Dancing my fingertips along the curve of her collarbone, I drop them lower to the tops of her milky white breasts, but my touch is barely there. My eyes drag to hers, my lack of self-control makes me want to punch myself in the face. Her blush deepens before I whisper, “I meanteveryword.”
Our eyes lock. My heart stammers in my chest. Dripping with lust, Red licks her lips, attempting to gain some sort of control. The thought of flipping her around and fucking her up against the wall crosses my mind. By default, every action she makes is predictable. This girl, this too-good, unbearably sexy naïve girl, the one I think about constantly fucking rough, and ruthlessly, she doesn’t know I know exactly what she’s going to do for me.
UNEXPECTED RESCUE
TAYLAN
Bella sighs next to me, but it’s not a sigh of boredom. This one is something similar to the one you give when all is right in the world, and you’re content with your life. You know the one I’m talking about, right? The kind where it’s all dreamy and relaxed, and you think to yourself, damn, life is good.
Just so you know, I haven’t had that feeling in years, or maybe ever.
“Holy shit,” Bella breathes, twisting the cap off her water bottle. “This just keeps getting more and more interesting.” She pauses, takes a drink of her water and then stares at me, blinking slowly. “I’m so glad I came on this tour with you.”
I point out the obvious. “You come oneverytour with me. We’ve literally been tied at the hip since birth.” It’s the truth. We were born twelve hours apart and raised together. When I wasn’t with a nanny, I was with Bella and her dad.
“Yeah, but still.” Reaching for my eye-shadow compact, she opens it, uses her finger to apply some glitter to her already bright purple eye shadow and then smiles, fluttering her lashes at me. “This one is so much cooler than the last.”
I sigh. I’m not sure I’d go with the wordcooler, but whatever. I’ll let Bella have her moment while my heart returns to normal beating. . . if that’s possible.
“Why’d he say those things about you?”
I stare at my reflection in the mirror of my vanity. Who the hell is this girl staring back at me, flirting with danger? “I don’t know.” My answer’s truthful. I don’t know why.
Someone knocks on the door, and Bella moves to it. She returns a moment later with my lunch. “Do you think he likes you?”
“What are we in, kindergarten? He’s Revel. He doesn’t like anyone.” Unwrapping my sandwich, I think about Bella’s question. Revel doesn’t like anyone, let aloneme. Prying open the bread of my sandwich, I see red slices and look up at Bella, scowling. I’m a picky eater, and if there’s any sign of red, I’m out. “And I thought I said no tomatoes?”
Carefully, she retrieves the tomatoes I refuse to touch let alone eat. “Yeah, but I think he doesn’t exactly hate you anymore.” She hands me back the sandwich. “Or maybe he never did. I bet it was a show from the beginning to get your attention.”
Picking up my sandwich, I inspect it to make sure there’s no sign of tomatoes now and take a bite, mumbling the words, “Lucky me,” with food in my mouth, chewing as loud as I can even though it annoys me. Bella hates hearing people eat. She’ll literally leave the room when she hears it and let me tell you, it’s all by design.
Her scowl deepens, and I fight the urge to tap my finger to the tiny crease between her brows. Everything about Bella is little. Born two months premature, she’s pocket-size and adorable, and has an attitude to go with it. Standing, she slams those baby hands on my knees. “You’re doing that on purpose.”
Winking at her, I shrug. I need to be alone to process and contemplate, and if eating too loud is the answer, that’s what’ll do.
“You have sound check in an hour,” she reminds me, standing up to reach for her bag and the bottle of rum she brought back to my room with her. “Now I’m going to see about a drummer.” She slaps her own ass on the way out. “I hear they hit it harder.”
I think I might disagree on that one, but whatever.
When she’s out of the room, I pick up my cell phone and take another bite of my sandwich. I make the mistake of checking Twitter, which I told myself I wouldn’t do until the tour was over. There’s nothing worse than when you’re in the middle of self-doubt and loathing, and you check out social media.
I read things like:
SHE HAS NO BUSINESS BEING ON THIS TOUR.
SHE’S GOING TO CHOKE ON REVVED’S FLAMES!
THE LINE-UP IS AMAZING, ASIDE FROM TAYLAN. I HATE THAT POP-BITCH.
Oh, look. I have a new nickname. Pop-Bitch. Sounds like a gadget from an infomercial.
“Why are you reading that crap?” a gruff voice asks from behind me. I don’t have to turn around to know who it is, but the reaction is the same. Panic.
I nearly choke on my sandwich and drop the remainder of it on my lap. My cell phone and sandwich go flying toward the ground when I realize Revel is in my dressing room. “Holy, crap. What are you doing in here?”
Revel smirks and shrugs one shoulder, leaning into the wall beside my vanity, reaching into his pocket for his lighter. “Tinkerbella said you needed me.”
Tinkerbella? Oh, cute. He gave Bells a nickname too.
