Maybe (19 page)

I was right. Tyler Macy singing that song on stage, perfected or not, looking at me every once in a while as he plays up to the rest of the band, makes me weak in the knees. When the guitar drops out and it’s only him singing above the bass line and drumbeat, his voice shattering the hearts of young girls everywhere, I finally understand who he is.

He has to be the devil, because there’s no other explanation for why he would have that kind of musical ability. It’s enough to make my brain physically melt. Along with my knees. My eyes. Those damn pleather pants.

I’m glued to the spot while they say their final farewell to Arizona, and Tyler rushes off the stage to wrap me in his arms. He’s drenched in sweat, hot from the lights, high on adrenaline. When he sets me down on my feet, I take a step back and clear my throat.

Frowning and hoping to look thoughtful, I tilt my head. “Can we go talk? Alone, I mean. I need to speak to you about the concert, and it’s best we do it while the memory is fresh.”

“Are you kidding right now?” Shawn’s by my side, dripping sweat, pushing his hair from his eyes. “We have to go meet and greet. We have
fans
now, Em.”

Cam, as expected, agrees.

There’s a knowing look in Tyler’s eyes while one side of his mouth lifts and his shoulders straighten. “I don’t like the crowds anyway. You two take care of this.”

We don’t touch the entire way to the bus. It’s deserted, the driver standing with the others next to Shae’s back bumper. Once inside, I continue to walk to the back room and hear Tyler lock the door behind him. I’m keeping my composure, head up, shoulders straight back. His entire body is blocking the only way out, and he’s leaning a little while he awaits my next move.

“How was it? Do you have anything you’d like me to quote?” I’m fighting a smile, but his posture softens as he takes a step closer.

“You don’t even have a notebook. How are you supposed to take notes?”

“Photographic memory.”

He’s only a foot away now. “That’s not how that works.”

I’m practically shaking when he stops just shy of my toes. “You wrote all those songs about me, and there are people singing your lyrics, Tyler. Do you have any idea what that’s going to do to me for the next eleven concerts?”

With one step into me, the distance between us is closed, and he’s cradling the back of my neck to angle my chin up so I can see his face. “No. Tell me what it does to you. I want to hear it come from that beautiful mouth of yours. And then I want to taste it.”

“Maybe you should
feel
what it does to me.” I grab his left hand, and still keeping eye contact, bring his fingers to the top of my pants. I inhale when they twist the button and drag the zipper down. He angles back to look between us, and the delight on his face makes me laugh. “I’m glad I didn’t know you were wearing these earlier. I would have closed the set early.”

“I enjoyed the encore, though.”

“Then you’ll love the follow-up.” He slides the pleather down my hips and bends at the waist to yank them down. On his knees, he slides his hands up my thighs and around to cup my cheeks. His lips press to the sucker emblem on the panties, and he lets out that sexy hum that I’ve come to know so well. Watching, I hold my breath and whimper when he opens his mouth and flattens his tongue against the cotton.

“How long do we have?” I ask, gripping his hair in my fist.

“If Shawn has his way? At least an hour. Hollis? Twenty minutes, tops.” He pulls the elastic to the side, slipping his fingers against my warm skin, then farther inward. “You’re so wet. My God.”

“I know.” It’s such an obvious statement, and I laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. My head rolls a little, and I sigh when the tip of his finger grazes my clit, making my leg twitch.

“Tyler! Open the door.” Hollis’ voice is just outside the window, and Tyler rests his face against my stomach, a frustrated groan vibrating against my belly button.

“Hold on!” he shouts, looking around my hip at the dark corridor leading to where she’s shouting.

“I’ll get it. You need to go hang out in the bathroom for a few minutes.”

“That’s the exact opposite of how I wanted this to end. I’ve had enough time with my hand over the past year.” His eyes peer up from below, and I frown in pity.

“I’m sorry?”

“For fuck’s sake, Tyler! Open. The. Door.”

His eyebrows raise, and he stands to press a palm to his zipper. “I’ll let you get that.” By the time he’s in the bathroom, I have shoved my legs back into my own jeans and the black pants Hollis insisted on are crumpled in a corner.

“Hey. Sorry about that. How weird, right? It must have locked behind us.”

She does not look like she believes me at all, and I shrink under her scrutiny when her attention focuses on my jeans. “It should have been an unsaid thing, but how about we respect the communal space and institute a ‘no sex on the bus’ rule? Sound good? Good.”

Chapter Thirty

From the Private Journal of Tyler Macy

We’re two weeks in, and Hollis has cock-blocked me at every turn. This is worse than Emily’s no-touch rule.

We perform. We meet and sign. We get on the bus and sleep through the night, just to get to the next city the following morning.

I’m exhausted, irritable, and neglected in ways that I shouldn’t be.

I need a plan to get us off this bus for at least one hour. Until then, I’ll keep a happy face, because I have nothing to be ungrateful for right now.

—M

Chapter Thirty-One

I’m standing in front of a gas station just outside Washington, thankful for the opportunity to get off the bus and stretch my legs. Everyone is inside getting snacks, but I’m expecting a call at any minute from Rynn, so I’m hanging out at the far end of the parking lot. I wonder if the Badger will get big enough one day to require an assistant to run in and get them energy drinks and beef jerky. Which I hate, by the way. The smell is already starting to get to me.

