A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones) (5 page)

Dylan frowned. “No promises on that one, old man.”

Craig snickered. “You’re on dangerous territory.”

Comprehension dawned on Dylan. That conversation he’d had with Craig a few years back, the one where he’d talked about his daughter—he’d spoken about how proud he was of his little girl. Claimed she was a natural with just about any stringed instrument...a prodigy, in fact.

Suddenly it all made sense, and he understood why Craig had been so defensive all morning. His stomach sank. Melody wasn’t just their new bassist, and Dylan’s new obsession; she was Craig’s
daughter.

So completely screwed.

Her three favorite guitars were resting in the belly of the long black and gray bus. The butterflies swirling around in her stomach grew more frantic as she realized that this was
actually
happening, that she was embarking on her first multi-city tour as a member of her favorite band.

She caught Rip glaring at her; the butterflies began to feel more like a tornado.

“That’s Snake’s bunk,” he said flatly, indicating the bed she’d been about to claim.

I wasn’t the one who made your drug addicted bass player have a public meltdown, buddy
, she wanted to say. Instead, she took a deep breath and offered him a tight smile. “My bad. Didn’t realize.”

“You can share with me,” Dylan called out from across the bus. He shot her a wink as he pulled a guitar down from a cupboard. Melody’s traitorous body tingled with anticipation at the prospect, but she immediately stamped out that thought. Dylan had the makings of a sex god—a perfectly chiseled body, a mesmerizing voice, eyes that could make any woman go weak in the knees—but if he believed she’d jump into bed with him the first chance she got, like some random groupie, he was sorely mistaken.

“Oh man, if we’re sharing, we can take turns,” Tank added, waggling his eyebrows.

“Super tempting,” Melody said sarcastically. “But I’m afraid you guys are just too much for ‘lil ‘ole me to handle.”

“You’ll change your mind,” Dylan promised confidently.

Cocky bastards.
They were all self-destructive little boys, and they would
not
have the opportunity to draw her into their childish games—or their beds.
No matter how tempting that bed might be
, she added to herself, glancing at Dylan again.

Melody heaved her backpack onto the unoccupied bunk she had decided to claim, using more force than was strictly necessary. It was the farthest empty bed from where Dylan slept, which had been the sole motivating factor in her selection. He seemed determined to continue his weirdly focused pursuit of her, and she wasn’t going to do anything to encourage that behavior. Satisfied with her choice, she turned to explore the rest of the bus, and promptly slammed into someone.

“Watch it, Big Red.”

A smile tugged at her lips. Jesper was the only band member who didn’t seem determined to make her life miserable in one way or another.

“
You
watch it, Mean Mr. Mustard.”

“That’s it. You better run...” Jesper made a grab for her and Melody squealed, darting away down the long, narrow sleeping hall of the bus. His laughter followed her as she emerged from the hall and into the small living area behind the driver’s seat.

A round, wooden table and five black chairs had been set up there for the band’s convenience. Dylan sat in one, his feet propped up on the table as he strummed his guitar. Damn him for being so attractive. His thick eyelashes shadowed his dark blue eyes, which smoldered above high cheekbones and a chiseled jawline. His brown hair had grown just a little too long on top; it would be the perfect length for grasping fingers to hold onto while—

“Can I help you with something, Hopkins?” he asked, one eyebrow raised, the usual smug grin on his face. Melody cursed herself for being so obvious in her admiration. Dylan Bennett didn’t know much, but he was certain to know when he was being checked out. She could only imagine how often that happened.

“Get your feet off the table,” she told him. “We eat there.”

He chuckled. “Actually, I eat in bed.” He sent her a suggestive, heated look. She was sure that look made groupies scream and claw at each other to get to him, but she forced her expression to remain passive. That was easier said than done when her heart leapt in response, and her belly writhed with yearning.

“I’ve always heard that men who eat in bed are sloppy lovers.”

He just laughed, which in turn made her scowl; he was so secure in his sexual prowess that her insult hadn’t even grazed him. “Any time you want to test that theory, sweetheart, just come on by. Though you should check beforehand to make sure I’m not...already occupied.”

God, he’s such a pig; a ridiculously talented, handsome pig.

