Irresistible Refrain

9

The bus was parked when I finally rejoined the land of the living. War snored softly sprawled out on his stomach in the bed beside me. Sunlight seeped in through the heavily tinted windows. I sat up slowly, groggy and more than a little nauseated. I put my head in my hands, tears I swore never to shed burning behind my eyelids.

I was such a failure.

I couldn’t make it more than a few days without needing another hit.

Sighing heavily, I picked up War’s cell from the nightstand. Eleven already. I’d been out for ten hours. Looking outside, I saw roadies moving in and around the tour bus parked beside us. Quietly, I pulled on a distressed pair of jeans and drew a purple long sleeve Henley with lace sleeves over my head. As soon as I opened the door, the smell of coffee and doughnuts hit me and my stomach lurched.

“Morning,” my brother mumbled, wearing yesterday’s clothes of course, his gaze washing over me. “You look like shit.”

“So do you.” I gave him the finger. “Who’s in the bathroom?” I asked.

“King.”

My chin dropped. I’d been on the bus enough days to know what that meant.

“Yeah, it’ll be a while.” Dizzy banged on the door. “King, how many times I gotta tell you, brother. Shit, shower and shave. It shouldn’t take more than fifteen minutes. Get your sorry ass out already!”

Even through my nausea, I had to smile at my brother. “The three s’s, huh?”

Dizzy chuckled. “King’s a total diva with his morning routine. He even has moisturizer.”

“I hear you, pendejo,” King’s muffled voice drifted out.

I shook my head and shuffled down the aisle to the front of the bus, swiping my sunglasses off the counter as Dizzy shut the door to the fridge. He handed me a bottled water. “You should try to stay hydrated.”

“Sure,” I mumbled, taking a seat at the banquette.

Dizzy took a seat on the bench opposite me. “Lace,” he started, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “You sure you’re doing the right thing getting back with War so soon after Martin?”

“Are you seriously giving me grief about my love life?” I arched a brow in disbelief. “That’s just wrong on so many levels.”

He had the decency to look ashamed, but his gaze remained steady. “I should’ve been more outspoken how I felt about Martin. I hate what he did to you, Lace. All those times I called you never let on how things were, and now the shit you’re doing with War. I…”

“Don’t,” I cut him off. “No lecturing, alright. You’ve got no right. It’s not like you’re a Boy Scout.”

“That’s different. You’re my sister.” He sighed, his eyes searching mine. “I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be.” I shrugged. “I’m alright, Diz. I’m all grown up now. You’re not responsible for me anymore.” I covered his hand. “I just need to level off some. Then I’ll be fine.”

I didn’t get the sense that he was buying any of it.

“What’s the deal for today?” I tried to inject some enthusiasm into my voice before I took a small sip of water.

“Same as Boston. Room keys are at the front desk if you wanna unwind inside the hotel. The whole tenth floor’s exclusive for the tour. Catered breakfast and lunch. Sound check at noon. Band has to be at Wells Fargo Center by seven.”

Ok.” I nodded. “I’m going to go get one of those keys now since King’s commandeered the commode.” I patted him on the back as I made my way past.

After a wonderfully long hot shower in a decent sized bathroom, I felt a lot better. I wasn’t really hungry but I knew I should probably try to eat something. Following my nose, I wandered down the hall to an open area where an elaborate breakfast buffet was laid out. It was so late. I really expected to dine alone.

Wrong.

My stomach flipped. Avery Jones was even more beautiful in person, red hair, green eyes and her leather vest and merino wool cowl sweater were obviously some rad designer. I felt shabby and self-conscious by comparison in my no name faded shirt and worn jeans.

“Morning.” Well, Miss Perfect actually graced me with a greeting. What was the protocol? Should I bow?

I decided to ignore her. I selected a banana, a yogurt, and a muffin, and poured myself a cup of coffee. Balancing my bounty, I turned.

Brutal Strength’s celebrity guitarist was appraising me with a speculative expression.

My spine straightened. Bring it. She was just a person same as me. “This seat taken?” I asked haughtily, indicating the chair across from her.

“No. Have a seat.” Her full lips lifted into a soft smile. “I’m Avery.”

“Lace Lowell.” I wasn’t buying the nice act. I made up my mind right then that I wasn’t going to like her. For one thing, she had probably slept with Bryan. Just the thought of his hands or lips on her was reason enough by itself. I worried that all she would have to do to get him running back to her was to crook her little manicured finger.

Besides, she was a successful musician, engaged to the man she wanted and who wanted her, and it seemed like she had her shit together while my life was a complete and utter mess. I didn’t want to look any deeper than that. I didn’t want to admit, even to myself, that Avery represented everything that I wished I had and wanted to be.

“I saw you the other night at the meet and greet in Boston,” Avery began as I peered at her over the steam from my coffee. “You come down to Philly on the Tempest bus?”

I nodded noncommittally.

“Lowell.” Avery’s brow creased slightly. “You related to Dizzy?”

“Yeah. He’s my brother.”

“So you’re War’s…girlfriend?”

“Yeah,” I hissed, spine snapping straight. “Who’d you think I was? Some random groupie?”

“No.” Avery’s auburn brows lifted in response to my venomous tone. “Only I’ve never seen Tempest bring a woman from one stop to the next. So I just didn’t know…”

“I’m no whore if that’s what you’re trying to imply,” I interrupted.

“I didn’t mean any offense.” Avery’s lips pressed into a frown. “I’m sorry. We seem to have started off on the wrong foot somehow.”

Damn straight. I’d like to stomp on those Vince Camuto suede wedges of yours.

“What’s going on, Ace?” a deep voice rumbled behind us.

I turned to see who that gorgeous voice belonged to.

Holy fucking shit.

The lead singer of Brutal Strength. Marcus Anthony. The guy was definitely nice to look at. Dark, wet hair dripping into the collar of his t-shirt, ripped bod, killer blue eyes, but at the moment he looked kinda pissed.

“Nothing.” Avery’s gaze flicked to me. “Just a little misunderstanding with Dizzy’s sister.”

“I gotta go.” My chair clattered with the force I used pushing it back. “Later,” I mumbled hurrying out into the hall, running right into Bryan. He must’ve just gotten out of the shower also. His hair was wet and spiky and he smelled really, really good. My heart pounded hard. The black Tempest t-shirt he wore fit him nicely and made his eyes appear more grey than green in the low lighting of the corridor. He hadn’t toweled off well, a fine sheen of moisture glistened across the dark ink slashes on his corded arms. I glanced away; my cheeks heating as I suddenly recalled the way I’d looked when he’d seen me last night.

“Where’s War?” he asked without any hint of embarrassment in his tone. I guess he’d already moved on from what had happened.

“Back on the bus would be my guess. He was still sleeping when I left.”

“It’s eleven fucking thirty,” Bryan grumbled, drawing out his phone, long masculine fingers moved quickly and efficiently across the screen. “War. Asshole. Do you know what time it is? Get the fuck ready…Yeah, yeah…She’s with me.” A sigh. “Ok. We’ll see you there.” Bryan slipped the phone back in his pocket. “Come on, Cinderella,” he said, guiding me toward the elevator. “Prince Charming wants me to escort you to the ball.”