Chapter 9
Sully envelops my hand in his as the limo speeds down the freeway toward our hotel. He taps on Charlotte’s foot with his to gain her attention. She lifts her head from Ben’s shoulder, watching us curiously.
“Can you do me a favor?” Sully sets our entangled hands on his thigh. I try not to focus on how perfectly our fingers lock together.
Charlotte puckers her lips, spinning her wedding ring around her finger. “Depends on what it is.”
“Could you please take Veronica shopping? We didn’t have time to stop by her place for her to pack anything.”
I chew on my inner cheek, avoiding Charlotte’s searching gaze. Does she think I’m trashy for jumping on a plane without a change of clothes? She probably already hates me.
Charlotte surprises me by leaning forward and slapping Sully’s leg.
“Shame on you for dragging this poor girl all the way here without necessities. You’re lucky we already planned on getting manicures, so stopping by a few shops won’t be a bother.
” Her tone is clipped, but there’s a smile playing on her lips. I think she’s toying with him.
He nods. “Thanks.”
Charlotte took me to her favorite shops to buy some jeans, a cute concert dress, shoes, and underwear.
She insisted on me getting this fire-red bra that she claimed made me look like a sex goddess.
I also bought a few Vegas shirts, one being extra baggy and long so I can wear it to bed.
We then stopped by a Walgreens for everything else essential.
She follows me into the hotel suite so I can drop off my new things. Sully’s in the room, strumming his guitar. He flinches when Charlotte barrels her way in, ditching the bags on the king-sized bed, and grabs my arm to tow me away again.
“You’ll have all night with him. Right now you’re mine,” she says.
Sully mouths, “sorry,” and smiles.
All I can do is go along with her or be dragged.
We settle into comfy white chairs at the nail salon. While our nails are being filed, clipped, and polished, Charlotte gives me this cold hard look and says, “Should I be worried about you and Sully?”
The nail tech glances at me and then grimaces before moving on to another finger. The things these people probably hear.
“I’m not sure what you’re referring to. I just met him.”
“This is so out of character for him…” She glances at her wedding ring, lost in thought.
Confusion wrinkles my forehead. “Taking a girl to Vegas?”
She blows a curling piece of hair out of her face. “Talking to you in general. He’s taken a shine to you. He’s usually so—”
“Cold?” I offer.
Charlotte puckers her lips. “I don’t like that word, but something like that.
He doesn’t like interviews or meeting fans.
He’s an introvert and it’s hard for him to date.
Especially after that last girl. She was…
well…” She sniffs and shakes her head. “He should probably tell you about that. I just don’t want him to get hurt.
” She offers me a kind smile. “For either of you to get hurt. No offense but, you don’t seem like the type to—”
“Just fly to Vegas with someone I met not twenty-four hours ago?” I close my eyes. “Hard for me to believe he talked me into coming on this trip. But something about him made me say yes.”
“He’s good at that. It’s his eyes. Ben thinks Sully can compel people with a stare, but my husband also thinks our house in Germany is haunted, so it’s hard to believe him.”
Charlotte’s nail tech finishes her left hand and moves to her right. “Just promise me you’re not using him. It’s bad enough our PR rep tries to push him into situations he doesn’t want to be in; my heart can’t stand seeing Sully go through the heartbreak all over again and—”
“You’re a good friend. I’ve been hurt recently too and I don’t want to harm Sully.
But I…” This is only a weekend fling, isn’t it?
Why does she make it seem like something more?
A whirlwind romance in some cheesy movie.
No. Sully and I are using each other to help move on from past traumas and find something better in the future.
Charlotte grabs my arm with her left hand and squeezes until I wince in pain. Her happy demeanor vanishes and her rich chocolatey brown eyes turn coppery and murderous as she leans in closer. “Don’t make me regret liking you,” she says between clenched teeth.
Words fail me. What the hell? I grasp for a response, but nothing comes. Before I can recover, she plasters on a bright smile. “I think we’re going to be great friends.” Then, as if the conversation never happened, she leans back in her chair, sighs, and closes her eyes.
The nail techs exchange glances and whisper something in a language I don’t understand. But I’m pretty sure they think I’m screwed.
When Charlotte takes me back to the hotel room, she hugs me goodbye and wanders off to her room. My entire body’s exhausted between the travel, shopping, and that intense talk with Charlotte. The band hasn’t even left for the club to set up or do their soundcheck.
My legs wobble as I walk toward the bed. A shoe box trips me and I fly forward.
“Whoa,” Sully chuckles, grabbing my arm and saving me from faceplanting into the glass coffee table. “You okay?”
