Page 23 of Revel
Rolling my eyes, I reach for the water beside me. “Figures.”
Relaxing against the couch, Bella sits next to me, handing me a blanket. Staring out the window, the lights of the tour buses leaving the parking lot dance along the drips of water. It sounds like tiny pings hitting the top of the bus. In the background, Leddy and Bella talk about the upcoming shows.
My head is reeling from the day. Fromhisperformance. From mine.Hiswords… mine. I want to relax and forget the night, but I can’t. I think about the way the crowd chanted his name long after his performance. I obsess over the smallest details of his performance, not mine. The way his lips brushed the microphone, the agonizing moan he released after the words, “strangle my violent heart, break the hold, give me that at least.”
Visions engrave in my memory. Him strumming his guitar, and the glimpse I got of the man behind the energetic front man.
Snapping from my thoughts, Dad comes on the bus after Leddy, his attention on his phone. He lifts his head just long enough to tell me, “We need you in Sacramento tonight.”
And though I want to press for details on what he thought about the show, I know what his diverted attention means. He didn’t watch it.
“Why?”
“You have press in the morning before the show.”
Awesome. Guess who else has press in the morning and will more than likely be on the same flight as me?
Revel.
Slade.
Bella reaches for my hand. “It’s going to be okay.”
She’s only saying that because she wants some alone time with Cruz, who by the way, hasn’t spoken to her since our time on the bus where he asked her numerous times what her name was and forgot every time.
I knew going on this tour I’d be around Revel a lot, but I didn’t think we’d be stuck together on a plane and him occupying the space behind me. It seems between that and him being a justifiable ass the majority of the day, he decides to make matters worse. Actually, it starts with Bella.
Do you see that tiny little brat sitting next to Cruz and leaving the seat next to me empty? Empty for someone, to you know, sit next to me. It makes me uncomfortable.
Bringing my hand to my cheek, I attempt to cool my face, a fleeting chill from the ice water I’m holding. It’s his presence that’s dominating my internal temperature, flitting my heart, bringing with it a chorus of rapid beats. My eyes eventually drift, finding the one I’m drawn to.
Our gazes catch, hold, intensifies until he breaks it with a sigh. Stupid sexy rock star and his hotness. How can someone make sighing look sexy?
Revel Slade can for sure.
Stop looking at him!I can tell myself that all day and night, but I can’t stop it. It’s like my body and every mannerism I have is confused and suddenly drawn to him.Yeah, well, get your shit figured out, Tay. He’s bad news.
Cruz whispers something in Revel’s ear only to have him whisper, “Shut the fuck up,” and stands, giving the seat next to me a nostalgic glance. Without a word, he glides past me to the bathroom, his hands in his pockets. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t check out his ass in the process, but his jeans are baggy, so I don’t get a good look.
Suffocated by his pensive silence toward me, I drop my eyes to the magazine in my hand. Actually, it’s the safety pamphlet I think, but I’m staring at it, and I can’t tell you what it’s about. Just about the time I’m thinking I might get a drink, lord knows I need one, I hear the words, “I had a dream about you,” whispered my way.
Crap. He’s talking to me again. I jump, a whole-body jerk like I’ve just been woken up from a bad dream. I’d been so lost in my own thoughts I hadn’t realized he’d been looking at me until I meet his expression of indifference. His eyes don’t leave mine. Along with the whole-body jump, my heart lurches, and then I choke on my own spit, all at the same time. Standard reaction around him and I bet he enjoys every damn minute of it.
A knot of annoyance forms. Why am I letting him get to me?
“Excuse me?” I ask, my eyes focusing in on his.
Handing me a glass I’m sure he’s spiked, he moves to sit next to me, the heat of his body and the scent of cigarettes, vodka, and cinnamon consume me. I think he wears Old Spice or something. Or rubs up against cinnamon sticks. Leaning in, he whispers, “I had a dream aboutyou.”
Trying to appear unfazed, I slowly exhale and try to rid my body of my nerves. It doesn’t work. “Uh, why?”
He laughs lightly, swirling the golden liquid in his glass. He gazes at me with a heated expression. With unease, I squirm in my seat wishing I could open the window and jump out. “If I knew the answer to that,” he says, simply, before twisting my way further, “I wouldn’t be sitting here now, would I?” His eyes glitter with emotion, one I probably don’t want to know, but it’s his deepened voice that reveals the slightest indication of his southern roots.
“I don’t know. You seem intent on annoying me.” Look at me, I’m staring at him. Probably because every time I look at him, I desperately want to explore his jaw and rest my head on his chest. He’s wearing a plaid flannel shirt rolled up to his elbows and an unknown band shirt underneath it. I look to the thick veins running along his bare forearms and wonder what it feels like to have his arms wrapped around me.
Do you notice the way my heart is racing and the way I try to swallow but the dryness in my throat provides no relief? That’s what it’s like being next to him. He makes you forget about the world around you. It’s like having a traumatic brain injury, and you forget how to process words let alone control your bodily functions.
My favorite color is blue, and his eyes, too blue, too much emotion, too much. . . I don’t know. With a deep, yet shaky breath, I manage to ask, “What was your dream about?” Dear God, why am I provoking him?
