Trouble: Tyler and Katie Page 4

  Tyler and Rob did that guy hug thing, where they clasped hands in front of their chests and pulled each other close so they could slap each other on the back, and then Rob was off, wearing, of all things, a baseball cap and sunglasses. It was full dark outside, and I had visions of him falling down those back stairs, breaking his neck, and ending Trouble’s lucrative career. But then I didn’t have any more time to think about Rob, because there was a bleach blonde bimbo with the fakest tan I’d ever seen sidling up to Tyler, simpering and whimpering and pimpering—okay so there was no such thing as the latter, but if there were, it would involve a great deal of cleavage combined with an equal amount of camel toe—and generally being a nuisance.

  Which pissed me off, because being a nuisance was my M. O. The more I watched her—and Tyler’s reaction to her—the more pissed I got. It wasn’t that Tyler was showing interest or anything. He was obviously being nice. He signed an autograph for her. He gave her an obligatory smile when she said something she obviously thought was hilarious and threw back her head and laughed like a drunk hyena. It was his lack of attention to her—and the way he kept glancing my way—that interested me.

  Because Tyler obviously wanted to come back over, but the bleach blonde wouldn’t let him. She kept grabbing his arm and pulling him back toward her every time he tried to get away. I drank my beer and watched for a few minutes, deciding on the best course of action. I was going to just stay put and wait, but then she kissed him. And I don’t mean just a little peck on the cheek. I mean, she roped her arms around his neck like a noose and stuck her tongue down his throat like she was searching for his tonsils.

  Even the bodyguards knew Tyler wasn’t down with that. I saw one of them get up from his post, sitting in a chair in the corner of the room, and head over, but I got there first. I had no rights when it came to this man. He wasn’t mine or anything. But the way this girl groped him—she literally had her hand on the man’s basket, rubbing like she thought she could make it catch fire!—infuriated me. I grabbed her shoulder and yanked her away so hard she stumbled and fell against the coffee table.

  “What the hell?” She glared up at me, regaining her balance and standing. She was a head taller than me, although she was wearing hooker boots—white instead of black, like Sabrina’s—with spiked heels and that accounted for a good five inches of it. “What’s your problem?”

  “Okay, ladies...” The bodyguard was there, a big guy with huge arms he used to keep us both separate. “Let’s go.”

  “This skinny bitch just pushed me!” Bimbo Blonde protested. “I’m not going anywhere! I’m with the band!”

  I laughed. I didn’t know who she was—for all I knew, she was dating one of the other guys from Trouble—but I knew the type. I glanced at Tyler and saw he did too. The twinkle in his eye gave me all the permission I needed.

  “Whatever service you’re providing for the band should come with a warning label,” I snapped.

  “What?” She wrinkled her orange nose—her face was like an Oompa-Loompa’s—in confusion.

  “I’m just saying...” I shrugged. “If you put a little sand in your crotch, it might make the crabs feel more at home.”

  Tyler laughed out loud at that. The bodyguard even cracked a smile.

  “Are you gonna let her talk to me like that?” Ms. Bimbo raged at Tyler.

  “What’s that?” I cupped my hand behind my ear. “He can’t hear you with all that dick in your mouth, sweetheart.”

  “Do you get off on being a bitch?” Ms. Bimbo sneered.

  “Did you get up on the wrong side of the cage this morning?” I retorted. I could feel the eyes of the room on us. Our drama had definitely gotten some attention.

  “I don’t know who you had to sleep with to get in here, but I hope they put a bag over your head!” Barbie glared at me.

  “Come on, now.” Tyler tried to put on a serious face, but he couldn’t.

  “Maybe you can eat some of that makeup you’re wearing,” I snapped back. “Then you can try to be pretty on the inside too.”

  The exhilaration of going back and forth with her made my head buzz. Either that or it was the couple beers I’d already had. Or the heat of admiration in Tyler’s eyes when he looked at me. I didn’t even care if I was going to get kicked out. Okay, that wasn’t entirely true—I cared. But it might just have been worth it.

