Slow Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (3 page)

But was it worth it?

Warring with the rancid chunk of me that wanted to affect Lola, I gazed at Porter and Colt. My band, guys who had stood by me for years. Guys who knew me at my best and my worst. Well, not entirely my worst.

Lola was learning that.

This isn't the way. If I keep this up, we all lose. How can I keep Lola by me if the band crumbles, if we fail on stage and lose it all?
Observing the dark haired girl, I licked my lower lip. I knew what I had to do. “No. I made the right choice. She can do it.” Lola sat up, gawking. “One more time. Play it again.”

That round, I reigned myself in. I didn't try to make her flounder. It took everything in me to control my need to brush that part of her in her brain... but I did it.

With the last of the chords capering around the room, I looked over my band. Their relief, their excitement, was contagious. “See?” I graced Lola with a subtle smile. “I knew she could do it.”
I need her to be able to do it.

And I need to affect her.

God fucking hell, why do I need both things so bad?

Rolling his eyes, Porter plucked his base. “Yeah yeah, you're clairvoyant. Let's do another one.”

As a solid unit, we played. Four and a Half Headstones came alive. My ears rang with our sound, telling me we were as good now as we'd been at our peak. Before Johnny had started dipping into lackadaisical habits. Back when we'd brought him on fresh, same day as we'd told Sean Cooper no.

Lola's brother. I wonder what they talked about this morning.
Had she said anything about me to him? Had the guy even asked? It wasn't my business, yet at the same time, the feeling that anything having to do with Lola
was
my business was forming. God, I wanted her. My skin boiled with my starvation, tongue tasting like delirium.

I actually almost missed a lyric. No one noticed, just me.

That was plenty.

Winding down an hour into practice, I kicked the pile of plastic bottles around the floor. Lola was sweating, the front of her shirt stained. The dark patch drew the eye—my eye—to her heaving breasts. Leaning on the bench, head tilted to the ceiling, her throat bobbed. Her panting summoned filth from the base of my skull.

Instantly, I recalled how she'd looked beneath me in the tub. Her parted lips, wide-eyes and wild smell. I'd heard her heart, her very blood, and still pressed on her harder.

Wrenching my gaze away didn't help.

Ruffling my hair, I didn't need to spend time coping with the rush of tingles. Brenda was there to sober me. She pushed through the curtain, looking at all of us but honing in on Lola. “Good, perfect timing.”

“What's perfect timing?” I growled.

My manager brushed past me. She still wore her ridiculous tall red heels; the sharp bottoms tore at the rug floor. “Come on Lola, we're pulling the bus over for a minute.”

The guitarist lifted her eyebrows. “What? Why?”

“Our photographer is up ahead, he's with his crew in the parking lot of a furniture store.” Gripping her curved hips, the red-head tapped her toe. “Come on, be quick!”

Lola's sapphire eyes jumped to me. That expression was pleading, but the reasoning as to why escaped me.
Is she asking my permission to leave, or asking me to stop this shoot?
“Go, make it fast,” I grumbled.

Brenda fluffed her hair. “Relax. We're doing it right on the bus. They just need to clean her up first, then they'll take some shots as we drive. Easy.”

Easy,
I thought silently. Saying nothing, I folded my arms and watched them leave the room.

When their footsteps faded, Porter gave a sharp cough. “So. First time we've all been alone together since Lola joined.”

“Yup.” Colt rubbed his chin with a stick.

They were waiting for me to talk. I could see it in their eyes. Setting the mic on the stand, I dropped onto a bench. “Say whatever you need to.”

Poking at his base, Porter watched the floor like it had words there to read. “She's good. I think she's gotten a handle on her nerves now.”

Nerves.
My lips twisted. Nerves wasn't the right word, but they didn't need to know that. I was entirely convinced that Lola was caught up in
me.
Her awkward moments were crafted from her feelings, her reactions. It was a private gift meant for me, they didn't need that knowledge.

“Forget about that,” Colt mumbled. “What's this photo shoot thing all about? Did I miss something, do we all need new head shots or some shit?”

