14. Cuckold Moment

14

CUCKOLD MOMENT

SOPHIA

Lacey is rummaging through her luggage, tossing article after article of clothing out like the bag itself is on fire and the clothes themselves are the source, when I tiptoe into a question.

"Are you sure you want to go tonight? We could stay in, order sushi, watch a movie."

I pet Jupiter on his head, praising him for being on board with the idea of staying in with me. He licks my hand about the same time that my sister starts to open her mouth.

"Am I sure I want to go to a free concert, drink free booze, and dance the night away?" Her pink-covered head swivels to meet my gaze. "Buzzkill. Come on, Soph. It's our first night here. You might be used to all this"—she waves around dramatically—"but I'm not. Let me live, woman! I want to see what all the fuss is about. You know, if the Kings can actually play and sound good while doing it. Don't rob me of this. "

A knock draws our attention to my bedroom door before Vanna peeks her head in. "It's just me. Can I come in?"

"Of course." Backup has arrived. "Help me talk my sister into staying in with us tonight."

"Oh, I'm not staying in. In This Moment is opening for Kings, and they're, like, one of my favorite bands. Their lead singer is a total badass babe. Shh, don't tell my husband though." Vanna turns her attention toward Lacey. "She's trying to convince you to stay at the hotel with her and order room service, isn't she? She never came to one show BCK—Before Caddell Kidnapping," she explains. "She was all business. In tattoo mode. Never let's party and enjoy ourselves mode."

I deadpan, "Fine. Whatever. You both can go and bond over the band. I'll be right here. I have my Kindle. I'll make some popcorn. Jupiter and I will cuddle. Won't we, boy?" I rub his head as his tail wags a hundred miles a second.

"Like hell. You have three men at your disposal. Do you hear me? They're literally pining after you, all vying for your attention. Before I came in here, I overheard them arguing about which one of them you're going to think is a better musician after the show. You'd rather binge popcorn and read page porn than live your best life in high-def?" My sister blazes through her spiel, expelling enough energy in her speech that she's left winded.

The word yes is on the tip of my tongue.

Getting lost in a book—someone else's fictional reality—is exactly what I need right now.

Huffing at my demure stance and lack of response, Lacey plants her hands on her beautifully curved hips preparing to rip into me some more.

Vanna beats her to it when she blurts, "Three sexy-as-hell men want to screw you into next week. Nope. We are not doing this on my watch. I will not take no for an answer. Get up. Put on something skanky because you won't fit in if not, and let's go grind on each other and make our men so envious of us that they forget the words to their own songs."

"Do you have a best friend?" Lacey interjects. "I suddenly have a vacancy." Her eyes dart to me, then back to Vanna. "I think you fit the bill."

Rolling my eyes, I saunter into the bathroom and turn on the shower with enough force that I think I sprain my wrist. If I'm going to be forced to attend a concert, I'm going to look the part. You can count on that.

"Don't be mad, Soph," I hear Vanna's soft voice say over the steady stream of water while I'm rinsing my hair.

"I'm not mad. I just …" My voice trails off.

"You just don't know how to act in public with them all?" she asks, reading my mind.

"Exactly." I breathe a sigh of relief that she understands. "It'll be my first outing since … everything happened, and then I'll have to hide my feelings for Oliver and Cannon on top of already lying to the public. I feel like I'm making them my dirty little secret. I hate this. I'm sure people—the road crew, driver, everyone—are already judging me."

"For what, being with them all?"

"Yes," I say, defeated.

"I know we haven't known one another for long, but we've been together almost twenty-four seven for weeks. We eat, sleep, and play together. You get to know someone, the real version of them, on a more intimate level when you're forced to be in their direct proximity like we've been. And I can see that you're not just toying around with their feelings. I know you genuinely care about them, whether you're ready to admit it to them or the world yet. I'd never judge your heart for who it cares about. "

"So, you don't think I'm a big fat slut for being with the three of them?"

"Now, I didn't say that," she says, casually amused by her own quip. "Kidding. No, I don't. I think you're exactly what they need, and vice versa. Even I was getting blue balls from all the sparring you and Mazen were doing, so I'm thankful that you're coming to terms with liking all of them."

Forty minutes later, in true VIP fashion, the three of us are packed into the back seat of a blacked-out SUV. Ashton is behind the wheel, eyes glued forward. His demeanor seems off. I don't know if it's my place to ask if he's okay or not. A man in his line of work probably wouldn't take it lightly if a woman asked if he was okay because he seemed stressed. Still, his bad vibes bother me for some reason.

Turning my attention to the most probable culprit, I grill Lacey instead. "Hey." I nudge her. "Did something happen between you guys during your walk? Ashton seems … distant. Night and day from this morning."

"He's not distant. That's his pouting face." A glint of indifference glides across her satin cheeks.

She chooses not to elaborate with a purse of her lips, and it has me demanding answers.

