Beat (Life on Stage 2)

“I’m not a cheater,” she whispers.

I kiss the top of her head, and the arm I have wrapped around her squeezes reassurance. “I didn’t think you were.”

“But I am now. I mean. This is the first time I’ve ever cheated on anyone.”

“Me too.”

“Really?”

“You sound surprised.” Her comment stings a bit, and my voice bites right back.

“I didn’t mean it that way. I mean…you just…you’re sort of a flirt and, you know, the whole rockstar thing.”

“And that makes me a cheater?”

“No. I really didn’t mean it that way. Can we please start over?”

“How about we’ve established we’re both not usually cheaters and move on from there?”

“Okay.” She’s quiet for a long time before she speaks again. “I’ve been with Dylan for almost a year.”

It’s not like that’s news to me, but the reminder slaps me in the face. I don’t respond. Because what do you say to that?

“I thought I was in love with him.”

Apparently, the slap was just a warm-up for the punch in the gut. “Thought?”

She nods. “But I’m confused now. I was lying in bed the other night trying to figure out if I fell out of love or never was in love, or if I do love him but just not the way I should.”

I shift, lifting her from my chest and easing her back to the bed so I can see her. I hate this conversation, but I need to see her eyes. “Did you figure out the answer?”

She shakes her head.

“Do you feel like today was a mistake?”

“That’s the thing. Today felt…right. It didn’t feel like a mistake at all.”

“Every minute since the day I met you has felt that way.” I’m pretty sure I sound like a pussy, but fuck, I don’t even care.

She looks up into my eyes. “What are we going to do?”

“The question isn’t what are we going to do. It’s what are you going to do. Because I’m right here waiting for you to figure it out.”

She swallows. “Can you give me a few days?”

I nod. Hating that she needs it, but the reality is, it feels like I’ve been waiting a lifetime for her. A few days more shouldn’t kill me. Or will it?

Chapter Twenty-One

Lucky

It’s been two days since I slept with Flynn. Two days since my head started spinning and I haven’t been able to think straight. I look over at Dylan lying next to me as the bus hums peacefully along the open road in the middle of nowhere. A man I’ve wanted since I was fifteen. I’m living every girl’s fantasy. Only, I’m not a girl anymore. I’m a woman. Yet I’m still unsure if I know the difference between lust and love, infatuation and dedication.

I do have feelings for Dylan, I’m sure of that, and I thought those feelings were love. But if I loved him, would I have done what I’ve done? He’s good to me. A relationship with a musician on the road isn’t easy. Yet he’s worked at it, finding time for me and even arranging it so we can be together on this tour. And look how I’ve shown him appreciation.

The last two nights I’ve pretended to be asleep before he came into the bedroom. I feel guilty even lying here. The funny thing is, my guilt is less toward Dylan and more toward Flynn. I’ve been with Dylan for almost a year, yet I feel guilty for sleeping next to him. Deep down, I know why that is—because guilt is an offense of the heart, and by lying here, I’m committing a crime against a man who has captured a piece of mine. But can two men have a piece of my heart at the same time?

I was pretty good at geometry, but the logistics of this triangle makes my head spin. Even if I end things with Dylan, where would that leave Flynn with the tour? He still has another few weeks of filling in for Linc, and then his band is joining the second half of the Easy Ryder tour. It’s not like I could break things off with Dylan and Flynn and I would walk off on our merry way.

Once Dylan found out we were together, he’d know things started behind his back. And that would definitely not sit well. I wouldn’t put it past him to fire In Like Flynn and make it out to be their fault in an attempt to blacklist them.

And I know from experience that keeping any relationship private when you’re in the public eye is nearly impossible. Any way I look at it, Flynn seems to lose. So I just keep looking at it. Over and over again.

I toss and turn for a half hour more, thinking about tomorrow night. We arrive in Austin and I can’t wait to see Avery. She’s never been a fan of Dylan, so I’m sure when I fill her in, she’ll be all team Flynn. I might be shopping for a forum to validate what my heart is telling me to do.

Even though it’s early, even for me, I slip out of bed, tiptoe into the bathroom to wash up and head out to the lounge area.

“Hey,” Flynn’s voice surprises me. He’s in his usual morning position, arms spread wide on the counter, waiting for the coffee pot to finish brewing.

“You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep.” He looks down at my t-shirt, where he’s undoubtedly greeted with a stiff salute, then back up to me with a flirty grin. “Come here,” he says in a low, incredibly seductive voice. The simple two words make my belly flutter in that delicious way. Then he slowly crooks his finger at me.

I deliberate for a second, turning around to look at the door closed behind me, and then back to Flynn. He simply waits with that sexy smile for me to come to him. Totally sinful.

I want him.

No, I don’t.

God. Yes, I absolutely do.

I walk the half dozen steps to stand before him, my feet barely finishing their last step when his hand wraps around my neck and his mouth crashes down on mine. One hand keeps a tight grip on the nape of my neck, his thumb snugly holding my throat; his other goes to my ass and he pulls me firmly against him. Oh god. Firm. Firm is definitely what I feel.

The man truly steals my breath away. I’m a puddle on the floor by the time he releases me. “Morning.” The sound vibrates against my lips, but I feel it much lower.

My good sense finally returns, and I take a step back. I’m on a bus with my boyfriend and the rest of his band and any one of them could walk in at any moment. I clear my throat, still shaken from his kiss, and go to sit down. “Yes. Umm. I couldn’t sleep either.”

Flynn fixes our coffees and brings the two steaming mugs to the table. Unlike every other morning, he slides in the booth next to me, rather than across from me.

It’s a tight fit, our shoulders and thighs pressed up against each other. “What are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” He lifts his mug to his mouth—the mouth with the wicked grin—and sips with a devilish gleam in his eyes.

“Why are you sitting on this side?” I squint.

“Ah. Because it’s harder to reach from the other side.”

I’m afraid to ask. “Reach what?”

Instead of answering me, he trails his fingers along my thigh and then, with eyes blazing, he pulls my thighs wider apart under the table.

My breath audibly hitches. I should stop him.

Should.

Yes, I’m going to.

Stop! Wait…I screamed that in my head, nothing actually came out.