Walking Heartbreak (14 page)

BO

We’re on in ten minutes,
the girls haven’t arrived yet, and I have a very grumpy tour manager stomping around and yapping at staff about the potential entrances they might be waiting at. Troll is opinionated, but once we make our choices, he puts one hundred and ten percent effort into them whether he agrees or not.

“And no phone numbers for any of them?” he asks me again.

“No. Well, Emil might have Zoe’s.”

The lead singer in question isn’t available. He has shut himself into the bathroom where he belts out song after song, making them bounce against the walls. He entered shirtless, so when he’s quiet it’s because he’s doing his shadowboxing thing, pumping himself up.

“Prep for
Never Ever
, guys,” I tell Troy and Elias.

“It’s on,” Troy nods, grabs his drumsticks, and gets up. Besides the guitars and Troy’s favorite snare drum, we’re using Luminessence’s gear in the studio, so we travel light when we stride down the hallway. Emil’s there already and sweaty as hell. With glowing eyes, he’s ready to give it all.

“Shirt?” I ask, holding it out to him, and he grabs it absentmindedly only to fling it over a shoulder. “Dude. We’re going to rock the house!”

“Hell yeah.” We run through the usual backslaps and headlocks—and straighten at the apparition at the end of the hallway. Because there, with Troll proudly in front of them, are Nadia and Zoe.

“Chicks,” Elias says. “I guess
Fuck You
is on?”

“Woo-hooh! And after, I’m tapping that,” Emil eloquently chimes in. He bounces to his feet and makes a run for Zoe.

But
Nadia
. Is with her. And she’s a goddamn vision. What the hell happened to her? She’s got the shortest little skirt on. It’s bright red, skulking over her hips, and—shit, her legs! They’re crazy—in those shoes—and, Jesus.

Boobs.

I set my longneck on the floor and cross my arms while watching her approach. She’s got red flecks of embarrassment on her cheeks, and when my eyes travel south, down her never-ending cleavage, she covers herself by mirroring my crossed arms.

“Troll,” I say. “We’re ready, and it’ll be the new song.” Then I swallow the distance to Nadia, grind her against my body, and kiss her like she’s mine.

NADIA

Bo’s kiss leaves me gasping for oxygen.
His eyes burn, and he presses me so close it’s like he wants to brand me.

“You came,” he husks out. “This’ll be good.” Then he grabs my hand, swings, and marches us inside the studio. There’s a woman with headphones on, speaking into a microphone. A guy my age with his headphones half-cocked on his head nods at us. He reaches over the desk and shakes everyone’s hands.

“Bo?” he asks Bo last. Bo nods and listens to the guy’s full name. “All right. Sharon’ll introduce you in…” Radio Guy glances at a wall clock. “Thirty sec.”

The rest of the band seat themselves. Troy behind his drums and Elias on a stool with his bass guitar. Emil, still with Zoe tucked at his side, pulls the microphone up high on the stand.

Bo stares at him. “Dude.” He juts his chin at Zoe, and Emil rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, dude. She’ll be sitting over there”—he points at three chairs along the wall—“before you’re done talking.”

“Listeners!” Sharon sings into her microphone. “I have a treat for you! With us tonight is a brand new band that was discovered by none other than our beloved Luminessence. Well, I guess they’ve been around for a little while, but mostly in their home country, Sweden. Now, here I am, chitchatting with bandleader Bo Lindgren. Bo, what made you guys drift over to America?”

“Hey, Sharon, thanks for having us,” Bo murmurs. His voice has changed. It’s the melodic, deeper one he uses when he does backup vocals for Clown Irruption. He hasn’t let go of my hand and nods toward the only seat available by their desk. I shake my head and drop back toward the three chairs by the wall.

“Well, we figured we’d take on this village and see if anyone liked us—even though Sweden is the center of the universe.”

Sharon launches into a gorgeous radio laughter. “Right? Oh isn’t that so sweet of you to think of little us from all the way across the ocean. Now, I’ll let you get down and dirty. Why don’t you play us a song? You have a couple of records out already, I hear from Pop in Luminessence, all of which are, and I quote, ‘flippin’ radical.’ Which one are you going to share with us?”

Bo’s laughter is bedroom-low. “Hmm, is it after ten p.m. yet?” he asks, turning to wink at me. My body reacts instantly, and I find myself pressing my thighs together under the flimsy skirt I’m wearing.

“Why, I believe it is, Mr. Lindgren.” Sharon chuckles conspiratorially. “And for the benefit of all of you wonderful listeners, that means there’s no need for censorship to our music. Bo?”

“Well, thank you, God, because this tune is so new it’s not available on CD, and we don’t have a bland version of it yet. I wanted to play it because…” He swipes another glance my way. When he continues, his voice is so loaded with sexual innuendo, Zoe titters like a schoolgirl at Emil’s side. “Well, because we like playing it.”

“Okey-dokey! Friends,” Sharon says into the microphone. “I think you’d enjoy the view I have now. These musicians are not only talented but some fine-looking young men. It’s Bo Lindgren on guitar, Troy Armstrong on drums, Elias Mikaelsson on bass, and Emil Vinter on lead vocals. Singing what again? Are you going to tell us the name of this song?” she teases.

“Fuck you.” The quicksilver-smooth lilt of Bo’s words makes me suck in a breath. It’s obvious that he’s not swearing at the radio host.

