Rock Me Deep (15 page)

Colt swung into the room, a cup pressed to his lips. The sound of Porter's grumbling followed him into the room. “I don't care if it was the last of the coffee,” the drummer said. “You had three fucking cups, I deserve one—” He halted, spotting me where I stood.

Oh, shit.

Licking my lips slowly, I searched for the ability to speak. I knew I looked conspicuous with my glittering eyes, red cheeks and heavy breathing. Firm nipples cut into my bra, blessedly hidden.

“Lola,” Colt said carefully, “You alright?”

I didn't answer in time. Porter bumped into the drummer, the two stumbling as coffee splashed onto their clothes and floor. “Dammit, Colt! Why would you stand right behind the curtain?”

“Why would you walk into me!” he shouted back, wiping at his shirt.

In the fray, I freed myself from the wall that I'd been glued to. I hoped no one touched it; the surface had to feel like lava from my body heat. Threading around the edge of the room, I burst through the curtain and escaped before anyone dared to stop me.

Drezden's green eyes followed me; I saw them in my brief glance. They marked me like they were carving a tattoo into my skin.
I need air, I just need air.
In the aisle, I was alone. Brenda had joined up with the crew in their own van after we'd picked up the pizza.

The driver had slid a flimsy plastic sheet between the front seats of the bus, giving himself some privacy as he played the radio.

Taking a seat next to the plastic, I cracked one of the tinted windows. Crisp air poured in, stinging my face wonderfully. The world outside flew by like a painting on rails; mountains, cerulean skies and clouds so thick you could have held them.

We'd crossed into Colorado.

That means we'll be arriving at the venue by...
I dug my phone out, looking at the time. Was it already six in the evening?
Tomorrow morning. I can't believe it.
Everything with Drezden was fading in the wake of my reality.

Soon, I was going to see the place I'd be playing my first show. My first very real, very actual show. Holding my phone close, I started to type a message to Sean.
He's the only person I can talk to about this.
He'd understand the elation and sickness burrowing deep into my flesh.

'Hey,' I typed to him. 'We'll be arriving soon. I might piss myself.'

Pressing the button to send it, I waited impatiently. My heart beat once, twice, then fifteen times before the device buzzed. Sean's words displayed themselves on my blinking screen.

'Get used to that feeling.'

Smiling helplessly, I tucked my phone away. I liked to think he was right. I wanted him to be.
Could this really be happening? Me, Lola Cooper, going to play on stage for thousands of people.

Drezden's face entered my head. He was in my heart, too; that smile and how pained he'd sounded when we'd talked.
He wants me to take a risk and hook up with him—to give in to the primal ache haunting us both. But...

Not every risk can be worth it.

Watching the beautiful landscape roll by wasn't enough to erase my shame. Drezden had grown something inside of me. A piece that throbbed and cried and begged for him. A piece that wanted me to take the fucking risk he'd asked me to.

My hand traced the shape of my phone.

How could he ask me to risk everything when I'd barely gotten a taste of it?

Drezden

––––––––

T
he sky outside was pale blue, but I'd been awake since it had been a melting tie-dye of sherbet orange. Sleeping was harder than ever. Lola plagued the sparse dreams when I managed to find them. In them, she'd always dangle out of my reach. Then I'd grab for her, only to wake up in a sweaty mess.

We'd driven through the night. I'd abandoned my bed hours ago, dressing for the day in broken-in jeans and a long sleeved white sweater. Now, I was settled on a bus seat and just... watching. Denver trickled by in all its glory.

I'd never played in Colorado before. Once, when I was younger, I saw the Wingless Harpies play at the Fillmore. I'd gone with my father, back when he'd been drinking himself to death but before he'd started using me as a target for his impotent rage.

I cupped my lower back, phantom pain burning.

Now I'm here again. This time, I'm playing on the stage.
It should have filled me with pride. Instead I was wrapped up in my usual antsy energy. I wouldn't allow myself to feel happy with anything until the show went on without a hitch. Only then I could allow myself some joy.

In a great stretch of arms over her head, Lola pushed through the curtains and into the main bus aisle. I peered at her as she approached; she hadn't seen me yet.

