Everything I Have (Everything I Want #3) (18 page)

“Oh, Sophia.” She tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and steps back again. “Ever since you were young, you always made situations harder than they had to be.”

Huh? As if she’s answering my unspoken question, she goes on.

“You have to start looking at situations from a hawk’s view rather than just from one side. Not yours, not ours. Rise above it. Everything will be in perspective. Stop over-thinking life and just live.”

I stand there, trying to let my mom’s words soak in. Do I really over think all the time?

“Yes, yes you do,” I hear Frankie’s voice saying in my ear.

Shit,
I do. Smiling back at my mom, I turn back around to start rinsing the dishes.

“Let me help you with that.” Mom stands beside me and opens the dishwasher to load the plates I just rinsed. “By the way, do you still have sage?”

“Yeah, mama.” I answer, rinsing off another plate to hand to her. She straightens back up with a serious look on her face.

“You need to smudge this house down.”

“I know, mama.”

“Do you want me to go through right now?”

She gestures with her thumb over her shoulder. I love it. I had some dumb bitches back in high school tease me about her. Your mom’s a hippie, tree hugger, groupie, flower child. They just didn’t understand. Mom always told me to forgive their ignorance. I’ve always admired that about her. She never lets the negative shit get to her. Even if it did, she had on one hell of a poker face.

“Sure, Mom, it’s upstairs. That small wooden box on my dresser. There’s sweet grass in there, too.” 

“I’m just going to run through with the sage right now,” she says as she turns around.

Seeing her walk out, Tristan and Dad both look over at me standing there with a wet plate in my hand, water starting to drip on the floor. My dad’s eyes light up.

“Babygirl.”

“Yeah, Dad?”

He laughs a little again. If he grows a beard when he gets older and gains some more weight, I swear my kid will think he’s Santa with how jolly he always is. He stands with his arms reaching out for me.

“Get over here.”

“Love ya.” He smacks his lips on my cheek and sits back down. “Tristan, let’s have some eggnog. I’m on vacation.”

As I finish loading the dishwasher and washing the pots and pans out, the strong smell of sage wafts its way through the kitchen. Tristan’s nostrils flare slightly at the scent. My mom opens up all the cupboards and with one hand holding the plate that has the burning sage on it, she uses her eagle feather and wafts the smoke into every nook and cranny of the kitchen.

“This is how Native Americans nest, Tristan,” my dad says matter-of-factly.

I roll my eyes at him before looking back at Tristan. With one hand on my hip, I wave it off with my hand.

“Don’t listen to him, he’s trying to be funny. It’s called smudging.”

Tristan smiles wider, raising his eyebrows. Yeah, he doesn’t know.

“Baby, it’s the same as blessing your house with holy water to Catholics. The sage is used to cleanse.”

“Oh…”

My dad smiles at him.

“Yeah. You get used to it,” he teases.

Shit, I’m so tired. Yawning, I try to shake it off. This is my parents’ last night here, and I don’t want to crash out on them early.

“You tired?” Tristan asks me, scooting his stool away from him.

“Sophia, I already did your room. You can go to bed.”

“Nah, I’m fine,” I protest, even though jumping into bed with Netflix and a piece of pumpkin pie with extra Cool Whip does sound awesome.

“Come on, Sophia. Let’s go to bed.”

Tristan reaches his hand out for me to take. I forget that my parents are even in the same room as I begin to feel that delicious pull.

“Okay,” I agree breathlessly.

Get a grip, Sophia,
I say to myself, placing my hand in his. Tristan tugs suddenly, crushing me into him and laying his mouth gently over mine. Yeah, my parents walked out a few seconds later.

Chapter Eighteen

Sophia

Holy shit, we’re flying out this morning to head over to Europe. The closest thing I ever came to Europe was Walt Disney World’s Epcot Center. To say that I’m going to be excited when I get there is an understatement.

Tristan is still passed out in bed, but I can’t sleep. I got up around four when I had to freaking pee, and just decided to stay up. We’re not leaving ’til seven, but my excitement has my adrenaline up.

So does Frankie’s. He must have texted me a dozen times since one, talking about Frenchmen. His dream guy is that dude that played in
Unfaithful
. Shit
.
I think he’s a lotta women’s and some men’s dream guy. Anyways, he’s dreaming that he will meet someone like that there.

Frankie’s been to Europe before, but this shit is all new for me and my boys. Tristan has toured over there a couple times and played at Download a few times, too. Which is another thing. Two months after I have our baby, Dollar Settlement actually has a spot in the show. No way in hell I’m giving that up. Either Frankie will have to take on nanny duties or my mama might have to take the baby while we’re gone.

Which brings up another thought. I wonder what I’m gonna have? Over the last month, I’ve been freaking. Freaking… that’s exactly it. Shit, I hate it when other people are right. Oh fucking well.

Glancing back up at some art deco clock Frankie wanted my walls to have, the narrow dial is showing six. I better go and wake Tristan up in five. I wonder how I should do it? As I’m packing my toiletry bag, a small, but wicked smile creeps up. Maybe I should do it with some head… Fuck! I’m so fucking horny. It’s borderline annoying.

