Chapter 18
Roxie
Nobody knew that we’d just had sex.
Whew.
We’d totally played it cool when we got back on the bus. There were no accusations or suspicious looks, as far as I could tell. Cash was watching us, but he seemed like a watchful kind of guy in general.
Riot and I shared a post-concert drink with the rest of the band, and then we all began winding down for the night.
That flew in the face of the mental image I had of rock bands staying up all night partying after a show.
Apparently everyone was exhausted from the past few days.
I couldn’t blame them—I was worn out, and all I’d done was watch them play.
I climbed into my bunk and closed the curtain. There wasn’t much room, but there was a cubby for my backpack and a shelf for my phone and other small items. I actually enjoyed my little cocoon of privacy. It reminded me of camping in a tent with my dad when I was ten years old.
But I couldn’t sleep, despite my exhaustion. A giddy, silly mood had come over me.
I had a lover.
When it came to dating, the past year hadn’t been great for me.
Out of the three men I’d dated—Dan, Jeremy, and Christopher—only one (Jeremy) lasted more than a month.
And that relationship was more out of convenience than actual chemistry.
Jeremy was a wet blanket of a man who seemed good on paper, but didn’t spark anything real inside me.
I’d never felt anything like this before. Thinking about Riot excited and thrilled me. Our chemistry was insane, in the best possible way. I felt like a teenager who had fallen in love for the first time and thought it was the most important thing in the world.
Obviously, Riot wasn’t my boyfriend. I didn’t know what we were. It was probably just meaningless sex, but that was still great! It felt freeing to do whatever I wanted, to toss aside caution and give in to the temptation of the tall, gorgeous, tattooed man.
Just play it cool, I told myself. Don’t think about it too much. Relax and see where it goes. There’s still three more months on tour, and a lot can change.
That didn’t stop me from smiling until I fell asleep, though.
Our next show was in Nashville. At a rest stop along the way, Riot and I were able to share a private kiss on the bus while the others went inside to use a real bathroom and to refresh our stockpile of snacks.
But instead of tiding us over, the kiss—which included a lot of grinding and grabbing and squeezing—left both of us hungry for more.
For the next two days, we had to settle for secret smiles and private glances.
But Riot’s creativity seemed to be thriving.
He was constantly sitting in one of the bus chairs with a guitar across his lap and sheets of music in front of him.
I found it interesting that he played an electric guitar on stage, but did all of his songwriting with an acoustic guitar.
I was tempted to ask about it, but I also didn’t want to interrupt him while he was writing new songs.
“I don’t want to play cards with you again,” Violet groaned.
“Come on,” Milo complained. “I’m bored!”
“That’s never not true,” Cash said from a few seats over, his nose buried in a book about whales.
“I’m not bored when we’re playing, or practicing, or recording, or…”
“This is what I get for chiming in,” Cash muttered, widening his eyes at me for a moment before turning back to his book.
“You’re like Dana’s eight-year-old nephew,” Violet said. “He’s totally incapable of being alone in his thoughts. He always has to be doing an activity with someone.”
“That’s not a bad thing!” Milo insisted. “I like people! Those who don’t have pink hair, at least.”
“Making fun of my iconic pixie cut isn’t going to convince me to play with you.”
“I’ll play,” I cut in.
“You don’t have to jump on this grenade,” Violet told me.
“I’m bored, too,” I said, taking the seat across the table from Milo. “What’re we playing?”
“You,” Milo gestured at me with the deck of cards, “are officially my favorite woman on the entire Cherry Midnight tour bus.”
Violet laughed and flipped him off on her way to the back of the bus.
“We’re playing Doubles Solitaire,” Milo explained.
“I think I remember how to play,” I said, “but walk me through anything I get wrong.”
Milo was a lanky man overall, but he was wearing a tank top that showed off his arms, which were taut with corded muscle as he dealt the cards. He gave me a refresher on the basic rules of the game, and then we started playing.
“I fucking love the posters you’ve been making for the tour,” Milo said. “The Nashville one is sick.”
“Thanks! It’s probably my favorite so far. I’m excited to design some for the big East Coast cities.”
“When did you figure you wanted to be an artist?”
“When my parents took me to Italy when I was eight,” I replied. “I fell in love with the artwork in Florence.”
He gave me an enthusiastic smile. “No shit?”
“Oh yeah.” I paused to play a card. “Before that, I didn’t realize that art could make you feel things.
The museums there change the way I looked at the world.
Like, it legitimately rewired my brain. I spent the rest of the trip copying all the big art pieces we had seen.
I bought a postcard of Botticelli’s Birth of Venus and traced over it in my journaling notebook.
I was supposed to be writing a page per day about our trip, but my parents didn’t mind that I was drawing instead.
As soon as we got home, my mom signed me up for art classes. ”
Milo seemed genuinely overjoyed by my story. “That’s great they supported your creativity. Doesn’t happen often. Just as Riot or Cash.”
Cash grunted over in his seat, but didn’t engage.
