Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 237(@200wpm)___ 190(@250wpm)___ 158(@300wpm)
“Go?” he repeated incredulously. As though he’d just leave her here in a fucking cupboard? When she was clearly upset about something?
Yeah. No. Not happening.
“Babe, I didn’t think those things about you.”
“I heard you say them to Mikey when we first arrived.”
Urgh, fuck.
He didn’t even remember saying that, but he knew he likely had. It was unfortunate that she’d overheard him.
“I might have said those things. Sometimes I get worked up and say shit I don’t mean. I’m trying to do better.”
Seemed he had a ways to go.
“I’m not perfect,” he added. Far from it.
“It’s okay. Neither am I.”
Fuck, she was sweet. He wanted her to stay like that. To not get fucked up and spat out by this industry.
“You’re not any of those things. You’re the hardest worker I know, Jolie.”
“I’m l-letting everyone down, though.”
“It’s all right if you’re not feeling well. Everyone has those days. But you should have told me.” Fuck. “Should have told someone.”
Yeah, good save.
“I’m not sick.”
Crap. He was at a loss here. “Talk to me, then.”
She shook her head.
His hands tightened into fists as something else occurred to him. “Did someone fuck with you?”
“What? No!”
“Are you sure? If they did, you can tell me.”
And then he’d hunt them down and fucking kill them.
She breathed out. “No one did anything to me. I’m not s-sick. I just… I can’t play tonight. I just… I can’t.”
He didn’t get it and he wanted to press her further. Demand that she answer him.
Yeah? And how is that working for you so far, asshole?
Not so great.
Taking a deep breath, Brand forced himself to stop and think. “Is there anything I can do to help?”
“W-what?”
The surprise in her voice was kind of insulting. But probably no less than he deserved. “Can I help? Is there something you need?”
“B-because you want me on stage. I get it. I’m trying.”
Fuck.
“No, Bumblebee. I mean, is there anything that I can do to help you. Nothing to do with getting you on stage.”
“I’m late.”
“Don’t worry about that. Your guys will sort it.” He’d seen how protective her band mates were of her. It sent a flash of jealousy through him and he tamped it down. From what he’d observed, they treated her like a sister.
Not like they wanted to fuck her.
“I’m m-making a mess of everything.”
“Hey, no you’re not. Stop talking that way.”
He wished he was better at talking to her. At being… softer. Closing his eyes, he took in another breath. He wasn’t good at talking to people. Not unless he was ordering them around.
Either for work or at the BDSM club he belonged to.
Yeah, he was a bossy bastard. But none of the subs he’d played with had ever complained.
At least not to your face.
And if anyone in the band or crew had a problem with him… well, they probably went to Mikey.
“I want to help, Bumblebee. Something happened and I need to know how to fix it.”
He was practically begging by this stage.
“That’s just it,” she whispered. “I don’t… I don’t know how to fix it. I just. I can’t play, Brand. I can’t.”
Stage fright?
But that couldn’t be it. She’d played without a hint of nerves for the last five months.
Maybe fatigue? It happened. Touring was hard on the body and mind. “You need a break. A rest.”
“I… I guess so.”
“Then you’ll rest,” he told her firmly.
Easy.
Relief filled him. At least he knew how to take care of her now.
“The concert. I can’t let everyone down. The band needs me.”
“I’ll go on.”
“Y-you?” she asked in surprise.
“Yeah. Although I’m gonna need you to get out of this damn closet first.” It was making him antsy, her being tucked away in the dark and smelly room.
Could he convince her to go to his room? He was staying in a hotel tonight. Then he’d know she was comfortable. The bus was never that comfortable. Especially with a bunch of men.
He liked that idea.
“You don’t know our sets. The songs. You… you never play with anyone else,” she said.
That was one of his rules. One of many.
“When did I turn into such a grouchy old man?” he wondered.
“I’m not sure. Maybe around the time you turned twenty-five?”
“Hey, brat! Ought to beat your ass for that.”
To his surprise, she giggled.
The tension in his shoulders eased.
“So we’re good? You’re going to go, and I’ll go play your set.” As well as his own. He’d be fucked by the end of the night, but he’d manage.
Too bad he wasn’t twenty-five anymore. At thirty-nine, everything was a hell of a lot harder on his body.
“You can’t do that. I can… I can do it.”
“I think you need to rest,” he said firmly.
“No,” she countered. “I can do this. I just need to get out of here.” She attempted to slide forward off the shelf and nearly climbed right into his lap. He grabbed hold of her hips, steadying her.