Chapter 26
“we fell in love in october” - girl in red
Saylor
I pretend to be asleep when Rhett leans down to press a kiss to my hairline.
I’m not ready to face the music yet, but since we’re heading to Houston today, I don’t have much choice.
After I hear the door to the suite shut, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and make my way to the bathroom.
I’ve got at least half an hour before he returns from his run.
I allow myself the space of one shower to dwell on the events of last night.
As the hot stream hits my back—the water pressure in this hotel really is something—I remember the way Rhett’s mouth moved over my body, the way his hands seemed to cradle me, chasing away whatever lurked in the shadowy recesses of my soul.
I try not to think about what he said. I haven’t been pretending for a long time.
We didn’t talk about it then, and I have no intention of doing so now.
What is there to talk about? I don’t think he’s lying.
I think he truly believes he loves me. But Rhett Cole falls in love with a new girl every two weeks.
I’m just another pretty face and hot body in his bed, but I refuse to be yet another broken heart he tucks away in his jacket pocket as a souvenir.
I force myself to turn off the spray and the fantasies still playing on a loop in my head.
Now is not the time to imagine a future with Rhett.
It will never happen, and picturing it will only lead to further disappointment.
The best thing to do right now is pretend that nothing happened last night. Or at least nothing besides sex.
I was even planning to forget about what happened at the concert, but once I’m settled in the armchair in the sitting room with a cup of black tea and my phone, I realize the rest of the world has no intention of doing the same.
It’s everywhere.
My feed is filled with videos of our onstage kiss and users trying to uncover my identity.
It’s like the wink multiplied by ten. They can’t stop talking about the way he grabbed my face, the look in his eyes, the look in mine.
Apparently, it was the best kiss in the history of kisses.
I’m not sure how they’ve verified this, but after watching some of the footage, I will admit it does look pretty hot.
It was hot, even if I was too terrified and angry to fully enjoy it.
A quick Google search confirms that even some of the celebrity gossip sites are picking up the story. My only saving grace is that Rhett didn’t use my last name, but it’s only a matter of time before they discover it.
I set my mug aside, my stomach suddenly queasy. This was never meant to happen. It’s exactly why I made Rhett promise to keep my identity a secret. I have no desire to be a feeding source for those vultures. They’ll pick at my bones for years to come.
A premonition of this exact thing happening has been playing at the edges of my mind this entire trip.
It’s why I hesitated in the first place.
Sure, I wasn’t thrilled at the thought of being Rhett’s plaything for six weeks, especially knowing my weakness for him, but this was the real reason I didn’t want to do it.
Rhett’s relationships have been in the tabloids for years now, ever since the first time he dated Princess Beatrice. It seems the public has as much of a thing for a bad boy rock star as I do.
When he inevitably drops me at the end of the tour, I was hoping to be able to return to my life as it was before, not continually haunted by photos and videos of our time together.
But after last night, that is nothing but a pipe dream.
* * *
The tour bus is loud. Six men, little more than overgrown children hyped up after playing shows night after night, are splayed out on the furniture of the lounge. I step out of the bunk room with my laptop. I thought I’d be able to work on the bed, but I need better back support than that.
Jamal watches me settle in at the small table in the corner, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “Saylor,” he calls. “You can come sit with me.”
I toss him an amused smile and fire up my computer. I know he does it just to get a rise out of Rhett.
Like a dog needing to mark his territory, Rhett gets up from his position on the sofa and walks over to me.
I’ve managed to avoid him all morning, but now that we’re with the band, I have to keep up the act of being the adoring girlfriend who just had the hottest kiss of her life in front of a stadium packed with people.
He looks so good—dark green joggers, a black short-sleeve mesh top, and a pair of scuffed Vans.
His hands are shoved into his pockets as he approaches, and I know that means he’s nervous.
Rhett Cole doesn’t get nervous, so I’m not sure what this is about.
Is he afraid I’ll bring up what he said last night?
I smile to let him know I have no intention of doing so.
He still looks tentative as he bends down to give me a kiss, a chaste one on my cheek. “Hi,” he whispers, breath tickling my ear.
“Hi,” I whisper back. Now I’m nervous.
“Can I join you?” he asks.
I give the small booth I’m sitting in a pointed look.
“I’m working on the content calendar for next week .
. .” I let my voice trail off, hoping the insinuation is clear enough and that I don’t have to spell it out for him.
I don’t want to hurt him, but I don’t want to sit next to him in agony for the next three hours either.
“So I’ll watch you.” He slips a hand over my jaw and into my hair.
I can sense Jamal’s eyes on us, so I smile sweetly back at Rhett. “You’ll distract me.”
A grin spreads across his face. “I certainly hope so.”
After dropping a kiss on my lips—less chaste this time—he slides into the seat next to me. I stifle the irritation I feel and scoot over to make room. Of course the guy couldn’t take a hint and leave me alone. Fucking fantastic.
I try to focus on my screen and ignore him, but within thirty seconds, it becomes obvious this will be impossible. He places his hand on my thigh, innocently at first, but then it creeps higher, squeezing tighter, wandering inward. I squirm in my seat and elbow him in the ribs.
“Ow,” he says, even though there’s no way I hurt him.
“I’m trying to work,” I say quietly as his hand reaches the seam between my hip and thigh.
