Rock Me Deep (6 page)

“Back off!” I said, pulling away, flushing with too many sensations at once. My tongue burned, but my cheeks rivaled it. What was Drez thinking, touching me like that? He had no right to get so close to me. It made me angry...

And it made me dizzy.

“You bit the hell out of your tongue.” It was a casual observation, his hands releasing me and squeezing his hips. “What were you thinking?”

Wiping at my lips, I saw the smear of pink on my arm. “I was thinking I would finish a song, that's all.”

Snorting, Drez gave me a once over. “There are better ways than chewing yourself up.”

His eyes said he wanted to chew me up, himself. I didn't comment on it, but my wavering stare must have hinted at what I suspected; I saw it reflected in his eyes.

He smoothed his hair back, looking away and breaking the moment. There was no fake flattery in his voice when he spoke. “You're good on the guitar, but your decisions are insane. That injury has to hurt.”

It throbbed, in fact. I kept rubbing it on my teeth like it was an itch to scratch and making it worse.
The bleeding is slowing, I think.
“It hurts a little, but I've had worse.”

That got him to arch an eyebrow at me. “What the hell is acting tough supposed to do? Impress me?”

The wind vanished from my sails. I
was
trying to impress him. More so, I was trying to get him to leave me alone. I was embarrassed about the decision to hurt myself. It wasn't anything to be proud of, but I couldn't explain that.

Not to him. Not to anyone.

“Come on,” he said, digging something from his pocket. His phone was black, glossy like a beetle. “I'll call Brenda, she can take a look at you.”

Now
I was humiliated. “No!” Drez paused, looking at me expectantly. “Don't... just don't call her. This isn't a big deal.”

He held the phone like a gun. “You don't want me to call her? Fine. Let me take a look at how bad you bit yourself, and I won't.”

"That's blackmail," I spat. Drezden ignored me, stalking my way and erasing the gap between us. Our chests were a breath from rubbing together, I could see the flecks of gold in his smoky green eyes.

“Open,” he whispered.

I didn't think about it; I just did it.

Drezden cupped my chin, keeping me still. Hilariously, I began worrying if my breath reeked.
What a stupid thing to think about,
I chided myself. I had more things to concern me. Things like how his fingers felt so firm, and how he smelled so wonderful it made my brain struggle to think.

The blood in my veins was rumbling so hard, I was sure he could hear it sloshing. “It's not as bad as I thought,” he said. The tip of his thumb ran over my lower lip, then grazed my teeth. It was so sudden that I convinced myself it was an accident.

Drez's skin was saltier than my blood.

He let me go, pulling away and leaving me to lean on the wall. I was already ashamed, I didn't need to crumble and make it worse. My own fingers brushed my lips, then further, prodding the side of my tongue. I grimaced, but the pain was dull. “It's really not bad?”

“You should know, it's your own tongue.” Drez scratched his neck, the strange pull between us turning into a cool wall. He was looking at the exit. “I'm hungry. Let's go.”

And just like that, he closes off. Why couldn't he do that when he was singing?
I wouldn't have needed to bite my tongue if he'd been as distant and detached then.

Following him through the bus, we found the boys draped in the seats, beers dripping condensation onto their laps. Porter waved me over, offering me a bottle. “Here, before Colt drinks it all.”

“I couldn't if I tried,” he laughed. Finishing his drink, he grabbed another. The two men were seated across from each other in the middle of the big bus.

Drezden draped himself in a seat opposite them, reaching for a beer wordlessly. It reminded me of my brother and his band. The thought was comforting, though it caused me to look out one of the tinted windows sadly, imagining them in their busted up vehicle further down the caravan.

“You alright?” Porter asked.

His words startled me. “Yeah, yeah.” My smile was weak, I tried to cover it with a swig from the beer. The fire burned on my wound and made me grimace.

Colt chuckled, waving his beer in the air. “It can't taste that bad, kid.”

It tastes fine,
I thought silently.
Better he think I was making a face over the flavor, though, and not an injury.
Settling down on one of the seats behind the pair, but furthest away from Drez, I made myself grin. “You'd think you guys would have better stuff, seeing as you're headlining.”

“She joined us because she hoped we had fancy beer!” Porter shouted, his false anger quickly vanishing. “I knew it all along.”

