Nikki

Men.

They’re beyond frustrating. I’ve been stewing beside Tulsa for twenty minutes. Debating whether I’m right or wrong. Was I rude?

The bottom line is he’s right about sex and women. If it’s consensual and both people walk away satisfied, why should I care who or how many women he’s slept with? Damn it. I hate to admit it, but I need to be the one who smooths things over. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

He doesn’t owe me an explanation or anything else. He can live his life how he wants, just as I can live mine how I choose. We have more than a month left on this tour, and then we can go about our own musical careers, never having these types of conversations again.

“Don’t worry about me.” By the detached tone of his voice, I can tell he’s built a wall between us. “You didn’t hurt my feelings.”

I am worried about him, though. I hate feeling uneasy with someone. That’s the people pleaser side of me. It doesn’t make me wrong for wanting things right, but if I give him an inch, will he take a mile? My sigh kind of says it all. I set my napkin on top of the plate and push my chair back. “If you’ll excuse me . . .”

I make my way through the large living room, down a corridor, and find the bathroom. I shut the door and lean against it. I might have thought he was attractive, but then he opened his mouth and became every other guy who’s ever hit on me. I’ve worked too hard to fall for another man who thinks he can save me. There are a few things I need from men, but saving isn’t one of them.

Did he think it was charming to talk about sex with beauty queens? Jet talked about dating, not getting laid. That’s the difference. Ugh. Men. Doesn’t matter what Tulsa Crow says to me, I have no intention of being the next notch on his bedpost. I doubt he even has a bedpost, considering all the notches carved into it. It’s probably a whittled down stick at this stage in his sex games.

It’s best not to mix business and pleasure anyway.

Three light knocks on the door startle me. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

I freshen up and open the door only to find that smug smirk situated on Tulsa’s face. He’s leaning against the wall, facing me with his tan, muscular arms crossed over that broad chest. From the way his shoulders fan out, I’d guess he was a swimmer once, but drumming does that too.

The hall is dark except for the light from the bathroom shining on the two of us. He stands up and comes closer, and for some strange reason, I decide now is a good time to stand my ground and remain where I am. Or maybe it’s his eyes and the way I feel them searching my soul for answers that keep me there. I don’t even know. “Do you mind?” he asks, his voice much quieter when it’s just the two of us.

“Mind?”

“The bathroom, Nikki. May I use the bathroom?”

Figures that the wine I’ve had decides to go to my head about now. “Go ahead.”

When he tilts his head, curiosity replaces his smile. “You okay there?”

“Fine. I’m totally fine.”

“You’re welcome to watch if that’s what you’re into, but I really need to take a piss.”

As if all my better senses return at once, I step out of the way. “Ew.”

Chuckling, he walks around and goes inside the bathroom. With the door almost closed, he looks at me again and says, “You know, if you dropped that good girl act you’re so determined to put on and just be yourself, you might find I’m not as bad as you think I am.”

“Two things, Crow. One. I’m not putting on an act. I’m who I am whether it’s in front of you or behind your back. Two. My thoughts on you formed when you opened your mouth. And just for good measure, I’ve added a third. I’m not like the women who fall at your feet or a groupie, so don’t treat me like one.”

He taps me on the nose. “Boop.”

My hands fly to the top of my head in frustration. “Don’t boop me, Tulsa.”

“I like booping you.” If I’m not mistaken his eyebrows waggle, and then he says, “You’re so hot for me the sexual tension is palpable. You’ve got a wild side buried beneath that uptight image you’re projecting. But like any good wizard knows, it’s not what’s in front of the curtain. It’s what’s hidden behind it.”

“Hot for you?” I scoff, but even he can tell it’s fake. I don’t even bother adding to this ridiculous discussion. I do not find his quips or his innuendoes cute. He’s annoying, and his good looks and badass drumming can’t save him in my eyes.

He will never get in my bloomers, so there’s no point in even talking about this anymore. I start back for the terrace, but stop dead in my tracks when he says, “Never say never, sweetheart.”

I whip around to see his eyes on my ass, sliding up to meet the ire on my face. “Never.”

His chuckle echoes in the hallway when I turn to leave and then cuts off completely when he shuts the door.

Returning to the table, I reach for my glass, down the rest of my wine, and then grip the back of the chair. “It’s getting late, and I need to reorganize my suitcases. I’m thinking I’ll catch a cab back to the hotel.”

Laird stands, and Shane follows. “We can go with you,” Laird says.

Holli stands as well. “I’ll order a car for you.”

Johnny sits with one hand wrapped around a beer bottle and the other strumming along the top of his thigh. The way he watches his wife walk inside makes my stomach do that fluttery thing. They’re a couple who doesn’t have to say how they feel. It oozes from them. Their love, their admiration for each other, the respect they have for one another—it’s all seen in the way they catch each other’s eyes and in the gentlest of touches.

I think I drank too much.

When Tulsa returns, it feels like everyone can see through us, perceiving the tension he mentioned. It may not be sexual on my part, but it’s thick and encompassing. I look at Shane. “Is it humid tonight or what?”

He shrugs. “Feels fine to me.”

Fuck.

