17. Callie
17
CALLIE
PAST, ArtFusion Night Three
The next night, I pretend I don’t see him while waiting in line for lamb kabobs.
I’m alone because Becket decided he wanted pizza again and then to check out the hookah tent. I hate hookah, and I’m sick of pizza. I have no idea where the other three went off to. Usually, I’d make it a point to tag along with one of them, but I wasn’t in the mood today, and they aren’t like girl friends would be. My safety isn’t even on their radar, so I have a little more freedom. Sometimes being the only woman in a group of idiots has its perks.
I thought I’d spend the evening wandering and wallflowering, but now it seems I have a shadow. It shouldn’t thrill me, but it does.
“You got the paint off,” he observes, finally announcing himself, and I let out an irritated sigh.
“What do you want?”
“Ouch. Tent life not suiting you?”
I fling around, folding my arms and raising a brow.
“What do you want , Torren?”
He grins. He fucking grins at me, and my nostrils flare. When he doesn’t answer, I turn back around. Within seconds, I feel him step closer, his chest brushing my back and his scent surrounding me. Tobacco and leather, first. Ginger and bergamot follow. I could get drunk on this smell.
“Don’t be mad, Firebird. I just want to hang out.”
Fuck me, I’m such an idiot, because the ice already starts to thaw.
“We had fun last night, right? Just wanted to see if we could do it again.”
I release another sigh. This one, much to my chagrin, is less annoyed than the last.
“Are you a vampire?” I ask, immaturely snapping the words like talking to him irritates me when really it makes me feel alive. “You only come out at night.”
“It’s easier to go unnoticed at night.”
“Are you high again?”
Another chuckle but no answer. I assume it’s yes. Instead of letting it fester, I just word vomit the thing I really care about, then hold my breath for his response.
“Why did you leave so quickly last night?”
I also want to ask why he deleted the text thread from my phone, but I bite my tongue on that one. My boldness has limits.
“That’s why you’re angry.”
I don’t dispute it. I am angry. I’m not going to lie or placate him. I don’t care if he thinks it’s dumb. I’m angry, and my feelings fucking matter. It’s quiet for so long that I think he won’t answer, but when he finally speaks, it’s like wind returning to my stupid, delusional sails.
“I left because the headlining band was ending, and I didn’t want to fuck with the crowd surge in the main areas. It was safer to head back to the bus.”
I nod slowly. It works. The anger bleeds from my muscles, and once again, I’m just nerves and obsession and fangirl putty in his tattoo-and-ring-adorned fingers. When his lips brush my ear, I freeze.
“Come back to my bus with me.”
I turn to face him, then fold my arms over my chest and narrow my eyes. “Why me?”
“You intrigue me.”
“Not good enough. Try again.”
“Because you’re not obsessed with me.”
His answer comes so easily that I can’t stop the way my eyes widen with surprise. I also have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from correcting him. Because, well, I kind of am obsessed with him. He must take my silence to mean I’m still not convinced, because he steps forward and speaks again.
“Come back to my bus with me, Firebird. I’ll behave. I promise.”
I don’t even think it through this time. I just nod, then I follow him out of the park, my lamb kabobs completely forgotten.
“What’s your real name?” he asks randomly, and for a moment I don’t answer. I don’t want to tell him my real name. I like that he calls me Firebird. “I promise not to stalk you.”
He says it jokingly, cajolingly, and I roll my eyes.
“My name is Callie.”
Calla Lily Sunrise , to be specific, but no way in hell am I telling him that. That’s what happens when you have a hippie mom and a musician dad. Weird fucking names.
“I like Firebird, though,” I tack on, and he shoots me a grin.
“Me too.”
When we make it to his bus, Torren shakes hands with a hulking beast of a man I can only assume is security.
“Callie, this is Beau. Beau, this is Callie.”
I wave awkwardly, and Beau nods. No smile, and he doesn’t uncross his arms from his chest. Torren reaches into his pocket and pulls out a black leather wallet, takes a fifty-dollar bill from inside and hands it to the security guard.
“Could you send someone to grab us some lamb kabobs?” He looks at me. “Veggies?” I nod. “Hummus plate, too?” I nod again, and he glances back at Beau. “Need me to write it down for you?”
