Slow Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (6 page)

There was more to this than something as petty as looks.

“Can I help you?”

Turning, I smiled at the woman behind the counter. She was cute, though exhaustion and a too-tight bun were doing her no favors. Digging out my keycard, I flashed it like it was money. “You can, in fact, help us. We have rooms here. I'm—”

“Drezden Halifax,” she blurted, fingers covering her mouth. I smirked at her struggling to find the line between fan and professional. “Right! Your room is on the seventh floor. If you have your card, you can go right up.” Gesturing at the elevator, her cheeks went pink. It was endearing, but Lola's blush was far more enticing. “Um, do you need help with your luggage? I can—I mean, someone can—”

Waving my hand, I gripped my bag. “Thanks, but I think we can handle these.” Facing my companion, a wave of surprise careened along my spine. Lola's elegant fingers were crushing the handle of her guitar case, turning them the color of ivory. Every line of her forehead told a message.

Jealousy. Lola was
jealous.
That fact pleased me so much, I could have hugged her right there. I'd sensed it the other night when we were at the Griffin, too. How she'd fidgeted over my flirting with the waitress, a girl whose name I'd already forgotten.

She could just be jealous that this woman recognized me, and not her. Don't get so excited yet.
It was sobering, but it also brought another idea to mind. Standing tall, I slathered my best smile onto the girl behind the front desk. Her hazel eyes were glazed over, like the donuts that morning. “Actually, I could use help with something...” I squinted at her name tag. “Amy. If it isn't too much?”

“Of course not!” Beaming wide, she smoothed her too-smooth scalp. “Just ask! I'd
love
to be of assistance.”

I pointed at Lola's bag. “Could you carry up her luggage?” Amy's eyes followed my finger, excitement deflating. “She's tired from practicing all night on the bus. We've got a
big
show tonight, so I'd like to have her as rested as possible.”

Uncertainty melded into disbelief, then recognition. In an act of unprofessionalism, Amy whipped her phone out and started tapping it. I caught the bright colored screen, the web page for Four and a Half headstones loading up. “Oh my god! She's the new guitarist, isn't she?” The woman stared from Lola, to me, then back again. “You're Lola Cooper, the one replacing Johnny Muse! Oh god, I'm so sorry—I should have noticed!”

Now
Lola squirmed, shuffling her feet at the attention. “Oh, uh, it's fine. Don't worry about—”

“I saw all the photos last night,” Amy rambled, the flash on her phone blinding us. “Everyone was talking about it, all over twitter and everything! I can't believe I'm meeting you.” Her eyes bugged from her skull. “Can I get your autograph!?”

It was hard not to laugh. Lola was gawking at me, mentally begging me for help.
If you lose it here, you'll faint tonight.
The poor girl was going to have a heart attack.

I planned to rescue her, to explain that Lola couldn't sign anything without permission from our manager, when the guitarist abruptly burst into a proud smile. “Sure, what would you like me to sign?”

Saliva vanished from my throat.

“Here,” Amy gushed, handing over a pamphlet for the Fillmore. “Just sign this, it's that or a information packet for the hotel.”

Selfishly, I'd longed for Lola to feel nervous.
But she's not, she's scribbling her name down and looking pleased as fuck.
My scheme to save her from embarrassment at the hands of a hotel receptionist crumbled under their mutual giggles.

Amy held the shiny paper high. “This is so great!” Grinning at me, she offered it my way, along with the pen. “Um, could you sign it too?”

I was disappointed by the turn of events. Seeing Lola's name scrawled like swirling flowers on a breeze muted that.
Is this her first signature ever?
It was certainly the first as a member of my band. Amy had a piece of gold there, if anyone ever told her.
I can add my name, share Lola's first signature.

Taking the pen, I marked the pamphlet. The two names twisted near each other, not quite touching. It was an allegory for
us
.

Kissing the back of the paper, Amy did a full body shiver. “Oh my gosh. Thank you! Okay, let me get that bag up to your room.”

Reaching down, I pulled Lola's bag from her unprepared fingers. “Actually, on second thought, I've got it. Thanks though.”

