Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (64 page)

S
he was killing him. Straight up killing him. He should look away. But the slight peek of an ass cheek with each stair she climbed was too much to resist. Cut off jeaned shorts and black undies. A black bra strap and a lickable shoulder were left visible by the wide necked shirt that slipped to one side.

Only when his dick was past any comfortable hard stage and into a painful hard-on did he avert his gaze to the runway beyond the commercial airliner they were boarding.

For the last few days, he’d fallen back into big brother mode. He teased her. Pulled her hair. Enjoyed whatever part of herself she’d give him. But that didn’t mean at night he didn’t lay in his bunk staring up at hers, or in his motel room knowing her headboard was on the other side of the wall from his, wishing for things the way they had been for a couple of blissful months.

Maneuvering the narrow aisle, he watched the others who had all boarded ahead of him, curious to see the seating arrangement. Scarlette lingered, waiting on Landon to stow his bag in the overhead. When his carryon was tucked in, he turned to her, offering his hand. She handed hers over and then followed him into the seats beneath it. Landon folded into the window seat, and she sank to the middle one.

Flipping his printout over, Gage checked and wasn’t sure whether to be happy or frustrated to find himself seated on the aisle side of Scar. Reaching up, he smashed his bag in with the others, and returned her smile when he sat next to her. She looked tiny sandwiched between the two of them. Already Landon was commandeering her attention with some stupid story about a Rattler show in the rain.

“Scar? You look uncomfortable between us.” For emphasis, Gage deliberately moved his leg from where it had relaxed to almost touching hers, and put his armrest down. “You want the aisle seat?”

Landon, the ass, shot a knowing look across Scar, landing it on his face. A look that said he wasn’t fooled by the ploy to get her on the other side and out of his reach. Not one to be bested, the shit broke in just as her lips parted to answer, “You can have the window. You’d be doing me a favor. I end up closing the shade anyhow because I hate to fly.”

“Well, if you’re sure…” She seemed excited when she eyed the window, and the trade was quickly made.

Gage restrained the urge to punch the other man when a smug smile smirked its way out. Lucky for Landon, he was smart enough to keep his eyes averted when gloating.

Flipping his shades from the top of his head to balance on his nose, he closed his eyes and concentrated on ignoring his seatmates. Ignoring Scar’s sweet giggles and Landon’s outrageous boasts.

The time zone difference was almost six hours. So while they’d boarded the plane in the states at noon for an eight-hour flight, it was almost two a.m. the next day when they touched down.

 “I’m sure this has been covered, but trust me. It’s one of those better to be safe than sorry things.” Gage put aside his animosity when he, Scar, and their tour manager were watching the city of Budapest whip by from the windows of their ride. “We got step-down transformers for our gear?”

“You’re right. Stupid question.” Landon scoffed, and had the nerve to roll his eyes in a conspiratorial fashion toward Scarlette.

“I didn’t say it was a stupid question. I said it’s probably been checked, but it’s one of those things you should ask the techs. Everyone’s freaking tired, they put in long hours and―”

“They don’t need to be told how to do their job. Jeezus. You’re like a nagging wife.”

“Gage has a lot of experience.” Scarlette had her phone torn open, and she looked up from her task long enough to argue in his defense.

“So he constantly reminds everyone who’ll listen. If he was so damn good at what he did, he’d still be in his band.”

“Says the one who needs a babysitter to stay in his band!” Scarlette went off again.

Finally, their tour manager, who exercised his peacemaking abilities on a daily basis, looked up from whatever was keeping him busy on his phone. “It’s a fair question, actually. You wouldn’t believe the acts that have had a performance malfunction due to the wrong voltage hookup when they go overseas. But…” Here he nodded toward Gage. “Not to worry. It’s been done.”

Scarlette was back to what she was doing, and she expelled a frustrated grunt. Gage reached, and she plunked the phone into his hand. In less than a minute, he had her SIM card changed out to the international one he’d bought them and he snapped the case closed.

“Why’re you doing that?” Landon frowned.

“If your carrier actually works here, you’ll have roaming charges from hell unless you change out your card.”

