Roadie (Rock-Hard Beautiful, #2)

by C.M. Stunich

I drag my fingers over my sweaty skin and turn to glance down at the face of the boy closest to me. It's Ransom Riggs, the dark eyed, dark haired bassist for Beauty in Lies. Surprisingly, he's awake. Even more surprisingly, he's still naked, the faint scar on the left side of his face almost invisible when compared to the ones on his chest, partially hidden by black and grey tattoos. His eyes are locked on my face, and his mouth crooks into a sensual half-smile when he sees me looking at him. “You alright, sweetheart?”

“we really thought we'd lost you tonight.” The graveness in his voice gives me pause, darkening that carefree glimmer I just saw. “I … started imagining all sorts of shit,” he says, sitting up and running his palm down his face. He won't look at me now. “You lying in a pool of blood like my mom …” “Ran,” I whisper softly as he glances back at me and closes his eyes for a moment.

I glance over my shoulder and find Michael standing in the doorway, watching me with Ran. His expression is hooded in shadow, but I can see that he's shirtless, bringing up this sharp sudden case of déjà vu when I think back to my first night on the bus. He looked at me with heat—a heat that pales in comparison to the brilliant fire of his expression now—and then he rejected me. He's definitely not rejecting me now.

“You don't have to fuss over me—” I begin and startle when Michael makes a derisive snort beside me. “Please,” he says, drawing my attention back to him, to his violet eyes and pursed lips. “It gives these assholes purpose. Let 'em do it.”

The world tour. They invited me on their fucking world tour. I don't have to leave in a week. I don't have to leave. I get to stay.

I try to figure out what type of tea it is that I'm holding in my hands. It's got this warm, grassy taste and the color is slightly green. Must be green tea then, right? But it tastes different and it has this bright herbal scent that I don't recognize. “What the fuck is this?” Michael asks, making a face. “It tastes like grass.”

“Can I make you breakfast, honey?” Ransom asks, his voice as dark and sensual as it ever is. Even that simple question warms me up from the inside. Honey. That's a good term for him to use—because that's what his voice is like. Thick, warm honey. “I'd love some,” I say, realizing then that I'm starving. I haven't eaten since lunch yesterday. That, and doesn't it feel like emotional breakdowns just suck the life out of you? And then, of course, there's the sex. Fucking five men takes a lot of energy—especially when I can outlast all of them.

“Michael's in the club now, is he?” “As if you need to ask,” I say back, my voice barely above a whisper, “you were both inside of me at the same time last night.” “And so we were,” Paxton says and that's that; everyone goes quiet again. This time though, it's a companionable silence, easy and comfortable. If the guys are at all weirded out by our unconventional little arrangement, they don't act like it.

“Sweet love, that's a new one,” I say and Ransom smiles. The movement pulls at the scar on his face, a scar left by a monster. Of course, physical wounds are nothing when compared to emotional ones, but this? This is the worst kind of both. These scars, every time he looks at them, they're a reminder of what happened to his mother, what happened to him. I want to kiss them all, run my tongue along them, repurpose all of that hate with my love. Love. My heart constricts and I glance away. Fuck. I can't be falling in love with five different guys that I just fucking met. That's insane. That's beyond insane.

Bad things happen, people die, hearts are broken, but it's how we walk in the rain of grief that defines us. Do we cower in the downpour and let the frigid chill soak us through? Do we grab an umbrella and fight the storm? Or do we stand tall and let our heads fall back, open our mouths and taste every fucking drop as its coolness sizzles against the heat of our tongue? That's the woman I want to be.

“This … thing,” he says and then pauses for a moment, closing his violet eyes to catch his breath on the end of a yawn. I might've had a hard day yesterday, but so did he. “This relationship,” Muse corrects, glancing up at the ceiling in thought, his dark glasses perched on his face. “I don't like the word thing. It's too ambiguous. This is a relationship.”

