“Fuck you, Lucas.”
I go inside of the hotel lobby with my head down. Even though it’s only just after two, women are already mulling around the lobby, earning pissed-off stares from the hotel staff. With one of the tour buses stupidly parked at the side of the building, it doesn’t take a goddamn genius to figure out what they’re here for.
Luckily for Wyatt and me, Brady Callahan, Wicked Lambs’ lead guitarist is already in the lobby signing boobs, back dimples—whatever he can without getting tossed out of the building by hotel security.
Once we’re far away from the fray and almost to the elevators, I speak to Wyatt under my breath, “If it’ll help, I’ll buy you some earplugs. Then you won’t be able to hear Cal and Heidi about balloon popping or whatever and I won’t have to hear you bitch and moan about it.”
His eyes are lowered to the floor too but when I take a glimpse in his direction, I can tell he’s grinning. “Nah . . . but I do feel bad for Sin. Has to f**king blow living with the king of ropes and cuffs. ” Before I can respond he makes a face at the crowd at the elevator. “Taking the stairs. See you lazy f**ks at the top.”
Almost immediately after he turns the corner in the direction of the staircase signs, the elevator doors open and the line starts to die down. Figures. I wait until there’s nobody left to catch a ride.
The moment David and I step inside the elevator, we get company.
A couple of women—both dressed in little black shorts and tight T-shirts—trip all over themselves to come inside. They look like their minutes away from lining up outside the venue. They also know who I am. That much is obvious by the flushed skin and the fumbling for cell phones.
Fuck.
“I’ve seen you on tour four times.” The woman speaking to me is redheaded—not natural, but it’s close to the same fiery shade as Sienna’s. I can’t help but wonder if she colored it on purpose—like my ex-wife had earlier this year. “I love your music. Love “Handcuffs” and “Ten Days” and—” She moves forward, but David steps between her and me, shaking his head to each side.
“Ma’am, you’re going to need to take a step back.”
Normally, I wouldn’t give a shit. I guess it makes me a dick to admit that, but I wouldn’t. I would step off this elevator at the very next floor and there wouldn’t be a doubt in my mind that the redhead and her friend would still come to my show tonight. It was a control thing.
It was also f**ked up.
I rub the pad of my thumb across my chin and lean against the elevator wall. “Which shows?” I ask. David’s eyebrow jerks up, but I ignore his surprise.
The redhead looks momentarily stunned and her mouth hangs open for a long time. Finally, her friend answers for her. “Two years ago. Los Angeles, Vegas, and Salt Lake City.” The brunette stretches her arms out against the railing surrounding the elevator and shakes her head. “Teresa runs Everything YTS.”
I have no f**king clue what Everything YTS is, but I nod and make a mental note to Google it once I’m done with Tyler. “Okay, so only three shows so far. But I’m seeing you tonight,” Teresa says.
Hearing her say that makes we realize why I haven’t gotten off of the elevator yet, despite the fact I just missed Tyler’s floor. These women haven’t come on to me, or offered to f**k me in a three way in the first floor laundry room, or even spoke to me with a hint of invitation in their voices.
“Then I guess I better sing my f**king ass off, huh?” I ask, and Teresa snorts.
“Lucas Wolfe doesn’t disappoint. Ever.”
We hold up the elevator for another minute, and by the time we get off, I’ve taken a photo with both women. David gives me a funny look when we finally head left to room 708—Tyler’s room.
Everyone but Sinjin is already here, and after Cilla shows up shortly thereafter, smelling like booze with bloodshot eyes, Tyler’s important meeting takes about 15 minutes. Sin’s birthday is in a week, and Tyler wants to make sure we’ll stop by the surprise party after the St. Louis show, which is the night after one of our days off. It’s something that could’ve been done by text or email, and when I let Tyler know as I start to leave, he gives me a cool smile.
“I take it you won’t be coming to Sin’s party?”
His tone irks me. This is the second tour that I’ve done with Tyler, but this is the first time I’ve butted heads with him. I close the door and some of the generic paintings on the wall shake as I sit down in the chair across from it. “Actually, I can keep my dick dry longer than you give me credit for, so I’ll be there.”
Tyler opens the mini-bar. “I’ve been hearing good things about your girl from Maggie.” The tail end of his statement is emphasized, and I know he’s got more to say. And I probably won’t like it. He holds out a Red Bull, which I decline. “I’m going to cut to the chase here, Luke. Her being with you on this tour is making things hard for Cilla.”
Hard for Cilla?
“Sienna’s not going anywhere, so Cilla can either accept that or leave. Guess you’re forgetting that none of us wanted Wicked Lambs on this tour in the first f**king place.”
Sinjin had gone as far as threatening to pull out the day of our first show in Los Angeles. He had told me that being around her messes with him—that she’s his “Sam.”
Downing a shot of vodka straight out of the miniature Skyy bottle, Tyler lowers the glass to the counter top and rubs his chin thoughtfully. “She’s drinking heavily.”