Rock (Hard Rock Harlots #4) (9 page)

A good fifteen seconds later—I’m not even kidding. Fifteen fucking seconds—Jinx drops her sweet Catholic ass into the newly formed pool on the leather sofa, quivering from head to toe and mumbling indecipherable words. I slither off the couch through a Slip ’N Slide of ejaculate and fall into a messy pile of quivering arms, legs, and recovering orgasms on the floor.

A pair of lead feet thunder toward me. Hands scoop me up like a slippery eel and throw me over a heaving, furious shoulder. The territorial Neanderthal, whom I vaguely recognize as Shades, drags me to his cave without a word and slams the door behind us.

I
guess
there’s no rest for the weary when Killer Buzz Float is in the house. Never mind that I just burned 2,000 calories in a wanton fuck-for-all, or that I forcefully ejected a couple liters of liquid love from my cooch, leaving me drier than a dead dingo’s donger in a drought. My exhaustion is irrelevant because Shades has now decided it’s his turn to initiate some Angry Fucking.

You know the kind. You get in an awful fight with your lover over something ridiculously stupid. Insults are hurled, maybe faces are slapped, tempers fray, and in the heat of all the conflicting emotion, the violence turns into … passion. There’s a very fine line between sex and fury.

I don’t need to look at Shades to know how mad he is. The heat pouring off him is a pretty good indicator. When he heaves me off his shoulder and hurls me like a goddamn discus onto the mattress, my suspicions are confirmed. Nothing screams “murderous rage” like the trickle of blood from your estranged boyfriend’s clenched teeth after he watches you fuck your three bandmates.

I’ve never seen him so pissed. Hurt? Yes. Wounded, even. But never this angry. His face is so pinched, I barely recognize him.

A shiver rushes over me as he stalks toward the bed, shoulders bunched, eyes virtually smoking with fire and brimstone. He says nothing as he shoves his pajama pants to his ankles and punts them off. Even his cock is furious, pointing accusingly at me as if it’s passed judgment and sentenced me to the electric chair.

Grabbing me by the wrists, he yanks me up to sit. He scolds me with an incensed stare, words stabbing the tip of his tongue. Instead of speaking them, he shakes his head and pushes me down and to my side. Disgusted. He’s disgusted with me.

My initial reaction is to give it right back to him, but I lie still like a limp doll. No energy to do anything else. Plus, I’m starting to feel a tiny bit guilty.

Okay, maybe a
lot
guilty.

He roughly parts my legs so they’re splayed like open scissors, cool air kissing my hot lips. Settling in behind me, he jams his dick in and fucks. No words are exchanged. We’re just a broken mass of pissed off, desperate, needy fornication. Truthfully, I’m glad I can’t see him. Seeing him would bring the severity of his pain into focus, and I’m too drained—physically and emotionally—to deal with that shit right now. After a couple minutes, he tenses, grabs my arm and squeezes as he comes inside me. Then he rolls over, his breaths hurried but quiet. I stare at the wall in silence.

The mattress jostles, dips, and springs back into place as he gets up. The whispers of tugged-on fabric followed by fading movement tell me he’s heading for the door.

“Shades,” I say without turning around for fear of what hell my conscience might be condemned to suffer if I witness another second of disappointment on his face.

The movement stops. I picture him facing me, but he’s probably looking at the door, impatient for me to say my peace so he can leave.

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks, and a tear forms at the corner of my lids. It drags the apology down the slope of my nose and hits the pillow as the door clicks shut.

I
’m not
sure how long I’ve been lying here, drowning in the ocean of goddamn tears that sprung unexpectedly and refused to stop after he left. It’s been at least a few hours. Maybe even half the day.

I hug the pillow. Man, I had no idea how good I had it a couple short weeks ago when I was complaining about the rut Shades and I had fallen into. Now I’m afraid we’ve beaten each other beyond recognition and might never regain what we’ve lost. A guy can only give so much before he reaches the breaking point.

I should’ve been giving too, instead of taking, taking, taking.

I’ve been a mighty asshole.