“This relationship,” I repeat when I draw my attention back to Michael and see his brow scrunched as he struggles for the right words. “Well, I hope you're tickled bloody pink that he's involved now,” Pax drawls, draping himself in his chair as he studies his friend, me, Ransom. Those steel grey eyes flick back to mine. “Because Michael is nothing if not intense.” “Shut your mouth, Pax,” Michael says, but not unkindly. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his sweats and stares right at me. “This relationship thing we're doing then, it's not going to be willy-nilly or casual, not if I'm going to be a part of it.”

“This wasn't really casual before you joined in—no offense.” Muse sets the book aside and rises to his feet, crossing his arms over the red wife beater he's wearing, his silver mohawk falling onto his forehead, wet and dripping from the shower he took while I tried to read. “But you're right—we should define the rules more clearly.” “Bloody rules,” Pax says, rolling his eyes and rising to his feet like he doesn't give a shit. But when he passes by me, our arms brush and I get this scalding thrill through my body that doesn't lie. He really does give a shit. A lot of them, maybe. “Typical, yeah? Muse and Michael, taking the fun and turning it all bureaucratic. Don't you two ever get tired of being so fucking dreary?” “No other guys,” Michael says, crossing his arms over his bare chest, cutting into me with his violet gaze. “Just the five of us.”

It seems so unfair, doesn't it? That I'd get to fuck, date … fall in love with all of them, and they'd be limited to me?

“No other girls,” I start and then look up at Michael, over at Ransom. Cope won't look back at me, still lost in whatever nightmare he's currently revisiting. “But I …” I think of Pax and Ransom kissing, and I don't know that they even liked it at all, if it was just for me, but … “I don't care what you do with each other.” I meet Michael's stern gaze dead-on. He raises a dark eyebrow at me. “Each other?” he asks, like the thought never even occurred to him. “Yeah,” I say, tucking some red hair behind my ear and nodding. “Each other. If we're in this, we're all in it together.” When those words come out of my mouth, they feel right. “I know it seems silly right now, but that's how I feel. It's not just me, and you and you and you and you and you. This is an us thing.” “Okay …” Michael says, but like he doesn't see that particular avenue going anywhere. “No sleeping around with anyone but the people in this room. That's simple enough. Lilith,” he says, and this is where he gets really fucking serious, “we will not end this thing like it was a fucking one-night stand or a fling. If we end this, we do it properly. We don't fuck around with other people and then apologize later: we end it first. We break up the right goddamn way—like a real relationship.” “So … if you get lost again,” Muse says, coming across the living room and going straight into the kitchen to put on more water for tea—I'm assuming for Copeland this time, “then don't for a second think we've left you. Unles...

Boundaries and rules, like any other relationship. Some people feel stifled by them; I feel bolstered. To set rules, to care enough about someone breaking them, you have to actually feel something real.

“We won't leave you without talking about it first—any of us,” Michael gives Paxton a look as his friend turns around with a fresh cup of coffee clutched in his tattooed hands and raises a blonde brow. But he doesn't say a damn word. “And you'll give us the same courtesy?” I nod and breathe out a breath I wasn't even aware I was holding in. “I promise,” I say and then feel Ransom's warm hand curl around my own. Fuck. Did I just … agree to date five guys at the same time? Yeah, I think I just did. “So … if I happen to call you my girlfriend in the back room of a seedy BDSM club …” Ransom starts and my smile turns into a grin.

When I step back into the living room, I get more than one appreciative look from the crowd. “You look fucking hot, sweetheart,” Ran whispers, giving me a kiss on the cheek as I smile and rub my suddenly sweaty palms on the white denim.

“Is it okay if I do most of the talking?” I ask and Pax sighs, leaning his back against the metal wall of the short stairwell. “You don't owe that bloody scrag a thing,” he says and I smile tightly. “I know.”

