Born Wrong (17 page)

I look up and scan the darkness, trying to adjust my eyes to see beyond the realm of the camera crew. I bet Sydney's back there somewhere, watching me, judging me. I swallow hard and pick up my sticks, holding them tight in my fingers. I blame my weird reactions on the stress, the drugs, on some fucked up mating ritual sort of shit. It's always easier to pretend the body's base desires are overriding your brain. Things make more sense that way.

“Don't fuck with me today, Naomi,” Hayden growls, lowering her voice so it's only audible to those of us onstage. “If you do, you'll be sorry. I can guarantee that.”

“Oh, I won't be,” Naomi reassures her, plucking a string on her guitar. “This is probably going to be one of the last times your daughter will be able to see you live, so I'm going to be nice.” Hayden actually laughs at that, reaching her hands into her dress and adjusting her cleavage for maximum exposure. I sigh and pray to the universe that they keep it civil today. I've had more than enough excitement for a lifetime.

“Is that so?” Hayden asks with a smirk, turning around and sweeping her gaze over Blair, Wren, Kash, me. We lock eyes and for a second there, I swear I see a hint of regret in her expression. But then it's gone and she's turning back around, focusing her eyes on Rain Colbert. Two minutes before a set is perfect. No time for drama. I focus my eyes past the camera and pretend I'm looking right at Sydney. If anything, I can get out some of this sexual frustration in my music. And then I'll go back to pining over Naomi because that's what I'm comfortable with. Some part of me, a part I refuse to acknowledge, knows that one of the reasons I'm so 'in love' with Naomi is because I can't have her. It's comforting to know I'll never have to try it out, never have to face rejection or pain. Because let's be honest: Turner and Naomi are one of those toxic couples that lasts forever, that fights the day of their fiftieth anniversary but goes to bed happy every night. I close my eyes to clear my head and then look up.

“Ready guys?” Rain asks and then holds up a hand. Four fingers. Three. Two.

I hit my cymbals running, trying to find some of that raw anger we put into our first album,
Ribbons.
I can see the artwork in my head, a dark background with a girl's naked body, melting from her hips down into ribbons of red. The image fits this song to a T. It's about breaking down and finding yourself in sex. I think Naomi started writing it
before
she'd ever had any. Only virgins are this dirty.

“
Ahh, I see your head in my bed, baby. I think I need another look because what I see doesn't do it for me. I need more than just a pretty face. And if we keep going at this pace, my body's sure to break.
”

I grab a couple rim shots on my snare drum, wondering how anyone could think of a musician as anything other than an artist. My arms are moving over a canvas, and my sticks are the brushes. The stroke is as important as the color. The angle of the stick, the pressure I use. When the sweat starts rolling down my face, I taste it and savor the salty tang of real music.

“
Ohh, guess this means we're ready, baby. Take me in your arms and kiss me hard. I want to know how things work down below, if you're ready to show me your dark side. I'm ready to slip into this and go on a wild ride.
”

Naomi hops up and down, mimicking the bouncing rhythm of the song with her feet, turning the page on this story with her fucking hands. I watch her own the music from start to finish, and I wonder how she got that way. When we started out, she had a hard time taking control. Sometime in the last few weeks, it just sort of happened. I try to absorb some of her self-confidence, and I find myself feeling affectionate again. See? I knew my feelings weren't completely gone. I shake my head to the beat and pretend I'm not imagining Sydney's arms around my waist. The faux fire of her touch makes me hit harder, louder, moving the song along at a steady gallop.

“
We're in this forever, getting dirty together. You touch me here and I touch you there, and when you're inside of me, I believe you care. If it's a lie, you'll be bound to me forever. I make you come away, and even if you don't stay, we'll always have a part of us that stays this way.
”

I smile and get ready for the chorus, all the while completely unaware there's someone imagining me right back.

Oh man.

I know screwing Dax would be a big mistake. A big, dirty, sweaty, sexy mistake. A mistake that would make my toes curl and my limbs quiver. I lean against the back of Turner's chair and wrap my arms around his neck. Unlike most women, touching him has the opposite effect on my snatch game. I don't deal cards for family. If you're missing the analogy, basically he keeps my libido in check.

“Stop fucking breathing in my ear, Sydney. You're like, fucking panting and shit.” Turner bristles while I touch him, his gaze just as focused on the stage as mine is. In my head, I can imagine a fling with Dax. A single night or two of dark, breathy pleasure. In my heart, I know I can't let that happen. He's … different. His gaze is heavy and his face shows every emotion he's feeling at every moment he's feeling it. I stomp out my feet. It's the sensation thing again. I can practically feel him watching me, even though I know that's not possible. The spotlights are focused on the stage, washing it in white blindness that I know Amatory Riot can't see through. But if I close my eyes and let the words wash over me, the building doesn't feel so stifling anymore and the sweat that's plaguing me, sticking my hair to my forehead and my shirt to my back, it turns into a cool wash of sensation, like I've just jumped into the river. I've never met a guy who makes me feel cold at the same time he makes me hot. It's weird. But I like it. Too much.

“This sucks, Turner,” I say, wishing Trey was here. I actually do miss him. Even though we go for so long without seeing each other, I think of him, and I know he thinks of me. We went through so much together as kids, it's not even possible for time to erase that bond. Turner lifts his hands up and untangles me from his neck, flicking his fingers out like they're filthy.

