Riffs That Ruin (Survival Records #2)

16. Raina

L iving on The Storm is a completely different lifestyle than when I get to live in a house. Everything is cramped. I don’t have a king size bed. The band breathes down my neck. I can’t leave without a disguise and security.

It’s fucking suffocating.

At least that’s how I used to feel. Somehow, being around my men makes things not so cramped. I don’t mind them being around and sitting so close they’re basically on my lap. It’s now easier to give in to affectionate touches, which have grown quickly in the short time we’ve been living on the bus. It’s almost one long cuddle fest.

I can’t say I don’t like it. Such a difference from what I’ve experienced in the past.

One thing that doesn’t change is my need for coffee first thing. I quietly leave the bedroom at the back of the bus and tiptoe past the bunks where the guys sleep, not wanting to wake them. Nothing beats quiet coffee time.

Reaching the espresso machine, I set my notebook on the counter and go through the motions of preparing an overly large cup. Of course I make one for Keaton too. It shouldn’t be too long before he’s up and insisting on making us breakfast on the small stovetop.

Aromatic steam wafts in my face as I lift my mug, and with a deep sniff, happiness instantly makes its way through my body. A quiet rustling behind me brings a smile to my face as I anticipate Keaton’s comforting embrace.

His warmth meets my back, and I close my eyes, waiting to enjoy the moment. He presses against me and takes a sniff of my coffee. “Damn, that smells divine. Think I could get one?”

The voice is completely off from what I expected. It’s not the silky smooth tones of Keaton’s rarely used words. It’s gravely and deep. It runs through my body to tickle my clit. I shouldn’t enjoy it. To be honest, I forgot he was even staying with us. I shouldn’t have, though.

Bad kitty. You have enough dicks already. No being attracted to the dark British god.

“Raina?” he asks when I take too long to reply. Apparently, my pep talk does absolutely nothing against his damn accent. Even when he only says one word. It’s not fair.

I swallow, making sure my throat is clear and my inner thoughts don’t make their way into my voice. “Yeah, I can make you one.” He moves to my side and leans against the two feet of counter space allotted. I can’t help but glance at him, finding his gorgeous smile tilted in amusement. “Only if you behave.” Why the fuck did I say that? “What flavor would you like?”

My tactic at distracting him from my flirty statement doesn’t work. His smile turns to a full-on smug smirk. “Do you expect me to misbehave, Raina?”

It’s like being between a rock and a hard spot. Responding will show my flustered lack of words, and my silence tips off the same thing. I hate it, and I’m only saved by the fact Keaton slides his body between the two of us, forcing Darius to move a few steps back.

My drummer runs the tip of his sticks along my arm, blocking Darius’ sight of the affection with his body. It’s getting harder and harder to remember to keep our new lead guitarist in the dark the longer he’s here.

Keaton grabs his cup and takes a sip, giving me an appreciative grunt. He’s resorted back to using as little speech as possible, communicating with me silently more often than not with the stranger lurking around. I miss the sound of his voice in the mornings when it was only the two of us in the kitchen.

He taps the side of my hip in a clear sign of get out of my way , but I hold up a finger to wait. It doesn’t take me long to go through the motions of making another latte. Since he never answered me, I add vanilla to it. By the time I’ve finished, Keaton has pulled all the ingredients for breakfast out, and Darius moved to the couch.

I make my way over with both coffees and my notebook tucked under my arm. Before I’ve made it more than a couple of steps, Keaton has his drumsticks tucked into the waistband of the sweatpants I’m wearing. Glancing down, I realize for the first time that they must belong to one of the guys. I was too exhausted last night when I grabbed something to put on.

Darius cocks his head, taking me in from head to toe before glancing at Keaton. He seems to be making connections that I wouldn’t be able to deny if confronted, but he luckily keeps his mouth shut, simply holding his hands out for the latte.

“Where’s the foam art? No romantic hearts or cute animals? Not even a graphic dick?” his tone is playful, but Nash scowls as he takes the seat next to me.

So much for my quiet morning time.

“I’d be careful when poking at women,” Nash says almost offhand, but I know he’s about to strike. “There was a female shark in a Seoul aquarium who didn’t like a male bumping into her, so she ate him. You should watch yourself when criticizing a gift from our wo—Raina.” He leans forward and snatches the coffee out of his hand, making Darius frown, just shy of a pout.

If I was him I’d pout too. My coffee is orgasmic. A transcending experience. If he wasn’t already god-blessed, he’d meet her for the first time. Hallelujah, amen.

Okay, maybe I’m a little full of myself. I blame the stress.

Nash brings the cup to his lips, but right before they meet, Darius slides his hand over it. Thankfully, I gave him something with a lid, otherwise I’m sure it would’ve spilled several times already.

The movement has Nash’s lips meeting his knuckles as he steals his coffee right back. “Raina made this for me.” He returns to his seat, a cool example of calmness, but something about it makes me think he’s primed to react if Nash tries to retaliate.

My normally cheery bass player frowns, a wrinkle forming between his eyebrows. Before I can expect it, he’s flopping into my side. See, this is why we put lids on all coffee cups on the bus. It’s a rule for a reason.

Note to self… make a list of bus rules.

Nash turns his head where it rests on my shoulder, and I catch that little shit eyeballing my coffee. Drawing it out of his reach, I gasp. “Don’t you even think about it, Nash middle name Mccoy!”

