No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (32 page)

“You hang out with rock stars nearly every day at home!” said Alys.

“They aren’t
rock stars
back home!”

Sheri laughed. “They would love to hear you say that. They don’t consider themselves stars at all but lucky fans.”

Lili smirked smugly at Alys, who stuck her tongue out. It was as though we had regressed into being teenagers.

“Make room! They’re coming!” barked Sheri.

We all dived for the far side of the limo.

One of the guards wrenched open the door, and Tim, Lewis, Flipper, X, Jason, and Phil piled in, laughing and out of breath.

“Shit, people are fuckin’ crazy!” Flipper crowed.

Within seconds, everyone was situated on the stretched seats. Phil found me and pulled me onto his lap, and the limo sped off.

“When we get there, Sheri and I will go first,” Tim told us in a no-nonsense voice. “The hotel staff is waiting for us, and we’ll get everyone’s keys. When that’s done, the guards will be radioed and will escort you all through the lobby. We have no more than five minutes to do all of this. Black Prophecy is scheduled to come in right after us.”

“Black Prophecy?” I gasped.

“Sweet!” cried X. “I miss those guys.”

“They’re on the same floor as we are,” said Sheri. “We all have Club Deluxe Guest Rooms on the twenty-third floor.”

Phil’s arms tightened around me, and he brushed his mouth over my hair. He had been increasingly quiet as the hours passed, and once we were alone, I planned on digging into his head to figure out what was up with him.

The drive from the airport to the hotel took nearly an hour. I had wanted to get a look at the immense city that was Los Angeles, but secured in Phil’s arms, I could hardly get a glimpse out the windows. I wanted to see the San Gabriel Mountains, the glittering high rises, and the terraced neighborhoods as we sped along the multiple-lane highways. I wanted to spot the Hollywood sign on Mount Lee. I wanted to see the Santa Monica Mountains. Shit, I just wanted to see some fucking mountains. Living in a swamp below sea level could make a girl long for the sight.

Our limo ride ended as it pulled into a sleek porte cochere,
The Ritz-Carlton
glittering on the stonework façade. Hordes of fans and paparazzi were blocked off on either side of the wide entrance, and massively muscled men marched up to the limo.

Tim grabbed Sheri’s hand. “Showtime.” He chuckled. When the door opened, Tim pulled her out from under Jason’s arm.

A few minutes later, the door opened again, and we rushed out. Phil had me tucked in close to him, practically dragging me along, attempting to shove my face into his armpit. People were screaming for photos and autographs.

“Phil! Is that Baby Girl?” screamed one female.

“Don’t look up,” he hissed down at the top of my head.

I couldn’t wrestle out of the headlock he had me in anyway. I figured the best thing to do was whatever the hell he told me to. This was Phil’s line of work. He knew what was best. Briefly, I wondered if X was subjecting Alys to a face full of ginger pit hair.

The whole ordeal lasted only seconds. We were ushered into the lobby where Phil released me from his damp armpit and allowed me to breathe in the cool air-conditioning. Tim and Sheri quickly handed out our room keys, and I only had about a minute to take in the sight of the lobby itself. Warm off-white walls accented with wood and panels of bubbling water features. Cream marble floors. Modern-looking furniture with chromed fixings—

Phil whisked me toward the elevators without a backward glance, the rest of the entourage following.

“Phil?” I asked quietly.

“Yeah, Baby Girl,” he replied, his voice low and soft.

“Where’s our stuff?”

Next to us, Jason and Flipper snickered.

Phil grinned down at me. “If it’s not already in our rooms, it will be soon.”

“Okay.”
Man, I feel dumb. Maybe I really am just a bayou backwater honky.

His arm squeezed gently around my waist. “Yeah, you won’t have to worry about anythin’. When we’re on the road, we have people who take care of that kind of shit.”

“I was just wondering,” I huffed. “I mean, I walked off the plane with my carry-on—”

He kissed my temple. “I know. You’ll get used to it.”

I don’t know about that.

