Say It Strong (Say You Love Me Book 2) (11 page)

Abby crept closer, laughing quietly, primly, so out of place—a thing of oddness amid the craziness.

“Okay, man. Just don’t be gone too long.” He gave me a nod and tousled my hair like I was two years old, cigarette dangling from his lower lip. “Corbin says the porn stars are here for the whipped cream fight, and you won’t want to miss it.”

Ugh, you and your fucking words, Wes…

A shadowy darkness crossed Abby’s face, like she thought maybe she shouldn’t be here.

“Did somebody say whipped cream fight?” Corbin charged into us, nearly knocking me off my feet. “YEAH, BABY! LET’S DO IT!” he shouted, his presence forcing Abby closer to the wall. Then, in his drunkenness, he wrapped an arm around me and blasted into my ear, “Hey, buddy! Barely saw you all afternoon. Helen says you were sucking face with our cello player? You sure about that, bro? We gotta make sure you keep yourself available for the world’s women. I mean, it
is
a world tour.” He laughed like the idiot he was, slapping me hard in the arm.

“Our cello player is right behind you, dude. Shut up,” I whispered, but Corbin was too drunk to hear me or care. I looked over at Abby, and her face said it all—she’d overhead.

“That’s right, Jagger Swagger!” Tucker joined us, messing up my hair even more, and a line of photographers formed before us and started shooting, now that we were all here together. “Say cheeeeeese!”

“Cheeeeese!” I said, my arms around Wes and Corbin.

“Whipped cream!” Wes echoed next to me, holding up his vodka bottle.

“Fucktards!” Corbin bellowed.

We laughed like idiots, because, well…we were. At that precise moment, four girls in string bikini tops and tight shorts pranced by, pushing two shopping carts full of cans of whipped cream—light cream, heavy cream, chocolate cream, strawberry cream—dildos, silver vibrators, double dildos, you name it.

“Gentlemen,” one of them said, a gorgeous brunette wearing immaculate makeup. “The Cream Team is here!” The girls cried out with glee as they picked up cans of whipped cream, knocked off the tops, and literally hopped on top of us, winding their legs around our waists, tilting our heads back, and swirling whipped cream into our mouths. They jumped off at once, high-fived, and continued pushing their shopping carts of goodies toward the back of the venue. “Excellent work, ladies. Onward to the Orgy Room!”

“Orgy Room?” Ben, Wes’s old school buddy, laughed.

Corbin wrapped a death grip around my neck and whooped. “Yes! We are the masters of our destiny!” Then he turned and promptly smacked his forehead into a column. Everyone broke into a fresh round of snot-flying laughter.

Abby was probably watching all this, not caring to talk to me anymore at this point, and when I glanced over to give her an apologetic look, she was gone.

A terrible feeling—something that felt very much like guilt—assailed me. Instinctively, I pushed it away.

What did I have to feel guilty about? I hadn’t said or done anything to betray Abby. Okay, maybe I shouldn’t have told Abby I’d see her later, knowing full well that my friends would keep me prisoner after the show, that they’d pump me full of mezcal Negronis until I was swirling, falling down a colorful rabbit hole. But was that any reason for me to feel like shit? Awkward and uncertain and out of place amongst the guys when I never had before?

I didn’t like it.

I stared hard at the place Abby had been, remembered the uneasy look on her face before I’d looked away the last time, and imagined that uneasy look transforming into one of disgust as she listened to us. Suddenly, I heard Helen’s voice in my ear, shouting, “You don’t want a repeat, Liam.” It’s like the words paralyzed me. My brain told me I was being a stupid ass. That I needed to break away from the guys. To go after Abby. To find her, like I’d told her I would. To kiss her again, like I’d been jonesing to do all day. To reassure her that the Cream Team didn’t have anything on her, and that while my friends might be idiots sometimes, they’d want me to be happy, and right now what would make me happy was being with Abby.

But then again, she’d left. She’d walked away from
me
.

I was damned if I’d go chasing after her like I’d done something wrong.

