Beautiful Disaster Page 6

  I screwed the cap on tight, took another swig from the bottle, and headed for my truck.

  “We’re leaving,” I said, as I stepped back inside and grabbed my guitar.

  “What? Where are we headed?” Delia asked as she rushed up to me.

  “Pick up your phone, and you’d know,” I said.

  “That still doesn’t answer my question,” she said.

  “We’re heading to an impromptu concert. I’m due on stage at eight fifteen.”

  “Is the band meeting you there?”

  “No, just me and my guitar this morning. Come on, we’re taking my truck.”

  I walked over to my blacked-out truck, a present to myself after my second hit single.

  I pulled open my truck door and tossed my guitar in, but I noticed Delia wasn’t getting in. She was standing against her truck, her arms crossed as she studied me closely. I didn’t have time for this shit. We had to get going.

  “You coming? Or is this you quitting?” I asked.

  “You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Just answer me one question.”

  She walked over to me, her hips swaying as her tits jostled with her movements.

  “Have you been drinking already this morning?” Delia asked.

  Her eyes were holding mine as her hands rested on her hips. She was eyeing me up and down. Sizing me the fuck up at seven in the damn morning. I sighed as I closed my eyes, knowing it did me no good to lie to this woman.

  I nodded, hearing her let out a deep sigh.

  “I’m driving,” Delia said.

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’m driving.”

  “I’m not even drunk.”

  “I’m driving. Now get in,” she said. “You'd think you, of all people, would know better than to get behind the wheel when you've been drinking.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked.

  “You know what I mean,” she said. “Now get in the fucking car. I'm driving.”

  She had a fucking point, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t drunk, but I still had a drink that morning.

  I watched her open her truck door and hop in, sitting there as she waited for me to join her .I ripped my guitar from my truck and slammed the door, gritting my teeth in the process.

  I slid into her truck, my guitar sitting between my legs as we pulled out.

  “I got the address of the place,” I said.

  “I know where you’re going,” Delia said.

  “You told Hank I’d been drinking, didn’t you?” I asked.

  “Yep,” she said.

  The truck ride was silent after that. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel tightly, and her back was completely straight. If she wasn’t going to entertain me with some sort of conversation, then I was going to study her. I hooked onto the profile of her face and grazed my eyes down her body.

  She was a pain in my ass, but she was nice on the eyes.

  We pulled into the venue, and I saw Hank flagging us down. Delia pulled into a parking space, not speaking to me as she slid out of her side of the truck. I grabbed my guitar and started for the coordinator, who was usually a goofy-looking asshole with a clipboard.

  Hank and Delia were talking to one another before they joined the conversation.

  “You’ll have time at the top of the hour to set up, then your set starts at eight fifteen, Mr. Blackthorn. Your bus is here with your gear in case you need it, though it’s an acoustic set so a speaker and a hookup is plenty. Your bus is yours to use as you wish—”

  “I know my bus is mine,” I said. “Just point me in that direction, and I’ll take it from here.”

  Both Delia and Hank looked over at me before the coordinator pointed.

  “Thanks.”

  I didn’t wait around for either of them to lecture me on my tone of voice. Hank fucking acted like my mother, and Delia was quickly becoming that nagging little voice I wanted to squash like a bug. I heard the pitter patter of little feet behind me as I strode for my bus, pulling the door open and stepping inside.

  I heard someone step in behind me before the door closed.

  “Sure you wanna do that?” I asked.

  I looked up into a mirror and saw Delia’s reflection standing at the front of the bus.

  “Didn’t realize you’d need all this for a local performance,” she said.

  “Gets brought to every performance,” I said. “Personal protocol. If you don’t wanna attend the performance, you can stay on the bus.”

  “Sounds fine with me,” she said.

  “I got a forty-five-minute set, so try not to miss me too much.”

  “It’ll be hard, but I think I can manage.”

  My eyes whipped to hers in the mirror before I turned around and picked up my guitar.

