Tough Luck (Hard Rock Roots) (8 page)

“How'd you get in my room?” I ask her because let's be honest, no matter how hot she is, finding her here is kind of weird. Lola tilts her head to the side and bites down on the arm of her black bug-eyed shades. She nibbles at 'em for a moment and then nods her head.

“I knew something was different about you,” she says, standing up and walking towards me with this sway that's just about Goddamn mesmerizing. Her hand comes up and brushes against the skin on my face. My head spins and then I'm stumbling back, struggling not to reach out and grab her, smash her breasts against my chest and kiss her fucking face off.

“How'd you get in here?” I ask again. I might be a soggy ass loser, but I pay attention to things. It's how I know everything there is to know about this tour. Except, apparently, Lola's face. Maybe it was because she was always wearing those butt ass ugly sunglasses.

Lola's face shivers for a second, and she spins away, pretending to be interested in the animal cutouts that litter the floor. I know that face. She's hiding something, something that's eating her up from the inside out. I recognize the slow fade of the spirit. It's right there in the set of her cheeks and the tight skin across her forehead.

She pouts her lips, flicking her tongue across the red-purple lipstick she's wearing. I watch as she circles the paper animals and comes back around, taking a peek inside the bathroom. When she sees the syringe on the floor, she raises her rounded brows.

“Well, shit on a songbird, didn't realize I was interrupting some quality time with the needle. I honestly thought you were dropping a deuce. Would've been more dignified that way, you know?” I raise an eyebrow as she bends down and picks it up, holding it delicately on her outstretched palm like it's a butterfly or some shit. “Should I come back later then?”

“How did you get in my room?” I ask her again, thinking she's going to hand the needle over to me. Instead, she spins it around, presses the plunger to release the air and sticks it into her arm, just like that. She pulls it back up to make sure she's got a hit. “You're freaking me out a little,” I admit as she lets her eyelids flutter closed for a moment. Lola's hot as I've ever seen, but I'm in a state right now. I've got a new kid to take care of, one with a dead mother. Paranoia doesn't even begin to describe the feelings I'm having right now.

“Your friend, the one with the bright blue pants let me in.” Lola pauses and wets her lips. She looks up at my face like she expects me to stop her. I'm far beyond that point in my life where I can tell anyone what to do or help them out in any way. If she wants the hit, it's hers. “Didn't know you'd be getting fried.” I raise an eyebrow.

“I'm hardly high, doll face,” I tell her, wondering if Jesse's doing alright with Lydia. Probably better than I'd do anyway. Lola gives me a look that says she doesn't believe me. Don't blame 'er. This is the most sober I've been in ten friggin' years. I watch hungrily as she pushes the plunger down and try to convince myself that I don't want it. That I don't
need
it. I can feel sweat pooling in my armpits and dripping down my forehead. Fuck, fuckity, fuck, fuck, fuck. And fuck again. Just, fuck.

“Then what were you doin' in there? Playing with your salami?”

“You're the most vulgar woman I've ever met, and strangely, I'm intrigued.” I get out a cigarette and watch Lola's ass as she moves into the bathroom, puts the cap back on the syringe and tosses it in the trash. As an afterthought, she grabs the rubbing alcohol off the floor and cleans her arm. I should be calling my other baby mamas. Or showering. Or going downstairs to find Lydia. Instead, I'm standing here wondering if I can get laid. How fucked up is that? I barely deserve a bullet to the back of the head.

Lola pauses and leans against the sink, bending forward and letting her hair fall around her face.

“I just came up to check on you and your kid.” She looks up and smiles. “She's cute by the way. Bloody fucking precious. Did everything go alright last night?” I pause and sigh, closing my eyes for a moment to gather myself. When I open them, I light up and suck in a drag. Lola studies me carefully, almost too carefully. I wonder what her secret is. Everyone has one, a skeleton in the closet just waiting for a necromancer. I'd rather not have my shit lifted up from the grave and sicced on the world, but it looks like it's happening whether I want it to or not.
I have to make those calls.

