The Tour Page 15

  “That’s how I feel about me. I won’t be the same without you,” he says. I have to swallow. Is that the truth?

  I think about the man he was before we met. His reputation seems like a whispered-in-the-halls rumor now, like it couldn’t have ever been true.

  If I’ve changed him, he’s changed me more. I grab his hand, entwine our fingers like tightly weaved fabric. Like atoms held together by heat and earth.

  “I want to do that again,” I say to him. A smile brings up the edges of his mouth. But, still, it’s a nervous smile. One that asks, “Have you made up your mind?”

  Next week, I start rehearsals, and then I leave on a tour bus for three whole months. I sincerely hope that song wasn’t our first and our last one.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  What Comes Next

  Walking into the rehearsal studio for practice before The Stage’s tour, I see a bunch of familiar faces. Some I’m happy to see, and one I’m not.

  Kolton flew us back from New York and rented us a furnished apartment in LA to be closer to the studio while I’m rehearsing. None of us wanted to go back to his parents’ house. It gave us cabin fever and the commute would be longer.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, a big grin forming. It’s Kenny, the kid with the stutter who’d lost the first round to me on The Stage.

  “Y—y—you didn’t hear?” he asks.

  “No,” I shake my head.

  “It w—w—was a contest online. They c—could bring back one person not in the final twelve, a—a—and I won!” he exclaims. He looks a little older. His hair is cut and styled a little shorter. I think he’s been working out.

  “Congrats, Kenny!” I say, and give him a little hug. When I step back, Kolton comes up behind me. I turn around, and realize there’s a scowl on his face—and it is directed at me. I make a face that says, ‘what?’

  He takes me by my arm, just above my elbow. “I need to talk to you,” he says. I smile at Kenny, excuse myself with a just-a-minute finger, and walk with Kolton toward the corner of the room. “This doesn’t feel right to me,” he says, looking around.

  “In what way?” He just glares at me. “Kolton?” He puts his hands in his pockets and bites the inside of his bottom lip, tilting his head to the side.

  “While you’re rehearsing, I’m going to find you an assistant to go on the road with you. Someone older and wiser who can—”

  “Watch me so I don’t do things you don’t want me to, like hug harmless Kenny?”

  “Don’t do this,” he warns. “I’m helping you. You’re going to need someone with you, besides Manny.”

  “Me, don’t do this? How ’bout you, don’t do this,” I say, pointing a finger. “I think you’re trying to pick a fight with me so you don’t have to feel sad when I’m gone and you can be pissed at me instead. Or maybe you finally realized it’ll be easier to move on with someone who brings along less baggage.” And when I say the last sentence, his eyes close in on me. His jaw sets and then tenses.

  “After everything—every fucking thing we’ve been through, you’d say that to me?” his voice rises. People start looking, and he turns his back on me. I feel myself reaching out to him, but my arm never moves. My feet stay locked in place and I let him walk away.

  I let him think he’d be better off without me.

  * * *

  After a meeting with the production manager, a forty-ish black woman who exudes warmth and strength, named Jenisha, I practice my fan-favorite song, “Burn” by Ellie Goulding. It reminds me of my first session with Kolton when I’d thought he was flirting with Rania Steele, and he got mad when I took off my scarf and my cleavage was showing.

  Such an alpha male. I wonder if he’s off somewhere managing my life right now. Choosing an assistant for me, buying me luggage, deciding my future. I can’t really blame him. He does these things out of love.

  And I do a lot of things out of fear. Fear that he doesn’t love me enough to put up with my shit. Fear that he’s hiding something from me because I’m too weak to handle it. Fear that he’d be better off with someone who has less scars, physically and emotionally. But maybe that’s what makes him love me—both of us, orphans. Both of us have lived with loss—and now we’ve found one another. It’s like bittersweet luck of the saddest, most poignant, kind.

