Double Time (Sinners on Tour #5)(70)

Reagan inched toward the edge of the mattress, trying not to disturb Trey as she got up. She had to pee and a shower sounded like a little piece of heaven, but Mr. Cuddles apparently had some extrasensory perception of when his bedmate was about to vacate the premises. Trey's arm wrapped around her waist and he tugged her against him, spooning up against her back and tangling her in his arms and legs until she was trapped. He murmured something unintelligible against her hair. She relaxed into his warm body and told her protesting bladder to shut up. This was nice. There was no place she'd rather be. She gently stroked the skin on his forearm, concentrating on the rhythm of his breathing. She could have lain like that for hours. If she hadn't had to pee so bad.



       
         
       
        

She carefully untangled her body from his and hurried out of bed. He lifted his head off the pillow and blinked at her. "Where you going?" he asked, his voice slurred with sleep.

"To the bathroom."

"You coming back?"

"How long are you going to stay in bed?"

"Depends on if you come back." He grinned at her and dropped his head on her pillow, burrowing into it and inhaling deeply. "I already miss you."

No wonder he got anything he wanted. He was so sweet and unashamed of it. He wasn't manipulative, exactly. Persuasive. That's what he was. "I'll be back," she promised as she slipped into her discarded panties. She'd thought about getting some guitar practice in and working on the technique Brian had shown her on the plane, but spending the day in bed with Trey sounded a lot more entertaining. She was a little disappointed that Brian had left immediately after the show and would be gone until they played in Saint Louis the next night, but she understood that his family obligations came before indulging a fangirl guitarist with lessons on his grandeur.

Reagan put on her clothes from the day before but rummaged around in her suitcase until she found everything she needed for a shower.

"Looks like you plan on doing more than going pee," Trey said.

"I'm going to take a shower." She was sticky with cum. Trey had used condoms the night before, but he'd peeled them off at the last moment and spurted on her belly. Her back. Her ass. Her breasts. Probably other places too. She'd lost track. At the time, it had been incredibly sexy, but now she needed to feel clean.

After her quick shower-there was a limited supply of water on the bus-she found her purse in the dining area and checked her phone for messages. Her father had called and left a message. "I spent all day Sunday wondering if you're alive or dead." She had meant to call him. She made it a habit to call him every Sunday, but so many things were happening that it had slipped her mind. He would probably be at work, but she'd leave him a message so he knew that she was safe. He'd never wanted her to leave Arkansas. He'd been convinced that she couldn't take care of herself. Or maybe he'd been more worried that there'd be no one to take care of him anymore. She'd taken over the role of domestic goddess when Mom had left. Cooked, cleaned, did the laundry. She sometimes worried that Daddy ate canned tuna every night and wore dirty socks, but she also knew that she had to make her own life. Catering to her father for twenty-one years had been long enough.

She was surprised that he answered when she called.

"Is everything okay, Reagan?" he asked gruffly. 

Her heart started to pound. She already knew that Daddy wouldn't approve of her going on tour with a rock band. Of making her dream to become a professional guitarist a reality. If he had his way, she'd have become a concert cellist in some orchestra. Yawn.

"Everything is wonderful, Daddy," she said, her voice giving away none of the anxiety in her chest. She wanted him to be proud of her. She didn't want to listen to him berate her for having dreams that did not match his. "I have some exciting news."

"I thought you were dead. Or worse. Strung out on drugs."

"I don't do drugs," she said flatly. He was big on stereotypes. "I did win a contest."

"A music contest?" He actually sounded excited.

"Yeah."

"So you're going back to cello?"

"No, it wasn't an orchestral contest. It was a rock guitarist contest."

Silence. She could picture the look of displeasure on his face. She'd seen it enough times.

She pressed on. "I've been selected to be the rhythm guitarist for Exodus End while they tour the US and world this year. This is an amazing opportunity for me."

More silence.

"So if I forget to call you, I'm probably doing drugs or sleeping around with tattooed freaks or showing off my ass on stage."