"YOU MIGHT WANNA slow down on the Captain Crunch," I suggested to Sky the next morning as she polished off her third bowl. "That stuff will take the flesh off of the roof of your mouth if you eat too much of it."
"You sound just like Lucky," she grumbled and continued dipping her plastic spoon into orange goo that used to be milk.
"How about some fruit instead?" I placed the apple and grapes I had sliced onto a paper plate in front of her and returned to the sink to wash my hands, trying to ignore the unpleasant smell that came from the faucet and undrinkable water that flowed from it. I also tried to ignore the way just the mention of her brother's name made me hyper-alert. I had been listening for him all morning wondering when he might wake and worrying how things would be between us.
"What's the Wi-Fi password?" Marsha grumbled throwing her phone on the table near the fruit. "I'm out of data."
"Lucky15," the band manager mumbled from his corner seat on the banquette bench beside Sky.
"Thanks," she said to him while giving me a disbelieving look that he didn't notice.
I shrugged, not exactly feeling the love from him, either. He'd sat there since the bus had pulled into a large commercial parking lot downtown with his fingers sprinting over the keys and his lenses reflecting the data from his screen leaving me on my own me to clean up the big mess in the front lounge. It seemed that while I had tossed and turned in my coffin listening to Lucky play his guitar, he had also done a lot of drinking. Spiced rum and whiskey. Given the number of solo cups and the full ash trays, I suspected he had plenty of company. No wonder it had been so deserted in the bunk area after Marsha had climbed in with me and shut the curtain.
"Shit," Marsha muttered as I slid in beside her on the bench and grabbed an apple wedge.
"What's wrong?" I glanced at the computer screen that seemed to be the source of her angst.
"Nothing." She snapped her laptop closed, her brow furrowing like it had last night.
"It isn’t nothing if it’s bothering you." I covered her hand with my own. "Is it the RFC stuff? Work? Family? What?" I suspected it involved me since she had closed her computer before I could get a peek. "Don’t tell me JGB's harassing you?"
She had put up the stuff we had agreed upon for RFC fuck number two last night. The video montage cast the rap rocker in a mostly unfavorable light using unflattering camera angles and inspired editing though I had rated him a pass and downplayed the truth of the encounter. Beyond that I wanted to forget about it and suspected he did as well given the ass kicking he had received and the behavior that had earned it.
"It’s not that. It's just that we might have to use your credit card to get my car repaired."
"Is yours still locked?"
"Um, yeah." She stared at the table and worried her lip. "My bank account is too low for a wire transfer. My dad said no to a loan and you know my brothers don't have a lot of extra cash."
"It's ok. We'll figure it out. How much is the repair?"
"Seven hundred bucks." She lifted her gaze.
"Alright." I blew out breath. "I can swing that. But it will put me near my limit, so no fancy seafood dinners in Boston." I tried to inject levity into my tone, but her expression remained troubled. I wondered if she was just angry at her dad for turning her down or if her financial troubles ran deeper than she was letting on.
"I'll pay you back, Raven." She put her hand on my arm. "Every cent."
"I know you will, Mars. We're friends. You give me the money when you can. Don't sweat it." I meant every word, but my stomach churned as I ran a quick calculation of my own financial state. No job. The couple of months’ rent I’d saved as a cushion wouldn’t give me much leeway. I'd have to take whatever job I could get fast when I got back to Texas. My dreams were sinking fast. However, the offer from WMO would go a long way toward righting my financial ship. As much as I loved my friend and wanted to stick to my guns about her being part of the package I might have to let that go.
"I don't feel so good." Sky complained, and I certainly commiserated as she pushed the plate of fruit away. I didn't feel like eating anything, either.
"I'm not surprised." I shook my head at her. "You ate over half of a box of that sugary stuff."
"You let her eat half a box, you mean." I glanced up as Lucky entered the lounge, sunglasses shielding his eyes, expression indeterminable. Hair dripping from the shower, rivulets slipped down the slopes of his wide shoulders, cascaded over his pecs, across the flat planes of his abdomen and soaked into the waistband of the jeans he was only just buttoning.