Tulsa returns to my side . . . I mean to his chair next to me. “Maybe we can all ride back together?”

Jet stands. “I’ll see if we can get an SUV.”

Holli returns. “Already done.”

Rivers walks toward the house with Laird and Dave, who says, “I noticed that riff on the second chorus of . . .” talking about notes and fingers on the fretboard. Shane goes in at the same time as Johnny and Jet, who are discussing touring with kids, leaving Tulsa and me alone. To avoid another confrontation with him, I decide it’s best to keep my mouth shut while I gather plates to take inside.

Stopping to look up, I see Tulsa is clearing the plates on the other side of the table. He says, “Don’t be so surprised. My mom taught me how to clean up after myself.”

I like that he talks about his mom. It makes him much more relatable. “My mom taught me how to hire people to clean up after me.”

I didn’t mean for that to sound so solemn, but when sadness fills his eyes, I feel like I’ve said too much, given away too much about my life. Most people don’t understand that money doesn’t make you happy. He says, “I’m sorry.”

“No reason to be sorry.” I shrug. “We’re fortunate to have the means not to worry about that stuff.”

“Fortunate,” he repeats, rolling the idea I’m trying to peddle around in his head.

Feeling defensive, I try to let it go and turn the conversation back to him and his mom. “Did your mom cook a lot?”

A smile returns to his face; I prefer that to any other on him. “Every night. How about yours?”

“Sometimes. We ate out a lot too.”

“Ah.”

“From a young age, we took over cleaning the dishes.” He chuckles. His laughter causes my lingering irritation to temper. “I remember Jet would scrape off the food. Rivers would load the dishwasher, and I was in charge of putting the soap in the dishwasher. One time, I put dish soap in by accident. After the kitchen flooded with suds, my mom let us play in it on the condition we’d clean the mess.” He sighs, and his smile disappears. “She was the best.” His smile returns. “I was taken off soap duty after that and put on table clearing.”

“Your mom sounds like a very wise woman.”

“She was.”

Was.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know she’d passed away.”

“It was a shock to all of us. A car accident.”

“I’m sorry,” I repeat, not sure what to say. “I must sound terrible.”

“We’re all dealt a different hand.” He picks up a mountain of plates and walks inside.

I take my stack and the silverware I’ve set on top and go inside, delivering them to the kitchen. Holli smiles. “Thank you, both. You didn’t have to do that.”

Tulsa says, “It was a great meal. Thank you for having us over.”

“I enjoyed tonight. Maybe next time I’ll be more prepared and cook for you.”

“I love a home-cooked meal.” Rubbing his stomach, his shirt slides up. He has an incredible body. Some guys just have it. No wonder he’s so cocky.

With Holli setting the dishes in the sink, my eyes find Tulsa’s, and he silently mouths, “Busted.”

Holli turns back around and asks, “Do you cook?”

“I grill and do some basic cooking, but nothing with more than two ingredients.”

Their attention turns to me, but my face feels hot from being caught staring at him, and I blurt, “I know how to cook an omelet.”

Holli and Tulsa are looking at me like I’ve suddenly stripped down naked in the middle of Times Square. She laughs. “I bet it’s a great omelet.”

Tulsa’s smile isn’t the cocky one I’m used to. It’s softer around the edges, kinder in nature. “I love omelets.”

“Maybe Nikki will make you one sometime.”

“Yeah. Maybe,” he replies before they leave the kitchen.

I release the counter I’m holding with a death grip and close my eyes. “What am I doing?”

“Being yourself.” My eyelids fly open to find Tulsa standing there. He’s still got that genuine grin on his face when he adds, “It’s a good look on you.”

Mortification heats my cheeks. Before I speak, ready to make up a thousand stories about what he heard and how he misunderstood what I meant, he lets me off the hook by saying, “The car is here. Are you ready to go?”

“Never more.” I say my goodbyes with Tulsa by my side. He then becomes the perfect gentleman by making sure the car waits for me and that I get in safely.

In the back of the dark SUV, I watch Tulsa in the seat in front of mine, sitting next to Dave. Jet’s up front. Rivers and Laird continue their conversation on the ride back to the hotel, but the rest of us are quiet.

Shane nudges me so no one else sees, then whispers, “I know you, Nik. You’d be more offended if he didn’t try something.”

He can’t see, but I roll my eyes. “I would be relieved, not offended.”

“Okay. If that’s what you think, I’m not going to argue, but remember he’s riding the wave of their well-earned success as far as I can see. So, yeah, he’s arrogant, but he has a right to be. Doesn’t matter, though. We’re going to be with them for the rest of the tour. How about you try for a truce? I don’t want to be kicked off this gig because you can’t handle being around Tulsa.”

He’s right. I can’t let the sexy drummer throw me off my game. This is about Faris Wheel and nothing else. So I’ll put a truce on the table and see if we can get back to business like we were hired to do.

“This is our time, too, Nik. Whatever it is you feel about Tulsa, deal with it now.”

Deal with it now. Yeah, I can do that. He’s gorgeous, talented, mouthy, and cocky. Don’t get absorbed by that, Nik. Shane’s right. I would be offended. But I can do this. Fun and flirty. It never leads to anything. Tour secure.

Let’s do this.