Protection: A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance (14 page)

“
M
aybe take
it easy on the caffeine there,” I tell Elly. She shoots me a glare and sips another energy drink as we ride from one press event to the next.

The radio interview we just did is on the radio in the car, turned on low. I can hear Elly’s voice as she laughs and flirts her way through the interview, dodging questions about her love life. I’ve forbidden her from talking about me, out of fear that she’s going to provoke her stalker further.

Maybe also because I’m afraid of the photos of us sucking face at our parents’ wedding coming out, but I haven’t said that aloud. Not to Elly.

“You’re not the one who has to be
on
again in twenty minutes. The last time I did Good Morning Arizona, I was super tired and the hosts basically just talked to me like a dumb bimbo,” she says. She’s cranky, which isn’t like her really.

To be fair, since our weekend away, the tour has been fucking relentless. This is day eleven without single day off, every minute of the day crammed with press events, plus a show every night.

And I haven’t exactly been letting her get a ton of sleep at night, either. I’m not proud of that, but I can’t seem to fucking help myself.

The second we’re left alone, I can’t seem to do anything that doesn’t involve ripping Elly’s panties off and making her come while she rides my cock.

Damn, though. She does it so well
. Just thinking about it now, I shift in my seat.

“You have the day off tomorrow, huh?” I ask her. “And no show tonight, just press today. That’s not so bad.”

She nods, but she’s elsewhere. She looks a little pale, and I wonder if she’s coming down with a cold or something. She’s seriously getting run down by the pace of the tour; given how hard she’s been working lately, anyone less energetic than Elly would probably be a corpse by now.

“You have your b12 shot today?” Karen asks from the front seat.

Elly wrinkles her nose and nods.

“Yeah. I think I might have had some subpar tuna last night for dinner,” she says with a shrug. “I’m fine.”

“You oughta take the night off, go straight to bed once you’re done for the day.” Karen says it to Elly, but she’s looking right at me. I find myself thinking that Karen’s probably never been fooled by anything, ever.

This little
fake couple, real life fucking
thing Elly and I have been doing? Not an exception, and Karen is pretty openly disapproving.

Elly ignores us both, tipping up the silver energy drink to get the last drops.

“I want real food tonight,” is her only answer. “Like… a steak.”

Her phone beeps, and she answers it.

“It’s Brad,” she says, covering the phone. “I guess my last interview is canceled.”

“Nice,” I say. Inside, I’m excited; I have big plans for us tonight. “Let’s get changed for an early dinner. Dress comfortable, I think we should go somewhere off the main drag where it’s a little more private. Take a real night off.”

“Now you’re talking,” Elly says.

In short order she’s been to the hotel, changed, and has reappeared in the lobby per my instructions.

Perfect
, I think when I see her.

“Come on,” I say, taking her by the elbow and leading her outside.

“Where’s the SUV?” she asks, shading her eyes with a frown.

“We’re taking something a little sleeker,” I tell her with a wink.

When I hand her a leather jacket and a helmet, her eyes widen.

“Connor, no.”

“Yep. Get on.” I jam my own helmet on my head and walk over to the sexy black BMW motorcycle I’ve rented for the evening. I climb on and wait, not giving her much of an option.

When she slips onto the bike and wraps her arms around my waist, I grin and gun the engine. Elly clings to me as we pull off, thundering down the main drag of Phoenix, Arizona.

The city is built in that chunky, optimistic 70s style that’s hard to find these days. It only takes ten minutes to get to the edge of the city from our downtown hotel. Soon, the big buildings are dropping behind us, then the suburbs.

And then we’re in the fucking mountains, the bike’s little GPS screen leading us on and on. We thunder through the most beautiful fucking desert scenery for about an hour, winding our way through on a little two-lane road that slithers from Phoenix to Gila Bend, a sleepy rural town. And our destination, as it happens.

I slow and pull the bike into the parking lot of a very distinctive looking diner; there’s a giant UFO on top, and the sign reads SPACE AGE RESTAURANT. I tap Elly’s thigh once I’ve killed the bike’s engine, and she climbs off first.

Yanking her head free from her helmet, she looks around with wide eyes, waiting until I’m done locking up our helmets to talk.