So incredibly sexy.
Why hadn't I just fucked him before things got complicated?
Oh yeah, Sky.
Things had always been complicated, from the very beginning.
"I tried to encourage her to eat something healthier." My lips flattened. I didn't appreciate the accusation.
"With Sky you have to be very literal. Do or don't. Suggestions and encouragement aren’t as effective." His shaded gaze rested on me several long beats.
"I'm sorry. I didn't know." Apparently, I was on the outs with him since I hadn't been the easy lay he had anticipated.
"My head hurts like a son of a bitch this morning," he complained to no one in particular. "Does anyone know where the aspirin is?"
"Second shelf above the sink on the right," I muttered.
He popped open the door and grabbed the bottle but stood in front of the open cabinet for a long moment. "Who the bloody hell organized all the medicine alphabetically?"
"Um, me," I confessed. I'd had plenty of nervous energy and not a lot of sleep. I was a sucker for an acoustic guitar and the guy who had played it most of the night. It wasn't just being in that coffin like bunk that had kept me awake. His soulful strumming had me wondering if those fingers of his were as talented as his tongue. So yeah. I had done some, ok...a lot of organizing along with the cleaning.
"You've got the interview with Boston Magazine this morning," the manager informed Lucky, the tick-tick-tick of his sprinting fingers slowing to a trot.
"I know. I saw the daily itinerary sheet you printed and taped to the fridge."
"You planning on dressing like that?"
"Yeah, mate. This is me. Lucky Spencer from the lovely county of Devon. Take me or leave me. You knew how it was going to be when you signed with me." The words were directed at the manager, but the message was for me. Someone had blabbed. Rocky, probably. Lucky was letting me know that anything between us would be on his terms. He would be in charge. But a meaningless hookup with him wouldn't work for me anymore. "But what do you think creative director?" Lucky's gaze moved to his sister and the previous steel in his voice melted. "Can you do anything to improve me, dearest?"
"Yes." Sky's expression brightened. "I'll get my kit." She scooted out of the booth and practically flew down the aisle.
"Your creative director, huh?" I lifted a brow. "Clever way to have the record label subsidize a family member on the tour."
"She earns every farthing,” he bristled. “She has her cosmetology certification. She does hair, makeup and stage clothing for the band."
Sudden, sharp raps on a window near the front of the bus made me jump. Plus, the freeze treatment from the frontman had put me on edge. "Mr. Turner," a feminine voice penetrated through the closed bus door. "It's Amanda Post from Boston Magazine."
"That would be her," the manager explained, his gaze lifting. He had brown eyes. Who knew? A mystery solved. Now if only I could remember his name. "Miss Winters, you might want to get dressed." He pinned me with a judgmental look. "Or assumptions might be made about you that will likely go public. Given your rep I'm not sure that would bother you. It's your call."
In the end, it really wasn't my choice. Amanda-I'll take-you-on-any- terms-Post made the call for me. No way was I going to slink into the back and leave her alone with Lucky.
"So..." She pursed her glossed lips for the umpteenth time, tapping them with a pencil that wasn't even sharpened, and leaned back into the arm Lucky had smoothly draped around her thin shoulders at the beginning of the interview. "Let's go back to the origins of the band." She angled her chin coquettishly. "You and the bassist are the original members?"
"Yeah love. Alec and I grew up in the same town. We went to uni together in London. I wanted to be a dancer. He thought he might do something involving the cinema. But we both got bored. We started having some success playing in the clubs and eventually met Cody Charles, our wickedly talented guitarist, and Rocky Walsh, our power house drummer.
"They had split off from another band."
"You did your homework." He touched her shoulder approvingly, trailing his first finger along the slope of skin her open top revealed. The lion's face on his ring caught the light. It seemed to wink at me, taunting me. You turned me down it seemed to say. Watch how easy it is for me to replace you. "We had instant chemistry," he continued. "We share a lot of the same musical influences. The Stones. Queen. Oasis. The Killers. We lived in a house together two years. Wrote a slew of songs, stuff we're touring on now. The rest is history and what not." He turned his head just so, looking down at her through his lashes. Even with his eyes visibly red rimmed, he was hot. Her lips parted. Her skin blushed. I felt warm myself sitting at the banquette a couple of feet away.