Just when I’m dropping the toothpaste into the bag, Tristan’s presence warms my back. His palm glides across my belly as he curls his arm around me, dragging my loose, gray pajama shirt up. His touch is half on my skin, half over the cotton material of my shirt. The way his rough hands softly brush against my skin sends a rush of heat to my core. I clench myself inside at the thrill.

“Hey, baby.”

Tristan’s voice is gruff from sleep. His whiskers scrape my jaw as he lays his full lips underneath it, giving me a light, for him, kiss. Bringing my hands up, I cup his other hand that holds my jaw gently.

Closing my eyes, I relish the moment. I fucking love that he calls me baby now. I’ve been calling him that for a while. I don’t know… it seems so natural and sexy on him. But hearing him calling me that… oh my God, I’m so fucking wet. My smile widens. A genuine, soft moan comes out. I fucking love this man.

“I was just about to wake you,” I grin, thinking about what I had planned.

My thumbs run small circles over the top of his hands, grazing his knuckles. Tristan’s lips pillow over my ear.

“You were?” he asks, his throat deep, thick with sleep.

I feel his own grin widen against my ear. Then he straightens back up, pulling me closer to him. Tipping his chin, he leans back and folds his arms over his chest. My eyes droop on their own at the sight of him and how bad I want him inside me. Shit. See, this is what I was talking about.

“How are you doing?”

“I’m fine…” I drawl.

I keep my eyes locked on him as I press against the vanity. The corner of his mouth lifts as his eyes turns to silts. The sight of his cocky grin teases my clit. My teeth pull at my bottom lip to suppress a groan. I know damn well he’s watching my thighs. Take that, fucker. With my nerves in total recall, my outer appearance plays it cool. I think? I hope…

“Didn’t shower yet?” he asks, leaning in casually, tugging at the hem of my sleep shirt.

“No.”

His grin turns up slightly more, the white of his teeth peeking through his lips. His teeth sink into his bottom lip, leaving only his top lip showing. His strong jaw is covered in a few days’ length, which is laced with thick brown hair.

Tristan steps closer, lazily throwing his hip to the side as he stalks his way into my space. I don’t move, but feel my body’s energy starting to rise the closer he gets to me. He places a hand on each side of my head, framing my face, then gently tugs back the pieces of hair. His dark eyes stare down at me adoringly as his mouth holds that sexy, shit smirk of his.

He exhales through his nose over my neck as he bends in even farther over me, molding my body to how he wants me to be. Taking hold of his biceps, my grip loosens the more lost I become in him. Just him holding my head and feeling his breaths on my skin sends a rush of pleasure to my core. Everything loses gravity in a split moment over my body as the rush spread through.

Tristan’s hands loosen their hold on the side of my head and his fingers begin to comb through my hair. He drops his hands to my shoulders, lowering them down the sides of my arms, coming to a stop when he reaches my hips.

“Take off your shirt.”

Peeking up at him as he towers over me, I don’t say or show anything, but stare up at him while my arms reach for the hem. Keeping my eyes on him, I raise the shirt above my head then let it slide down one arm right off onto the floor. I’m standing here in front of him bare-chested and wearing a pair of black cotton sleep shorts I pretty much use as panties.

Standing there not bold, but not timid either, I watch Tristan through my lashes. A sharp hiss escapes his lips. His face looks as if he were in pain as his eyes take in every inch of me. My hands clasp together in front of me resting below my belly button, my index fingers pushing against each other.

“Why?”
he breathes.

Pinching my eyebrows together, my eyes scan over his face.

“Why?” I ask, confused.

Why, what? Tristan closes his eyes for a moment before, catching me off guard, he wraps his arms around me and crushes me into his chest.

“Why me?” he asks, his voice raw.

Not giving my fucked up head a chance to think, my lips move with my heart.

“Because, I love you.”

My eyes scan over his. Something happens then. I can’t explain what, but that’s it. Something in my being actually tears open. It feels like it does for him, too. Our wounds pour into each other; he’s in me and I’m in him. Then he kisses me... eyes shut tight, lost in everything, kisses me. By the time our “kiss” ended, we didn’t get out of the house until almost eight.

************

Stepping onto the jet, I smile when I see my boys spread out. Thank fuck Lux let us take it. Jared and Gunner are setting up at the table in the far right corner, while Roger is leaning against the bar with his ankles crossed, chatting with Dave and Caleb who are sitting on the sofa against the wall beside him. Jeff and Matt are on the other couch, Matt on his phone and Jeff joining the conversation with Jared and Gunner, yawning after every couple words.

I kind of feel bad. I mean, we were supposed to have taken off already, but by the time Tristan and I got here, everyone had been waiting for almost an hour. I blame pregnancy, is all I gotta say. A full-blown smile spreads across my face when I see the curtain thrown open in front of me, and lo and behold, Frankie steps through in black silk pajama pants with a matching black tank and a captioned hat on his head.

He salutes me then winks.

