Life On Stage: Beat Part 21

It's almost four in the morning when I hear the hotel room door open and the sound of female giggling. Laney spent the night at Alana's mom's house, so there was no reason for Bec to make it an early night. I'm actually glad she had a night out for a change. Although curiosity has kept me awake for the last few hours, seeing as with whom my sister was spending the evening getting acquainted.

The door to my bedroom creaks open slowly. It's dark, but a shadow comes toward the bed. I push up on my elbows. "Everything okay?"

The voice that answers is not my sister's. "Can I sleep in here with you tonight?"

"Lucky," I warn.

"I know you're mad at me. Yesterday morning, I didn't...when I went into the bedroom with Dylan, we..."

"I really don't want to hear about it."

"We didn't. I couldn't. Nothing happened."

"Why not? You were certainly in the mood when you were with me."

"I couldn't...because I felt like I was cheating. On you."

The bed dips and she crawls into bed with me, slipping under the covers. "We'll stay dressed. I just want to sleep with you."

"How much did you drink?"

"Not enough to make me stop thinking about you."

She rests her head on my chest and releases a loud sigh of contentment. Having her here feels too right to turn her away. I wrap my arm around her shoulder and pull her tight. "Get some sleep."

The next morning, our bodies are tangled when we wake. I swear it's like seeing the sunrise for the first time when I watch her eyes flutter open. f.u.c.king beautiful. She smiles and snuggles closer. Yep. I could get used to this...every d.a.m.n day. Maybe the two of us wouldn't wake up so early if this was the way we woke up.

"Morning," she says.

"Sleep good?"

"I did. What time is it?" She arches her back and stretches.

I reach over and swipe my phone from the nightstand. "Eleven."

"Wow. I haven't slept this late in years."

"Me either."

"Maybe we both get up early because there's no reason to stay in bed."

"If I woke up with you next to me every morning, I'd give you a reason to stay in bed."

She giggles, and the sound makes me feel all warm and fuzzy. It also makes my morning erection harden a little more.

"You know what I was thinking about last night?"

"Me," I say confidently. The fact that she wound up in my bed might have been the first clue.

She chuckles. "I was thinking it was strange that we kept on pretending we barely knew each other, even after it made sense that we would be friends. I mean, we worked together a few hours a day, yet we never let on that we were even really friends."

I knew exactly why I did it, but I'm curious to hear her explanation. Unfortunately, a loud knock at my bedroom door interrupts us. "Uncle Sinn."

Minimotor mouth is back. "Give me a minute, squirt."

"Oh, G.o.d. I don't want her to see me in here with you."

"What? Why?"

"She's a little girl."

"So?"

"Do you want her thinking it's okay to sleep around?"

"Considering she's never seen me with another woman, my guess is she'd think you were special."

"That's sweet. But still. No. Go. I'll wash up quick. Do you think you can occupy her in the other room so I can sneak out?" She jumps up and runs to the en suite bathroom.

Not exactly the morning I was hoping for after waking up with Lucky wrapped around my body.

Chapter Twenty-Five.

Lucky

I slip my key into the door of the penthouse suite, hoping by some miracle I'll find it empty. No such luck. Duff and the tour manager, Brett, are sitting on the couch in the living room. Dylan is across from them, his feet propped up on the ottoman. He extends his hand for me to come to him and pulls me down for a kiss.

"Have fun last night with Avery?"

"I did. Thank you for flying her in."

He nods. "We just ordered lunch up, should be here in a little while. Need to finish going through some tour stuff, then I'll kick these guys out and we can spend the afternoon together."

"That sounds nice." I force a smile. "I'm going to take a quick shower."

I head to the bathroom to attempt to wash the guilt from my body. Only today, it's not really my body that's guilty. Flynn and I slept next to each other last night-I'm sure Dylan would not be happy about that if he knew. But nothing happened. Although, the guilt from physical cheating might actually be easier to wash away this morning than the affair I'm having with my heart.

Lunch is delivered when I return to the living area feeling clean on the outside. The inside is a whole different story.

"Ticket sales are up," Brett says. The three men are now sitting around the dining room table, a platter of sandwiches in the center. "We sold out the rest of the next four shows. Beckham is giving us the recharge we needed. He's bringing in the younger crowd...the eighteen-to-twenty-two demographic that does the bulk of the spending on music."

"He's a s...o...b..at. Linc runs circles around his c.o.c.ky a.s.s. Teenage girls don't know music from s.h.i.t," Dylan spits back.

"They buy tickets."

"Until the next cookie cutter comes along. We've seen a hundred of these guys over the last ten years."

"I don't know. Beckham's got talent. He's more than just a pretty face," Duff adds, stuffing a sandwich into his mouth. "What do you think, Lucky? You know his chops better than anyone. Is pretty boy a phase or does he have staying power?"

The right answer would be to say no. Dylan's insecurity about becoming an aging rockstar at the ripe old age of thirty-five does not need to be fueled by my gushing about a younger singer. But the need to defend Flynn wins out. "He's vocally gifted. He can run from E2 to E6 and his falsetto has major endurance."