"Yet, it wasn't quite that easy." She adjusted her sweater, releasing another button to reveal more cleavage and the bra that was now mostly exposed.
Lucky's gaze followed her movements. My stomach burned. I wanted to look away, but I couldn't. She wasn't going to say no to him. She was practically undressing for him.
"No, it wasn't. We've had our struggles."
"You switched record labels early on."
He nodded.
"Because of a girl." She stuck her tits out.
"Because of personal disagreements," he corrected, his jaw tight.
"You've been quoted as saying that your girlfriend at that time slept with the bassist they brought in to replace Alec."
"That's correct." He slid his arm out from behind her, his gaze meeting mine for a brief moment. He was uncomfortable with me knowing this. That he had been burned, too. I wondered who she was. Had he loved her? Did he still love her? That thought disturbed me more than watching him flirt with Amanda.
"I trusted the wrong people. I made some mistakes that nearly cost me my best mate and my band. “Fortunately," he gave her the half smile, "‘Lessons in Love’ and our current album have done very well. We might still be a little upside down with our current label, so we can’t stop the tour just yet, but we have generated enough revenue to buy our way out of our first contract. We’re thrilled to be with Zenith Productions. Charles Morris and the rest of the management really understand us. They know the Dragons stick to our guns. Our sound, our way, no compromises."
I HAD ZONED out during the rest of the interview. Amanda had gushed about the Dragon's sound. Lucky had mentioned that their resistance to current trends might have been the reason several other labels had passed on them. Their throwback to the early Rolling Stones sound hadn't been deemed radio worthy. But those things weren't the revelation that the former girlfriend had been.
"Hey," Marsha touched my arm softly. "You think you might want to let go of that apple slice now. It's kind of squished." I drug my gaze away from where Lucky leaned into the wall near the bus entrance, his arm slung low over Amanda's blonde head, saying goodbye or more likely making arrangements to see her later.
"Shit." I released the brown speckled wedge that I had mangled in my distress. I crossed to the sink and tossed it aside along with all the rest of the abandoned fruit. Feeling ridiculously emotional and forgotten myself, I slammed the trash cabinet overzealously.
"You doing alright, Angel?"
Fuck.
"Why wouldn't I be?" I spun around, pasted on a smile and cranked my neck back so I could look up at his face. He was so tall being this close to him required adjustments. I found my body wanting to sway toward him. For the moment, I resisted.
"You seem angry."
"Not even. I'm great. Why would I be angry?"
He touched my cheek with the same finger he had touched the reporter. A soft gentle stroking back and forth motion over the round of my cheek while he held me spellbound by staring deeply into my eyes. I should have glanced away. My gaze held things I didn't want him to see. But I wanted, I craved, his touch enough to forgo wiser choices.
"You look tired."
"You kept me up all night with your playing."
"Was that all it was?"
I nodded.
"Little liar."
WHERE DO THE ball caps usually go?" I tried to inject real happiness into the smile I gave Sky as we worked on setting up the Dragon’s merch table in the Orpheum Theatre lobby together. I failed, too unsettled, too tired, too everything after my most recent interaction with her brother.
"On the pegs, silly." The genuine grin she gave me held no artifice. "High price to low." She started to climb the step ladder to arrange the hats herself, but she suddenly slumped to one side. I crossed to her quickly, disturbed by her pallor and the dots of perspiration on her brow.
"Hey, are you alright?" I put the back of my hand to her forehead. She wasn’t feverish, but her skin felt clammy.
"Yes. I’m ok." She straightened. "I just got a little dizzy. It happens sometimes." She shrugged a delicate shoulder.
"That's not good, Sky." I frowned remembering the box full of Maltesers she had eaten for lunch. "You should let me get you a sandwich from one of the vendors...” I trailed off, preparing a more structured response as I had been instructed by her brother. "I’m going to get you a sandwich from one of the vendors. You will eat it. You need protein in your diet. You're probably hypoglycemic."