No, if something was going to happen with Abby—and I definitely still wanted something to happen between us—it was going to happen with her knowing exactly what kind of life I led, and with me knowing that she was strong enough to deal with it. Otherwise, I’d just be putting us in a situation that wouldn’t be good for either one of us.

That’s what I told myself.

That I stayed away from Abby for her sake as much as mine.

But even as I did, I couldn’t ignore the tiny voice in my head proclaiming that sometimes I could be a fucking idiot.

*

I awoke in my suite to slivers of sunlight filtering through the curtains. Thank baby Jesus there was nobody in bed with me. I’d had too many drinks last night, and I vaguely remembered the Cream Team painting whipped cream bikinis on each other, licking them off, then launching into a five-girl fuckfest, but I hadn’t partaken.

Participating would not have been the best way to win Abby’s affections.

But then I remembered—I hadn’t gone looking for Abby last night. After I told her I would. “Shit,” I muttered, pressing my hands against my eyes. Despite all my bullshit mental gymnastics last night, it was suddenly abundantly clear why I hadn’t gone after Abby. Fear and hurt pride. Fear of being responsible for someone else’s feelings. Hurt pride that she’d walked away. Fear that I’d already hurt her and that I would again.

But most of all?

I’d doubted my ability to truly give up my backstage partying for her, even for the short time we might be together. Because some part of me doubted that once I got involved with Abby, our time together
would
be short.

The girl did something crazy to me.

And despite the fact I’d run from my feelings for her at the first opportunity, I missed her. I’d do anything to turn back time and do things differently.

God, I really was a fucking idiot.

I sat up in bed. Scattered around my room was a mélange of people. Corbin and the blond porn star were asleep on a sofa, her tanned arm curled around his shirtless middle, face resting against his furry belly. Two of the other girls were asleep on the opposite sofa, naked and tangled in a blanket, cradling each other like newborn twins. Wes wasn’t around, but he never was in the mornings, always preferring to sleep in his own room.

The clock told me it was eleven, way too fucking early to be awake, but Abby would probably be up already, maybe at the lunch we catered daily, and I had to find her. I had to explain things and beg forgiveness.

I pulled on some jeans and threw on my Ramones T-shirt, heading down the elevator—empty, thank God—and out the back of the hotel. Our security guard, Nathan, gave me a thumbs-up. “Morning, Mr. Collier. Will you be needing a car today?”

“Nah, gonna walk, man. Thanks.”

“Just call if you need us to pick you up again,” the tall, black man said in a deep, übercool, rumbling voice.

“Ah, yes. Thank you for not letting me live down ‘The Incident,’” I said.

During last year’s tour in Seattle, some crazed Point Break fangirl had camped outside all night, knowing exactly which hotel we frequented, and accosted me with demands. Her brother was in the hospital, and could I go visit him? Her mother had cancer, and could I go lay my healing hands on her? She went so far as to corner me against a waiting car, shove me inside when the back door opened, then slide into the passenger seat, as her wingman drove one block before hotel security blocked their path.

She apologized profusely, so I ended up dropping the charges after her father called Robbie to explain that she suffered from some sort of mental illness I’d never heard of before. It was fucking crazy, but I had to be on the lookout for her again, just in case.

It was partly cloudy as I walked the three blocks to the venue, but it was a warm day, perfect for strolling the city. I reached the parking lot, showing the security guard my ID. “Have a pleasant day, Mr. Collier,” he said. Everyone was so nice around here. Well, they damned well should be. We were paying them.

Trying the sleeper buses first, I went up to the buses one by one, knocking on their doors, waking up half the drivers. “Is Abby here?” I asked each one, feeling like a middle-school kid looking for his girlfriend at her trailer. Only one knew who I was talking about, and he mumbled and pointed to the main venue. “You just missed her. She went inside with that violin case.”

“Cello,” I said.

“Violin, cello, it’s all the same shit to me.”

“Thanks, man,” I saluted him for the tip, pivoting and breaking into a jog toward the back entrance to the venue.

