Surprised, Deacon looked from Simon to Gordo. That was a new development.
“And I’ll match it,” Simon said firmly.
Gordo’s mouth worked like a guppy for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll take care of it.”
The smirk slid across Simon’s face again. “Now, I have to go pour this perfection into some smokin’ hot clothes. We have an acoustic show this morning.”
When Simon disappeared into the back of the bus, Deacon looked down at Jazz. “Did you know about that?”
“The charity deal? Yeah. I helped him set it up. With a little help from manager boy.” Jazz punched Gordo in the arm.
Gordo winced and rubbed his arm. “It’s very good PR.”
“Of course it is.” Deacon sighed. Everything their manager touched had to have a public relations spin to it.
“It’s a really good thing, actually. We did a vlog about it. We’re doing another signing when we get back to Los Angeles. I helped him get the website going, and I contacted Jackson to get all the tax information together.”
Again, these were things Deacon usually did. He tried to ignore the irrational twist of unease in his belly. The more he thought things were working, the more he wondered if he was looking at things through a pair of rose-colored glasses.
Playfully, Jazz fluffed her hair. “I better get all pretty, too.”
“Too late. Already done.”
Jazz grinned up at him, her smile so full of pure happiness it was blinding. “Charmer, but I love you anyway.” She gave his bicep one more squeeze, and he flexed just to hear her tinkling laugh. “Simon, do not use up all the hot water!” she yelled as she skipped to the bunk area.
Deacon shook his head and dropped onto the couch. She was the one thing they’d done very right. She kept all of them laughing, even when they were ready to strangle each other from forced proximity.
Nick came up the stairs, a bottle of water dangling from his fingers. He was already dressed in frayed-to-shit jeans and a white button-down shirt that was so new, it still had creases from its packaging. He sprawled out on the couch across from him, sunglasses covering half his face. “’Sup.”
“You’re up early.”
Nick shrugged. “Simon’s snoring woke me.”
Deacon stretched his arms over his head. He’d sweat out a bit more alcohol than usual from the night before, too. “Was a whiskey night last night.”
Nick pinched the bridge of his nose under his aviators. “Never thought I’d be glad that he’s mostly a vodka drinker.”
Deacon laced his fingers over his belly. “We all drank more than usual last night.”
Nick grinned. “Even you.”
“I ran extra hard this morning for those sins. And got some interesting texts from Simon.”
“No shit.” Nick lifted his hips and dug out his phone. He rolled forward, his phone cradled in his hands. “I got a link for the complete works of Sasha Grey.”
Deacon laughed. “Man, he was so bummed when he found out she retired.”
“I think there were tears.”
“It was a sad day.” Deacon nodded solemnly before they both chuckled.
“What was a sad day?” Simon asked, kicking Nick’s boot before he collapsed on the couch beside him.
“Sasha Grey’s retirement.”
“Aww, man. I was hoping that was just a bad dream. That’s just a sacrilege.” Simon slipped on a pair of DG’s. He’d mentioned on Twitter how he was looking for dark sunglasses, and now he was inundated with samples from designers.
Deacon dug out his phone to see if he could do the same. He was pissed that he’d ripped his favorite shirt.
Instant follow and shout out to whomever can find me an vintage Journey E5C4P3 tour shirt XXL with link.
Simon started rattling off his favorite Sasha Grey movies, and Deacon tuned out. When a message from Harper popped up, he switched over to texts.
Hiya. Tonight’s menu: celebrational champagne shots out of my belly button after your show.
He grinned and shot her back a message.
What are we celebrating?
A moment later, he saw the comment bubble come up that she was typing.
Oh nothing, just the official notice that I’m on the Food Riot roster. Full chef status after this tour. I’ll give you all the deets tonight. Naked. Hope you didn’t work out too hard. Chef Lawless has plans for you.
“What’s that shit-eating grin for?”
Deacon looked up at Nick. He tried to wipe off the smile, but he couldn’t. “Nothing.”
