Chapter 19
Angus
Ryleigh looks embarrassed for Kirsten to find me in her room, and I’m not sure how to feel about that. On one hand, it’s pretty innocent. Despite our history, absolutely nothing happened last night. I took care of her and felt like it was important to stay with her in case she needed anything.
On the other hand, I understand she has a professional reputation to uphold, and she doesn’t need people to know she slept with someone in the band. This is her first assignment, and it’s a lot more important than I realized.
Obviously, I know there are many people in the US without health insurance.
But other than the guys in the band—and we have a specific reason for not getting regular jobs—I never knew anyone personally before.
Hart Records provides health insurance for us now, even though I don’t need it, and I hate that Ryleigh had to suffer because she was worried about the expense of getting medical attention.
And my family is one of the companies responsible for the overall state of the healthcare industry.
I don’t have time to ruminate over it for too long, since Kirsten has arrived with breakfast, and I desperately need a shower.
“I’m going to get a shower,” I tell Kirsten. “But you can tell the bus to leave without us.”
“What?” Ryleigh looks at me in confusion.
“You’re still weak. You don’t need to be on a bus all day, lugging around luggage and shit. We’re going to stay here another two days, since we don’t have another show until Friday. On Friday morning, we’ll hit the road and meet up with everyone in Nashville.”
“But—” Ryleigh starts to protest, but I cut her off firmly.
“We’re staying. You need to recuperate. I’m not arguing with you about this.” I turn and leave the room before she can respond but I hear her sputtering indignantly.
It’s kind of funny but it’s the right thing to do.
I also know she likes it when I boss her around. Maybe not on a regular basis, but when she’s vulnerable? Absolutely.
And if I’m honest, I could use a couple of days away from the band.
I hate saying that, or even thinking it, but it’s the truth.
Just a few days to relax. Read. Breathe .
Step out of the shit show of my life.
And spend it with a pretty girl I kind of like.
She needs a little TLC and, although my needs are completely different, so do I.
If I can spoil her while she’s not feeling great, it might make up for what a jerk I was.
I’m feeling good about my plan, and I’ve just gotten out of the shower when there’s a knock on my door.
“Hey.” Tate comes walking in. “Are you seriously going to stay behind? With Ryleigh?”
I nod. “Yeah. Why?”
He frowns. “You’ve seen her naked before last night.”
I don’t respond.
Lying doesn’t seem to do well for me, but I feel strongly about protecting Ryleigh’s reputation.
“Dude, seriously?” He reads a lot into my silence.
“Look, she has a lot at stake. If we talk about this, it has to stay between us. This isn’t business—this is personal.”
“There’s something going on between you?” He looks shocked. “Beyond sex?”
“No. I mean, yes. But no.”
Fuck, this is complicated.
“It was just one time,” I continue. “But I was kind of a dick afterward, so she’s not happy with me. However, I also don’t want to fuck this up for her. If word gets out she’s fucking someone in the band, on her first assignment for Rock Harder … it could impact her future.”
“Oh.” He’s momentarily thoughtful. “Yeah, right. Of course. I wouldn’t say anything anyway. She’s cool. I don’t want to do anything that would hurt her.”
“Yeah, I did a good enough job of that.” I’m not shy, and the guys in the band have dressed and undressed in front of each other a hundred times, so I don’t hesitate to toss off the towel before yanking on a pair of boxers.
“Why?” he asks.
“Why what?” I pull on a pair of shorts.
“Why would you do something to hurt her?”
“Well, not hurt her -hurt her. I hurt her feelings.”
“And now you’re trying to buy her forgiveness?”
“I’m not trying to buy it!” I say in frustration. “She doesn’t have health insurance, so yes, I paid the bill at the hospital, but this is about taking care of her. Letting her rest. Making sure she eats and takes her meds, without having to sit on a bumpy bus all day. Then I’ll drive us to Nashville on Friday morning.”
“Everyone is talking,” he says after a moment.
My eyes widen. “About me and Ryleigh?”
“Not that you’re sleeping together—everyone saw the blood on her ear and that she was in rough shape. But the fact that you’re the one who stepped up to take care of her.”
“Is this a good thing or a bad thing?”
“I think it’s an important thing. Showing that you have a soft side.”
“That doesn’t sound very rock and roll.”
“It’s not. But neither is this situation you’ve put us in. So we have to fumble our way through it.”
“Look, I’m doing the best I can. For the band, for Ryleigh, and for myself.”