“Lydia still thinks Turner's her dad. She doesn't give a rat's ass about me. But that's to be expected.”

Lola scowls and snorts, shaking her head like I've disgusted her. She sweeps some of her dark hair back and looks up at me. Thank God the stupid shades are stuck in her pocket. I can actually see her eyes now; they're almost as big and round as the glasses but a hell of a lot prettier. I try to think of something to compare the blue of her eyes to, and all I can come up with are alcoholic beverages. Sad. That's just sad.

“You've gotta stop that self-deprecating crap,
Ronnie,
” she snaps, standing up and pointing her nail at my chest. “I told you last night, if you don't care about yourself, who the hell else is going to? Pull your head out of your ass and just stop.” Lola steps up so close to me her heels crush my toes, grabbing my face and shoving her tongue down my throat. For once in my life, I'm too shocked to do anything but stand there with my mouth hanging open, the world's hottest chick pressed up on me.
Second hottest chick,
my brain automatically corrects thinking of Asuka.

And that's why, even though I want to fall in love again, I don't know if I can.

I reach out and grab Lola's upper arms, pushing her back a step.

She stares at me for a moment and shakes her head, grabbing her sunglasses and putting them back on her face. Before she goes, she slips the cigarette out from between my fingers and puts it in her mouth.

“Nice to meet you, Ronnie,” she says and slams the door behind her.

I don't know why I get so upset at Ronnie. I'm not here to be his mentor or his girlfriend or anything like that. I'm here to kick his ass and take his name. I'm here to knock him down, so I can climb up.

I pause and put my hand on the wall, taking slow, deep breaths while I try to get ahold of myself. I can't stop thinking about what a terrible person
I
am. And then Ronnie goes and talks shit about himself, and fuck, but he's so sad and all that. I don't know what to do. This whole time, I've been following orders and doing generic sorts of shit, like finding that baseball cap and mailing it off. I've never actually done anything personal to anyone.

I stare at the floor, at the hideous carpeting, and think about Ronnie's daughter. Her mum is dead because of me. Well, maybe not me personally, but us. Us. Us.

I clap my other hand to my forehead.

“Get yourself together, Lola, for fuck's sake.”

“Hey, you.”

I look up and glance over my shoulder to find Naomi Knox standing behind me, a bandage on her forehead, blonde hair swept up into a ponytail on the top of her head. I've done everything I could during this tour to stay out of her way. She scares me, I'll be honest. That, and I feel like she'll sense that I know her brother somehow. Don't know how, but wouldn't that just be a Goddam drag? Bitch looks like she could take care of herself.

“Yeah?” I ask, feeling the rush I was looking for when I grabbed that needle. I had a hard night last night. Cohen wouldn't leave me alone, banging on the door all damn night. That, and somehow, whenever I tried to go to sleep, all I could see was Ronnie's sad smile in my head. I stand up and turn around, doing my best not to stumble. I drank a lot before I went over to see him. Doubt he noticed. He was too preoccupied with his own shit. Naomi though, God, Naomi looks like she's hyper aware of the world right now.

Her orange-brown eyes bore into me, making me fidget. I sniffle and keep a hand on the wall for support. I try not to compare myself to her, but she's so tall and pretty, like a Barbie doll. Well, if Barbie went badass rocker bitch or something. She kind of sounds like one, too, when she talks.

“That guy, the one with the dollar bills tattooed on his arm,” she starts, and I know right away she's talking about Cohen. That freaking taint is like a mozzie buzzin' around my ear. I can't get rid of him. It's just constant.
Stupid bloodsucking junkie.
If he gets me into trouble with Naomi, if he blows our cover somehow …

“What about 'im?” I ask, glad that my voice stays steady and even.

“He your boyfriend?” she asks, crossing her arms over her tattered T-shirt. I can't really tell what's on it now, but it looks like it might've been an American flag at some point. I try not to scowl at the question. After all, I did date the man for a long ass time. Not my fault he morphed into some sort of power hungry monster more interested in hitting women than fucking them.

