Chapter Two
Dear Diary,
If you put it out there, it will come back to you.
“Scandals! Scandals! Scandals!”
The short distance back to the bus always involved rowdy chants from stragglers who refused to let the night end. It was a show in itself, with shrieks, invasive gestures, and camera flashes in your eyes until you couldn’t see straight.
Catcalls could get a little sadistic. Most nights it fueled their adrenaline rush and on others, sheer hell. Though, as part of the business, the fans would never know any different. Annoyance masked by graciousness, they maintained the “devoted, rock stars who appreciate their entire fan club,” image. At least until they got on the bus.
“Atlanta kicks ass!”
“Give me something to jack off to, ladies!”
“Look at those tits!”
Cole stomped through the roped-off path from the arena with his arms at his side, jaw tight, and gaze focused straight ahead. The nighttime chill of Georgia cooled his overheated skin. He punched the bus door left ajar, not in compliance with the fan appreciation, and without caring that Derek would give him shit for it later. Nothing went right for him in tonight’s show. Not only was he forced to improvise through broken microphones, he neared a face plant when he slipped on a drumstick that got away from Brett. He trudged up the steps and stripped off his sweaty T-shirt on the way to the shower.
He let go of his foul mood, for a second anyway, and chuckled under his breath. Bass guitarist, Zander Wells, begged their very responsible driver, Derek McRae, to hold off leaving until he got a little ass.
“The drive to the hotel will only take thirty minutes. Get your ass in here.” Derek scolded, as he did every night. But invitations to party always took place before, during, and after a show.
Cole rolled his eyes and didn’t bother to get involved. That piece of ass would make an appearance in their hotel later anyway. The instant the hot water massaged his tense muscles, he sighed. He leaned forward and rested his head to his forearms, up on the shower wall.
The water that trickled from his back and over the sliver of a tribal tattoo wrapped around his side, held his attention. He was in great shape for thirty-five, but adrenaline pumped through him like a drug and his breathing labored. He tipped his head back in the water and closed his eyes.
Many years of experience on the road with the Scandals and long-time friends led daily events, present shower included, to evolve into predictable routine. Tonight wouldn’t be any different. Alcohol consumption passed the time; women relieved certain needs, and when time allowed, they’d finally sleep. Living on the road as a musician fulfilled a lifelong goal, but he longed for a passion absent from his life—a woman to go home to.
A woman. That scared him more than any performance on stage in front of thousands of fans. Love was fragile. His mother taught him that lesson the day she left his father to raise Cole and his three younger brothers on his own. Relationships were fantasy, not reality, and his ex-girlfriend had confirmed this the night he caught her in his college dorm room, on her knees in front of his roommate.
Loud thumps at the door forced him out of his misery.
“Hurry the fuck up, Cole.”
Just like home.
He shut the tap off but didn’t respond. The hot water had run out long ago, and his greediness always irritated them. He wrapped a towel around his waist and whipped the door open to a young, pissed off drummer, Brett Young. His last name reflected his position in the band, since he was only twenty-three years old, and they never let him forget it.
“Zander is going to kick your ass if you used up all the hot water again. You should see the groupie he invited back to the hotel.” Brett nudged past him into the tiny three-piece bathroom, frustrations from moments ago already forgotten.
“I’m sure a little cold water would do him some good.” He nabbed his deodorant on his way out.
Brett rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back over his shoulder. “You okay, man?”
He waved back over his shoulder and strolled to his bunk, muscles tensed once again. The guys took turns in the cold shower and cursed him out in the process. A night in a hotel rather than the bus had evolved into a novelty everyone enjoyed on the road. It gave them time to party with select fans, choose a date for the night, and actually enjoy some privacy or take the opportunity to sprawl out in bed alone.
Or, have a warm shower.
“It’s party time. No diseases, boys, cover ’em up.” Derek McRae, long-time driver for the Scandals stopped the bus, swiveled in his seat, and gave them the usual “I’m not your father, but don’t mess with me” stare. Back up drivers came and went, but he’d stayed for the long haul.
Cameras flashed outside the tinted windows. The four men flung overnight bags on their shoulders and adjusted ball caps to shield their faces, along with sunglasses. Long-sleeve shirts and pants hid the visibly tattooed parts of their well-defined bodies. The piercings and tattoos drove the women wild and often drew crowds the hotel management didn’t care for. They were foul mouthed at times, partied hard daily but always composed themselves around businesses that could make or break their stay.