“I’m not into sharing,” Melody said in a dry voice. “But thanks for the offer.”

“Well, if you should ever change your mind, it remains an open invitation.”

Melody turned away from him and headed down the steps of the bus, letting him have the last word. Again. What choice did she have? They would just continue their verbal sparring until she got so upset that she lost her temper—and that was exactly what he wanted. Of that she was sure.

Outside, men were bustling about, loading the bus up for departure. A couple of them passed by, and a grin split Melody’s face. She recognized the tallest one.

“...and she had the tightest, I mean the
tightest—
”

“Mike—”

“I’m getting there, just let me tell it—”

“Mike, shut it! There’s a
lady
present. ”

Big Mike stopped as soon as he noticed Melody, and gave her the once-over.

“That’s not a lady,” he finally pronounced. “That’s a guitar player.”

“Still a smooth talker, huh?” Melody said, reaching out to give the big, burly man a hug. Big Mike had been her father’s go-to tour manager for as long as she could remember. For over two decades, he’d been keeping dozens of rock stars in check and out of trouble.

“You staying away from those boys in there?” Mike asked sternly.

She rolled her eyes. “Yes,
Dad
.” Her actual father had already given her the same lecture Mike was about to give her: they were all trouble, they were even worse when you got them out on the open road after a gig, don’t come crying to me when they play too rough, and on and on.

Dylan’s dark blue eyes flashed through her mind unbidden, and her memory conjured up an image of him from the night they had first met, at the local show—he’d sat on a barstool with an acoustic guitar and played, completely lost in his music. Melody couldn’t believe how deeply she had connected with him on stage. It had felt electric, like a current drawing her toward him, like some animalistic force pulling at the depths of her soul. She knew that she would always find his talent incredibly attractive.

It was his actual personality that was a turn off.

“You tell me if they get out of hand,” Mike continued. “I’ll have a word with them.” The way he rubbed his hands together indicated that if that happened, he was planning to let his fists do the talking.

“Will do, Mike,” Melody lied. She was more than capable of fighting her own battles, but Mike was sweet to watch out for her.

She excused herself after that and headed toward the rear of the bus, walking aimlessly. Too bad she’d quit smoking five years ago. A little something to take the edge off would have been nice.

Then she saw something better than cigarettes, better than alcohol, better even than sex. Across the street from the bus bay, proclaiming its presence in bright, neon colors was her salvation: Uncle Danny’s Burger Shack.

“Come to Mama, she murmured.

**

“Jesus. I don’t know if I’m disgusted or jealous,” Jesper muttered.

“Definitely jealous,” Tank whined. “She should have brought enough to share.”

“That
is
enough to share,” Rip pointed out snidely, glancing up from his laptop. “Or at least, it should be.”

“How does she stay thin?” Dylan murmured in wonderment. 

“There has to be some kind of a catch here,” Jesper said.

Melody grinned around a big bite of the double bacon cheeseburger with extra Thousand Island dressing.
Mmmm. So good.

Her stress was quickly melting away. The meaty grease was working its magic, but so, too, was the idea that she was horrifying her band mates with her gluttony. Who would have guessed that the hard-drinking, hard-partying, womanizing rock band would be so grossed out by trans fat?

“Is there even lettuce on that?” Dylan asked.

Melody shook her head, swallowing. “I tell them to leave it off. I mean, it’s iceberg, so what’s the point? It’s just in the way.” She popped a French fry in her mouth.
Mmmm, crispy, greasy, salty
.

“You could at least add some sriracha,” Dylan suggested. “Hot sauce has an antioxidant effect to counteract...all of that.” He gestured at her meal, raising an eyebrow in distaste.

“No, thanks,” Melody said emphatically, talking through a mouthful of burger. “Nothing hotter than a latte goes in my mouth.”

“Oh God. Too many things to say. Brain can’t compute,” Tank moaned, as if actually in pain.

“She’s inhaling it,” Rip commented as he watched her, the celebrity gossip blog on his computer all but forgotten. “How does she breathe?”

“Clearly we’ve discovered her drug of choice,” Jesper pointed out. “Come on, let her eat.”