“What about you?” I asked Milo. “You told me the story about drumming in class and getting detention, but did you listen to a lot of music before that?”
“Not really,” he said while frowning at his cards.
“What kind of music did you listen to?”
“I didn’t have a way to play music.”
“I don’t mean instruments or a fancy record player or anything,” I clarified. “Just like, playing music on your phone. On Spotify. What channels did you jam out to?”
“I didn’t have a cell phone until I was nineteen,” he replied.
I whistled through my teeth. “Dang. I had a friend whose parents wouldn’t let her have a phone, either. Your parents were that strict? What if you got into a car accident or something? How would you call for help?”
He laughed, but it was more nervous than usual. “I, uh, didn’t have a car until a few years ago. I took the bus.”
I suddenly realized I was touching on a sensitive subject. Milo was drawing in on himself like he didn’t want to discuss it.
I wondered what kind of childhood he’d had, but I didn’t want to push him any further.
“I fucking love my Camero though,” he added with a smile that was forced. It made his vulpine face look more vulnerable. “It’s a janky piece of shit, but it’s my piece of shit, you know?”
“Those are the best kinds!” I replied. “I still think fondly of my first car. A rusted Mercury Cougar.”
Milo leaned forward and wiggled his eyebrows. “Rust is a sign of character.”
Milo and I started playing at least one game of Doubles Solitaire per day. It became part of our routine right after lunch while splitting a can of Pringles. Milo told me that he knows Riot likes to steal his chips, but that he lets it slide because he doesn’t mind sharing.
After Nashville, we headed east to Charlotte.
I wished we were staying in a hotel so Riot and I could have some private time, but that would have to wait until our next stop.
After parking the bus and making sure everything was situated, the band talked about what we should do.
We still had a full day to wait until the show.
“I’m gonna walk around town,” Violet said. “See if I can find the dirtiest bar in town to get a drink.”
“Dirty bars are my favorite,” Milo said. “I’ll come protect you from anyone who wants to start trouble.”
Violet gave a start. “Who would start trouble with me?”
“I don’t know!” Milo threw his hands up in the air. “I’m just trying to be a good ally!”
I felt a moment of hope that Riot and I would get some private time, but then Cash picked up his book and stretched out on the couch. “You guys have fun. After sitting in the driver’s seat for the whole drive here, I just want to relax.”
Damn. So much for private time.
Riot glanced at me. I knew what he was thinking: that it felt like we were being intentionally cockblocked.
I’d received a few new art commissions, so I sat down and worked on one of those projects for two hours while Riot plucked at his guitar and made notes on his sheet music.
He was a distracting figure, hunched over the guitar with his dark hair falling across his face, concentrating on his craft.
It made me want to jump his bones then and there.
Eventually, he hopped up and stretched his arms over his head. “I’m gonna see what the others are up to. Maybe find a bar of my own. Get a feel for the city.”
“Let me know if you get food,” Cash said. “I might join you, or ask you to bring something back.”
“I’ll come with you,” I tried to say casually, but I could hear my own enthusiasm in my voice.
“First round’s on you, then,” Riot replied with a sly smile.
We left the bus and started walking. I could feel Cash’s eyes on us as we drew farther and farther from the bus, eventually rounding a corner to an alley that connected the loading dock to the main street outside the concert venue.
And as soon as we were around the corner, concealed from sight, Riot threw me up against the wall.
My body surrendered to him the moment his lips touched mine. He pushed in close, hungry for me, and I spread my legs a little so his thigh could press up into me. He smelled and tasted like the most intoxicating glass of whiskey, full of darkness and danger.
“Jesus fuck, that’s good,” he groaned against my neck. “Been dying to do that for a few days.”
“No kidding.” I tugged on his shirt, bringing his lips back down to mine again.
“Wish we could do more than just make out,” he said between kisses.
“I could get us a hotel room,” I said. “It’d be worth every penny.”
Riot groaned again, this time more pained. “The others would figure it out.”
“Would that be a bad thing?”
“Probably not,” he admitted, resting his forehead against mine. “But I really don’t feel like having that conversation with the band.”
His fingers slid down to the place where my legs met, digging up into the fabric of my jeans in a way that made me squirm with pleasure.
I glanced both ways, then started unbuckling his belt. “I can do the next best thing. I bet I can make you come in under a minute.”
He let out a sigh. “Fuck, you have no idea how hot you are right now.”
I desperately wanted to make him come, to see the ecstasy sparkle in his eyes at his moment of release. But as I started to go to my knees, there was a noise farther up the alley.
A worker with a dolly was rolling a stack of boxes in our direction. He stopped when he saw us.
“I guess it’s not meant to be,” Riot said, pulling me up to my feet. “As much as I would love that.”
“Next time,” I promised him while we hurried past the worker and out of the alley onto the busy street. The sound of traffic and pedestrians immediately buffeted us, and we picked a direction and joined the flow of the crowd.
I hooked my arm in his, and he pulled me closer as we walked through the city without a care in the world.