Dehydration from the combination of crying and the squirt-Olympics session finally get the better of me, and I wander toward the kitchen for some water. On the way out, I notice Shades’s bag is gone.

Wow, Letty, you’ve really fucked up this time.

Rax, Eve, Toombs, and Jinx are still naked, sprawled over the carpet and furniture, magnetized into place with their proper partners as if a massive orgy never even
thought
about happening here. Jinx’s head lifts sleepily from Toombs’s chest. Our eyes lock for half a second before she looks away. Did I fuck up with the band too?

Birthday Club was the worst idea ever.

I grab a water bottle, guzzle the entire thing, and toss the empty plastic into the recycling bin. Then I gather my clothes from their scattered points in the living room and get dressed. Drawing her thumbnail to her teeth for a gnaw, Jinx watches me. Toombs cracks his lids, then closes them again when he sees me. Embarrassed, bored, or thoroughly disgusted, I’m not sure.

Once I’ve gathered my shit, I wave at Jinx and whisper, “I’m heading to the bus.”

“You okay?” she mouths, brows tight with a sweet mixture of concern and shyness.

I nod. “You?” Knowing Jinx, guilt is probably eating her alive. Over the last year, she’s had a hard time justifying her latent sexual desires with the “morals” her family beat into her.

Ducking her head, she bites her bottom lip and nods.

I hope she’s not lying. I’d hate to screw up our friendship because of a stupid mistake, even though I don’t think it would’ve played out that way if Shades had been involved. Now, everything’s awkward and weird.

Probably a good thing we’re not allowed to talk about Birthday Club after all is said and done.

I flash Jinx a tight smile and slip out the door.

When I get to the lobby, I call for a cab to take me “home.” The narrow, late afternoon light angling through the trees along the quiet drive dapples my skin. The night Shades and I met, we took a taxi to a hotel very similar to the one I just left. I fucked him with a strap-on. Had no idea who he was at the time. Didn’t ask his name. Didn’t even see his eyes. I dubbed him “Shades” because he wore sunglasses in the bar where I picked him up. BAR-k. Back at my
real
home in Athens, Georgia.

I haven’t missed Athens since I got on the road, but all of a sudden I’m homesick as hell. Or maybe I’m craving the simplicity of my life before Shades, the band, and the wild and crazy ride we’ve been on this last year.

Roots are important, and I haven’t had any for a long time.

Maybe that’s where some of Shades’s frustrations with our relationship stem from. Maybe he craves the stability we’ve both lost by living out of suitcases and off of fast food, wandering like the bards of old from city to city. Maybe he needs to recalibrate and find balance through the familiar things he grew up with. Family—estranged as they may have been. Friends. A wife.

Well, he got the family part when Gabrielle showed up. If she’s not a root, I don’t know what is.

Gabrielle.

I guess I’ve been pretty hard on the kid. And her mom.

And her dad.

The cab swings into the parking lot, and the bus looms. I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly. It’s time to make amends for my sins.

A
fter paying the cabbie
, I pass Banging Betties’ bus on the way toward mine. Lizzie, Eliza, Beth, and their manager, a perfectly coiffed gay (I think) pit bull of a man who’s always dressed in expensive suits, stand nearby talking to a woman with a microphone. He looks like a fashion model next to her. Dude is tall and toned, dudded to the nines in Armani or some other fancy-sounding brand, with short-cropped, wavy brown hair meticulously styled to project an I-just-woke-up-from-a-fabulous-night-of-shagging look. Kinda reminds me of a twenty-five-year-old Matt Bomer. Too bad this guy’s such a prick.

A cameraman waits on standby, checking his watch. And, oh look. There’s Jillian, off to the side, gazing longingly like the nerd who’d kill to be part of the popular girls’ circle.

She’s pathetic. My blood boils at the thought of her sneaking around with her tongue down the backs of those bitches’ drawers. Does she really think no one’s noticed?

Fuck. I’ll deal with her later.