  “Okay, enough.” The bodyguard put his big meanie face on again. He still had us both by the back of the shirt, but that hadn’t stopped either of us. “Junior high called, girls, they want their drama back.”

  “Hey, that was a good one.” I nodded at him appreciatively, giving him a thumbs-up.

  The bodyguard let go of me, just a little, at the compliment, and I grinned over at Tyler.

  “Hang on. Sassy over here is with me.” Tyler took hold of my arm as the bodyguard tried to take both me and the other blonde by the scruff of our necks, like he was about to carry kittens. “I don’t care what you do with that one.”

  “Are you serious?” she cried, trying to get out of the bodyguard’s grip, but he had the back of her shirt in a fist. “Where are you taking me?”

  “It’s called ‘fuck off’.” I pointed at the exit. “And it’s located over there.”

  “Damn girl.” Tyler grinned as the bodyguard dragged the screeching blonde toward the door. “You’re good.”

  “Sorry,” I apologized, watching the bodyguard talking to the girl. They hadn’t left yet. “Didn’t mean to fight your battles for you, but she got under my skin.”

  “Speaking of skin, did you get a load of that spray tan?” Tyler’s eyes widened in shock. “I know you don’t get a lot of sun in Michigan, but dude—that was like, skin sponsored by Cheetos!”

  “Who is she?” I wondered aloud. She was still in a heated discussion with the bodyguard and I could tell she was trying not to cry.

  “Hell if I know.” He shrugged. “But I’m not sad she’s gone.”

  “Hey, go tell him not to kick her out.” I nudged him, frowning.

  “After that display, you’re going to come to her rescue?” He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

  “Well, even if she’s not going home with Tyler Cook tonight,” I told him, meeting those dark, dancing eyes. “She might get lucky with one of the other guys, right?”

  “I thought you wanted to spare them the infection?”

  “Hey, if they’re not smart enough to use condoms,” I replied, “then it’s likely their I. Q. tests are going to come back negative instead of their STD results.”

  Tyler, still chuckling and shaking his head, jogged over to the door, saying something to the bodyguard, and then to the blonde. She scowled and sniffed but the bodyguard didn’t make her leave. She flounced off to the bathroom, avoiding eye contact altogether, which was fine by me. Tyler came back over, sitting in one of the cushy, empty chairs and grinning up at me.

  “Ho ho, little girl. Why don’t you come sit on Santa’s lap and tell me what you want for Christmas,” he said, patting his denim clad thigh.

  “Christmas is over,” I said, but I wasn’t going to say no to the offer. I lowered myself into his lap, breathing in the scent of him. That sweet licorice smell mixed with liquor. It was intoxicating. “Didn’t you get the memo?”

  “So, tell me what you want then.” Tyler tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind my ear—although mine didn’t come from a bottle. Well, most of it, anyway. “And I’ll give it to you.”

  “No one’s ever given me anything I wanted.” His fingers brushed my cheek. I felt his breath there too, full of alcohol and fire. We were so close I could see he needed to shave, and his beard was coming in with a slight red tinge to it I’d never noticed in pictures before.

  “Never?” He frowned, his brow crinkling at my response. I just shook my head.

  I noticed people watching us. Not overtly but paying attention. The bodyguard had taken up his position in the corner again, but he was watching. So were his band mates�
��Jon, Nick and Kenny seemed to stick together.

  “Did Daddy not get you a pony?” Tyler smiled again, teasing, his fingers trailing over my collarbone. I felt his callouses from years of guitar playing, imagining those hands elsewhere as my gaze met his.

  “Daddy got himself a new family.” I shrugged. “But he did get me front row seats to see Trouble.”

  He didn’t say anything for a moment. We just looked at each other, eyes locked. I was so used to snarking about my family, I didn’t expect the sadness in his eyes, the way his finger gently stroked the side of my neck. Goddamn, that made me want to start blubbering like a baby. What the hell? I straightened my spine and blinked at him.