She gave me a puzzled look. I forgot that everyone wasn't as attuned to blood sugar management as I was because of my mother's diabetes. I explained in simple terms about sugar highs and sugar crashes that made you feel weak and dizzy. Sky nodded and asked thoughtful questions that made me wonder if she was really as impaired as her brother presumed. After Lucky and the rest of the crew had taken off to do...whatever, Sky and I had spent a lot of time together. She was as sweet as I had initially assumed and talented as well. She had done my hair and my makeup using one of several kits. The one that held makeup was a huge, multi-drawered and glittered carrying case that contained all the tools you would imagine a professional makeup artist might need.
"Hey." Marsha skipped in as light on her fashionably heeled feet as Sky was in the plain tennis shoes she preferred.
"What's got you all chipper and dewy faced like you just got laid?" I grumbled.
"The Welshman. He is indeed well-endowed. I'm sorry about your lack of sexual fulfillment, but not overly. You and I both know if you said the word Lucky would see to it that you remembered him with every single stride."
Warmth heated my cheeks. She was right. He had offered, though a bit more eloquently. Kisses leading to more and such. I had discovered through the latter part of the interview that it was indeed him, as I suspected, who was the chief lyricist in the group. A guy didn't kiss like him if he was all technique and no imagination. "So." I pretended it didn't matter, that everything I learned about the frontman didn’t make the situation more undeniably convoluted. “Where are the guys?" Where was Lucky I meant, and is he alone, or is he with the reporter, or on to someone new?
"Sound check," she explained, giving me a funny look. "You saw the schedule. They're on stage now. I'll help Sky if you want so you can take a peek before the actual show."
"Alright." I removed the apron from my waist. "I'll pick up some food, too. I won’t be long." I crossed the elegant mezzanine and ducked through a door and started down the dark corridor between the upper rows of seats. My heart hammered fast. I felt a desperate urge to see him. It seemed like it had been days and not just hours since the last time his eyes had been on mine.
My steps slowed when I heard his voice. I pretended the timbre of it echoing off the domed ceiling didn’t make me wet, didn’t make me ache, didn’t make me regret turning him away.
Hand to my chest, I rubbed at that spot that seemed to be attuned to him, but the pull wouldn’t go away. Center stage at the historic Orpheum Theatre suited him. Feet planted, I watched him from the shadows the balcony over my head provided. A musical visionary. A rock ‘n’ roll prophet. Acoustic strapped to his shoulder, his right brow dipped in what I was coming to realize was his serious mode, he explained his latest lyrical revelation to his acolytes. He stretched his corded arms wide. He played a couple of chords to demonstrate. He directed them patiently until they began to play the piece to his satisfaction. Eventually even the sound guy received his nod of approval.
"Thanks, mates." He stepped backward, bending to tape down his own guitar cord. "That was great."
Still unnoticed, I sank deeper into my shadowed position as he continued to pluck at the guitar strapped to his shoulder.
"You sure about introducing a new song tonight?" Alec asked, every hair in place as he rested a lean hip against the stool beside Lucky's.
"We need to test it. If we can’t write new material on the road and keep things fresh, then we're not much of a band, eh?"
"Sure. But maybe you need to consider making adjustments in other areas, too. Personally, I mean. Your plan to be cool and indifferent with Raven is ill-advised."
"Amp, don’t go there," Lucky growled, raking a fistful of hair back. "I'm not talking about her. Now is not the time. We’re not on the coach. There are too many ears out here. Too many cell video cameras. Too many opportunities for whatever I say or do to end up on that YouTube channel of hers. You know what she’s really all about. ”
“No, I don’t. And you don’t, either. She seems more misguided than anything and you’re more twisted up about her than I’ve ever seen you.”
“I said enough stupid shit like that last night on account of the rum." Lucky stepped away from his friend, staring out at the seats right at the spot where I was hiding as if he knew I was there. “But I refuse to be played again.”