Chapter Fifteen
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
BONNIE
By the time we’re ready for our defense class, we’ve worked through an entire song, ready to lay down the tracks tomorrow afternoon. I haven’t stopped sneaking glances at Gemma as she pounds on her keyboard and sips a strawberry kombucha at the bar while Liam and Kade set up a gaming room in our theater.
“This shit is going to blow people’s minds,” I say, sitting back and tucking my knees under me. “I know we said that about the last album, but the added strings and shit… fuck, man. I can’t wait to hear it all come together.”
“I sent Jaime the track from yesterday, so they were getting in the studio today to play. Should have something by the time you guys get back from your class,” Mads says about the string players we hired to collaborate on this record.
“Hey,” Reed says, looking up from his phone. “Andi’s asking about time for dinner. The sushi guy just showed up at your door.”
“Damn, he’s early,” Mads says. He jerks his chin Zeb’s way, who also has his phone out. “You texting your trainer?”
“Yeah,” Zeb answers. “Says he can be at the gym in twenty. We’ll only be there for an hour or so, so long as Gemma doesn’t put one of us in the hospital.”
“I heard my name,” she says from the counter. She closes her laptop and tucks it into her bag, swiveling to look at us. “What’s up?”
“What have you been working so hard on today?” Mads asks her.
“Notes. Emails. A little shopping,” she says with a shrug.
“Did you buy us something pretty?” Reed asks, smiling against the rim of his drink.
“Yeah, a muzzle,” she tells him, and Reed grins.
“You’re joking, but my wife is out of town, and I do enjoy pet play, so…” He lifts a brow, and Gemma presses her lips together as if fighting a smile. “I mean, you’d have to get permission from her first, but she’d likely enjoy photos of me in a muzzle and contained in a crate.”
“I would also like to see that,” I say. “It can be my new phone background.”
“Picking little pieces of kibble off the dirty floor,” Mads teases him.
“What do you have as your background now?” Zeb asks me. “The hot trackstar chick?”
I laugh, avoiding Gemma’s gaze. “No,” I say. “It’s of Anita and Zero wearing the Summerween pumpkin headbands I got them.”
“I love that picture,” Reed says. “We have it on a canvas in the hall. Can we have them as the album cover artwork?”
I laugh. “You want to put your dogs on the album cover?”
“That would be funny,” Zeb says. “Dress them in horror movie costumes.”
“When is that jackass journalist coming by for his exclusive?” I ask Reed and Mads.
Reed scoffs and settles back, long arm draping over the back of the couch. “Fucking creeper,” he mutters. “I still can’t believe I had to give him that just so he wouldn’t print what he provoked Wren to say.”
“This is one of my favorite stories,” Mads says.
“What happened?” Gemma asks as she joins us and sits on the back of the couch.
“Wren got pissed in the first interview we did together when he suggested that Wren would try to change who I was just because we were dating. She told him that if she wanted to put a leash on me, it’d be in the bedroom, not on the stage,” Reed explains.
“And that’s when Reed fell in love with her,” Zeb taunts.
“The pet play makes sense now,” Gemma says jokingly.
Reed beams at her. “You get it.”
I chuckle and start to stand, Zeb following.
“You ready for this?” he asks, stretching his arms.
“Hell yeah. I need to put a bra on, though,” I say, moving around the couch. “The last time you punched my tit and nearly tore the ring out of it.”
“Party foul, dude,” Reed says.
“That’s cold,” Mads agrees.
“It was an accident,” Zeb argues. “She let her guard down.”
Gemma smirks at me as I pass her and pause at my bag. I’m still facing the windows when I remove Zeb’s horror movie hoodie. I know it’s her gaze I feel as I pull on my padded sports bra and a snug t-shirt to cover the damn hickey on my shoulder.
“Shotgun,” I say to Zeb, sneaking a look at Gemma.
I resist sucking in a breath at the sight of her hazel eyes wandering deliberately over me.
“Killer,” he says with a smirk. “Ready? Gem?”
“Whenever you are,” she replies as our eyes meet.
After touching base with Kade and Liam, Gemma escorts us out front. She has a dark red SUV parked by the curb with a ticket on the windshield from when the meter ran out. Gemma tears it off, crumples it up, and throws it into the wastebasket on the sidewalk without bothering to look at it.