The elevator stopped on our floor with no interruptions along the way, and we all turned to the left toward our indicated room numbers.

“Just so you guys know, we’re on the same floor as the lounge. We can go grab something to eat or drink whenever we want. The rooms face south, and the lounge has a view of the Santa Monica Mountains,” Sheri told us as we made our way down the wide corridor.

We’ll be making a trip into the lounge at some point then.

Lewis and Lili had a corner room, and Phil and I got the room right next to theirs with Alys and X on our other side.

“Okay, before we head in,” Sheri barked.

Suddenly, I could understand why she was their road manager. She was fierce when it came to her job.

“We have reservations for sushi at an upscale place, and no, I don’t remember the name at the moment, but I’ll have it before we go. No need to dress fancy or anything. What we plan to wear tonight is fine. But we have to be there by seven o’clock, so let’s all meet in the lounge no later than six fifteen, okay? We have to be at the House of Blues around ten. Got it?”

We all agreed. The guys already knew what it would be like to defy Sheri, but the look Alys, Lili, and I exchanged conveyed that none of us wanted to find out for ourselves.

Phil turned, slid the key card in the slot, and pushed the door open.

I supposed, by his standards, the room was pretty tame, but I thought it was awesome with its bright white entrance and decent-sized room. It even came with a small coffee maker
. How cute.
The view was lovely with rolling mountains and blue skies. The king-sized bed with white linens was to the left of the room, and the door into the bathroom was to the right.

Phil turned and grinned at me, tossing his key onto the nightstand. “We got about six hours. What should we do?”

I replied, “First, I think you need to tell me what’s on your mind.”

He plopped down on the bed and started to take off his boots and socks. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve been really quiet since we left home. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. I just…I know that the world knows about you. But they don’t
know
you. You never asked for this, and it’s my fault that people are curious about you.”

He held up his arms, and I walked into his embrace. Sighing, he rested his head against my chest, pressing his ear to my heart.

“My favorite instrument…” he murmured softly.

Those words made my heart trip, and he heard the emotion pulsing through me. His arms tightened around me.

“It’s okay, you know,” I told him, pulling my fingers through his facial hair. It was rough and soft all at once. I loved how it made him look so handsomely primitive.

“At home, it wouldn’t mean much, you know? Hell, most people don’t know who
I
am there. But here…I don’t like the idea of you bein’ exposed like this.”

“Well, it’s a little late to go back.”

He pulled back to look up into my eyes. “I’m gonna do everythin’ in my power to keep you safe from all of it. Some people out there are fuckin’ nuts, Kenna—journalists and fans alike—and with the Internet—”

“We’ll just have to deal with it as it comes, babe.”

He smiled. He loved it when I called him that.

Leaning back, he pulled us onto the bed, bringing my lips to his and cradling me tightly against him. Beneath my breasts, I felt his heart pick up in tempo, beating his desire through my chest. His cock swelled, and I parted my thighs so that I could straddle his waist and press my hot core into it.

“Six hours, huh?” I grinned down into his eyes, and his danced back.

“We have to factor in a shower and gettin’ ready.”

“Ugh. Lili will want me to put on
makeup
.”

A knock sounded at our door, and Phil groaned in semi-defeat. Rolling me off of him, he leaped up and answered it.

“Speak of the fuckin’ devil.” He laughed as Lili traipsed in.

“Kenna, I want you in my room no later than five o’clock to get ready, okay? You have a reputation to uphold now.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

“I mean it!” she barked. She marched back out, no doubt to harass Alys next.

Shutting the door, Phil smiled the Lady Killer. “She’s a fuckin’ tyrant.”

“The tiny ones usually are,” I replied dryly.

Housed in a chest that opened from the top, displaying four shelves with endless compartments inside, Lili’s makeup collection boggled the mind. It was so vast that we had felt safe stashing our supply of weed in it, and sure enough, we hadn’t gotten busted. Vacuum-sealed pouches of rolled joints graced the inside of boxes of applicators and small brushes. More vacuum-sealed pouches of plain bud were mixed in with cotton swabs and balls.