Lizzie’s smoking a cigarette, flicking ashes here and there, her smirk setting off the highlights in her slouch. Her springy red curls are the only bouncy thing about her. She’d actually be cute if it weren’t for the perma-dour frown. Not even the thick, fake eyelashes or wholesome freckles can tame the disgust she exudes. I’ve never seen her smile. Except maybe for the time she incited me to riot in the parking lot.

The others laugh about something the wolfish manager says as camera dude hefts his wide-lensed gear onto his shoulder. I venture closer, using the bus’s shadow for cover.

“Hey, everyone. I’m Anna DeVille, talking to Lizzie Smith, Beth Wesson, and Eliza Guns from Banging Betties. What’s it like headlining the Get Your Rock Off Tour?” The woman with the mic thrusts it toward Lizzie.

Lizzie straightens and pastes on an obviously fake smile. “It’s great to play for so many fans. We’re really excited about the response we’ve had.”

“Not only are you headlining, but last night, you won ‘Newcomers of the Year’ in the Rock Hard Awards. What an honor! Must be an incredible feeling.” This “Anna” chick lays on the ass licking thick. It’s a wonder she doesn’t have to scrape her tongue after all the shit she’s lapping up.

Wait a minute. Banging Betties won that fucking award? Fuck. Me. Those cunts no more deserve that shit than they do a Nobel Peace Prize. I clench my jaw and inch closer.

Lizzie nods. “It
is
an incredible feeling. We’re proud of the work we’ve done to make rock music better—”

Bitch said WHAT? Oh, fuck you, you egotistical CUNTBAG!

“—and we hope to extend some of the success we’ve had to the other bands on the tour.”

My fists tighten at my sides. I count backwards as my blood pressure climbs.

“Let’s talk about the other bands,” Anna says.

Lizzie shifts her weight and hitches her hands to her skinny hips. “Yeah, WitchSMUT is one of my favorites. They’re good friends. We have a lot fun with them. DomMob too.”

I snort. Outside of playing gigs, bitch hasn’t even left the luxury of her precious bus for more than five minutes to spend time with
anyone
on the tour.

“And you just added Killer Buzz Float to the lineup,” Anna prompts.

“Uh-huh,” Lizzie deflects, eyes cast downward.

“Well, we’re going to be spending a lot of time following you and the other bands over the next few weeks for this documentary. I’m looking forward to hearing more of your award-winning music.” Anna faces the camera and signs off.

Oh, so now they’re documentary-worthy too? Fuck them. I flip Lizzie off from the hidden safety of the buses, turn the bird finger on myself, and stab it down my throat. Seriously? That bitch can suck my asshole. I trudge miserably up the bus steps, taking deep breaths to settle my churning stomach.

Nobody’s here. Probably a good thing. I need to … Shit, I don’t know what I need to do. Get drunk? Cry some more? Slit my wrists?

Soft words hit my ears from somewhere in the back of the bus. I slink down the aisle quietly.

“Are you a pretty girl? Yes, you are,” Shades says in a singsong voice. He must be on the couch. “You’re gonna grow up to be like your mom. You wanna play guitar one day?” Pause. “Yeah?” The devotion is evident in his tone.

Gurgle gurgle
, comes the reply. A weird hiccup sound that could be a laugh follows.

I swallow hard to flush the lump in my throat down, but it’s as stubborn as I am and clearly not going anywhere. Eyes watery, I lower my butt to the far edge of my bunk where he can’t see me. I rest elbows on my knees and listen some more.

Shades laughs gently. “Where’s Gabrielle?” Movement of fabric. Baby warbles. “There she is!” More gurgling. “Who’s my pretty girl? That’s right. You are.”

And then he sings.

Coos and giggles answer each line as he cycles through the chorus a couple of times, his voice tender and full of muted sincerity.

My chest tightens with the sharpness of wires slicing into my skin. I drop my head in my hands and grind the heels of my palms into my eye sockets. Where did these fucking tears come from? Goddammit. I swipe my face and sniffle. A breath staggers in, I shudder it out. Fuck. Shoulders heave against my will, and—shit. I gotta get out of here.