“Yes,” I mumble. Thank God he doesn’t know what my day job is—I can already hear the jokes.
Still gaining your land legs? You’d think you were a mermaid.
Do you swim better than you walk? Five years of this, and I’ve heard them all.
I can laugh them off, pretend they don’t bother me, but deep down, each one lands like a tiny weight in my chest, pressing heavier over time.
“Charlotte tried to kill me.” I’m only half-kidding. I lie back on the California king bed with my arms out to my sides and allow myself to sink into the ivory-colored comforter and stare at the powder-blue ceiling.
“I’m heading over to the club to help set up. I’ll be back in a couple of hours. We can grab a quick bite before the final soundcheck.”
I kick off my shoes and roll onto my side. “Okay, that gives me time for a shower.” But first, I’ll lie here until the bed and I become one or until my feet stop pounding, whichever comes first.
He sits beside me. The bed dips under his weight, and I tighten my ab muscles to keep from rolling into him.
I sit up, using my elbows, and meet his gaze.
His eyes darken as they sweep over me. “You’re going to shower without me?
” His voice drops into a rough husky tone. “Wouldn’t it be better if I helped?”
His words reverberate in my chest and cause my clit to buzz.
It’s strange—I've never felt this kind of craving for sex before, this raw, urgent desire. It’s almost painful to look at him, to want him so badly, and yet to be unable to reach for him, taste his lips, feel him inside me.
Without warning, my body responds—an undeniable pulse of longing.
I meet his gaze, and my eyes drop to the bulge in his pants, the tension between us thickening. He feels it too.
I’ve only been with two other guys, but with Sully, everything is different. It’s new, exciting, like stepping into a world I never knew existed, one that makes everything before feel small in comparison.
“Go to the club and set up your guitars or whatever you sexy bass players do.” I playfully push him toward the door. “Maybe we can shower later tonight.”
He gives me a wolfish grin. “You can count on that.”
As he slips out the door, I press my hand to my chest, trying to hold back the frantic pulse in my veins, the urge to run after him, to follow him anywhere.
At least Alice can’t say I never come out of my shell anymore. I’d say this mermaid has gotten herself lost in deep uncharted waters.
As a teen, I always wondered what it would be like to be a roadie, following a band from city to city. I thought it would be fun and you’d meet all kinds of cool and interesting people. But after tonight, I’m thankful for never becoming a roadie.
They do so much heavy lifting, not to mention hours and hours of work before anyone lines up outside the venue.
They test the lights, the sound, and check technical things I don’t understand.
And wires snake along the ground everywhere.
I stand next to the sound booth guy and the number of buttons he keeps track of makes me dizzy.
While Scarlet Failure and the other band, Haunted Dreams, do their soundchecks, I walk around the club, getting a feel of the place before it’s filled with screaming fans.
This is the last show of their tour so naturally, it’s sold out.
I can hear the fans buzzing outside while I check out the merch table without anyone pushing or shoving me.
Something hums inside me remembering how yesterday I was on the outside, standing in line before the doors opened to be one of the first inside and stand right in front of the stage.
My only goal was to catch a guitar pick and maybe land a setlist. Not only did those wishes come true, but I also nailed the bass player.
Goosebumps break out on my arms, the kind of exhilaration that feels almost otherworldly, like I'm floating, weightless in the moment. I tug on the lanyard of my backstage pass hanging around my neck, the thrill of it all sinking in. This is definitely going on my wall in my room when I get back, right next to Scarlet Failure’s signed setlist and guitar pick.
Maybe I’ll even frame it in a shadowbox to make it extra special.
When the doors open, I hideout backstage and feel the anticipation whirling in the air, becoming more alive as each minute ticks by.
I watch the show from the side stage. Even though they play the same setlist as last night, I still rock out but try not to draw too much attention from those working the stage or security.
Girls scream at Sully as he rips into his solo. He throws them picks and they dive for them like they’re gold coins.
It’s insane how last night I was one of those girls, and now I’m watching them from afar like I belong to Sully somehow.
A girl in the front looks around frantically and frowns.
She must not have found a pick. Sully notices and nudges Lars, nodding to the girl.
Lars struts over and points at the girl.
She locks eyes on him and jumps eagerly up and down with her hand outstretched.
He flicks a black guitar pick her way, and she catches it, smiling ear to ear.
Sully turns around, and when our eyes meet, he winks. My chest heaves like it did last night when he handed me my pick. I hope this feeling never stops. The way he looks at me makes me feel like I’m the only woman alive.