Page 2 of Bunny Vibes

2

Spencer

Idreaded these encounters and tried to avoid them at all costs. However, considering how often Olivia was around, it was impossible to keep from running into her once in a while. She tended to show up wherever we were on tour about every three months. Sometimes more.

I first spotted her during a concert, standing just below the stage. Our eyes had locked for a brief moment, and it had sent a bolt of electricity through me. I'd been drawn to her and even looked for her after the show, but with no luck. Over the next two years, I was sure I saw her in our audience multiple times, but we never crossed paths, so I figured I'd imagined it. Which was more than plausible considering how often I dreamed about her.

I thought fate had finally stepped in when I saw her in the lobby of my hotel in Philly. I was ecstatic and eager to find out if she'd felt the same connection I had. Until Nixon had strolled up, and I'd discovered why she was really there. I was shocked that Nixon would need to pay for sex since there was never a shortage of beautiful women attempting to get his attention. But that took a backseat to the disappointment I felt in knowing that what I'd experienced had been one-sided, and my fantasies would remain my dirty secret.

The one thing that had always bothered me, though, was that I was usually an excellent judge of character. I had unexplainable vibes about people, and I'd never been wrong. They were telling me that her sweetness and innocence were not an act. And yet. . .

When we left town, I had breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that I would never see her again. Even if we ever came back to Philly and Nixon decided to hire her again, it would be easy enough to make myself scarce. Or even head home to New York for a night or two.

I was shocked when she showed up at a concert in Texas. I didn't think escorts traveled to their "clients." The only explanation I could come up with was that it must be because they were members of a famous band or their crew. I would've called her a typical groupie, but groupies didn't usually charge for their sexual favors. Well, not with money.

In all this time, I still hadn't been able to stop dreaming about her rich brown eyes and puffy, pink lips. Or all the gorgeous, silky dark hair that tumbled down her back. I wanted to delve my hands into it and see if it was as thick and soft as it looked.

As torturous as it was, I sometimes found myself watching her when she was around. She was smart and witty, kind, and so sweet it made my teeth ache. Somehow, she seemed innocent and inexperienced, which baffled me. Was that her act? I supposed some guys got off on that. If the way my body was reacting to her was any indication, I was one of them. And with that thought, I got angry all over again and got as far from temptation as possible.

My stomach twisted as I stared down at her beautiful face. Every time I'd seen her, I'd still felt that zing of electricity even from afar. And like always, I was consumed with fury over the situation. I wasn't passing judgment on her job, though it probably seemed like it to her. Far be it from me to tell a woman what to do with her body (unless we were in bed together because I liked to have control in the bedroom). The reason I was so furious was that I still wanted her with a deep and gnawing hunger. And I had never been good at sharing.

Olivia was staring at me with a horrified expression, and as much as I hated to admit it, it hurt that she seemed perfectly fine with fucking every member of Midnight Run— except me. The urge to drag her into my room and lock us both in was almost overwhelming. My stomach twisted, and I clenched my fists and pushed back my anger and desire at the same time.

"Hey, Spencer," Nixon greeted cheerfully, seemingly oblivious to the tension clogging the air in the hallway. "You know, Olivia." His expression turned thoughtful. "Actually, I don't think I've ever seen you two together, now that I think about it."

I shook my head stiffly and forced a smile. "Olivia," I practically choked on her name. I'd never said it out loud and fuck; it sounded so sexy rolling off my tongue. My eyes swept down her curvy body, taking in the way her tits pressed against her demure white blouse as though they were begging to be freed. Her top was tucked in at her small waist and flared out over her hips to swish around her thighs. The best/worst part of her outfit was the strappy, pink stilettos on her feet. They were hot as fuck, and I did my damnedest not to picture them digging into my ass while I buried myself in her heat over and over. Complete failure.

"Um. . .hi." She raised her hand as though to wave but used the wrong hand and dropped her silver briefcase on the ground. It broke open, and the contents spilled out. She gasped and bent over to catch some of the items rolling away, shoving her sexy ass into the air and giving me a peek of white lace that did nothing to hide the creamy peach skin of her cheeks. My blood boiled, and I considered spanking her right then and there for giving anyone a glimpse of what was mine. Shit. I ground my teeth together as I reminded myself that she wasn't mine.

