“That makes me sad. You’re a beautiful, intelligent, caring woman. You deserve protecting and defending, loyalty, passion, and love.”
Inwardly, I swooned that he thought so. Outwardly, I rejected the notion. The lesson I’d been mandated to learn after the accident, I had learned. Dreams of my own, the luxuries of love and the like, those weren’t for me.
“You believe in a world of ideals. I live in a more basic reality.” I crumpled up the empty wrappers from my burritos and the Styrofoam cup from my drink and tossed them into a nearby receptacle. The analogy for my action wasn’t lost on me.
“We’re both artists,” he said, “processing the world through our own filters, trying to make sense of it.”
He squeezed my shoulder once, then let it go.
“Our realities are less dissimilar than you believe.” Leaning in close, his warm breath as he spoke lifted my hair, while the rest of him reignited embers I kept trying to stomp out. “We have more in common than you’re willing to admit.”
“UM, I CAN SEE the Anthem bus up ahead,” I told Gale. “It’s just a parking lot. No need to steer me there.” His hand was on the small of my back. His fingers were on my skin. They burned.
Yes, I wore a cropped tee. It was my style, and no one, not even Carla with all her designer labels and connections, could change me. However, at the moment, I wished for some sort of barrier between my skin and Gale’s.
“I’m familiar with the terrain, Jo. There are potholes along the way.”
“Not ones big enough to swallow me whole.”
“Maybe not, but it’s the gentlemanly thing to do, and I like the feel of your skin.”
He swept his thumb up and down my spine as if to prove his point. Tremors spread outward that set off alarm bells in restricted areas.
“Gale, remove your hand. Friends don’t caress friends. I’m certain about that.”
“Okay. We’re here anyway.” He withdrew his hand, and warm air cooler than his skin rushed over me as he opened the bus door.
Laughter, deep male laughter, hit my ears and weakened my knees as I ascended the stairs ahead of him. I stopped for a moment to catch my breath.
“You okay?” he asked, his hand returning to its previous location on my back.
“Yeah, sure.” I grabbed the handrail, gulped in another breath, and got moving again.
Donning a neutral expression, I stepped into the lounge that didn’t look like any tour bus I’d ever seen. Instead of resembling a dorm room with beer cans and dirty clothes everywhere, it looked more like a library, with two leather recliners and one couch, gleaming wood shelves with books filling them, and more books stacked on every other flat surface.
“What just happened?” Gale asked, moving in front of me.
The laughter stopped. The two men sitting on the recliners swiveled in our direction. And then I didn’t see anything else but Gale as he framed my face as if it were a priceless work of art.
“A flashback,” I whispered, hypnotized into telling truths by the reflective surface of Gale’s concerned gaze. “My brother and his bandmates laughed together like that, were laughing together like that the night he . . .”
“Fucking hell.” Gale released my face, cradled my head, and drew it against his chest. “I’m so sorry, Jo.”
Oh, sweet bliss. My legs went weak again, but this time for an entirely different reason.
The cotton of his shirt was soft. One inhale, and my lungs flooded with his tantalizing scent. His muscles were firm, yet somehow perfectly contoured for my cheek to rest against, allowing me to hear the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. He radiated warmth and all that nice-guy allure that seemed to say, Stay, let me hold you. You’re safe here.
“I’m fine.” I lifted my head and curled my fingers into his shirt. Crushing the fabric briefly, I wrestled within myself for a moment before I managed to release it and stepped away. “I’m okay.”
“You don’t look okay.” Gale’s voice was rough, his expression rougher as he studied me. Impossible, yet it seemed like he was more torn up by my flashback than I was.
“I’ll be back to my usual self in a moment.” Back to my dysfunctional baseline. “It helps if I have a distraction. Maybe I could just go ahead and get started with my drumming lesson.”
“Of course. Let me introduce you to the guys first.”
Gale returned his hand to my back. His fingers gliding along my skin distracted me before he gestured to the two guys who had moved to stand in front of us. “Josephine Poet, this is Noah.” Gale dipped his chin to indicate the handsome guy with the strong features who was wearing a backward ball cap.
