Idol (VIP, #1)(46)

She draws a breath, the sound crackling through the phone. “You matter too.”

My eyes close. Maybe some of my motivation is selfish, because I miss her so badly right now it hurts. I’m so into this girl. She has no idea how much.

“I’ve always had my guys, the band. We pushed each other when one of us doubted. We were a team. I wouldn’t be where I was without them. I want to be that for you, Libby. You’re too talented not to at least try.”

I swear, it feels like hours before I hear her response. Her laugh is tired and brief. “God. Am I going to do this?”

“Yes.”

“That was rhetorical.”

“I’m just moving the process along, babe.”

She pauses for a second before speaking. “I have conditions.”

“Name them.” My heart pounds, adrenaline making me pace.

“I don’t want anyone to know about us.”

“Okay—Wait, what?” I halt, gripping the phone too tightly. Hide us? “What the hell? No. Why?” I’m sputtering now. “Is this that whole Yoko thing again?”

“It isn’t a ‘thing’,” she says with annoying patience. “It’s a legitimate concern—even more if I’m going to be on stage with you.”

“Because your talent will suddenly disappear if people know my dick’s been in you?”

“Don’t be crude.”

Oh, I’m being crude. I rest a fist against the wall. Just rest it. For now.

Her voice softens. “Please put yourself in my place. I’m an unknown, untried musician who you want to put on stage with the biggest band in the world. No one does that, unless they’re getting themselves some.”

“Which I am,” I point out, stupidly.

“You trying to piss me off?” she snaps.

I sigh and thump my forehead against the wall. “No. I didn’t mean it that way. Go on.”

“You’re right. People are probably going to think something like that regardless. But you go and tell your band that you want your girl on stage with you? They’re going to think one thing: I f*cked my way up there.”

Wincing, I grind my teeth, trying to think of a retort.

I hear her voice catch. “I have my pride, Killian. Don’t take it from me.”

“Baby doll.”

“Let me prove myself before they set their minds on who or what I am.”

I’m silent for a long minute. “Fuck,” I snarl, pushing off the wall. I sigh and the fight goes out of me. “All right. You’re right. I know you’re right. But they’re going to know the second they see us together, Libs. I’m not good at hiding how I feel.”

“Did you tell them about us?”

I stare through the glass. A sliver of the next room is visible, and with it Jax’s profile. He looks relaxed. Solemn but okay.

“Brenna and Scottie know, obviously. But they won’t say anything. The guys don’t, though. Not details like that.” I hadn’t wanted to share, as if by telling them about it, I’d lose something private, something real. “Just that you helped me with my music and that you’re talented as all f*ck. They know I sent Scottie to coax you out here.”

“And they don’t mind?”

My teeth sink into my bottom lip. Truth? Or lie? But it isn’t really even a question. “They thought I was cracked at first. Then I showed them the songs and played that recording we did of ‘Artful Girl’.”

I used my phone for that, and the sound quality was shit, but Libby’s talent shone through even then. It had been more than enough, for almost everyone. Jax is being a pain in the ass. But I’d expected as much.

I rub the back of my stiff neck. “They want to meet you.”

It feels like an eternity before she talks. “Okay, I’ll come. I’m not promising I’ll go through with it. But I’ll try.”

Every tense muscle I have seems to release at once, and I lean on the console. I swallow hard before answering her. “I won’t say anything about us. But once we’re alone, all bets are off. That’s my time, Libby. And I intend to use it well.”

I swear I can feel her blush through the phone. But then her husky voice comes in strong. “Good. I’ve been left to using my imagination, so you’d better be creative.”

This girl.

My dick is thick and demanding in my jeans now. Palming the head to ease its pain, I grind out the only thing I can. “Get here.”



Libby



My legs feel rubbery as I end my call with Killian. I’m going to do this. I’m going on tour with Kill John. I want to throw up. I want to see Killian so badly my teeth hurt. But performing on stage? That’s another kettle.

I’d rather focus on his last words and the heated need in his voice. He’d been hurting—the same way I’m hurting now. I didn’t know it was possible to feel empty between my legs, to actually want a cock in there so bad it aches. No, not just any cock. Killian’s. It has to be his now. Damn the man, but he gets to me.

But I have guests camped out in my house, and I’m not walking around with hard nipples and flushed skin. So I take a deep breath and think of the time I walked in on Grandmama watching porn. Sufficiently horrified, I walk back into the living room.