“That so?” Crossing his arms defiantly, Landon looked to their tour manager, and when he received confirmation, he went off on the other man, suggesting he was incompetent for not making sure the rest of them had SIM cards.

“Dude. It’s in your tour packet. Try reading it. I work for the label, not as your PA.”

The car crossed a bridge, and from this vantage point, the festival ground was a colorful city. Scattered dots of lights grew thicker, massing at a middle point, which was logically the main stage.

Rattler was on the lineup as one of the earlier afternoon shows a little more than twelve hours from now. Gage supposed in the interest of getting a solid several hours of sleep, their accommodations were on site. The festival in Hungary was one of the most popular and attended of its type. A week long, it boasted some of the most sought after acts on the bill each evening, and all through the day, up and coming bands warmed up the stage.

They were booked at five festivals on foreign soil as well as almost a dozen smaller shows. Jax had sat them down pre-tour and had given them examples of many American bands who had achieved fame first away from North America before becoming a household name on their own soil.

The other guys in Rattler were excited simply to be on tour. He was the one with issues when it came to certain festivals in particular. This one, he’d headlined two years ago with Fire Flight. To play with the sun as his spotlight instead of colored par-cans felt almost humiliating—especially since Fire Flight and their new vocalist were headlining later in the week.

Landon was still bitching about the cell phone matter, but now attacking him, ironically for withholding his experience overseas. The others were in the car behind them, thankfully. Else, they would be siding with their drummer as usual.

He held any retorts, knowing he was minutes away from a much needed break from the rest of them—including Scar. It was too hard not to watch her all the time. He was losing sleep, inventing ways to keep her by his side when they were awake, and wishing she were asleep in his arms when she retired.

Unfortunately, instead of a quiet popup room to himself, as he’d had at the few festivals before where Fire Flight had onsite accommodations, he found himself in a double room with the man who was getting on his last nerve. Landon wasn’t any more pleased about the arrangement, but he was quicker on the draw. “I call bottom bunk.” And the drummer tossed his bag and backpack onto the roomier double bed.

Ire was becoming a familiar burn. He could beat the shit out of the dipshit drummer and be done with it once and for all. But he forced himself to remember this was the other guy’s first international tour. It would be an asshole thing to do if he fucked up those memories for the other guy, even if he was asking for it on a daily basis. Refusing to show his irritation, Gage slung his own things onto the single mattress above it. Instead of climbing the plastic footholds, he squeezed into the tiny bathroom to take a piss. Afterward, he dug through his bag for his hoodie, shrugged it on, checked the pockets, and without a word to Landon, headed outside.

The one window on the pod Scarlette had been assigned to was a square of white light. She’d ended up with her own room. Maybe she’d finally get a good night’s sleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes told him the schedule was getting to her. Nevertheless, she kept them stocked in protein bars and drinks, vitamins, and non-fast food, gluten free organic meals.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and began to walk. Somewhere through the woods was the bank of the lake. The VIP pool and the concession area near it had been pointed out as they drove by. His sneakers barely made a sound as he traversed the worn path until the trees opened into a clearing.

No one was swimming, but the luminous glow of the water surface and the lighting around the area lit small groups of festivalgoers. Voices and laughter echoed. He chose a chair in a dark corner and warmed up his vape pen. Besides random social drinking, it was his only vice these days, and he’d only begun using it when he was given the go ahead from his rehab counselor who he had graduated from seeing every thirty days to every ninety days.

Delving out his phone, he checked his messages, finding nothing new. Amazing how quiet his phone was these days. A full itinerary showed up daily along with timely reminders of scheduled promo events. But the continuous buzz of the world that had once revolved around Gage Remington had ceased. Hell, even Colt’s texts were few and far between. And once they had a dialogue going, sometimes it was a day or so before Colt replied.

He knew his friend was busy. The world was revolving around him, same as it had once Gage. Enough already with the self-pity. He took in his surroundings, and found himself under scrutiny from a group of three women not far away.

“Want a drink?” One of them, a hot number wearing a bikini top with short shorts, held up a plastic tumbler.

