Consumed (Devoured, #2)(44)

She’s drawn to everything about being on tour—the venues, the crowded bus, Wyatt McCrae.

Fear of coming on this tour just to see Wyatt stepping out on her is what held her back in New Orleans in the first place. And now that word has gotten back to her from her friends on the crew that McCrae is succeeding in keeping his dick in his pants, she wants to be around again.

Sinjin stalks between Wyatt and me, whipping a set of his drumsticks out of the back pocket of his jeans. “Let’s do this shit so I can get back to my room.”

“Rough night, mother f*cker?” I ask, and he twists in a complete circle, shrugging.

“Spent too much money on booze and ended up kicking two drunk bitches out of my room.” He slams down behind the drums and scratches one of the sticks across his temple. It draws my attention to his bloodshot eyes. “So, I’d say it was shit.”

Since we’re all tired and desperate to get back to our hotels, this is the first time since the start of the tour that one of our sound checks goes down without a single hitch. As soon as we’re done and I’ve let Tyler know I’ll be around backstage for Sin’s party tonight, I leave the building with David trailing a few steps behind me. Just before I reach my rental car in the parking lot, Wyatt yells for me to slow the hell down.

He’s never been one to beat around the bush, so when he starts off the conversation hesitantly, I know it’s going nowhere good. Finally, he says, “Cal and me were talking about stopping in Louisville before we go to—”

“Louisville’s not on the tour schedule,” I say. “Last minute shit never works out.”

He sits down on the front of the black BMW. “Are you f*cking with me? Tyler could call any venue in this country right this goddamn minute, and we’d be booked before he finished the pitch.”

I’ve got no doubt in my mind about that. Still, I’m not going to Louisville. I had stayed the f*ck away from that place the last time we went on tour two years ago, and I have no intention of making an effort this time. “Then you, Cal and Tyler go. I won’t.”

“Cilla was all for it.”

Hearing that doesn’t do anything but make me see even more red. She spent most of her time drunk so why the hell would she remember anything that happened the last time we were in Louisville. Which to me, is pathetic, considering there’s a video of her online from four years ago, bitching at the audience at the venue we played in that night. Wyatt moves his head expectantly, and I give a tight smile.

“Then, let me rephrase that: You, Cal, and Tyler go and take Wicked Lambs with you.”

It wouldn’t be the first time he and Cal took off to do shit with another band, and I’m sure as hell it won’t be the last.

Wyatt holds up his hands defensively. “It’s not a big deal so pipe the f*ck down.”

But it is. And I need to get out of here because I can feel my head starting to pound. This entire conversation is about to rip apart the rest of my day. Without another word, I stalk around to the driver’s door of the BMW.

Wyatt has the good sense to jump off the front of the rental and he backs away, hooking his hands behind his head. I don’t spare him a second glance as I speed out of the parking lot.





I don’t know St. Louis as well as I do some of the other cities I’ve toured in, but that doesn’t stop me from driving around with the GPS turned off. I don’t want to go back to The Avery just yet because I refuse to treat Sienna like shit just because I’m pissed off, so I drive through the city until I’m as relaxed as I’ll ever be today. Because of a traffic jam, I get back to The Avery later than I planned.

Concierge stops me in the lobby to inform me that I’ve missed checkout, so I sign the paperwork to authorize another night’s stay on my credit card (and sign an autograph for the attendant’s son) before taking the penthouse elevator up to the top floor.

“I’m back,” I yell out when I walk to the room, but she doesn’t respond. Dragging my tee shirt over my head, I toss it on the top of the bar along with the keys to my rental car. “Sienna?” When she still doesn’t say anything, I figure she’s still asleep. I make my way across the penthouse quietly, hoping I won’t disturb her.

As I pass the door to the bedroom, I freeze up because of the noise coming from inside.

It’s the sound of “All Over You” being strummed painstakingly on an acoustic guitar. I open the door carefully to find her naked. She’s sitting up against the headboard with the guitar in her lap, covering her beautiful body. She doesn’t realize that I’m standing here, and I’m not ready to let her know that I am just yet.

So I watch her. The way she grinds her teeth in irritation when she tries to pick a difficult chord. How her long red hair falls over her face and the front of the Gibson when she manages to play for longer than fifteen seconds without making a mistake. And the way she sighs and closes her blue eyes right before she does it all over again.

I watch her, and I feel my cock harden at the sight of this incredibly sexy creature naked in my temporary bed, playing the guitar that I had given her.

“Did you know,” I start, and her head flies up. Her eyes widen with surprise that morphs into shyness only a moment later. She lifts her hand to the side of her face and brushes it back through her hair self-consciously. “That I could have the shittiest day and then I come within a hundred feet of you, and the only thing that matters is you?”