“You have a week left to own up to your mistakes,” I tell her with a slight shrug, dropping Pax's hand. I miss his warmth immediately and smile slightly. It feels good to miss something that I can still have. If I just reach back, he'll be there waiting.

Muse says, putting his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on my shoulder. Last night, something broke in him. His touch is laden with need, tinged with fear. I really scared the crap out of him.

A date. With all five of my boyfriends. Holy shit. I'm either the luckiest girl alive … or the craziest. I'm sure that I much care either way.

he looks at Lilith laughing at whatever stupid thing Paxton's just said. He stares at her for a moment and then glances away sharply. I know he's thinking about Cara, the girlfriend he couldn't save. It wasn't his fault yet he holds that failure so close that it's poisoning him. “I don't want another girlfriend,” he whispers and I feel my mouth tighten up as I slip my hands into the pockets of my red skinny jeans. “I like Lilith, but I … I just can't do it.” “You're not in this alone, not this time,” I tell him, but when I try to put a hand on his shoulder he pulls away and heads for the dressing rooms.

“Is he okay?” she asks as she makes her way over to me, and I try to distract her from the question by reaching out and fingering the sleek shiny material of the black swimsuit in her hand. “One-pieces?” I retort with a wrinkled nose. “Gross. Come on, Cutie, you could totally pull off a bikini.” “What's wrong with Copeland?” she asks again, tilting her head to the side, her red ponytail swinging with the motion. Those emerald green eyes lock on my face and I find it hard to breathe for a second there, my heart thundering in my chest. God. I've got it bad. I reach a hand up and cup the side of Lilith's face. “It's not my story to tell,”

I step up beside her and start to slide hangers across a wooden bar, tiny scraps of bikini hanging from metal teeth and swaying with the motion. My tattooed arm, the one covered in bats, presses up tight against the bare empty canvas of her white flesh. The feel of her soft skin brushing against me ignites the slow burning ember in my belly. Then the rest of last night comes rushing to the surface, the good parts of it anyway. Fuck. I've never had a sixsome before. It was definitely a unique experience. I certainly know my friends better than I ever really expected to.

“We'll figure out some way for you to make a living with your art, if that's what you want. Just … promise me you'll keep trying while you're with us. I have to admit: you were right.” “About what?” Lilith asks, grabbing a white bikini with red hearts scattered across the fabric, little gold handled knives digging into the throbbing flesh. She adds that to her stack and keeps searching. “You really are a good girlfriend,” I tell her and she smiles, looking up at me with those full lips curved and shiny with red gloss. I lean over and brush my mouth gently against hers. “I don't want you to start taking care of me and the rest of these assholes and forget about yourself. Just promise me that, okay?”

I smile, cupping her face again and pressing our mouths together for a long, languorous kiss, my tongue slipping between the cherry flavored softness of her lips. She kisses me back with a burning fervor that gets my blood pumping, turns my cock to diamond inside my red skinny jeans. I wonder if she'll still kiss me like that once I tell her about my past? I sure as fuck hope so.

“Your first official day without Vanessa metaphorically breathing down your neck,” Pax says as he lounges on a rented chair under a blue umbrella and lifts his shades up to look at me. “Must feel bloody fantastic.” “She blew up my fucking phone last night—everything from death threats to sobbing apologies. I'm thinking of blocking her.” “Thinking of it? Jesus, give me your phone and I'll do it for you.”

“Tim's been texting me, too. I have no idea what to do about him. I mean, the way things went down it really seemed like he was trying to spare my feelings.” “By getting balls-deep in your girlfriend? Nah, sorry mate, but I'm gonna have to disagree with that. I say you block him, too.” “He's the only living family member I have left; I'm not blocking him.” “At least unfriend him on Facebook then? No? God, you're such a pussy.” “Pussies are a lot stronger than balls,” Lilith says, startling both me and Pax. “Why would anyone say he's got balls to reference strength when a swift kick to the nether regions drops a man to his knees? As far as calling a weak person a pussy, well, pussies birth babies. Plus, they can take a pounding and enjoy it.” “Keep saying pussy and I'll change my lingo however you want,” Pax drawls, dropping his shades back into place. His mouth makes a dangerous curve as he studies Lil's hourglass figure, skin as white as cream, her black and green striped bikini sexy as hell, curving low on her hips, the top just big enough to hold her full breasts in place. “Michael, stop being such a pair of hairy bollocks and block that cheating bitch and that arsehole brother of yours.