Tyler is grinning and joking with Jonathan when they emerge through the sliding doors, carrying bags. His attention lands on me, and the smile turns cocky, a knowing look in his eyes. I watch him survey my body language, and he shakes his head while he walks my way.

“You’re ready to explode.”

“Shut up.”

He tilts his head to the side and dips his hand into his bag. “Look. They make these little Blow Pop candies that don’t have sticks now.” Tyler thrusts the package forward and tilts the bag open to deposit the little round candies into my palm. He steps closer and takes one between his thumb and forefinger. “They’re about the size of your nipples . . .”

I slap his arm and am about to give a fierce comeback when my phone rings. “Get outta here. I have to take a call from Rynn.” When he’s a good five feet away, I answer as cheerfully as possible.

She doesn’t address me immediately, and I hear her slam something on her desk before there’s the sound of something being broken against the floor. “Blow it out your ass, Victor. Emily, are you there? Why aren’t you talking?”

“Good morning, boss.”

If her plastic surgery would allow her to roll her eyes, she would. Hard. But I’m not there to witness the attempt. “Are you getting everything together to do what you’ve been assigned?”

“Of course.”

“From what I hear, this band is pretty straight. Are they drinking?”

“Moderately.”

“Drugs?”

“No.” This is a lie. Shawn and Cam have spent the better part of the week in Shae’s bus, and every time I see them now they’re high or drunk. Sometimes both.

“Do they fuck groupies on the regular?”

“Not all of them.” This is
not
a lie. Shawn is only sleeping with Shae. I think. I haven’t seen Cam in action, so I have no firsthand knowledge.

“One of these guys will fall from grace on tour. Which one do you have money on?”

I hate the thought of saying it out loud, but I know the answer immediately. “Shawn. The drummer.”

Her chair creaks, and I can picture her leaning forward, red-tipped nails pressed to her mouth, and gray cloudy skies outside her huge window. “Then he’s the one you watch. Follow the story, Emily.”

“Okay.” I am such a traitor. But she’s promised that this will get me where I want to be within the company, and my career is the most important thing in my life. Right now.

“And don’t have such a stick up your ass. You’re so uptight. How are you supposed to get in with them if you’re sitting on the sidelines? Laura told me you were a teetotaler in Texas.”

Her words surprise me, and I can’t believe how red my cheeks are under her intense words. “I . . . I just—”

“You just nothing, you hear me? You know what I did when I had your job back in the eighties?”

I shake my head because I don’t know where this is going, but it can’t be good. “No.”

“Cocaine. I was doing blow with the best of the best. You understand? That’s how I got what I needed for the articles. Get in there. Drink with them. Hell, fuck one of them for all I care. If you need permission, then it’s granted. Just get what we need, Emily. The rise and fall of a band is a cherry article. Give me a big red one.”

When we disconnect, I have to take a moment to collect myself. My eyes are closed, and I’m fighting nausea because I am spineless. I am a terrible person. A doormat of epic proportions when it comes to so many things.

I don’t want to do this.

“Hey, Emily. Did you want to ride over with me to do that interview we talked about?”

The lilt in his voice has become one of my favorite sounds over the last couple of weeks. “Fabian. Of course. I think this would be the perfect time for that.”

He jerks his head in the other direction, and I follow, stopping just long enough to let Hollis know where I’m going and to grab a notebook. Tyler has a suspicious look in his eyes, but this isn’t personal. It’s business.

Fabian’s transportation is smaller, and the studio musicians barely pay attention to me when I walk up the stairs. Liam sits on one of the couches and pretends not to listen to the interview, but his presence alone means I may not get the answers I need.

So I do my job and interview Fabian on his upbringing in South Africa, his musical influences, what he hopes to achieve. He seems very at ease when he speaks of his home, and he has a wistful look in his eyes while he thinks of answers. I find myself drawn to him, listening to his stories.

“You seem to really miss it. Do you have a girlfriend back home?”

“Yeah. Well, I did until I left. It wouldn’t be fair to her, but she was . . .
is . . .
my world.” His smile falters a bit. “If she’s still there for me when I get back, I’m going to marry her.”

My heart dips a little at his confession. Was it really possible for someone to wait for you while you went to another country and lived like a rock star? I mean, they aren’t exactly trashing hotels and getting arrested. There’s still time for all that to happen, but they’re currently living the dream in an understated way.

Yet he pines for a girl who he hopes will stay faithful. The look in his eyes tells me that he thinks it’s possible.

I have to ask myself if I’d be able to do it.

Trying to lighten the mood, I press on with an unrelated question. “Is there a song out there that you wish you had written?” I brace myself for the usual answers of “Let it Be” or “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

He answers immediately. “ ‘Dick in a Box.’ Genius. First, it’s an excellent how-to. Second, it’s a gift to women everywhere. What could possibly be better?”

And that’s how Fabian would become one of my top five interviews of all time.

The last couple of hours before we arrive at the destination, I’m bored to tears. If I have to watch
Spinal Tap
one more time, I will throw myself from the bus while it’s moving. It’s all out in the open now, so when I curl up next to Tyler and lay my head in his lap, no one says a word. It’s crazy to think we’ve known one another for over a year. That he’s been in my life but out of my reach for this long. While the fingers of his hand softly tickle my side and the other hand combs through my hair, I drift off to the best sleep I’ve had in ages.