The Loneliest Tour (3 page)

But it wasn
’
t sloppy.

The guitarist stood there and
played.

And, oh wow, did he play.

From behind, Masie watched his hand
move up and down the neck of the guitar. Notes sounded, music poured from the
speakers of the amps, and it was fast, loud, and well put together. The
guitarist lifted the guitar so it was vertical and the guitar solo got faster,
louder, sounding unbelievable. Definitely the coolest thing Masie had ever seen
and heard.

He then hit a high note and bent it
until the scream started to feel like her ears were hurting. Just as she was
about to stick her fingers into her ears, he climbed back down the neck of the
guitar with a fury of fingers, and then hit a deep note, letting it ring,
taking his hand away from the guitar.

That
’
s
when he turned around and looked right at Masie.

His face looked chiseled from
stone. A little five o
’
clock
shadow grazed his face, his eyes a beautifully rich blue color. His hair was
messy, but in a cool, sexy rockstar kind of way.

“
Hey,
”
he said.

“
I,
uh, my bag.
”

“
What?
”

“
Nothing.
I
’
m so sorry.
”

Masie moved to the right and bumped
into the doorway. She hit the big glass door and it hit the wall. She jumped
and tried grabbing for the handle but missed it. Stumbling into the studio, she
moved as though she had stepped into fire. Lunging from the studio room, she
was back in the hallway, her cheeks blushing a wild red color. She reached out
to the wall to keep herself from falling and she felt her fingers graze the
edge of a picture frame. As she turned her head, it was like watching the next
disaster happen in slow motion. The picture frame was already sliding down the
wall. She put her hands to her mouth and watched it hit and shatter. The
picture then seemed to stand there, cracked glass, for a few painful seconds,
and then it fell forward.

“
Holy
shit,
”
Masie whispered.

“
Holy
shit is right.
”

Masie spun and he was standing
right there. No guitar slung around his shoulder. His thumbs hooked into his
front pockets. The blue t-shirt came up too damn far, showing half his belt
line, among other things Masie shouldn
’
t
have been letting her eyes explore.

Forcing herself to look up, she saw
the way his shoulders forced the t-shirt to stretch nice and wide.
The kind
of shoulders to hang onto
…

She was blushing even harder.

“
I
broke a picture. I
’
m
screwed.
”

“
Yeah,
you are,
”
the guitarist
said.
“
Mind if you tell me
who you are and what you
’
re
doing in here?
”

Masie blinked and then realized
something.

She told herself for a second that
it couldn
’
t be true
…
but after the rumors
…

It was another total
holy shit
moment.

This wasn
’
t just any guitarist.

This was one of the guitarists for
Willow Son.

This was Jett.

Complete bad ass rockstar
…
looking right at her, half
grinning.

(3)

If it had been a guy he would have
gotten a guitar smacked across his face. Actually, Jett was pissed any way. He
looked at the woman
’
s hands
first, wondering if she was some nosey reporter who snuck into the studio.

You think shit like that didn
’
t happen? Try again.

Jett and Willow Son were still big
news and would be with the announcement of the recording sessions and the west
coast tour with Crutch Fail. That meant Jett would have to deal with a million
questions about his so-called addiction.

Then the damn woman fell forward,
lunged back, and charged away. By the time Jett was able to get his guitar off
and chase her down, she was standing in the hallway to the studio with a broken
picture near her feet.

After their little
holy shit
and
you
’
re
screwed
moments, Jett just stood there and waited for the woman to answer
his question.

Having a few seconds, he did what
any decent man - and true rockstar - would do.

He checked her out.

She wore tight pants. Super tight
pants. Black. Her shoes were almost like running, or some kind of athletic,
shoes. Her shirt was just as tight as her pants, showing off some very nice and
subtle curves. Natural curves, the kind that were meant to be on a woman. Her
hair was pulled back in a mess of a ponytail. Everything about the woman didn
’
t add up to why she was in a
recording studio this late at night.

Slowly, she lifted her left hand
and put up a finger. Then she moved into the soundboard area. She bent over and
crouched a little, leaving Jett with an even more enticing sight. Those damn
tight pants hugged her ass in an impossible way. Her shirt pulled up just
enough to show a sliver of creamy skin.

Jett turned his head and took a
breath.

Since the arrest and the mess that
followed, his desire for women seemed to have flatlined a little. Colby and
Tessa were inseparable, always working on their schedules to make sure they could
keep meeting up and keep their romance of fate (or whatever the hell Colby
wanted to try and call it) alive. The rest of the guys were always doing press
and writing stuff, trying to keep the Willow Son name from being completely
ruined. Although Jett did a hell of a job getting that process started.

It wasn
’
t that Jett wasn
’
t
interested, it just seemed nothing caught his eye.

Until now.

He looked again, just as the woman
stood back up. She held up a bag that was black with some kind of white flowery
design on it.

“
I
came for this,
”
she said.

She touched her face, obviously
knowing how beet red her cheeks were.

It was kind of sexy to see.

Dare Jett think it
…
almost cute.