  * * *

  I’ve practiced several songs. I’ve been briefed on the tour rules. I’ve promised my first-born if something was to happen and I tarnish the brand. I’m thoroughly warned, forewarned, and annoyed. Something about this reeks of desperation and to put the artificially dyed cherry on top, I’ve already had a run-in with Gypsy Dress—the bitchy girl who used to pick fights with me when we were both on Kolton’s team.

  Basically, during our recent run-in, she called me a skank, and I replied with a witty comeback to hide the frustration that I’ll have to share any more minutes of my life in her presence.

  I’m leaning against the wall, watching Jessie play a new song. It’s going to be the first single of her first album. She really does have something special. The tone of her voice, her willingness to take risks—she’s beautiful. The Stage’s team has prepped her for this tour. Meanwhile, I’ve become a hermit, and my ass is bigger than it used to be.

  I make a mental note: Start using the gym at our new temporary apartment.

  “Ma’am,” I hear behind me. When I turn, Devon is standing behind me looking stern and very much like security. “Mr. Royce is waiting for you in the car,” he says, and then walks away. Until I’d just seen Devon, I hadn’t realized Manny wasn’t hovering around me today. In fact, I haven’t seen him since Devon dropped us off.

  I go check out with Jenisha, and make my way out of the studio toward the back. Devon opens the door for me, and I slide in next to a stiff and perturbed Kolton Royce.

  “What’s wrong now?” I ask with an exaggerated exhale of breath. “I’m sorry about what I said.”

  “That’s not it, Mia,” he says. But clearly, he doesn’t want to share what it is. I put the seat belt on and sink into the armrest of the car for the duration of the ride home.

  We park down in the garage and ride the elevator to the top floor. I’m still not used to the place. It’s really nice, so I can’t complain, but it’s been a lot of change. Inside, Riley is working on a puzzle at the table with Deloris. I give her a quick hug, grab a glass, and fill it with water from the fridge.

  When I turn around, Kolton is leaning against the kitchen island, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand. “What is it, Kolton?” I ask, my voice soft and coaxing. I set the weeping glass down on the granite countertop and wait.

  “Let’s go,” he says in answer, taking me by the hand and walking me up the stairs toward the master bedroom. Once inside, he closes the door and sets me down on the chair near the window. Then he starts pacing… three times.

  Four.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. My heart’s beating so fast, my hands are shaking. This can’t be good.

  “Manny,” he starts, stopping his pacing and turning toward me. “He’s at the police station.”

  “Why?”

  “They’re questioning him again.” I raise my eyebrows.

  “Does he have a lawyer?” Kolton nods.

  “He can’t go with you on tour.”

  “Okay, but what’s this about? What did he do?”

  “He saved my fucking life.” When he killed Katharina, I think, finishing what was too hard for him to say, as he’s standing in front of me wounded and vulnerable. I reach for him, and he moves away from my touch. “I don’t want you to go, not without Manny. I have to find someone else. Fast. I won’t let you go without security.”

  “What about Maggie? She was so nice—and she got me out of the mall safely.”

  “You wouldn’t have been in that mall if it wasn’t for Maggie,” he fumes.

  “Stop for a second,” I say, moving toward him. “I’ve never looked up what happened online. I’ve neve
r read a single line of press about it.”

  “I know.” He moves toward me, taking my hand. “Because if you knew, you’d never look at me the same way you do now.”

  “No. That’s not true. I haven’t because it happened to you, and I want you to be in control of telling me,” I clarify, confused about what he just said.

  “I can’t. Not yet.” His face is pain personified. I want to ease the ache.

  “I know, Kole,” I whisper, bringing my hand to his cheek. “We’ll figure it out. We’ll do it together.”

  He pulls me into his chest. He’s warm, but his whole body is shaking with anxiety and held in secrets. He turns us, pressing my back into the wall. My head lightly thumps against it as his lips come down on mine. He presses his palm between my hair and the wall, protecting me, sheltering me from any pain, but especially from his pain.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Our Heart

  It’s all about perspective. I guess, because I know I can get on the bus and no one is going to kill me or stalk me, I’m not panicking. There’s security with the tour. But Kolton wouldn’t let it go.

  He found me a new security guard instead of Maggie.