The guys quieted down after that, and left her alone to devour her food in peace. As Melody ate, her sense of stress-free abandon began to chip away. They were quiet...
too
quiet. Jesper was all right, but the rest of them? She didn’t trust them as far as she could throw them. She heard a rustling sound, and half wondered if they were building a blanket fort with a
No Girls Allowed
sign. She snickered at her own private joke.

“Huh? Yellow?” Rip’s muffled voice drifted towards her from the sleeping area of the bus. “That’s unexpected.”

“Not really,” Tank said, his voice equally far away. “It’s that happy yellow. Like sunshine. Or a smiley face.”

Melody furrowed her brow. What a strange conversation. She was curious, but if they were trying to get her attention or interrupt her meal, they were going to have to try harder. She refused to rise to their bait. Another French fry went into her mouth.

“I can’t believe there’s nothing blue,” Dylan called out from further down the hall.

“Still looking,” Tank called back. “Ooh. Purple. That’s close to blue.”

“Maybe the purple phase is coming,” Dylan said. That finally clued her in, because a purple phase
was
coming; she had a small bottle of purple hair dye stashed away, which she’d been planning to use for the Seattle show. Melody spun around in her chair, her burger forgotten, and darted down the corridor to the sleeping area.

Sure enough, there was Rip, holding up a pair of yellow lace panties.
Her
yellow lace panties, which she
had
actually gotten because they reminded her of sunshine. Tank had a purple bra dangling from his index finger. Dylan was smirking and leaning negligently against his bunk, not actively participating in the impromptu panty raid, but clearly enjoying the show. Melody wasn’t sure which one of them she was going to kill first.

“Out of curiosity,” Tank began with a grin, “what color are you wearing right now?”

“Blue,” she said, forcing the rage down. They wanted to rile her up, and she would be damned if she let them. “That’s why you can’t find any in the bag.” She calmly walked to her bunk, snatching her underthings back and stuffing them into her suitcase. “They’re satin,” she added, glaring at Tank, as if daring him to ask a follow-up question.

He glanced away, and almost, she thought, looked a teensy bit ashamed of himself. Then he grinned, and she was immediately relieved of that notion.

“I bet they look more amazing on you than they do on my hand,” he teased.

“Well, I guess you’ll never know,” Melody said. “And if you go through my underwear again, be sure to wash your hands first. I don’t need whatever cooties you’ve contracted rubbing all over my lady bits.”

“Darlin’, you would love my cooties all over your lady bits if you gave ‘em a chance,”

Tank bragged.

“We’ll agree to disagree,” Melody said tightly. Her control was fraying. “I guess I’ll need to get some kind of padlock to keep your sticky little fingers away from where they don’t belong.”

“Did you know I can pick locks?” Rip asked in a smug voice.

Melody sighed. She actually had known that. It had been one of the factoids in the band’s bio. Rip and Snake had grown up in the same rough neighborhood, and lock picking had been common practice among their peers. It seemed that if she wanted to keep something private, she would have to keep it on her person at all times. Or possibly invest in some kind of ACME Booby Trap kit.

Melody E. Coyote has a nice ring to it.

“Aw, she looks mad,” Tank said.

“Can’t imagine why,” Jesper said from where he lay on his bunk. He hadn’t joined in on the hazing ritual; he was busy swiping through images on his tablet.

“Cheer up, Big Red,” Dylan soothed, in a low, teasing voice that went straight to her groin. Melody suppressed her body’s response to him and focused on keeping her face clear of any betraying emotion. She guessed that ‘Big Red’ was her unofficial nickname now. Since there were at least a dozen worse options out there, she would accept this one without a fight. “At least you’ve still got your heart attack special to comfort you.”

“You shouldn’t be so concerned with what I put in my mouth,” she informed him, deliberately licking the corner of her mouth to mess with him.

His eyes narrowed. “Careful,” he warned her softly. “You’re playing with the big boys now.”

Melody rolled her eyes and stalked back over to her food. “I think I can handle you,” she called over her shoulder, grabbing her burger and taking a huge bite out of it to emphasize her point. It didn’t hit her right away; she had swallowed most of it before her eyes began to water and the slow burn began. Behind her, the guys were already doubled over, trying—and failing—to hold in their laughter.