Rock Me Deep (33 page)

Something inside me crackled; exploded.
His real name.
It left my ears ringing, made me wonder if lightning had boomed inches from me.
Drezden isn't his real name.

How had I not known that?

How did
Sean?

He offered me the umbrella. When I didn't reach for it, Sean forced it into my hand, curling my fingers around the base like until I held on. “You think you know this guy. You don't know anything about him, not really. He lies and hides from you. He's a deceptive, greedy motherfucker. Okay?”

I stared at my feet.

“Lola. Look at me.”

I did as he asked. There were raindrops perched on my eyelashes; when I lifted my head, they rolled down like tears.

Sean said, “Ask him to tell you the truth. When he won't—and he
won't
—come talk to me. I promise I'll bring you the answers you need.” For a while we both just watched each other’s pale faces. He moved to leave, hesitating. “Unlike him, you can trust me.” Then he was gone, jogging back to his bus.

In the early, muted shades of the world, I stood alone. My existence was tip-tapping rain, the whistle of wind, and that was all. The water rushed along the road, carrying trash and vanishing into the sewer grates, never to be seen again.

I wanted to be that trash.

I wanted to wash away.

Drezden

––––––––

“H
ey, you alive in there?” I asked.

Lola sat up ram-rod straight. Sunlight, streaming in from the small window in the roof of the bus, made her face glow. “Sorry, I zoned out. What was that?”

She's been zoned out for days. And the reason is fucking obvious.
It bothered me constantly how, after I'd confronted him in the dark hours half a week ago, Sean still hadn't reconciled with Lola.
The piece of shit said he'd talk to her. He clearly hasn't. Do I need to corner him a second time?

“Now you're the one zoning out,” she said, perfect lips tilting in a smile.

If there wasn't a table between us, I would have pushed her down right then and kissed her taunting mouth. I settled for reaching across, stealing her fingers and guiding them over the notebook I'd set in front of her. “I asked what you thought of these lyrics so far?”

Like my touch had revitalized her, Lola squeezed my hands. Curls of her thick hair toppled her bare shoulders when she leaned down to read the words. I hadn't had anyone judge my song-writing skills in such a long time. Watching her scrutinize the bits of my brain and soul carved into ratty, lined paper was making my heart jump.

What if she hates it?
Blood pounded in my ears.
Fuck, it doesn't matter if she hates it. Why would that make a difference?
I was sure my lungs were going to collapse from holding my breath.
Of course it would make a difference. I want her to be impressed.

I'd never felt so vulnerable; I regretted handing her the lyrics.

Maybe I could grab them back?

“These are wonderful.” The pink blooming on her cheeks made her blue irises sparkle even brighter. “How did you write these so fast?”

Swallowing past the dry patch in my throat was difficult. “It's been almost a week since we decided to collaborate. That's plenty of time.” I'd poured over the words hourly between dreaming and waking. Writing a song like this—and did she understand what it was? —took every moment I had.

And Lola said it was wonderful.

The table between us was mattering less and less.

“I have a question, though,” she said. Pulling her hands from me, Lola turned the notebook around, brushing her nail down the paper. “Am I insane, or did you mark down a section for a second guitar?”

Now it was my turn to smile. “We'll play together.”

She dropped the notebook like it was a bomb. “Both of us?” I didn't understand the tension crawling across her forehead. What was she thinking about that had her so unsteady?

Leaning forward, I tucked her hair behind her ears. The way she bent into my touch made my jeans far too tight.
Fuck, she works me up just by existing.
“Is that a problem?”

Lola didn't relax, I felt her pulse under my palm. “It's fine. I didn't know you could play guitar, is all. It's... kind of weird to not know that about you.”

The bus seat rumpled when I fell back into it with my full weight. “I'm nowhere near as good as you, but I'm decent enough to play with if you'll lead.”

“How long have you been playing for?”

Grimacing at the memory of large hands guiding my own across the strings of a guitar, I hesitated.
I don't want to go down that road.
“Who knows,” I mumbled quickly. “I guess since I was a kid.”