“What sucks, Sydney?” he asks with a sigh, turning to look over his shoulder at me as I stand straight and swallow hard. “That you have a mega fucking lady boner for Dax? Why?” I sigh right back at him and tilt my head to the side, blonde hair scraping across my skin like knives. All touch is painful right now, even the waistband of my jeans hurts. I just want it all
off.
This fucking song isn't helping either.

“
Flip me around and make it worth my time. Convince me why you should stay behind.
” I listen to the throbbing vibrations of Dax's drums as he breathes out hard, blowing droplets of sweat into the air. I bite my lip,
hard.
“
And don't you fuck with me. I'm not here to play. I just want you inside of me. When we're done, I'll breathe easy.
” That Hayden chick bounces a bit, moving across the stage and drawing the cameras with her. I'll admit, from back here she looks good, like an idol, somebody you see splashed across the cover of every magazine. But based on what I saw this morning, chick is half-toasted and ready to burn. I watch her inhale against the mic, just so. “
Uh, uh, uh.
” A moaning chorus that gives me chills when I imagine Naomi singing it. After all, everybody knows she writes the songs. And I mean everybody, even the fans know that. Not that they give a shit. “
Flip me around and make it worth my time. Convince me why you should stay behind. Make it eaaaaasy. I come eaaaaasy. I break eaaaaasy. You slide eaaaaasy.
” I try to keep watching Hayden. After all, she's the one orgasming into the microphone, but I can't keep myself away from Dax. I don't know what my problem is. Do I
want
to get tangled in the hard, delicious muscular arms of a man six years my junior? Um yes. Actually, yes. The problem is, I get the feeling he won't be easy to
un
tangle myself from.

“Hello?” Turner snaps his fingers in my face, and I blink like I'm coming out of a coma. “Seriously, what's the fucking problem here? If you like him, then fuck him.”

“Yeah, it's that easy for you, isn't it?” I ask Turner, running my fingers affectionately through his blue-black hair. He bats me away again, but I can't help myself. I know I'm not
that
much older than him and Trey, but they're so immature that it's not hard to imagine that I am. “Just fuck whoever, whenever. And that's fine if you both know you're just swapping fluids. But I don't know that Dax knows that.” I tap my fingernail against my lips. This one's coral. The one next to it, yellow. The other side, lime green. It's just how I roll. “He's young, and he's lonely, and we definitely have a chemical reaction sort of a thing going on. I don't want to deal with drama, you know?” Turner rolls his eyes at me.

“When you know, you know,” he says, like he's the God of Love. Fucking hypocritical little bastard. I poke him in the back of the neck and he growls at me.

“Says who?” Turner flips around again and glares daggers at me. I'm interrupting his view of Naomi and it's pissing him off. How precious is that? “What happened to the whole getting to know someone, dating them, living together, etc., etc., and so on and so forth thing?”

“I never said you had to marry the guy, but if you take one look at him and turn into a horny tramp, why not see where it goes? Part of falling in love with someone is finding out you have sexual chemistry. Good sex is a big deal in a relationship. I know everybody pretends it's fucking not, but then why the hell don't we marry our bros? I love Ronnie, but I don't want to screw his ass.” Turner shivers. “And not just because he's disease ridden.”

“I heard that,” Ronnie calls out from somewhere to my left, but I don't look at him. I'm actually listening to Turner's advice. I know it sounds stupid as hell, but sometimes, if you dig through his words, there are little nuggets of pure idiot wisdom, the sweetest kind there is.

“So if you think he's hot, fuck him and see how it goes. Talk to him. Hang out. I don't give a shit. Just stop panting in my fucking ear and leave me alone. I told you, Trey and I decided together that he's cool.”

“Trey's on a morphine dip. You can't trust anything he has to say.” I smile at Turner, but I let my eyes flicker back up to Dax. His arms cross over and back, beating the last trembling pulses of the song into existence, teasing my ears with hard sound and desperation.

“Yeah, well. Dax hits harder than I thought. A good punch to the face is like a handshake among men. I can tell a lot about a man the way he hits. Your brother always manages to knock the shit out of me.” Turner sighs and stands up, stretching his arms above his head and flashing his bat tattoos. All the women backstage turn to look at him. “But it's your life. If you want to ignore a spark, douse it out. I prefer to let mine flame.”

Turner sneaks forward, behind America's back, and at the last second, moves on camera, grabs Naomi and kisses the shit out of her just as the song comes to a natural end. Dax taps out a few more notes and even though I know nothing about music, couldn't read a damn line of it, I can tell he's good. Because good music gets in your soul and eats you alive.

By the time they start the interview, I'm just crumbs, baby.

“Why'd they have to ask me if I was gay again?” Dax asks his friend, the girl with the black and blonde hair. I twirl a strand of mine around a finger and lean against the wall, debating if I should walk into the room or knock first. They
did
leave the door open, but only because I stuck my foot in it. The bodyguard in the hallway gives me a funny smile. Apparently, he finds me amusing.

“You answered the question well,” she says, and I hear the creaking of bed springs. “And the thing about Sydney, you did great on that, too.” I grin and conjure up an image of Dax's face, all scrunched up and frowning. The skin around his nose crinkles when he's irritated. I find it …
cute.
Yes, that horrible C-word. I mull Turner's advice around in my head. It's ludicrous that I'm even considering it, but then again, it doesn't take a hurricane to topple a house of cards. I don't need much coercion to act on my desires. How hard is it to give into your wants? The answer is, not that fucking hard at all.