Hard Rock Roots Box Set (99 page)

“I can't believe you kissed him,” Turner groans, changing the subject abruptly. I roll my eyes and stuff the picture into my pocket. Not even talking about Hayden and her bizarre secret can snap him out of it.

“He kissed me,” I repeat. “He kissed me. Get that through your thick skull. There's a difference.”

“There are a thousand girls that, if I let them, would kiss me. I wouldn't have to do a damn thing. It's still cheating.”

“So I'm a cheater then?” I ask, feeling snippy. And here I was, considering telling him that I was going to give this whole thing a try. Am I still feeling emotional about it all? You bet ya. But I can't run away forever; it's time to woman up and deal with this. Dax might be offering something different, but I have to put my faith in Turner. If I don't, I'll never be able to have a normal relationship. I'll always be wondering what might've happened if I'd given my devil rocker boy a try. So here it goes. Maybe, if Turner really does fuck me over, Dax and I can try dating. I do like him, I do. A lot. But not like this … not this push and pull thing I have with Turner. At the very least, the sex is explosive, it's helping to close the door on my past, and it's entertaining.

Turner rolls onto his side and props his head up with his hand.

“No. Because I don't think I was clear about this. Lemme fess up now, and let's cement the deal. We're going to need answers for the interview anyway.”

“The interview?” I ask, thinking about sitting in a chair with a camera in my face. Of course. The interviewers are going to ask about me and Turner. Probably be the first fucking question out of their mouths.
I'm not going to like this, am I?

“I consider you my woman, my girlfriend. If you'd let me, I'd be your fiancé.” I huff and roll away from him, gasping as he slides up close behind me and presses his erection against my jeans. “That was a real marriage proposal,” he whispers in my ear, nibbling at the sensitive flesh and tugging on my earrings. “Soon as I get the chance, I'm going ring shopping.”

“That's ridiculous. I don't want to marry you.” The words are true; I am
not
ready for that step yet. But they are hard to say with his hands sliding all over my body, moving up my shirt, caressing my breasts with a firm grip. “I never said yes to that.”

“Not yet. But you will. For now, I'll be a happy man if you'll just call me your boyfriend, that's it. Boyfriend. Not so bad, is it?” I wrinkle my nose, but the expression doesn't last long. My weakness for male body parts is starting to take over.
Damn you, penis. Damn you.
Swear to God, first day that cure comes out, I'm all over it. Then maybe Blair and I can get hitched, and I can avoid some of this drama. I don't care what guys say – it's not women who are complicated. It's them. Most of the time anyway.
But who's being complicated right now?
“Just tell me you're mine, I'm yours, and you won't kiss, fuck or otherwise let any other man batter dip his corn dog with you?”

“God,” I groan, rolling back towards him, feeling my body brush against Turner's hard muscles. My hands unwillingly reach up to grope his pecs, moving down almost immediately to dig their greedy way under his shirt. “You're so fucking disgusting. Where do you come up with this crap?”

“And no chick fucking either, unless we both agree to it, of course.” Turner pauses and scowls. “Though I can't imagine sharing you with anyone. Makes me fucking sick to my stomach.” I find his nipples, painfully erect and run my palms over them, enjoying the hissing sound he makes in the back of his throat. My eyes stay locked on his face, on a red star tattoo that peeks out of his hair, right near his left eye. I imagine what he looked like with his thick dark hair shaved back from his face. I was never around him personally during that phase in his career, but I had pictures. Dozens of them, cut from magazines, plastered across my notebooks. This man is the reason I started the guitar, the reason I sing. But I hate him. And I don't. I love him, too. I wish everything was as simplified in my head as it is in his. Turner knows what he wants, and he's not afraid to take on a tenacious approach to get it. He doesn't apologize for the things he does, and he always says the wrong thing.

But he's handsome. And he's honest. His music strums the strings of my soul, and his dedication is unmatched. His mouth is filthy, but his kisses can be sweet. He's hung like a fucking horse, and he rocks my world in the bedroom. So what am I sitting here complaining about? I have to tell Dax the next time I see him.
I'm sorry, but I can't. I can't because I need to give this a chance. The more I think about it, the less sense it makes, so I'm going to jump in feet first and let myself sink. After all, you never know when it could all end. I have to take advantage of this, right here, right now.

I lean up to kiss Turner's moist lips, but he pulls back and smirks down at me, touching the bare skin on my hip with gentle fingers.

