He gives the sensitive spot on my sides a sharp squeeze, and I move my hips against him. He groans. “God, you better be ready for St. Louis tomorrow.”
“No show, hotel bed, and a giant tub? Yes, I am.”
“Remember what I told you in Dallas?” He presses thumb presses against the side of my breast. I suck in a little breath between my teeth. “About the thoughts running through my head?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Lifting me off of him, he gets up, and I slide back against the couch cushions. He walks out of the room, singing “Handcuffs”— one of the YTS songs I was introduced to earlier this year. Lucas had written the song about our first encounter with each other. I’m glad Cal’s in the bathroom, and Sinjin and Wyatt are nowhere to be found, so they can’t see how hot my face is.
When Lucas comes back, he’s carrying a large vase of flowers—pink lilies, and red and white roses. “Funny.” I bring my knees up to my chest. “I didn’t take you for a flowers and candy type of guy.”
He sets the vase down on the coffee table in front of me and then bends over me. Heat pools in the pit of my stomach, and I grip the seat cushions I’m sitting on as he traces the tip of his tongue over my lips. When he pulls away, he’s wearing a knowing smile, and he dips his gaze between my legs.
He knows just how wet he’s managed to get me in such a short amount of time.
Before he heads back out of the room, he flicks his thumb roughly across my nipple. “While I would love the credit, and reward, the flowers are from Kylie.”
Pretending that every nerve in my body isn’t on fire, I slide forward on the couch and pick the large white envelope that’s addressed from Kylie McCrae from the cardholder. “Kylie, you are absolutely amazing—”
I stop speaking, though, the moment my eyes land on the words written in messy red ink on the crisp white card I find inside of the envelope.
Sienna-
Congratulations, you’re STILL with him. Maybe you’re more of an idiot than I thought you were. At the end of the day, he will always be tied to me. It’s just a matter of time before he crashes and you go down with him. Have you asked him what he’s keeping from you? Has he offered to tell you?
S.W.
PS: Good luck with this.
Directly beside of the last word, there’s a crookedly drawn arrow, and I feel my stomach clench for a new reason as I shakily flip the card over. Written on the back of the note is a long website address, and I scan my gaze over it carefully, committing it to my memory.
It’s for a YTS fan forum, and scribbled directly below it is the word THIS SITE IS MY FAVORITE written in all capital letters and underlined several times.
“That face, Red,” Lucas’s voice makes me start, and I fold the card back up, sliding it hastily into the envelope. “Didn’t think Kylie would write something deep enough to make you look like that.”
“It’s not—” I begin, but then I stop myself. What good would giving this to Lucas do? If it were a letter from any crazy other than Sam, I would say something about it. But the envelope sitting on my lap? This would only take us several steps backwards. Aside from his usual spurts of moodiness, Lucas has been for the most part happy this tour. And that means that Sam hasn’t been sending him shit like this. Grasping the envelope, I clear my throat.
“It’s not necessarily deep,” I lie. “She just made a really awkward sex joke.”
He seems to take me at my word, but as soon as Cal comes out the restroom wet in nothing but a towel, I lock myself inside. I rip the note into the tiniest shreds my fingers will allow. When I’m done, I flush the pieces down the toilet, determined to put it out of my mind.
But much later, when thoughts of Sam’s cryptic message and her creepy gift of flowers keep me awake hours after the bus rolls out of Chicago, I take my laptop to the galley of the bus and Google the forum that Sam had mentioned.
I last for a total of five minutes reading posts in a sub forum entitled “The Toxic Cunt” before I’m sick to my stomach. When Lucas finds me kneeling over the toilet in the tiny restroom stall dry heaving, he comes onto the floor next to me, his gorgeous face frowning in concern.
“Sienna?” he says, but I splay my palm out on his chest and shake my head.
For the second time this evening, I have a chance to tell him exactly what’s going on, but I can’t bring myself to do it. Instead, I let him help me up and wrap my arms tightly around his neck when he lifts me up in his bare, tattooed arms.
He takes me back to our small bed, whispering into the crook of my neck, and I say nothing.
By the time we reach St. Louis in the morning, I’ve pushed Sam’s crazy ass note and the discovery of how fiercely some of Lucas’s fans hate me to a dark corner in the back of my mind. As ironic as it sounds, thinking about either is toxic for me, and if I concentrate on it, I’ll just make myself sick again. I think about this day, and night, off instead.
As I peek out of the blinds in the galley, I’m practically bouncing on the balls of my feet in anticipation of getting off of our bus. Two of the other drivers have already maneuvered bus into parking places. I watch as the rest of Your Toxic Sequel, and Cilla’s group, start to unload. There’s a white shuttle bus parked in between them, and Wyatt ducks inside of it, lugging a giant green duffel bag.
Lucas slides up behind me, tickling my shoulder with his full lips. “Are we taking the shuttle too?”
“We’re not even staying at the same hotel. When I told you I wanted you all to myself, I had no intention of half-assing it.” His voice slides over me like velvet. I turn my face sideways, and he strokes the outline of my face before nodding to the far end of the parking lot where a sleek, black 7-series BMW is parked. “I’ve dealt with the manager at the rental company—well, Kylie has on behalf of me—so they pulled some strings and made sure it was here for my arrival.”
Our bus starts to beep to indicate that we’re safely parked. In the center compartment, I hear a loud bang followed by an even louder curse from Sinjin. As soon as I yell to ask him if he’s okay and he growls that he is, I meet Lucas’s amused eyes. “So what about the key? Even Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe can’t pull off driving a car with no key.”
He smirks. “Since you have to know—they overnighted it to me.” To prove his point, he pulls me by the wrist out into the aisle of the bus and dangles a key fob over my face.
My thoughts shift to a few nights ago, at the Dallas show when he had locked himself in the restroom for the sake of a call. “How long have you been planning this?”
“A while.”
I shake my head incredulously. “Do you always have to be different?”
“Always.” He pulls me up against him, grinding his cock against the front of my body. The motion is rough, animalistic, and it makes me feel like the bus is spinning around. I try to touch him, but he holds my hand still. “Do you have to ask so many fucking questions?”
Breathlessly, I nod. “Always.”
Our mouths inch closer, but as soon as his lips begin to skim mine, Sinjin coughs loudly. He’s bleary-eyed with his short black hair poking up all over the place. “It’s 6AM,” he complains, yawning. “All I want is a real bed, not to watch you two about to fuck on the table I eat on.”
Sin’s interruption gives us the much-needed boost to grab our stuff so we can leave. I’ve packed an overnight bag with enough clothing to last me through tomorrow night. It’s small in comparison to Lucas’s enormous bag, but he carries both off of the bus. I tote my purse along with my Gibson guitar and my laptop, though I have no plans for music or work.
Or checking up on what’s being said about me via the Internet.
I shudder. “I will not think about that shit during this break,” I repeat as I walk slowly across the parking lot. “I will not think about Sa—”