  Her name is Mayra. She’s a big lady who never smiles. But in exchange for having to deal with that for the next few months, I got to hire my best friend, Kaya, as my assistant. He made her sign an NDA when she got here yesterday, and he met with her privately for, like, an hour—probably to warn her about all the shit he’ll sue her for, or whatever, if she reveals our secrets.

  She and I are giggling in the room she’s been sleeping in with Riley while Kolton bosses everyone around, making sure my bags contain all the essentials he knows I’ll need. I tried to do it myself, but he dismissed me. There’s no way he could entrust me with my own future.

  “This is going to be so much fun!” she squeals. “And good for you to get out a little. You’ve been m.i.a. Hey, that spells your name,” she laughs and pokes me in the rib.

  “So it does,” I say, and turn over on my back. “I’m going to miss him, and Riley and Deloris. But not seeing Kolton for so long—I don’t know how to do that.”

  “It’s going to be good for you, Mia. A little freedom.”

  “Mia.” I look up, and Kolton’s standing in the doorway. “I need to go over a few things with you. Excuse us, Kaya.” I walk toward him, feeling like I’m in trouble and follow him into our room. Once inside, he closes the door. “Everything’s been taken care of,” he tells me, “for your chance at freedom.”

  “Don’t be like that, Kolton. She doesn’t understand why you’re so secretive and bossy. That’s all.”

  “But you do,” he says, bothered as he walks toward the bathroom and grabs his toothbrush. I refuse to fight with him. He’s anxious and handling it by controlling everything he can. That’s his way.

  I turn on the TV in the part of the room with all the bags stacked up near the wall. It’s the news, and they’re talking about Kolton’s newest single. I forgot he’d released in on New Year’s Day.

  “Your single is number one on Billboard!”

  “I know,” he answers, leaning against the sink, watching me.

  “When are you going to release your whole album?” He looks at me in the mirror.

  “Soon.” After he’s done brushing, he yanks his shirt off and stands against the corner of the entrance to the bathroom, leaning on his arm. I refuse to look, even though my mouth waters at the sight of him in my peripheral vision.

  “Freedom,” he says, talking about that comment Kaya made. “Maybe I should tie you to the bed, so you can’t leave.” I ignore the comment, but my heartbeat speeds up, despite my brain telling it to knock it off.

  I stand and walk past him, grab my toothbrush, and start brushing my teeth, too. As I bend over to rinse my mouth, he comes up behind me. I can feel his warmth against the back of my legs. I wipe my mouth on the towel just as his finger runs lightly along the outside of my arm.

  It’s amazing how sometimes the lightest touch from him feels the strongest on my end. I lift myself and look at him in the mirror. I can’t read his expression. It’s naughty meets vulnerable. His eyes are twinkling with some thought, but larger than normal, like he’s worried I won’t let him do what he wants.

  “I want to try something, Mia. Something that will bond us. And if we do it right, if you trust me enough to fully experience it with me, it will take us to a whole new level.”

  “What is it?” I ask, my voice cracking a little. I feel dizzy. Breathless.

  “We’ve actually experimented with it before. I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t want to scare you, or for you to shut down.” My stomach drops, and tingles make their way all the way up and down my spine. My face goes blank. I have to swallow.

  “What did we do?”

  “It’s called a cervical orgasm for you, and a cervical kiss for me,” he says, running his finger along my jawline. I must have a completely confused look on my face because he nods and pushes my hair behind my ear before explaining. “Deep inside you, there’s another heart,” he says, running the tip of his finger down my center toward the top of my leggings. “It’s the opening to your womb.” His finger is circling around my lower tummy and as he does it, I feel the beat begin between my legs.

  His voice, and memories of when his fingers do magic things inside me, causes me to close my eyes. “And if you relax enough, trust me and let me inside, your whole body will come. With my head pressed inside you so deep, you’ll actually pull me inside. It’s supposed to feel like it’s sucking on the head of my cock. And for you, the sensation lasts for days. You’ll be reminded of me, of this night, every time you move.”