“Bold,” I say.
“I have a permit,” she says.
“What kind of permit?” I ask.
“The kind that lets me do whatever the fuck I want,” she replies as she opens the door for me.
I eye her, smiling coyly as I say, “Chivalrous,” just to keep things as cool and casual as possible.
“You’re not going to open my door?” Zeb asks her when my door clicks shut.
Gemma glances his way. “You’re not as pretty as her.”
“Dammit,” he mutters under his breath, opening his own door. “I thought I was at least a contender.”
“Hm… not quite,” she jokes. Her bright hazel eyes skirt to me one more time before she circles the SUV to get in the driver’s seat.
This is really good for me.
Keep thinking about her.
Keep your eyes on her and don’t think about diamond-shaped studs scratching your cheek. Don’t think about heavy breaths and masked kisses. Don’t think about gloved fingers and delicate, yet desperate, caresses that feel as if she’s punishing me for taunting her all these years, making up for lost time in the darkness.
Oh god. Heat creeps up my neck at the memory, but as I glance sideways at Gemma, I’m reminded of something else.
“Okay, rockstar.”
What if it was her?
What if she is my stalker?
I almost laugh. It’s such a ridiculous notion that I can’t believe I even let it cross my mind.
Still…
Zeb leans up between the seats and punches in the address to the gym on the screen. “I could get us there a lot faster in my car,” he says.
“I didn’t know this was a race,” Gemma says as she pulls out of the spot. “Why? Do you have some fancy sports car?” she asks, though I’m pretty sure she already knows all of this about us.
“The fanciest,” I say. “It’s really fast, too.”
“I bet you drive like a stunt driver,” Gemma taunts him.
“Hell yeah he does,” I say fondly.
“What about you?” she asks me, switching lanes. “What kind of car did you buy with your rockstar money?”
“Ah… I don’t drive. So, no fancy car over here,” I answer nervously.
“No?” she asks. “I thought for sure Kade’s report was wrong about you not having a car. I distinctly remember you driving your dad’s old Bronco to high school.”
“Oh shit.” I laugh. “You remember that old beater? I had some good times in that.”
“You didn’t want to get anything different after graduation?” she asks me. “Or you just don’t like driving?”
People get hurt when I drive.
“Ah… big city Cali traffic,” I lie. “It’s just a little much for me. A lot different from the relaxed beach town.”
“You are not wrong,” she says, making another turn.
My phone buzzing in my pocket distracts me from Gemma asking Zeb about his car. I pull it out, stomach doing a somersault at the name, UNKNOWN, across the screen.
I glance at Gemma before opening up the text thread.
If my stalker is texting me…
I guess it isn’t her.
UNKNOWN
I guess I’ll have to finish what we started another night.
Can’t wait to see you on the livestream.
I don’t know why I’m disappointed as I peer at Gemma again.
She’s just the Gemma I went to high school with, even if she’s so much more than the person I barely knew back then.
Gemma smiles softly when she sees me looking. It triggers an ache in my heart, and I have to shake it, to look away and smile at the ground instead of her.
Because it reminds me of the way Kelsey used to look at me.
I’ve been able to hold the shit memories of the night I lost her at bay for so long, but something about Gemma… something about the way she looks at me… it’s bringing the feelings back, the visions, and the absolute dread I experienced in those moments.
It’s more terrifying than my stalker could ever be.
Those feelings are what got Kelsey killed, what tipped the social drinking into an addiction—anything to numb me from her, from my mom, even from my stalker on occasion.
Experiencing that all over… I can’t go through it again. Feeling anything seems like a trap. Like my mind is looking for a way to trick me into thinking I’m worthy of something as good as that again when I know one little fall within that bubble could send me down the rabbit hole again.
Maybe that’s why I’m latching onto my stalker so hard.
Because as much as I like to think I’d be able to crawl out of that hole again, as much as I’d like to think I’m strong enough to fight that battle, it’s fucking terrifying to think about having to do it all over.
I quickly turn my attention back to the message, noticing my stalker has sent a link. I hesitantly tap it, and Reed’s social media pops up on my screen. It’s a video of him showing off Liam and Kade setting up the gaming room, followed by him telling our followers about the livestream and urging them to jump on.
