Chapter 1
Chapter One
CRUE
"There's another one," Mason says, his eyes directed at the dressing room across from ours.
"Another what?" I play dumb, pretending I don't know exactly what he's talking about. As if anyone around here has been able to forget the small cadre of wild women who have infiltrated our tour.
When our tour manager, Shelby Fitzgerald, mentioned bringing along a few friends to some of the shows, we didn't think it'd be a big deal. We scratch her back, she scratches ours, right? We should have read the fine print. Shelby's friends quickly turned the tour upside down.
Every time a new girl joins the group, another one of my friends bites the dust.
Jax was the first to fall. He landed on his knees for Dani right before the tour started.
Our head of security, Xander, was the next to fall.
Beckett fell shortly thereafter…which turned out to be a good thing since the sneaky fucker was planning to write a tell-all about us.
Falling for Resa changed his plans to some degree.
He's still writing the book, but we have veto power now.
And then Asher started following Brielle around with hearts in his eyes.
I don't know what the fuck is going on with Jameson, but he's been acting weird since the tour started…
right about the time our new tour manager waltzed in.
And Mason has his own situation going on.
His nose is stuck in his phone more often than not.
We're falling like fucking dominoes around here. It's impressive and terrifying.
I seem to be the last motherfucker standing. And the last thing I need to do is fall in love on this tour. We're halfway through.
Surely Shelby is almost out of friends by now, right?
"Another girl," Mason growls, stomping toward the stage with me. "She has another friend."
"So you're pissed she has friends?"
Mason doesn't handle people well. Ironic, all things considered, but true. He prefers them in small doses.
He shoots me a dirty glare. "Do you want to end up bloody married by the end of this tour, motherfucker? Because you just might if she keeps collecting friends in every city."
"Yeah, that's not happening."
"Yeah?" He smirks like he knows something I don't. "We'll see."
"What does that mean?"
He ignores me, so I grab his arm, halting him in his tracks.
"What does that mean, Binksy?" I growl the nickname he hates, not playing this cryptic shit.
I've gone out of my way to avoid being linked with anyone this entire tour.
I refuse to be fodder for the tabloids again.
Being labeled the heartthrob ten years ago was a goddamn nightmare, especially when I was a fucking virgin.
I had nightmares about the media finding out the truth and spilling my big secret to the world.
I wasn't ashamed, but every single part of my life was under a microscope.
I didn't want to share that part with the entire world, too. It was none of their goddamn business.
Jax had it bad, but none of us escaped unscathed. I've gotten used to the privacy I've carved out for myself in the last ten years. No one gives a shit about a former boy bander in a city like Nashville. I fly under the radar, especially since my brother, Cortez, became a certified billionaire.
I've managed to stay out of the tabloids for the majority of this tour.
I'd like to keep it that way. Particularly given that I'm ten years older and still carrying the same secret.
The tabloids would have a field day with the fact that I'm a virgin at my age.
I'm still not ashamed of my choice, but I still don't have any intention of sharing my personal business with the whole world, either.
They're vultures. And my sex life isn't gossip.
"They were talking about you," Mase says. "The new bird wants an interview."
"Hell no." I've been nice and more than patient with the girls.
Even when shit has gone completely sideways because the guys have stars in their eyes, I've been supportive.
But I draw the line at giving an interview.
We've done plenty of those on this tour.
They all ask the same bullshit, asinine questions.
"Knew you'd say that," Mason smirks at me. "Just don't be a right arse when you shoot her down. She's staying for the rest of the tour."
Of course she is. This tour is quickly becoming my own personal hell. It serves me right for pretending to be all kumbaya about it to the guys. Karma is a bitch. The only thing that works faster is the internet.
"Were you listening at the damn door?" I growl, stomping up the steps to the stage for rehearsal. Our next show is tonight. We need to run through everything to make sure our shit traveled all right and we're good to go.
"What? No." He scowls at me. "I was talking to Jax. He's in their dressing room with Dani."
Jax and Dani have been attached at the hip since they got together. She's been good for him. Really fucking good, actually. I've never seen him so settled or so happy. It's a good look on him. If anything positive has come from having the girls here, it's the fact that Dani has kept Jax grounded.