Nick’s eyebrow winged up. “Right. Chef Lawless going to cook you up some simmering orgasms with a side of whipped cream?”
Deacon glanced down at his phone then up at Nick who was already standing, ready to leave. “You reading my texts, son?”
Nick grinned. “Maybe.”
He tapped back a quick congratulations and affirmative to the night’s festivities. He jammed his phone back into his pocket and rubbed the back of his neck. There was no way he’d put a damper on tonight. They’d celebrate, and he’d try not to think about the fact that she’d be off on another tour soon.
And he’d be home, getting another album ready.
Maybe.
“Ready to get going?”
Deacon blinked up at Nick again. “Yeah.”
“I must’ve missed the really good text. You’re spacing out, Deak.”
He forced his lips to bend into a smile as he stood. “That you did, Nicky.” Deacon slapped him on the arm. “Let’s get this party started.”
They all piled off the bus and headed for the van used to transport them to the radio stations. Gray was already inside.
“There you are.” Jazz bounced into the seat beside Gray.
The only person that could pull a smile out of Gray was Jazz, and she didn’t spoil her record today. He smiled at her, his eyes shielded behind dark shades. “I took my shower before you water hogs did.”
“That’s Simon, not me.”
“You keep telling yourself that,” Gray said easily. He scrunched down in his seat, tipped his Fedora down, then folded his hands in his lap. “Wake me when we get there.”
Jazz huffed, but settled with her phone. Deacon felt his phone buzz and knew she was already tweeting about the day’s festivities. Simon swung his way into the bench seat in the back beside Jazz, leaving him and Nick to take the bucket seats in the middle of the van.
Gordo took the passenger seat in the front and turned with his iPad poised. They were treated to a who’s who about the radio station and the morning hosts they were going to meet. By the time they pulled into the parking lot, Deacon’s brain was full of names he wouldn’t remember, but at least he had a focus now.
And it wasn’t Harper.
The doors opened to a crush of fans lined up on the sidewalk, with white and orange sawhorses trying to keep them in some sort of order.
Simon rubbed his hands together. “Papa’s gotta work.” He hopped out, his arms wide. “Ladies, no pushing. There’s enough of me to go around, I promise.”
Deacon stepped out and cringed. Posters that matched the flags used for Burn’s release party lined the brick wall. All of them in black and cobalt blue boyband glory. Shit. He truly hadn’t missed those.
“Demon!”
Deacon scanned the crowd, surprised to see a group of men and women waving a silk screened panel of canvass with Deacon’s bastardized Oblivion logo on it. He greeted them with smiles and dug one of his ever present Sharpies out of his back pocket.
There were similar groups of fans clamoring for the rest of the band. Simon and Jazz were swallowed by a hoard. After he posed for photo ops and signed the big sign for his Demons, he waded into the crowd.
Jazz was being pushed around in the excitement, and he plucked her out and up onto his shoulders. She wrapped around his neck like a vine, with a shaky “thank you” in his ear.
The moment they walked inside the station, there were a bank of six
foot tables. Silver and gold Sharpies, five water bottles, and a stack of CD’s were set up with matching folding chairs all lined up. At the far right of the signing table were two stacks of posters. One of the band, and one just of Simon alone with his shirt off, smirk in full effect.
Gordo came rushing in. “I forgot to mention the signing.”
“Yes, you did,” Nick said with a growl as he managed to get inside.
Jazz laughed, already back to her perky self as she slid down Deacon’s back to skip around the table. She plopped down in the center seat and cracked the seal on her water bottle. “Hey, Simon, maybe we can get a jar and do another signing body parts thing. All those willing victims—aka wild hyenas—outside...”
Simon glanced at Gordo. “Make it happen.”
Deacon sighed and took his place at the far left hand side. It was going to be a long-ass day.
CHAPTER TWENTY
September 7, 9:45 AM - Fame Monster
His face hurt. And his wrist.
Deacon was also pretty sure that he now would see spots permanently from the sheer volume of flash photos he’d smiled through. The fans had been the easy part.
