by Roni Loren
But Pike wasn’t looking for any of the people he saw. He’d given Oakley backstage passes with her tickets and was hoping she’d use them, but he had no idea if she’d made it to the show at all. After last night, he may have scared her off with the gift. The only hope he held on to was that Oakley would want to give her daughter a fun night, so would come even if she hadn’t wanted to see him.
“Hey there, gorgeous,” a redhead said, putting her hand on his arm as he passed through the crowd. “Where are you off to so fast? I wanted to tell you how much I liked the show.”
An automatic smile jumped to his lips—the politician face, the face for fans. His eyes flicked over her. Model pretty. Enhanced rack. Edgy look. Vaguely familiar.
“Hey, thanks. Glad you liked it …”
“Holly,” she provided, conspiratorial smile touching her glossed lips. “We met at a Houston show a few years ago. I hung out with you and Eddie Duff.”
By hung out, she probably meant slept with. He scanned his memory bank. Eddie was the lead guitarist in Crucial Madness and they’d done a show out there together. But memories of what had happened afterward were vague. Back then, Pike and pretty much everyone he surrounded himself with had been on a rotation of trying out every illegal substance known to man.
“Right, yeah. Good to see you. You look great.”
She gave him an of-course-I-do smile and gave his arm a squeeze. “So do you.”
He moved out from beneath her touch. “Thanks. And I’d love to catch up, but I need to find someone.”
“Maybe you’ve already found her.”
Fuck. Normally he liked a forward girl. No use wasting time playing coy games when both people knew what the end result would be. And all the adrenaline coursing through him had his dick on a hair trigger. He could tug her in a back room, hike up her skirt, and be inside her in five minutes. But he couldn’t muster up any real interest. He knew he should tell her he wasn’t feeling it. But he didn’t have time for any drama, so he pulled a douche move instead. He leaned over and kissed her cheek then whispered, “Maybe later, sweetheart.”
She smiled. “I’ll hold you to it.”
He moved past her and continued his search of the crowd, but after twenty minutes passed, he’d given up. Oakley either hadn’t come to the show or she’d skipped the backstage tour.
He was disappointed. And pissed at himself. Why did he give a fuck if she showed up or not? He sank onto one of the couches and grabbed a beer. This was so not his style. If Oakley wasn’t interested, then that was her prerogative. He didn’t chase women. They chased him. He could have two back at his place before he finished this beer if he put the barest amount of effort into it.
This whole thing had been ridiculous from the start anyway. He had no business messing around with some soccer-mom type—even if she did have an X-rated job at night. What the hell had he been thinking? He leaned back and rubbed his hands over his face.
“This seat taken?”
His eyelids snapped open. He’d know that voice anywhere. He lifted his head to find Oakley staring down at him, looking altogether uncomfortable … and altogether lickable. She’d donned a pink tank top, a white pair of shorts, and her hair was pulled high into a ponytail. The glisten of sweat and the rosy glow from a day outdoors clung to her. No sign of the buttoned-up work outfits or oversized T-shirts. Just lovely, luscious curves and sure-to-be-salty skin.
“I was saving it for you,” he said, forcing the flirt out past his suddenly dry throat and patting the couch cushion.
“Liar.” She sat on the chair catty-corner to the couch instead of taking the spot by him.
“I didn’t think you were coming. Where’s Reagan?”
“I sent her home with my brother. She had a great time, but I wasn’t sure if backstage would be kid-friendly.”
He shrugged. “Things will be pretty tame back here since it’s a daytime all-ages show. A few guys brought their kids. Any debauchery will happen in the buses or hotel rooms.”
She glanced toward the rows of tour buses parked behind the tent then back to him, her eyes briefly dipping down to his naked chest. “Is that where your harem awaits?”
He smirked. “Nah, I waited too long to gather them up. Most have already found their prince for the day.”
She frowned, something flashing in her eyes. “Right. If candidate A isn’t readily available, they’ll find candidate B.”
He rubbed the back of his damp hair, her comment landing squarely. Wasn’t that the truth. People came backstage to fuck a band member. As long as the guy was halfway decent looking and willing, in the end, it didn’t matter who they ended up with. The sentiment was the same from the other side, too, though. Pretty groupies were just as mix and match. “It is what it is.”
Her expression was wry but grim. “I’m aware.”
That’s when he realized he shouldn’t have invited her back here. Even if he wasn’t partaking of anything, it highlighted exactly how different their worlds were. Sometimes he forgot this wasn’t normal. He could see her opinion in the vague disgust on her face.
“So how’d you like the show?” he asked, pulling her focus away from the scene around them. He hated that he felt the urge to ask, probably sounded like he was fishing for compliments. But for some reason, her opinion mattered to him.
She leaned back in the chair, considering him. “Your guitarist is crazy good. Crazy good. And hot.”
He sniffed. “Is that why you’re back here? Want me to get his phone number for you?”
“That’d be great. Is he single?” she asked, all wide-eyed eagerness.
He gave her a stony look.
Her mouth tilted into a pleased smile. “You’re kind of cute when your ego is bruised.”
“Wonderful. You know, I don’t really need another sadist in my life. I’ve got enough of them.”