Beau raises a brow and Torren laughs before slapping him on the shoulder and telling him thank you. Then I’m following Torren up the stairs of his tour bus and trying my best not to die on the spot. The bus smells of weed and spicy cologne, a hint of leather and sandalwood. The blend sounds weird, but surprisingly, it’s not a bad smell. I imagine it’s some sort of band mixture. If The Hometown Heartless released a candle, it would smell like this.
The inside is much larger than I expected. To say I’m in awe would be an understatement. Two black leather couches line either side of the bus, and a large flat-screen T.V. is mounted above the one on the left. After the couches, there’s a kitchenette, two small bench seats and a table jutting out from the wall. There’s a dark hall beyond that I assume leads to a bathroom and some beds, but I don’t venture down there. I wouldn’t be surprised if this bus cost over a million dollars. Something like this would be the dream. For our band to get big enough to move out of our shitty van and trailer? After a year of vagabonding it, though, it still seems so out of reach.
I fold my hands in front of my body and try not to look as out of place as I feel. I turn back to Torren as he pulls a stack of papers out of a cabinet and hands it to me.
It’s an NDA.
My heart sinks once more. Fuck, hanging out with him is affecting my equilibrium more than that time we tried to go whale watching up the coast. I feel like I’m going to get seasick from the ups and downs.
“The label requires you to sign this,” he says pointedly.
I shake my head. “I’m not signing that.”
I might have come here of my own volition, but I’m not signing anything that could tie my hands if this whole encounter goes south. I might be an idiot fangirl, but I’m not a moron, and I’m not a freaking groupie.
“Fair enough.” He takes the NDA from my hands and sticks it back in the cabinet. I cock my head and purse my lips.
“That’s it?”
“You gonna talk to the press?”
“No.”
“Then that’s good enough for me.”
“How do you know I’m not lying?”
He shrugs. “I guess I don’t. Just going on the honor system.”
I have to hide my smile. I don’t know if this means he trusts me, but I’m choosing to believe it does. He gestures to a couch, so I sit, then he takes a seat beside me and messes with his phone for a minute. Music plays through some sort of surround sound system, and then he puts his phone down and grins at me. He’s finally taken his baseball cap and sunglasses off, so his shiny black curls and green eyes are up close and personal for me to ogle. He’s so pretty. It makes my chest hurt.
“What do you want to do, Firebird?”
He asks slowly, the suggestive tone making my stomach flip for the hundredth time since meeting him as reality sets in. God, am I really going to hook up with the bassist for The Hometown Heartless? I keep wanting to pinch myself because not even in my wildest fantasies did I ever think I’d get this close to him. I clear my throat nervously and ignore his smirk.
“You invited me here. You tell me.”
His lips twitch and he scoots closer, putting his hand on my back and rubbing up and down gently.
“Relax. You’re sitting so stiff. You can leave at any time, and we won’t do anything you don’t want to do, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper.
“Do you want a drink, or to smoke?”
“Um, probably no to both.”
I do have some sense. And honestly, if this is going to happen, I want to remember it. He doesn’t try to convince me, which I appreciate, but he pulls out that silver cigarette case again. He’s lighting a joint when there’s a knock on the door. Torren shouts come in , and Beau enters with the scent of kabobs wafting from a stack of takeout containers, causing my stomach to rumble so loudly that I blush.
“Alright, we’ll feed you,” Torren says with a laugh.
He takes the containers, tells Beau thanks, then sits back down. He pushes a button, and a small table pops up from the couch. He sets the food out, then hands me a packet of plastic silverware.
“Eat.”
“Thanks,” I say, and we eat in silence.
Well, more like I eat. Torren sits, smokes, and watches me. I try to ignore it at first, but after about ten minutes, the quiet grows suffocating, and his unrelenting eyes make me feel like prey being stalked by a predator.
In a way, I guess I kind of am.
“You’re making me nervous.”
“I am? Why’s that?”
“You’re staring.”
He laughs. “Do you want me to stop? I can if you want, but I really don’t want to.”
“Why not? ”
He takes a pull from his joint and blows the smoke out slowly before answering.
“I like the view.”
