

Don’t let it pass you by.

I
lean to
the side, let my body fall forward, and bang my head lightly on the desk beside the laptop.

Seriously?

He has to sing in the shower with his smooth, rich voice that’s pretty much sex for the ears? And knowing he wrote the song and the music to it, and that he’ll be singing it on stage tonight to thousands of adoring women who would want to—

Ugh.

I’m having eargasms listening and can’t concentrate on my work. This annoys me even more than I already am with him after his drunken stunt last night. Coming onto the bus and bringing other people, all drunk, loud, and obnoxious. Waking me up from a sound sleep, and then having the gall to think I’d be flattered they wanted me to party with them.

Just no.

No.

No.

No.

Listen… I’m not a teetotaler by any means. In college, I went to my share of parties, although truth be told, I didn’t go to a lot. I had my share of beer and got buzzed. Mostly, I was always with my college sweetheart, Chris, who I met my freshman year at NC State but both of us were pretty serious about our studies. We never went overboard with the drinking and most certainly never did drugs, mostly because we had our sights set on graduate school—med school for him and law school for me. That was just more important to us.

These days, I’ll enjoy a nice glass of wine with dinner.

Maybe two.

But to drink until my words are slurring and I’m stumbling all over like Evan and his band of heathens last night?

It’s just not my thing.

My hand reaches down to touch Sirius, who’s taken to lying at my feet under the small desk, but I absently remember he’s out for a walk with Red. Those two have hit it off, and Red claims he’s got to lose a little weight to get his blood pressure under control or, in his words, “The missus will not be a happy woman if I die.” So he’s started getting Sirius off the bus and walking as much as possible.

The water shuts off in the tiny bathroom that sits no more than four feet from my desk, although Evan continues to sing. I can imagine him in there, steam all swirling around while he dries off his body that… that… is just unlike anything I’ve ever been privy to before. All sleek toned muscles and just beyond my craziest of fantasies… nipple rings.

He has rings through his nipples, and apparently it doesn’t hurt when he tugs on them as I observed the day before yesterday.

Just as I’d observed his very clear, very long, and very hard erection when he stood up from the couch.

Ugh.

Why me?

I have no clue if he had the same… um… affliction this morning as I refused to look at him when I heard him stirring on the couch. I’d been up for a good three hours, had already showered, walked Sirius, and fed us by the time he woke up. Even though he didn’t give me the same courtesy last night, I made sure I was very quiet this morning as I moved around the bus. Although, he probably didn’t need it. I’m pretty sure he was passed out and not just sleeping.

The bathroom door opens. I raise my head up quickly from the desk and put my hands on the laptop, blindly typing on what’s nothing more than a search engine I’d opened so I would look productive.

“Am I going to get the silent treatment all day?” I hear Evan say from the doorway and I allow my gaze to slide over to him.

And merciful Jesus… Evan with damp skin and a towel wrapped around his hips, so low I see that “V” of muscle pointing downward, should be outlawed. It’s making me feel muddled, and I can’t continue struggling against this. It’s just not fair.

“It’s the silent treatment then,” he concludes as he rubs his fingers through his wet hair, and making said conclusion because I still haven’t said anything. “Apparently, you’re still pissed about last night.”

I clear my throat. “I’m not giving you the silent treatment. I was just focused on my work.”

Evan leans his body to the right and looks at my laptop screen. My cheeks flush red as he smirks, because all he sees is a search field with a garbled mess of letters that I had frantically typed when the bathroom door opened.

“Well, carry on then,” he says with a slight bow and a sarcastic tone before heading back into the bedroom. It’s where Evan’s clothes are stored and where he’s thankfully been changing, so I’m not exposed to any more of his nakedness than necessary.

Before the bedroom door closes behind him, my cell phone rings. A quick glance down shows it’s my dad calling.

I answer with a forced smile. “Hey, Dad. How are you?”

“I’m good,” he says cheerfully. “But more importantly, how are you?”

My eyes cut to the bedroom door and I sigh, “I’m fine. Busy.”

“You don’t sound fine,” he observes.

Another sigh. “It’s just a little hard getting used to living on a bus and sharing such a small space.”

With a small chuckle, my dad teases me. “You mean sharing such a small space with a famous and good-looking rocker.”

Yeah, something like that.

I change the subject though. “Did you get the email I sent last night?”

“I did,” he says, and his tone changes to business. I’d sent him my proposed response to the copyright lawsuit and wanted to make sure I didn’t miss anything. “It looks really good. I made some minor changes, and I’m sending back to you as soon as we hang up.”

“So I’m okay to file it?” I ask, just to be sure. I’d done my research, felt confident in the law, and I knew my legal writing skills were sharp. But still… I’m in foreign territory and my confidence isn’t at its best.

“You are,” he says confidently, and I can feel my shoulders straighten slightly from the praise. “Look over the changes I made, and then send it back to me. We’ll get it filed from this end so you don’t have to try to mail it while you’re on the road.”

“Okay. Thanks, Dad,” I say, for the first time actually feeling like I can do good work for Evan.

The bedroom door opens and Evan walks out wearing a pair of jeans and nothing else. They hang low the way the towel did, that “V” practically pulsing like a neon light. I refuse to look down, so I cut my eyes quickly back to my laptop.

“I’ve got to go,” I tell my dad and then tack on, “I love you. Talk soon.”

“Love you too, kiddo,” he says, all dad-like, and we disconnect.