“Yes, I know. Hello, Mr. Pearl.” I stuck out my hand. “It’s so great to meet you. You’re an incredible drummer. I’m a huge fan. And I really appreciate you agreeing to help me.”
“Um, cool.” His heavy brow creased beneath the navy band of his hat as he glanced at my hand, but he didn’t take it. “It’s just Noah, and it’s nice to meet you. I caught your set last night. You have an amazing voice.”
I withdrew my hand, trying not to be hurt that he’d rejected it, as well as my drumming by not mentioning it.
“Don’t be offended my Noah’s lack of manners,” Gale said. “He’s a shy, germ-phobic introvert. Comes across as being antisocial at first. He’s actually not so bad, but it takes him a little while before he warms up to new people.”
“You take a while to get used to too. Nearly always with your nose in some book.” The skin beside Noah’s light-brown eyes crinkled good-naturedly as he glanced at Gale. He didn’t seem upset by the lead singer’s explanation about his personality.
“Books are reliably entertaining. You, however . . .” Gale trailed off purposely and shook his head.
“Hey, drummer girl.” The lead guitarist gave me the once-over with his aquamarine gaze. “I’m Arthur Levine.” He gestured to Gale. “He’s a total nerd. You know that, right?”
“She knows.” Gale’s mouth curved on the one side. “But I’m pretty sure I’m the lowest on the nerd meter when you guys are in the same room with me.”
“Hey, we’re cool.” The corners of Noah’s mouth inched upward.
“Cool on planet nerd, right?” Gale grinned. This seemed to be a well-worn conversation. “You like jetting around the globe for new percussion sounds. Art likes . . . well, art. I like good books and nice food. Jo knows those things about me already.”
“She knows you’re a total geek and not a cool rock star?” Noah gave me another speculative glance.
“I know.” I nodded, but secretly I thought Gale was the best of both. “Apparently, someone high on the cool meter needed to hang out with him.” I shrugged. “Might as well be me.”
“She’s sexy, sassy, and smart. I get it now.” Arthur offered me his hand. “The loser you’ve taken pity on calls me Art, if you didn’t pick up on that within all the who’s the biggest nerd competition. It’s actually sculptures that are my favorite to collect, but the general description works.” He wiggled his fingers. “You can take my hand. I’m not shy, and I won’t bite unless you want me to.”
He flashed me a flirty grin that I knew tempted many women. But being this close to him, it was my opinion that his glittery aquamarine eyes probably was what dazzled them.
“Give it a rest, Art. She’s not on the menu for you.”
“Not up to you, is it?” The guitarist gave his lead singer a hard look.
“Back off, Arthur.” Noah shook his ball-capped head. “The matter’s been discussed. You agreed. Don’t be a dick.”
“What’s been discussed?” I asked. But I had a pretty good idea.
“You, darlin’,” Arthur replied. “Our illustrious leader has put a not-for-sale sign on you.”
“How’s that?” My spine stiffened, and not in a good way.
“No hooking up with you on the RFC or otherwise for any of us. We’re not even allowed to appreciate you for artistic purposes.”
“Arthur do
esn’t just collect sculptures,” Gale said. “He sculpts in his spare time.”
“Art’s family has a couple of shops back in Toronto.” Noah expanded on the lead singer’s statement, but I recognized what he was doing—attempting to distract me from the not-for-sale statement. “He has a couple of pieces on display there, and a few other places. And his collecting isn’t limited to static works of beauty, if you get my meaning.”
“I get it.” I put my hands on my hips. “I’m on the Rock Fuck Club. Arthur thought maybe I came with a price tag like the things he collects, and Gale set him straight. But you don’t get to put sold signs on me.” I shook my head at the lead singer. “I don’t belong to you.”
“Don’t get defensive.” Gale’s silver eyes narrowed. “We’re friends, aren’t we?”
I nodded.
“And wouldn’t you agree that I’m respectful of you?”
“Yes.”