“Me too,” he says, keeping his eyes focused on the front of the bus.
“Really?” I mutter. “How’s that, exactly?”
“You’re my inspiration. I’m getting inspired.”
I snort and open my calendar. There are less than ten days left of this tour. I can’t decide if I’m excited or disappointed by that. On one hand, I know I’ll be thrilled to be home again, but— I refuse to think about Rhett or the hole that will be left in my heart when we say goodbye.
I knock his hand off my leg. “You’re keeping me from doing the exact thing you’re paying me for.”
He moves it right back. “I’m paying you for other things, and if you want to head to the bedroom, I can remind you of what those are.”
I whip my head to the side to look at him. “I sincerely hope you’re joking.”
He blinks at me. “About which part?”
“You are not paying me for sex,” I hiss.
“Of course not.” His face is the perfect mask of innocence. “That’s simply a perk.”
I roll my eyes and turn to face my computer again. When he starts rubbing his hand over my knee, I finally snap. “Rhett, please. Just—” I force myself to look at him so he’ll take me seriously. “Just leave me alone. I can’t get anything done like this.”
Several beats pass as he stares at me, then he gets up and walks back to the sofa. A strange uneasiness washes over me as I watch him go, as though I’ve just sent a stray dog from the back porch without a meal.
Now that he’s gone, I should be able to work, to actually accomplish something instead of mooning over a man who will most definitely break my heart if I let him. Still, it feels like a small hairline fracture has already spread across the surface.
Rhett picks up his guitar and starts playing. The other guys are talking too loudly for me to pick out the notes, but the melancholy way he’s sitting, the way he avoids looking at me—I don’t need to be able to hear it to know what it sounds like.
He’s sad, and I made him that way.
Great. Even when he’s not with me, he’s still making it impossible to get anything done.
My eyes keep drifting to the way his fingers are moving along the neck of the guitar.
I can almost feel them on my own neck. My brain is only too happy to supply memories of the way those hands feel on my body, the way they drag over my skin as if trying to memorize it.
After a few minutes, he looks up and meets my gaze. Instinctively, I drop my eyes back to my screen, but I can already feel the flush climbing. When I glance back a little later, a tiny smile is playing at the corners of his mouth.
I give myself a mental slap. Focus, Saylor.
I pull up recent job postings for back home.
I’ve been scanning nonprofits for openings, but nothing has popped up yet that feels like a good fit.
Fortunately, Rhett’s generous payment for me joining him on this tour will last me for a little while.
I plan to save most of it to maybe buy my own flat someday.
It’s a good thing I opened that separate account when I did.
I shudder to think what might happen if—
Rhett stands abruptly and walks toward me, a man on a mission. I bite my lip as he approaches.
When he reaches me, he tugs it out from between my teeth. “Don’t bite your lip unless you want me to fuck your mouth.”
On impulse, I release it. My heartbeat drums through my chest. Slowly and deliberately, I sink my teeth back into my bottom lip.
Fire dances in his eyes. “I see,” he murmurs. Then before I have a chance to react, he yanks me from the booth. “Let’s go.”
My pulse drums so loudly it could replace Diego in the band. Speaking of the band, I glance back over my shoulder to where they are all watching us with amused looks. “Rhett,” I whisper as he tugs me toward the bedroom. “Everyone will know what we’re doing.”
He shuts the bunk room door behind us, then presses me up against it. “Why do you assume I give a shit?”
“Um.” I search my mind for a reasonable answer, but none is forthcoming.
He leans in close, his words feathering over my ear. “Now get on your knees and suck my cock the way you know you want to.”
As if he’s spoken directly to them, my knees buckle beneath me, and I find myself on the carpeted floor of the bunk room.
I don’t think the door behind us even locks.
If someone finds us in here, I will die of mortification on the spot.
But the thought of putting Rhett in my mouth?
It surpasses all thoughts of embarrassment.
He moves so that he’s the one leaning against the door, then unzips his joggers.
The sound of that zipper alone is enough to spike my libido.
Saliva fills my mouth as he tugs his pants down and frees himself from his black Calvin Kleins.
He fists his cock and rubs his tip over my lips.
My tongue darts out to taste him. As I make contact, he rolls his head back and groans.
I lean forward and pull him into my mouth. He groans even louder, loud enough that I wonder if the guys can hear us. They’re just on the other side of this door, and somehow that makes the whole thing even hotter.
Sucking Rhett deep, I cover my teeth with my lips and move over the length of him.
I’m not sure he’s even aware of what he’s doing, but his hands reach up to cradle my head and guide me up and down.
All of a sudden, his eyes fly open, and he looks down at me.
The pressure on my head increases as he thrusts into my mouth harder and harder. I blink back tears and try not to gag.
A grunt accompanies each thrust of his hips, and I know he’s close. I suck harder, deeper, faster, and suddenly he comes, releasing into the back of my throat like a fire hose. I swallow every drop of him, then lick my lips after he pulls out.
His eyes turn devious as he watches me lick his cum off my mouth. He swipes at a spot I missed and sticks his thumb past my lips. I dutifully suck on it, and he gets this wrecked look on his face, as though that act is sexier than the blow job I just gave him.
Suddenly and without warning, he pulls me to my feet, grin stretching wide as he pushes me toward the bedroom. “Your turn,” he whispers.