15. Kelsey
Kelsey
Iwake up burrowed deep in the comforter, my hand still clutching the fork. There’s drool on my cheek and hair in my eyes. One of my boobs is trying to escape my tank top.
Riot didn’t come after me.
He embarrassed me. He threatened me. And he made me a pariah to the guys. I was totally ready to stab him if he didn’t leave me alone during the night.
His groupie must have recaptured his attention, because he didn’t try anything. I never needed to use my makeshift weapon.
Returning the metal utensil to its hiding place under the pillow, I hunt around the top of the mattress for the phone Bronx gave me, until my fingers touch the cold flat case.
Picking it up, I flip onto my back. My thumb lights up the screen. It’s not quite seven. San Francisco is on our horizon. We won’t be trapped on this bus for much longer.
No, we’ll be trapped in a car. And then a hotel suite.
There’s motion in the alley between the bunks. The guys are all up and moving about when I pull the privacy curtain open an inch. Three shirtless, sexy men is a sight this girl can appreciate.
And then there’s Riot’s groupie from last night. She wanders out from the private bedroom in one of his shirts. Her red hair all over the place.
The hand around my phone tightens. Of course he fucked her. I’m the only one on this bus that isn’t allowed to enjoy herself.
He literally took my fucking vibrator. I’d been so angry and turned on by our standoff last night I’d had to take matters into my own hands. But then he’d been front and center and there was no chance I was giving him the satisfaction, even if it was only in my own head.
“Morning, Morgan,” Bronx says to her as Kodiak and Golden head to the front of the bus.
“Do you mind if I use your shower before I head to the airport?” she asks.
She’s leaving then. Is that her decision or Riot’s? Actually... I shake my head. Why the hell would I care?
“Help yourself,” he says. “Towels and soap are in there.”
He turns in my direction and his gaze lands on me as she closes herself into the bathroom. “Sleep okay, Kells Bells?”
“Yeah.” I’m not sure how. One minute I couldn’t imagine getting a wink of sleep as worked up as I was. The next it was lights out. I’ve been running on empty for too long.
“You might be the only one.” His eyes crease in the corners.
“I’m sorry.” I should never have taken it as far as I did last night.
I should have been an adult and told Riot to get fucked from the start.
Instead, I bought stakes in his game of sexual standoff and put Bronx in the middle of it.
Then left him hanging, literally, out of his pants. “That really wasn’t fair on you.”
“I hope you two can work out how to be around each other without killing each other. Or one of us.” He raps his knuckles on the wooden frame of the bunks and heads for the front lounge.
I shiver. The last thing I want to deal with is another dead body. Even Riot’s.
When the girl leaves the bathroom, I grab a change of clothes and get ready myself.
Rest day in San Fran won’t be restful. I choose jeans and layer two tanks under my favorite black hoody.
It has these puffy black bows and glittery purple skulls on it.
When I found it, I bought two. One for me and an identical but much smaller version to add to the trove of tiny human clothing I was collecting for her.
I push the memory away. I can’t afford to let my anger drown in my sadness.
I wish I could lay down, curl up, and never get up again.
But I didn’t lay down and die when my dad went to prison and my mom abandoned me.
I didn’t give up when Marco would crawl into my bed three nights a week.
And I refused to fall apart when Riot cheated on me.
“You’re a survivor, Kelsey Peterson,” I pep talk myself. “You don’t need anyone to have your back.”
The one man I trusted to have my back proved that.
I lean over and gather my hair into a perfectly messy bun. Slick my pout with a sheer gloss. And apply several coats of mascara until I’m satisfied that I appear put together enough to make it through the day.
A day that will be packed full of promo. As soon as we arrive at our destination the guys will have a full itinerary to follow before we’re allowed to hide out at whatever hotel they’re booked into.
I join the three guys and the girl everyone is calling Morgan in the front lounge. Golden is whipping up his famous caramel French toast, and everyone has a glass of green protein shake.
Riot hasn’t emerged yet. She must have really worn him out.
Kodiak grins at me and taps the spot beside him, letting me know there’s no hard feelings between us.
I smile back gratefully. I need his friendship if I’m going to survive.
It’s hard enough being the only girl on a tour bus full of dudes, but it’d be practically impossible if they were all not talking to me.
“What do you have scheduled?” I plop down next to him, my shoulder bumping against his.
“Tons,” he says. “A couple of radio appearances. A meet and greet with some competition winners.”
Golden plates up the French Toast and hands them out.
Shouldn’t Riot be up by now?
“Fifteen minutes to the hotel,” Jasper announces. “Cars are waiting.”
“One of them will take you to the airport,” Bronx tells Morgan.
Shouldn’t Riot be the one organizing her trip home?
“Thank you.” She kisses his cheek. “You’re a gentleman.”
He blushes until his face is the same color as his beard as he digs into his breakfast. It’s cute how he still gets embarrassed by compliments no matter how many girls and guys throw them his way.
“You’ll come with us,” Kodiak tells me.
“What about your manager? Who is that these days? Do they accompany you?”
The guys exchange cagey glances.
