DARE: A Rock Star Hero

by Scott, S. L.

  “Thank you.” I finish the drink under my friends’ stares. “A water chaser please.” I don’t want to get drunk, though I have to admit the alcohol has steadied my nerves. The awkwardness passes, and everyone does what they always do, sink into shallow conversations about money and gossip.

  Maybe it’s this place, somewhere to let loose without fear of being seen, but April has forgotten to keep up appearances and seems to be genuinely having fun. Stascia falls into her own rhythm, dancing to the music.

  I’ve swayed, even danced to the beat of The Heroes’ songs. Marquis’s words are poetry speaking to my heart, his voice caressing my soul with every song he sings. Then April ruins the fun. “Come on. We’re going to Bravada.”

  “I’m staying,” I reply, still swaying to the music.

  “Why?”

  “Because I like the music and the vibe of this place.”

  After a few rapid eye blinks, she says, “It’s been fun to slum, Weatherly, but really? You’re choosing to stay?”

  “Yes,” I snap.

  Her head jerks back. “What the hell? Who are you?”

  Shrugging, I twist my lips in thought. “Maybe someone you should get to know.”

  “We’ve known each other since we were three, so I think I know you well.”

  “You know the person you want me to be. I’m starting to question if you know the real me at all.”

  Narrowed eyes and stiff shoulders settle into her disposition. “I don’t know what’s going on with you. Maybe you’ve spent too much time with your law books, but welcome back to the real world. I let you lead, but now it’s time to fall back in line.”

  Smacked with her words and her mean girl attitude, I start seeing the side of her I’ve always excused before. “I won’t be ‘falling back in line.’ I’m staying. If you’re leaving, have a good time.”

  “We’re not staying just because you want to.”

  “That’s fine. Have a good night.” I walk toward the stage, weaving between people staring at the idols on stage.

  I hear her voice, but I have no idea what she’s saying. The crowd is too loud, the band even louder. Our friendship has been struggling for years. If she’s not in control, then she bites, but she can’t control me any longer.

  Unfortunately, she can’t control Lloyd either. He’s had more than his fair share of shots, and his jackass side is on display. He shoves his way to where I’m standing and yells, “I can get any girl I want, Weatherly! You don’t have a say in what happens when you’re not around.”

  “Is that supposed to entice me? Go home, Lloyd.”

  “Not without you. You’re going to take me back, right?” He grabs my wrist, towering over me, and tugs my wrist. “We’ll go home together.”

  “I said no!”

  6

  Dare

  Two songs prior . . .

  The strings vibrate under my fingers as I manipulate the steel stretched across the neck of the guitar. My voice reverbs through the speakers when I sing, causing me to grit my teeth right after. Quality has been an issue since we don’t have a permanent sound these days. We couldn’t hold on to anyone since the pay is shitty and it’s a thankless job anyway.

  I’ll suffer for the dream because nothing is better than playing music and living in the spotlight. My stomach may growl some mornings, but the high I feel on stage every night feeds my ego. The freedom is worth the sacrifice.

  The guys play backup as we close out the song. The scruff on my chin scratches across the microphone. Vocally, I travel the bridge before I hit the last chorus. But the words I wrote years ago and sang a million times suddenly elude me when my new muse appears in front of me.

  I blink to make sure my vision isn’t playing tricks on me. The woman who flew away last week has come back. Does that make her mine?

  Stunned, I blink again as if my body has forgotten where I am. My universe spun out of control after she showed up in my life last week. I’ve been off-kilter ever since. But seeing her now rights all the wrongs, and I hit the notes without effort.

  She’s an enigma, a dream come to life dancing not twenty feet from the stage. I’d recognize her anywhere, in a crowded bar or if I passed her on the street. I’ve not had that luck in the past seven days, but here she is, and I start smiling.

  Fuck. How is it possible that she’s even more beautiful than I remembered? My heart slams against my ribs, keeping it caged from journeying from me to her. The lyrics catch in my throat as I stand there dumbfounded from the mere sight of her.