“Welcome aboard!” He circles his wrist in the air as if he were showing off something like those women do on
The Price Is Right
, then stretches his arms out in front of him, pointing to the door that leads to the only private quarters on the plane. “Your room is to the rear, with mile high VIP access.” He winks again.

Damn it! Can’t tell Frankie shit. My eyes narrow on him. I kind of told him one time when I was drunk about the flight back to L.A. from Hawaii… he almost came.

I shake my head at him and laugh as I make my way over to the other side of Jeff and take a seat. Tristan walks by me and heads over to the bar, stepping up behind Roger.

“Want anything?” he asks me.

“Water’s fine.”

Tristan bends down and opens the door. Roger stops talking for a moment and stills, kind of looking uncomfortable.

“Sophia,” he says then glances behind him real quick, peeking at Tristan grabbing a couple of things. “Since you’re gonna be a mom and shit, I know the partying will have to cut back since we’ll have a little dude with us… but is it all right that I give ’er one last round?”

He shoves his fist through the air when he says “give ’er”. Aw my. Damn hormones. Just the fact that Roger is picturing the baby being around warms my heart. Smiling back at him, I tilt my head to the side.

“Give ’er away, man,” I tell him, then give him a nod.

His unsure grin slowly widens, his eyes alight. Fucking alcoholic.

“Right on!”

He pounds his fist on the bar, then spins around, grabs his phone, and walks up to the front of the plane. A minute later, he grins as he walks back over to the bar. He leans over it, his curly ponytail sliding off his shoulder, and grabs a bottle of Patron.

“Time for a fucking toast!”

He yanks the top off the bottle and raises it in the air just as the
Team America World Police
theme song starts playing over the speakers. The jet’s engines grow louder as it gets closer to take off. Jared gets up from the table and grabs another bottle.

“Dollar Settlement and you guys,” Roger laughs, looking at Tristan first before scanning the rest of the jet. “About to give Europe a most epic fucking show. And, to all those European guts that need to be pushed!”

“Here, here.” Jared agrees as they each take a shot from their bottles.

The other guys laugh and clap a couple times, agreeing with them, too. Gawd, that’s gross, but funny. Tristan walks over to me and hands me my water before sitting at the edge of the sofa, his legs instantly sprawling out. Each bottle takes off counter-clockwise around the group, everyone taking a swig from it.

Gross. I wouldn’t have noticed it before because I would’ve been there doing it right along with them, but now all I can think about are germs. But I love the fact that my band is including the baby already and are willing to sacrifice how they do things on tour… at least while my child is around. But, still. They deserve to have a good time now.

The next ten hours are filled with jokes and some drunk guys trying to walk the small aisle up and down and falling over each other. Roger picks Jared up from behind, holding onto his torso and legs. He leans over so it looks like Jared’s about to snap like a twig over his back. Tears well up in my eyes from laughing so hard at them, but after the fifth hour, I already feel tired again. I just can’t stay up anymore. I mean, I’ve been up since four this morning and now it’s going on one. Well, one L.A. time. I don’t know where we’re over right now to give local time.

Ryan, who wasn’t out here when I first came on board, snuck out when I totally didn’t expect it. It actually kind of spooked me. It’s always those damn quiet ones. I don’t think he’s as drunk as some of the other guys, but he’s pretty toasted, smiling and chatting with some of us.

He normally just chills back and puts in his two cents here and there, but his eye is now on Frankie. Frankie has been passed out on the opposite sofa for over an hour, his ear buds in to block out the obvious noise of drunk Roger. The way Ryan is watching him now brings back memories of junior high school sleepovers. You know. If you were the first one to pass out… it was game over.

I look up at Tristan, leaning my head back against his shoulder.

“I think I’m gonna crash,” I say, yawning.

His eyes study mine.

“Okay. I’ll be in later.”

He bows his head and presses his lips against mine. When he lifts up, I grip the bottom of the cushion to push myself up. Roger is sitting at the table with Jared and Gunner and they’re playing some card game with Caleb taking the fourth spot.

I glance back over my shoulder. Tristan’s eyes are locked on me as Jeff keeps on talking to him about something, not even noticing that Tristan isn’t even paying attention to him. I turn back around and head for the bedroom. The boys tuck in their feet as I pass by.

“Crashing, Sophie?” Roger asks as I walk by him, grinning ear to ear as Primus’s
Wynona’s Big Brown Beaver
jams transistor-style from his phone.

“Yeppers,” I smile back, giving his solid shoulder a pat. Roger nods, then looks back down at his cards.

As I slide the door open, Roger’s buzzed laughter booms all around and so does the other guys’, at whatever. The sound of it brings a blanket of comfort over me. My fingers hook through the handle and begin to slide the door closed. I admire Tristan’s profile one last time as he leans over, resting his forearms on his thighs as he talks with Caleb, who is sitting opposite him on the other sofa. My eyes skip over to Caleb one more time before I shut the door.

He’s been kind of… off. He still smiles widely all the time, his lip ring always pushing out every time he does. But his eyes. I don’t know. I shake my head. Maybe it’s the pregnancy hormones. Maybe I’m just freaking because we’re halfway through our first tour off the new album and other than getting pregnant, everything has actually been pretty good.