  “Enjoy the bus,” I said, as I maneuvered past her. “When I’m done, we can get on back to the ranch.”

  I stepped off the bus before she could say anything. I didn’t give a shit what she did, honestly. If she got into her truck and drove off, she’d be doing both of us a fucking favor. I walked up to Hank who was still talking to the coordinator, getting logistics and probably working out payment options for the gig.

  “I’m not taking payment,” I said.

  “What?” Hank asked.

  “Don’t pay me for this gig. Keep your money,” I said.

  “Mr. Blackthorn, Autism Speaks sets aside funds for stuff like this.”

  “Keep the money and put it to better use. If artists demand to be paid for things like this, then they don’t need to be doing it. Though you could’ve made it an afternoon concert if you’re looking for suggestions.”

  I marched off toward the venue, ready to warm up and tune my guitar. Delia was alone on the bus doing fuck-knew-what, Hank was probably pissed I wasn’t accepting payment, and this guitar hadn’t seen the light of fucking day in almost a year. It would take me all my damn warm-up time just to tune the fucking thing, but I didn’t care.

  It would be worth it to see those kids smile.

  CHAPTER 8

  Delia

  I threw the windows of the bus open to get some air flowing through it. The entire thing smelled like stale beer and ball sweat. It was disgusting, even if it did have a twinge of disinfectant still permeating the air. I didn’t even want to think about the shit that had gone on in this bus. The women whose naked bodies had sat in the chair I inhabited; the thought made me want to vomit, and I was thankful for the air that started to blow.

  The fresh air was the only thing that was going to keep me sane.

  I drew my purse close to me and took out my laptop. I was lucky enough that my on-campus professors had approved of my job with Drake as class credit, but that still left two online courses I had to keep up with.

  I logged in and tried to get some classwork done, but it was hard for me to concentrate. Once Drake’s music started up and filled the air around us, all I could think about was his country twang and a guitar that didn’t sound quite right.

  Guess he didn’t have enough time to even tune the damn thing.

  Between the singing and the dull roar of the crowd, I knew I wouldn’t get any work done while I was there, so I shut my laptop and shoved it back into my purse. What in the world was I supposed to do now? I didn’t have an official schedule for Drake so I couldn’t revamp it. He sure as hell wasn’t asking for my advice, so I couldn’t counsel him. The only thing about his drinking I had gotten him to admit so far was the fact that he did it, and that left me only one other option.

  I could take a nap.

  Grabbing my purse, I started for the room at the back of the bus. I prayed the sheets were clean as I set my purse down, then laid down on the bed. Despite the debauchery that I knew had taken place on this bus, I felt my eyes fluttering closed. My body ached from the work I’d done yesterday, and I could still smell horse on my skin, no matter how much I’d scrubbed the day before. I hunkered down, kicking my boots off and shoving them off t
he side of the bed.

  Then, I promptly fell asleep.

  I dreamed about my father; about the times we spent running around in the front yard and the nights where he would read me stories to get me to sleep. I thought about the brownies we used to make and how we got sick eating so many of them at one time. I saw the smile on my mother’s face whenever he would bring her home fresh flowers. She hated the things from a florist. She never understood why people paid so much for flowers when there were beautiful ones that already grew in fields.

  I dreamed about the fighting, how things spiraled between my parents once my father started to drink, how breaking his sobriety angered my mother and spiraled her into depression. I recalled all the times I sat at the top of the steps and listened to them scream at one another, screaming and crying and begging for the other to stop.

  I saw in perfect detail the day I woke up and watched my father leave.

  I could remember the color of his suitcase, how he dragged it behind him, stumbling around trying to get out of the house. I remembered the color of the liquor he poured down his throat; crystal clear and straight from the plastic bottle it came in. Always the cheap stuff so he could afford more of it. My dream included me screaming from the porch, crying for him to come back as my mother gripped my shirt, trying to stop me from going after him as he backed his truck out into the road.

