My Heart's Beat (Hard Love & Dark Rock #2) (2 page)

"Becca, I swear you're actually a horny guy in a girl's body.  Or maybe an alien, or something."

"Hey, I resent that!  I'm a feminist is what I am.  I believe girls have the right to be just as into boning as guys.  And speaking of boning, lets get out of this lonely little hotel bathroom, and see if we can find Joey and Trace."

Chapter 3

Anne

I took one last quick glance in the mirror, making sure my dress was on straight and I looked halfway decent, and Becca reached out for the doorknob.  When she opened it, she nearly flinched.

Ronnie was standing on the other side.  And he wasn't alone.  The little blonde girl was with him.

"Hey, Becca.  Hi Anne," he said. "You guys finished in there?  Blondie needs to use it."

"I gotta tinkle," Blondie said.  Her eyes looked glassy and red, staring off into space.  Now that I was close to her, I could smell the pungent scent of weed.

"Sure, sure," Becca said.  "We're finished.  It's all yours."

She pushed the door open and we slipped out into the hall.  Blondie shuffled in and went straight to the toilet, not bothering—or not remembering—to close the door.  I pulled it shut for her.

"We're gonna blow this lame scene," Ronnie said.  "Blondie's hungry, so we're heading over to Bangkok King for some Thai food."

He was standing smack dab in the middle of the hallway, like a road block.

"Um, sounds good, Ronnie," Becca said.  "You guys have fun."

She started to step around him, and I followed.  But before we got too far, I heard Ronnie speak again.

"Hey Becca."

She turned around to face him.  He leaned in a little, giving her a look.

"You got an extra condom I could borrow?" he said.

Becca reached into the side of her bra and pulled out a foil packet.  I recognized it as the condom she'd found on the floor of the club, right after Sara Sounding rushed off the stage in tears.

"Sure, Ronnie," she said, holding the condom out to him.  "Here you go."

"Thanks, hun."  He plucked the condom out of her hand.  "You're the best."

Ronnie turned and leaned up against the wall opposite the bathroom door, waiting for Blondie.  I followed Becca, who'd taken a few steps down the hall.  When she got to the living room she stopped, her hands covering her mouth, her shoulders shaking.  A little twinge of alarm shot through me, and I hurried to catch up to her.

"Are you alright, Becca," I said, putting my hand on her back.

And then I realized she was laughing.

"Ah, hahahaha!  Did you see that?"  She turned back to me, her eyes squeezed tight, her teeth flashing in the dim light.  "I think the silly boy was trying to make me jealous!  God!  He really doesn't know me at all, does he?  And to think that just twenty minutes ago he called me his girlfriend."

She shook her head, looking back at the living room area of the hotel suite.

"Now where were we?  Trying to find our rock stars, if I'm not mistaken."

-

Someone had turned the music back up, and I recognized the frenetic chaos of a Skrillex song.  There'd been around a dozen people in the hotel when Trace and I had gone into the bedroom, but it looked like at least another dozen had showed up since then.

Becca spotted Joey first.  He was over in the suite's kitchen with Sergio Rodriguez and another guy I didn't know, the three of them lining shot glasses up on the counter, cutting a lime into wedges, pouring salt into a little glass dish.

"Tequila shooters!" Becca said.  "Awesome!"

And then she trotted off, leaving me on my own.

I scanned the crowd, suddenly feeling intimidated all over again.  I was by myself in the middle of a group of people I didn't know, all of them looking older and cooler and more comfortable with the setting than I felt.  Becca had left me, and I still hadn't found Trace.

When I finally spotted him, a little rush of excitement hit me.  And desire, too, heady and thick.  There was nothing I wanted more than to grab him and run back to the bedroom we'd been in just a short while ago.

But then I looked at the people he was standing with, and just like that, my soaring heart went plunging.  I felt like it was dropping into my stomach.

Trace was standing next to a cocktail table up against the wall, talking with Bernstein and a sharp-looking lady with bright red lipstick and a pair of glasses that narrowed to points on the outer sides.  She looked like a sexy librarian, and Trace looked very engaged in his conversation with her.  Very engaged and focused, his dark eyes taking her in, unblinking.

I pulled in a quick breath, let it out through my mouth.  Just a few minutes ago, Becca had given me a lecture about how I needed to be brave when I was going after the things I wanted in life.  I wanted Trace—the memory of the way he'd made me feel in the bedroom, and the sight of him then and there, made me want him more than ever.

