Beats (9 page)

“You can’t catch…diseases from…uh…oral sex?” God, could my Catholic be any more obvious?

“You can catch diseases from anything. Before you get busy, you need to ask them both when was the last time they were tested and whether they’re safe. Use condoms for all cooter and ass action. Oral is your call. If you trust them, go for it. If not, cut open a rubber to cover your cooch hole if they wanna go down on you, and make them wear rubbers if you go down on them.”

Now I’m getting cold feet again. I’m so freaking out of my league.

“If they say they’re clean and you believe them, you’re probably fine to swallow. Don’t let that shit linger in your mouth, though. Stomach acid will kill any bad stuff.”

“Maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Rax and Toombs seem pretty…worldly.”

“They are.” Letty lays her hand over mine.

I turn my palm up to meet hers and squeeze. This is a mistake—

“You gotta be firm and ask. Be direct with your questions. And don’t let them pressure you into anything you don’t want to do.

“I had Shades book a room for us at the Armstrong Suites too. You need anything at all, you text me. I’ll be there in a flash. Got it?”

I nod. “Letty, I’m…scared.”

Her eager gaze calms, and she lowers her voice. “You can back out any time.”

I face the guys. Toombs looks up from his guitar. His barely there smile melts me. God, I want him so badly. Is he worth the risks? Before, my emotions were the only things on the line. Now my health is too.

I’m so naïve.

“Whatever you do, own it, chick. Let them know you’re in total control of the situation. If shit goes south, you put an end to it.”

I drag in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.” I can be strong. I
can
.

“Good.” She pats my hand. “Now, about that dirty talk. Let me hear you say ‘cock.’”

“I’m not saying that.” I cover my mouth.
Thinking
a word like that is one thing.
Saying
it is embarrassing.

Letty stands and pulls up one leg like a flamingo. “Cock-a-doodle-doo!” Her gritty voice totally misses the effect she must’ve been going for. She flaps her arms and struts around the front of the bus. Her neck gets going, and she pecks at the air like a chicken. “Cock-a-doodle-doo! COCK! COCK!”

Giggles spill out of me. The guys stop the song they’re working on and look our way. Shades grins, shakes his head, and returns to his bass. Rax and Toombs lift their brows in sync.

“What the fuck are you looking at? Get back to writing, you cocks.” Letty extends her middle finger and waves it at them.

“Your woman is a fucking lunatic,” Rax says to Shades, who just nods.

He’s got that right. I doubt we’d have Letty any other way.

After a few more struts and cawed curses, she settles down and tumbles into her seat, laughing, her face a little flushed. “See?
Cock
. It’s good for the soul. Now, tell ’em how you want to be
fucked
, and you’re golden.”

The bus rolls to a stop. “Welcome to Baton Rouge,” Freddie says as he shuts down the engine.

Letty picks up the banana from the table, peels it halfway, and shoves it into my open palm. “Show Toombs what you’re gonna do to his
cock
in a few hours.”

Five hundred pounds of man head our way up the aisle, two thirds of which could be mine tonight. I can either embrace it and do my damnedest to enjoy it, or I can do what’s safe and familiar and back out.

My stomach executes a triple backflip when Toombs’s silvery gaze intersects with mine. I lift the banana to my lips and push the tip into my mouth, savoring the tropical flavor with a swish of tongue. Time grinds to a rusty creep as an appreciative smile dawns across his face. He makes a show of leaning close and inhaling as he passes me.

God.

Rax brings up the rear and stops before me once Shades and Toombs are off the bus. “When you’re done with that, I’ve got something else you can suck on, Jinxie.”

I punch him with a lopsided grin, slide the banana gently into his mouth, and bring his hand up to hold it in place. I wish I had a clever comeback like Letty surely would, but I don’t. So I give him my back and skip down the steps, shaking in my boots the entire way.

When we hit the stage in Baton Rouge, I’m high on courage and the promise of hot, frightening things to come later in the evening.

I spoke to Rax and Toombs over dinner about their use of protection, and both assured me they were safe, aside from occasional oral with select people, including each other.
Gulp.
Both get tested every few months, and neither has ever had a sexual health issue.

I have no reason not to believe them, but I’m not sure how I feel about them blowing each other.

However, I can’t change their pasts any more than I can change my own. So, I swallow the bitterness in the spirit of new beginnings.