Right as I stand to leave, Shades appears at the end of the aisle. He’s stern as a statue dressed in black. His excessive tattoos and facial piercings might endear him to the seedy underbelly of Rockdom, but all the dark eccentricities are completely tamed by the bundle in his arms and the miniature brown hand patting his chest.

I press my lips tightly to contain the growing shame at everything I’ve done to hurt him. And her.

Scrambling for something to say, I start with the first icebreaker that comes to mind. “Is your dick okay?”

“You’re worried about my dick?” He exhales heavily and shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Shit. Wrong icebreaker. Turning my head to avoid the impact of his glare, I smear the line of tears across my cheek and wipe my nose with an arm. “Sorry. Yes. No. I mean, yes, I’m worried about it, but I’m more concerned about … us.” I blink hard and find the courage to look him in the face. “Can we talk?”

He nods slowly and heads toward the couch in back. I follow.

He sits. I sit.

He stares down at the little girl in his arms with such adoration, it hurts to witness. That look used to be for me. I’m not sure if there’s enough room in his heart for both of us anymore.

“I fucked up,” I say. “I let jealousy come between us and allowed it to fester. Birthday Club was supposed to be fun, but I used it to spite you because my feelings got hurt. It was selfish and childish and—” I gaze at Gabrielle’s sweet little round face for the first time.

Wow. She really is beautiful like her mom. Her skin is a delicate, muted brown dusted with fine down. The scattered mop of dark curls on top of her head exudes the scent of honeyed flowers. Or maybe it’s her in general. I thought babies were supposed to stink, but she smells nice.

She fixes her gaze on me and gawks. I gawk back, not sure what I’m supposed to do. Her eyes are green, but not as brilliant as Shades’s. I heard most kids grow into their eye color after so many months. Maybe her color hasn’t set yet, and it’ll brighten with time.

Her faint brows lift, and the tiny mouth forms a circle. Noise comes out of it—a sort of “oh” with vibrato. Again unsure, I mimic her. I’m certain I look like a right idiot. A brilliant smile stretches across her face from slightly pointed nose to wide, toothless gums and pulled-back ears. “Ahhhh,” she says, waving her nubby arms.

“Ahhhh.” I smile too and give her an awkward high five.

Shades readjusts, sitting her up, and suddenly the kid’s … reaching for me. I look past her fuzzy curls to Shades. He’s holding her out to me.

I shake my head. “I don’t do babies.” What if I break it?

Her
.

“She doesn’t bite, Letty.”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say Shades was pleading. Just a little.

Shit. I stuff my palms under her pits, and he lets her go. I feel like I’ve been caught red-handed with a contraband human/bowling ball hybrid. Gabrielle dangles from my hands between us, still grinning at me with her goofy, bare-gummed expression. “Uh …”

Shades carefully guides her tiny body into the crook of my arm, bending my elbow to correct my stiff angle. Gabrielle squirms. Shit, you gotta hold onto these things pretty tight, or they’ll slip right out of your grip.

I’m not sure if Shades is ignoring my attempt at an apology or doesn’t know what to say, but he bends close to Gabrielle and strokes her plump cheek. “This is your Au—” He stops himself. Pretty sure he was going to say “Aunt Letty.” Instead, “This is Letty.”

The baby coos and caws and wiggles, but the only thing I see is Shades. Maybe his heart melts for her, but mine melts for him. The unconditional devotion he feels for this tiny life form is as pure and vibrant and real to him as the music we make together is to me.

I finally get it.

She’s his Rock.

He’s been trying to tell me for weeks since he met her, but I was too concerned about getting some cock up my ass to notice. All this time, we’ve been on two separate wavelengths, sending signals on the wrong frequencies. It’s no wonder everything went to shit between us.

“She’s beautiful, Shades.”

He smiles. “She is.” The spell between them breaks, and he shifts his attention to me. “I told you before. I love you more than anything. But this kid … She’s my responsibility. I owe it to her to be a good dad.”