Dylan's brooding stare is piercing into me when I glance in his direction. Ignoring him, I quickly turn my attention to fixing my plate.

"Told ya," Duff gloats. "And he's a p.u.s.s.y magnet. He's good for the tour. Enjoy it. He's bringing us new fans, not taking them away."

"The change from his head voice to his falsetto is choppy. Linc's is smooth." Dylan's tone is definitely less than agreeable; he's challenging my a.s.sessment of Flynn's vocal ability. I don't take the bait-no use in arguing over the better vocalist. We're both influenced by the artist-for entirely different reasons.

"Whatever, man." Brett shrugs. "I can't sing for s.h.i.t. That's why I manage pains in the a.s.ses like you. But I can count pretty d.a.m.n good and there's more to count with Beckham on the tour, so I'm happy."

The afternoon is peaceful, although Dylan is on the quiet side. We watch a movie, then sit around talking about the upcoming venues for the rest of his tour. He frowns when our conversation falls to an awkward silence, and not for the first time today.

"Is everything okay, Lucky?"

"Ummm. Yes. Why?"

"I don't know. You just seem...off, lately. Like there's somewhere else you'd rather be."

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel like that."

He pushes a lock of hair behind my ear and searches my face. "Is there?"

I furrow my brow.

"You said you didn't mean to make me feel like you'd rather be somewhere else. You didn't say there wasn't somewhere else you would rather be."

I'm a c.r.a.p liar. Luckily, there is a truth I can grab onto. "It's just a big change. I haven't been on a tour bus in a long time. I feel sort of...unsettled."

"You'll get used to it." He gives me a sly smile. "You know, I had an ulterior motive for bringing you out on this tour."

"Oh yeah, what is that?"

"Trial run."

"For what?"

"A full-time position."

"As a traveling voice coach?"

"As my permanent traveling companion." His face is serious as he watches me.

I blink in surprise. We've been together almost a year and never talked about changing our relationship. My immediate reaction is acute. My palms sweat and a cloak of claustrophobia hits me. I look down to hide my apprehension. "Oh."

"Don't sound so excited."

"I'm sorry. It's just...my life is in New York."

"Is it? You finally let go of Lucky's, and your boyfriend is on the road."

My heart feels heavy. The truth is, down deep, my hesitation has little to do with my life back home and more to do with the commitment I'd be making. The only carrot I see dangling in front of me from his offer is that Flynn's band would eventually be joining the tour as the opening act. But agreeing to essentially move in with my boyfriend just so I could be closer to another man is definitely not the right thing to do. "I don't think I'm ready for this yet, Dylan."

"It's been almost a year, and I'm thirty-five years old. I'm ready." He sighs and sits down next to me. "Don't answer me yet. We have another week and a half before you're done traveling with us, for work anyway. Let me convince you."

Not knowing what else to say or do, I nod.

A strain fell upon the peacefulness of the afternoon after Dylan asked me to go on the road with him full-time. It wasn't anything he said-the unspoken blared much louder. Or maybe it was that I knew I didn't need to consider my answer.

Avery and I skipped the Easy Ryder show, choosing instead to stay in and drink wine in our PJs. I was pretty sure she didn't fly halfway across the country to sit in a hotel room, but she insisted and, to be perfectly honest, it was exactly what I wanted to do.

Dylan asked me to sleep with him tonight, rather than spend the night with Avery again. So I called it an early night, knowing he wouldn't be back from the post-show party yet, but that the wine would lull me to sleep quickly.

The next morning, I wake to a feeling of melancholy. The man I thought I was in love with is sprawled next to me, his bare a.s.s peeking out from beneath the sheet. I always loved how he slept naked; it made the mornings more interesting. But in this moment, I'm questioning everything. What I've felt in the past, what I feel today. The only thing I don't question is heading downstairs for coffee and hoping I won't be drinking it alone.

Chapter Twenty-Six.

Flynn

Being on tour with a legendary rock band certainly has its perks. I've never really struggled to capture the attention of women. My sister lovingly says it's because I'm a "full-of-myself dimpled wh.o.r.e," although I like to think it's my glowing personality. But last night no personality was required backstage, that's for d.a.m.n sure.

What I thought was the post-show laidback style of Easy Ryder, with only a few women permitted through security into the inner sanctum, turned out to have a qualifier-the laidback style of Easy Ryder when girlfriends and wives are around.

The backstage lounge was filled with women who didn't require small talk. One of whom made that abundantly clear when she greeted me by sticking her tongue down my throat and grabbing my crotch.

When I left, alone, I reasoned that my sister was visiting. That it's normal for a single guy to turn down a hot redhead who whispers in his ear that she has no gag reflex, in favor of going back to his hotel to wait for his sister and her five-year-old daughter. The f.u.c.ked-up part? I didn't even have a hard-on when she pushed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against me and suggested we step into the bathroom.