  “See, you got what you wanted.” A smile came back to his face, his eyes searching mine. He was teasing again.

  “Almost.”

  “What else do you want?” he inquired, his voice soft. I actually had to lean a little closer to hear him. The crowd had gone back to talking and laughing and generally getting drunk.

  “Oh, I want what every girl here wants.” I smirked.

  “And what's that?”

  “One night with Tyler Cook.”

  “One?” That look was smoldering. It set me on fire. “I don’t think I would settle for one night with you.”

  “Agreed.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder. I actually resorted to a hair flip. Oh, yes, I did. “If you had me once, you’d never be able to let me go.”

  I waited for him to make some snarky comment about my ex-fiancé, but he didn’t.

  “Besides, you’re wrong about these girls.” Tyler’s gaze skipped around the room. There were plenty of women, all of them dressed to reveal as much skin as they possibly could in the middle of a Michigan winter. “They want a night with Rob Burns—they'll settle for a night with me.”

  “I don't settle.” I shook my head, meeting his questioning gaze.

  “I thought you said no one’s ever given you anything you wanted,” he reminded me.

  “That's true—I said no one’s ever given it to me.” I touched the dimple in his chin, feeling bold while I was sitting in his lap. “If I want it, I go get it.”

  “You want to get out of here?” He gave me a look full of knowing and heat.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” I slanted a look back at him along with a sly smile.

  “Liar.” He grinned. “You knew I was going to ask.”

  “Maybe.” I shrugged, but I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Where do you want to go?”

  “Where do you want to go?” I asked. “I don’t have a car.”

  “That’s okay, I have a limo.”

  “A limo?” My eyebrows rose. Of course, a rock star would ride around in a limo. What else?

  “Yeah, but it comes with a bodyguard.” He made a face, nodding across the room at the guy who had come between me and the bimbo. “Unless we ditch him.”

  “That sounds fun.” I brightened.

  “Atta girl.” Tyler winked. “Let’s see if we can outrun Harry.”

  Chapter Three

  It turned out we couldn’t outrun Harry, but we gave it a damned good effort. The limo was parked behind the venue and we ran down the endless set of steps a lot faster than I’d managed to make it up them with Sabrina, even with me in heels. We ran like two little kids, out of breath and laughing by the time we reached the limo doors. The bodyguard, Harry, was a big guy—tall, beefy—and he huffed up behind, ushering us into the car.

  There were a few fans who had realized it was Tyler bolting toward the limo and had given chase, but we were safe inside before they reached the car.

  “Does that happen every time you leave an arena?”

  “Nah.” He leaned back against the leather seat, still breathing hard. “We came out this way, so you could see how lucky you are.”

  “Ohhh.” I smiled, sliding closer, slipping under his arm. “You mean because I’m the only girl in this limo with the one and only Tyler Cook?”

  “Damned right.” His fingers moved through my hair, his eyes crinkling with his smile.

  “That makes me a very lucky girl,” I breathed, tilting my head back to look at him.

  “Feeling lucky?” He drew me closer still, his body long and lean against me. The cold, winter air we’d been gulping outside had morphed into something warmer than our own bodies as we pressed together.

  “Yeah, punk,” I teased, flashing a smile at him.

  “Hey!” Tyler called, pushing a button on the ceiling. “Take us to the casino.”

  “Yes, sir.” A voice came over a speaker, startling me.

  “The casino?” I asked as Tyler moved across the seat, opening up the bar and pulling out a fifth of Jack.

  “If you’re feeling lucky, we might as well put it to good use.” He poured himself a shot, glancing over his shoulder at me. “Want a drink?”

  “Hell yes,” I agreed. “I’m not driving.”

  “Me either.” He handed me a shot before throwing his back.

  “Oh damn, that burns,” I gasped, my eyes watering as I handed back my glass. My chest was on fire.

  “Burns so good,” Tyler agreed, lining the glasses up again and pouring before handing one back to me. “Here. Do another.”

  “Are you trying to get me drunk?” I teased.

  “Lightweight.” He snorted, knocking his back.