“Are you in?” I roll my eyes and try to kiss him again, but he won't let me. I pinch his nipples, and all he does is wink and growl at me. “Say it.”

“Fuck you.”

“We'll get there, Naomi. Be patient. But first, you have to say it.” I keep glaring, but I can feel my body melting, my shields and my walls crashing down in flames. “Say you're mine, tell me that you're my girlfriend.”

“You're my boyfriend,” I say, and the words nearly kill me. “That's all you get for now. Best I can fucking do.” Turner grins, nice and wide, and then he leans down and licks the side of my face with his tongue ring. My whole body shivers, and my cunt takes over my brain, demanding sacrifice.
Ah, man. I am in some serious freaking trouble here. Serious trouble. God. Fucking. Fuck.

“For now works for me. Let's see what you say when I'm done with you tonight. If you can still resist selling your soul to me, then I'm out of practice.”

“Go to hell, Turner,” I say when what I really mean is
I love you.

Chapter 10
Turner Campbell

What a fucking perfect night, I think as I sit smirking in a beautician's chair. I made Naomi come like, three fucking times. Granted, she never did say those words
I'm yours
, but I can wait. It'll happen eventually. I'm not worried about it.

“Naomi's my girlfriend,” I say aloud, just to test the words, see how they feel fucking across my lips. Ronnie flips a page in an old copy of
Rollin' Strong
magazine and ignores me.

“Yeah, we heard. Sixteen times since we came in here,” Josh bitches. Little blonde fucker can't help himself. It's early morning, too early even for me. And we all know Josh is a little fuckwad in the mornings. If Naomi hadn't hugged me between her dirty thighs all night long, I might be pissy, too. Milo let himself into our room when it was still dark outside, eyes shimmering. He should thank his lucky stars he had coffee in hand or I might've fired his ass.

Get up, get dressed. We have a busy day ahead of us, a busy, busy day.

Milo was all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed when he barged in on Naomi and me, but now, he's starting to drag. Not much of a morning person either. I usually try to avoid picking on my manager before nine o'clock. There has been an occasion or two where the sheep's shed his skin and flashed me some wolf. Right now, he's sitting slumped in a chair behind me, getting his wispy blonde locks played with by some beauty school undergrad. She's cute, but I notice that there's no reaction from downstairs. I am a straight up junkie for Naomi Knox now. All I want is more, more, more. All of these other bitches can wait in line for a ride that's never comin' back around. I groan and cup my balls, eliciting a giggle from the woman doing my hair.

“She's
so
good in bed. Like, my fucking mind is blown.”

Josh throws his stupid fantasy novel at the mirror in front of me and spins to face me, knocking the brush out of his stylist's hand as he snarls like a rabid dog. His blonde hair is all frizzy around his face, like he hasn't combed it in days. It looks like that every morning.

“And you've said that at least a dozen times. Shut up and let everyone process for God's sake! And stop fondling your junk. Nobody wants to see that.”

“Speak for yourself, honey,” says Ronnie's hairdresser. He's this big ass dude with a long blonde wig and a skirt. I smile and flip Josh off, putting my finger in my mouth and giving it a nice, firm suck.

“You're just jealous, pretty boy,” I whisper, wishing I wasn't thinking about that night I caught him and Naomi dry humping on our bus. “That I snagged what you could only dream of.”

“Snagged. That's a nice word, real classy. Thanks a lot, Turner.” I look up to find Naomi standing in the doorway to our dressing room, pink curlers in her hair, a black smock wrapped around her shoulders. She doesn't look happy about any of it.

“Come on, sexy. It's just a word. It doesn't mean anything.” She keeps staring at me. I smile and toss her a wink which she doesn't return. I lean back in my chair and try to enjoy the primping. This is one of maybe three times in our entire career we've had people doing our hair and makeup, pulling out outfits, styling us. That's part of rock 'n' roll, you know? Setting trends, dictating to the world what they should wear, not the other way around. But I let this slide. This interview was scheduled in a hurry and I know we're all a little off our games lately. This morning, Jesse came out of the hotel wearing red flannel pants with snowmen on them. Not exactly the image we want to present to the world. Good thing the press hasn't found our new hotel yet. Oh, but they will, I'm sure. Even Brayden Ryker, super guard with the cinnamon stick in his pants, can't keep them away forever. Especially not after Friday night. I try not to squeal with anticipation. One, because that's kind of fucking gay, and two, because not everybody knows about
that
yet. The secret I don't mind keeping, at least until the interview. But first, first I get to do a fucking photo shoot.
How you like that, Mom? You stupid fucking cunt. I sure came a long way since emerging from that diseased hell hole you call your womb. Look at me now, bitch.