“I wondered if he’d make one of those or if it’d be a surprise,” Zeb says over my shoulder.
“Honestly, same,” I say, putting my phone away.
“What is it?” Gemma asks.
“Reed posted about the livestream tonight,” I answer. “Telling people to join and watch.”
“I’m more surprised that he didn’t ask us to do the video with him,” I say.
Gemma parks the SUV, and Zeb exits to greet our instructor, Pasha, who’s standing outside chatting with friends.
“Still time to back out,” I taunt her. “Zeb takes this very seriously.”
She smiles, unhooking her seat belt. “I’ll never turn down an excuse that gets you on your back without crossing a line,” she says.
I blink at the unexpected phrasing, at how close she suddenly is, our fingers brushing atop the console. She draws her bottom lip behind her teeth, gaze darting to my mouth and then back to my eyes, and when a little giggle escapes her, I realize I’ve stopped breathing.
“I love saying shit that makes you go blank,” Gemma says, opening her door. “Do women never flirt with you?”
She’s out of the seat so quickly that I only have a couple of seconds to collect myself. “Ah, no—I mean, they do, but normally, I’m the one doing most of the flirting,” I say.
“Hm…” she presses her hands to her hips. “This will be a nice change of pace for you, then.”
Pasha comes up to introduce himself to Gemma before I can attempt to respond. I close my eyes for a half-second and blow out a breath, then exit the car with a grin as if I’m not in a complete stupor over her.
Pasha greets me quickly as he holds open the door for us and resumes chatting away with Gemma while Zeb lets me go in front of him.
“Are you going to be able to concentrate today, or…”
I elbow him in the gut.
And I hate that he’s right.
Because I’m a fucking mess.
I need blinders so I can’t watch her in my peripherals. I need headphones so I can’t hear her laughing every time she gets Zeb or Pasha on the ground. And sparring with me? I’m useless. Another hopeless blob. A poor excuse for a human because of a new crush. She surprises me over and over, sweeping me off of my feet with ease. She’s sexy as hell with that look on her face—the confident concentration, sly smirk, danger in her eyes…
Each time she instructs me in my stance, moves my arms and legs where they should be, I find myself slipping. Were this a real fight, I’d be in the back of their van by now, hands voluntarily tied behind my back.
“Wait, pause right there,” Gemma says, pausing Zeb and I mid-fight. She glances at Pasha, asking for permission to correct my form. Pasha waves a hand and grins.
“Please,” Pasha tells her. “I love when other people pick up on what I’ve been telling them for months.”
Zeb flips him off, making Pasha laugh, and I eye the exchange.
Zeb’s never really been picky about what’s beneath the belt of the person he brings into his bed, only caring that they’re willing to play his games and become his little toy for the evening—something that was never easy to do on the road. There were a number of nights when Reed and I would bring our own partners back to the bus or hotel while Zeb remained flirting at the party or simply went back to the bus to nap or plan his next prank.
I’ve always wondered if he and Pasha had a thing in the past, especially with the way Pasha looks at him. Definitely not a relationship, but just a quick fuck after class or role-play in the desert.
The thought makes me grin wider. I’m sure he’s into the things Zeb is, too.
Gemma’s hand sliding on my hip drags me back to the present. The hair on the back of my neck stands, and I barely realize I’m holding my breath until I hear her chuckle near my ear.
“You have to breathe,” she tells me. “You see your hand, here? If you just angle and brace your forearm—” She moves my arm. “Make this strike more targeted instead of aiming anywhere on his face, you’ll hit his throat. Walk it through.”
I move back, and Zeb reassumes his previous aggressor stance. Gemma leads me when I, again, drop my elbow—definitely not on purpose—and moves my body through the motions.
My eyes flutter every time she touches me. It doesn’t seem to matter how much my stalker grabbed and caressed me last night… Gemma’s touch is different. It isn’t hidden behind a shadow, forced into the back of my mind like a fever dream. It’s public and deliberate, threatening my sanity and sobriety with every brush.
By the time our hour is up, my thighs aren’t just aching from the workout.
Breathe.
If you give in and it doesn’t last, you’ll be okay.
If something gets fucked, you can handle it.
I wish I believed it.
“Yeah, you’re fucked,” Zeb says when we’re in the locker room.