She leaned forward, bracing her forearms on her thighs, unintentionally giving him a nice view of her cleavage. “Oh, get over yourself. You know you’re a phenomenal drummer. Watching you is like falling into some voodoo spell. Arms and sweat and sticks flying. Even I had to fight the urge to throw my granny panties at you.”
He laughed. “Granny panties?”
She patted the waistband of her shorts. “I’m all about the comfort, my friend.”
A lightness filled his chest, his mood buoying. “So what you’re saying is, watching me drum turned you on and now you must have my sweaty, dumbly tattooed body or you’ll just die of lust.”
She gave him a droll look. “What I’m saying is that I came back here to be honest with you. You have a thing for honesty, so it’s only fair I give you some of mine.”
His eyebrows lifted. “All right.”
“Yes, I’m attracted to you. In truth, I couldn’t tell you what your guitarist looked like because I never took my eyes off of you.”
Pike leaned forward, his blood stirring.
“But this can’t happen. I know I’ve given you the wrong idea with the phone call and all, but you need to hear this. I’m the kind of woman you most fear. The relationship kind. I don’t do casual hookups.”
He shifted on the couch, the word relationship making his skin prickle. “What’s so bad about casual?”
“I have a daughter to worry about.”
He released a breath. “I get that. Believe me.”
“Do you?” she asked, clearly unconvinced.
He glanced around, making sure no one was in earshot. “Yes. I do. My dad walked out on us when I was five and left us with jack shit. After that, I can’t tell you how many ‘friends’ my mom brought home to play daddy and help pay the bills over the years. I hated those guys. Hated those men who used my mom and acted like they had some say over me and my brothers and sisters. I’d never want to be that guy.”
He could still remember the first boyfriend—Louis. Pike had been young and gullible enough to let himself get attached to that one. Louis would play baseball with him sometimes, so he’d thou
ght he was a good guy. But he’d been a petty criminal with a mean streak and had disappeared after getting in a bar fight that left a man with a brain injury. His mom had been pregnant at the time. That had started the pattern of the many dangerous, destructive men who would come into his family’s life, wreak havoc, and bail without looking back.
Oakley frowned and he braced himself for the trite sympathy. Why the hell had he let himself tell her that? No one besides Foster and Gibson knew about his background. Even the band had a false bio for him.
But she didn’t do the oh-you-poor-thing routine. She simply nodded. “So you get it, then.”
He shoulders loosened. “I get why you need to protect her. But I also get that there are ways around it. She doesn’t have to know. You’ve kept your night job private. We could keep this private.”
She sighed. “It’s not that simple.”
It was. It could be. He eyed her. “So this isn’t just about Reagan, then. This is about you.”
A wrinkle appeared between her brows. “Maybe.”
“Because of the relationship thing? You want that?”
“I—” She frowned in frustration. “I don’t know what I want. I mean, we’re doing the honest thing, right?”
He nodded.
“Good. Then I’m not going to be a bitch and lie about the night on the phone. That was great. I needed that. God, did I need that. But I know myself. The minute I take this a step further, my emotions are going to get involved. I’m not—” She looked around at the others backstage. “I’m not like these women. I don’t judge them for taking what they want and having a good time, I just can’t relate. I had a kid when I was still a kid. I didn’t go through the stage where you layer up that tough skin, where you can just hook up for fun and move on. I tried it in my early twenties and I sucked at it. I’m not built for what you’d want from me.”
“I think you’re a lot tougher than you give yourself credit for,” he said, not trying to push her but sharing his honest opinion. The girls he’d met backstage city after city had nothing on Oakley. She’d raised a kid on her own, was holding down two jobs, and had no qualms about laying out what she needed from a guy. Potential. A relationship. There was no apology there. No game. He liked that.
Even if he wasn’t the guy who could fulfill it.
He opened his mouth to say something, but before he could get it out, long, bare legs appeared in his periphery. He turned right as Holly lowered herself into the spot next to Pike. Her hand went to his knee. “I’m about to head out. You ready?”
Oakley seemed to grow in height as her spine stiffened in the chair.
A flash of anger whipped through Pike at the interruption and uninvited touch. He put his hand over Holly’s and moved it off his leg. “I was in the middle of a private conversation.”
“No, it’s okay,” Oakley said, moving to get up, her voice tight. “I need to get going anyway.”
Holly smiled, victory in her eyes.
Fuck. Pike stood. “No, Oakley, don’t. Please stay.”
Her jaw twitched as her gaze slid over to Holly. “It’s okay. I think three’s a crowd.”
“Doesn’t have to be,” Holly said, suggestion in her tone.
Jesus Christ. Pike swiped a hand over his face. “Holly, give us a few minutes.”
Holly shrugged, but didn’t look too perturbed, probably because she figured he was going to work out a threesome with Oakley. She stood and gave his shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll just go and grab a drink.”
She sauntered off, her heels clicking on the concrete in a slow, purposeful beat. Pike moved closer to Oakley. “I’m sorry about that. I—”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said with a dismissive lift of her shoulder. “It’s fine. I know how all this works. That’s why I can’t be a part of it. I’m not built for this. For you.” She cocked her head in the direction Holly had gone. “You don’t need to waste your time talking to me. You’ve already got someone who can give you what you want tonight.”