“Would you put this on for me?” she asks and my brows go up as she passes over some sunscreen. “I basically go from white to red; there's no in-between.” “If you think I'm going to say no to slathering lotion all over your back, you're dead fucking wrong. Give me that and take a seat.”

A year of celibacy. Finally fucking broken. And with the girl sitting in front of me? It feels surreal, like Vanessa's noose is still around my neck.

I squirt some of the lotion on my hands and rub it together to warm it up. My fingertips hover above her pale skin for a moment before she reaches up and unties the halter top, holding an arm over her breasts to keep the fabric from falling away. My breath catches as I struggle to fight down a surge of wild hormones. Holy shit. This girl is beyond fucking hot. And she's my new girlfriend? It doesn't feel real.

It occurs to me then that I don't even know this girl. I've spent the better part of a week treating her like shit. Honestly, I'm surprised she's even giving me the time of day let alone … this.

“I think it'll take the public a lot longer to figure out that sex is just a part of life; it's not evil. I think the less we hide from it, the less it'll be flaunted, too. It's a double-edged sword. Demonizing sex turns it into a lewd form of theatrics.” “Well, this is getting too heavy for me. I prefer to swim in the shallows, thank you.” Pax rises to his feet and shoves his shades up and into his blonde hair. “Enjoy your little pseudo intellectual chin-wag,” he says, flicking his fingers dismissively at us. “While you're at it, make sure you cover politics and religion, too.”

“Maybe the first one where I haven't been a fucking asshole. I'm sorry about that, by the way. I completely misread you. I don't know how I ever thought you were just another random groupie.”

I made so many mistakes with Vanessa that I can't even remember if we had it good in the beginning or if I just imagined it. I won't make those same mistakes with Lilith.

I look over and see Cope kneeling down to pick up a seashell, examining it with a strange sort of intensity and then standing up to chuck it into the water. He looks almost miserable standing in the sea and sun and surf. It's gotta be about Cara. Has to be. But I get a feeling that if one of us fucks this thing up, the whole ship sinks with him. I just got fucking started here and I'm not letting the heavy weight of anyone's baggage drag us down. Not even mine.

The speakers on either side of the stage ripple with the sound of a bass, guitars, and drums, the soft sexy sound so similar to Ransom's decadent voice that I get chills down my spine. I clap my hands and pump my fist, cheering along with the crowd as the animated short finishes playing on the curtain and it rises up to reveal the boys. My boys.

Pax drops his voice again on the last word and then Ran joins in for the hook as their words swell and amplify through the mics, crash into me and leave me breathless. God. The two of them together is like magic. I just don't think they know that yet.

I just claimed all five of these guys as my own … what would it feel like to lose one already? It feels like an inevitability that my happiness will end someday. I mean, surely a relationship with five men—five straight men? I'm not sure—and one woman can't last. One day, they'll want families and wives and houses like everybody else. Right?

I get more chills and find my arms crossed tight over the short pink dress I'm wearing, this one a gift from Ransom. He saw me looking at it in the shop today and bought it without my knowing. When he gave it to me, he said he liked the way we looked together, light and dark like that.

Cope pummels his kick drum a few times and then stands up, throwing his sticks into the crowd as the confetti cannon explodes and I reach up to catch some on my palm. Instead of just confetti, I end up with one of Cope's sweaty sticks, pulling it down to stare at it with wide eyes, my palm stinging from the impact. I feel like I've just caught a wedding bouquet or something.