Once inside, finding her was easy—I just followed the sounds of sheer awesomeness. Pausing at the doorway to a rehearsal room, I leaned against the doorframe and peered inside. She was there, facing away from me, the only person in the room, the only one rehearsing. Possessed by music, swaying her instrument in time with her song. I wished I knew which piece she was playing, so I could appear to know my shit around her. I even thought of using Shazam to see if the app could recognize the song, but she must have sensed me standing there, because she stopped and turned her head to the side, listening.

“That was sexy. What’s it called?” I asked.

She said nothing for a long time, and I thought I was pretty much done for. Then she mumbled, “
Serenade
,” without looking at me.

“Beautiful. Who’s it by?”

“Me.”

Whoa.
“You wrote that?” Slowly, I stepped into the room.

“Yes. Is there a problem with that?” Icy eyes.

Yikes.
“No, I’m just…amazed. Wow, that’s talent.” I hadn’t meant for it to come out sounding overly excited, but I was seriously in awe.

“It’s a piece I created for my audition for the New York Philharmonic in September,” she said, then stopped as if remembering she was supposed to be mad at me. “What do you want?” Her words were darts, tiny, sharp points pressed against my heart.

I took tentative, slow steps toward her. “Abby, I’m sorry.”

“For what?” she hissed. Ugh, the quintessential girl reply, the number two ranking answer when asked if everything was okay, after the number one
I’m fine
.

“Well…” I said, choosing my words carefully, “because yesterday we had a very nice conversation in the garden, and then last night, as you know, I didn’t follow through on finding you.”

“That’s correct,” she snarled. “Now, if you don’t mind, you can go suck it.”

I spit-laughed. “Abby”—I coughed, pounding my chest to bring air back into it—“listen, it gets crazy after a show. You have to learn this about us. You shouldn’t think anything of it. The mayhem is normal. It’s always pure chaos until I return to my room for the night.”

“When it starts to get even more interesting, I’m sure.” Her eyebrows did that thing they did when a girl doesn’t believe you and she’s waiting for you to redeem yourself.

“You think so?” I asked, hands on my hips. Two could play this game.

She gripped the neck of the cello hard. Her knuckles were white. “Well, you did have plenty of women to choose from. The Cream Team. All five were beautiful and surgically enhanced, so why not?”

“First of all…” I held up a finger. “None of them was beautiful. None. You, you’re beautiful, and that’s not horseshit. They were enhanced maybe, if you call fake body parts enhancement. Personally, I don’t see fake tits as an improvement. I’m more into natural breasts, if you must know.”

“I prefer not to.” She pursed her lips and returned to playing her song.

“Listen…Abby…” I fought for the right words. “I would have talked to you after the chaos died down, but I don’t have your number. We never exchanged. Why don’t you text me now, so I have it and this won’t happen again.”

“I don’t want you texting me.”

“Come on, you can’t mean that.”

“Well, I do. If you want to talk to me, I prefer you come see me. Texting is lame and lazy.”

That made me smile pretty fucking big. Here was this girl demanding to be treated with respect. Everyone else got texts. She wanted a physical visit. She was right, and I liked it. But there was more… “I really wanted to see you last night. I want you to know that.”

“You knew where to find me, Liam. Just like you knew where to send the flowers and wine back in LA, so I know you’re capable. Do me a favor. Just…stick to your porn stars and Orgy Room, and I’ll stick to my life, okay? It’s for the best.” Her eyes were pained, confused, brimming with tears I knew were betraying her more than I had.

I wanted to grab hold of her and explain what my life was like, how crazy it could get, even when I didn’t want it to be. “Don’t be like that. Listen, you’re the one who kissed me out of the blue yesterday. I wasn’t expecting that any more than you were.”

“You’re right. It was a mistake. Now go.” She started playing again.

She might’ve been pissed, but I wasn’t going to give up that easily. “Abby, I’m sorry. I said I was going to meet up with you after the show, and that’s what I should have done. The guys and I…we get into crazy shit after the show. Some of it is real, some is made up for the sake of interviewers and publicity to keep our reputation going.”