Plus, Toombs kissed me yesterday when Rax wasn’t looking. That’s gotta mean something.

I smile as I settle on my throne, surrounded by the comforts of metal rims, silver lugs, and simulated skin. My left foot chomps down a couple of times on the hi-hat. I adjust its height more out of habit than correction. Shrieks from fans slice through the darkness. I test the placement of my bass drum with two quick pumps of the right foot. More howls follow.

The stage lights come up and shine on Letty, setting her red hair ablaze. The crowd busts wide open, screaming, cheering, whistling.

“Bat-awn Rooooj!” Letty yells into the mic before another sold-out house. “How y’all doin’ tonight, you beautiful Cajun motherfuckers?” She rests a foot on the nearest monitor.

“We’re Killer Buzz Float, and we came to whip y’all’s asses with some modern ’70s rock fusion. Who’s ready to get beat?”

The fans answer, and I give it to them.

One, two, three, four…

Center stage, four sets of feet escape gravity’s pull in a synchronized glam-rock high jump. Rax, Toombs, and Shades lift the necks of their instruments and slash them in time to my first downbeat. Letty’s hair swishes, taking instruction from her banging head as hard, rich, raw guitar notes and wall-shaking bass rip the speakers and fill the place with audio dynamite.

The ensuing explosion rocks even me to my shoes, and I’m used to this stuff. Not since our first show together have I been this energized, this hungry to give an audience my all. It feels so good to get back the emotion I lost somewhere along the way.

As my arms and legs do their dance, Toombs and I share moments of connection. He’s the only thing I see when I look up from my kit. Filled with renewed confidence, I channel every bit of soul I’ve got into my performance. I ignore the burn in my muscles. I put myself out there as I plan to do at the Armstrong Suites later, exposed yet in total control.

For the first time in ages, the beats flowing in and out are a part of me, rather than apart from me. And I know why. It’s because of Toombs. The kiss we shared yesterday cut away the shackles of guilt and worry. He freed me from my fears.

And I bet he’ll free me some more in two hours.

I channel this raging river of desire into my limbs, banging, crashing, stroking every tune to perfection.

When we launch into our last song of the gig, Toombs finds me buried in my own little pattern and hops my wave. Normally, it’s Shades I connect most with when we play. We’re the rhythm section. We’re
supposed
to complement each other. But Toombs is a drummer through and through, and no amount of limelight the six-string brings can unsettle the unwavering core of who he is: an engineer of beats, a layer of foundations, a creator of soul. And soon (I hope), the man who claims Jinx Hardwick as his.

Verse One

I’m sweaty. And stinky. And nervous.

I clap my bouncing knees together in the back seat of the cab. Toombs sits on my left, staring out the rain-streaked window. Rax is on my right, eyes burning a hole into the side of my head. Aside from small talk about how awesome the show was, no one has said much.

The windshield wipers smear fat droplets across the glass. Lightning emblazons neon white veins in the skin of the sky. Thunder chases it with a sonic boom, ripping open the silence of night. Toombs fidgets, leans back, and steals a glance at me.

God, after a few intense moments we shared onstage, I want him so badly, I can’t even look at him. I wish Rax would disappear. The thought of sharing Toombs with him rouses the green-eyed monster. But I’m prepared to do it. I can’t go on
needing
him like this, especially after that kiss. I’ve thought about little else, and I’ve never been so hungry for someone in my life.

The taxi pulls under the cover of the Armstrong Suites entrance, and we pile out. The trunk pops open. Bags come out. Rax pays the driver, and in we go, another round of thunder and lightning ushering us through the doors.

While Rax gets our room key, Toombs and I embark on another awkward dance in which I look at him just as he looks away and vice versa.

“I’m gonna need a shower,” I say.

“There’s probably booze in the minibar,” he says at the same time.

Good thinking. I force a smile. “Yeah. I’ll need something to loosen me up.”

“You can shower first.” Again, our words crash together.

Lifting my head, I study his handsome face for a long moment. Short-cropped dark hair. Goatee. Straight nose. Catlike lips. Angular cheekbones. Ink splattered everywhere. And those mesmerizing eyes. Hard to notice the frightening tattoos disappearing from his neck into his leather jacket when those eyes are on me.