I took another breath, and started walking over toward the table.

Trace's eyes found mine before I'd taken two steps, his mouth opening in a gorgeous smile that made me a little rush of excitement flash in my chest.  Just a little while ago, he'd been using that beautiful mouth on me.

On my pussy
, I thought, telling myself that Becca would approve.

Trace took a step away from the table, holding out his hand for me.  "Anne," he said, "I've been looking for you.  Come on over here."

His words made me feel another tingling thrill.

"You've already met Bernstein."

"Hi," I said.

"Hello,
kitzeleh
."  He gave me a gentle smile.

"And this here is Janice," Trace continued, gesturing toward the sexy-librarian lady.  "She's the chief editor for the Arts and Entertainment section of the San Francisco Chronicle."

"Hi, Janice," I said, holding out my hand to shake.

She kept her hands on the table in front of her, her eyes trained on mine.  Somehow her expression managed to look both amused and coldly calculating at once.

For a moment I just stood there, with my hand hanging in the air awkwardly.  And then the librarian bitch spoke.

"How old are you, Anne?" she said.

I lowered my hand, clenched both my hands together in front of me.

"Um…" I sputtered, "Nineteen."

"Nineteen," Janice said.  "Trace, you surprise me.  I didn't know you liked them so young.  The last girl I saw you with was a lot older than that."

I looked back at him, feeling my heartbeat start to race in my chest.  But his eyes were fixed on Janice, his expression unreadable.

"Actually," he said, a moment later, "Janice was just leaving.  Right Bernstein?"

The round-bellied manager stretched his arm out, showing the way toward the door.  "Let's leave these young folks to their party, Janice dear," he said, a look of regret in his eyes.  "You and me, we're too old for this scene."

Her expression didn't change, but I thought I caught a flicker of rage in her eyes.  She brushed past me, her legs scissoring back and forth with each long stride.  The sound of her heels hitting the floor tiles was so sharp I could hear it over the blaring music.

Bernstein followed after her, keeping up but doing it in a way that didn't look hurried.

I felt a pair of arms wrapping around me from behind, pulling me back into a warm embrace.  It was Trace holding me, and the feel of his arms around me, of his firm chest at my back, sent warm pleasure flowing through me.  His lips touched my neck, sparking electric tingles all the way down my spine.

"Don't worry about Janice," he said, his voice low, so close I could feel the warmth of his breath against my earlobe.  "She's kind of a bitch."

"Yeah.  I was sort of getting that impression."

"I normally don't talk to the press, not since our first couple of years.  But Bernstein asked me to talk with Janice specifically because the Chronicle's gonna run a front page write-up of tonight's show.  He's excited, trying to pave the way for our return to action.  And after all the ups and downs he's gone through with us, I feel like I owe it to him to play along."

"It
was
an incredible show.  You guys were amazing."

"Best show we've played in years.  And I think I know why."

He kissed my neck again, sending another shower of sparks cascading down through my body, lighting me up inside.  I leaned back into his arms, feeling his body against mine, his firm chest… and other things, growing firm too.

I felt another pulse of desire between my legs.  I turned around to face him, looking up into his dark, soulful eyes.  God, there was something about the way he looked at me that made me melt inside.

He lifted a hand, combing his fingers through my hair.

"There's just something about you, Anne," he whispered.  "You make me feel like I'm coming back to life."

And then he leaned down and pressed his lips against my own.

It started out tender, that kiss—his lips soft and gentle, his fingertips caressing my cheek.  But the feel of his lips against mine made my desire flare, and in moments the hunger for more was blazing inside of me.

I leaned into him, feeling my breasts press against his broad chest.  I wrapped my arms around his back, hugging his body against me.  He kissed me harder, his mouth opening a little, his tongue slipping forward, and I parted my lips and let him in, feeling his tongue touching against mine in an incredible, delicious way.

He made a sound in his throat, low and ragged, almost like a growl.  His hands dropped to my ass, grabbing hold of me, pulling me hard against the bulge at the front of his jeans.  My dress was so short that I could feel the rough denim against my upper thighs.  I opened my knees, straddling his leg, wanting more.

"Take me back to the room," I whispered.  My heart thundered in my chest, making me feel almost breathless from my desire.

He smiled at me, his full lips slipping back to show his teeth, his eyes flashing with hunger.

"Good idea," he said.

