Having Hope (The Blow Hole Boys Book 4) (9 page)

The drive to Houston from Phoenix took forever. I slept through most of it while the guys played video games and talked to their wives. I could hear their conversations from where I was laying, and again, I longed for someone to call home to.

I lay in my bunk and battled a migraine while secretly fantasizing of Hope in just her black sports bra, soaking wet and playing the drums. I’d never seen anything so sexy in my entire life. Sure, we were supposed to be friends, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t get hard thinking of the hotness of watching her play my favorite instrument half-naked.

I’d watched her as she played. Her body was wet and sweaty, her muscles flexing with each hit of her drumsticks, making me want to step on the stage and touch her. I’d watched her play many times while we toured with the Sirens, but she’d never stripped in a hot, wet rush.

Fuck!

It was sexy.

I was worked up and ready to get on the bus and crash, but I stayed behind with the intention of watching her walk away. Because of that, I got a front row show to the assholes who stopped her and basically attacked her.

By the time we got out of the scuffle and the crew had ushered me to my bus, I was ready to put my fist through someone’s face. I didn’t usually get so worked up. I was the kind of person who would rather shake your hand than fight you, but the minute I saw him put his hands on Hope’s soft skin and tug at her, I was done.

I wasn’t sure what that meant. It was probably just my protective streak rearing its ugly head because I would have done the same for any of the Sirens. I considered them my friends. Hell, Constance was more like a sister now that she was married to Tiny. But it felt like more than just my protective streak. Something about the way he was touching her made me a bit jealous.

Jealousy didn’t make any sense to me. Hope wasn’t mine—she would never be mine, and I would never be hers. I wasn’t that kind of dude, but I couldn’t deny it. It was there, lingering just below the surface and mixing with my anger.

I had to shake that shit off. Jealousy didn’t look good on anyone, and I was determined that no woman would ever get me fucked up. I had too much on my mind to let that shit happen, including the elephant that had taken up residence in my brain, making it split and throb.

*****

Houston was just as hot as Phoenix, but thankfully, the venue we were playing in was nice and cool. We had two shows in Houston, which meant we were getting rooms for the night. I’d never been more thankful for a long, hot shower and a king-size bed.

Our first show wasn’t until the following day, so we went to our rooms first thing. My shower was long and hot, and then I crashed for another hour to try to ease my migraine a bit. It wasn’t happening, though. No matter what I did, the hammer inside my brain continuously beat.

Two hours later, the guys showed up at my door ready to head out for lunch. I threw on some clothes and went with them even though eating was the last thing in the world I wanted to do. The SUV that drove us to the restaurant seemed to hit every bump in the road, and behind my shades, I flinched at the pain that was moving through my head.

I couldn’t keep this up. There was no way. I’d go fucking insane if I didn’t get some form of relief soon.

Everything stopped because of the now constant migraines.

The women.

The drugs.

Everything.

All I could think about was the pain in my head and the reason that pain was there. I wasn’t beating this, and soon, I’d lose completely.

Stepping away from the group, I pulled out my cell and made a phone call to my doctor, Doctor Patel, back in California. He’d have to call something in for the pain. I couldn’t take it anymore. Maybe I was a big bitch, but the pain was breaking me down.

They didn’t usually call in narcotics, but Doctor Patel was familiar with my case and knew my circumstances. He made a call to one of his colleagues in Houston and, long story short, I had a prescription for pain medication waiting at the local doctor’s office for me.

As soon as I could, I would go there, pick up the script, and have it filled. Then I’d go back to my room, take a double dose, and sleep until the next show.

I could hardly wait for the relief.

The girls joined us at the restaurant, and thankfully, by the time my food got the table, the migraine had let up a bit. Not completely, but just enough that looking at my food didn’t make me feel like throwing up.

Afterward, everyone wanted to grab a few drinks at the bar. Go figure the one night I wasn’t feeling it, everyone else wanted to party. I didn’t bitch. Instead, I promised to meet them at the bar, took a cab to the pharmacy, and as soon as I got to the bar, I washed a pill down with my beer. If I was going to be out a while, I couldn’t wait until I got back to my room.

My migraine let up a bit more, and I found myself laughing with the guys.

“Damn, Chet, when’s the last time you got laid, bro?” Tiny asked.

“I think this might be a record,” Zeke said.

I chuckled around the mouth of my beer. “Why you so worried about my cock? Don’t be jealous because y’all are married and not getting any.”

Finn laughed. “Trust me. I get plenty.”

“I know that’s right,” Zeke said, holding up his beer.

Tiny tapped his beer against Zeke’s, making Constance chuckle and smack his arm.

“Seriously, though, what’s the deal? Is your dick broken?” Finn said.

If they only knew the real reason I’d stop playing. If they only knew the real reason I’d slowed down my party lifestyle.

I hadn’t touched a woman since Ass Fingerer in Seattle, and I was okay with that. I had more important shit to think about, which meant I hadn’t really been looking for any playmates.

How could I perform decently when I felt like my brain was being ripped out?

“Can we not talk about my dick in front of the ladies?” I asked, nodding toward the Sirens who were snickering behind their hands.