“Oh.” Blinking, Amy tugged anxiously at the hem of her blouse. “Okay. Alright. Um, call down if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

My nod was faint. Hoisting my luggage and Lola's, I hurried to the elevator. She said something softly to Amy, her sneakers clomping as she caught up. Ducking through, Lola set her guitar case onto the floor while the doors closed behind us.

In the tiny box, mirrors flushing our images all around, she spoke over the whispering elevator music. “Are you alright? You hurried out of there really quick.”

With my hands tied up in the bags, I could only shrug. “It's nothing, just thought you might want to get to your room and chill out before tonight.”

“I mean, you
said
that.” A hint of scrutiny coated her voice. Messing with her hair, Lola squinted up at me. “It feels like something else was wrong.”

Everything is wrong. I can't decide what I want from you, from this, and it's giving me a fucking ulcer.
Normally I wanted to gaze on her sweet face and intoxicating eyes. Now, I regretted that no matter where I turned, her reflection waited for me in the elevator. “What if something
is
wrong? In fact, I think you know what's on my mind.”

Her sigh cut into my ears. “Drezden, look. All of that stuff yesterday...”

Stuff. She calls it stuff, like it's so simple to throw away.

“...And the stuff from the night before that...”

My fingers choked the handles of the bags.

“It can't happen, it won't happen. I was serious when I said I can't risk messing this chance up. Being in this band is a once in a lifetime thing for me.” I saw her turn away in the mirrors. “Lifetime chances don't just come along like breakfast. Seeing that stage today, I just—I knew I had to stay firm, to focus. I'm sorry.”

Having her
apologize
, brush me aside and act like
I
wasn't worth even considering, was worse than being stabbed.
She's saying I'm not worth the risk.
My insides balled up, knotting until they overwhelmed my mind. The disgust was muffling my promise. It strangled the words and desires I'd formed about Lola Cooper.

No.
Like a man hanging below the surface, inches from the air he needed not to drown, I lifted my head.
No, not like this.
In the mirror, I saw my eyes. The green was the color of acid, but it was my mouth that wanted to dissolve. My lips throbbed to melt something—someone—and in that elevator that didn't seem to end, I gave in.

Lola wasn't looking at me, not at first.

The sound of me dropping the bags changed that.

For a second, I saw her wide blue eyes focus on me. Then I was on her, fingers trapping her on the hard wall. Ravenous with the pangs that had haunted me since the night in the tub, I let myself go. Lips that had marked her in only my mind, now turned her mouth into a landing zone. She was ground zero for me.

Lola tasted like caramel and salt and nightshade. I'd let her poison me if I could. If she wouldn't let me into her life, death was on my horizon. How could a man struggle to breathe when he was denied the existence of air?

My nostrils flared to claim her scent. In my ears, her moan was a mixture of surprise and delight. She wanted this.
Wanted it.
Her argument had said it, I knew that now. She called me a risk, but one she had concentrated on resisting.

I'm no more a risk than she is.
I lost my hands in her thick brunette locks. My ribs screamed, telling me I needed oxygen. Ignoring them, my mouth pressed on her even harder. Lola wrapped her perfect hands, her fucking perfectly magical hands, around my waist. It was an aphrodisiac.

The 'ding' of the elevator ended the moment.

Lola's seeking touch become rough; a shove, aiming to push me away. I gasped for air, eyes glowing on her blues. Her creamy cheeks were fire, but so was her voice. “Get off of me, Drezden.”

It took everything I had to step backwards. My hands slid through her hair, the strands silken and buttery. We were both breathing hard. I saw the hint of her nipples straining through her shirt. Each heave taunted me more.

Lola's gaze darted down. I knew she had spotted my raging hard-on, I was wishing my pants weren't so fucking tight.

She moved forward; I inhaled sharply. When she just grabbed her bag and guitar, spinning out the doors, I felt the cold prickles of distress. Lola was running away. Giving into my burst of emotion, my desire, hadn't changed a fucking thing between us.

Watching her stumble down the hall, stopping in front of a door, I did nothing. When she fumbled for her keycard and burst through, I still did nothing.