Toombs is likely giving the hotel staff who keep warily glancing our way a quiet conniption. I don’t care what anyone thinks. His ink is gorgeous to me. It projects a gruesome outer appearance, but it doesn’t define what’s inside. Maybe he’s a chameleon too. I lift a hand to touch the painted-on gash across his throat, pause halfway up, and think the better of it.

One, two, three, four…one, two, three, four…
I tap softly at my sides.

“Thank you for the flower,” I whisper. No one’s ever given me one before.

His quiet stare cuts into me like a white-hot laser. What does he see when he looks at me? The flaying comes to a halt when Rax saunters over, a dark grin plastered to his face. “All set.”

Toombs says nothing as he grabs my bag and his own. We follow Rax into the elevator and up to the top floor.

Rax shoves the key into the slot and throws open the door. “Shades got us the fucking penthouse suite.”

My jaw drops as we walk inside. The place is
huge
. Panoramic view of the city with floor-to-ceiling windows. A California king-sized bed adorned with four fat pillows. Jacuzzi big enough for eight people. Separate office area. Another bedroom in an alcove with an extra full bath. A bar stocked with enough liquor to host a Killer Buzz Float party.

“Fucking rad.” Rax slips behind the bar and grabs a bottle.

I’m completely awed. I didn’t realize Shades’s dad was
this
rich. Wow. I stand before the windows and watch the rain fall. My back heats. I don’t need to turn around to know it’s Toombs. I’d recognize his heartbeat anywhere.

My skin goes on high alert, tingling with swarms of shivers. I surprise myself and reach back to rub his crotch. Might as well get straight to business. He’s soft, but it only takes a couple seconds for that to change. Without touching me anywhere else, he closes the distance between us and presses his hardening length against my backside. Resting my head against his shoulder, I shut my eyes and will the inner trembling to stop. I trust this man to take care of me. I have no other choice.

A shock of thunder rips me from my reverie, and I straighten. When my lids snap open, Rax is in front of me watching Toombs and me with the detached interest of a snake trying to decide whether it’s hungry.

“Drink?” He holds up a short, squat bottle full of dark amber liquid.

I press my lips together and nod, accepting the Crown Royal Black. I unscrew the cap and turn up the glass. It burns like hell going down, but I need this.

Wincing, I return the bottle and wipe my mouth with the back of my wrist. Rax pulls a couple of gulps and waves it at Toombs, who shakes his head behind me. I slip away from them and pick up my bag. I poke a thumb toward the bathroom. “Just gonna grab a shower.”

Rax rakes his gaze down my front. “Take your time. We’ve got all night.”

I swallow hard and shuffle into the restroom. Once the door is shut, I brace my palms on the counter and scrutinize myself in the mirror. My blond hair is a ratty nest of random strands stuck to my skin. Lines of dried, salty sweat encrust my face. Black smudges of makeup surround my brown eyes.

“Clean yourself up and go back in there ready to
fuck
,” I coach my reflection. Not a big fan of saying the F word or those C words Letty likes to toss around, but if I play up the attitude, maybe I’ll believe in myself a little more. And if I believe in me, I’m more likely not only to accept but to
embrace
whatever happens tonight.

Still can’t believe I’m doing this.

I strip, get in the shower, and clean up. The water is so soothing, I don’t want to leave. I stand under the spray until it turns cold. The alcohol seduces me into a false sense of security. Good. I need that. Fake bravado will do wonders for me.

When I finally climb out, I comb my hair and give it a quick blow-dry. I start to put my pajamas on, but then I realize they’ll probably come right off. So, how to make my “grand entrance”? Put on the PJs anyway? Drape a towel around myself? Rax and Toombs are going to maul me. Why not just put it all out there from the get-go and save time on fighting with pesky clothing?

Be bold, Jinx,
the alcohol advises.

I listen. The towel drops, I open the door, and cold air hits my naked body, lighting up a full array of goosebumps across my flesh. Doing my damnedest to keep my hands from covering my breasts or
pussy
—I wince at the thought of speaking that word aloud—I throw off as much self-consciousness as my Catholic guilt will allow and scan the room. Rax lies naked on the massive fluffy bed. A bottle of absinthe rests on the bedside table, a sweating glass beside it. He turns toward me, then props himself on his elbows with a heavy-lidded grin. His dick rises to attention before my eyes.