Once the set wraps up, I wait for the guys in the greenroom, pulling out my phone to check my messages. Travis’s parents have yet to return my calls, and I’ve called three times, each time leaving a more aggressive message. What’s their deal? He’s their only child. How could they not want to see this? He’s fucking magic on stage. Don’t they know what they’re missing?
Liv:
Still no word from Travis’s parents?
Ellie:
No. I’m getting annoyed. They’re retired. How the hell are they too busy to return a phone call?
Liv:
Want me to try?
Ellie:
No, that’s ok. I’m going to keep harassing them. Might even add them to some car warranty websites.
Liv:
LOL. Keep me posted. Love you <3
Ellie:
Love you too!
I tuck my phone away as the guys stroll into the room. My eyes immediately land on Travis to see if he’s going to be weird, but he just smiles at me, using his shirt to wipe the sweat from his head. My eyes fall to his exposed stomach, glistening and perfectly decorated in ink, and his shirt rises higher, almost as if he knows I’m staring.
I follow his happy trail. My mouth waters to lick the sweat from there all the way down—“Ellie.”
“Huh?” My head snaps up at someone’s voice. Travis is wearing a massive shit-eating grin, but it’s Tanner who was calling me. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Do you have the room keys?”
“Sorry, yes.” I slide them from my pocket, giving Tanner his and Liam’s, then hand Penn his and Travis’s. “Six more shows,” I remind them, though I’m sure they know. “Soak it up, boys, you’re doing great.”
“Thanks,” they all say, moving to the door.
I shake my head. They are so not your typical rock stars. I guarantee they’ll be in bed within the hour. This last stretch is going to be a doozy. Six shows in ten days.
Everyone exits the room except Travis. When I turn to him, he’s watching me, hands on his hips as his chest heaves from performing for the last two and a half hours. His black T-shirt is drenched in sweat and clinging to his chest, showing off his nipple piercings.
“Gettin’ your fill?”
My grin is devilish, but don’t lift my head. I finish my slow perusal of his body and fight the urge to mount him like a fucking deer. His hand comes down to adjust himself. My eyes trail back up, and when they land on his face, his smirk matches mine.His gaze is heated in a way that makes my thighs clench together.
“You hungry?”
Letting my eyes blatantly fall to his dick, I say, “I could eat.”
He groans. “Goddammit, May, are you trying to kill me?”
I frown, playing innocent. “What do you mean?”
He laughs, shaking his head and grabbing his hat off the sofa. Spinning it around, he puts it on.
I falter.
Oh no. Not the hat. Not thebackwardhat. That might be better than the mohawk. The way the front of his hair pushes through the hole, looking all messy and hot. And sweaty. Shitballs, this is not boding well for me.