I crack open my bottle of water and chug half of it. “Shut up. What about you? You and Pasha? When did that happen?”
Zeb scoffs. “Only the once,” he replies.
“Yeah? Why? Did you give him a proposition and scare him off?” I ask.
He wipes his face with his towel. “I think so. Even invited his pretty new girlfriend to play if it made him more comfortable.”
I press my hands to my hips and shake my head, unable to keep the smile off my face. “What are we going to do with you?” I tease.
“I’m told drowning is a pretty permanent solution, and, if I remember correctly, also a kink I didn’t know I had,” he says. “Also, clowns.”
I stare at him, genuinely confused. “What?”
“Liam let me borrow a couple of the dark romance books he’s been reading while on duty. Needed a break from thrillers,” Zeb says. “There’s some kinky shit in those pages.”
My brows lift. “Damn. I need to get back into reading.”
“We’ll start you on audiobooks,” he says. “Your attention span doesn’t equate to sitting down with a book.”
“True,” I agree.
“Hey.” Gemma’s voice perks my ears, and I look at the door to find her approaching us.
Her skin is glistening with sweat. The messy way her curls have begun to frizz makes her even sexier right now. I try to force my gaze to hers instead of staring at the droplet now trickling down her neck that I want to lick away.
But it’s hard to imagine anything else.
“You two ready to leave in twenty?” she asks, checking the messages on her watch. “Kade says the chef is about to pack up. Andi is running out to get drinks. He said they’ll be all set by the time we get back.”
“Hell yeah,” Zeb says. “I’m starving. I know Bonnie is dying to eat, too.” He glances at me and winks, and I almost roll my eyes.
Zeb pinches my elbow and throws his towel over his shoulder, then looks at Gemma. “You’re a fucking badass,” he says, fist-bumping her. “I’m going to go shower really quick.”
“Twenty minutes,” she calls after him.
“I only need seven,” he replies.
“That sounds like wishful thinking,” I yell.
Zeb flips me off, and I chuckle as he disappears into the shower room.
Gemma’s snicker meets mine. I look sideways at her, taking in how amused she appears.
“Did you think we would be a bunch of stuck-up assholes or were you expecting four terribly immature brats?” I ask her.
“Somewhere in the middle, I think,” she replies. “I don’t think I expected how close all of you are without constant feuding. In my experience, families bring out the worst in each other.”
“It wasn’t always this great,” I admit. “After my first tour with them, or after rehab rather, Avie actually hired us a group therapist. I was a fucking mess. I had to work through a lot of shit, and I had projected so much of it onto the guys that collectively, we weren’t in a great place. She worked with us individually, too, which helped a ton, but she was great at helping us solve any lingering issues in the band. Gave us some tools to eventually work through it on our own.”
“That’s impressive,” she says. “Was the tour so bad?”
I huff, thinking back. “That first tour was such a shit show,” I say, taking another sip of water. “I barely remember any of it. Too many drugs, too much alcohol, so much fucking that I—” I pause and clear my throat, nixing the sentence. “I mean, we were just kids,” I say instead. “Fucking dumb kids, which is why we still refer to ourselves as ‘four dumb fucks.’”
Gemma laughs, the noise lingering around us. “I like that. Four dumb fucks.” She presses an open bottle of water to her lips and takes a drink. “Maybe that will be the code name I use for you over the coms from now on.”
I chuckle and press my hand to an imaginary radio on my shoulder. “ Walking four dumb fucks to the stage now. Over ,” I pretend.
Her laughter rises, and I’m dumbfounded at the genuine light in her eyes.
“Totally unprofessional,” she says.
“I mean, you’re with us,” I say. “I doubt anyone expects you to be super professional.”
“You would be surprised. James had a reputation I have to uphold.”
“James was a legend,” I agree. “He was the first security guard that didn’t yell at us for pranking them. There was one who Avie tried to put on the first tour. We pissed him off so much that he didn’t bother helping unless it was at a show. He was fired after Mads went to jail the second time on his watch.”
Gemma begins rummaging through her bag for clothes. “Why was he in jail?” she asks.
“Usually a fight,” I say with a shrug. “Those first few years, he was a hot head. Takes a lot to get him to that point now, but he used to swing if someone even looked at Reed wrong. Even just going to jail twice during that tour was an improvement over the year before.”