  Lean legs lead to high heels, which make them look even longer. The yellow ribbons wrapped around her ankles show off toned calves. My gaze slides up to a little cream-colored dress with a short skirt that floats around her shapely hips when she spins. Her bare arms are in the air and eyes closed as she dances to the music.

  My music.

  I’m jabbed in the arm with the head of a guitar, getting my attention, and then bumped aside as English takes over the chorus I’m supposed to be singing. Fucker always did want the spotlight to himself. I know he’s just covering for me, so I laugh as we wrap up the song. When I turn back to find my Pepper, I search the area where she was but find her huddled with her friends near the door.

  I’m about to jump from the stage to reach her before she goes, but English asks, “What was that about?” The band’s lead guitarist may still have his British accent, but I’m sure the queen would be ashamed of the lack of tact he exercises daily. However, that, of course, means he fits right in with the other Heroes of the band.

  I wonder where she’s from. We definitely don’t frequent the same downtown scene because there’s no way she would have escaped me. Beauty like hers doesn’t hide in the shadows, not even on a dark night.

  A face like that—high cheekbones, big blue eyes, sweet cherry lips—is devastating to a guy. I’ll never be the same after laying eyes on her.

  Guys in ironed pants and polo-type shirts swarm around her. Clean cut. Probably more her type. When one moves in on her, I snap to English, “Nothing,” and yank the cable from my guitar. Doesn’t matter that I’m coming off a sold-out show or that I do what I love. Those types of guys have always treated me like shit because I refuse to bow at their feet. They’re sellouts who are more occupied with how they look and their bank accounts than with the people around them.

  “Seems like nothing,” English replies sarcastically, returning to his amp to break down the setup.

  “I’d call it distracted.” Lennox shoulder checks me when he crosses the stage. “Don’t make it a habit, Dare.”

  “You’re lucky I like you, Lennox.”

  “What would you do if you didn’t?”

  “Fucker.” Probably best if I don’t take my irritation out on my friends. I pack up my guitar on stage as the other band starts to set up.

  “Thought so.” He chuckles through his words while clearing the cables.

  A commotion in the crowd catches my eyes. Some asshole grabs my blue-eyed baby girl by the wrist. My body stiffens as a growl vibrates through my chest. She doesn’t look the type to need saving, but just in case I’m not reading the scene right, I call out to English, “Load my gear.”

  Nothing about her gives anything less than a pure fuck-off vibe to this guy. No doesn’t seem to be an answer he wants. Asshole. I hop off the stage because the fucker should get the message from her body language, but since he doesn’t, I don’t mind stepping in. Since his momma didn’t teach him manners, I will.

  “Pepper,” I say loud enough to get her attention, but there’s a familiarity to the sound of it . . . as if I’ve said it a million times before.

  She turns in the crowd, looking for me. Not only does she find me, but so does the asshole. A flicker of fear flashes in his eyes when he sees me coming through the crowd, and he drops her wrist like he just got burned. His sad attempt at manning up is almost laughable. Almost. I keep my eyes fixed on him until he gives her some personal space. Then I shift my focus to th
e woman at the center of the commotion.

  Sapphire eyes with questions filling the irises find me as I emerge from the crowd. The sense of unknown vanishes and reveals a sly smile and a look in her eyes that maybe she’s thought about me over the past week as much as I’ve thought about her.

  “Hi,” she says with the ease of a friend, a lover. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Seven days was too long not to see that pretty face. “Feels like forever.” Bourbon scents the air between us, and I want to drink her in, taste her, and even though she’s right in front of me, I want to skip back to last Thursday and get her name and learn everything about her, not wasting another minute. Her sweet smile causes me to forget the reason I came over, but not for long.

  The guy I thought got the message apparently didn’t because he says, “Go back to where you belong, dickhead.”

  I turn to him, my fists tightening from the nerve of this guy. “And where’s that?”

  As he swishes his arm toward the door, his body gives his fear away. “I don’t know. On the other side of the highway.”