Customarily, Cole stepped off the bus first. After years of being together, the strangest of routines developed, but this time he waved at his best friend and lead guitarist, Drew Michaels, to take point.
“You and I are having a talk later, Cole.” Drew stomped down the stairs and just like the rest of the men, kept his eyes on the ground until inside.
Cole threw his bag over his shoulder, sighed, and trudged to the bus door.
“What’s up, Cole?” Derek grasped his arm and held firm.
“Nothing a little Jack Daniels can’t take care of, Derek, don’t worry.”
Derek shook his head and spun back around in his tall, leather seat. His gaze roamed to the picture that never left his side, his deceased wife and daughter.
“Shit.” Cole stepped off the bus with his head down.
****
The walls vibrated when the elevator doors swooshed open, and loud music filled the dimly lit hall. Cole smiled and tapped the wall with his fist on the way to Brett’s room. It had started out as a rookie ritual, being forced to put up with the never-ending party. That backfired. Brett liked it.
Cole took a deep breath and joined the always-predictable after party.
Hoots and hollers welcomed him in the enormous luxury suite, along with a bottle of Jack Daniels shoved at his chest by Drew. “Loosen up, buddy, leave the heavy shit outside.”
He swiped the bottle and drained a large amount into his mouth. He held it there until he couldn’t take the burn any longer and swallowed. “Since when do you dipshits need me to get the party started?” He gave the bouncer a high-five,” Please don’t let the beautiful ladies down. We have a reputation.”
He relaxed when the familiar warmth of the alcohol entered his bloodstream. The crowded room, with lots of lounge areas meant to entertain, offered typical rowdiness, with the odd girl who could get his attention. He scanned until the first, somewhat attractive one caught his interest.
The pretty brunette, huddled in a group of underdressed women over by the long, wall-mounted fireplace, blushed as he neared her. The group parted with schoolgirl-crush ogles when he put his arm around her and led her away. He stared ahead while she rambled.
The lack of challenge sucked.
The young woman, whom he was quite sure had mentioned her name in her blabber, sat very close to him on the oversized, brown-leather sofa. He eyed the bottle of amber-colored liquid in his hand. The urge to indulge didn’t strike him. He used the bottle to slide the cluster of empties out of the way on the table next to him, and set it down. While she continued to chatter, he leaned his head on the back of the couch and observed the rather typical evening. Her slurred words didn’t hold his attention, but the advance of her hand up his thigh to his cock—that got his attention.
He flung her hand away. “Don’t. Go find one of the other guys. I’m not in the mood for sloppy sex.”
His attitude sucked, and she deserved better, but he didn’t have time to apologize before she scrambled up on unsteady legs and staggered away with a snarl.
Cole huffed and leaned to the side so he could snag his phone from his pocket. Social media contact with the fans was a part of being famous he could take or leave, but there were always comments on Twitter that caught his interest enough to respond. The group tended to get a lot of sexual offers, words of fondness or hate, but anyone and everyone had an opinion.
He used his finger to swipe at the screen, scrolled past the negative comments, and responded to people who showed commitment to their band. With his finger on the power button, he lowered the phone back toward his pocket when a tweet caught his attention.
Need help with my bucket list.
It was from her, Isabelle. He’d responded to a couple of her tweets and even sent a private message but she never wrote back. It had become a challenge to get her attention. A woman who didn’t fawn over him felt new. Her profile picture and the innocent, untold story in her eyes captivated him enough to go back for more. He opened the attachment, too curious not to read further.
1. Get a tattoo
2. Bungee jump
3. Sing karaoke in front of strangers
4. Dance in the rain
5. Eat caviar
6. Learn how to fly a plane
7. Shop on Rodeo Drive
8. Drive a Lamborghini
9. Learn to dance the tango
10. Go on tour with a band
11. Experience a knee weakening kiss
After he read her list several times, his heart raced along with the twitch in his leg. The noise in the background faded, and desire for her overwhelmed him. Warmth that’d become difficult to kindle, traveled farther down to the bulge now straining against his zipper. He claimed the pillow beside him and placed it in his lap, not interested in what the easy to impress women would try to do to help him out. With his head still down, he scanned the crowd to make sure no one paid him any attention before he gawked back down at the screen again. He enlarged the picture.
Beautiful
“Your knee tells me your mood has either improved or will soon. What’s got you worked up?”
He jumped when the tall, dark-haired man sat next to him.