The internal debate I had was a funny one. I knew I could play dumb, force Brenda to come up with an answer.
Putting that on her is a risk. I know she won't say word one about the security mix up, it makes her look bad too, but if they press her and she can't give a good lie...
Leaning forward, I gripped my knees. “Brenda just said Lola needs some photos. Stuff for social media, that sort of junk.”

The two men nodded, happy to accept that answer. It was close enough to the truth to be believable. “In that case,” the bassist yawned, “I'm going to grab some coffee. Pretty sure we got some instant stuff left in the cupboard.”

“I'll remind Brenda we need supplies.” My legs creaked when I stood. I was only twenty-one, but lately, my stress and lack of sleep made me feel much older. The two of us wandered into the front of the bus. I don't know what I expected to see out there. Maybe a camera guy, someone for makeup.

A tall umbrella light stood in the aisle, blocking most of the way in. Porter was pacing in front of it, hands held high. “Hey, come on, let me through!”

“One second,” Brenda snapped. She appeared beside me, dragging Lola by the arm from the bathroom. My sour mood was rising... Then, I saw
her
.

Someone, no doubt Brenda, had forced the guitarist out of her ratty pants and fitted top. In black, torn jeans that revealed chunks of skin all up the backs of her thighs, Lola was a vision. A white and black spaghetti top, the back shredded to display her shoulder blades, and knee high vinyl boots completed her ensemble.

It wasn't the Lola I knew... but I could see myself liking this version just fine.

Her cheeks were on fire. Blue eyes sparkled, casting my way in another silent cry for help.
She hates this already,
I realized. Brenda guided her past us, our bodies brushing in the tight aisle. The sweet scent of Lola sank into my bones, living there.

Porter made room for the girls, then scowled as the umbrella light was pushed back in his face. “Hey! Come on, I don't want to break this, but I need some fucking coffee.”

“Chill.” Our manager grabbed a carton off of a table. Steaming, bitter smelling liquid poured into a tall cup which she hastily thrust at Porter. Someone from the photo team had brought us coffee.

Lola was handed over to the group. Two woman and one man quickly surrounded her like hungry wolves. I could hardly see the girl.

Anxiety jumped through me, grasshoppers on cocaine. It shouldn't have mattered. She was just getting her makeup done.
You know it's more than that. She's going to be showing herself to the world now.
I shook my head vigorously. Lola was going to show herself tomorrow anyway, on stage. I'd known that.

Hadn't I realized what that meant?

No. I didn't fucking think about it until now.
Gripping the seat next to me, I listened to the group titter around Lola like little birds.
She's going to be famous like the rest of us. That means fans, stalkers, obsessive people who will try to take pictures of her, with her, everywhere.

Lola was going to become a star like me.

I wanted her to be mine, and she would belong to the world before that would happen.

Porter moved beside me, sipping his coffee. “They never put as much effort into
my
makeup for these shoots.”

My mood was too black for his humor. “She's going to look like a different person.”

“No more than the rest of us,” he snorted.

Porter was wrong.

Eventually the group cleared, another umbrella light added into the aisle. Lola was a queen, black tresses wound out so they fell across her shoulders in smooth curls. They'd turned her eyes into lands of coal, lashes so heavy I was amazed she could blink.

And her fucking lips... they'd made them plumper, shiny and crimson. It was a frown made of rubies begging to be kissed. Lola looked absolutely miserable.

My bassist whistled, low and private for us. Jerking my glare at him, I witnessed the stare of appreciation on his face. He was seeing Lola in a way he never had. It was a sliver compared to what
I
saw in her from the start. “Wow, she's kind of hot, isn't she? Damn.”

Biting my tongue, I went back to watching the girl I hungered for. They were coaxing her into posing. Stiff as wood, Lola let them adjust her until she was draped in a seat. Cameras flashed, blinding her pretty blue eyes.

Though I didn't enjoy seeing her so uneasy at the hands of the photographers, I had to admit she looked stunning. My jeans were crying out, begging me to give my cock more room. Scratching at my skull did little to chase the degenerate thoughts away.

Someone shoved Lola's guitar at her. She took it happily, transforming before my eyes. The instrument was a lifeline. It completed the picture, made her whole. Lola was lost without her music; it hurt me how similar we were.

