Random on Tour: Los Angeles (Random Series #7) (3 page)

Who the fuck was I kidding? Chicks like that didn’t go for guys like me. I was the outsider here. Darla thought she was, but she was the glue that held this whole group together.

Besides, Charlotte was about as in love with Liam as Trevor was with the damned chicken. Not sure which love was stronger.

And it was her rainbow-haired friend who intrigued me more. I couldn’t get Maggie out of my fucking mind. Two months should be long enough. Two months had turned into torture. I could still taste her. Feel her hips in my hands. Imagine so much more. 

“Watch,” Charlotte said to me. Then she closed her eyes nice and slow, in a hypnotic way, like the act itself was meant to do something. Trigger something. Like it was a cue. An order.

A command.

I obeyed as Liam got me on one side and Charlotte on the other side of him and hit Play.

First you hear the crash of glass. Then the screams. The camera goes up from an image of a little kid waving, to a third floor window of an apartment, a man flying through the air, one arm wrapped around what you realize is a sheet. His ass is bare naked, legs flailing. A handcuff hangs from one ankle, the empty match lined with red cloth.

A chicken starts pecking at his head, then suddenly thrusts forward off the window ledge, like someone shoved it.

People in the boat car thing are screaming. Darla’s screaming, “Joe! Joe!” Trevor’s screaming, “Don’t let the chicken fall, and here—grab my hand!”

The chicken tries to fly and lands on Joe’s shoulder. He twists suddenly, then slips a good foot down. You see Trevor bend forward out the window and grab his other arm. Darla leans forward, giant tits bobbing like...I don’t know. There really aren’t words to describe it. Or if there are, I’m not the guy to figure out which words to use. 

Trevor pulls Joe up while the chicken digs its claws in Joe’s ass. The camera zooms in as Joe pulls one leg up and gets a perfect shot of his butthole just as the gerbil falls between his ass cheeks and—ow. That’s gotta hurt. It kind of wedges itself in for safety and...aw, man. You really don’t want to know.

You can also read the sweater the chicken’s wearing.

It says: MAVIS FOR PRESIDENT.

Yeah. Sweater. Didn’t even know they made sweaters for chickens. Learn something new every day.

Joe’s naked body gets pulled in the window but you hear him screaming about glass and blood, distorted words like:

...broken arm...

...kill that fucking hen...

...do gerbils carry disease?...

...911?...

And meanwhile, people are chattering in the background of the video, about five different voices assuring the group that they’re calling 911.

Joe never had a chance. Nothing’s secret in social media land.

Not even your sexcapades with your boyfriend, girlfriend, chicken and a pet gerbil.

“What do you think?” Liam asked, obviously expecting a big reaction from me. I don’t do reactions. People are just too excited, their faces moving fast and kind of emotive. Makes me feel like I can’t hang on to the right words in my brain. I’m too busy dealing with the feelings oozing out of them like sweat. Like funk.

“Huh.” 

“Huh?
Huh?
You watch that and all you have to say is ‘huh’?” Liam looked at me like I was an alien. That was okay. I was used to it. 

“Um, okay.” What I was really thinking as I snatched a quick look at Joe on the bed is that the poor fucker must be hurting in every way possible. Sucked to be him.

And don’t take care of anyone’s pet gerbil in the same room where you do sex acts that might—even the tiniest bit—make you go flying out a window.

Words to live by.

“That’s it? That’s your entire reaction?” he sputtered.

What the fuck was I supposed to say? The whole scene was fucking ridiculous and Joe destroyed his arm for some hot sex. The chicken and gerbil thing was kinky as hell but hey—what people did in their bedroom was their business. I didn’t judge.

When you judge other people, it makes you a hypocrite when you get pissed they’re judging you.

Liam made a snorting sound in the back of his throat. “You make Sam look like a motormouth.”

Sam was cool. I was okay with that comparison.

I shrugged and looked at Joe, who was high as a kite on painkillers. “You think you’ll ever play again?” I asked Joe. Why not ask? Darla had basically said the same thing earlier. 

Could have heard a pin drop.

See? Open my mouth, get in trouble.

“Never playing Darla’s sex games anymore!” Joe croaked out, his voice weird. “She yanked the Hitachi electric cord out of the wall and when you plug it back in with lube all over your hands, the sparks—oh, God, the sparks...” 

“You’re making this my fault? Trevor’s the one who made us keep Mavis the Chicken in the apartment!” she sputtered. 