“Right. I look out for my friends. Knowing you and knowing Arthur, I wanted to avoid this tension, but here we are. So I’ll explain a little more. We’re three guys, Jo. We’ve been dogs in the past with women. This lifestyle will do it to any man in the beginning, no matter how good his intentions are. I straightened my shit out a while back. Noah has his eye on a girl, and might be on the path to monogamy. But Arthur has a long way to go before he’s even close to being domesticated.”
“You didn’t have to tell me all that,” I said gruffly. “But I appreciate that you did. And I’m sorry I overacted.”
“It’s okay,” Gale said, and we exchanged a long look.
Did he know he’d peeled back another layer, shooting so straight and telling me exactly what I needed to hear, as if he could see right inside me?
Once again, Gale was being completely transparent, this time with his closest friends as witnesses. He was considerate and respectful with me. Having had very little of either, I gulped the rarities down as if they were artesian water after a long trek over dusty ground.
“So, Art for Arthur. Does Noah have a nickname too?” I asked.
“No.”
“Oh, I just thought you all probably did.”
Gale snorted. “No is his nickname. As in, ‘No, I don’t want to do the meet and greet tonight. No, that guitar riff isn’t good enough. No feather pillows in the hotels. No gluten in my food.’ Get it?”
“Yeah.” I smiled, and his gaze dipped to my mouth. My lips predictably tingled beneath his regard. “I can see that it fits. What about you? Do you have a band nickname?”
Gale shook his head, but his friends sold him out.
“Professor,” Arthur and Noah said in unison.
“YOU NEED TO CHANGE your grip.” In the back lounge of the bus, Noah showed me again how he held his sticks.
“It’s going to take some getting used to.”
We’d been at it, sitting side by side behind his kit, for over an hour while the bus sped down the road toward Gallup, New Mexico, our next overnight stop. The grip he’d taught me was subtly different from mine, a jazz drummer’s technique, but he insisted the minor change would greatly improve my performance.
“It’s frustrating. I know.” He gave me an encouraging glance.
“How long did it take you to switch over?” I wanted to bang my head against the wall. Getting used to this new grip would involve additional hours of practice each day.
“Six months before I didn’t have to think about it every time I picked up my sticks.”
Did I have that long? The RFC would give Joey’s Band exposure. But it was exposure we had right now while my season was being filmed.
“Okay.” I started playing again, and Noah settled back on his stool beside me.
I stumbled my way through rudimentary stuff with the new grip. He didn’t say anything, but I could feel him cringe each time I messed up.
“Josephine.” Noah said my name ominously when I stopped.
“Jo. My friends call me Jo.”
The man might be antisocial and afraid of germs—who wasn’t?—but he was a patient teacher, and I liked him.
“It’s getting late.” He took off his cap and scrubbed a hand through his brown hair.
“I know.” I was thirsty, and my muscles were starting to cramp.
“I gotta take a break.” He put his cap back on, this time with the brim to the front.
“Okay.”
“You need one too.”
“Sure.”
“With your dedication, you’ll perfect this technique soon, but you’ll be shortchanging yourself. Your natural ability isn’t in percussion. It’s on vocals.”
“Is that what Gale told you to tell me?”
“No. That’s what I needed to say to be intellectually and professionally honest. But if he already voiced that opinion, then I’m glad, because it’s the truth.”
I bobbed my head and turned away to look out the window, surprised to see it was dark outside. My cell vibrated in my pocket. I withdrew it, read the text message, and sighed.
“My crew says they already arrived at the hotel where we’re staying tonight.”
When I lifted my head, Gale was standing in the doorway, and I took a second to take him all in. Thick shiny brown hair. Sexy beard and mustache. Kissable lips. Silver eyes. Wide shoulders. Chiseled chest. Trim waist. Narrow hips. Long legs.
“You guys done?” he asked when I didn’t say anything.
His eyes held mine for a moment as if he wanted to say something more. Maybe he’d heard what Noah had said and wanted to add to it, but I was tired of being told that my drumming sucked.
Words slipped from my exhausted lips. “Your last name should be Le Sigh. Not Lafleur.”