Well, until the radio station bussed in winners from a local mall. The small group on the sidewalk had been child’s play. The lobby had been overrun with screaming women and shouting men.
Then there had been the radio station winners that they had to do one-on-one meetings with. He slapped another smile on his face when someone tapped on his elbow.
Deacon turned and instantly crouched down. A little girl, no more than six, stared up at him. Her blonde hair was slipping from two pigtails and her huge blue eyes reminded him of another woman.
Shit. She was like a mini-Harper.
His first real smile in hours melted the tension in his shoulders. “Hey there.”
The girl nibbled on her bottom lip. “Are you Demon?”
“Some people call me that.” He tapped the end of her nose. “But I have a secret.”
“What is it?” she asked, her eyes widening even more.
“I prefer Deacon,” he said in a low whisper.
She smiled brightly. “That’s a pretty name.”
He mock-frowned at her. “It’s a boy name.”
She giggled while holding out her hand. “I’m Jasmine.”
“You are? I know a Jasmine, too.”
“You do?”
Damn if her eyes weren’t the most beautiful blue. Like a clear summer sky. Like Harper’s. He cleared his throat when she tilted her head. “Yes. Our drummer’s name is Jasmine.”
“No, it’s not. Her name is Jazz.”
“Cool nickname, right?”
“My mom calls me—”
“Jazzy! There you are!”
The little girl turned and waved at her mother. The sunny blonde rushing forward matched her daughter in every way.
“Oh, my dear God.” The woman blinked down at her daughter and then at Deacon who was just as tall as she was in a crouched position. “You’re—” Her mouth dropped open and her fingers fluttered over her neck, then to her purse, and back to the collar of her shirt.
She seemed to pull herself together and smoothed her hand down the little girl’s hair. “You scared Mommy.”
“I couldn’t find you, but then I saw him. You know, because he’s so tall and all.”
Deacon grinned and stood. “Hi, I’m Deacon.”
“Oh, I know who you are.” The woman tilted her head up to meet his gaze. She stuck her hand out. “Mary.”
He shook her hand.
“Can we get that picture now, Momma?”
“I’m sure he’s busy, baby.”
“No, that’s fine. I’d be happy to. We were just getting acquainted when you came over.”
Jasmine held her hands up. “I’ll never show up in the picture unless you pick me up.”
“Jasmine Marie! I’m so sorry. She’s not usually so rude.”
Deacon chuckled. “Is it okay if I pick her up?”
“Oh yeah, she’s a monkey. She’ll climb right up if you let her.”
“Is that right?”
He held out his arm and sure enough, Jasmine climbed up his arm and latched her legs around his waist. Well, as much as her six year old legs could. He supported her butt with his forearm, then lifted her up onto his shoulders.
Jasmine squealed and wrapped her tiny hand around his neck. “This is officially awesome.”
“Hey kid, that’s my spot. Don’t get too comfy.”
The little girl’s nails bit into his neck. “Oh my God.”
Deacon grinned down at their Jazz. “Hiya, Pix.”
“You flirtin’ with all the girls, Manster?”
“Maybe.”
Nick and Gray came up behind Jazz. The usually cool and quiet Gray was smiling—an honest to God, full-blown smile—up at the kid.
Simon was still holding court, this time with his charity in mind. Didn’t mean he wasn’t scrawling his signature across many a breast for his own pleasure as a side benefit.
The mother...Mary, was it? Names tended to stick around long enough for him to sign the name on the paper, CD, or program before it was lost to his overloaded brain. She was twisting the handle of her purse as she nibbled on her bottom lip.
Deacon knew that look. It was a photo-op look. Instead of watching the woman agonize over asking, he opened his other arm to Jazz. “Let’s give this nice lady and her daughter a picture before we have to head upstairs to the studio.”
“Oh, right. Sure,” Jazz said brightly. She snuggled into his side and tugged on the little girl’s purple and black sneaker. “What’s your name, sweetie?”
“Jasmine.”
Jazz’s eyes lit up. “Mine, too!”
