coach with noise. “I’ll remember all that love coming from you, Drake, the next time I have to bribe a bouncer to turn a blind eye when you get too shitfaced to keep your hands off the strippers, and he wants to have your ass hauled off to jail.”
“All right…I guess we need to look good. But I wish we could have brought the guy along, even if he has a taste for sausage,” Taz grumbled before putting his energy into the music. He was the only member of the band without long hair. Instead, he had short spikes that accentuated his Asian features.
People looked up when they drove past—there was no way to contain all the sound inside the coach. The rest of the band was in good form, but Syon caught Ramsey watching him a few times.
Ramsey knew him too well.
When they broke off, it was Ramsey who put his guitar on its stand and moved over to sit beside Syon. Ramsey began nursing a beer. The silence grew between them while the other members of the band waited to see what Syon would say.
“The rule is ‘no drugs,’ not ‘no drug addicts,’” Syon clarified. “She’s got some good business sense in that pretty head. Can’t really blame her for not wanting to lose a chunk of her holdings because the dude was packing a rock of meth.”
Ramsey tipped the long neck back before answering. “I guess I can live with that.”
Taz and Drake were taking silent notes at the other end of the coach. Syon shared a look with each of them before he drew in a deep breath.
“We need a leather artist, and there aren’t a whole lot of choices if we want a good one,” Syon continued.
Ramsey’s eyes narrowed. “Do you hear how many excuses you’re making? We’re not playing in piss holes anymore. We get whatever the fuck we want, when we want it, and you sure as shit don’t have to put up with a woman playing hard to get.”
“She’s not playing,” Syon shot back.
Ramsey snorted.
“Maybe I like the fact that she doesn’t just jump my bones the second she’s hot.”
“I bet she likes it too, because you’re already showering her with stuff. We’re stuffed into two coaches so she can have her girly privacy.” Ramsey tossed the empty bottle across the coach where a trash can sat.
“What the hell is your problem?” Syon demanded.
“You!” Ramsey yelled. “You’re messing up what was working just fine.”
“I’m solving our fucking wardrobe problem.”
Drake started hammering on the drums, drowning out everything. He kept at it until Ramsey got up and retrieved another beer from the fridge. Syon lifted his leg and laid it across the sofa, making it clear he didn’t want company. Taz joined Drake, driving home how much the rest of the band didn’t want to hear him and Ramsey going at it.
So Syon got up off the sofa and started playing. Music was the one thing he and Ramsey always agreed on. Fame had been good to them all, but there was still one thing it couldn’t deliver: happiness. Ramsey was pissed at the world because he was the same man he’d been before they became megastars. Fame didn’t drive their demons away.
As for himself?
Syon wasn’t sure. Even with all the fame, he still craved acceptance. And Kate had been so goddamned hot in his arms. His cock hardened just thinking about it.
But she was holding back. Struggling against the tide of desire trying to drag them both out to sea. On one hand, he admired her. But on the other, maybe Ramsey was right. She might just be working him over, holding out just long enough to get the leash around his neck.
He wished to fuck he knew, because he’d spent too much time working to be where he was. It was gonna suck if he ended up like Ramsey: so pissed he couldn’t enjoy the success he’d earned.
But Kate didn’t want him because of that success. Which made it just a little bit funny.
If he’d had a taste for irony.
* * *
The coach was a marvel.
Kate spent a good hour just exploring it. There was a kitchen that someone had stocked
“All right…I guess we need to look good. But I wish we could have brought the guy along, even if he has a taste for sausage,” Taz grumbled before putting his energy into the music. He was the only member of the band without long hair. Instead, he had short spikes that accentuated his Asian features.
People looked up when they drove past—there was no way to contain all the sound inside the coach. The rest of the band was in good form, but Syon caught Ramsey watching him a few times.
Ramsey knew him too well.
When they broke off, it was Ramsey who put his guitar on its stand and moved over to sit beside Syon. Ramsey began nursing a beer. The silence grew between them while the other members of the band waited to see what Syon would say.
“The rule is ‘no drugs,’ not ‘no drug addicts,’” Syon clarified. “She’s got some good business sense in that pretty head. Can’t really blame her for not wanting to lose a chunk of her holdings because the dude was packing a rock of meth.”
Ramsey tipped the long neck back before answering. “I guess I can live with that.”
Taz and Drake were taking silent notes at the other end of the coach. Syon shared a look with each of them before he drew in a deep breath.
“We need a leather artist, and there aren’t a whole lot of choices if we want a good one,” Syon continued.
Ramsey’s eyes narrowed. “Do you hear how many excuses you’re making? We’re not playing in piss holes anymore. We get whatever the fuck we want, when we want it, and you sure as shit don’t have to put up with a woman playing hard to get.”
“She’s not playing,” Syon shot back.
Ramsey snorted.
“Maybe I like the fact that she doesn’t just jump my bones the second she’s hot.”
“I bet she likes it too, because you’re already showering her with stuff. We’re stuffed into two coaches so she can have her girly privacy.” Ramsey tossed the empty bottle across the coach where a trash can sat.
“What the hell is your problem?” Syon demanded.
“You!” Ramsey yelled. “You’re messing up what was working just fine.”
“I’m solving our fucking wardrobe problem.”
Drake started hammering on the drums, drowning out everything. He kept at it until Ramsey got up and retrieved another beer from the fridge. Syon lifted his leg and laid it across the sofa, making it clear he didn’t want company. Taz joined Drake, driving home how much the rest of the band didn’t want to hear him and Ramsey going at it.
So Syon got up off the sofa and started playing. Music was the one thing he and Ramsey always agreed on. Fame had been good to them all, but there was still one thing it couldn’t deliver: happiness. Ramsey was pissed at the world because he was the same man he’d been before they became megastars. Fame didn’t drive their demons away.
As for himself?
Syon wasn’t sure. Even with all the fame, he still craved acceptance. And Kate had been so goddamned hot in his arms. His cock hardened just thinking about it.
But she was holding back. Struggling against the tide of desire trying to drag them both out to sea. On one hand, he admired her. But on the other, maybe Ramsey was right. She might just be working him over, holding out just long enough to get the leash around his neck.
He wished to fuck he knew, because he’d spent too much time working to be where he was. It was gonna suck if he ended up like Ramsey: so pissed he couldn’t enjoy the success he’d earned.
But Kate didn’t want him because of that success. Which made it just a little bit funny.
If he’d had a taste for irony.
* * *
The coach was a marvel.
Kate spent a good hour just exploring it. There was a kitchen that someone had stocked
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