She nods, and I eye her.
“You know all of this already,” I say because I know James didn’t leave her with zero information on us.
A smirk curls on her lips. “I know what it looks like on paper,” she says, straightening. “Stories sound better coming from you, though. Are you showering?”
I deliberately let my eyes wander over her. “Is this an invitation?”
Gemma huffs, head hanging for a beat, and I swear her cheeks darken. “Now who’s the flirt?” she says, pivoting on her heel.
I don’t even attempt to hide my tilting head as I watch her walk away from me, her ass swaying.
As she disappears into the shower room, I blow out an audible breath. “Fuck me,” I mutter before looking through my bag for clothes.
I wish she would.
I peel my clothes off, grab a towel, then make my way to the showers, all the while reminding myself not to stare too hard if Gemma is anywhere in my vicinity.
Except the moment I walk in, she’s dropping her towel directly in my line of sight, and I can’t help but gawk.
This woman… I almost whimper as I watch the water run over her skin. When she moves, I can see the crease in the skin on her back, and it makes me swallow. I love that fucking crease. I love staring at it while I’m licking from behind. It’s such a beautiful, natural thing on anyone, yet I know so many who hate it on their bodies, and it’s my favorite thing ever.
I’m drowning at the sight of the curve of her back and shoulder blades, the swoop of her ass… Shit .
Move your fucking feet.
The shower room is small—only three open stalls. Still, I choose the furthest one from her because otherwise I’ll be locking the door and pushing her against the wall.
I’m fully aware of her motions as I place my towel on the barrier and turn the water to a scorching degree.
“Do your tattoos have personal meanings or are they just… for decoration?” Gemma asks, gaze licking over me.
My brow lifts when I glance her way. “Checking me out? Isn’t that against your client code? ” I tease about our text messages from yesterday.
She scoffs, head tilting back so that water runs in her mouth and down her neck. “I only asked about your tattoos,” she says. “If I was checking you out, I wouldn’t waste my time putting this stall between us.”
There’s a smug glint in her hazel eyes that makes my muscles tense. It feels like a challenge, and I don’t think she realizes just yet how much challenges are my weakness.
Watching her, I turn my water off and step into the stall beside her, then turn on the tap again. Her lips coil upward as if I played perfectly into her desires, and it almost makes me laugh.
“How about now?” I ask.
I’ve really missed flirting.
Gemma chuckles. “I believe, now, you’re the one checking me out,” she says.
My eyes follow the stream of water moving down her neck to between her full breasts, and my chest falls when she pivots enough that her front is in full view. The tattoo curling around the underside of her tit catches my eye, and I force my gaze away from her nakedness.
“I have a few tattoos with meaning,” I finally answer her question. “One for the band. The drumsticks. One for my mom. Some Zeb drew. Still, most of them are just from us celebrating a milestone or just because.”
“What about the spider web on your throat?” she asks.
“Ah…” I laugh. “That was a I need a tattoo on my neck that’s creepy and hot all at once split-second decision,” I answer.
“It was a good decision,” she says.
“What about your tattoos?” I ask, my gaze locking on the ivy vine tattoo along the side of her neck and face.
“We’re not talking about me,” she says.
“I would very much like to talk about you,” I counter.
“Why?”
I shrug. “I think I’d enjoy getting to know the woman making my brain all fuzzy.”
Another laugh leaves her. “Fuzzy?”
“Yeah, like… you know when you were younger, and you’d leave the television on when you went to sleep, then when you woke up, the VHS you were playing had finished so the TV was making that schhhhhh noise?”
“Specific, but yes,” she replies.
“That’s what my mind does when you flirt with me. That’s why I keep stammering,” I say, and I don’t really know why I’m admitting this. Maybe I’m making excuses. Maybe I’m desperate. Maybe it’s the stall barrier making me brave because if she comes into this area with me—
Fuck me, she’s coming closer.
Gemma steps up to the barrier and lays her forearms on it, her cheek resting atop her hands. Her eyes somehow darken, pupils blowing as she looks at me with those bedroom eyes.
She’s entirely too fucking gorgeous.
She crooks a single finger my way, and I move toward her like she’s pulling me with a string.
Four inches separate us as I press my body against the wall in front of hers.
“What about now? Is your brain all fuzzy now?” she asks softly.