  Eastsiders and Westsiders. It’s always been a rivalry in this town, but it’s been a while since I was that Eastside kid with a chip on his shoulder. Oh, wait . . . that’s a lie. I’m still that guy, and I’m thinking this is the asshole who cheated on her. I punch him.

  Landing on his ass, he grabs his cheek with one hand and pushes up with the other. “Motherfuc—”

  “Get the fuck out before I call the cops,” Jeb, the bouncer, says, pushing his way through the crowd.

  “Me?” the douche whines. “He assaulted me.”

  Jeb crosses his arms. He’s an intimidating dude. At six foot six and carrying some major muscle, he’s not just a gatekeeper. His size comes in handy sometimes. Not that I was afraid of this asshole, but it’s probably best if I don’t land another, considering I play guitar for a living.

  The asshole eyes me and then Jeb. Pussying out, he tells the douches with him, “Let’s get out of here. It’s lame in here like the music.”

  “Oh, that hurts my heart,” I reply with a roll of my neck. “Yeah, run along, fucker.”

  He stops with his back to me and turns around. Squaring his weak-ass rounded shoulders, he asks, “What did you say?”

  Fear is not something I was born with. Dare isn’t just a name for me. It’s something I defined every day of my school of hard knocks life. Speaking louder for him, I slow it down. “I said. Run. Along. Motherfucker.”

  In his baggie-ass khakis, he doesn’t have the balls to pull a punch against me and definitely not against Jeb. But you always need to keep your eyes on sneaky, snake in the grass fuckers like him. “We’re out of here.” He grabs my Pepper by the hand and tugs her toward the door.

  I shove him in the back, causing him to release her. “You so much as touch her again, and I’ll annihilate you.”

  Her hands land gently on my chest, and when I see her face, her eyes plead before she speaks. “Please don’t fight. He’s not worth it.”

  “Not worth it, huh? How about touch me again and I’ll sue your ass sideways.”

  “What the fuck?”

  “That came out wrong,” he stumbles through his words. Seems his private school education is failing him. “Whatever. Lame.” He and his friends leave with what appears to be her friends as well.

  I know when to shut up and walk away. At least, these days I do. As for the past, let’s just say being the bigger man hasn’t always been my strong suit. I don’t usually mind a throw down, but after a shitty performance, it’s probably best if I don’t push my luck. I can’t have this place canceling next week’s gig because I cause them trouble. The band needs the money.

  The brunette beauty presses against me, and asks, “Why did you do that?”

  I can’t believe I’m having this thought, but hearing the tone of her voice again as she speaks makes me realize how much I’ve craved more of her. It’s feminine—pretty like a songbird in the morning and confident like a boss who sets her own hours. Damn sexy. “Do what?” I ask. “Fight him?”

  With her friends and the trouble gone, she lowers her hands. “Yes.” I’m tempted to put them back on me, but there’s no way I’m manhandling her like that fuckface did. “Why would you fight him?” she adds.

  “Because he’s an asshole who had his hands all over you. You didn’t seem to like it too much.”

  “I didn’t, but I’m used to it.”

  “That’s bullshit you shouldn’t be used to.”

  “Guys are like that. Well, those guys are like that, whether you want it or not.” She sounds pissed, and I like that fire inside her.

  “Real men won’t treat you like property or control you, babe. You need to ditch the abusers.”

  Angling toward me, she says, “You’re right.”

  “It’s a lesson I learned the hard way, so take my advice and go with your gut. It will never steer you wrong.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “That you’ve had to learn that lesson.”

  “Don’t be.” Shrugging, I say, “That’s the good thing about lessons. You learn and move on.” Her dress isn’t revealing, but damn, I like the heat we create from our proximity.

  Little peaks push against the light-colored fabric over her chest and her hips sway to the right, a hand anchored high on the side, drawing my attention to how a little bow pulls it together at the waist. One tug on that bow’s end and . . .

  “Marquis?”

  “What?” I look up to find a genuine smile on her face.

  “You were sharing your life lessons with me.”

