Slow Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (7 page)

Closing my eyes, I let myself fall under his trance. There was comfort there, among the passion, the fear. In my room I was safe. Drezden couldn't see or hear me and my reactions. It was like I was seventeen again, chasing his lyrics down into the soft belly of my mind.

Back then, I never imagined I'd talk to Drezden Halifax. My dream to play in a band had been relatively optimistic. I knew I was good, but there was more to the industry than that.

Sean was proof if I needed it. He'd struggled for years to get to where he was, and I knew it still paled beside what he desired.

Even so, if I could have gotten into a position as glorious as my brother's, that would have been enough.
And now I'm soaring above him.
Opening my eyes, I stared down at my bare feet.
He'll see me tonight. He'll cheer me on, be so proud of me.

Remembering standing in the Fillmore with Drezden, my mouth birthed a bitter frown.
Too bad my parents will never come. He offered to fucking fly them out. Fly them!

My parents couldn't be coaxed to believe in what I was doing.

They'd hated it from the start.

Only Sean has been there for me.
Clasping my phone, I began calling. It rang several times, each one dampening my mood. His voice mail beeped. “Hey,” I whispered, afraid Drez would hear me in his room. “Uh, just calling to say I can't wait to see you tonight. I'll cheer you on, too, okay?” I wanted to say so much more.
Thanks for everything, thank you for pushing me.

Thanks for being more of a parent than either of them.

“Bye.” One word was all I had left in me. Hanging up, I hid my face in a waterfall of hair.
He's probably getting ready. He goes on at five, it makes sense.
Logic wasn't the best for quelling my frustration. I needed to
talk
to someone.

“You fight me...” Drezen sang, tormenting me. “And I can't keep my feet beneath.”

Vigorously I scrubbed my cheeks.
Two can play this game.
My guitar case thunked, clasps snapping open from my quick fingers. I spent the barest time tuning, one ear aware of the next song Drezden began.

“Sticky sweetness,” he crooned. My pulse jolted, the stiff pick between my fingers tickling my strings. Behind the cloak of my strums, I heard his silence, his falter.

He hadn't expected me to reply like this.

My grin hurt my cheeks.

“Burning fast.” He was louder; stronger. Had he moved closer to my wall? “My love, my dear, this will be your last...” Standing smoothly, I didn't miss a note while I walked towards the painted barrier.

With everything and nothing between us, Drezden and I played together. We were perfection. Without needing to see, we
sensed
the tempo and followed the scent. He led me, but I left the trail for our return. As we sped up, my heart did, too.

There was an echo in his lyrics; like his cheek was pressed on the hotel's surface. “If I take you from the grave, you'll be mine.”

Clenching my molars, the tremble boiled through my cells. Before, he'd been singing for himself. A shift had happened.

He was singing for me.

“You'll be mine...”

Swallowing over my swollen tongue, I pressed my knees together. The heat was back. It clawed at me, steam that needed to be vented. I was fucking ready for Drezden. That was what this feeling was. An emotion that bent me to its will, held me prisoner as much as my dark singer's voice did.

I wondered what it would be like to kiss him again.

He was so insistent, so primal. He smelled so good, god, if I just got close again...
Before I realized what I was doing, I placed my puckered lips on the wall. It was stupid; I knew that. If someone saw me they'd think I was insane.

Or pathetic.
But there was no one to spy on me. Right then, with our music mixing, there might as well not have been a wall at all. I was kissing cold paint, but his gritty tone vibrated the material. It numbed my mouth, brushed my lungs, my spine, and beyond.

With my eyes closed, I played the ending of Velvet Lost. The last of the music melted, snow flakes on my scalding skin.

I thought of his honey tongue, his astringent gaze. When I looked up, the blank wall left me dejected. Fighting Drezden was too hard. Everything was too fucking hard.

Just like him. Everything about him is hard, too.
Like a true virgin, I turned beet red. My privacy was appreciated more.

“Lola.”

Startled, I jumped back from the wall.
Oh, shit.
What else had I expected? “Hey,” I said lamely, hearing the cracks in my voice.