“Fuck, Drew. You’ve scared the shit out of me since we were kids. Will you fuck off already. Remind me again why I always ran away to your house?”
Drew punched him in the shoulder, but hidden underneath the scruff of his dark goatee, was a childlike dimple he would poke at if he needed to. This wasn’t one of those moments.
He handed his phone over to Drew and leaned back to gaze the room. Already intoxicated groups of people blabbed on about trivial matters, roughhoused, or over in the corner, had sex.
Drew read the list and stared at him, his eyebrow still raised. “So?”
He scrubbed his face with his hands and huffed. “I know I’ve been an ass today.”
“Yep.”
“I’m living my dream, but I can’t shake this twist in my gut. There’s still more out there for me.”
Drew maintained his perplexed expression. “And this ordinary girl is the answer?”
He threw the pillow at Drew; he no longer needed shelter. “I can see why you would say that. No, she doesn’t appear to be anything like the women we hang with but there’s something about her. I can’t explain it, just check out number ten?”
Drew stared at the phone and counted out loud to be an ass, before he landed on the item Cole referred to. The smile on his face didn’t agree with the concern in his eyes. “Cole, you know one of the reasons why people make these so-called, bucket lists, right?”
He shrugged his shoulders and jerked the phone away, “I know, idiot, who cares. Why couldn’t we help her?”
He scrubbed his jaw with the palm of his hand and leaned his head back like Cole. “If doing this will get you out of this funk, man, by all means do it. I have to warn you though, if this is what I think it is, don’t get attached. Go crash for the night since this party sucks anyway. If you’re still drawn to this chick in the morning, do something about it. You know we won’t give you too much of a hard time.”
A very attractive blonde prowled up to Drew and held out her hand. He laughed, jumped up, and let her guide him away. Within seconds, he glanced over his shoulder and flicked his tongue between his fingers. Cole broke out laughing when his older, not so mature friend, ambled right out the door with the well-endowed bombshell on his arm.
****
Cole stretched out in the “much more enormous than his bunk” hotel bed. The sheets slipped down from his chest, but the chill it generated didn’t elicit the readiness required to start the day. With his eyes closed, he rolled over, away from the faint light of day he could see through his eyelids. He opened one eye and squinted at the red numbers that glared from the clock on the nightstand. “Ugh.”
There were so many unused pillows around him, he tugged one and covered his face with it. One hour until bus call, to make it in time for their interview with a local radio station.
Conversations from last night surfaced and he laughed; it’d become normal not to remember a damn thing after a hotel party. He threw the pillow across the room. It swooshed when it hit bare floor. No random person’s clothes thrown about or furniture bumped from its usual position in the throes of ecstasy for him. He slid his phone to the edge of the nightstand with his fingertips until he could take hold of it and groaned. His leg up, knee bent and already revved up with a twitch, he set the phone down on his chest and rubbed his eyes.
“Ugh. Okay.”
He picked up the phone and enlarged the picture again, shocked his reaction remained the same and wasn’t an alcohol induced attraction. With two things on his mind now, he copied the email address on Isabelle’s account into his contacts and typed a message he prayed would make his life a little more enjoyable.
Hello there Isabelle Chambers.
I got your email address off your Twitter page, hope that’s okay. I read your tweet and was intrigued. Seems we both may be in need of a change, or something new, right about now. My name is Cole Davies, lead singer for the rock band Scandals. As you read this, we are somewhere…on tour. You didn’t specify any preference in music on your list. If you can handle a little partying—okay a lot of partying—we have an empty bunk with your name on it. Interested?
Cheers, Cole
Send.
Now that that was taken care of, another issue required the attention of a firm hand. No bandmates, roadies, or groupies could interrupt this moment—or the fantasy that inspired his body last night in the crowded room.
Her beautiful blue eyes stared at him as he placed the phone down on the bed. When he closed his eyes and leaned back into the pillow, Isabelle was there. She straddled him, and ran her delicate fingertips down his body as if she hungered him in every way imaginable.
“I need you, Cole,” she begged in the most seductive voice.
He slid his hand down his body and used his palm to smooth the pre-cum that already leaked from his swollen, sensitive crown. The silkiness coated him, just like her heat when he raised his hips to thrust into her.
“Yes.” She threw her head back and moaned.
Her blonde hair fell back and tickled his thighs in the most erotic way. “God…Isabelle.” Every muscle in his body clenched. He kicked back the covers and pumped into her. “Take it all, baby.”
“Cole. I’m going to come, please.” She pleaded like she needed a push over the edge, and only he could get her there.