“Not anymore,” I tell her, watching her reaction as she stares me down.
God, she must know something right? Right?
I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her I'm sorry. What a disaster that would be. My conscious is going to get me killed one of these days. “Why? He bein' a pain in the ass? Wouldn't be the first time.” I try to smile, but it doesn't really come out right. My mouth just squinches up all funny. I'm trying too hard. Maybe it's the drugs or whatever, but I'm feeling paranoid, like a bird locked up in a cage. I just want to get out of here.

Naomi stands stone still for a moment as if judging how much information she wants to give to me.

“That fucker was screaming in the halls all night and when I came out to fuck him up, I saw him leaving here with Hayden Lee.” Naomi pauses for a second and then rushes on like she's not sure I know who Hayden Lee is. How it's possible to miss that smashed crab walking around here like her shit don't stink is beyond me.
Well, guess what, sweetheart? Your farts give you away.
“And now I can't find her. She won't pick up her phone either.” Naomi pulls her cell out of the pocket of her blue jeans. “They left here about two hours. Any idea where they'd be going?”

“You her babysitter or something?” I blurt out without meaning to.
Shit.
Naomi's eyes narrow on me, locking me into a stare I'm sure I won't be able to get out of. Guilt is a powerful, powerful thing. “Two hours, huh?” I continue, hoping to break her concentration. “Well, I can tell you what they're not doing. Cohen's never been able to last more than ten minutes, so that can't be it.” I try to laugh, but the sound echoes around the hallway, like I'm laughing at myself or something. “Two hours is nothing, yeah? I'm sure they'll be back.”

“Yeah, I'm sure,” Naomi says, eyes still narrowed and searching. My face starts to sweat and my jacket suddenly feels stifling. “But we have a conference call with our manager scheduled for,” She pauses to check her phone. “Fifteen minutes ago.” She keeps staring; I stand stone still and face her down like the bitch I know I am.
I could take her in a fist fight, I'll bet. Better watch out blondie, this chick's bite is worse than her bark. Well, they're both pretty bad anyhow.
I let go of the wall.

Just when I think shit's about to hit the fan, Turner Campbell comes out a nearby room and opens his mouth, pausing when he sees me standing there. His jaw snaps shut and a vein in his neck twitches.

“Who the hell is this?” he asks, and I have to roll my eyes. The boys in that band are so full of crap, their eyes are brown. Good Lord Jesus. Third night of the tour, we slept together. Probably best not to mention that around Naomi though. They've got a legendary thing goin' on. It's in every magazine, all over the web.

I take a breath and try not to let my paranoia get the better of me. I slide my shades off and smile.

“The name's Lola Saints. It's a pleasure to meet ya.”

Turner stares at me for a moment, and I wonder if he'll actually recognize me. Not that I really want him to. That would make things between Ronnie and me awkward as hell. Much harder to seduce a guy when he knows his mate's banged you. Brotherly man love and all that bullshit. Plus, I really, really don't want Naomi Knox to have any reason to pay extra attention to me. She's smart as hell, I can tell. If she starts gathering pieces of the puzzle, she'll have it together in no time.

“Cohen Rose's ex,” Naomi says, sighing and shaking her head. She looks exhausted. I almost feel sorry for her, and force myself to shake it off. I'm already turning into a wet blanket when it comes to Ronnie McGuire and his sob stories. Don't need to be adding anymore to the anthology, thank you very much.

“Who?”

“Ugh,” Naomi groans, looking up at the ceiling like she's praying for help from some invisible god or goddess. I reach up and touch the ankh that's hanging around my neck. Wish I really believed in the deity it was attached to. Could use some help when it comes to men. So much trouble for six or so inches of pleasure, right? “You're impossible, Turner. Jesus.”

“What the hell did I do now? Ever since you confessed your love to me, you've been getting all pissy at every little thing that comes out of my mouth. You don't have to take your embarrassment out on me. I'm not ashamed and you shouldn't be either.”