Something slid over the wall. I didn't know if it was his hand, or something else. My eyes went to where I'd kissed, imagining him copying me. “Lola,” he said again, metallic. “We should get the guys and head to the Fillmore.”

I was nodding, knowing he couldn't see. “Alright. Let me get changed.”

“They'll have clothes for you there.”

Crinkling my mouth, I laughed. “Seriously? Fine. Most of my stuff is dirty anyway.”

He said no more, so I scrambled to slide on the cleanest things I had left. If the staff for the venue—or was it just for Four and a Half Headstones?—was going to fix me up, I wouldn't fret.

Tying my hair back in a tail, I let my neck breathe. I was sweltering from the tiny jam session, and not because of the effort.
When he sings, I feel like he's sliding through my skull and into my gut, my being.
Thinking about Drezden sliding himself into
any
part of me was making me wilt.

For a long moment, I stood with my hand on the brass handle of my door. I was counting the seconds. Each one was one more bit of existence with a solid barrier between Drezden and myself. Willing my heart to calm the fuck down wasn't working.

Defeated, I pushed out into the hall.

The singer was waiting for me.

Leaning across the way, his ankles crossed, fingers in his jeans, he reminded me of a cowboy from a western. He even had an unlit cigarette in his teeth. The heavy cloak of tobacco was hanging all over him.
Was he smoking in his room?

Drez pushed the cigarette to the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “I need a quick one before we head out. That alright?”

Shrugging, I propped my case on my hip. “It's whatever you want.”

He crooked an eyebrow, but made no comment. I actually hesitated when he entered the elevator. The mirrored surface threw my bloodless face back at me. “You coming?” he asked nonchalantly.

Is he pretending nothing happened in here?
Biting my tongue, I dragged myself inside.
I guess that's the best way to handle this. I did reject him, it's only fair.
If it was fair, why were my palms so clammy?

I knew the answer, and I loathed it.

I'm so weak, god. I told him to get off of me, told him this couldn't happen between us, and here I am lamenting his aloof fucking attitude.

My head was throbbing.

Drezden made a beeline for the front doors when we landed in the lobby. It was hard to keep up, his long legs gave him an advantage. He'd barely lit his cigarette when the car pulled up in front of us. In the back seat, Porter and Colt waved.

“Hey!” The bassist looked quite proud. “Perfect! We were going to head out and send the car back for you two, but you're here, so just pile in.”

The end of Drez's cigarette burned cherry-red; smoke billowed from his lips. “I need to finish this, first.”

Colt stretched over Porter, scowling wildly. “Man! Don't fucking smoke before you sing! I keep telling you this.”

He's right. It seems irresponsible.
For a man so obsessed with how the band sounded, it was out of place. “Can't you just smoke after?” I asked.

That glare was so sharp, I stepped backwards. “Sorry, are you giving
me
fucking advice on singing?”

“I'm only saying—”

“She's only saying what we're
all
saying,” Porter growled. Leaning out of the car, he took a swipe for Drezden's cigarette. Sidestepping, Drez avoided the attempt with ease. “Come on! Just get in the car, Drez!”

He showed us his back, inhaling deeply; his response was flat. “Send the car back for me.” Then he was gone, strolling around the building without looking back.

I took a single step before Porter reached out, grabbing me gently. I wasn't as slick as Drez; I couldn't avoid it. “Forget him, Lola. Let's just go.”

Shooting a glance where the singer had vanished, I frowned. “Shouldn't we make sure he's okay? That he's coming?”

“He'll come.” Colt rubbed his shaved head roughly. “That guy just gets into a black fucking mood sometimes. Jesus.”

In the evening sun, Porter's eyes looked like melting chocolate. “It's fine. Remember who we're talking about. Drezden won't abandon a show. Not ever.”

It took great effort, but I opened the door and climbed inside.

M
y anger had abated by the time the empty car returned.

In my wake, I left three cigarettes. I didn't know the last time I'd smoked so much.

Everyone is pissing me off. Telling me what to do, what not to do...
Staring out the window, I saw the sidewalks filled with wandering people. The show would be starting soon, fans were gathering to swarm the Fillmore.