“Secret lover?” Evan asks as he heads to the small kitchen right in front of my desk to make some coffee.

“Pardon?” I ask, shocked over the word “lover” coming out of his mouth. He said it with a low, husky tone just laced with thick innuendo.

Evan nods to my cell phone still clutched in my hand. “Was that your lover on the phone?”

Again, my face turns hot, like it seems to do almost every time Evan talks to me, and part of me thinks he does this on purpose. In fact, I’m pretty sure he does it on purpose, and that’s not acceptable.

So I try to turn the tables on him, completely ignoring his question to me. “I’m kind of waiting on you to apologize for last night, to assure me it won’t happen again.”

Evan pushes a K-cup into the Keurig, shuts the top, and hits the brew button before turning to me. “If you’re waiting for me to apologize, you can keep waiting.”

I gasp over his rudeness, although his voice doesn’t seem mean or antagonistic.

Before I can even respond, he adds on, “Because I apologized to you last night. I also would have assured you that it wouldn’t happen again, but you walked away from me back into the bedroom, which of course prevented me from saying that.”

My shoulders sag back into the original position they were in before my dad called. “You’re right,” I mumble as I look at the laptop. “I remember that.”

“Emma?” Evan says in a low voice that sounds sympathetic.

I look back up at him.

“I’m sorry. I’ll respect your space from now on, and no partying on this bus. I promise.”

“Okay,” I say meekly. “Thank you for that.”

“Sure,” is all he says, and then pulls his coffee cup from the Keurig and takes a small sip.

“So did you stay out late partying?” I can’t help but ask. He apparently came in very quietly as I didn’t hear a thing after I fell back asleep. Still, I will admit my mind has wandered, wondering what he and those other people did after they left. I know that woman with them wanted to play strip poker and the thought of Evan getting naked with her makes me feel unsettled for some weird reason.

“Maybe another hour,” he says casually, but doesn’t elaborate, instead walking over to the couch where he pushes his blanket to the side and sits down gingerly so as not to spill his coffee.

Hmm. You could do a lot in an hour when you were inebriated.

Turning back to the laptop, I exit from the browser and pull up the first record label contract that Evan had emailed to me. My goal today is to read through all three of the offers made to him, and take copious notes so I can compare them all against one another.

“Do you want to come to the show tonight?” Evan asks casually.

A tiny jolt of surprised pleasure pulses within me, but I push it down hard. He’s just being polite, nothing more.

“No thanks,” I tell him as I lean closer to the laptop screen and focus on the first line of the contract. “It’s just not my thing.”

“Concerts aren’t your thing?” he asks conversationally.

I push back into my chair and swivel it halfway to face him. “Well, yeah… I mean, I’ve gone to concerts with friends before, but it would be weird sitting out there watching by myself.”

“You can watch from backstage if you want,” he offers, and then takes another sip of coffee, looking at me over the rim of the cup with those swirling, magnetic hazel eyes that are only enhanced by dark, thick lashes to the point—

I give my head a hard shake to clear it, and turn back to the laptop as I hedge, “I’ll think about it.”

There’s a knock on the bus door, and Evan gets up to see who the visitor is. With a push to a button by the driver’s seat, the doors open with a hiss, and I hear Evan say, “What’s up, man?”

“Just checking in,” I hear in response.

I swivel my chair around to face the front of the bus. Evan is walking back in, followed by a guy who looks to be roughly Evan’s age, maybe a few years older. I know from reading his biography that Evan’s twenty-seven and this guy could be late twenties, early thirties. He’s got cropped, sandy-blond hair and ice-blue eyes that look at me over Evan’s shoulder.

“Want some coffee?” Evan asks over his shoulder.

“I’m good,” the guy responds.

Evan sits back down on the couch. With his empty hand, he waves toward me. “Tyler Hannity… this is Emma Peterson.”

Tyler moves past Evan and extends his hand out to me. I stand from my chair and offer my hand back to him. He gives me a brisk shake and says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Evan’s manager.”

“Nice to meet you too,” I say.

When we release hands, Tyler takes a few steps back, plops down in one of the swivel chairs, and addresses Evan. “They’ll be ready for a sound check and for you to walk the stage around three PM. I’ve got dinner being delivered to you around six. You’ll need to be over in the dressing room by at least eight.”

“Got it,” Evan says, and even though his voice is firm and sure, I don’t miss the hard swallow after. I imagine he’s got to be nervous.

Tyler then turns to me. “Emma… we’ve set up a small press gathering at seven-thirty. Evan will do most of the talking, but any questions about Keith’s death or the copyright lawsuit will be taken by you.”

“By me?” I squeak, even though I knew this was part of the deal. I was to act as a publicist for Evan as well, particularly regarding any sticky questions that could impact him legally.

Tyler doesn’t answer me but turns to Evan. “Is she qualified to talk to the press?”

“Yup,” is all Evan says in response, and that does nothing to boost my confidence.

Tyler just stares at Evan a moment, trying to ascertain how truthful he’s being about my abilities, but then he turns back to me. “Have you gone over the label contracts yet?”

I shake my head. “I’m starting that today. I’ve been working on responding to the copyright suit.”

“My preference is the Phoenix deal,” Tyler says in a clipped voice. “They give him the best royalty rate.”

“It’s about more than money,” Evan says to Tyler.

“But the money is an important aspect,” Tyler counters as his gaze swings back to Evan. “Stop letting your experience with
Kickback
interfere with your current decision making.”