  I make an oh sound. That’s all I can accomplish.

  “Do you notice sometimes that feeling when I press inside you, all the way, and then I wait?” I think about it. He’s done that before, when he’s going slow with me, when we’re making love. I nod. “And then I rock my hips a little more to take it deeper?”

  “Yes.” I’ve felt him do that to me before.

  “Do you like it?” he asks, his eyebrows raising, asking for honesty. I bite the inside of my lip and nod a little.

  “It hurts, but feels good at the same time,” I explain. He smiles, slow and sure.

  “You’re blushing,” he says, making me conscious of my reaction. “I’m fucking hard already.”

  “Does it hurt?” I ask. He shakes his head and moves his hand down to my lower back. I have to close my eyes to steady myself. Oh, what he can do with one small touch.

  “It doesn’t hurt, if it’s done right, and if you trust me and open fully to me.” I nod my head, look down nervously, and then wait for him to explain more. “First, you’ll need to have several orgasms,” he says and my eyes shoot up to his. That sounds fine with me, I think. “So I’m going to take my time with you. It can’t be frantic, but slow, building toward it.” I can’t speak as his voice mesmerizes me. He takes me by the hand and walks me toward the bed.

  “First, I’m going to strip for you, and I’m going to watch you strip for me. Then I’m going to watch you touch yourself. Do you want me to watch you?” I’m already shaking while he speaks, his voice is touching me, seeping into my skin, and consuming me.

  “Okay.”

  “And then I’m going to crawl between your legs and lick and suck on your beautiful pussy until you come against my mouth. Take off your clothes,” he demands, his voice strained as he’s unfastening the button on his faded jeans. I pull my T-shirt over my head just as he’s sitting down in the chair across from me and pulling his erection out of his boxers.

  He’s not taking them off and seeing him like that makes it seem all the more forbidden. Like I’m catching him in a private act. “Now the leggings,” he orders, rocking his hips and moves himself up and down his clenched fist.

  “Can we turn off the lights?” I ask, suddenly shy of the curves I’ve added to my ass. The room is dimly lit, already…but…r />
  “No, Mia. Turn around for me and slide them down.” I have to look up for a second to build my courage. “What is it, love?” he asks, letting go of himself and leaning forward to hide his erection from me so I can concentrate on what he’s saying. “Tell me. This whole experience requires trust and honesty.”

  “I’ve gained weight,” I admit. His eyes come to a half-closed position.

  “In all the right places,” he says, his voice deep and honest. “You’re growing more and more into a woman. Your curves are softer, perfect. What did you hear me say just now?”

  “That you like my body?”

  “That’s not what I said,” he scolds. “I said your body is perfect.” He strains his jaw, looks me in the eye. “I want to see you touch yourself. Will you do that now?” My head says no but my heart says yes. I nod. This feels surreal. I blink once, with him. “Peel yourself out of those pants so I can watch you.” His eyes pierce through me; the energy between us crackling.

  I smile. He wants me. He loves my body the way it is. My feet come down onto the rug and I turn around, looking at him as I turn, face forward, and push the clinging fabric over my hips. I shudder a little as he makes an appreciative sucking sound when the fabric is halfway down my ass. I roll them down and bend over, stepping out of one leg at a time.

  “Stay,” he says, his voice raspy with need. “You have the most perfect ass, Mia. Touch it. Touch it like I do.” I run my palm over my curves and just when I get to the base he says, “Turn around and take off your bra.”

  I reach around and unhook the back, turning slowly while pulling first one side down and then the other. When I’m facing him, clutching the fabric with my arms, he flicks his finger and I drop it. His mouth opens, and he grasps himself through his dark boxers. The sight of him has me glowing.

  “Put your finger in your mouth. Now run that finger down your neck and touch your nipple with it.” I feel so vulnerable, but I keep my eyes open as I draw the lines down my body he’s asked me to. “Pinch it,” he says, and I have to open my mouth, for when I do it, it feels like he’s the one touching me. He’s done nothing—just his voice is enough to take me over the edge.