“And the gerbil was for...fun?” Charlotte asked with a straight face. I had to give her credit. If anyone could ask that question, it was her.

“The gerbil is my brother’s. His group home is on a weekend trip and I promised to watch Mr. Fluffer for him,” Trevor explained.

Charlotte went beet red. “Mr. Fluffer.”

“Don’t go there,” Trevor said in a low, menacing voice.

“Go where?” Amy asked, walking in with Sam.

“Trevor’s gerbil is named after a job on a porn set.”

“What?”

“It’s my brother’s gerbil,” Trevor insisted. “I didn’t pick the name. One of his friends did. A friend who likes—” 

“Porn?”

“Fluffernutter sandwiches.”

“Oh, that makes so much more sense,” Amy said dryly. “Thanks for clarifying. Why is there a gerbil clinging to Joe’s ass in the video?”

“You’ve seen it?” Joe groaned. 

“Half of the world aged fourteen to forty has seen it, Joe. You guys have a huge YouTube channel for the band. remember? Within ten minutes of the rescue squad arriving you had ten uploads from tourists.”

“Shit.”

“How did this happen?” Sam asked. “We were asleep in our room and suddenly we heard glass breaking, a chicken squawking, Darla screaming and Joe’s shrieks.” 

“Normally it’s everything but the glass breaking,” Amy joked.

I laughed. They all looked at me in shock.

“My god, he almost seems human,” Liam said.

I went back to neutral.

“You and your fucking pie!” Joe screamed at Amy, who cringed. “We were fine until we ate that pie you gave us. What the fuck did you put in it?” 

Amy went bright red, then white as a sheet. “I, uh...oh, man, I’m so sorry!”

“You’re sorry!” Joe shouted. He wiggled his casted arms. “You’re
sorry
?”

Sam stepped in front of Amy as if to shield her from...what? What was Joe going to do to Amy? Shake his broken arms at her?

While Joe and Amy argued, Charlotte started talking to me.

“Where’s Maggie?” Charlotte said, her voice like warm caramel. I jumped, surprised by her sudden whisper. 

I thumbed toward the door. “She left.”

Charlotte frowned. “Why?”

I just shrugged. Those big, wide eyes stared me down. I’m the king of stone faces. She’s the queen. In a chess game the queen has more legal moves. More squares to take. More room to implement strategy.

Damn.

I cracked. Takes a lot to make me crack. She had what it takes.

I sighed. “I said something she didn’t like.”

“Did you turn her down again?” Charlotte said out of the side of her mouth.

I jolted. Second time in fifteen seconds this woman made me jump. “Turn her
what
?”

She shook her head slightly. “Sex, Tyler. Sex. Did she hit on you again?” 

I had a lot of answers. None of them involved words. I could have looked at her and told her with my eyes, my smile, my smirk, my frown. I could have shown her my hands, the way I set my shoulders, how I shifted weight to one hip, how I tensed up. Or sighed. Lots of things people do without using language tell you everything you need to know.

But words worked best here.

Too bad I’m never at my best.

“No,” I said, staring flatly at her. When I do this, people go away. I wanted those questioning eyes to go away. She looked at me like I did something wrong with Maggie.

She sighed. “Tyler.”

I just stared. It was a game of chicken.

Not
that
kind.

Some fast-talking tiny little woman who yammered like she was on coke rushed in carrying a giant bottle of tea tree oil and a loaf of gluten-free bread.

“JOEY!” she screamed. “The Penn Law dean just called our house, and your phone, and your father’s work phone as well. He saw the video.”

Amy took that moment to flee the room, Sam on her heels.

“Who
didn’t
see the video?” Trevor muttered. “According to YouTube we’re closing in on 2.5 million views of the clearest one.”

“I am not talking to you, Trevor Connor!” his mom snapped. “You got him into this mess, stealing my chicken and ruining my son’s future!” 

Trevor slumped in the chair and went silent.

Someone’s phone buzzed. Darla’s. She grabbed her phone and shoved one finger in her non-phone ear, walking out into the hallway. Joe’s mom nattered around him, yammering on about how Trevor had ruined Joe’s law career. Joe just talked about unicorns and shit. She didn’t seem to notice.

Five minutes later, Darla came in, her face white as a sheet. Someone die?