“I wonder if she's even old enough to drink,” Colt teased, looking me up and down. I wasn't, but underage drinking was so common on tours, I didn't expect to have to defend myself. “Either way, she isn't getting it all,” he declared, finishing his bottle to prove a point. “I'll get it first!”

We all laughed, the tightness in my neck smoothing out. Looking over, I caught Drez wearing a sideways smile. His eyes flicked to mine, holding them a moment. “You should eat something," he said.

My mouth went dry, the beer forgotten. The word 'eat' from Drez's lips had too many dirty connotations.

“In fact,” he sighed, shooting a glare at the two men, “You all should. Don't get drunk before dinner, I'm not dealing with that again.”

Colt rolled his eyes, setting his bottle down loudly. “Shit, you never had to babysit me, Drez. We all know it was Johnny getting sloppy, and he's gone now, so calm down.”

Drez's silence was stifling. I
felt
how he studied Colt, watched the drummer wither under that look.

“Dammit,” Colt said under his breath. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring him up. It isn't some dirty secret or something, though.”

They all gave me a meaningful look. Clearing my throat, I spoke carefully around my swollen tongue. “Everyone knows about the fight with Johnny. Sort of, anyway. Can I... can I ask what really happened? The stories are pretty wild.” Shark's version of the incident rippled in my memory.

Drezden sank into his chair, feet kicking up onto the small table. “It's not much of a story. Johnny just fucked up too many times. I wanted him gone, he didn't like that. Not exactly shocking.”

“He tried to murder Drez with a bottle,” Porter said, pushing his empty one away like it was the actual weapon being discussed.

Drez made tiny circles with the base of his beer on the table, wet smudges that went round and round as he spoke. “He didn't try to murder me. That's how these shitty rumors start, Porter.”

The bigger man tilted his chin down. “Sorry. Johnny was pretty pissed, though. I think he would have messed you up if he'd had the chance.”

I hadn't realized I'd begun leaning forward. Half off my seat, I spoke with unbridled curiosity. “So what actually happened to him?”

Drez continued to twirl his beer. “He got dragged off by security.”

“Not before that asshole ripped my gauge, though,” Colt muttered. He pointed to his ear for emphasis.

“Honestly," Drezden said, "I don't know
where
the fuck he is now. I don't care, either."

“You're not worried he'll come back and cause more trouble?” I asked. "If I'd been kicked out of my band, I think I'd be furious."

The singer lifted his eyes, showing me a hint of the fierce animal living in his head. The beer didn't slow its perfect circles, his voice was a low, dry mutter. “Johnny knows if he ever shows his face to me again, I'll break his fucking jaw.”

And I believed him. Down to my gut, I didn't think he'd made an idle threat.

Porter started to say something. A hard, meaningful glare from Drez stopped whatever it was. I had the terrible idea that they knew something and didn't want to tell me.

“So,” Drez went on. Lifting the beer, ending the endless circles, he took a deep drink. “No. I'm not worried about him.”

My breath came in, sharp and loud. I'd been so wrapped up in Drezden's words and tangible emotions I'd forgotten that I needed oxygen. A thrill went up my spine, tickling the back of my brain and throat. His passion turned my insides to butter. That worried me.

Colt broke the serious mood. “About that food. Should we call Brenda, see where we can stop?”

Yawning, Porter stretched his beefy arms over his head. “As long as it isn't pizza again. I'm so sick of pizza.”

Drezden pushed his phone to his ear. “We need to stop and refuel soon. I'll tell her we want to stretch our legs and get a bite.” His attention shot to me, and instantly, I squeezed my beer too hard. “What do you want to eat? Any preference?”

“Uh,” I managed to say. “I don't really care. I'll eat anything.”

The green in his eyes went wild, a forest that was eager to sweep me up and let me get lost. Whatever flicker of heat between us that was there vanished when he stood, speaking into the phone. “Hey, we're hungry. When's the next stop?” He waited, listening. “No, no more damn pizza. Uh huh. Then pick a place where we can get a private room and not get mobbed. That's what you get paid for.”

Smiling, I imagined the put-together woman arguing with Drez on the end of the line. I was getting the impression she got frustrated with him a lot.

