Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 83990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 420(@200wpm)___ 336(@250wpm)___ 280(@300wpm)
“This guy is a fucking ghost. We can’t find shit on him,” he tells me. “Then the camera cuts out, so he must know someone who works there.”
“Brian,” I tell him, “you need to sleep, baby.” He looks up at me. “If you don’t sleep, you can’t take care of me.” I try to turn it around on him, knowing if it’s about keeping me safe, he’ll do it. “We aren’t leaving this house for the next four days. You can go sleep.”
He gets up and kisses my neck and then goes to the bedroom and lies down. When I walk upstairs, I find him sleeping on top of the bed with his clothes on.
For the next four days, all he does is go over the footage. The concert that night isn’t my best, and I end up scanning the crowd for the man, but he isn’t there.
Two concerts later and still nothing, but now my bus is clean. I’m afraid to get on it, if I’m honest, but I don’t let the fear win. Not this time.
I walk onto the bus, and Cori comes on, unzips me, and then walks off the bus. “Where is she going?” he asks me and slips off his black suit jacket and then unbuttons his cuffs. All I can do is picture him naked—fully naked—over me, on top of me, under me, behind me. Jesus, I can’t keep up with all my fantasies at this point.
I want him to snap, and I have to say I haven’t been playing by the rules either. This morning, I knew Cori had left to go to the venue and it was just the two of us, so I put on my sheerest thong, basically consisting of string. The little piece of see-through material covers my landing patch. I grabbed my white tank top and cut it, making it hang on my tits just enough to cover my nipples. I walked down into the kitchen where I knew he was sitting. He looked up from his computer and then I saw the vein in his forehead start to pop. I walked to the fridge, the cool air making my nipples get hard and poke out of the shirt. I grabbed a water bottle, trying to keep my cool, but he was sitting in his shorts at the table with no shirt, and I wanted to get on my knees and deep-throat him. But I didn’t. My hair was loose and long and in long curls the way I knew he loved it. I walked away from him and then dropped the cap of the water bottle in front of me. I bent over, spreading my legs a bit and showed him everything that I had to offer. “Oops,” I said, getting up and then looking over my shoulder. His fingers gripped the table, his knuckles were white. “Slippery little suckers.” The sound of his groan was heard while I walked up the stairs with a huge smile on my face.
“She’s meeting us there,” I tell him, walking to the back where the bedroom is. I close the door and get in the shower. I wrap a towel around me and then walk out of the bathroom, sitting on the bed and grabbing my phone. My best friend, Jessica, is going to be FaceTiming me soon, and I’m so excited to catch up with her.
We met two years ago when she went with me for a weeklong interview. We had so many things in common that the friendship stuck. She’s Hollywood’s best entertainment journalist, and she is usually five steps ahead of everyone else. Right now, she is on the biggest press tour of her life with the cockiest of movie stars, Tyler Beckett.
I get up, putting on my sweats and a T-shirt, and go out to see that Brian is sitting on the couch. Leaning back, he has one arm outstretched, and his face is down, reading a paper or something. He looks up at me when he hears the creak in the floorboard. The smile on his lips soft. I walk to the other side of the couch, and he hands me a water bottle. “You need to hydrate.”
I want to say no, but he’s right. I text Jessica that I’m available, and then the phone comes to life in my hands.
“Hello, gorgeous.” Her beautiful face lights up the screen. If she wasn’t a reporter, she could have been a model. I’m so excited to be talking to her, so I grab a couple of pillows and then lie down with my feet on the floor. “Where are you?”
“On the tour bus of hell,” I tell her, rubbing my face. “Can you do me a favor?” she asks. I see her jump into her bed, getting under the covers. “Next time I bring up how much fun touring is, can you remind me of this conversation?”