Now the photos would make sense. They'd show a girl who was a masterpiece of talent, not a half-finished plastic replica.

My heart throbbed in empathy.

The shoot was over as fast as Brenda had promised. We'd driven a few miles with the van for the photographers following us. Tires squeaked, stopping the bus so the group could clamber off. They were efficient. I appreciated that.

“So!” Brenda whirled to face me, not stumbling on her spread feet when the bus took off again. “That went well, didn't it?”

“It went fast.” Eyeing Lola, I noticed she wasn't looking at me. “You ready for a break?”

Peeking upwards through her roof-edge of lashes, she hesitated. “Do we have time for that?”

She's worried about the show.
I was, too, but no longer for the same reasons. Lola was ready to play. As long as I held back from aiming my pure energy and desire right at her, she wouldn't fuck up. My bigger concern was attached to her success.

She would do amazing. Everyone would know her, and they would love her.

I was fucking terrified.

“We've got time. You won't do us any good if you pass out from hunger.” I glanced at Brenda. “We need more supplies. There's literally nothing here but alcohol.”

“I know, I know.” Messing with her hair, she pouted. “Think you guys can handle pizza today? I promise after the show tomorrow, I'll pack this place full of goodies for the next hike.”

Porter stole more coffee from the box on the table. “I can eat more pizza if you promise to add some fruit to the next stock up.” Noting Brenda's squint, he bobbed his shoulders. “We can't live on sugar and fat alone. You want this band to make it another few years?”

“Actually, I don't know if I'll make it to tomorrow.” Colt stumbled from the hall, his face like wet cheese. “Fuck, I really did drink too much.”

A flicker of disgust rolled up in me. The sweet, shocking sound of Lola's laughing snuffed it out. She was sitting on the chair, one knee hugged to her chest. The blue in her eyes was glowing. “Sorry,” she said quickly, covering her grin. “You guys are just hilarious sometimes.”

Where had my frustration with Colt gone?
Out the window with her laughter.
Tugging at the hem of my shirt, I sat across from Lola. “Pizza's fine with you too?”

“Anything is fine right now.” She toyed with the ends of her hair, smile going stale. “Whatever they used made my hair super soft. Jesus.”

The tips of my fingers itched to touch it. To touch any part of her. “Wait till we get backstage at the show. You'll see some real crews for hair and makeup then.”

The bus seat opposite us creaked. “Yeah,” Porter chuckled. “And if you thought last night was crazy, the afterparty will kill you.”

I didn't like his phrasing. My lips made a bloodless line.
The afterparties, where guys will be fawning all over the new guitarist of Four and a Half Headstones.
Now my fingers were aching to choke on the throats of the imaginary men.

“I've been to afterparties.” She folded her legs, tip of her boot almost brushing my knee. I felt the kiss of air like it was a strike. “I
was
following and helping Barbed Fire, remember? On the first leg of this tour, we actually were at this girl's house. It was insane.”

Colt's chuckle was patronizing. “Right right. Like Porter said, wait till you experience a
real
afterparty.”

Her delicious mouth became an electric eel. “Fuck you, the parties I went to were great.”

“But you weren't famous then.” Colt folded his arms behind his head, leaning on a window near us. “After tomorrow, you will be. Then you'll see.”

Then she'll see.
Looking up, I spotted Brenda on her phone. She had her back to us, standing near the front of the bus.
Ordering us some food. Good.
The longer I sat near Lola, not feeling her or causing her to blush, the more I needed to put something else between my gnashing teeth.

I worried I'd grind my molars down before the tour was done.

––––––––

T
he pizza fueled me enough for the next four hours of practice. That was good, I needed something in my stomach. It kept doing flips and pretzels the closer we got to the concert location.

I was relieved that I'd been able to make my hands listen to me as we played. Something had happened that morning, though what it was...

It was like Drezden hid himself behind a curtain.
He still sounded the same, it was just the fuel in his emerald eyes had burned out. Whatever the change, not being on the end of his assassin style demeanor let me play to my fullest.

I had to admit, we sounded fucking great.