Everything has to go perfectly. And if it does, she'll get everything she could ever want.

And I'll start to lose her even quicker.

She saw me, looking up like I was a ghost. Rubbing the corner of my nose, I turned away. It was a mistake to let Lola into the band.
No,
I admonished myself.
She's perfect for the band.

The mistake was letting her close to me.

Lola's success would send her away from me like dandelion puffs on the wind.
Unless I can get to her first.
If I could curl my palm around her, then I'd catch her before she floated right into the arms of someone else
.

Remembering her flash of distress when I'd cornered her yesterday sent rickets down my body. I'd been so close to kissing her. I'd only resisted when I'd heard her argument. She was worried about the band?

No, she's worried about herself.

I wished for a way to make her see that taking this risk, diving into the deep pit of desire and decadence with me, was worth it.

There might not be a way.
The seat beneath me suffered my clawed fingers.
I'll find one.

“Alright,” our driver shouted, “I'm pulling into the parking lot behind the Fillmore. Security should keep people out of the area, but it's pretty open, so just be aware.”

Being mobbed didn't scare me. Twisting, I found Lola watching me. In a ripple of black hair, she stared out the window again.
I don't want the fans or media to scare her.
The rational part of me knew she needed to see it, to handle it on her own.
Welcome to being a rock star,
I thought cynically.

Colt and Porter joined us as the bus parked. It was early enough that I didn't expect many people to be crowding the venue. Eagerly I climbed from the bus, inhaling the fresh air.

There were cars and tour buses all around; other bands and crew for the show tonight. Small carts owned by the Fillmore were parked in the lot, the scent of coffee and grease hitting me hard. Before I could follow after Porter and Colt to get something to eat, Brenda appeared to block us. “Hey! You're awake, good. I need to go over everything for tonight.”

“After.” Brushing by her, I stalked towards a muffin that had my name on it. “I need some breakfast.” Her hand grabbed my shoulder. For a second, I thought about shoving her aside. Instead, my feet paused on the cement. One eye looked her way. “Can I eat
and
talk? I'm pretty talented.”

Brenda jammed a paper bag in my face. “I took the liberty of grabbing you guys some donuts. Now, will you come with me?”

The rest of my band—including Lola—crowded in, eager for the food. Colt snuffled and snorted, pretending to be an animal. “Tell me what you want from me," he said. "I'm all ears. And mouth. Fuck, just give me a donut, please.”

Squeezing the bridge of my nose did little for my growing migraine. “Okay, okay. Lead on, Brenda.”

She took us through a backdoor of the Fillmore. Traversing a tight hallway, she guided us into an area plastered with 'staff only' signs. There were people running all over, some with clipboards, others with headsets that they spoke into softly.

The show wasn't until five, but everyone was getting prepared.

Once we were in a quieter room Brenda put the bag on a table. Porter and Colt ripped it open immediately. “Have a seat, guys," she said. "I've got details to give out and I need you all to listen.”

Reaching for a fat, glossy Boston cream, I settled into a swivel chair and kicked up my feet. The baked good was fucking delicious, sweet filling coating my tongue. I had it half finished before Lola picked up a simple glazed one for herself.

We ate while Brenda covered the table in paperwork, finger jabbing as she spoke. “I've put you all up in the Ramada tonight. Here are your keycards, room info, the whole lot.” Passing out the hard chunks of plastic, she looked me in the eye. “We roll out tomorrow morning, the bus will stay here to keep the fans from mobbing the hotel. I'll send a car. If you need anything, just call.”

The meaning in her voice wasn't lost on me. Glancing at Lola, I finished my donut.
There won't be an encore of shitty security guards attacking her this time.

Porter grabbed another pastry, crumbs spilling over his chin. “What time do we need to be back here?”

“You're on at seven, so be here by four at the latest for sound check.” Her smile spread, fixing on Lola. “Here, take a look. These are being plastered all over the Fillmore website, as well as in our newsletter and every social media outlet we have our claws in.” She slid a thick folder across the table.