"Spill." I press into her with only the most relentless mandate that a sibling can demand. "Now."

Tossing her pink hair over her shoulder, she turns toward me, a wicked smile on her lips. "I came on to him. "

My eyes widen larger than the red stoplight that looms before us, dangling from a wire.

"You shouldn't be shocked. He's sexy as sin and taken, apparently. Well, not taken , taken. He's not wearing a ring or anything. That Lindsey chick … the publicist or whoever she is, and he have been swapping spit."

"Lacey," I warn, holding my hands together tightly, like my restraint. The need to lay into her for overstepping beats like Cannon's drum in my chest.

First, I was her mother figure. Our relationship only morphed into friendship as she aged. Right now, a mixture of feelings and commentary from both my roles in her life cloud my judgment. I want to throttle her.

"Haven't you seen a cuckold video? Scrawny white men who are looking to spruce up their sex lives hire Black dudes who are always packing the biggest meat in their pants to screw their wives. Shoot me for wanting to know what all the fuss is about. I simply told Ash that Lindsey was welcome to come watch me ride him like I was auditioning to be an extra on Yellowstone, and we could have our own little make-believe-cuckold moment sans the marriage part." Vanna's attention is piqued, a gleam of interest shining in her tawny eyes. "And his response was?"

Lacey's tone is clipped when she responds, "He said that I was breathtaking, and if the timing were different … ugh …" She groans into her hands, rubbing her face without using too much pressure. Not even her disappointment could cause her to rub away the cosmetics on her face. "He turned me down."

"So, now, you're going to flirt with Lindsey to rub it in his face?" I know my sister better than even I think she knows herself.

"Damn right, sissy. She'll be begging me to wax her ass with my tongue, and when that happens and Ash comes begging me for the opportunity to watch us, I'm going to shut the door in his face and steal his girl."

As soon as her threat hits the air, a fly must enter Ashton's mouth because he goes into a coughing fit that lasts the duration of the drive. He doesn't stop clearing his throat until we pull up to the rear of the venue and exit the Suburban.

Vanna was right.

In This Moment is dope. I was part of the Paramore era, but this is some darker shit that claws at my chest. It doesn't hurt that Maria Brink is a total bombshell.

I want to be her when I grow up , I think to myself as I peer around the stadium.

It's wild to think that Kings of Jupiter were all best friends in middle school, singing in Cannon's garage. Now, look at them. Selling out shows overseas. A sudden pang in my chest reminds me that I knew Mazen before . Before … all of this. Cher's "If I Could Turn Back Time" chimes in my mind while the stage goes dark, signaling what appears to be a brief intermission.

The stage crew shuffles around, preparing for the Kings to take the stage. I don't know why I'm suddenly sweating.

"Are you guys hot?" I cup the nape of my neck. Small strands of hair are sticking to my neck, drenched in my sweat.

"No. Now, calm down. It's not like you're banging three-fourths of the band or anything. They won't even notice your presence," my sister lies through her pearly-white teeth, biting her lip—signaling her tell.

"I knew you told Mom I snuck out when I was thirteen," I accuse, remembering that she bit her lip just like she's doing now when I had to call my parents from a pay phone because my bike tire had gotten a flat after I met Nolan Barker at the park, where we had made out so long that my lips were chapped for days.

Lacey looked just as pleased with herself then as she does now. In hindsight, being grounded meant I couldn't hang out with my friends, and I was forced to chill with her. Being besties with your kid sister wasn't always as cool as it is once you're both adults.

"Would you be mad if you knew that I woke her up before you even called?" Lacey lowers her thick black lashes.

"You brat. I was grounded for two weeks."

"Whatever. That wasn't half as bad as the punishment you dished out on my prom night."

"Let me remind you by that time, I was your legal guardian, and I caught you pegging the gym teacher. Who was happily married and a grandfather, by the way. Come to think of it, my punishment was kind of lax. You should have been sent to an all-girls school."

"Why? I would have made it my mission to have the headmaster on her knees, begging me to ride her mouth."

With renewed humiliation that my sister is a depraved individual who has absolutely no boundaries, I look away. Needing a break from the sweltering lights and this trip down memory lane, I shake my head, then make my way across the rectangular area we're standing in that looks more like we're in time-out than a VIP section .

I've succumbed to not even being a free-roaming human anymore.

Ashton blocks my exit. "Need something, Fireball?"

Great, the nickname is spreading. I'll be sure to thank Ollie for that later.

"A drink. It's hotter than hell. I'm feeling a little claustrophobic by the, you know, crate we're being kept in."

"They're worried about you." Ashton's expression is tight, determination etched into the golden-brown hue of his eyes. "Don't pretend that you haven't noticed all the extra precautions they've taken lately."

I've noticed them all.