“They don’t travel with us.” Golden sits down at the table to eat.
It’s probably a good thing. Then they’d have to explain my presence, which could get uncomfortable. I’d like to put more than three hundred and eighty miles between me and Marco before I get kicked off the bus.
Still, even this small distance means I can relax my guard a bit. And being around the guys without Riot being in my face feels like coming home to family.
Breakfast is quick, full of chatter, dirty humor, and familiarity. By the time we get to the hotel, all the dishes have been stacked in the sink for the cleaner to deal with and everyone is ready to leave the bus.
Except Riot.
I frown at the closed door at the other end of bunk alley. “Shouldn’t you wake him up?”
“He left the bus last night,” Bronx frowns at me as he puts his hand to the small of Morgan’s back and they leave the bus.
“Did I wake up in the twilight zone?” I did almost suck Bronx’s cock last night, right? Riot went to bed with Morgan, didn’t he?
Kodiak shrugs into his flannel, pulls the hoodie over the gray woolen beanie covering his caramel hair. “He demanded off the bus like twenty minutes after shit went down between you. And we were all happy to see the back of him.”
“You’re telling me he isn’t on the bus,” I clarify.
Because he has my box and my vibrator. I have no doubt that he lied last night about not having them.
There’s a good chance they’re in the bedroom.
This might be my opportunity to get them back.
Before Riot decides to go through my box and find the baby things I kept that will tell him everything I never did.
“I forgot something. I need five minutes.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll tell them.” Kodiak digs his hands into his pockets and exits the bus behind Golden.
I rush through the bus and let myself into the dark bedroom. The bed is unmade, there’s a good chance Morgan and Bronx ended up using it to its full potential.
I have no time to consider if I have any kind of feelings about that. I bite my lip as I scan the space. Where would Riot put it?
Under the bed? No, too easy. In with his clothes? There’s a half dozen cupboards that it could be in. Methodically I start to work my way through them. “Where are you?”
I start opening cupboards and—once I’ve ascertained that my memento box isn’t inside—shutting them. “Where did he put it?”
“You won’t find it,” his dark, gritty voice makes me jump. My already racing heart takes flight.
Taking a breath and steeling myself, I shut the cupboard door that’s keeping him from my view. “You had no right to take my things.”
“They’re my things too.” His steely gray gaze is wholly focused on me.
My senses heighten. My breath catches. He knows.
“My letters to you. My lyrics.” He stalks toward me. “You need the money. You figured you could sell my soul.”
“I…” Maybe he hasn’t looked yet. Maybe he hasn’t worked out the secrets I hold in my cardboard chest. But I can’t count on it. “Give it back, and I’ll give you all your damn letters and lyrics. They’re not worth anything to me.”
It’s kind of bullshit. I kept them, didn’t I? But I probably shouldn’t have. They were all a bunch of lies.
Every pretty word, every funny joke, or this reminded me of you, or always your friend was a lie. As was the confession that he wanted to be a one-woman man that had me eating out of his hand only days before Rogue and Ivy’s wedding.
He can take all those moments and broken promises and shove them up his ass for all I care.
His brows rise. “Something else is worth more, then?”
“No.” My bravado drains away. Shit. Shit. Shit. I don’t want to dredge up my pain for him. He doesn’t deserve it. And even if I should have told him at one point, that time has long passed. “You’re right. I was planning on selling your original lyrics to the highest bidder.”
He steps in, leaving no air between us. His lips touch my ear. “I thought that might be the case, but now I know I need to look deeper.”
“There’s nothing—”
“Filthy little liar.” His breath is hot against my neck.
My insides clench, muscle memory misreading the heat and dark depths of his insult as something more desirable. I shove at him. “At least I’m not a cheat.”
He hardly budges.
I shrink under his hard gaze. Ugh. Screw that. I’m not going to let him make me feel small when he’s the one who broke us. “You fucked Sonatina. I didn’t do that.”
“So what if I did?” His hand wraps around my throat. His grip is more calculated this time, less sloppy. He no longer denies it the way he did the night I walked away. “You left.”
Because finding them together broke my heart. And then they rubbed it in my face in the middle of his brother’s wedding reception. He was kissing her. What was I supposed to do? Let him crush me completely. “As if I was going to stick around after that.”
His jaw bulges. He looks like he has more to say, but when he speaks his question takes me aback. “What will you give me to get your box back?”
“What do you want?” I claw at his hand, but his grip remains.
“Riot. Kelsey. We’ve got to go,” Bronx hollers from the front of the bus.
My head swims with my breathing hindered. Worse is the way that heightens the throb between my legs. “Riot?”
He tilts his head to one side, smirks. “Come to my room tonight. I’ll tell you what you’ll do for your precious box then.”
“There is no way I’m going to do that.” I say when his grip eases. I suck in deep breaths.
“You will.” He lets me go. My skin tingles all over. There’s an ache in my thighs as he saunters out. I forgot how hot and bothered he could make me. I scrunch my knees together as I sink down onto the mattress to catch my breath.
No, I’m not going to play this game with him.
Am I?
No. Nope. Never again.
Oh God. Am I?