We turned and started walking across the room, my arm around his waist, his arm over my shoulder.  I was so filled with desire I nearly felt drunk from it, and the room seemed to lurch around me, the faces of all the people blurring past.

But then Trace paused.

I looked up at him, confused.  He was looking over to our right.

We'd stopped near the kitchenette.  I followed his gaze and saw Joey standing there, a shot glass dangling from his fingers, his eyes staring off into space.

My eyes flashed to the other people in the kitchen area, Becca and Sergio and the other guy I didn't know, all of them laughing like someone had just told a joke.

None of them had noticed that anything was out of the ordinary, yet.

"Joey," Trace said.  "Joey, you alright?"

He didn't get any response.

Joey's eyes started to drift.  The shot glass slipped from his fingers, clattered to the floor.  All the color flooded out of his face, leaving his cheeks and his forehead as pale as a sheet of paper.

And then, like a marionette with its strings cut, Joey's body went slack and dropped to the floor.  A moment later he started to shake.

"Christ," Trace said to me as he reached for his friend.  "Can't catch a break, can we?"

Chapter 4

Trace

This wasn't the first time I'd seen Joey have a fit.  In the first two years after we got signed to a major label, he'd had three.  And following that particularly wild period in our lives, he'd had another seizure here and there—maybe three more that I'd been present for, all together.

That didn't mean it wasn't scary to see. And if you'd never seen it before, it might even have been terrifying.

His body dropped to the tile floor of the kitchenette.  He rolled onto his back, his neck twisting sideways, his eyes going all white.  His arms pulled up in front of his chest, his hands twisting to claws.  Every muscle was drawn so tight that his whole body trembled.

I dropped to me knees and caught hold of him, pulling him onto his side.  Sergio kneeled across from me—he'd pulled his shirt off and wadded it up, and he put it under Joey's head like a pillow.

Up above me, I heard Becca screaming.  Apparently she had a real facility for it.

"Joey!" I said.  "Hey, Joey!"

His face looked dark and swollen, almost purple, with the veins standing out in his neck.  He was making grunting noises deep in his throat, and thick drool slopped out the side of his mouth.  One of his feet jerked out, banging into a cabinet door.  Sergio and I turned him so that it wouldn't happen again.

I looked up at the people standing around us.  Becca's eyes looked huge and horrified, her hands clutched over her mouth.  Anne stood beside her, holding her—she looked frightened too, but not as panicked as Becca.  Sergio's cousin Angel had his jaw clenched, his hands held out in front of him as if he wanted to help, but didn't know how.

"Angel," I said.  "Go get Bernstein.  He's in room 1245, just up the hall."

He was gone in a flash.

I looked back at Joey.  He was starting to come out of it.  His eyes had rolled back down so they didn't look all white, but they still looked glazed and glassy, the pupils totally dilated.  An unpleasant noise from his jaw meant he was grinding his teeth.

I looked up at Anne and Becca.

"I think he's coming out of it," I said.  "Sometimes he flails a bit when he does, so don't get too close."

She nodded, pulling Becca tight against her side and stepping back.

And then Micah appeared, looking furious.

"Shit," he said.  "It's been years since Joey's had a fit. Swear to god, I'm going to kick that little bartender's ass!"

"Getting punched in the face probably didn't help," I said, "but I don't think we can blame it all on the bartender.  Joey's been snorting coke all night, and that's set him off before."

"It's been years, though," Sergio said.  "Think we should call 911?  Get an ambulance?"

"Don't know if that's such a good idea," Micah said.  "Nine-one-one brings the cops.  There's a ton of drugs in here, man, and half of it belongs to Joey."

I looked up again, hoping to see Anne.  A group of folks had gathered just outside of the kitchenette, looking down at Joey, but Anne and her friend weren't in the crowd.  Had they left all together?

I felt a twinge of sadness at the thought.

Joey always partied hard.  In the ten years that Belletrists had been world-famous he'd attained a sort of legendary status, following in the footsteps of Keith Moon and John Bonham and all the other hard-partying drummers that came before him.  And despite the half dozen seizures I'd seen, I still thought of Joey as the rock that served as the band's foundation.  We all depended on him.  It was his emotional and physical stability that kept the rest of the band from falling apart.

But Anne was new, my relationship with her unknown and uncertain.  There was something about her that made me feel a passion greater than anything I'd felt in a long time.  The thought of her luscious curves, her gorgeous eyes, her soft lips—I wanted her desperately. And the way she'd looked at me, the way she'd sounded when she told me to take her back to the room—it made me feel sure she wanted me just as much.