“Jameson,” Keaton says over his shoulder.

A gasp more dramatic than the one I just gave spills out of Nash. “How dare you give her that information! You’re a traitor, Keaton Santiago Reyes.” He gets to his knees on the couch, making me sink into him as he reaches a hand out and does a gimme gesture. “You can make up for it by giving me your coffee.”

“No.” Keaton turns his back, shutting off anymore communication.

“Rude,” Nash huffs, settling into his spot. “Please, roomie, let me have a sip. Nobody makes it like you do.”

He flutters his eyelashes, making it damn hard to say no. Hard, but not impossible. “You don’t want to be around me if I haven’t been satisfactorily caffeinated. Sorry, Nashy.”

“You never make me coffee, I want some too.” Nash pouts his lip out.

“That’s because you prefer sleeping in,” Blake says as he walks up. He runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it before putting on his glasses. “Stay there, Bunny. I’ll make the child one.”

He rests a hand on my shoulder, keeping me in place as I was about to get up. Nash has a point. I usually don’t make anyone coffee if they aren’t up asking for it. I typically have a one track mind when I’m standing in front of the machine.

“Okay, it’s driving me nuts,” Darius says, leaning forward until his elbows rest on his knees. “Which of them are you dating?”

I swear every one of us goes tense like a trap was just triggered and any wrong move will end up in devastation. In an air of nonchalance, I take a sip of my coffee. “What makes you think I’m dating anyone at all?”

He laughs like I’ve told him a joke. “Oh, come on, I’ve seen the—wait, you have seen the headlines, right? That someone on your personal team admitted you’re dating one of the band members.” He trails off like he might be hitting me with something I don’t know and winces.

“One thing you’ll quickly learn when you’re as famous as me, Darius, is not to trust anything the tabloids say. Their only goal is to make money, not report credible news.” I take another sip of my coffee and spot Keaton return to his cooking.

Darius stares at the lid of his cup for a moment before locking eyes with me. “That’s true. I’ve seen the lies they spread first hand with some of the groups I’ve worked with, but I’ve seen the way you are around each other.” He leaves it left unsaid that he suspects it’s actually true. I try not to think about the way he’s sitting where I was last night.

It’s made all the harder when Blake sits on my other side, sandwiching me between him and Nash. Images of their hands roaming over me in tandem flash across my mind. I have to lean my head forward to let my hair hide the gleaming blush lighting up my face.

Needing something to do, I flip open my notebook to a random page to work on perfecting some lyrics. Nash leans his head against me, and it’s clear he’s reading what I’ve written. A gut reaction has me wanting to rip it out of his view. These lyrics are so fucking personal, so full of the pain that I’ve masked in a pretty package. It’s a glimpse so deep into my soul that nobody has ever seen before. Not on this level.

I shove those feelings down deep. If I want this relationship to work, I can’t hide myself from him. It doesn’t stop my stomach from cramping, though.

“Those are really freaking good lyrics, baby,” he says, and I catch Darius give a knowing smirk. “Do you have a melody in mind already?”

His question draws both Blake’s and Keaton’s attention, the latter bringing the pan with him and holding it out to the side so it wouldn’t burn on the cooktop. He gives a grunt of agreement as Blake says, “It’s gritty, more rock than pop. I’d love to see what you do with it.”

“I’m not sure.” I let out a sigh, trying to relieve the tightness in my chest. “It might be a little too personal to share with anyone.”

Darius lowers his phone and focuses on me. “Isn’t that what makes the best music? When it’s too personal and comes from the depths of the soul?”

“He has a point, roomie.” Nash bumps his shoulder into mine. “We could work on it with you if you’d like.”

“Umm… Yeah, maybe. I’ll think about it.” My pen makes scratching noises against the paper as I doodle on the side, not really able to concentrate on anything.

I’m not sure how long we sit in the quiet, but it’s well past Keaton serving breakfast before Darius bursts out laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Nash asks, always a busybody. He perks his head up like he’s looking forward to the distraction. Sometimes off days seem to drag on too slowly when you’re used to the hustle and bustle of a grueling schedule.

Darius glances from his phone and takes his headphone off one ear. “What’s that?”

“You laughed?”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry, noise canceling,” Darius says, gesturing to the headset. “A video came up on my feed of fan reactions to last night’s show. They seem to think I’m the guy you’re dating, even though I joined after that rumor started.”

“You’re fucking kidding,” Nash growls with a snarl.

The snap of Keaton’s drumstick shows his equal displeasure and Blake gestures gimme for the phone. Darius surprisingly hands it over and I stare in surprise at the hook at the top of the video.

#TeamDarius

What the hell does that even mean? Blake must wonder the same thing, because he taps on the icon to expand the comments. It quickly becomes clear that the Storm Chasers have been trying to puzzle out the rumors. In a lot of ways, my personal life has been somewhat private for the first time since I stepped into the limelight. I’ve become a mystery since I tried to kill myself—or rather rehab, because they don’t know that little tidbit.

Now, after the dance we shared, paired with it happening on Valentine’s Day, they’re assuming it’s him. Even those who point out he wasn’t here when the rumor broke are still shipping us.

Fuck. My. Life.

It’s already been rough battling the tension as it was between all the guys. This will make it so much worse…