Lola eyed it, uncertainty turning her pretty mouth into a knot. It only got worse when she opened the folder, revealing the glossy prints inside. “Oh, holy shit.”

Holy shit indeed.

The photos from yesterday were stunning. Lola was a vision, the blue of her eyes made even crisper by saturation. She was poised in front of the bus window, lashes lowered to create a canopy. Lola's smile contained too many secrets.

I knew I'd need to taste her so I could start to understand.

Shifting in my chair, I fought down the surge of arousal. I'd have to get a copy of those pictures.

“Well,” Brenda prompted, “What do you think? Good, right?”

Sliding her hand over the prints, Lola said, “These don't look anything like me.”

Brenda rolled her eyes, pulling the folder back. “Sure they do! They're just doctored up some. That's normal, everyone does it.”

Doubtful, Lola poked at the other half of her donut. “If you say so.”

The rest of the meeting was a blur, I was too busy staring at the girl I was so addicted to. Letting Brenda ramble, I tuned out for the first time in my years of singing professionally. Normally, I was keen on these meetings. They kept problems from happening.

I hated problems.

Now, I was twitching one boot over my opposite crossed ankle. Each movement matched my heart, thumping to a tune—a song—that had been forming for two days now. Lola was a single lyric. I wanted to say her name over and over until I owned her like I did all of my music.

When Brenda waved at us to leave, I shrugged out of my daze like it was a heavy jacket I could shed. Our group started to head for the exit. Lola was dragging her feet, lost in thought.

She's getting overwhelmed. Those photos really bothered her.

Wishing I could erase her gloom, an idea hit me. My fingers snapped out, curling firmly around her wrist. “I want to show you something.”

Under my touch, her goosebumps prickled. She froze on the spot. “What?”

Porter and Colt turned back, expecting us to be following. I gave them a tiny nod. “Go on ahead. I want to give Lola a look inside.”

Understanding spread between them. “Sure,” Porter said. “We'll meet you at the hotel.”

Free of their stares, I tugged Lola further into the hall. She came reluctantly, tension in her steps. “A look inside? But why?”

Because I want to see you smile.
Of course, I said no such thing. Setting my jaw, I led her deeper into the Fillmore. The halls were tunnels, we were explorers, and I knew where the treasure was.

Together, we broke out into the main room of the building. I'd seen the stage before; when I was a child, my dad had slipped us into the upper levels to view the band from above.

This time, I gazed around a wide room full of people organizing wires and lights. The vast size of the space was enhanced with all of the empty seats. Next to me, Lola gasped. The sound danced right to my center.

I still held her wrist, and for a heartbeat, I almost linked our fingers. Releasing her, I gestured with my head. “How's it look?”

Her answer was pure, her lips showing off her perfect teeth. “Beautiful.”

No. It's your smile that's beautiful,
I thought.

She whispered, “I'm actually standing here.” She felt the moment in its entirety; how heavy it was, like a piece of fruit ready to fall to the earth and explode. “I'll be playing music in front of thousands of people tonight.”

Peering at her hip, I watched her hands clench. “Does that scare you?” I asked.

Lola met my gaze with one of her own. The severity boiling deep inside of her eyes halted my breathing. “Of course it does. Aren't you scared?”

Thinking to myself, I considered my reply. I was only scared of one thing lately, but it wasn't something I was ready to admit to her.

Not yet.

“When I first played on a big stage,” I said slowly, “I was extremely afraid. That's normal.”

“I'm sorry, did you just try to call yourself
normal?"
The smile she wore was made from innocence and mystery. It took a concentrated effort not to curl my fingers into her thick hair, right there in front of the massive stage we'd soon perform on.

Perform.

This fucking girl made me want to create an entirely new meaning for that word. It would be glorious to bend her over and witness what we could do together. Lola's nearness made it a chore to stop thinking about wet sex.

Breaking the gravity between us, she looked at the large lights overhead. “It'll be packed in here, won't it?”

My fingers hooked into my pockets. “The concert sold out the day it was announced.”

“I wonder if Sean will watch me?” She spoke wistfully, like her question didn't need an answer.