  I dreamed of the phone call that came not thirty minutes later. The phone call that spiraled my mother into an even greater depression that she would never come out of.

  I could feel myself fighting to get out of the dream. Fighting to wake up, even though I couldn’t move. I could hear my heart pumping in my ears, and I could feel tears rising to my eyes. But it was like I was pinned, held down by the ghosts of my past as the world passed me by. I heard the roar of the crowd and how they chanted Drake’s name. I heard the wind whipping through the tour bus as the scent filled my nostrils.

  Still, I could hear my mother crying as she hunched over the kitchen table, the phone falling from her hand as it shattered against the floor.

  Suddenly, a warmth encompassed me. I felt a fire drape over my body as I began to wake up. The warmth got closer and closer as I drew in a deep breath, trying to turn over so I could get back to my dream.

  I wanted to get back to a time when my father was still alive.

  The warmth seemed to follow me, and finally, there was no getting past it. I opened my eyes to find the sun shining through the curtains, right onto me. Sweat dripped from my body as I tossed and turned for a little while longer.

  That same heat and the sun made me think back to the day before, working on the farm with Drake. He might be an asshole, but he was a damn fine one at that. While in reality, I had no intention of ever getting intimate with him, I found the pace of my heartbeat quicken increasingly as I imagined what his body would look like naked. Nothing on but his cowboy hat.

  Why was he so damn sexy?

  Without thinking, I unzipped my pants and slid my hand down in between my legs. I rubbed myself through the panties, wetness soaking through the thin material. I groaned lightly as I rubbed my clit.

  I slipped my hand underneath the thin, cotton material and circled it, feeling a warmth growing inside of me.

  “Yes,” I moaned quietly. I closed my eyes, picturing Drake naked, imagining what his body looked like underneath those jeans. I'm sure I wasn't the first woman to have such thoughts about him, and I wouldn't be the last, but damn it felt good to imagine him touching me.

  I penetrated myself with a finger, just one. I'd never been with a man before, so I could only imagine what it would feel like to have a cock buried inside of me. In this case, Drake's cock. I knew he was well-endowed, would it hurt? I mean, if we were to hook up. Not that we would, but in my head, we'd already gotten undressed and were in his bed, him hovering above me, pressing into me.

  I thrust two fingers inside of me, and I cried out. My body arched upward as I imagined Drake's cock thrusting into me instead.

  “Oh God, yes,” I whimpered. “Drake, yes...”

  I fingered myself, burying my fingers in deeper and deeper, faster and faster, picturing Drake's glistening body above mine, moving in perfect harmony. My toes curled as a wave of pleasure rushed over me, and I cried out, “Drake, yes!” over and over again as my head flailed on the pillow.

  My eyes opened wide in the midst of my orgasm, pulling me from the fantasy almost too suddenly, as I saw a figure standing in the doorway, watching me.

  I pulled my hand from my pants and sat up, my cheeks flushing red.

  “Drake, I-- umm... I can explain...”

  “What the hell are you doing?” he asked. His eyes burned with something, and I couldn't tell if he was turned on or angry with me. Neither one of them sounded like a good idea to me.

  “I don't know what came over me, honestly,” I said. I buried my face in my hands, unable to even look at him. I prayed the Earth would open up and swallow me, but there was no getting around this one. Drake had caught me touching myself. Had he heard me calling his name? Hell yeah, that was obvious. I finally pulled my head from my hands and stared up at him.

  His face glistened with sweat, his hair was sticking to his forehead. Probably from the performance, but the heat in the trailer didn't help matters any. He stared down at me with big, brown eyes and a look that would make most women drop their panties. So yeah, he was hot, I'm not denying that, and seeing him there, and being in such a confined space with him did things to my body that I couldn’t even describe. Standing up, I zipped up my pants and headed toward the door. Drake was standing in front of it, not budging.