“Deacon told me.” Tiny fingers tapped his neck. “My mom calls me Jazzy, though.”
“Close enough. I gotta say...totally cool name.”
Mary stepped in front of her daughter on the other side of Deacon.
“Did you want all of us?” Deacon asked.
Mary nodded. “Yes, please.”
Gray and Nick flanked him. Gray automatically slipped in beside Jazz, and Nick slid an arm around Mary’s shoulder.
“Gordo! Over here.” Deacon shouted into the crowd. Shellac and Polo boy rushed over, juggling his iPad and lanyards with radio station VIP passes on the front.
“We have to move upstairs to do the acoustic set.”
Jazz bounced once. “Take this poor woman’s picture and we’ll go wherever you tell us to.”
Deacon had to force himself not to roll his eyes. Jazz in sugar-shock mode was almost too syrupy to stand. But as usual, Gordo got flustered and did anything that Jazz asked him to.
It was truly sickening.
A few minutes later, Mary’s phone was full of pictures and Jasmine was back on the ground, fingers linked with her mother’s. Gray plucked out two strings from the handful of passes Gordo held and slipped one over the little girl’s head and handed another to Mary before disappearing into the crowd.
“We’re going to have to rename him Vapor,” Nick muttered.
Deacon leaned down and pressed a kiss to mini-Jasmine’s cheek. “Stay cool, Jazzy.”
They all said goodbye to Mary and waded their way through the neverending crowd to Simon. Two girls sat on the table with their tops scrunched up to show off tanned, bare backs. Simon, of course, was scrawling his signature across their skin very slowly.
Nick, Gray, Jazz, and Deacon all clustered together with folded arms. Jazz had her hip cocked and her head tilted in that Jazz way that made all of them squirm.
Simon finally sat back and studied his handiwork before looking up. The idiot didn’t have an ounce of remorse. He simply shrugged and stood. “Time to work?”
Jazz tipped her head back and growled. “You’re such a pig.”
“Ah, but I’m your pig, Jazzalicious.”
“Do not call me that.”
Simon leaned forward and kissed
each girl. “Sorry, girls. I have to go sing now. See you after the show tonight? You can show me the tattoos you’re off to get.”
The two women nodded and hopped down. They were wearing nearly identical outfits—skirts that could be belts, and clingy, sparkly tops.
All the shiny things that Simon couldn’t resist.
Deacon rolled his eyes. They were staring down the sixth week of the tour and Simon seemed as enamored with the groupies now as he had when they’d first released “The Becoming”.
Deacon spotted Gordo making a dash for them, his little chicken legs working overtime to get across the lobby. “You done?”
Simon twirled his Sharpie through his fingers. “Don’t be jealous, gents. I can’t help it if the women love me more than you.”
Nick simply lifted one brow, staring Simon down.
And still, no shame to be seen.
“Gordo’s coming to collect us.”
“Finally,” Nick muttered. Their lead guitarist loved the music portion of their duties, but hated the public niceties. Three hours was way past his boiling point.
If Gordo had let them know there would be a signing, Deacon knew Nick would have found a way to make himself scarce.
Gordo waved to them from the elevator as he held the door open.
Nick and Gray flanked Jazz, leaving Deacon and Simon at the back of the pack. With heads down, they managed to get to the elevator without being stopped.
When all of them were alone in the elevator, Gordo slapped the top floor. “All right, I have some news.”
Simon’s shoulders slumped and he stared at his feet. “We have eight more meet and greets,” he muttered.
“No, Simon. For your information, this is very good news. The sales for this tour have turned around so sharply that Trident is giving you an extra ten minutes per set for the rest of the tour.”
Nick dropped his arms to his sides. “Holy shit.”
Jazz instantly started bouncing.
Deacon frowned. “Ten minutes?”
“Yes, giving you a fifty minute set. The next few shows are big ones, as you well know. So we need you in top form. I sent you a few songs that have done the best on the YouTube channel that I’d suggest putting in the show.”
Rocked Page 25