“Hayden disappeared again. Even America doesn't know where she is. Have you seen her?”

“No,” Ronnie says, looking up from his magazine to meet Naomi's eyes. His dark hair is pulled back with a pink clip on one side while the stylist cleans up the split ends with a pair of zebra patterned scissors. “When did you last see her?” Naomi sighs and leans against the wall, fingering the plastic smock with distaste.

“About a half hour ago. I don't like that I keep losing track of her like this.”

“Why don't you ask that Brayden guy?” I suggest as Jesse slinks out of the bathroom behind Ronnie and settles back in his chair with a sigh. They want to cut all his hair off; I think he's going to let them, but it's definitely going to be an adjustment. He's had shoulder length hair since we graduated high school. “He's supposed to be some mystical, magical white knight with a flaming sword?”

“I'd prefer to use the power of earth in my weapon if you don't mind.” We all jump, even Milo, when the man appears behind Naomi like a cloud floating over the sun, and nobody notices until the light disappears. “Maybe a pair of nunchakus made of vines?” he asks with a ridiculously broad smile. I wrinkle my lip at his accent, well aware that the attention of the women in the room has shifted. “Hayden Lee is currently outside, talking on her cell phone.” This, too, he says with a smile, casting a glance over at Milo, and then around at the gawping, twittering beauticians.
The man isn't
that
attractive, is he?
“Her safety is of my utmost concern, so there's no need for any of you to worry after her.” This next sentence is punctuated by a wink, and a roomful of giggling. I try my best not to snarl. “You worry about your interview; I'll take care of everything else.”

“Uh, thanks,” Naomi says as the man nods his chin at us and swirls away like leaves on the wind. You'd think I'd feel reassured having someone like that on my side, but I'm not. The guy kind of freaks me out. Naomi looks at me, her orange-brown eyes rimmed in dark shadow flecked with silver sparkles. All of that darkness around the pop of color in her irises makes them seem huge, like two sunsets floating in a night sky. I smirk again.
There I go getting all poetic; good for me.
I do my best not to think about Trey. He's still alive, that's all that matters right now. One day at a time. “I guess that solves that problem.” She pauses, and I hear her muttering under her breath. “I
guess.
”

“Naomi,” America says, appearing next to my girlfriend. My girlfriend, baby. Mine, mine, fucking
mine.
I want to snarl and take a piss near her feet, just so everybody knows, but I doubt she'd let that fly. “What are you doing out here? Get your butt back in that chair. We're on a time schedule. The whole word doesn't run on your personal clock.” Naomi's manager turns to smile sharply at us, before spinning on her heel and dragging a groaning Naomi after her.

“Love you, babe,” I call out, but she just flips me off. “I thought chicks were supposed to like getting their hair and makeup done?” I ask when I'm sure she's out of earshot. Every time we cross a new bridge, I get all giddy like a Catholic school girl at a frat party. But Naomi … she gets pissed off. I don't get it all. I wonder if Travis had these kinds of problems with America? Other than Naomi, she's probably the most guarded person I've ever met. Travis, though, he had a way of soothing ruffled feathers and keeping the peace. He was also a super diva. Got his hair done once a fucking week, and it was like an inch long. I chuckle.

“I thought dudes weren't supposed to talk so much?” Josh snarls wickedly, curling in on himself when his hairdresser switches out for a woman with a suitcase full of cosmetics. “Can you be quiet for five minutes?”

“Not a chance, squirt,” I say, getting out a cigarette and lighting up. Josh continues to glare at me, but I let it go. When we told him about Travis, he was apologetic and good mannered. Nice to see him actually be cool about something. For awhile there, I thought he was going to be like all the other bassists we tried after Travis. Here for a few months and then gone. I don't blame them, not really. It isn't easy to try and integrate yourself into a group like ours. We have history and friendship on our side, that and a slew of bad habits we're so used to we don't even see them anymore. Josh has been with us for, what, two years now? And he's still holding strong. I have a feeling he might be around for awhile longer. “I am in too good of a mood to stop talkin' now.”