Page 11 of Revel
Before I can think of anything better to say, I make matters worse by saying, “I’m not a virgin.”
Smoke billows from his nose and mouth with a scoff, his attention remains downcast, his callused fingers handling his cigarette. “Bullshit.” Even through his shades, I can feel his eyes assault me with the full force of his attention. He’s staring at my chest. I know it. Probably eye-fucking the crap out of me.
I stand my ground, my hands on my hips as if I’m a rebellious teenager trying to prove my point, my independence. In many ways, I suppose I am. I want him to know I belong here and I’m not going to let him or anyone else tell me I don’t. But instead of that, I’m trying to defend my non-virginity to him. “I’m not.”
He frowns, as if I shouldn’t be talking to him at all. His expression shifts slightly as he brings his cigarette to his lips again. “Prove it.” My eyes are drawn to his jawline, and words like chiseled, strong, square, they all come to mind when describing him. And the eyes? They’re like angry, icy blue glaciers, and they’re narrowed at me, probably in anger.
Yep. Anger.
With careful consideration, I settle on my next words. “No. I don’t have to.” And I don’t. I refuse to prove anything to this asshole.
The slight lift of his head shows his annoyance. “You’re the one trying to convince me,” he says, moving past me toward the front of the bus. As he moves by me, the heat of his body scorches me, makes me breathe heavily as his gaze drops to the rest of my body. I can’t tell if it’s a look of interest or a look of disdain. As he finally breaks our eye contact and walks off the bus I realize, taking a deep breath for what feels like the first time since I got on this bus, I may be in over my head.
Just as I’m about to throw up my white flag and call my dad up to tell him I’ve changed my mind, Bella plops down on the couch, her cell phone in hand. “I don’t know about you, but that was strangely hot. I’m thinking that’s gonna be a regular thing on this bus. Oh! Do you think they’ll have orgies on the bus?”
Her sudden eagerness strikes me silent. I stare at her. “You need help.”
“He has a sex tape,” Bella notes, her eyes twinkling as she sucks her teeth, making a clicking sound. “I think I’mma need to watch that shit.”
I’m still staring. “Why?”
She blinks her pretty dark lashes. “For pointers,” she whispers. “To see what rock stars like.”
Sitting next to her, I sigh, my heart finally calming. My curiosity gets the better of me. “He really has a sex tape?”
“Yes, he does. It’s all over the internet. It’s him and Hensley.”
Of course it is. And why do I desperately need to see this?
Taking a moment to look around the bus. Guitars and sheet music are strung all over the place, and there are about fifty bottles of alcohol stashed in boxes on the ground.
Revved’s tour manager resurfaces on the bus, this time the other members of the band follow him, including Revel himself.
“I’m sorry about him,” the man says, reaching for my hand and rolling his head back to Revel. “I’m Cliff, Revved’s tour manager. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Ash.”
I offer a smile, shake his hand, and then sink back against the couch, wondering if I should be sitting on it. I can’t imagine what’s happened on this very piece of leather beneath me. I’m positive I don’t want to know.
The tour bus itself is extravagant, as expected. Mine is something like a sanctuary of tranquility and soft colors, a place where I can relax. Revved’s bus is something out of a luxury porno. I’m not joking.
Bella nudges me. “Is that a stripper pole?”
I nod. It’s a stripper pole right in the middle of the kitchen dinette. Remind me not to eat on this bus or touch anything.
My eyes roam over every inch of the space. Two overstuffed leather couches line the walls in the front with thick dark wood accents and leopard print carpet. A dinette table wraps around the side of the couches, along with two more captain-style chairs. Televisions are mounted on every flat surface along with black granite countertops and stainless-steel appliances. In the back, where Revel had been so thoroughly enjoying himself, a bathroom, bunks, and a large L-shaped couch with a bar.
Take a look around at the band members making themselves comfortable. Everyone knows who they are, but you don’t, do you? Allow me to introduce you. Sitting across from me haphazardly, as though he fell from the sky and landed there, Revved’s drummer, and Bella’s fantasy, Cruz Rosanio.
Watching me, and then Bella, he brushes his thumb along his lower lip. “What’s your name, honey?” Cruz directs his question at Bella, winking at her, an introspective frown settling on his lips.
Poor girl, she practically chokes on her own spit to answer, “Bella. I’m Taylan’s personal assistant.”
“You in the business of assisting anyone else on this tour?”
She giggles and I sort of check out because sitting here with these guys is something similar to being thrown into, well, hell with the devil himself. I curse that damn flat tire. And why, oh why does Revel have to be so disgustingly gorgeous? And rude, sexy… I should stop. I’m gonna stop.
To our right, sitting at a corner table with Revel, is Deacon, their guitarist. I don’t know much about him other than he’s incredibly quiet and rarely, if ever, does interviews. I watch Deacon’s fingers constantly move, like he’s playing music no one else can hear, while he and Revel speak in hushed tones. A trickle of awareness trails along my spine as my eyes lock with Revel’s for a second longer than is comfortable before I force them to continue moving across the remaining band members.
Across from them, sits Hardin Helms, Revved’s bass guitarist. I don’t know much about him either. Most everything you read in the headlines is always directed at Revel, for good reason. He’s usually the one making a scene and looking for attention.