“Then you learned from someone, like me. Was it a brother? Do you
have
any siblings at all?” There was an edge in her voice that left me confused.

“What? Why does that matter?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Lola set her intense stare right on me. It was impossible to break away. “Because it's something about you I don't know. Tell me about your family, about learning to play. Just give me more information about yourself.”

“You're acting weird.” Lola flinched at my observation, but she didn't look close to backing off.
What's this all about? Why the sudden digging into my life?
“I don't like this inquisition. You're asking me things that don't matter.”

“Then what
does
matter?”

Grabbing my notebook, I spun it on the table, jammed my finger onto it. “This! Our final tour performance is tomorrow night. Let's start practicing so we can show everyone out there how serious this is!”

“Maybe you should show me how serious
we
are, first!” Scowling, Lola pushed out of the seat. “You said we were dating, that you're my boyfriend, but I hardly know anything about you!”

We hung on the precipice of destruction. I could see it in her eyes,
knew
she was about to storm off the bus if I didn't do something. Pulling in a lungful of air, I stood up to block the aisle. “Lola, listen. What you're poking at here... maybe there's a reason I don't want to go into it. Okay?”

Holding her ground, she looked into my eyes and didn't waver. “So there
is
something you're hiding from me.”

Frost darted through my veins.
What does she know?
“Everyone hides things.” Lola's eyes rippled, hinting at a deep guilt. She had hidden things from me, too, until recently. I was sure I could have turned the whole conversation on its head until she felt bad about pressing me.

Instead, I settled for wrapping her hands in mine. Her breath caught as I pulled her against my chest, my voice soft in the silence of the bus. “Lola, listen to me. You want to know more about my past, but it's just not worth knowing. Nothing about who I was before we met is important.”

She leaned into me, stiff as old bread. The way she was resisting me, all while her heart thumped along my ribs, just encouraged me to try and break her down. Before I could do anything beyond nuzzling her tender throat, Lola squeezed my fingers and turned away. “Everything about you is important. Past, present, and even future. Isn't it the same for you about me?”

Shit.
She had me there. I wanted to know, to have, everything about Lola Cooper. Gingerly, I glided my fingers up her arms, explored her goosebumps. When I reached her shoulders I cupped them. “Trust me. When I say my old life isn't important, I mean it. I don't want you asking me about it. Alright? Lola?”

Her eyelashes hid those blues from my view. “No. It's not alright.” Her elegant neck arched back, allowing her to look at me so matter-of-factly. “You told me not to lie, or to act tough when I'm faking it. So I won't. I'm frustrated you won't talk to me. Hell, I'm even mad about it. But I also won't force you to tell me about your past.” Untangling herself, she scooped up the notebook from the table. “Come on. You wanted to practice, let's go do it.”

The air around me felt... colder. Watching her taut spine, how her shoulders were pulled back sharply enough to treat her shirt like a coat hanger, I regretted my words.
But what else can I do?

In what world would telling Lola about my fucked up life help either of us?

****

W
e had the practice room to ourselves for some time. That was good, because I was rusty as hell on guitar, and didn't want Colt and Porter seeing me fumble.
We should have practiced sooner.
It didn't help that I was feeling the pressure from Lola's glum mood.

Tightening my strings, I glanced up at her where she sat close by. We both needed to see the sheet of paper with the music notes, especially as we randomly scribbled changes while we worked.

The song we were creating was coming together. It was a beautiful thing made muddy by the sourness between us both.

“You think this part should be faster?” she asked, tapping the page, adjusting the Stratocaster in her lap. “Where you sing, 'Wrapping, coiling, merging with the world?'”

When she says the lyrics so bluntly, it makes me feel... ashamed?
She was missing the whole core of the song. My face was hot; looking at her was difficult.
Shit. I feel like an awkward teen all over again, fuck.
“Yeah. Let's speed that section up.”

Lola smudged more pencil down, then plucked a few notes thoughtfully. “I think that'll sound better. More intense.”

I drained my water bottle. “You write a lot of music before this?”