  “Gimme another.” I held my empty glass out to him, ignoring the fire in my belly. “I can drink you under the table.”

  “Is that a challenge?” His voice was husky as he leaned in toward me, studying my lower lip. “You missed some.”

  He touched my lip with his finger and then brought it to his mouth, licking it with a wicked little smile. Then he poured us another drink. My head was swimming by the time we got out of the stretch limo. Detroit was no Vegas, but the casinos downtown were little meccas of light and money. People were drawn to them, sucked into the front doors only to be seen again when their wallets were empty. I liked gambling—go figure—but Mr. Responsible said it was like throwing money away, so we never went. I’d gone a few times with friends from work, unbeknownst to Alex, and blew a chunk of change, but I’d never lost my shirt or anything. Literally or figuratively.

  The MGM Grand rose up like a beacon as we climbed out of the car. The driver helped me out and handed me over to Tyler, who hooked my arm through his as we went through the front doors. Harry, the bodyguard, followed at a respectable distance. After a while I forgot he was even there.

  “What’s calling your name, Lucky?” Tyler asked as we passed the blackjack tables. It was a weekend and a busy night. The tables were all pretty full.

  “Roulette?” I pointed at the big wheel.

  “Really?” He snorted. “Worst odds in the house!”

  “I like to live dangerously.”

  “All right, roulette it is.” Tyler put money down and collected some chips, but when I pulled my purse out to do the same, he stopped me, shaking his head and handing me a handful of chips.

  “Round and round and round she goes…!” The guy at the roulette wheel called out as the wheel spun in a dizzy circle, the white marble bouncing from space to space. I watched, breath held, even though I didn’t have any money on the table. “Double-oh! House wins!”

  “Damn.” I made a face, glancing up at Tyler.

  “Lightning can’t strike twice.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “In a row? Come on.” He scoffed. “What’s your number? Or are you a red-black sort of girl?”

  “Twenty-two.” I pointed. “My birthday.”

  “What month?” Tyler slid a pile of chips onto twenty-two.

  “January.”

  “Aquarius?” He put more chips onto black.

  “Just like you.” I smiled smugly. I knew far more about him—or at least the media version of him—than he knew about me.

  “So, if my birthday hits, we’ll win how much…?” I tried to do the math, since twenty-two was also a
black number.

  “Twenty-two hundred,” the croupier replied, glancing down at the table at our bets.

  “Well if that isn’t a sign, I don’t know what is.” I watched as he made the last call before turning the wheel.

  “A sign that I’m about to lose a bunch of money, maybe.” Tyler snorted a laugh, putting an arm around my shoulder as we watched the wheel spin. It took forever. My stomach was in knots in anticipation. There was something undeniably exciting about gambling, about the breath-holding moment before you discovered if you were a winner—or a loser.

  “I assume you can afford to lose twenty-two hundred bucks?” I looked up at him and he laughed, squeezing his arm around my shoulder.

  “Chump change.” He shook his head. “Don’t worry about it. I consider it worth the price of admission just to be hanging out with you.”

  “I think most people would assume it was the other way around.”

  “They’d be wrong.” He grinned down at me.

  “Twenty-two!”

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” My head swung around, and I stared at the pile of chips—greatly increased—as the croupier slid them across the table toward us.

  “It’s yours, Angel.” Tyler leaned down to whisper this into my ear, the heat of his breath making my toes curl, even in heels. “Where do you wanna blow it?”

  Damn that phrase. Now I was thinking about his cock again. And he smiled at me like he knew it.

  “Let it ride,” I said, meeting his gaze. The innuendo was running rampant tonight.

  “You said lightning doesn’t strike twice in the same place,” he reminded me with a sideways glance.

  “I’m beginning to think I’m sort of a lightning rod.”

  “You’re hot enough.”

  “Oh snap.” I snorted. “You can do better than that.”

  “You’re right, I can.” He nuzzled my ear, his lips grazing my earlobe. Oh God. If my nipples got any harder, they were going to slice right through this t-shirt.