“Huh?”
“Oops,” I said, realizing I’d spoken my inner musings out loud. “I mean, yeah, we’re finished.”
Gale gave me a skeptical look.
“Reading is my superpower. Yours too. I like your shirt,” I said, trying redirection.
“Apparently, being goofy when tired is yours.”
He grinned and I swooned. It was becoming predictably boring.
Gale was handsome, nice, talented, sexy, and smart. He did have superpowers to turn me on and make me forget all the reasons why I shouldn’t get comfortable with him and his friends. I was nothing more than a temporary interloper granted insider privileges in his upper-echelon world.
“Her group has already arrived at the hotel. We getting close?” Noah asked.
“We’re about twenty minutes away.” Gale shifted his attention to me. “I want to talk to you. Could you come out to the front lounge and sit with me for a while?”
“I need to wipe down and help put away the equipment.”
“Let me,” Noah said. “No offense, but I’m kind of particular about how I like it done.”
“Sure.” I stood and scooted sideways to move around the drums.
Intercepting me, Gale snagged one of my hands and flipped it over. His hair slid forward over his eyes. The pads of my fingers throbbed with the desire to test the texture.
“Skin’s broken.” He clucked his tongue disapprovingly.
“I lost my gloves,” I said, hissing when he swept his thumb across my palm.
“You should take better care of your hands.”
I should take better care of a lot of things. Like, hello? Don’t let Gale touch you.
“We’ve got some ointment in the medicine cabinet.” Noah motioned with his head.
“C’mon.” Gale slid his arm around my waist. “I’ll get you fixed up.”
“No potholes on the bus.” I made a halfhearted effort to escape his hold once we were outside the lounge, but he curled his fingers around my belt loop and kept me hip to hip, bumping close to him.
Who would see? And did it really matter?
I knew the reason. The longer I allowed our friendship to develop, the harder it would be to fight the direction we—I—were going.
Could a friend beg a friend to fuck her?
A
curtain slid back from the center bunk on my right.
“Hey, Jo.”
Nicholas waved at me if it were nothing out of the ordinary for us to meet one of the Enthusiasts on Anthem’s bus. Slack jawed, I stared at him as he sat up and dropped to the floor.
“What are you doing here?” he asked me.
“I was thinking the same thing about you, Arrow.” I flipped my hair over my shoulder, dislodging Gale’s grip on my belt loop.
“Got no bus home until Ivan and Mars arrive. Hopefully tonight. I was trying to get a little sleep.”
“Correction.” Jagger stepped out of the bathroom up ahead and closed the door behind him. “We were sleeping, but then you started drumming.”
“Did Lark and Linnet come on board and sneak into the back lounge with you?” Nicholas aimed his very interested gaze in that direction.
“No. But we’re almost to Gallup. If you’re in the mood to hang out.” I arched a brow and planted my hand on my cocked hip. “I’m headed to my room, where they’ll be after.”
Gale frowned at me, but I ignored him. I needed to focus on what needed to be done and snap myself out of the Gale effect.
“You could come with,” I said. “Jagger too. We could make a party of it.”
Jagger grinned. “Naked party.”
“Hell fucking yeah.” Nicholas stretched out his muscular arm to exchange a fist bump with Jagger.
Gale’s frown deepened.
I gave myself a harder mental slap, attempting to wake myself from my Gale-induced thrall.
It didn’t work.
• • •
“Jo, wait up.” At the hotel elevator, Gale caught my arm before I could make my escape. “Hold back. I want to talk to you a minute.”
“You want us to hold back with you?” Already inside the elevator, Jagger put his hand over the sensor to stop the door from closing.
“No. Go on up.” I glanced at the keycard holder in my hand. “I’m in room 402.”
“Got it.” Nicholas grinned. “See you up there.”
“Yeah. Sure.” I turned toward Gale as the door slid closed, trying to act casual and not to let on that I was nervous. “What’s up?”
ROCK F*CK CLUB (Girls Ranking the Rock Stars Book 5) Page 14
