Beat (Life on Stage 2)

Both the shower and the bathroom are occupied, so I try to get in a little exercise. I haven’t been to the gym in almost a week, and I’m going to have to figure out a routine that works on a bus or I’ll look like an aging forty-year-old father of triplets before we make it to LA.

In the hallway between the front lounge area and back bedroom, there’s a storage area with a pull-up bar installed. Duff gave me the quick tour the other day—there are free weights in the bottom of the lower cabinet and even a collapsible bench for pressing. I hit the floor for fifty pushups, do some lunges to stretch out and let my muscles relax, then grab the pull-up bar. My muscles burn, but it’s a feeling I relish. I’m on number eighteen when the door to the front lounge area opens and Lucky walks in.

Muscles tensed and straining, my eyes are glued to her as she stands there while I slowly finish the last two pull-ups. Even though my muscles were starting to falter only a minute ago, I suddenly have perfect form and control over my body while I fluidly rise up and down. Thank you, testosterone.

I watch as she swallows, taking in my shirtless torso flexing while I lift and slowly come back down. The look in her eyes conveys what she hasn’t accepted yet. I jump to my feet after I finish the set of twenty I’d set out to do. It’s a narrow hallway and she can’t get by without my moving, so I step aside to give her room to pass. Well, to give her some room to pass. I could definitely back up so there’s enough room for two without touching. But what fun would that be?

“I thought you were going to shower,” she says to my naked chest, with a huskiness in her voice that makes me harden instantly.

“Occupied,” I say as I catch my breath.

She nods. Then moves to pass me, turning her back to sidle through the little room I’ve left. But in the tight confinement of the hallway, her ass brushes up against me and my self-control slips. I put my hand out to stop her from passing, fingers gripping her hip tightly. My shirtless, sweaty front to her back, Lucky’s breath hitches and I exhale a jagged breath. I want to run my lips across that neck and push her up against the wall she’s standing in front of. Show her what being near her does to me as I press myself up against her ass. She doesn’t try to move.

I exhale again, my warm breath landing on her neck.

She inhales sharply.

I hear the shower water turn off in the distance, but I’m stuck in this bubble, interpreting what she feels by only the sound of her breathing and the reaction of her body. Normally, I like music when I have a woman beneath me. A rhythm we can both let flow through our bodies and move to. But I want the first time I’m inside of her to be quiet. So I can listen to her breathing and let her breaths tell me what she needs from me.

Jesus, this woman tests every bit of restraint I have. My body aches for her. Without a doubt I want her. But not like this. Not with her boyfriend twenty feet away. Not with her still sleeping in his bed at night. I drop my hand and release her, backing away. I’m going to walk away because I want her. And not this way.

I manage to accomplish the impossible, keeping distance from Lucky when she’s with Dylan, on a bus where there are few places to hide. The sun is setting by the time we pull into Little Rock. The tour manager hops on the bus at the airport and hands Mick two plane tickets. Mick has a fistful of ass from the woman on his left, and his tongue in the other one’s mouth.

Duff and I are sitting on the couch watching the end of a movie. He takes a draw on his beer, lifts his chin toward Mick and his two fuck buddies and says, “It’s like having live porn. Watch the next move. He’s gonna turn his head to the other side and stick his tongue in her mouth. The left hand will slide up to that one’s back while the right hand grabs a handful of the other one’s ass. Then he’s gonna whip two signed postcards out of his back pocket with his autograph next to the city he met them in.”

Amused, I sit and watch the end of the Mick show rather than the movie. The last scene plays out exactly as Duff described it. The two women giggle when he hands them the postcards and escorts them off the bus. I chuckle. “Guess he’s been using those moves for a while, huh?”

“Yep. Two-on-one gets a signed postcard. Mick’s an ass man. Taking it Greek gets you tickets to the next night’s show and an encore performance before you’re handed the one-way first-class plane ride and a kiss-off at the airport.”

“Shit. He kept me up half the night with those two. Guess I should be glad they weren’t Greek or I wouldn’t sleep again tonight at the hotel.”

Duff finishes off his beer. “Nah. They would have been postcarded anyway. We’re in Little Rock, it’s wife night.”

“Mick’s married?”

“Yep. Going on fifteen years. Married his high-school-fucking-sweetheart. Lydia. She’s a bitch. But who could blame her, married to that jackass? Two kids, a dog and a white picket fence around his house in the suburbs too.”

“No shit. You married?”

“Divorced.” He shakes his head and laughs cynically. “It’s ironic. I’m the only asshole that stopped dipping my pen in the tour ink when I found a good woman. Surprised her one night by coming home early from a gig. Had flowers in my hand and all when I found her blowing our CPA. A fucking accountant for Christ’s sake.”

“Wow. Sorry.”

“The worst part? She stopped giving me head after the wedding, and here she is on her knees for some pencil dick.”

“What did you do?”

“Broke the asshole’s nose, divorced the bitch and vowed never to get married again.” He shrugs. “I like getting head too much to try it again anyway.” Duff reaches into the small fridge on the side of the couch that’s only stocked with beer and pulls us each out one. “You got a girl?”

“I’m working on it.”

He nods. “Well. Wife night usually means the band goes out to dinner. Tour manager has a steady woman who will come and won’t say two words. Lydia will pick a fight with Mick during appetizers. And Lucky will obviously be there.”

Not wanting to call attention to my interest in Lucky, I haven’t poked around any. But a little poking here won’t seem out of the ordinary. We’ve already chatted about all the other guys’ women. “Those two serious?” I ask casually and crack open my beer.

“As serious as Ryder gets.”

And that means? “Not the settling-down type?”

“He wants to spawn. Lucky seems like a good woman. I’d bet he makes it official sooner rather than later.” He sips his beer and I think he’s done, but then he adds, “But doubt it will stop him from banging groupies. He’s got a twenty-nine-year-old retired porn star he hooks up with every time we pass through Vegas the last ten years. Be interesting to see if he disappears for a few hours while Lucky’s on the tour with us.”

With no sign of Mick since we pulled into Little Rock, I’d suggested Lucky and I work on my voice rehab in my room. She’d hesitated to agree at first, taking that plump bottom lip in between her teeth while she mulled it over. When she’d said yes, I’d smiled in victory, doing a little internal fist pump.

But as I wait for the knock to come at my door, I realize it probably wasn’t the smartest of ideas. Privacy, a big bed, and a woman I want beneath me so badly, I’m fucking dreaming about her at night. Yeah…not too bright.