My breath fogged the glass. Idly, I pressed my finger and dragged it into a single letter:

L.

Lola Cooper. God damn Lola Cooper.

I'd been miserable in my hotel room. Singing had come as a habit, warming my vocal cords and staying busy. The songs I sang were moody, turbulent things that couldn't break me away from my struggle with the girl I yearned for.

Then, the first guitar notes had come.

They'd taken my ability to speak. Just for a second, but that was ages to me. Lola had heard me, and in answer, she'd joined me with her own music. It had been a glorious thing, entwining our songs with only a wall between us.

Always a wall. Always a wall of some kind.

I wanted to tear every fucking wall down with my bare hands.

I'd have to find a way.

Security led me through the back of the building, down hallways more flooded with moving bodies than ever. I could hear music and knew that Porter and Colt were doing sound check. In the wide arena, my eyes fell on the rest of my band on the stage.

Lola was poking her guitar, not noticing me watching. There were other bands in the room, as well as some VIP fans.

A hand came down on my shoulder. “Drezden! There you are.” Brenda huffed, blowing hair from her eyes. “You almost missed sound check.”

“Almost,” I agreed. Now everyone had seen me. I flashed a lazy smile. “Sorry. I'm here, let's get this done.”

The expressions that rested on me varied. The drooling fans were one thing, but it was the emotionless stare from Sean Cooper that threw me off. So far on the tour, the other bands had barely had time for sound check. The fact that we were headlining meant we always went first.

Bands that opened, like Barbed Fire, rarely got a check at all.

So why is he here?
I looked over at Lola.
Because of her. Right?

Climbing onto the stage, I gave Porter and Colt a quick pat on the arm. “Sorry about earlier. I just wanted some privacy.”

“Hey, it's fine man.” Colt flipped a drumstick. “Let's do this.”

Scooping up the microphone, I walked past Lola. I didn't know what to say, so I didn't try.

I wondered if that would ever change.

****

T
he Fillmore filled up, wall to wall faces and bodies. They shoved and shouted and begged for the show to go on. Barbed Fire had opened strong.

I watched from backstage.

Sean Cooper scratched his guitar. He tore it to pieces, a face he wanted to maim. The guy was good, better than he'd been two years ago. Hearing his sound, his style, I knew Lola had learned from him.

My mouth twisted perversely at one fact; Lola was better.

I wonder if he knows.
Staring at his broad back, shoulders rippling with effort, I fought down a wicked grin. If he didn't know yet, he'd learn tonight.

I gave the band credit. They opened well, riling the crowd in waves. The singer, a guy named Thomas, welcomed everyone. He said what he was contracted to, mentioning the bands that were playing. And, especially, highlighting me and Four and a Half Headstones.

Standing off to the side, I didn't think anyone would see me. A gentle cough proved me wrong. Turning, I looked the brunette over. The crew had put her in dark, rippled skinny jeans and a top that strained over her chest. It was similar to the photos that had been taken for the promotions.

That was clearly intentional.

“Hey,” Lola mouthed; the music drowned her out. Her too-tall boot kicked at the floor. Could she walk in those? Blue eyes left me, leaving a hole in me as they did. She stared around at the brightly lit stage.

I knew what she was here for. Leaning down, I spoke right in her ear; the way she gasped gave me a thrill. “They're playing really good.”

Lola's nose nearly touched mine. “They
always
play really good! You've been on the tour with them, haven't you heard them before?”

A hot flash crept up my neck. I
hadn't
listened to Barbed Fire. Normally, I did sound check then vanished until it was time for me. The other bands were just blurry noise in the background.
I should have paid more attention.
It didn't matter.

The only band that needed to be on top was mine.

“Sure,” I said quickly. “Listen. I'm going to grab some air, we go on after the next group. Want to come?”

Brushing back her thick curls, she peeked longingly out at the stage. Barbed Fire had one more song; I knew her answer before she spoke. “Not yet.”

Drums crashed, muffling my words. “You've heard them a million times. Why do you need to be here for this, too?”

A crisp frost inched along her lips. It stuck them into an unmoving frown. “Because I want to be.”