Most of the items had rolled beyond her reach, so she fell to her knees to gather everything. I sighed and knelt to help because my mom would be pissed as fuck if I didn't use the manners she'd taught me. Besides, the position made it easier to hide my body's reaction to her until I could get it under control.

I picked up the nearest item, a long, thick, pink stick that looked a lot like— I twisted my wrist to see the brand stamp. "Bunny Love - The Magic Touch." I was holding a fucking vibrator.

In the next moment, Olivia had snatched it out of my hand and was stuffing it back into the briefcase. Nixon had also bent to help, and he laughed when he spotted my expression. "Never seen a dick that thick and long, Jackson?" he teased. Then he snorted at his own joke.

I glared at him for a half-second before my eyes were drawn to the woman who starred in all of my fantasies. "Why do you need one of those?" The question popped out before I could stop it. I couldn't understand why an escort would need a fake cock. Unless her client also liked it up the— I shoved that train of thought away so hard it practically shattered against my skull. The last thing I needed was to picture her with another man.

"Are you kidding?" Nixon scoffed. "I'm betting those are her bestsellers with the female roadies." Olivia snapped her case shut, and before I could offer, Nixon was helping her to her feet. He slung an arm around her shoulders, and I gritted my teeth, suppressing the desire to rip that arm straight out of the socket. "Of course, the women in my bed don't need those because my cock is already more than they can handle." He snickered, and Olivia rolled her eyes as one corner of her mouth, ticked up in amusement. "Still, she's got the best toys. I don't have my reputation as a god in bed for no reason." This time, Olivia openly scoffed, and Nixon gave her a comical pout that would have made me laugh if I wasn't so damn confused and pissed off.

There seemed to be some kind of a private joke between them, and I hated being on the outside— knowing that Nixon had something with her that I didn't. It wasn’t rational— especially since I'd put so much effort into avoiding her— but I didn't care. I wanted to be the only recipient of her sexy, secretive smiles.

Nixon steered Olivia around and gestured for her to enter his room. Then he grinned at me with laughter in his eyes. "I'd suggest you make an appointment with her, but considering your monk-like-status, I doubt she'd have any luck selling you anything." The door shut in my face before I could ask what the hell he meant.

For a while, I didn't move. I wasn't sure whether to bang on the door and demand an explanation or walk away and let it go. Lack of confidence and direction had never been a problem for me, but Olivia had me spinning so fast that I didn't know up from down anymore.

I wasn't sure how long I stood there, my eyes drilling holes into the door, but eventually, my solitude was interrupted by someone marching up to it. I tore my gaze away to focus on the person when she said a brief hello. It was Pepper, one of our sound techs. Whenever Olivia was in town, I often saw her with Pepper. They were clearly friends, and a lightbulb went off above my head.

"Hey, Pepper," I said, pasting on my most charming smile. "Here to see Nixon?" I chuckled and shook my head in mock annoyance. "Me too. But he's with Olivia, and I don't want to interrupt."

She cocked her head and looked at me curiously as she stepped up to the door and tapped it with her knuckles. "Why? I'm sure neither of them would mind you joining them."

I almost choked on my saliva and ended up bending over in a fit of coughing.

"Are you okay?" Pepper asked, patting me on the back.

"I'm good," I gasped as I caught my breath and managed to straighten up. "Dust," I lied.

She frowned at me for a moment, then shrugged and pushed the door open. I realized Nixon had left the ajar and felt a moment of relief because it was highly unlikely that he was having sex if he hadn't locked it, right?

"I found Spencer lurking in the hall," she explained as she entered, jerking her thumb back to point at me over her shoulder. "I told him you wouldn't mind him joining the party; maybe he'll find something he likes."

I mashed my lips together and let out a low growl of frustration. I wanted to shout for someone to start making sense of whatever the fuck was going on. But then I saw a fully clothed (thank fuck) Olivia standing next to Nixon who was sprawled in a chair by the balcony. There was an array of sex toys spread out on the table in front of him—The Magic Touch. Suddenly, things clicked into place. My vibes— my eyes strayed to the display on the table, and I thought maybe I should find a new way to describe my feelings about people— had been right all along.

Which meant I'd been a complete and utter jackass.

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