“Great. I’m known as Betty Barf. “

Killian laughs softly at my expression, then kisses me again. “My Betty Barf.”

The second he’s gone, my smile fades. I can’t shake my unease. My attachment to Killian, my need for him, is in danger of consuming me. When I’m with him, it’s as real as anything I’ve ever had. But if we weren’t in each other’s pockets, would it last?

Chapter Nineteen

Killian

 

Anyone who tells you it’s easy to go on tour is lying. Performing is basically your reward for constant travel, no sleep, fighting exhaustion, and making nice with endless people who view you as something not quite human. Idolized, adored, isolated. Worst of all are the long nights on a damn tiny bus where I can’t crawl into bed with Libby. It makes me…twitchy.

I’m not sure I even like this dependence on another person. But, like any addict, I’m not looking to break the habit. If anything, I crave more.

Thank God for Chicago and two nights at a proper hotel—and the suite with an adjoining door to Libby’s that Brenna booked me.

Unlike other tours, we’re keeping the partying to a minimum. We have tonight off and have taken over the hotel’s private movie theater. It’s fairly small, about fifty seats, with a small lounge just outside.

While the staff loads up the movie, we hang out in the lounge and have drinks.

“I’m going to ask Libby out on a date,” Whip announces, casual as fuck.

The beer I’m holding almost slips out of my hand before I clutch it tight. “What? Why?”

“What do you mean ‘why’? She’s hot in that girl-next-farm-over kind of way.” He flicks his tongue against his teeth. I want to punch those teeth in.

“Lots of hot women on the road,” Rye says, his attention half on a group of women he gave passes to last show. They’re now walking into the lounge. One or all of them will get lucky tonight.

“Pick one of them,” I say to Whip, trying to calm down. Honest to God. Because I’m having a hard time not launching myself at my friend.

Whip scowls. “I told you chuckleheads, I want a girl I know. No more groupies. And Libby is fun.”

Fun. Yeah. I know exactly how fun Libby is, and I don’t share. The thought of stomping my foot like a two year old and shouting “Mine!” runs through my head. That would go over well.

Jax gives Whip a long look. “We don’t fuck the staff.”

“Libby is not staff,” I snap. Though why I point that out now, I don’t know. Stupid. Let Whip think that if it means he’ll back off.

“We pay her a lot of money to perform with us,” Jax says in a bored tone. “So I’d say that makes her staff.”

“She’s an equal,” Whip retorts. “Which makes it even better.”

“And when shit goes south?” Jax asks. “What then? You’re stuck with someone who hates you, and it brings us all down.”

Whip rubs the back of his neck. “That would be awkward.”

Thank fucking God. I might not have to kill him after all.

“Worse if she turns you down,” Rye adds. “Then you have to face her knowing…” He trails off when Brenna bursts into the room with a loud laugh, stumbling on her sky-high heels. She’s arm in arm with Jesse, one of our sound techs.

Whatever Jesse’s telling her must be hilarious, because she’s snorting and burrowing her face in his neck while his hand travels down to grab her ass.

At my side, Rye growls like a feral dog. The rest of us exchange a look. Here we go.

Brenna gives Jesse’s ass a squeeze back before she heads to the bar, her hips moving in an exaggerated sway. Rye jerks to his feet, his eyes tracking her.

“Man,” I say. “Don’t do whatever it is you’re thinking.”

He either doesn’t hear me or doesn’t want to. Rye brushes off Whip’s attempt to grab his wrist and stalks off. Heading for trouble.

“Should we stop him?” Whip asks.

“Too late for that,” Jax mutters. “Years too late.”

Rye’s already in Jesse’s face, his voice loud enough to carry over the din. “Man, we did not hire you to fuck around with our publicist.”

“Are you kidding me?” Brenna all but screeches as she rushes over, getting in between Rye and Jesse. “You did not just say that.”

“I’m pretty sure I just did,” Rye snaps. “Seriously, Bren, have some self-respect.”

Oh. Shit.

“You have some fucking nerve, Ryland. Can’t keep your dick in your pants for five minutes, and you’re lecturing me?”

“Yeah, well, I’m not the one in charge of PR.” He’s red in the face now too. “You set the example, honey.”

“Don’t you ‘honey’ me, asshat.” She pokes his chest. “Or go around acting like some jealous—”

“Jealous? More like disgusted.”

I push to my feet as Brenna goes bright red.

“You mother—”

“All right,” I cut in. “Why don’t we take it somewhere else?” I nod to the very interested crowd forming. Someone giggles, a few people duck their heads. But most stare.

Brenna blanches, her gaze darting around before zeroing in on Rye, who doesn’t appear to be bothered at all. “You are an asshole,” she hisses beneath her breath.

It’s the lowest she’s kept her voice the whole time, but the force of her anger is enough to make Rye flinch. He opens his mouth like he’s going to reply, but Brenna turns away from him, grabbing a mute Jesse by the hand and stalking off.

Jesse glances back, clearly fearful for his job.

I wave him off as Rye snorts.

“Little wuss didn’t even stand up for her,” Rye mutters.

He brushes past us, stealing a beer out of some guy’s hand as he goes. The door slams on his way out.

“That right there.” Jax shakes his head in disgust. “That’s why you don’t fuck with your crew.”

 

Libby

 

“I bet they’re doing it within the week,” one woman says to another as they drink martinis and watch Brenna and Rye stomp off in different directions.