“Don’t break her heart,” he says after a moment. “It would be easy to fall into a sex thing, especially while she’s on tour with us. Take what you can get and then move on. But she deserves better. She seems like a nice girl. She’s smart, talented, and fair. That story she wrote about Lexi was something to be proud of. Don’t fuck it up for her. Because you of all people know there will be talk.”
For some reason, having him lecture me on breaking Ryleigh’s heart pisses me off. It’s none of his damn business.
Even though he’s probably right.
“Look, Ryleigh and I are cool.” I have no idea if that’s true. “And right now we both need a little downtime.”
“Running away won’t fix things for you,” he says.
I hate how well he knows me.
“No, but it might help me figure out how to fix things. Contrary to popular belief, rich people are still human.”
There’s a moment of silence as he stares at me.
Like he’s trying to decide if I’m being honest or not.
Then he nods.
“Okay. That’s fair. Take a couple of days to clear your head. I guess I’ll see you in Nashville.”
“Thanks for understanding.”
He gives me a mock salute, and then he’s gone.
I finish getting ready and grab my e-reader before heading back to Ryleigh’s room.
“Hey.” She looks surprised to see me. “What’s up?”
“What do you mean?” I brush past her. “You’re stuck with me for the next two days.”
“Don’t you have your own room?”
“I do, but since you’ve proven that you don’t like to ask for help, I don’t trust you on your own.”
I’m relieved to see her bristle with indignation.
If she’s getting mad, she’s feeling better.
“I’m not a child,” she snaps. “I was sick . I already feel better, so you don’t have to worry about me.”
“But I am. And I will until you’re back to a hundred percent.” I sink down into a chair. “Looks like you had breakfast… do you need anything else?”
“No.” She’s frowning, hands on her hips.
“What?” I ask. “You want to argue with me about sitting here and reading my book in your room versus mine? Go for it.”
She seems to consider that and then merely shrugs. “Fine.”
She gets back into bed and looks over at me. “What are you reading?”
“Ayn Rand’s The Fountainhead . You ever heard of it? I’m trying to broaden my horizons.”
She arches her brows. “Personally, I liked Atlas Shrugged better,” she replies, referring to another of Rand’s books. “It’s a more comprehensive view of her philosophy and I found her staunch individualism fascinating.”
“I haven’t read that one yet. I’m about seventy-five percent of the way through The Fountainhead . That one is next.”
“It’s long. I think some people would find it boring, but I got lost in it.”
“Yeah, she’s pretty hardcore with her individualism versus collectivism. Collectivism being any kind of laws for the common good.”
“Right.” She nods. “Did you know she loosely modeled the main character in The Fountainhead after Frank Lloyd Wright?”
“I did read that somewhere. Mostly to do with the architecture but yeah, it’s been interesting.”
“I think she goes overboard, but it’s still fascinating. I mean, it makes sense, based on her Russian upbringing during the Tsarist Regime…”
We talk about Ayn Rand and her books for the next hour.
I’ve never had a more interesting or lively conversation with anyone, much less a sexy redhead who’s sitting cross-legged on the bed as we chat. She’s definitely feeling better, although I can see her starting to drag after a while.
“You look tired,” I say when the discussion seems to be waning. “Why don’t you take a little cat nap, and I’ll go get us some lunch? What do you feel like?”
She hesitates. “I would kill for a tuna melt.”
“I don’t think we need to do anything that drastic over a sandwich. Close your eyes for a bit while I go hunt one down.”
“Is tuna hunting legal in St. Louis?” She smirks, and I laugh.
“Jury’s out, but I’ll find a way.”
“That sounds amazing. Thank you.” She lies back and closes her eyes.
I watch her for a moment, taking in the long legs and fiery hair.
This is some kind of bullshit self-inflicted torture, being here with her like this.
I desperately want to touch her.
Listen to her scream my name while I get her off.
Drown her pretty little pussy in champagne again.
And look into her eyes while I fuck her mouth.
Dammit .
I get up, adjusting my crotch to accommodate the semi I’ve got going on.
Even if she wanted to have sex with me again, she’s in no shape for that. The antibiotics need at least one more day to really take hold and get her on the road to a full recovery.
And my goal here is simply to show her I’m not the jerk I made her think I was that night we were together.
Tate’s warning echoes through my psyche, and I grab her room key before heading out in search of lunch.
Sleeping with her again would be a terrible idea.
But I’m the king of terrible ideas.