  Whiskey permeated the air, he smelled heavily of it. His words were slurring just a bit. He'd obviously had more to drink since I drove us here this morning. Shocker.

  Drake's eyes washed over me, eating me up as if he was looking at me for the very first time. He moved forward, taking my head in his hands and kissing me before I realized what he was doing. His tongue pushed past my lips and into my mouth, and I tasted the liquor on him. His lips were warm and soft against mine, and I didn't pull back right away. I savored his lips for a moment before finally pushing him off me.

  “Wait, no, I’ve never—” I trailed off.

  “Fuck,” Drake said, his eyes growing wide at my near admission. He walked to the other side of the trailer giving me some space. He paced as best he could, running a hand through his hair. “I shouldn't have done that, Delia.”

  “You're right, you shouldn't have,” I said. I stood tall and defiant, with my hands on my hips. I was not about to acknowledge that I kissed him back, even for a second. At least for now, it took the focus off what else had happened, my little awkward moment. My cheeks were still warm and red, but I managed to act composed somehow. Kudos to me. Maybe he was so drunk that he didn’t even realize that I’d done.

  “I’m ready to go if you’re still driving. If not, I get it. I’ll catch a ride with Hank,” he said.

  I nodded as I picked up my purse, making my way through the bus as he followed me. We walked back to my truck and got in, neither of us saying a word as I drove us back to his place. The car ride was completely silent, but this time it was awkward. It wasn’t angry like this morning, and it wasn’t tense like yesterday.

  It was simply uncomfortable.

  I pulled up into the driveway of his home, prepared to tell him I was leaving. I wasn’t planning on staying for the rest of the day.

  “Umm. I think it’s best to call it a day.” I said.

  “Not a problem. I’ll have Hank email you my itinerary,” Drake said. “You’re fine to go. I’ve only got a few more days before I’m back on the road, so spend your time packing.”

  I couldn’t believe my ears. The man had just caught me pleasing myself at the thought of him, and he was acting as though nothing even happened. Maybe he really was too drunk to know what I’d done, although he seemed quite sober now in this very moment.

  “I’ll
keep an eye out for Hank’s email. In the meantime, if you need me, you can contact me through Hank.”

  “I’ve got all your contact information,” he said.

  “Then use it if you need it. Otherwise, I’ll see you in a few days.”

  I watched as Drake slid from my truck. He picked up his guitar and made his way to the house as I watched his ass flex in his jeans. I drew a deep breath and shook my head, trying to get the feeling of his lips off my own.

  My mother always told me a woman’s first kiss was her most memorable.

  As I stared at Drake’s ass one last time before he disappeared into his home, I knew she was right.

  CHAPTER 9

  Drake

  Fuck me. I couldn’t hold myself back from kissing her. Not after what I’d just witnessed.

  That was so fucking hot. I couldn’t hold back. She was just standing there, and she smelled so fucking good, her lips were practically begging to be kissed. I knew she was into me, crying out my name while she touched herself told me that. At least that's what the liquor had made me think.

  I'd have taken her right then and there, but she was a virgin. She thought I didn’t hear her admit it but I did. Load and clear. The idea of taking her virginity, of being her first, scared the shit out of me. Sure, Shannon and I were both virgins when we got together, but that was different. We were each other's firsts.

  It should be special, and me being wasted and coming onto her, knowing she was thinking about fucking me? Nah, that wouldn't have been special. Besides, people get attached to their first, and that's the last fucking thing I needed. I'd been in love once, and only once. All the other women came and went in my life. I'd fuck them, but only as a means to an end. It was purely physical, no emotions or feelings involved.

  Being someone's first now was way too much for me.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around it. Not one bit. The thought of her consumed me all damn weekend. I no longer trusted myself around her. Knowing how good her lips had tasted was going to make it rough. Thinking that she might be a virgin – hell that thought alone was making me hard. Damn. Delia was starting to consume more and more of my thoughts, and that wasn't a good thing.