“I understand, and you’re right. The only thing I ask is that for my peace of mind, and your own, you get a DNA test to be sure she’s yours. I won’t dispute the results, and I’ll …” I take a deep breath. “I’ll support you
both
no matter what.”

He straightens. “You serious?” Disbelief tinges his voice.

I chew my bottom lip and wonder how different my life might’ve turned out if I’d had a father. Like, a
real
one who was actually around, who cared about me, and who didn’t view me as an inconvenience he had to endure every other weekend when he’d rather be playing poker with his buddies. “Yeah, I’m serious. Every kid needs a dad.”

Shades sighs with relief. He slowly wraps his arms around me and the kid and squeezes his thank-you into my chest. We hold the pose until Gabrielle fusses about being enshrouded in the pool of darkness between us. I awkwardly pass her back, and she settles against him, pat, pat, patting his arm.

“Are we all right, pussycat?”

I’m afraid to answer. But the fact that he called me pussycat gives me hope. “You tell me.”

“I got an idea.”

“Yeah? What?”

He hefts the baby to his shoulder and gently palms her curls as if to shelter her from what he’s about to say. He leans close enough for me to smell the mint on his breath. “I say we smash the last few weeks to pieces and start over. Like, from scratch.”

“Hmm … Do I have to forget about the sexy fun times I had this morning with our bandmates while you watched?” I wait for his reaction, praying I haven’t crossed the line. Again.

His neck loses its rigidity, and his head dips. “God DAMN, that shit was hot,” he says quietly.

“Really?” I’m shocked. “I thought you were furious. I mean, the way you manhandled me afterward—”

“I was pissed—frustrated—I didn’t get to be a part of it. I wanted to be right there with you.” He pauses and looks at me straight on. “Babe, you’re a sexual
being
. Way more than I am in some ways. You live, breathe, and dream sex. You’re the embodiment of it. I may not be as into some of the shit that excites you, but I understand it’s who you are. You should know by now, I’m not out to change you, pussycat. Never have been. I wanna give you what you need to stay happy. If it means fucking Toombs and Rax—”

“Let’s not forget Jinx,” I interrupt.
Fuck yeah, Jinx!
I lick my lips.

“—and Jinx, well, as long as you’re safe and sane when all’s said and done, do it. I’m not gonna stop you from getting off with them a few times a year. Just make sure I’m there and involved too. I don’t want anyone stealing your heart when I’m not looking.”

Wow. What a relief. Maybe Shades understands me more than I realized. I lay a hand on his upper arm. “Ain’t nobody stealing this heart. You already nabbed it.

“As hot as today was—and as you saw, it was
really
hot—Toombs and Rax were nothing more than boner donors. Tools to get me off. They may as well have been fucking vibrators with arms and legs.

“But you? You’re my
soul
. You’re the intersection of physical love and spiritual love. You’re the one I want to grow old with. When our naughty bits are all shrivelly and my cooter dries up, I’ll spit out my dentures so you can experience the wonders of toothless blow jobs, and we’ll take a six-hour nap afterward to recover from our creaky exertions.
That’s
true love.”

He laughs. “And it’s all I need from you. The sex is a bonus.”

I paw his cheek and plant a hearty kiss on his lips. He deepens it, stealing my breath, despite the baby thrown over his shoulder.
This
is where I belong. God, I missed him.

When the kiss ends, I run a thumb over his bottom lip. “Just so you know … While I was, uh, engaged with our friends, I had this hot fantasy of you getting involved. Maybe you can make it happen on my birthday. I mean, if the Birthday Club is still intact by then.”

“Hmm. Your twenty-sixth is coming soon, if I’m not mistaken,” he muses.

“Hey, it’s also our anniversary. One year of fucking, drinking, playing, rocking, and loving,” I add.

“And many more, I hope.”

I kiss him again, long and sweet. I finish it off with a lazy, sensual lick from his stubbly chin up to his top lip. “You’re not curious about my fantasy? Might want to prepare yourself for it,” I say suggestively.

He licks my spit off and shakes his head slowly. “Nope. I’d rather be surprised.”