Rock Me Deep (7 page)

A hot meal would have to do.

The air outside was crisp. It was a far cry from the earlier heat in the day, but I was still amazed that the weather had shifted so fast. We were still a day and half out from Colorado, could the warmth flee so easily as the time vanished?

Craning my neck, I saw the line of cars parking behind us and across the street. The restaurant was about to get slammed by the groupies trailing the tour. I felt a glimmer of pride over knowing we could hide in our private room and avoid most of it.

“Wow,” a soft voice whispered at my elbow. Lola had come up beside me, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “I'm so used to being near the end of this caravan. Look at all those headlights.” Her attention darted up to me, making me aware of her nearness, how thick her lashes were. “It's kind of intimidating, huh?”

My heart jabbed into my ribs.
Intimidating? No, what's fucking intimidating is how much I need to rely on someone like you to make sure the rest of my shows even happen.
That knowledge was making me anxious.

“If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “You'll piss yourself when we play in front of them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building. I didn't look back to see if my words had hurt Lola. I didn't care. I couldn't fucking care.

Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.

I said, “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”

“It was such short notice,” she groaned, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”

The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”

“Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, her heavy-makeup coated lashes swishing at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”

Something bumped into me. For a second, I'd hoped it was Lola, but no; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security guard. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”

We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.

Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. The young guitarist was walking next to Brenda, the two of them speaking with their heads close. My manager had swept her long arm around Lola's sharp shoulder blades like they were old friends.

If I knew Brenda, she was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people. It was the ease in which they were touching and talking that was making my neck throb.

My attention stuck on Brenda's nails digging into Lola's side.
I
wanted to be the one bending my lips near her ear and making her grin. I ached to swallow Lola in my arms and smell her hair, to feel her shiver.

It took all my strength to rip my eyes away and look ahead.

The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attached with some pool tables and flat screen TVs. Along one wall was a series of tables that had been pushed end to end.

Porter dropped into a chair, snagging a menu from the middle. Someone, probably the owner, had placed a bottle of champagne in a bucket for us. The very-pink label winked at me as I got closer.

I didn't bite back my snort. “Who thought we'd drink this?”

“It's champagne,” Brenda said, sliding around and freeing Lola from her grasp. She touched the neck of the green bottle.
“Fancy
champagne, even. I'll keep it if it doesn't get touched.”

Colt slid the bucket away from her, sitting across from Porter with it in his grasp. “Oh no, I'll take it. It'll make a great dessert.”

“Or we could all
share
it," Porter said, snatching the champagne back. He ignored Colt's pout. “We've got an excuse to celebrate.”

I suppose we do,
I thought silently. As a group, we all turned to watch Lola.

She shifted from one foot to the next. “What, because of me? Come on, don't make me blush.”

A chunk of me lurched forward at the simple idea of making her cheeks glow pink. It was close to the itch I got for tobacco when things were stressing me out. Striding forward, I pulled the bottle from Porter. In my other hand I snagged an empty champagne flute. “Everyone,” I said, “take a glass.”

Lola twitched as I approached. “I'm not technically allowed to drink," she said, laughing. "Maybe I should have said that sooner? Before all the beers?” The tilt of her lips at the corners sent electric pricks over my spine. She reacted to me so openly. Was
that
what was drawing me to her? How she projected her emotions on her lovely face?

“No one is going to say anything to you, not in this group,” Colt chuckled.

“Here, take this.” I pushed the glass at Lola until she took hold.

“Seriously,” she said, sourness dancing on her tongue, “We don't need to do this.”

With ease, I gripped the bottle. The sound of the cork popping made her flinch. I said, “Yes, we do.” Lifting an eyebrow, daring her to stop me, I filled her glass.

Like we were in some unbreakable bubble, the rest of the group hovered nearby, not getting too close.

Staring Lola down, the champagne fizzing in her glass, I waited. I didn't know what I was waiting for.

“Hey,” Colt said, nudging me and shattering the moment—whatever that moment really was. “Share the stuff, Drez.”

After I filled their glasses, grabbing one for myself, I abandoned the bottle on the table. There was no need to explain; I lifted my drink, they all copied me.

Even Lola.

Looking her dead in the eye, I said my piece. “Cheers to a new guitarist who won't be found with her cock buried in some random girl in the bathroom while we're
supposed
to be playing on stage.”

They all laughed. Well, everyone but Lola. She just looked away, a delicious red heat crawling up her neck. There. That was what I'd wanted.

Why the fuck did I need that so badly?

We finished our toast, which seemed to give the two waitresses hovering by the door enough courage to sway the rest of the way inside. The one with long, onyx hair spoke first. “Can we get you boys anything to drink?”

Brenda's scowl had us all smiling again. “This
boy
will take a vodka tonic,” she said with false, sugary sweetness.

Tugging a chair out, I sat towards the end, furthest from Colt and Porter. The way the girls were staring at me was familiar. They knew who I was, they smelled money and fame. Beyond that, they were ogling my chest as it peeked through my open hoodie.

I said, “I'll take whatever beer is on tap.”

The scrape of another chair, right across from me, made me look up. Lola settled in with her eyes lowered. I wanted to see into her head, to know what she was thinking.
Is she being shy, or is she nervous she'll get carded in spite of what Colt said?
I doubted anyone would bother. The restaurant was happy we were here, if they said a peep about Lola not being twenty-one, they risked us leaving.

They wanted our business more than they feared a single underage drinker in a private room.

Corruption is a funny thing.

“I guess I'll have what he's having,” Lola said, glancing up at me, then to the dark haired waitress. She only relaxed when the other woman nodded, scribbling the order down in her tiny notebook.

