A Rocker's Melody (Dust and Bones)(8)

"Come to Mama, she murmured.

**

"Jesus. I don't know if I'm disgusted or jealous," Jesper muttered.

"Definitely jealous," Tank whined. "She should have brought enough to share."

"That is enough to share," Rip pointed out snidely, glancing up from his laptop. "Or at least, it should be."

"How does she stay thin?" Dylan murmured in wonderment.

"There has to be some kind of a catch here," Jesper said.

Melody grinned around a big bite of the double bacon cheeseburger with extra Thousand Island dressing. Mmmm. So good.

Her stress was quickly melting away. The meaty grease was working its  magic, but so, too, was the idea that she was horrifying her band mates  with her gluttony. Who would have guessed that the hard-drinking,  hard-partying, womanizing rock band would be so grossed out by trans  fat?

"Is there even lettuce on that?" Dylan asked.

Melody shook her head, swallowing. "I tell them to leave it off. I mean,  it's iceberg, so what's the point? It's just in the way." She popped a  French fry in her mouth. Mmmm, crispy, greasy, salty.

"You could at least add some sriracha," Dylan suggested. "Hot sauce has  an antioxidant effect to counteract...all of that." He gestured at her  meal, raising an eyebrow in distaste.

"No, thanks," Melody said emphatically, talking through a mouthful of burger. "Nothing hotter than a latte goes in my mouth."

"Oh God. Too many things to say. Brain can't compute," Tank moaned, as if actually in pain.

"She's inhaling it," Rip commented as he watched her, the celebrity  gossip blog on his computer all but forgotten. "How does she breathe?"         

     



 

"Clearly we've discovered her drug of choice," Jesper pointed out. "Come on, let her eat."

The guys quieted down after that, and left her alone to devour her food  in peace. As Melody ate, her sense of stress-free abandon began to chip  away. They were quiet...too quiet. Jesper was all right, but the rest of  them? She didn't trust them as far as she could throw them. She heard a  rustling sound, and half wondered if they were building a blanket fort  with a No Girls Allowed sign. She snickered at her own private joke.

"Huh? Yellow?" Rip's muffled voice drifted towards her from the sleeping area of the bus. "That's unexpected."

"Not really," Tank said, his voice equally far away. "It's that happy yellow. Like sunshine. Or a smiley face."

Melody furrowed her brow. What a strange conversation. She was curious,  but if they were trying to get her attention or interrupt her meal, they  were going to have to try harder. She refused to rise to their bait.  Another French fry went into her mouth.

"I can't believe there's nothing blue," Dylan called out from further down the hall.

"Still looking," Tank called back. "Ooh. Purple. That's close to blue."

"Maybe the purple phase is coming," Dylan said. That finally clued her  in, because a purple phase was coming; she had a small bottle of purple  hair dye stashed away, which she'd been planning to use for the Seattle  show. Melody spun around in her chair, her burger forgotten, and darted  down the corridor to the sleeping area.

Sure enough, there was Rip, holding up a pair of yellow lace panties.  Her yellow lace panties, which she had actually gotten because they  reminded her of sunshine. Tank had a purple bra dangling from his index  finger. Dylan was smirking and leaning negligently against his bunk, not  actively participating in the impromptu panty raid, but clearly  enjoying the show. Melody wasn't sure which one of them she was going to  kill first.

"Out of curiosity," Tank began with a grin, "what color are you wearing right now?"

"Blue," she said, forcing the rage down. They wanted to rile her up, and  she would be damned if she let them. "That's why you can't find any in  the bag." She calmly walked to her bunk, snatching her underthings back  and stuffing them into her suitcase. "They're satin," she added, glaring  at Tank, as if daring him to ask a follow-up question.

He glanced away, and almost, she thought, looked a teensy bit ashamed of  himself. Then he grinned, and she was immediately relieved of that  notion.

"I bet they look more amazing on you than they do on my hand," he teased.

"Well, I guess you'll never know," Melody said. "And if you go through  my underwear again, be sure to wash your hands first. I don't need  whatever cooties you've contracted rubbing all over my lady bits."