I was starting to know the feeling.

“Yeah, fine. Yes, it's fine! Brenda, just—yeah.” He rolled his gaze to me, thoughtful. “She's fine, we'll be fine. Even better if we can eat something before we all starve. Then you'll have no band at all.” He winked at me, which of all the things so far, set my hair on end the most.

Is he trying to be friendly? Is it an act?

Showing us his back, Drez nodded his head as if Brenda could see. “Alright. Sounds good. See you soon.” Shoving the phone in his pocket, he gave us all a tiny shrug. “Private room at some place called the Griffin Bar and Grill. An hour away or so. Best I could do.”

Colt stood up, making the table and bottles shake. “An actual restaurant? Hell yeah!”

“Brenda didn't like the idea, did she?” Porter rubbed his nose, matching the amusement on Drez's face.

The singer just shrugged again, shooting me a look from the corner of his eye. “She never likes my ideas. Hope you're ready. You're about to get a taste of what it means to be famous.”

If it's anything like being close to you,
I thought, smiling like some plastic doll in his direction—a plastic doll full of heat and icy nerves who was barely keeping it together.

Then it just might kill me.

Drezden

T
his kid.

This fucking kid.

How could one girl throw me for such an endless loop?

First she blew me away with her talent, then her innocent fucking little smiles and genuine reactions to everything around her. Next, she's dropping notes and sweating herself into a mess like it's her first time performing. And we weren't even
on
a stage with thousands watching us!

Rubbing my inner arm, I watched Lola from the corner of my eye. After telling her we'd be stopping to get food, she'd gone off to use the showers on the bus. My lip ticked at the memory of how high her eyebrows had shot up when we'd told her the showers weren't a joke, they really existed.

Now, the young guitarist was stretched out on one of the long couch style seats. Her hair was ruffled, that wet just-out-of-bed look that made my cock firm up in seconds. The racer-back grey top she'd had on was replaced by a long sleeved black sweater, too thin to bring much warmth, and sleek enough to reveal the swells of her breasts.

I couldn't break away from eating up her sexy body. Up and down, I scanned her from head to toe, as if I could scribe her image into my mind for later. Like she sensed me, Lola flicked her blue eyes up. They met mine and stayed there.

I was the first to look away.

Shit,
I thought angrily.
I need to get it together, but it's a challenge when this damn woman with legs all the way up to her asshole is inches away from me. Yeah. It's just about sex, that's all.

Just sex.

Nothing else.

On the couch, she absently toyed with her hair. Right away, I thought about how her hands moved like birds through a storm when she played guitar. Lola was fucking
good;
I had to admit that.
Talented... and with a mouth made for kissing.

I thought about how I'd held her cheeks as I checked out her injury in the back of the bus.
She bit the shit out of her tongue,
I reminded myself. That was both dumb and disturbing. If I told myself that Lola was messed in the head, would that turn me off?

No, you're fucked up, too.

My fingers dug into my knee cap. I wanted to push the image of her wet mouth and wide eyes from my skull. My attempts to stop thinking about Lola were backfiring.

I'm a smart enough guy to know this is a bad road to go down. The last thing I need is fucking drama because of where I stick my dick.
I'd seen bands torn apart because of members fighting with each other. Relationships didn't belong in a band. One bad breakup, and boom.

The show was over with.

Literally.

Porter said something; I missed it, but whatever it was, it made Lola laugh. The sound was like sugar in my mouth. My tongue tingled as I looked back at her, stuck staring at her long throat and sparkling eyes.

She looked at me again. Once more, I broke my stare. It wasn't that I was nervous, no. I just knew that this
thing
in me, this fierce hunger that wanted to jump on Lola and taste her moans or her sweet pussy, rose to the surface every time she looked into my eyes.

This was a dangerous game. I needed to end it.

“We're here!” Gerald grunted. Our bus driver was a cantankerous man, easily unlikable and often in a sour mood. All I cared about was that he was the most reliable driver I'd ever seen.

Rocking from my chair, I adjusted the hoodie I'd thrown over my tank-top. I'd left it open, the zipper teeth grating across the thin, white cloth beneath. “Come on, let's get some food.” I needed to dig my teeth into
something.