“Apparently, one of those drunks was selling it on eBay,” Jimmy answers with a grin. “There’s not a whole lot we can play off this, but here’s a clip of the title track.”
The music’s mostly drums and bass but Tro’s voice is no less incredible. He slouches back and scratches his nose as the clip finishes. “Wow…”
“That was something, all right,” Jimmy says, tapping his finger on the CD case.
“Something that should be put out of its misery and buried in the back yard,” Tro says with a shake of his head.
“It wasn’t horrible,” I say, and Tro’s eyes snap to mine. “I mean, with a remix and a decent guitar line, that could be really good.”
Tro leans his elbow onto the arm of my chair and raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you can help me with that.”
“An original duet,” Jimmy says with a grin.
At the word duet, my stomach cramps. My head’s already shaking when I say, “Not gonna happen,” at the same time as Tro says, “You bet your sweet ass.”
Jimmy grins. “This should be quite the tour.”
Tro smiles at me again—this cocky, crooked thing that should not be causing everything between my legs to ache. “I just met her for the first time backstage, but there’s definite chemistry. We’re going to crush it on tour for the next nine weeks...” He reaches for my hand and I’m so shocked when he scoops it off my knee that I don’t have the presence of mind to pull it out of his grasp. “…and get to know each other a whole lot better.”
Jimmy looks at our hands and raises his eyebrows at Tro. “Careful there, Tro. You might not want to rock that cradle too hard, if you catch my meaning.”
Chapter 3
Tro
It takes me a sec to get what Jimmy’s saying, and the instant it clicks my gut tightens. But I keep the shock off my face. Always. Cool as a fucking cucumber.
But this chick I’m all hard for is under-fucking-age.
Fuck.
I look at her again and there’s nothing innocent about her. She’s tiny, but totally fuckable: all legs and curves topped with a heart shaped face and flawless skin the color of caramel. Her shiny red lips are wearing a smirk that makes my cock take notice, and there’s a demon with all kinds of depraved ideas shining out through whiskey-colored eyes that don’t miss much.
A fucking succubus.
But she’s just a kid.
I feel the southern gentleman that I’ve spent the last six years burying beneath countless women and truckloads of booze tugging at my gut. But I didn’t get where I am by doing the right thing. I got here by doing exactly what I wanted, and the more outrageous the better. The supermarket rags call me player, man-whore, lady killer. Industry rags call me rebel, pioneer, visionary. They all think I’m some kind of genius and I’m good with that. The only one who’s ever called me shit-for-brains is my old man.
“Guess I’ll just have to wait till the tour hits Kentucky then,” I say with a wink.
“Or until hell freezes over,” comes one of the sexiest voices I’ve ever heard. It’s all gravel and fire. My cock, which has been hard as a fucking rock since I had her pressed up against the storeroom wall, threatens to bust clean through the zipper of my ripped jeans.
The truth is, I don’t pay much attention to the supermarket rags, or any of the rest of it, which is why I didn’t know this little succubus was my tour opener. But I can’t say I’m disappointed. How did they introduce her? Shiloh Luck? Then I plan on spending the next two months before we leave our U.S. opener behind and head to Europe getting Lucky.
“We’ll see,” I say directly to her, ignoring the audience’s blend of gasps and snickers.
“Hey Pete!” Jimmy calls toward backstage. “Can we get someone to change the marquis on the street to The Dating Game?”
There’s a drum roll from the band, but I don’t let Lucky’s eyes go. She doesn’t melt under my gaze the way every other woman before her has. She holds my eyes, and if anything, hers harden and become more determined.
“No,” she says defiantly. “You’ll see. We aren’t doing anything.”
I send her every watt of my charm. “Nine weeks is a long time, Lucky.”
“Take us through the schedule,” Jimmy says to Lucky, bringing me back to the room. I’d been so lost in those whiskey eyes I’d forgotten where we were.
She blinks as if to clear her head then takes him through the next week of shows. I’m so wrapped up in watching her mouth, the way it puckers on certain words, and the way just the tip of her pink tongue slips over her lower lip with others, that I don’t hear a word she says.
“Well,” Jimmy says, “this is going to be an explosive tour, that much is clear.”
“We’re going to blow it off the hinges,” I say as Lucky’s scorching gaze burns a hole through me.
Jimmy turns to the audience. “Be sure to look for Tro Gunnison and Roadkill, featuring The Voice winner, Shiloh Luck in a city near you this summer. Stick around. We’ll be back after the break with Channing Tatum.