“This is… something…” she says.

I laugh.

“They’re supposed to have really good burgers,” I say to her with a wink.

She shrugs out of the leather jacket. I take it, holding onto it for her. It’s a little too warm for it now, in the fading sunlight, but she’ll need it as soon as the sun sets. I did my due diligence about the weather here, and the temperature will drop as soon as the sun does.

“It’s so beautiful out here,” she says, glancing around at the scenery as she stretches her legs.

“Let’s go in,” I urge her, holding out a hand. She takes it without thinking; out here, we can hold hands and not feel watched or pressured or guilty. There are no paparazzi here, any more than there are PR consultants or other bodyguards or parents silently weighing us down with their judgements.

We head inside. The girl who greets us is a young redhead, dressed in what I think of as a classic diner waitress’s outfit. Boxy blue 50s style dress, white apron, white sneakers. She recognizes Elly in a flash, and she turns red as a tomato when she takes us to a booth with pink plastic seats and a glittery white formica table.

“Nice art in here,” I say to the flustered waitress as she stands there trembling, trying so damn hard not to look at Elly. “Elly, you like that one?”

I point to this huge painting of the Roswell landing that’s hanging at one end of the diner. Elly is looking at her phone, being kind of oblivious to the girl’s discomfort; she nods at my question, chewing her lip.

“It’s uh… something,” Elly says. “Can I get a Coke?”

“Yeah. Of course,” the girl blurts out.

“Make that two. You, uh… wanna give us those menus?” I ask.

The girl flings them at me and then makes a run for the kitchen, looking half terrified.

“Hey,” I say, tapping Elly’s hand before I hand her a menu. “Pretty sure that girl’s like your sixth biggest fan or something.”

“Yeah?” Elly sends her a curious glance. “Sorry, I’m kind of… out of it.”

“Are you looking for the photos again?” I ask with a sigh.

Elly’s lips twist.
Busted
.

“Yeah. I just know they’re out there, and it’s driving me crazy,” she admits.

“How about you give me your phone?” I ask, beckoning.

“What? No.”

“Yeah. This is a night for us to hang out, El. I want to take you to someplace special after this.”

She arches a brow; I can see I’ve made her curious.

“Oh yeah? Where?” she asks. Her lashes come down to hide her pretty eyes, masking her thoughts.

“Guess you’ll have to give me the phone so you can find out,” I say.

Elly gives me a hard look, but I just cross my arms and lean back. I can feel her eyes on my chest and arms as I do, feel the weight of her gaze as she examines my tattoos. Her interest in them is kind of cute.

“All right,” she says. “On one condition.”

I let out a low chuckle; only Elly fucking Parsons would have the nerve to bargain with me in this situation.

“What’s that?” I ask. She slides the phone across to me, her expression intent.

“I want to get a tattoo.”

I cough, sputtering.

“Excuse me?” I ask. “I think I misheard you.”

“Just a really small one,” Elly says. “To commemorate… the tour, you know?”

“And you don’t want to do that with your backup dancers, your makeup artists, your costume designers…?” I wave a hand.

“If I wanted that, I would’ve done it already.”

She wants to commemorate with you, dummy
, I realize.

“I don’t think that’s a great idea,” I tell her.

“Well, there’s a place right down the road,” she says, picking up her menu and scanning it. “I want to get a little tiny tattoo. You don’t have to get one if you don’t want to, I guess.”

“Elly…” I start, shaking my head.

The waitress comes back with our Cokes, looking shakier than ever.

“Hi!” Elly says to her. “Are these Out Of This World Burgers really as good as they claim?”

Watching Elly turn on her pop star persona is always disconcerting, but man does it work on her fans. The waitress blushes and nods, looking for all the world like Elly just asked for her hand in marriage or something.

“They really are. I like the one with bleu cheese,” she manages.

“Oh man, bleu cheese? My favorite!” Elly says. “Tell you what? How about you bring us two of those, plus the best fries and shakes you’ve got? You pick for us, huh?”

I try not to heave a sigh when Elly snatches the menu out of my hands and gives it to our star-struck waitress.

“S-sure thing,” the girl says. She’s shaking like a fucking leaf.

It’s insane how much power Elly has over people.