The light behind her chair glinted off her platinum blonde, straight-as-a-board hair. He was sick of blondes. Everyone in L.A. was blonde. Curving a smile, he accepted and held up his pen. “Sure. Want a smoke?”

Drinking and smoking at the same time. He’d only done it once since his rehab stint. Although it hadn’t been advised against, it felt weird. Like he was falling back into old habits. Like to forget the mind fuck being around Scar had become, he was using. And that felt wrong. So when he wiped out the mixed drink, he declined another. When they passed back the pen, he only took a small hit before passing it back, and so on, until he eventually pocketed it.

The original blonde had worked her way so close, he could smell the chlorine in her hair, and her bare foot continually brushed the laces of his Jordans. On his other side, one of the babes had grown bold enough to begin touching his arm as she chattered. And then she halted mid-sentence and asked, “Wait! Why is your band different?”

Well fuck
. He’d been made. Even out here in the dark with a hoodie covering his ink and a cap shadowing his face. The last thing he wanted was to explain why he was in a new band to anyone who miraculously didn’t know. Gently detaching from their clutches, he leaned forward to stand.

The other girls had taken notice, and he was confused for a second when they held their wrists out for his perusal. “Is this your camp?”

Oh. BAND. As in wristband. He noted the red and black stripes of his own contrasting with the blue and yellow of theirs.

“Yeah. I’m right through there.” He nodded at the tree line, knowing they would see him when he headed that way anyway. “I’m temporary staff though. I guess that’s the difference.”

“Oh. What do you do?” Despite the evidence of money in their manicures, and the hair extensions he noted on the yellow blonde, there seemed a genuine and remarkably lack of snobbery in their interest. “Do you get to meet the bands?” Another asked.

“Um. Well…” Deciding to make an excuse and make his exit, he stood. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the drink.”

“There you are, man. Jeezus, I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Automatically, Gage’s feet took a few steps away from Landon’s voice before acknowledging him. “I was just headed back. Here, you can have my seat.” Noting the other man’s very male assessment of the women, Gage paused to attempt an introduction. Trouble was, he’d always sucked at names. Instead, he said, “These beautiful women are from Brussels.”

As he nodded and moved away, Landon’s boast floated from behind. “Well, beautiful women from Brussels, I’m Landon, from Rattler.”

“Where’s Rattler?”

Gage wanted to fall down laughing, but he continued his even strides toward the concession area.

“Wait, isn’t that in India?”

“That’s Ratlam.” One of the friends corrected.

“Rattler. The band.” Landon’s correction sounded very terse.

“The band?” Their voices carried over the water. “Wait! He has a red bracelet too!”

Picking up his pace, Gage rounded the corner and stopped before a vending counter tended by one inebriated acting employee. After ordering a veggie sandwich from the overhead menu, he sat to wait and scanned tomorrow’s itinerary. Fatigue was setting in, and it didn’t make him happy to see a few interviews before noon and the show around three.

He ate quickly, sucked down the lemonade, threw away his trash, and returned to the room. Scar’s window was still lit, and he wondered if she was awake or had fallen asleep with a light on. Punching the code into his door, he opened it to…

A small party.

The three chicks and Landon.

They were all topless and sprawled comfortably on Landon’s bed. The little soap tray from the bathroom was lined in white powder.

Landon looked up, immediately palming a rolled up bill, but telltale powder still clung to his nostrils. “There he is. Told you he’d be back!” The drummer indicated the tray. “Come on in. Get you some of this, man.”

“Nah. I’m good.”
Fuck
. His eyes drifted to his bunk and his bag.

“Get you some of this then.” Landon’s arms wrapped Miss Hair Extensions and squeezed her tits. “So good.” His head dropped, and he suckled noisily while his hands disappeared into her shorts.

“Here.” Platinum blonde unfolded and came to stand before him, offering her pinkie.

Seeing the powder spooned in her long glittery nail, he shook his head. “No thanks, sweetheart. I’ve got to sleep.”

“Rest up for your show?”

“Yeah.” He made a move for his bunk, wondering if he’d do better to go sleep in a chair by the pool.