I swallow as I stare at her lips. “Fucking crickets.”
Because I’m entirely blank.
There’s a moment when neither of us speaks—when our gazes hold as if we can already taste the desire between us.
Gemma tilts her head the other way and shifts on her feet, a quiet huff of amusement coming from her when she straightens. “I thought for sure this might get you to make a move,” she eventually jokes, though her voice is hoarse.
I love the cute look on her face. “And here I thought you were taking me to dinner first.”
Gemma chuckles and steps back, leaving me yearning for her displaced warmth.
She twists the shower knob off and grabs her towel, still smiling my way. “Dinner,” she says as she wraps her towel around her body. “Is that what you want?”
I step back under my own shower. “Most people just want a fuck under the shower head and an autograph after,” I say.
Her smile widens, delight dancing in those bright eyes. “What does Bonnie want?”
I huff, gaze casting to the ground for a beat. What I want… “What I want doesn’t usually matter,” I tell her. “I don’t get to be selfish anymore. When I’m selfish… people get hurt.”
I get hurt.
My heart aches at the vulnerable confession. I don’t know what it is about her. We hardly spoke in high school. She’s essentially a stranger, yet it feels like we’re picking up the pieces to a puzzle we never finished.
I laugh nervously, almost hating myself for what I said. “I went dark, didn’t I?”
If she only knew how dark it is behind my eyes, she’d run.
She’d put up a boundary between us. Refuse me instead of playing into whatever this is. She’s too good for me. One kiss… One touch… I’m not a good enough person to handle anyone like her, to give her what she deserves.
Quick fucks in the dark.
Coming on a masked stranger’s tongue…
That’s the kind of meaningless affair I’m destined for—something that will continue to hurt me just to satisfy my need for sabotage.
I’m drowning in my thoughts, so far beneath the surface that I don’t notice Gemma coming toward me until her hand presses to my cheek, and she tilts my face so that I’m looking up at her.
“You can be selfish with me,” she whispers.
The words make my shoulders drop, my exhale jagged.
Kiss her.
You don’t have to go all in but just kiss her.
One kiss isn’t going to ruin you.
God, I hate these conflicting thoughts.
I can’t even manage a response.
Gemma gives me a small smile, swipes her thumb over my cheek, and then backs out of the shower stall with one final glance over her shoulder.
“We’re leaving in five minutes,” she says when she hits the door.
What the hell just happened?
I almost slam my forehead against the tile out of frustration. I should have kissed her. Fuck . And why did I go all sad girl?
God, someone slice my wrists already.
That was so embarrassing.
When the water fails at drowning me like I want it to, I grumpily wrap my towel around me and tread to the locker room. I should shove her against one of these lockers and fuck her until she can’t feel her legs if she’s around this corner; however, it’s Zeb that I see first, and the look on his face makes every other thought quiet.
“What’s that look?” I ask, grabbing my bag.
“Waiting on Reed to message me back,” he says, hand on the towel around his waist. “He texted and said, ‘ You won’t believe who just DM’d me.’ ”
“That’s terrifying,” I say, pulling on a pair of biker shorts.
Zeb finally looks at me and grins. “I thought you’d be in there longer,” he said quietly.
“Shut up,” I mutter, not wishing to embarrass myself more than I already am.
He scoffs. “Whatever you say—Come on , Reed,” he mutters.
“Poor little Zebby doesn’t like to be edged,” I taunt him. I grab an oversized ripped t-shirt and slide it over my head, then wrap a choker around my neck.
He flips me off, making me laugh. I’m putting on my Converse when the phone dings again, and I watch as Zeb’s expression falters.
“Motherfucker,” Zeb says.
“What’s up? Who is it?”
“We need to get back.” He drops his towel and picks up his boxer briefs. “It was fucking Rad.”
I blink at the mention of him. “What the hell?”
“Yeah.” He quickly puts on a shirt. “He asked about joining our stream tonight. We need to lock everything down—”
A bag lands heavily on the bench beside me, and I look over to find Gemma standing there, her face stiff and dark, almost enraged. “Who did you say?” she asks slowly, her tone stern.
“Rad,” Zeb replies. “You might not have heard of him. He’s our ex—”
“Oh, I know who the hell he is,” she snaps. “What the fuck does he want?”