“Oh my,” Sharon lilts back, and their little interaction causes the slightest stir of something at the bottom of my belly. “And that, listeners, was not Bo cussing me out. I believe it is the title of the song. Am I correct?”

“You sure are,” he says.

“Aaaallllrighty then!” she trills. “I’ll let you do this thing. And we’ll get to hear the latest, very latest song from Clown Irruption!”

BO

We’re kings.
On top of the world!

Between Emil’s and my energy, we’ve pumped the band up so high the only one sitting is Troy.

The bass line.
Thud-thud-thud. Thud-thud-thud
. The whoosh of Troy’s brushes against the skins of the drums before he flings them at the wall and snatches the sticks.

Emil is bare-chested, already sweaty and horny as hell,
mm-hmm-
ing out his tribute to Zoe. My riff layers over, adding to his foreplay.

In my peripheral vision, I see Nadia as Emil whispers his first “Fuck you. I want to fuck you.” Eyes wide with surprise, her hands clench in her lap, tugging nervously at her skirt. She’s so damn sweet, I’d pull that skirt up and fuck her this minute.

I let my voice grate low, accompanying Emil’s and husking out what I want to do to her. The drums insist as Troy increases our speed, whipping, whipping them until they obey. The volume skyrockets at Emil’s, “Come for me, why don’t you—come again, again, again. I love you when you come!”

Zoe squirms and leans on Nadia, who’s flushing a deep red. Shit, she’s breathtaking. I make my strings squeal the way I want to make Nadia do. I rock against my guitar, losing myself to the moans of pleasure she tempers when I’m inside her. I move with her. I build her up. I drive her crazy—oh yeah, I do, yes—

And one day I want to make her sing
abandon
!

Ah I see it now, how she wriggles under me—welcoming, so welcoming—and taking me deep inside her. Troy reads my mind. He drums faster, harder, and Elias’ bass does a frantic cycle, coming back and meeting us all. All too soon, it’s over. I’m not done. I need more, but that final scream of ecstasy explodes out. Emil sobs out his relief, and it’s so heartfelt, he might have ejaculated against Pop’s mic stand.

The applause erupts. I raise my head and find Pop’s giant grin in the window first. He flexes a bicep for me, displaying what he thinks of the new song before he tips his head in through the doorway, next to an equally grinning Troll, and shouts, “Viral, man. This is going viral!”

I’m not sure what he’s talking about. The radio show? Troll waves his iPhone at me, and my slow, sexed-out brain catches on.

“Oh yeah, baby. Finally,” Troll nods out. “I told you. This song is gold. I’m gonna edit this thing, and we’ll… Emil. Emil! Are you listening?”

Emil has his back to us. He has climbed onto Zoe’s lap and is giving her the dance of the ages, grinding his crotch against her stomach. Disturbingly, Troll returns to filming.

Zoe is hot and glassy-eyed, but she’s snickering too. She has heard the song before. She came prepared. Nadia? Not so much.

I slide my gaze to Nadia’s seat. It’s empty. The room is small so I locate her easily, and she’s moving fast, en route to the door. She’s not going anywhere though. I lunge and grab her arm before she splits.

“And thanks again to Clown Irruption. Whew, that was
hot
!” Sharon says. “It’s been a pleasure—and I want my signed copy of
Fuck You
ASAP, Bo, so you better get on that and record.”

With my hand clamped around Nadia’s wrist, I pull us back enough to tilt the radio host’s mic toward me. “Definitely, Sharon. The first copy will be for you. And listeners: they say we’ll be going viral. If you find a panting, half-naked Emil on YouTube, that’ll be the one. Thanks for having us!”

Sharon’s musical laughter follows us out the door. “Welcome, boys.”

“Let go!” Nadia yells, and I’m surprised, because who knew she could raise her voice?

“You’re mad, darling?”

Girls get upset over inexplicable things. I realize the song is graphic, while Nadia is everything
but
. Still, that would be a strange reason for a fit. Right?

“What did you expect, Bo?” she shouts, fuming. Yeah, she’s fuming, and my heart feels weird. It’s going soft in a bloated sort of way I’ve got no experience with. I want to suck her face and swallow a lump in my throat at the same time. It’s insane.

I try to stroke her cheek, move stray strands of hair from her face. I’d like to shift them off her stunning cleavage too, but in this mood she might bust my balls. Literally.

Funny how my heart jumps at being yelled at by a girl again. I haven’t been this close to anyone since Ingela. Even though Nadia is pissed, it feels great.

I steer her into a corner by the water fountain. Elias makes a quiet catcall and whispers, “Bo’s been bad. Trouble in Paradise,” as he passes.

Zoe passes too, with my lover-boy friend who’s not in the shithouse, and says, “Find me when you’re finished handing him his ass. I’ll be packing up gear with Emil.”

“What did I do?” I stare into beautiful, brown eyes that are even darker with anger.

“Oh I don’t know—how about airing our business to everyone else?”

“
Our
business?”
That. Is brave of her to say.

“Sooo… Wait, wait, wait,” I begin. She shifts as if to run off, but I block her way and keep her steady with a push of my hips. “We have business, you’re saying. Correct? And… you believe the song was written by me?”

“Um, Zoe told me.”

“And you believed her. Doesn’t this song sound more up Emil’s alley?”