It wasn't until she vanished from my sight that I grabbed my bag. Exiting the elevator, a place cloying with her scent—and mine—I stepped into the quiet hallway.
I messed that up. Badly.
I wanted to laugh until my throat was ruined.
Fuck, did I mess that up.

My move had been something a teenager would have done.
She's the nineteen year old. I should fucking know better.
Lola was stronger than I thought.

I'd given up my cards, she knew my hand.

Digging into my pocket, I revealed my keycard. It said room 704. Looking up, I stared blankly at the door Lola had entered; 705.

We were right fucking next to each other.

Then I really did laugh, and it was bitter as lemon peels.

––––––––

I
couldn't get my breathing under control.

Leaning on the inside of my hotel room, I buried my palm on my chest and hyperventilated.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

Drezden had kissed me. Kissed
me
.

Holy fucking shit.

Reaching up, I dragged my fingers over my lips. His taste remained; cinnamon and tobacco. I should have hated it, but it was exotic and made my head foggy.

He fucking kissed me.
Now what was I supposed to do?

Every inch of my body was acutely electric. Even the backs of my ears felt like someone had run a static roller over them. Waves of heat ricocheted from head to toe, settling into my lower belly until I had to squeeze my thighs.

Each time Drezden had gotten close to me, fate had intervened. The tub, the practice room, and now a fricking elevator.

He kissed me!

I couldn't get the image out of my head.

At my feet, my bag and case lay in a heap. I'd dropped them unceremoniously as soon as I'd escaped Drezden's molten stare. The way he'd looked at me when I shoved him off...
I hurt him. I told him to get off of me. He didn't expect that.
Running my fingers over my eyebrows, I smoothed them repetitively; nervously.
Well, too fucking bad! I told him we couldn't, we shouldn't, and he fucking has the balls to try anyway.

I loved that he had tried.

I hated it too.

Ugh, what do I even want anymore?
Was anyone as confused as me in this weird world? I was supposed to be thinking about how I'd be playing in front of thousands of people tonight, not getting swept up in my obsession with Drezden Halifax. Drezden and his velvety mouth. Drezden and his dexterous fingers and searing heat and fuck could he ever kiss...

I banged the back of my skull on the door.
Out, thoughts! Out!

They remained like ticks, burrowed and bloated in my flesh.

I wanted Drezden. Wanted him in a way I'd never known was possible. Being a virgin became increasingly more frightening to me. Was it normal to be so hot, so hungry for someone? I knew he would be experienced. A guy couldn't kiss like that, hold me like that, if he wasn't.

He was bold, making a move like that in the elevator.
The wildfire in his depths had crushed my lungs and eaten my strength. If the elevator hadn't opened, ruining the spell, I might have—
Nope! That's it, shower time.

Preferably a cold one.

****

S
weet, wild, and blacker than pitch. Whatever I was hearing pulled me from my dream. It was a sound I'd heard before, during a time when I needed to feel like someone understood me. At the tender age of seventeen, it's impossible to feel anyone does.

In my case, with bullies and the tantalizing kiss of a blade, even harder.

Cracking open my eyes showed me a white wall.
Right, my hotel room.
The shower had stolen all the strength from my muscles. With thick wet hair wrapped in a towel, I'd crashed on my bed and promptly passed out.

The sound came again; words through the walls. I caught snippets and clung to them.

“You fight me,” the familiar voice sang.

Drezden. It was Drezden singing through the plaster.

“Backed into a corner with your hands, and I can't keep my feet beneath me...” He wasn't screaming the lyrics. It was a low rumble, baritone and thick with constraint.

He's singing to me,
was my initial, throat gripping thought.
No. Impossible. He's just practicing for tonight.
Sitting up, the towel fell from my head. Wet strands tickled my bare shoulders while I ripped my cell phone off the side-table. It was already three.

I slept that long? Shit.
Tugging at the snarls in my hair, I tuned into Drezden's soft murmur. Even with a wall between us, his music wrapped my lungs, filled my soul. He was connected to me in a way he could never know.

My arm throbbed sympathetically. I rubbed my tattoo, soothing the phantom wounds.

“...one more night until we fall. Fight me with curled nails and wicked teeth...”