The girls moved down the line, talking to the other two men. The chair under me creaked as I leaned towards Lola. “I figured Brenda had done her research, making sure you could legally sign that contract, but please tell me you're not secretly a preschooler," I teased.

“I'm nineteen,” she laughed, pure blue eyes landing on my greens. Then, like water on oil, she her eyes back to the menu on the table. “I'll be twenty in four months.”

Nineteen. She's getting her break pretty early.
I was twenty-one now, but I was only seventeen when I'd started foraying into the music world seriously. A chance meeting at eighteen had been the start of my rise to fame.

Squinting at Lola, I studied the top of her head. She had her nose near touching to the menu. Not sure what to say next, or if there even was anything to say to her, I took her cue and looked at my menu.

By the time the waitresses returned with our drinks, I hadn't figured out what I wanted.

No, that wasn't right. I
knew
what I wanted.

She just wasn't an option.

Flicking the plastic sheet up so the dark-haired girl could take it, I met her smoldering stare. “Just give me what you like best.”

“I—what I like?”

Taking hold of the chilly glass of caramel colored beer that she'd handed me, I put on a half smile. “Yeah. Your favorite food, whatever you'd eat here. Get me that.”

Tossing her hair back, clearly enjoying the envious glare of her fellow waitress, the girl giggled. “Alright, I can do that. I'm Scarlett, by the way.”

“Scarlett,” I repeated back. The name sounded fake, but who was I to judge? “I guess I should introduce myself, I'm—”

“Drezden!” she blurted, her smile wide as the moon. “You're Drezden Halifax. Yeah. I know.”

Of course she knew.

I hid my smile behind the beer, the crisp and bitter liquid refreshing on my throat. I caught Lola watching me covertly from behind her menu. “You going to take her order?” I asked Scarlett.

She realized she was ignoring the rest of the table. Casting me a final, flirty smile, she moved over to the young brunette. “Sorry about that. What can I get you?”

“Just some tenders and fries,” Lola said. She watched Scarlett nod, then stared after her as she bobbed out of the room, hips swinging. I was sure she was doing that for me. I peered at Lola curiously. What did she think about such over the top behavior?

“She's cute,” I said flatly, gauging her reaction.

“Yeah. Beautiful, even.” Her fingertips went white on her glass of beer. It told me nothing.

Is she envious of the flirting or not? Why can't that information just be stamped on her—

“Fuck!” Lola coughed, covering her mouth and holding the beer at a distance. “That's strong!”

The laugh escaped me. I couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted to. But, fuck. It felt
good.
“It does have a kick. Don't tell me that weak beer on the bus was your first?"

Narrowing her eyes, Lola slid the drink closer to herself. “Please. I'm surrounded by rock stars, how could that beer be my first.”

“Oh, sorry.” Lifting my palms in mock defense, I gave her a cocky grin. “You were the one saying you shouldn't be drinking. I thought that meant this was all new.”

“It's just
this
beer, that's all.” Fidgeting, she watched me warily. “It's just strong.”

“I know,” I said. Angling my chin up, I took a long, deep drought from my glass. It was a stupid move, entirely too braggart. Why was I acting like a show off? Setting the mostly empty drink down heavily, I arched an eyebrow at Lola's stunned expression.

Perhaps she wanted to prove something. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that she proceeded to emulate me, chugging back half of her huge glass. I gawked at her jugular as it pulsed.

She managed not to cough, watery eyes challenging me after she slammed the drink down harder than I even had. “Well,” I murmured, gliding my fingers over the top of my damp drink, “Guess you showed me."

Lola went red from chin to hairline. It was a sweet treat after the beer.

“Stop teasing her.” Brenda draped herself into the chair beside Lola. The vodka tonic in her slender fingers was already halfway gone. As professional as she was, I'd never known her to curb her love of booze. She knew too well that she had a whole day to sober up before the next show.

The red-head reached out, lifting Lola's beer and taking a quick sip. I gave her a pointed look. “She's right. It's pretty strong,” she said, ignoring my frown.

“I believed her.” The beer had warmed my blood. That was good, it helped melt the crisp shard of irritation caused by Brenda breaking into my moment. “You don't need to protect her, that won't really help her 'blossoming rock star' image.”

Brenda rolled her eyes, but it was Lola who spoke first. “Drez is right, I'm fine. Besides, I'm sick enough of my brother acting like he always needs to protect me. I can handle myself.”

Right, her brother.
I fixed my attention on Brenda. She just perched her plump lips on the rim of her drink. “About that," I said slowly. "Sean Cooper, he's
really
your older brother?”

“Sure.” Lola hesitated, glancing between me and my manager. “Why, is that a problem?”

It could be.
“No,” I said, taking a pull from my glass. “If Brenda didn't think it was, then no.”
She knew, there was no way she didn't realize when she took her name down.

The ice clinked in Brenda's suddenly empty glass. She pushed it aside, making it obvious for the waitress that she needed a refill. “I didn't think it was, and I still don't.” She leaned towards Lola. “Drez is just being paranoid.”

“About what? What's wrong with my brother?”

“Nothing,” Brenda said quickly. She scrunched her nose at me, and I knew she hated that the topic was coming up at all.

But it had to.

Looking over at Porter and Colt, I made sure they weren't listening. They were busy laughing over something or other, deep in their own glasses. “Lola,” I started, wondering how much she did or didn't know, “Your brother doesn't have the best history with me.”

“I didn't think he had
any
history.” Lola craned forward, confusion twisting her features. “The most Sean ever said about you to me was telling me to lower your music when I was blasting it.”