My eyes landed on Hope, and she was the only one who wasn’t smiling or laughing. Instead, she was looking at me in confusion. The way she looked at me made me feel like she knew everything I was hiding. I didn’t like it.

Three beers in, and I switched to soda. I felt like a pansy ass sipping my soda while the boys took shots, but fuck it. I needed relief in the form of a double dose of pain meds, and I couldn’t do that if I drank too much. I knew I was dying. I didn’t want to rush the reaper.

Hope stood and moved across the space to sit beside me.

I stiffened.

Usually, she did everything she could to stay away from me, but I guess since we’d called a truce on our imaginary issues, she felt more comfortable around me.

“I wanted to thank you for the other day. It was decent of you to help me out with those dudes.”

I nodded and took another drink of my soda.

“It’s no biggie. The fans get crazy like that sometimes. They were just a bunch of dumbasses getting excited over a hot girl.”

The second the words left my mouth, I felt uncomfortable. Flirting was normal for me, but that had been an honest moment without regards to a reward.

Her eyes went wide, and she nervously tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“You’re drinking soda.” She pointed out the obvious, quickly changing the subject.

I lifted my cup and took a sip. “I am.”

“Why?”

“I don’t like to drink too much when we have a show coming up,” I lied.

“Liar. You used to drink while you played. Sometimes you still do.”

I looked at her, taking in her lined eyes and pouty lips.

How could she know what I used to do?

“I used to?” I questioned.

“Yeah, I mean, like, on the Rock Across America tour,” she stumbled over her words.

“Yeah, well, things change. Maybe I want to play better and drinking slows my arms down,” I joked.

“Yeah, well, I guess if you want to play better than I do, then you should stop drinking altogether.” She grinned my way.

She was being playful.

Her attitude was different.

It was new.

I kind of liked it.

“Are you saying you play better than I do?”

She chuckled before downing the shot that was sitting in front of her.

“Yeah. That’s what I’m saying.”

I laughed.

Not because I didn’t think she was good. I knew she could play. I laughed because I was having so much fun with her, and we weren’t fucking. It was new to spend time with a woman and not expect the night to end with my cock in her.

I liked it.

I liked her.

I swallowed the rest of my soda in one swig and tossed a fifty on the table.

“Come on,” I said, standing from our table.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“You think you’re so much better than I am. We’re going to the venue. No one’s there. I say we battle it out.”

She laughed, the sound loud and endearing, before she downed her last shot and stood.

“Fine. Let’s go.”

We took a cab back to the venue and left the rest of our bandmates back at the bar. The ride was quiet, and the tension in the air was thick. Once we were dropped off, we made our way inside. The rocks of the parking lot popped beneath her boots as I followed her. I couldn’t help myself; I kept my eyes on her ass and its sway the entire way to the stage.

“Are you ready to get your ass kicked?” she asked over her shoulder with a grin.

She pulled her shirt over her head, revealing a black tank, and I had to swallow past the desire that rushed through me. She looked so fucking hot in only her boots, jeans, and a tiny tank. She obviously wasn’t wearing a bra, but with tits like hers, she didn’t have to.

My mind went back to the moment she was on stage in only her black sports bra. She was soaked. She was sexy. And for the first time in a couple of days, my cock grew hard.

“Let’s see what you got.”

I stood to the side as she sat behind my set. I didn’t usually let anyone play my drums, but I trusted Hope with my babies. I’d watched her play. I knew she knew what she was doing, and I also knew she respected her own set and would do the same with mine.

She spun the sticks between her fingers, her glassy eyes all over me as she lifted a brow in challenge.

And then she brought the sticks down and beat out a fresh rhythm I’d never heard before. It was fast paced and strong, the percussion shaking the stage as she went crazy hitting any and every spot on my set yet still somehow making it sound amazing.

Her head fell back, and she closed her eyes as she continued to play, beating the drums unmercifully and turning me on beyond belief. Her arms moved, the small feminine muscles popping out with her movements, making the tattoos on her arms come to life.

I couldn’t do this with Hope. I couldn’t let myself get into her. She was turning me on more than any woman had in years. Not since my Blackbird five years earlier. 

Women were a dime a dozen in my job. Hell, they were waiting just outside the venue ready and willing to let me fuck them senseless, but I was moving past that bullshit. After everything I’d been through since we started the tour, I needed relief. But I didn’t want it from just anyone.

The more I watched Hope play my drums, her arms flying and her eyes closed in ecstasy—the realization came crashing over me.

I wanted Hope. 

I wanted Hope the way I’d wanted Blackbird for the last five years.

Watching her only intensified my craving for her.

I wasn’t sure I could control myself. I was feeling better, my painkiller finally doing its job, and my head wasn’t being ripped apart. I could think about more than the pain for once. I could think about Hope and how amazing she’d feel wrapped around me.

Wet.

Hot.

Ready.

Moving from my spot, I moved toward her. Her rhythm moved through me, vibrating my core and making me feel even more alive. I didn’t stop until I was standing right beside her. She kept her eyes closed; playing with so much beauty it was breathtaking.