“
A
bag,
”
Jett said.
“
Good to know. I thought that
maybe Portis had a metrosexual side to himself.
”

“
You
know Portis?
”
she asked.
Then she laughed.
“
Of
course you know Portis. You
’
re
signed with him. You
’
re
famous. Duh.
”

She touched her face, then her
hair. A piece of her hair fell forward, right in her face. She hurried to blow
on it as though Jett hadn
’
t
noticed.

Jett was completely enamored.

He stepped forward.
“
You know a lot about me.
”

“
Yeah.
You
’
re Jett. One of the
guitarists for Willow Son. You
’
re
…”

He watched her hesitate.

What
’
s wrong? Want to ask
about my drug habits?

Jett felt his smile fade and lip
start to curl.
“
You have
your bag now.
”

“
I
’
m really sorry. I didn
’
t know someone was here. I didn
’
t mean to
…
it was just
…
really good. You
…
the
guitar. What you were playing.
”

“
Okay,
”
Jett said.
“
You have a name, sweetheart?
”

Why the hell did you just call
her sweetheart? Are you really going to flirt with her?

Then again, how was this not the
rockstar
’
s dream? Jamming
in the studio alone and a beautiful woman shows up. Tight pants, tight shirt,
hips with curves that made his hands tingle in a way only a guitar could do.

Shit.

“
I
’
m Masie,
”
she said.
“
I
sort of know Portis. I
’
m a
dancer.
”

“
A
dancer?
”
Jett asked.

Like that was going to make things
easier.

“
Yeah,
”
Masie said.
“
I
’
ll
just go now.
”

“
What
kind of dancer?
”

“
What?
”

“
You
heard me.
”
Jett stepped
closer to her.
“
What kind
of dancer?
”

“
Just
a dancer,
”
Masie said.

“
Clothes
on or off?
”

Masie gasped.
“
I
’
m
not that kind. Not that there
’
s
anything wrong with it. I mean, I have friends and know people
…
I just don
’
t
…”

“
It
was a pleasure to meet you, Masie,
”
Jett said.

He slowly reached forward and
touched the piece of hair just dangling in her face. He moved it, tucking it
behind her ear.

“
What
about the picture?
”
she
asked.
“
Portis is going to
flip, isn
’
t he?
”

“
Probably,
”
Jett said.
“
I won
’
t tell if you don
’
t.
”

Masie blushed again and smiled.
“
Okay. Thanks. I, uh, really
should go.
”

“
Have
a good night, sweetheart.
”

Jett stood with his hands balled
into fists and watched Masie turn and walk away. Scanning her top to bottom,
knowing damn well he wasn
’
t
hiding it, set a fire off deep inside Jett.

He looked down at the broken
picture and crouched down to pick it up. The band in the picture with Portis
was Chasing Cross. Definitely one of Jett
’
s
personal favorites of all time. The picture and autographs weren
’
t ruined, just the broken frame.

“
Everything
broken could be fixed,
”
he
whispered and stood up, putting the picture in the soundboard room.

Jett then stood there and looked through
the glass at the large recording room. The pine colored walls and floor. The
track lighting that sometimes felt hotter than standing on stage. The guitars,
drums, mics, cords, and amps.

It made his heart race.

That was his salvation. That was
his heart and soul.

He gripped the edge of the
soundboard and took a deep breath.

Looking to his right, he fantasized
for a second that Masie was still there.

But she was gone.

Long gone.

A woman that beautiful
…
a dancer
…
who knows Portis
…

Yeah, right.

Jett shook his head and went back
to work. Cradling and touching a guitar was all he needed.
Even if there was
another desire to cradle and touch something - someone - else.

**

Masie
’
s
hands were still shaking ten minutes after leaving the studio. She wasn
’
t sure what got to her nerves
more - breaking one of Portis
’
s
pictures or meeting Jett. An actual rockstar. A real musician. A guy totally
drop dead sexy. A man who had the guts to ask her if she was a stripper and it
didn
’
t bother Masie. Hell,
any other time, she would have considered slapping whoever asked that when she
said she was a dancer. But when Jett asked, it was kind of
…
sexy
.

Like he was thinking about it.
Picturing her naked. Rocking her body left to right. Stepping toward him.
Touching the scruff on his face, finding the steel feel of his jaw under it.

“
Christ,
”
Masie whispered as her mouth
started to grow dry.

Sitting in the seat of her car, she
felt her thighs ache just a little. Well, just enough that she started to get a
little uncomfortable, getting turned on by thinking about a rocsktar.

When she got home to her small
apartment, she showered and saw she had a missed called from Ian and Drake.
Drake was Clutch Fail
’
s
band manager. Skipping over Ian
’
s
name, she hurried to call Drake.

Curling up on the couch with a
glass of lemonade, she waited for Drake to answer.

“
You
’
re calling pretty late,
”
he said, answering.

“
You
called me,
”
Masie said.
“
I
’
m
sorry.
”

Drake snickered.
“
It
’
s
all good here. We don
’
t
stop until the sun comes up. You feel like coming out for a night?
”

“
What?
”