Consumed (11 page)

He moves his head to the left. “In there, but he’s doing an interview. Might as well help yourself to some food while you wait.” He inclines his head to a long table of refreshments and drinks on the other side of the room.

“Thanks,” I say, steering Tori left when she heads toward the food. We find Lucas in a separate lounge area. He’s on a black leather couch with Cilla, sitting entirely too close for my comfort, and talking to a pretty journalist I’d seen on set a few times during my
Echo Falls
days. On the opposite side of the room, a cameraman is snapping photos rapidly, so I back out of the room. 

“Who the hell does she think she is?” Tori hisses, her eyebrows furrowed as she stares at Lucas and Cilla. 

“That’s Cilla.” I can’t keep the worry out of my voice, and Tori gives me a sympathetic expression, which I quickly look away from. “I’m hoping that—” 

I swallow my words when someone wraps an arm around my shoulder. I immediately recognize the barbed treble and bass clefs on his forearm, so I turn my head, coming eye to eye with Cal. Like Sinjin, he’s lean and pretty close to my height, but Cal is also ripped for a skinny guy. 

“Enjoying the circus?” he asks, glancing from side to side at Tori and me, earning nods from both of us. “I’m Cal, by the way,” he tells Tori, as if she doesn’t already know. 

Once they’re formally introduced, and she’s told him about her co-workers Calvin Romero cubicle shrine, he turns to me, his lips spreading into an easy smile. “Crazy shit, huh?” 

I’m not sure if he’s talking about Tori’s co-worker or this—being backstage at a rock show—but I bob my head. Because seven feet in front of me, Cilla’s palm is still lying on Lucas’s thigh. Her head is tilted back as she laughs at something the journalist is saying, and Lucas is grinning, too. Sinjin is seven feet behind me, and by now, there’s a 50/50 chance he’s talked one of his fangirls (or both) into giving him a blowjob. 

My blue eyes never break focus with Cal’s dark brown eyes. “Yeah, crazy.” I start to ask where Wyatt is, but then I shake my head. Right now, I’m not sure I want to know. “Is there—will they always do interviews after the shows like this?”

Looking into the other lounge, he cringes. And to my mortification, gives my shoulder a small, reassuring squeeze. When he answers, he avoids my question, but I can’t blame him. “Got a bottle of Jager and Lucas’s Red Bulls. Shots before fans and press come in?”

Though Tori’s a peppermint schnapps type of girl, she quickly agrees, so I have no other choice but to go along with them. But as Cal guides us away from the doorway of the lounge, I can’t help but take one more glimpse at Cilla and Lucas. I can’t help but see how easily they respond to each other as they discuss the tour. And I can’t help but feel a painful pressure in my ribcage as I force a smile at Sinjin, who joins us once Cal starts doling out the Jager and Red Bull.

The two women who were with him have disappeared, and Sin doesn’t mention them as he sits next to me.  “Get used to it,” he whispers into my ear. 

I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but I already know what he’s talking about. I’d be naïve not to. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb. You’re going to have to suck it the fuck up if you’re going to get through this tour. Jealous, pissy girlfriends and wives don’t last long. Why do you think Kylie’s not around? And Cal’s last girlfriend only stuck around for a few months?” 

He doesn’t mention Lucas or himself, and I don’t think he will, even if I stressed the subject. I paste on a smile that makes my face feel like it’s cracking and grab my drink, holding the highball glass a little too roughly. 

“And here I was thinking you were going to be all sweet to me.”

“Not sweet.” He pries the Jagerbomb out of my hand and downs the drink for me, ignoring my protests. “But respectful. Honest. At the end of the day, being around all this shit, honesty is what you’ll want more than anything.”

Sinjin’s words about honesty bother me well after Lucas’s interview is done. For the rest of the night, there’s little contact between us—in fact, I fade into the background to spend time with Tori as he greets the press and his fans. Every few minutes, his hazel eyes lift away from whomever he’s talking with to find me. His gaze is intense—like I’m the only person in this small room full of people who worship him and the rest of the band—but it’s also questioning. 

And not even the reassuring smile I manage to muster is enough to change that.

We don’t get back to his house until close to 3 am, and since the buses are rolling out in just a few hours, we immediately climb into bed. He’s silent for a long time—so quiet I begin to think he’s asleep—so I’m startled when he speaks up. 

“What’d you think?”

“Your show?” I glance over at him in the dark to see his head bobbing up and down. “Incredible. But why wouldn’t it be?”

“You seemed like you were out of it backstage.”

I clutch the black sheets tightly. “I’m not going to say it’s not overwhelming—because it is—but I’ll get use to it. Eventually.”

“You’ve been doing shit like this for a long time, Sienna,” Lucas says. “And I’ve seen you make that face before. There is nothing, and I do mean abso-fucking-lutely nothing, between me and Cilla. I’m not going to lie and tell you there never was, but I can tell you it was never anything more than sex. She and me haven’t happened since well before you came back into the picture earlier this year.”

If that’s supposed to make me feel better, it doesn’t. “Since we’re being honest, tell me about Sam.”

The silence comes back in full force, and that constriction in my throat just gets worse, squeezing until it’s hard to breathe and I have to sit up in the bed. “You’re better off not knowing.”

“I would tell you.”

He releases a bitter laugh. “I doubt that. We’re not getting into this shit, Sienna. I—” His voice breaks off, but I know it’s something important—something that will burn like hell.

“What?” I whisper.