"Darlin', you would love my cooties all over your lady bits if you gave ‘em a chance,"

Tank bragged.

"We'll agree to disagree," Melody said tightly. Her control was fraying.  "I guess I'll need to get some kind of padlock to keep your sticky  little fingers away from where they don't belong."

"Did you know I can pick locks?" Rip asked in a smug voice.

Melody sighed. She actually had known that. It had been one of the  factoids in the band's bio. Rip and Snake had grown up in the same rough  neighborhood, and lock picking had been common practice among their  peers. It seemed that if she wanted to keep something private, she would  have to keep it on her person at all times. Or possibly invest in some  kind of ACME Booby Trap kit.

Melody E. Coyote has a nice ring to it.

"Aw, she looks mad," Tank said.

"Can't imagine why," Jesper said from where he lay on his bunk. He  hadn't joined in on the hazing ritual; he was busy swiping through  images on his tablet.

"Cheer up, Big Red," Dylan soothed, in a low, teasing voice that went  straight to her groin. Melody suppressed her body's response to him and  focused on keeping her face clear of any betraying emotion. She guessed  that ‘Big Red' was her unofficial nickname now. Since there were at  least a dozen worse options out there, she would accept this one without  a fight. "At least you've still got your heart attack special to  comfort you."

"You shouldn't be so concerned with what I put in my mouth," she  informed him, deliberately licking the corner of her mouth to mess with  him.

His eyes narrowed. "Careful," he warned her softly. "You're playing with the big boys now."         

     



 

Melody rolled her eyes and stalked back over to her food. "I think I can  handle you," she called over her shoulder, grabbing her burger and  taking a huge bite out of it to emphasize her point. It didn't hit her  right away; she had swallowed most of it before her eyes began to water  and the slow burn began. Behind her, the guys were already doubled over,  trying-and failing-to hold in their laughter.

"Oh vou thons of bithes," she muttered around her half-full, rapidly  heating mouth. Whatever sauce they'd snuck into her meal felt like it  was about fifty times hotter than sriracha.

"Is that lard sandwich not quite as delicious anymore?" Dylan asked innocently.

Melody threw open the mini fridge, sagging in relief when she spotted a  carton of half and half on the bottom shelf. She grabbed it and guzzled  the contents, though it didn't bring her relief nearly as quickly as she  would have liked. When you hated hot food, you learned how to  counteract them; she had never been so grateful for that lesson that a  waiter at a Mexican restaurant had taught her, after he'd saved her from  a rogue Serrano pepper. No agua, Senorita, he had cautioned wisely.  Leche.

Oh, sweet, sweet leche.

The burn began to fade from her tongue, and Melody slowly regained her  senses. She took a deep breath and brought the back of her hand to her  mouth, wiping away the residual milk mustache that must be there. The  laughter from the peanut gallery had died down, and when she glanced  over her shoulder at them, she saw that they were standing by warily, as  if waiting for some kind of retribution. She even thought Tank looked  guilty again. Melody slammed the empty carton down on the counter and  turned to face her new band mates fully.

"We're out of coffee creamer," she said calmly before taking a seat at the table and finishing her pepper-free French fries.

She would never let those jerks know they were getting to her.

**

The two days on the road that followed the panty raid were relatively  quiet. The respite should have comforted her, but instead, Melody just  felt like this was the calm before the storm. Only an idiot would have  believed the pepper incident had been isolated, and Craig Hopkins had  not raised a fool.

Melody found herself wishing that she'd had siblings; knowing how to  handle brothers definitely would have helped her deal with her current  situation. But she had been an only child; her mother had died only a  few months after she was born from a rare heart condition that had  presented after the pregnancy.

After that, her father had poured everything he had into raising Melody.  She owed him everything-and she wasn't about to disappoint him by  giving up just because things were a little tough. This was the life she  knew, the one that was in her DNA. This was the life she had been born  to embrace. It was a life that had led her to some truly great moments,  and some genuinely spectacular failures.