  “It’s not worth revisiting the past.” Shaking my head, I chuckle. “So you don’t need to hear shit from me.”

  “What if I want to?”

  “Then stay away from assholes like that, and you’ll be a lot happier in life. Why do you keep calling me Marquis?”

  Panic filters into her eyes. “That’s your name, right?”

  “It’s my last name.”

  “It is?” She glances over her shoulder toward the bar at Jake.

  Ah. “Jake called me Marquis last week.”

  “Yes,” she replies, looking straight into my eyes—comfort found in her body language. “I’ve gone over your name a million times, wondering if it was your first or last.” I don’t even think she realizes how much closer she’s gotten to me. I’m not going to tell her because I like that even more.

  “You thought about my name since last week?”

  Pink colors her cheeks. “Uh, I think I just busted myself.”

  “You did, but if it makes you feel better, I thought about you and what your name is as well.”

  “How about Pepper?” A flirty wink is thrown my way.

  I catch it because she makes me smile. “I like Pepper.” Leaning down, I whisper, “But if I’m being honest, I have no idea where that came from.”

  I reach my hand out as she tilts her head, her hair silky and running over my fingers like water. “I liked it.” Resting her elbows against the bar behind her, she dips her tongue out and wets her lips as she glances at the door. I could watch her do that for hours. “My friends left me.”

  “Real friends wouldn’t have taken his side.” Forcing myself to turn away before she thinks it’s weird that I’m staring at her, I ask, “Why’d you stay?”

  “I wanted to buy you a drink.”

  “You’re not a groupie.” The pull to her is too strong. I lean my forearms on the bar and look to the right, looking her over.

  “I’m not, but it seemed like a good way to get in your good graces.”

  “You’re already in, babe. Pepper?” I whisper, taking her hand. It’s so small and perfect in mine. Soft to my hard. Flawless to my calloused. “What’s your name?”

  With our hands still clasped, she faces me, the tips of her shoes squeezed between mine. She lifts up, and I let her make any move she wants because, like the first time I laid
eyes on her, my world fades away, and I’m lost in hers. She says, “Weatherly.”

  Her lips press to mine, and the white noise of the world quiets around us, leaving her and me in our own little universe locked in a kiss.

  7

  Weatherly

  “This is not how I saw things going.”

  He looks around as if he knows we have an audience, and then replies, “It’s just a kiss.”

  I rest back on my heels and watch the band that starts to play on stage. “Not to me.”

  “Hey.”

  I glance back at him but don’t linger long.

  Touching my chin, he lifts it just enough to get a full view of my face. Instead of arrogance or some ego put on for the groupies watching his every move, gentleness softens the corners of his eyes. “I don’t know why I said that. It wasn’t just a kiss to me either.” His sweetness is such a contradiction to the leather that wraps around his wrists and the roughness of his touch. “Maybe we should start over. I don’t know if Weatherly is your first or last name,” he breathes against my mouth. The taste of whiskey and smoky sin lingers on my lips from our first kiss. I take a deep breath and slowly open my eyes.

  “First,” I reply breathy and desperate sounding, so I clear my throat, but start laughing from my ridiculousness.

  “I like your smile, Weatherly,” he adds with our bodies still pressed together. My hands wrap over his shoulders and travel down to his biceps because after hearing him say my name, I’m going to need something to hold me up.

  He’s fit, considering he seems to enjoy the bad boy status. His rock-hard body matches his gravelly voice. I don’t know if he parties hard, but I can assume the life of a rock star includes late nights, booze, and groupies. Speaking of groupies, I’m acting like one. “I like your music.”

  “Thanks. I’m glad you came back tonight.”

  “Me too.” While I’m shamelessly squeezing his arms to get a good feel of him, I receive a quirked grin from him. I have to remind myself not to fall for the bad boy despite how sexy he is. But why am I here? My heart is trying to beat out of my chest, but I have a feeling me standing in front of him has nothing to do with that. Oh God. I think I’m hot for this guy. How is that even possible when I’m a virgin?