I bite the inside of my cheek to tame my smile. I can’t fight the flush of heat I feel kissing my skin, though. Downfall of having such a pale complexion. I’ll blush as red as my hair, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
“You’ve got sexy freckles.”
I snort out an unattractive laugh that fills me with immediate embarrassment, deepening my blush, and his grin grows.
“What? What’s funny?”
I roll my eyes. “ Sexy freckles? Who says that?”
He shrugs. “I do. I think they’re sexy. The freckles on your nose are sexy. The freckle on your left earlobe is sexy. The freckles on your shoulders and chest are sexy.” He gives me a devious grin. “I’ll confess to imagining where else you had them last night. I wanted to take all your clothes off and explore.”
I shake my head and close my eyes, overwhelmed and unable to process everything I’m feeling, and the couch cushion dips as he scoots closer.
“I like making you blush, too.” His knuckle runs over my chin, making goose bumps erupt all over my body. “I like affecting you.”
Then his knuckle is replaced with his soft lips, and I gasp.
“Is this okay?” I feel him speak the words over my skin. He doesn’t break contact as he asks. He just drags his lips up and down my jaw, pressing soft kisses.
I nod slowly, swallowing hard before whispering my answer.
“Yes.”
For the briefest of moments, I worry about my breath. I just ate kabobs and hummus. I haven’t brushed my teeth. Am I going to smell like garlic? But then his fingers slide under the hem of my shorts, squeezing my thigh lightly, and all concerns fizzle from my consciousness.
“ This pain...won’t go away easy...I’m still here to please you...”
He drags his lips over my jaw as he whispers, a faint melody I can’t place carrying every word. I fist my hands into his shirt as he moves to my earlobe, taking it between his teeth and biting down lightly .
While he caresses my thigh with one hand, his other moves my hair off my shoulder, and he continues downward, kissing my neck. Licking me. Sucking softly. Biting. God, the biting. I didn’t think I’d be into biting, but I am. I really am. I hold him tighter. Pull him closer. Breathe faster. I will myself to calm down before I pass out, but I can’t. I can’t.
“Relax, baby. Do you want me to stop?”
His breath skirts over my collarbone as he drags my tank top strap down my shoulder, then he’s pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses to my chest. My collarbone.
“No,” I rasp. “Don’t stop.”
He laughs quietly, deep and sensual. The sound goes right to my core, and I clench, pressing my thighs together against the throb.
“Open your eyes.”
I do, and my gaze connects with his. His pupils are blown wide, haloed by glittering, glowing green. It only serves to make me hotter, needier. He keeps his eyes locked on mine as he slides his hand under the neck of my tank top. His fingers rest lightly on my breast, and he presses his palm onto my chest. My heartbeat, I realize after a breath. He’s feeling my heartbeat.
“Your heart is racing. Is it fear, or are you turned on?”
I choke on a laugh, then answer honestly.
“A little of both, I think.”
Torren slowly removes his hand from under my shirt before sliding my tank top strap back up my shoulder. I don’t understand what’s happening as he presses a soft kiss to my forehead and then stands, offering me his hand.
“I’ll walk you back.”
I squint, suddenly fighting the urge to cry. He’s...kicking me out? I shoot to my feet and wrap my arms around myself.
“What? Why? Am I not...are you not...into me?”
He laughs and makes a waving gesture between us.
“Does this look like I’m not into you?”
I’m confused at first, and then I realize he was gesturing to his lower body. To his...erection.
“Oh.”
Oh . There is a sizable bulge in Torren King’s jeans at the moment, and he’s suggesting that I’m the reason it’s there. My shock must show on my face because he laughs again, then takes my hand in his. He rubs his thumb over my knuckles and speaks slowly.
“You’re visibly uncomfortable. I’m not going to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to do.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to...”
I trail off, lost for words. How do I explain that this would be a literal dream come true without sounding like an obsessed fanatic? How do I tell him he’s everything and nothing like I’ve imagined, and I’m overwhelmed by the absolute realness of him?
Torren King might as well have been a mythical hero in bedtime fairy tales before this weekend. Always pixilated or out of focus. Veiled in mystery. Idolized and revered and blurred around the edges. I’m still getting used to the technicolored reality of his presence.
He smiles and nods, then gives my hand a tug.
“C’mon, Firebird. I’ll walk with you.”