He frowned. “So you think it’s like that? Women are interchangeable.”
She smirked. “Aren’t they?”
The blow stung. Mainly because it was mostly right. Until now. For the first time in longer than he could remember it wasn’t about getting laid in general. This was very, very specific. And he had no idea what to do with that.
“I don’t want Holly or any of the rest of them. I want you.”
“And if I say no?”
“I go home alone.”
She scoffed. “Sure you do.”
He stared at her for a few long seconds, feeling the distrust roll off her. She truly thought that the minute she walked out, he’d bed Holly or some other random chick. He had no idea how to prove otherwise because she certainly wasn’t letting him go home with her. And it’s not like he could lie and say he was looking for a relationship and maybe they should give it a try. He slept with a lot of women but never under false pretenses. He couldn’t give her what she needed.
At least not in that way.
But …
“Give me your phone,” he said, holding out his hand.
“What? Why?”
“Can you trust me just a little?”
She pressed her lips together and he waited for the no, but finally she dipped her hand into her purse and slapped the phone into his palm.
He smiled and took it over to the couch.
“What are you doing?”
“Shh. I’m working here.” His thumbs moved over the on-screen keyboard.
“Pike.”
After a few minutes of typing and clicking, he stood and handed the phone back to her.
“What did you do?”
“Just added a few of our songs to your playlist. At least I can go home with you that way.” He leaned close to her ear. “Have a good night, Oakley.”
He kissed her cheek and walked away.
“So we’re done here?” she called to his back, confusion in her voice.
He smiled and waved.
Oh, we’re so not done here.
TWELVE
Oakley hated that she was listening to the music Pike had added to her phone. What was she? Twelve? A mixtape should not get her going like this. But lying on the couch in the dark with her headphones on, hearing the songs he’d chosen drift through her ears, had this intimacy to it, like a private conversation.
He’d chosen a mix of songs, some from his band, most from other artists. All had a dark, sexy edge to them. Visceral beats. Nothing romantic. If dirty, sweaty sex could be put into music, this was the soundtrack. And her body hadn’t missed the memo. With every heavy, pulsing beat, her blood pumped and her skin tingled.
Reagan had gone to sleep over at Devon’s place after the concert, so Oakley had the house to herself. It’d be easy to take advantage of the solitude. So simple to call Pike. But she hadn’t been lying to him backstage. She couldn’t let herself get involved with someone like him. Plus, Pike was probably wrapped up in the model-thin legs of that redheaded chick by now. Oakley’s stomach twisted, but she tried to ignore the kick of jealousy. The fact that she was feeling that emotion at all proved why she needed to keep her distance with Pike. She was already getting attached.
The current song ended and one by Darkfall started. It was the one they had opened the show with. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the rhythm of Pike’s bass drum. Thump. Thump. Thump. She could still see him there, biceps flexing, knees bouncing, confidence bleeding through every moment, could feel the sound vibrating through her bones, his music curling inside her. She pressed her thighs together, warmth building there.
Her phone dinged, interrupting the music and her daydreaming state. Her eyelids fluttered open. She hadn’t signed in to take work calls tonight since she’d needed a break. But who else would message her this late? Worry that something was wrong with Reagan was her first instinctual response, but when she lifted her phone to look at the screen, it wasn’t Reagan or a work messa
ge, it was a calendar reminder. All it said was, Open me.
What the hell?
She pressed the notification and the calendar page opened up. The words on the screen danced in her vision.
It’s bedtime for you, Oakley. Time to have some fun.
Make sure Reagan is in bed, then do the following.
Her heartbeat ticked up a notch. She scrolled down.
Find the gift of glass that I gave you and put it in a bucket of ice water. Don’t question it. Just do it. You can back out of the game at any time but don’t stop before you try. (Allotted time: 5 minutes) Go.
She stared down at the words as she sat up on the couch. What. The. Fuck. Pike had obviously been doing way more than adding songs to her playlist. The message glared at her, daring her. Just do it. The gift? Only one thing had been made of glass. She wet her lips. This was ridiculous. Pike wasn’t even texting this in real time. This was some sort of game he’d set up on her calendar. She should ignore it.
But she found herself climbing off the couch and heading to her room anyway, strangely compelled. Her fantasies had already been running rampant while listening to the music, and this felt like it was still part of that dream. Not real. A distant voice of a mystery lover telling her what to do. What could it hurt to do this one thing? He wouldn’t even know if she’d done it or not.
The locked box of toys was in the bottom corner of her closet. She grabbed the key off a high shelf and unlatched the lock. Right on top sat the clear glass dildo, an erotic piece of art daring her to touch it. She let her fingertips run over the smooth surface. What would it feel like ice cold? A shiver raised goose bumps on her skin.
Before she could talk herself out of the ridiculous move, she grabbed the thing and brought it to the kitchen. The freezer blasted her flushed cheeks with cold air and she filled a wine chiller with ice then brought it to the sink to fill it with water. She plunged the glass toy into it.