My thoughts were interrupted by Joey starting to move again.  He tried to brace his arm against the floor, to push himself up to a seated position.  He gasped for breath, his body lurching like he couldn't find his balance.  We held him so he wouldn't fall, and moved him back until he was leaning against the wall.

A moment later, Bernstein came in, hustling his pot belly through the crowd.  His comb-over flopped the wrong way, over his ear instead of over his shining scalp.

"I called a doctor friend of mine," he said. "He's in the area and he oughta be here in just a few minutes."

He got down on one knee, his belly spilling over his belt, and put a hand on Joey's shoulder.

"You alright, Joey?  You back with us?"

Joey looked at him blankly, his eyes confused and vaguely sullen.  He didn't answer.

Bernstein glanced up at us.  "What's he on tonight, boys?  The usual booze and coke?"

"Yeah," Micah said, "and I split a tab of X with him before the show."

"Geezus, Micah," I said.  "You did X tonight, and you still wanted to cut that dumb kid open?"

"Thizzin or not, I can't abide violent assholes," he said.

The hypocrisy was so staggering that I couldn't even summon the energy to point it out.

I heard a groan, and looked back at Joey.  His eyes blinked, his head rocked side to side.  He closed his mouth and his Adam's apple dipped in his throat.

"Joey," Bernstein said.  "You alright, Joey?"

"My head…" Joey said.  "Fuck."  His voice sounded weak and unusually hoarse.

He made to stand up, putting a hand down on the ground, tilting his head forward until his chin touched his chest.  A look of pain flashed across his face, and he fell back against the wall.

He groaned again.  "Shit."

"Don't try to move just yet," Bernstein said.  "Give your body a chance to get some blood back into your brain."

"How long… was it?" Joey murmured.

"Just a few minutes," I said.  I listened for a moment.  "The song on the stereo hasn't even changed yet."

"Bummer," Joey said.  "Can't stand… Skrillex… shit."

I almost laughed at that.

"Let's try to get him back to his room in a few minutes, guys," Bernstein said, "so my doctor friend can look him over somewhere that isn't completely
mishegas
.  Trace, you seem the least inebriated of the crowd, and therefore the least likely to accidentally drop this klutz on his head again.  Help me carry him, why don't you?"

"Okay," I said.  "Just give me one second first.  I gotta check up on somebody."

He nodded.  "We'll give Joey another minute to get himself together."

I stood up and stepped away from the kitchenette, looking for Anne.

She wasn't in the common room area of the suite.  I felt another cutting flare of worry.  Had she left?

And then I saw that the front door was ajar.  I walked to it quickly, pulling it open.

Anne was in the hallway, trying to comfort her friend.

"Excuse me, ladies," I said.  "Sorry to interrupt."

"Is Joey okay?" Anne asked.  Her friend looked at me with tearful eyes, mascara running down her cheeks.

"I think so.  He opened his eyes and started talking again.  This isn't the first time this has happened, but Bernstein's got a doctor on the way to take a look at him."

I took a step toward Anne.

"I just wanted to let you know I'm gonna help them get Joey to his room."

"You're leaving?" Anne said.

"Just for a few minutes," I said.  "Ten or fifteen, tops.  Will you stay?  Will you wait for me?"

"I…"  Her beautiful eyes met mine, and then looked away.  "I'm not sure.  I don't know if we should."

It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my shoulders.  Had I lost my chance with her already?  Just hours after meeting her?

Tonight I'd felt alive, excited, for the first time in far too long.  I didn't want it to be over already.  I took a step forward, lifted her chin with my finger, looked into her beautiful eyes.

"What if I said please?"

Her eyes met mine.  I saw fear there, and worry.  But I also saw a yearning desire, burning like a flame.  I recognized it because I felt it, too.

I brought my lips near hers, just an inch away, so close I could practically taste her sweet breath.

"Please don't leave, Anne," I whispered.

Her eyes met mine again, so close that she swam in my vision.  And then she closed her eyes and brought her lips to mine, closing the tiny distance between us.

"I'll stay," she whispered.  "For a little while, at least."

A little rush of hope went through me.  I kissed her again, quickly.

"Thank you, Anne," I said, hurrying toward the door.  "I'll be back soon, I promise."

And then I stepped through the door, and went to help with Joey.