I needed to get out of there. Too much. Too many feelings, too many words, and—

“Guys?” Darla looked at me, then Liam, then Trevor, then Sam. She closed her eyes tight, then looked at Joe.

“What?” Trevor asked, coming over to her. He looked worried.

“That was the national tour booking agent.” She shot Joe a very pained look. “They want to move the first concert up by two months. To September. Have us open for More Than Nothing, then start out on our own.” 

“
The
More Than Nothing?” I asked. More Than Nothing was one of the top three touring rock bands in the world.

Everyone’s head swiveled and looked at me as Darla just said, “Yep.”

“Why would—what?” Liam asked as Charlotte wrapped her arm around his waist like she owned him. She did. Lucky bastard.

My brain filled with purple and orange hair. Piercings and smart blue eyes. A heart-shaped ass that made me want to—

“That means I’m fucked,” Joe moaned from the bed.

“Joey! Language!” his mom crowed.

“I can say ‘fuck’ when I’m high on morphine and I just lost my best shot at greatness as a musician, Mom.”

“You’re more concerned about this music thing than you are about law school!” You could eat her outrage with a spoon.

“Yes,” he said simply. That stunned her into silence.

“This is a joke, right?” I asked. I looked at Joe. Then Darla. She shook her head.

“No joke. We need to be ready a lot sooner than expected. Three months. Not five.”

“I’ll be ready,” Joe murmured, arms in casts. Darla’s eyes caught mine and she shook her head slightly. I took that to mean to keep my mouth shut. Joe wasn’t playing bass any time soon. 

And by
soon
, I meant not even in three months.

I froze.
Don’t assume anything. Don’t make waves. Don’t let hope creep in. Were they gonna ask me to—
 

Darla stepped away from Joe, leaving him to the mercy of his mom. She reached for my right arm just as Maggie stormed into the room and yanked my left arm. When the fuck did I become a piece of man taffy?

“You need to come out here and talk to me—”

“Look, Tyler, let’s be quiet here about it, but—”

Their words didn’t sound like words. Maggie and Darla sounded like someone took a page of a book, cut each word out, and blended them in a bowl, then poured it out on the wind.

Darla let go of me, one eyebrow cocked. Her eyes were on Maggie. “You have some unfinished business with Tyler?”

Maggie gave her a look that could peel paint. “You have some home waxing kits to play with?”

Darla’s eyes got wide and she let go. Whoa. Didn’t think Maggie had that kind of fight in her. A long lock of her rainbow hair fell down over her eyes and nose. I wanted to brush it aside. My fingers twitched but I kept my free hand by my side as she pulled me. 

“We’ll talk later,” Darla said. Not sure who she was talking to. 

I’ve never been good at too many people talking to me at the same time. Especially not when one of them smells like cloves and lavender and lust and want. Whatever Maggie was doing, she was doing now. Her grip on me was like a bounty hunter catching a skip trace criminal.

“You know what?” she hissed in my face, snapping around so fast I smashed into her. My chest bounced her back a half foot and she stumbled on the corner of a small chair in the waiting room. I reached for her, snaking my arm around her waist. Reflexes kicked in and I pulled her hard against my torso.

We were both breathing hard.

It wasn’t from her stumble.

Maggie

“What?” he asked, his breath hot against my temple. He smelled like coffee and tobacco, breath mints and fresh lawns. 

“You smoke?” I barked, amazed by the scent. No one I knew smoked, aside from a handful of experimental freshman girls in the residence hall where I worked.

“You want to talk about my tobacco habits when your hand is on my ass?” His eyelashes fluttered against my cheek. “And no, I don’t smoke. Guys I work with do.” 

I froze. This was not going as planned. Then again, I didn’t plan any of this. My hand was, in fact, splayed across the fine, hard contours of his butt. I removed it fast and stood, forcing myself out of his arms.

Tears pricked at the backs of my eyelids. Pooling in my throat, the salty fluid was a precursor, choking me. I wasn’t going to cry. No. Not this guy. Not this moment.

And yet the loss of the heat of his touch made me hold back a gasp. Losing that connection was like being tossed in ice water against my will.

“Who do you think you are?” I sputtered, leaning on a cliched phrase.

“Tyler.”

I gave him a flat stare, my face slick with new sweat. I poked him in the chest, my finger barely making a dent in his taut flesh. “Let me be perfectly clear. Fuck you for turning me down two months ago, and fuck you for taunting me back there. You don’t have to like me.”