“I love you too goddamn much to ask you to leave again, so let it go. I’ve taken care of it. That’s all you need to know.”

“Then you should know that I’ll ask you again.”

“I’m sure you will.” 

“And then what? We’ll go through this? You’ll tell me to drop it? Threaten to spank me if I don’t let it go.”

 “I should.” The king-size bed squeaks as he leans in close to me and places his hand on my bare knee.  “I should say fuck sleep and spend my last few hours in my bed inside of you instead of arguing over shit I can’t change. It fucks with my head enough as it is without you reminding me.” 

I cover his hand with mine, entwining our fingers as he gives the sensitive spot on my kneecap a little squeeze. “I don’t want that.”

But I do want honesty.

He pulls in a deep breath, and when he continues, his voice is calmer. “I know you don’t. All you need to know about Sam is that we’re done. That thinking about her is bad for music. Bad for this tour. Shit for me.”

Once, he told me I was bad for music, but I understand how his ex-wife could screw with his productivity. Even if I don’t understand the reason behind all of his evasiveness. Scooting away from him, I slide off the edge of the bed. 

“Si—” he starts, but I shake my head.

“I’m fine.” I walk through pitch black to the bedroom door and turn the dimmer switch just enough to get a good look at his face. His dark eyebrows are pulled tightly together, and he’s dragging the palm of his hand across the dagger-filled heart tattoo covering his chest. “I’m going to grab a water, need anything?” 

He shakes his head, and as go into the hallway, his voice freezes me. “This is still fucking new to me.” 

Tension pulls my shoulder blades together. “I know it is. Be back in a few.” 

I spend longer than a few minutes downstairs because I make the mistake of grabbing my laptop from the huge pile of luggage waiting in Lucas’s foyer. As I drink a bottle of water, I check my email. Three Google Alerts that have made it into my inbox since the last time I checked several hours ago. 

Each notification leads me to an article that connects me with Lucas Wolfe and Your Toxic Sequel. 

“Nashville-Based Designer Consumes the Wolfe,” I whisper, reading one of the gossip titles aloud. Beneath the caption is a photo—one that I hadn’t realized was being taken because it’s me from behind—of Lucas and me earlier this evening during one of our rare moments alone. His hand is resting on the small of my back, and he’s leaned in close to me, his full lips worked up into a sexy grin.  

Because I’m not quite ready to take a massive blow to my confidence by reading what his fans have to say about this, I exit out the website instead of scrolling down to the 87 comments that have already been posted. 

I knew this was bound to happen. Eventually. I just hadn’t realized that the press would climb onto it so soon. 

I start to sign out of my email, but a new message at the top of my inbox stops me. It’s an inquiry form sent directly from the website I had a friend create for my wardrobe consulting. I click on it, expecting a request for a price quote or a message from one of my clients. 

Instead, it’s a short message that has absolutely nothing to do with my job. Three sentences but just enough to send my world spinning.

He didn’t waste anytime getting back with you. Hope you enjoy it, Sienna Jensen. I just wonder . . . will you still want him when I’m done.

-SAMANTHA W.

There’s no need for me to sit around wondering if this is from the Samantha because it’s obvious. Speak of the unstable devil—the devil who had personally sought me out on my business website just to send me a passive aggressive message. With my fingers and hands tingling, I close my laptop, shove it back into the bag, and return it to the foyer. I tiptoe upstairs where I find Lucas facedown, sleeping soundly. 

Standing on my side of the bed, I clench and unclench my hands, wanting to wake him up though I know it’s pointless. Telling him that his ex electronically threatened me—if I can even call it that—will do nothing but frustrate him. And besides, it’ll just make me sound like I can’t handle my shit—the exact thing that Sinjin warned me about earlier.

He doesn’t budge when I stretch out beside of him, or when I clear my throat.

“When this is all over, you, Lucas-Fucking-Wolfe, will tell me everything.”

Lucas

The shrill ring of my phone, and not my alarm clock, jerks me out of bed. Sienna is sleeping peacefully in the bed next to me, and the room is dark, but I know we’re running late. I accept the call, knowing damn well who’s waiting on the other line without looking at the screen.

“Wake up,” Kylie sings. “And don’t give me that crap about already being up. I can practically hear the yawn in your breathing.”

I turn on the bedside lamp. “Why the fuck do I feel like you’ll be doing this more than Tyler for the next month and a half?” 

 She snorts. “I may not be going on tour, but I’m still your assistant. It’s my job to make sure you’re doing what’s right. Including waking up on time and not missing the bus.” 

“One, they won’t leave me, and two, if you keep bitching at me, I won’t ever get there. I’ll call you once we get on.” We end the call on that note, and when I finally look at the screen, I realize that Kylie’s calling me from McCrae’s local number and not their place in New Orleans. 

Her being in town explains why Wyatt was nowhere to be found last night, and I’ve got to admit, it’s a relief. Nothing would ruin this tour faster than 

“Guess you weren’t lying about this early morning thing,” Sienna says, and I look back to see her sitting up, her red hair all over her place, looking like the best kind of trouble. “Do I have time to shower or are we too late?”

 “Tyler will live.” I skim my hand down the side of her face, and she shivers. “And there’s no fucking way you’re going into that bathroom without me.”

A half an hour later when we go downstairs, there’s already a car waiting out front for us—Kylie’s doing because she’s the only person besides my housekeeper and myself with the code to the gate. Once Sienna and I are securely inside and the car has started to move, I sink back in the black leather seat, squeeze my eyes shut, and let my head fall back on the headrest.