How our driver waits to open the bus door until after the band's security team does a sweep, to the extra security personnel on our floor. It's not lost on me. I'm thankful for their concern. I just don't need or want it. Caddell already knows exactly where I am. He knew before I even knew he knew. There's no need for these extra precautions. I keep that last bit to myself. I also don't tell them that I'm currently in cahoots with my captor or about my plan to finish the tour, collect my check from Near Death Records, and pay him off once and for all.

The band, my sister, and Lindsey don't need to know about any of that … because they'll ruin it to protect me , and I'll do anything to keep them safe.

"I get it," I huff, half annoyed, half … something else that extends far past just being their live-in tattoo artist. Feelings I'm not prepared for start to swarm in my stomach. "I appreciate how thoughtful they've been. This"—I motion to the cage—"is a little too much. What if we have to pee?"

"You're not a prisoner. This is the VIP box. It's for important people. You and Vanna are the most important people to them. Aside from their dog child, that is. "

Jupiter is the real king.

"Can I order a drink then?"

Ashton collects our drink orders, repeating them into the receiver on his phone. Ten minutes later, beverages are served, and the band is introduced. Like they need an actual introduction. The crowd goes freaking ballistic. You'd think Santa Claus just landed on the rooftop and started passing out black Amex cards.

Murphy walks onto the dimly lit stage first. A voice that I didn't even know could be bellowed from her petite frame roars from Vanna's lungs. Pride for her husband thunders from her, along with everyone else's screams reverberating around us. I watch in awe as their eyes collide. Even in this packed arena, their love is palpable. The unmistakable tether binding them reaches from the stage to where she stands next to me. For a brief moment, I get lost in what it must feel like to be stupidly in love. Infatuated beyond belief with someone else.

The thought is fleeting when my attention is stolen by another member of the band. Cannon strides across the stage and takes his place on his stool behind his set, and all the air leaves my lungs. He raises a pair of wooden sticks in his clenched fist above his head. I watch in awe as his fingers spread, allowing the sticks to spread in his large hand. Lowering his hand, he begins to rotate the sticks between his fingers, twirling them over and over with an expertise that only comes from years of skill. As soon as his eyes meet mine, the biggest smile I've ever seen widens across the brooding blond's face, making both my heart and my lady bits further south heat. Even in the distance, I can see the sharpness of his penetrating glare.

He looks at me like I'm not just another scantily dressed woman shooting heart eyes at him. Like I'm more than just his tattoo artist.

Cannon's eyes bore into my soul, and though our standoff only lasts a few seconds, the enchanted feeling that I matter to him—truly matter—floats between us. Heavy like a dense fog that I never want to sift through.

I don't have time to process what that means because the crowd once again erupts. Chants and chaos unite in a rumble of yells and whistles. Ollie casually strolls onto the stage, looking every bit as relaxed as the seasoned performer he is. A smile tips the edge of my mouth when I notice him offering a wink toward the booming crowd. Then, he stops in his designated spot on the stage, takes the guitar he's handed by its neck, and suavely, in an almost-seductive manner, slides the strap over his head, placing the edge of it in his mouth. He bites it like it's a bridle, his white teeth tugging against the cloth. I can almost smell the arousal of the women surrounding us.

Oliver Collins, in all his charismatic glory, owns the stage and me .

The fans eat his act up. They devour every morsel of wanton lust he throws their way.

The crowd's volume increases, as if turned up a notch, and my chest reverberates with the vibrations echoing around us. I glance toward my sister. Her face is glowing; she's enraptured. It feels as if my body has been placed inside of a speaker. Everything is muffled.

And then the stage goes black.

The distinctive sound of a woman's voice pierces through the madness. "Wet for Wilde."

"You and me both!" Lacey yells back, earning a shriek from my mouth.

Disbelief burrows in my perfectly arched brows as a, " Get your own band," rolls off my tongue. I wink at her, tossing a playful smile in her direction.

Kings of Jupiter hasn't even started to play their first song, and the atmosphere is electric. Charged to the max. The hair on my arms stands straight up, as if I put my finger in a light socket. Sadly, I fear that Lacey will be the one losing her bet to Mazen. How can she not be impressed by the energy that is this band? Even Marilyn Manson himself would be offering a slow clap for these guys … my guys.

When the lights turn back on, my eyes track the movement of a spotlight.

Jupiter is sitting on a skateboard, one paw dangling off the side, helping him propel himself forward as he walks beside Mazen. I'm torn between watching the husky in complete and utter amazement and taking in the lead singer.

The sight before me is mind-boggling. Their dog … an actual animal … is riding a freaking skateboard. Remind me why I never came to one of their shows before now?

I force my stare away from Jupiter, turning my attention to Mazen.

He looks like he was skateboarding behind the stage, carefree and in his element. Wearing tight black jeans with a few fashionably ripped holes, an all-black T-shirt with the sleeves cut off—showcasing the ink adorning his arms—and a pair of checkered Vans, Mazen Wilde looks like the epitome of punk rock.

He's a walking billboard, and at this moment, I'm his biggest fan.