I'm just seriously fucking worried about the rest of the band.
Asher's got his head in the clouds. Jameson swears he's told us everything about his situation, but I'd bet my left nut that he's hiding something.
And Mason is…well, he's Mason. He's writing love songs like they're going out of style.
If things don't work out for him in Texas, it'll crush him.
I don't have time to worry about it right now, though. Apparently, I need to keep my own ass out of the fire. I don't know what kind of magic these women possess, but they're dangerous.
None of this was on my bingo card for this tour. Screaming fans? Check. Wild nights? Check. Possibly crashing and burning? Also check. Falling like dominoes for a group of wild women? Nope. Not on the card.
Clearly, we should have planned better.
I make a mental note to avoid the girls at all costs. At least for the foreseeable future. It's not much of a plan, but it's the best one I've got that doesn't involve shooting this girl's request down, pissing off our tour manager and half the band. Or inadvertently ending up married.
It's a fine line to walk.
"Surely she's almost out of friends by now," I mutter as we step out onto the stage, making Mason laugh loudly. "She has to be running out of girlfriends."
* * *
The stage lights shine in my eyes, momentarily blinding me. I lose track of where I'm supposed to be on stage and bump into Jameson. He growls a curse, narrowly avoiding crashing to the ground. It's too damn late to save me, though.
I land flat on my back, staring up at the spotlights overhead.
"Fuck my life," I groan. Of course, my mic picks it up and sends the curse bouncing through the arena. And, of course, the group of women watching our rehearsal from the front row crack up.
Jameson leans down over me, extending his hand. "Missed your mark," he says with a smirk.
"Clearly." I haul myself to my feet, trying—and failing—to avoid looking at the group of women in the front row.
My eyes shift in their direction anyway.
Dani and Brielle have their heads bent, whispering back and forth.
Chastity and Resa are seated beside them, dancing in their seats.
Shelby's directly to the left of Chastity.
But the tiny little redhead beside her is new. She's also stunning.
She's younger than most of the girls, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, with the brightest smile and the clearest green eyes I've ever seen.
Freckles march across the bridge of her nose in chaotic patterns my fingers itch to trace.
A cute pair of green cat-eye glasses perch on the end of her nose, perfectly matched to her dress.
Jesus H. Christ. With her head tilted back and laughter still falling from her lips, she's a bright ray of sunshine spilling light into the arena. My dick immediately pops up, standing at attention in my sweats. There's no hiding it. He just fucking reacts.
I jerk my hand from Jameson's, spinning away from the girls before they get a show they didn't come to see. The new girl is the only one getting a ticket to that performance.
Mason looks up from his drums, sees my situation, and immediately bursts into laughter. He starts humming the Wedding March between loud guffaws. For a moody drummer, he's an asshole.
"Why the fuck are you…whoa!" Jameson jumps back like my dick just tried to bite him. "Jesus, Crue. Put that goddamn thing away."
"I didn't invite him out in the first place," I mutter, running through a list of the worst things I can think of—their bare asses, running from screaming fans, that one time in Tokyo, catching my dad railing my ma on the sofa. Nothing works.
"Are we going to finish this rehearsal or…what the fuck, Crue?" Asher reacts the same way Jameson did, jumping back two steps. And then he glances over his shoulder at the girls and back to me before he smirks. "So I guess Ireland's getting her interview, huh?"
Ireland. Her name is Ireland.
I commit it to memory like I'm learning the periodic table, memorizing every line and curve of each letter. I plan to say them often.
"Get your dick under control so we can finish this rehearsal," Jameson says, as if I decide what the monster does. Frankly, until two minutes ago, I thought he was broken. He hasn't gotten hard for anything in years. Apparently, he isn't broken. He just doesn't work unless Ireland is involved.
Shit. Just thinking her name makes him harder.
"Can we stop talking about my cock?" I'm desperately trying not to think about the curvy little redhead in the front row.
"This band is too close," Jax mutters, walking over to us. "I don't even want to know why we're talking about…Oh. Well, I guess that's why we're talking about your dick."
I'm never going on tour again.