She leaned forward, gripped onto his shoulders and rode him, her touch firm yet delicate. He pumped into her hard. A shockwave of lust coursed through his veins and he swelled to an unbearable length. “Isabelle.”
“Oh God, Cole, yes.”
All sound faded, and their orgasms became one. He slid in and out of her with ease as she coated him.
A loud pound on the door startled him out of his euphoric state much too soon.
“Stop stroking it and get your ass up, Cole, time to go,” Zander shouted from the other side of the locked door.
He opened his eyes and inspected his empty, untouched except for his lone bag on the luggage rack near the door, hotel room. A quick glance made reality crash down on him. It wasn’t her cum that coated him; it was his, all over the place. He wiped his hand with the sheets, got up, and flicked the lock on the door. With little desire to listen to Zander rib him about his condition, he continued into the bathroom. “My hand is a lot safer than what you left with last night, asshole.”
The cold shower didn’t wash away her image, though. With the towel around his waist, he braced his hands on the counter. The reflection in the mirror was one he’d seen for years. Would she really be interested in the pierced ears, tattoos, and muscles?
Familiar banter from the guys, already helping themselves to his room, snapped him out of his one-man pity party. With a cocky grin on his face and sure to cause a scene, he tugged at the towel and let it drop to the floor. If they haven’t learned by now, they never would.
He whipped the door open and joined the men who didn’t seem to understand the word “unwelcome,” with a little added strut to his step. All the guys groaned and threw pillows at him. He tipped his head back and laughed—he needed that.
“Cover that shit up, man. We all know you’re hung, doesn’t mean you have to flaunt it.” Brett held up one hand and searched in his pocket with the other. “No, wait. Maybe this Twitter chick will be impressed and won’t say no to coming on tour with us. Let me just send her a picture, so she knows what she’s getting herself into, or onto.”
Cole tugged on a pair of faded, ripped jeans and glared at Drew. “Just couldn’t keep your mouth shut about it, could ya?”
Drew held his hands up and shrugged. “Hey, I told you they’d be okay with it. What did you decide anyway?”
Cole yanked a shirt over his head, smoothed his hair back with his hand, and placed a ball cap on backward. He didn’t want to miss their reactions when he spoke. “I sent her an email not long ago and invited her to come with us. I haven’t checked to see if she responded.”
Drew laughed and threw Cole’s phone in the air, short. “Check it.”
Cole lunged and managed to snag the corner of it only inches from the floor. His heart raced at the possibility of a response. He dragged his feet to the bed, so focused on the phone he tripped. A quick glance down revealed nothing but bare, ugly-patterned carpet.
Get it together, Cole. Since when do women make you nervous?
With his back to the guys, he sat on the edge of the bed and let out loud breath.
“It’s a girl, Cole, not the end of the world. Give it another hour, and there will be more begging for your attention. Don’t get your panties in a bunch.”
He shook his head, ignored Brett, and searched his email. The immature comment sparked a conversation about some chick from last night, but he tuned it out. His hand froze when he landed on it.
RE: Bucket List item #10
“She responded—”
Before he could finish, Drew stole the phone from his hand and read the response so everyone could hear.
“Dear Cole, if this is really Cole Davies, although this may sound like a joke, I am truly committed to the completion of this list. Have another drink. Cheers, Izzy.”
“Ha. Feisty little thing isn’t she, I like her already.” Brett laughed at the shocked expression on his face.
“How can I make her believe me?” He wasn’t used to this; women never brushed him off. They were irresistible to women ’cause of their fame, even on their worst days. That part of his lifestyle he struggled with, never knowing whether a woman liked the real him or the fame linked to him.
Zander yanked the marker clipped to Cole’s bag; they all had one in case of ideas, and spun around to search the room. He hurried to the table and ripped a paper out of the hotel directory binder and scribbled on the back of it. “What’s her name?”
Cole shook the nervousness from his free hand, and made his way over to Zander. “Isabelle Chambers, or Izzy, why?”
He jolted backward when Zander slammed the piece of paper into his chest.
“Hold that up and smile.” Zander wrestled the phone from Cole’s firm hold. “Where’s the fucking camera on this thing?”
Brett peeked from behind. He elbowed him, “Every group has a genius.”
Zander winked. “You know it.”
He yanked his phone from Zander before he could snoop any further, and attached the picture to another email. This has to convince her.
Believe me now Isabelle—Izzy—Chambers?