“None.” At my look of disbelief, Lola shrugged. “Nothing structured, I mean. I just goofed off and made stuff up when it came to me.”

Thinking about her audition, I let my stunned smile take over. “A damn prodigy.”

She shifted on the stool. I could see the pink blush coating her cheeks. “Says the guy who can play guitar
and
sing.”

“I told you.” My fingers slid down the neck of the instrument, exploring it as if I'd never held one of its kind. “I'm only okay at guitar. You have ears.”

“My ears tell me you're better than you think.”

“Guess we're even, then.”

Chewing the side of her lip, Lola focused on the floor. “Come on. Let's play this again. Neither of us are where we want to be, yet.”

No,
I thought sullenly, letting my guitar pick strike the chords.
Right now I want to be on you, wrapped up in your scent and your eager pussy.
My lower belly thrilled with a surge of heat at the image.

I'd have to settle with singing about my desires.

For now.

We practiced until midday, working until we were sounding cohesive.
At this rate, we'll be able to play this tomorrow night just fine.

We were interrupted by Colt and Porter. The two slid into the room quietly, respecting how caught up we were in our song. They sat on the sidelines, eyes focused, ears straining.

By that time, I was more comfortable with my instrument. Years of playing as a child, into my teens, were coming back with the waking of my muscles. Lola never called me out on my errors; I noticed all of them, though.

I'm still not as good as I wanted to be, growing up. That doesn't matter anymore.

Being a guitarist hadn't been
my
dream, after all.

It had been my father's.

“It's sounding great,” Porter said, clapping when Lola and I paused. “You sure you don't want me and Colt to join in on this?”

“Maybe a little 'oomph' from the drums?” Colt added, mimicking playing his sticks in the air. “It'd add some texture to the song.”

Setting the guitar aside, I stood and cracked my back. “I appreciate the offer, but I'd like it to be just Lola and me out there for this one.”

Colt rubbed at the side of his right eye. “I'll try to hold in my tears of jealousy.”

“I won't.” Frowning deep, the bassist gave a few hollow sobs. “This is how it begins. Kicked out of the band. I hear guitar only teams are taking over.”

Wrapping his arm around Porter's shoulders, Colt nodded sagely. “I told you, we should have just learned guitar.”

“Bass is close!”

“Bass is
not
close,” Colt snorted.

Digging out another bottle of water, I drained half of it. “Want some, Lola?”

Setting her guitar in its case, she leaned it on the wall and headed for the door. “I'm fine. Think I'll go find some food.”

Lola's escape was briefly ruined by Brenda, the red-head bumping into her as she tried to enter. “Oh! Hey, sorry Lola—where are you running off to?” Turning in place to follow the exiting girl, our manager backed into the practice room.

Hardly slowing, Lola's voice faded the further she got into the bus. “Food. I need to eat.”

“But I was going to order us lunch! The hotel we're all staying at is ready for us now, it's super nice! We could all use a day to relax—and—hey!” Holding her hands up, Brenda watched in confusion as Lola escaped. “What the hell was that about?” she asked, looking at all of us.

One by one, they all stared at me.
Ah, shit.
“It's nothing," I said. "Don't worry about it.”

“Drezden, what did you do this time?” Brenda sighed.

“Nothing!” Throwing up my arms, I tossed the water bottle at the trash can. The sound of it missing was poignant. “Why would you think she's upset because of me?”

“So she
is
upset,” Brenda said. Digging into her purse, she lifted out her phone and squinted. “Doesn't matter. There's nothing going on between now and the final show, let her blow off some steam.”

Porter brushed a palm over his faux-hawk uneasily. “No, I wanna know what Drez did that made her so tense.”

“Nothing! It was nothing, fuck.”

My drummer and bassist shared a knowing look. I wanted to bang their skulls together. Brenda, amazingly, came to my rescue; her hands clapped sharply. “I said forget it. Now, who wants to go check out the jacuzzi in the suite I booked for myself at the Hilton? Oh, that's right.” She jammed a ruby nail at herself. “Me. This girl. Now come on, I've got a car waiting to take us over there. Everyone needs a break.
Especially
me.”