Beat (Life on Stage 2)

It’s two in the morning before we finally head back to the hotel. I left for the airport at six a.m. yesterday, so I’ve been awake for nearly twenty-four hours. The lack of sleep and drinking catches up to me and I fall asleep with my head on Dylan’s shoulder on the car ride back. He wakes me when we reach the Gideon Hotel, but my energy level is drained…I’m flashing on empty.

“I need to take a quick shower. You want to join me?” Dylan asks hopefully when we get into his suite.

“I’m too tired.” I plop down on the inviting king-size bed.

“I’ll be fast.” He kisses me, and strips as he heads into the bathroom.

I’m not quite asleep when he crawls into bed and I feel his naked hard body against my back. “I hate those sponsor events. Bunch of suits more interested in checking out my woman than talking business.” He sweeps my hair to the side and kisses my neck while his erection pushes into me.

“You’re crazy. No one even notices me when I walk into a room with you.”

He reaches around and cups my breasts. “Maybe if you would cover these up a little, some of the men in the room would be able to focus more.”

I turn over to face him. “Are you serious? I had barely any cleavage even showing tonight.”

Dylan pushes my shirt up and the cup of my bra down. His head drops to my exposed breast. “I’d prefer to keep what’s mine less on display.”

“Coming from the man who sang half his set bare chested tonight?”

“That’s different. I’m selling an act.” His tongue flicks over the tip of one nipple.

“What if I was the one on stage? Wearing skimpy clothes as part of my act?”

He swirls his tongue around until my nipple is a taut peak, and speaks before moving to the other breast. “I don’t even want to think about it. I’m just glad you’re happy behind the scenes.”

Dylan is still sleeping when I wake the next morning. Actually, it’s more like afternoon. It’s a rarity for me to sleep so late; then again, I don’t usually drink so much. And I have a four o’clock flight to catch. I wasted the little time we had together yesterday with drinking copious amounts of liquor I knew I couldn’t handle, and then half the next day sleeping it off. I slink out of bed, trying hard not to wake the naked man lying diagonally across the mattress, and head to the bathroom to shower.

I let the water run over me, hoping it will quell the growing throb in my head, but no such luck. I think it might actually make me feel even worse. The pulsating showerhead should feel like a tiny massage but more closely resembles little mallets hitting my skull. Not good. I finish quickly and stumble out of the shower, feeling worse than when I walked into the bathroom.

I need coffee.

And aspirin.

And more coffee to wash down the aspirin.

Luckily, I keep a mini–first aid kit in my travel case. Underneath the useless packages of gauze and suture-removal sheers—really who needs to remove their own stitches?—I find the small packet of Tylenol that I’ve seen there the few times I’ve opened the case.

Great, they expired three months ago.

I swallow them anyway, using only a handful of water from the bathroom sink. Very ladylike.

I do my best at fixing myself, pulling my hair into a ponytail, applying moisturizer, a quick coat of mascara and a few pumps of perfume. The smells make me nauseous.

Dylan’s voice startles me when I tiptoe back into the bedroom.

“You took a shower without me.” He’s lying on his stomach, face-down still, his tight ass enticingly bare. “And you’re dressed already. When I heard the water go off, I was hoping I’d used all the big towels last night and you’d have to use one of those small ones. I was looking forward to seeing you wet in a tiny towel.”

I smile. His head isn’t even lifted off the pillow, yet he’s got a clear visual of what he was hoping to see. I walk to the bed and sit next to where he’s lying. “Sorry to disappoint you, but my flight is in a few hours and I need to get going soon.”

“No, you don’t.”

I’m not sure if he means I don’t need to leave so early or he wants to have another argument about my returning tonight. “Yes, I do.” I hedge. “I’m not sure about Sunday traffic, but the airport is at least half an hour away and my flight is in three hours.”

“You don’t need to be on this afternoon’s flight.” Guess I hedged wrong on what we were arguing about.

“Yes, I do.”

“No, you don’t.”

I sigh. “I told you, Dylan. I just started my job and I don’t want to ask for time off so soon.”

“You don’t need to ask for time off. There’s been a change of plans with your new job.”

I freeze. “What are you talking about?”

“You’ve been reassigned.”

“Reassigned?”

“Yes. For the next month, you’re on tour with Easy Ryder.”

“What? Why?” Why would the label send a voice coach to travel with the band? No one has any issues that I’m aware of. “One of the guys is having trouble with his voice?”

“No. But Linc’s girl is going to have the babies a few weeks earlier than planned and he needs to go home for a few weeks.” Linc Osborne is Easy Ryder’s bass player and sings a few of the songs on their new album. He’s a tenor with a to-die-for falsetto and the songs he does are very popular. His girlfriend is pregnant with twins and the doctors have had her on bed rest for months, trying to hold off labor as long as they can.

“I’m missing the connection to me.”

“I got someone to fill in…but the label is concerned. He’s had voice issues and he’s singing a few weeks earlier than he should be. It’s only two songs a night. They’re just being cautious.”

“So they want me to work with him? While you’re on the road?”

“Yep.” Dylan pulls me from sitting to lying down on the bed. I’m quickly on my back beneath him. “And that means we both get what we want. I get to have you with me for a while. And you don’t have to miss any work.”

I’m not really sure how I feel about spending weeks on a tour bus with the band. With Dylan. I suppose a few weeks of being together might help me move forward in our relationship. Dylan’s been pushing for more and I’ve been hesitant. Yet there’s a nagging feeling in my stomach.

“Say something. I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am,” I say, but the hesitancy is clear in my voice. Even I don’t believe me.

“I think I need to show you how much fun being my bunkmate on the bus can be.” Dylan rolls us so I’m on top of him. I can feel his happiness about the arrangement pushing up against my belly.

“But…but I need my things.”

“I’ll buy you new things.”

“What about—”

“Relax, Lucky, will ya? I thought you’d be excited to come on tour.”

“I am…” Am I?

“I’ll fly Avery out to spend the weekend when we hit Austin. There’s a festival and a bunch of parties.” Dylan is not a fan of Avery. I know he’s trying.