Groupie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #1)

by C.M. Stunich

I try to push his hood back, he grabs my wrist in tight fingers and shoves my hand away. I wonder if I should give him some space and start to stand up, but he tugs me into his lap and curls his body around mine. “You smell like roses and soap, baby girl,” he whispers quietly and I almost smile. But I feel too sad for him. Why the fuck would Pax do that, bring those things up all of a sudden? Then again, maybe it's not all of a sudden, maybe this is partially my fault? Pax practically said as much. Something about me, about my grief, is stirring the pot on this bus. “You smell like violets,” I tell him and he lifts his head just enough to show me that he, at least, has no problem crying. Tears track down Ransom's cheeks, the one on the left sliding crookedly down his face as it gets caught in the faint mark of his faded scar. “It's my mother's perfume, darling, the same brand she's used since I was a baby, the same bottle she used the day before she died.”