Then,
look at where you are right now. How much power does she have over you, Connor?

“So?” she asks, cocking her head.

“You mean you want a matching pair of tattoos?” I ask, dragging my thoughts up from the dark place they’ve slid down into.

Elly gives me a thoughtful look.

“What about a tiny heart, right here?” she asks. Taking my hand, she turns it to bare my wrist, tapping a fingertip against a spot over my pulse.

I narrow my gaze at her, wondering what the tattoo would
mean
to her.
If this thing between us ends tomorrow, will looking at the tattoo make her smile or make her feel sad?

Will she get it removed the second I’m out of her life?

Somehow, I don’t think she will. The idea of making an indelible mark on Elly fucking Parsons is almost too tempting, and I give her a slow nod of my head.

“Is that a yes?” she asks. A dazzling smile breaks over her face, and for a second I’m reminded just how fucking gorgeous she is.

Again, how much control does she have over me?

“It’s not a no,” I tease.

We sip our Cokes in silence for a few minutes.

“Can I ask you something?”

Elly glances at me, pushing her dark, glossy hair back out of her eyes.

“Well, yeah,” she says.

“When we first met, you thought I was working with your mom. Something sketchy.”

Elly purses her lips and nods.

“Yeah. Sorry about that. There’s precedent.”

“I kind of want to hear about it… for my dad, you know?” I ask, glancing out the window.

I think we both know that my dad can take care of himself, but Elly doesn’t give me shit about it.

“Well… My mom’s always been kind of… troubled. She’s never been able to keep a job, a boyfriend, whatever.” Elly picks up the discarded wrapper from her straw and twirls it, wrapping and unwrapping it from her fingers.

“She does seem kind of flighty,” I say.

“That’s the understatement of a lifetime,” Elly says with a dry laugh. “My dad left me a little money when he died, from his life insurance policy. Once he was gone, it took her maybe half a year to run through that. Clothes, a car she wrecked, vacations where she’d leave me at home for weeks at a time… My teachers called Child Protective Services a bunch of times, but she always knew just when to show up, make it all seem okay.”

Elly drums her blue-painted fingernails on the countertop. I can tell how uncomfortable this conversation is for her, how she’s still a little guarded with her feelings.

Even with me
.

“I’m sorry, El.” I don’t know what else to say.

She glances at me and scrunches up her face, and I can tell she’s trying to decide how much to tell me. I’m quiet, letting her have her space.

“So I didn’t lose my virginity until I was in New York,” she says, surprising me with the twist in topic. “But… my first
experience
, if you’d call it that, it was with one of my mom’s boyfriends.”

I’m glad my hands aren’t on the table, because they’re instantly balled into tight fists. She’s about to say something I can’t un-know, and a little bit of adrenaline is already leaking into my bloodstream.

When I don’t say anything, keeping my face blank, she goes on.

“It wasn’t…” she pauses, shaking her head. “I was drunk, you know? Like, he gave me some vodka and some pills. He… I was still a virgin after, you know, but it wasn’t… I didn’t like it. I tried to tell my mom. Biiiiig mistake.”

“What do you mean?” I ask carefully.

It’s already everything I can do not to stand up, rip this flimsy-ass table from the wall, and start breaking shit with it. I keep staring at the big plate glass window beside me, trying desperately to control my temper.

“She called me a slut. She shamed me about it for months, even though he dumped her pretty soon after that. That was like a year before I left for New York.” She pauses, takes a breath to steady herself. “I’ve never told anybody about that before.”

When she looks up at me, her bright violet eyes shimmering with tears, something wrenches and rips deep inside me.

I would fucking kill for her.

I reach out and take her hand and she smiles at me, giving a soft shake of her head.

“After I left my mom, she didn’t take it well. She’d get my phone number somehow, or find out where I lived. Show up, calling me a thief, accusing me of stuff. Asking for money, usually, even though I was broke. The early days in New York were really tough, trying to work enough jobs to feed myself and rent a bed in an apartment with a dozen other girls.” She blows out a breath. “My mom has always been blind to that stuff, though. She wants what she wants. When I started to make it… she got worse and worse. One time, she and her flavor-of-the-month boyfriend showed up with a bunch of ‘contracts’.”