“I can’t believe we got away with that,” whispered Alys, as if afraid that New Orleans airport security would hear and come bursting into the hotel room.

“Checking it in was the way to go,” said Lili. “A few eye shadows got pulverized, but they can still be used.”

Tonight, we were going to the House of Blues, so we were dressed in comfortable get-ups. Alys was wearing tight bootcut jeans with high-heeled black boots and a red halter top that showed off her great tits—very rocker and svelte. Lili was in a pair of bell-bottom jeans and a soft black cashmere sweater. She had her long black hair piled high on her head and black Chucks on her feet.

I, on the other hand, wore my new Army-green cargo pants that hugged my ass but the fit was relaxed down my thighs and legs, banded just below the knee, where I tucked them into my knee-high black leather boots with low heels. I used a burgundy sash interspersed with threads of blues, yellows, and greens as a belt, tied at the side and swinging over my left thigh. I chose a sleeveless black silk top with a V-neck that went down to just above my sternum. Lili had provided me with double-sided body tape to make sure the damn thing wouldn’t slide off my boobs.

Phil hadn’t seen my outfit. He might not be too happy with the expanse of chest I was exposing, but I liked it. It made me feel fabulous. To cap the whole thing off, I wore my favorite cabby hat of gray, black, and burgundy—the one I had worn the night of the after-party when Phil and I were reunited.

Lili insisted she be in charge of my makeup, which consisted of a shimmery brown eye shadow that she applied to my lids, topped with liquid black eyeliner and a shit-ton of black mascara.

“It’s too much!” I protested.

“Nonsense!” she admonished. “You have eyelashes that most women would
kill
for—except they’re fucking golden. Now, shut your mouth, and let me do what I need to, Kenna. You’re the girlfriend of
Phil fucking Deveraux
! That means you have to put all the other bitches who’ll be sniffing around his goods to shame. Got it?”

“Got it,” I grumbled.

There came a knock on the door, and Alys got up to let Sheri in.

Sheri looked
fantastic.

“Wow, Sher!” I said.

She was wearing a pair of dark skinny jeans and a black NOLA’s Junk tank top that was skintight over her huge tits and tapered waist. A large belt of interlocking beaten silver discs draped gracefully over her hips. She had a killer pair of black pumps on, and her curly white-blonde hair had been artfully placed in a messy updo.

“Is it cool if I do my makeup with you guys?” she asked shyly.

“Girl, you’re one of us now,” replied Alys. “No need to ask.”

Sheri’s megawatt smile beamed at us. “Sweet! Oh, and I think I might have found a hook-up for weed.”

“No need,” stated Lili. She used a tiny pair of curved scissors to slice open a pouch of joints. She tossed one at her, followed by a BIC lighter. “We have our own.”

“How did you—” Sheri started.

“Kenna has a vacuum sealer, and we stashed it in the makeup,” replied Lili.

Sheri sparked the joint. “You three are nuts.”

“That has been pointed out to us before,” I drawled.

“Where’s Viv? She might want to smoke,” said Alys.

“She’s in the lounge with the guys. Should I call her?” asked Sheri.

“Sure,” I replied.

Five minutes later, Vivian joined us, and we got nice and toasted before deciding it was time to head to the lounge ourselves. We had about twenty minutes before we were supposed to meet the driver, so we had enough time to have a quick drink.

Opulent and luxurious, the lounge was made of marble, granite, and woods of warm hues along with plush, posh furniture. The five of us walked in there as if we
owned
the place. Our Boys were sitting at the bar, laughing and drinking with some other people—

Holy shit! That’s Black Prophecy!

Black Prophecy was a close second to NOLA’s Junk, talentwise, and I was biased. Their sound was a little darker with a little less soul, but these guys were some of my favorite performers. From New York, they had an edge to them that NOLA’s Junk were too Southern to contain—not that Black Prophecy was any more badass. Our Boys were as badass as they came.