AJ extended his hand. “Come on, Sookie, let’s get you up off that dirty floor.”
She gave him a puzzled look. “But my name’s not Sookie. It’s Abigail—well, Abby.”
Once AJ pulled her up, she fell against his chest, trying to steady herself. I rolled my eyes when he seemed to get a little too much enjoyment out of her pressed against him as her hands fisted his shirt for balance.
Brayden must’ve realized it too because he took Abby by the arm. “Come on over here and have a seat.” He motioned toward one of the captain’s chairs.
“Did you have fun feelin’ her up, dickhead?” I hissed to AJ.
He grinned. “It was a little piece of Heaven right here.” He closed his eyes and swept his hand to his heart. “Diablo linda, esas tetas se sienten increible. Me gustaria metertelo hasta que estes gritando.”
Abby froze in front of us. She jerked away from Brayden and whirled around. “¡Ni te lo pienses sucio!”
AJ’s eyes popped open, and his brows shot up in shock. “How the hell do you know Spanish?”
“My parents were missionaries. I spent most of my early years abroad—Mexico, Central America, and Brazil. My Portuguese isn’t as good as my Spanish though.” She cocked her head at AJ. “¡Pendejo!”
“Ha! I am an ass**le for saying that!” He roared with laughed. “My apologies, Sookie—I mean, Abby.” He then thrust out one of his hands. “I’m Alejandro Joaquin Resendiz, otherwise known as AJ—drummer extraordinaire of Runaway Train and your potential Latin lova.”
Abby grinned as she reached out to shake his hand. “Abby Renard.”
AJ’s dark eyes widened. “No shit—Renard, like Renard Parish in True Blood? See you could totally be Sookie!”
“Quite a charmer, aren’t you AJ?” Abby questioned with a giggle.
“Anything for you, mi amor. I mean, do you know what a f**king turn-on it is to hear fluent Spanish coming off a pair of lips like yours?” His eyes rolled back in his head with delight.
“No, but I’m sure you’re going to elaborate for me, right?”
I couldn’t help snickering. The more Abby/Hell’s Angel spoke the more I started to dig her. She wasn’t star-struck by us, and she gave as good as she got—my sore balls were testimony of that.
Rhys stepped forward and offered Abby his hand. “I’m Rhys McGowan—bassist and if you’re looking for a real man, a much better choice than that douchebag.” He jerked his thumb at AJ.
AJ brought Abby’s hand to his lips. “Just remember. Latin men are the best.”
“I’ll try to remember that,” she murmured. As she took her hand from AJ, she brought it to her head. “Ugh, why am I still so dizzy?”
AJ dove into the fridge for a bottle of water and gave it to Abby while Brayden knelt down beside her. “Maybe put your head between your knees?” he suggested, in a calm, soothing voice. At the same time, Rhys snatched up a paper towel and ran it under the tap before handing it to Abby. I glanced around at my bandmates with a mixture of disbelief. They were falling all over themselves to impress Abby with their thoughtfulness. That never, ever happened with a woman on the bus. The chicks were there to wow and impress us with their sexual talents. As soon as they were done, they were sent unceremoniously off the bus.
Well, I guess, Brayden’s motives were different. He was the father figure and caretaker of the band as well as being the father to four-year-old, Jude, and eight-month-old, Melody. And regardless of the tits and ass thrown in his face twenty-four seven, he remained true to his wife. Although I gave him shit about it, I really did admire him for being loyal.
Abby gave a ragged sigh. “I’m okay. Really, you don’t have to fuss over me.” She smoothed her hair back and wiped a few dust bunnies off her dress. “I’m hypoglycemic so sometimes I pass out when I don’t eat…that coupled with the adrenaline rush of being in a stranger’s bed and seeing you all instead of my brothers made me faint.”
After taking a hesitant sip of water, Abby patted her cheeks down with the paper towel. When she glanced up, she found all of us staring at her. “So, um, I guess you’re wondering how I ended up here, huh?”
Brayden motioned to the authorized pass nestled in her ample cle**age. “I’m going to take a wild guess and say you got on the wrong bus.”
Abby nodded. She then launched into a story about why she was even at Rock Nation. When she explained about the roadie and Jacob’s ladder, I sucked in a breath. “He thought you were looking for me.”
“Huh?” she asked.
“I’m Jake Slater. He probably wasn’t paying much attention, right?”
She nodded.
“I mean, Jake Slater and Jacob’s Ladder running together kinda sound similar—if the asshat even heard anything past J. He just assumed you were coming to see me.”
Abby’s eyebrows shot up. “And you often have random chicks coming to your bus with luggage and a guitar case?” she countered.
The grin I gave her caused pink splotches on Abby’s cheeks. “Never mind,” she muttered, looking away from me.
The sound of her phone vibrating on the table interrupted us. She grabbed it and frantically brought it to her ear. “Gabe, oh my God, it’s so good to hear from you!”
The voice on the other line spoke frantically. She shook her head. “No, no, I didn’t get cold feet about the tour. It’s just…I, um, I got on the wrong bus.”