“Is it me?” I ask, refusing to keep secrets or hide from the truth. Neither of those things have served me very well in life. And this, this is my new start. Today. Right here. “Am I the reason you're so upset?” “Of course not,” Ran answers for him, but then he looks from Cope to me, back to Cope again. “Are you fucking serious?” “It's not you,” Copeland says, leaning back against the silver and black tiles, the tattoos at his wrists vibrant under the rush of water, almost like they're being magnified. “Not exactly. I just …

Shit. I knew this was all too good to be true. I start to wonder if by the end of the week, more than one of the boys will be asking me to leave.

“I don't know if I can do this.” Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Okay,” I say, trying to take calm, slow breaths. It's hard because the bathroom is so steamy and Copeland is naked, and his cock isn't just half-hard anymore. He might not be able to do this, but his body seems more than willing to try. “Can't do what? Share me?” “Date,” he says firmly, reaching down and uncurling my fingers from around the drumstick. “I can't be somebody's boyfriend. I told you one of the reasons why …” “Not looking to have kids right now,” I say, trying to smile through the pain. But shit. This is fucking painful, more so than I even thought. The agony is right up there, gnawing at me along with the grief from my father's passing. It shouldn't hurt this goddamn much, not after a week. I feel like Cinderella again, but this time, she's sitting back and watching her prince take the glass slipper … and shatter it into pieces. “Right, but …” Cope says, finally freeing the stick from my fingers and letting it drop to the floor. His eyes are so bright, like the ocean today when the sun hit it just right. Beautiful. I can't handle the intensity of that stare, so I refocus on the single ring pierced through the center of his bottom lip. “That's what one-night stands are for, fucking and hanging out for a little while and knowing it doesn't have to go anywhere. Dating is … seeing if there's the possibility of a future somewhere.” “And there's no future with me?” I ask, just to confirm, beads of moisture cl...

“I know you've heard me say her name before,” he whispers, his voice cracking for a split second, showing me this thread of vulnerability that makes my heart hurt. “Cara.”

Based on the signs his body is giving me—hard nipples, harder cock, dilated pupils—I get the feeling that that's all he wants, too. For a split second, I wish neither of us had a past, wish neither of us had experienced the kind of pain that rips through you and leaves you a bleeding mess on the floor. But then, it's our pain that drew us together in the first place. I don't know who I'd be without it, who Cope would be. And if it takes pain for us to be together then I don't know that I'd shed the cocoon of hurt around my shoulders if I could, snap my fingers and stop missing my family.

I told you—I told you—that guys like Copeland Park were the most dangerous. The nice ones, the sweet ones, the ones who promise that everything will be okay with a single look. They're the ones that fuck you over the hardest.

“I couldn't take care of her Lilith, no matter how hard I tried. I wasn't enough. And I'm sad, and I'm tired, and I just … I can't go through that again. At least not yet. I'm not ready.” “Cope,” I say, taking a small step forward, feeling my skirt swish around my thighs. “You don't have to take care of me like that.” “All I want to do is take care of you,” he says, eyes half-lidded as he studies me with undisguised desire, want, a surprising amount of affection. “All I want to do is hug you and hold you and make the pain go away. And I'm good at it. But not that good. I can't be the man any woman needs me to be, not in the long term.” He pauses, takes a deep breath and looks at me with an unbelievable amount of sadness etched into the beautiful lines of that handsome face. “For a night or two, for a few weeks maybe. Not forever, as a boyfriend or a husband. I just can't. I should've said something this morning, but … god, I was so happy to see that you were okay.”

“Can you forgive me?” he asks, brushing wet red curls back from my face as warm water streams over us. I blink past it, licking hot droplets from my lips. “You can stay, you know, with the other guys. You can still have the Bat Cave, still come on the tour with us. I'm not asking to put a stop to any of that.”