by S. Ann Cole
When their music teacher died, he was supplanted by a retired music producer, who was also a long-time friend of Benny Stucco. This new music teacher would stay late after school with them, giving free lessons and tips, shaping them, preparing the unwitting boy band.
After honing them to what he deemed perfect and knowledgeable in the music industry, he gave them the biggest gift of their life: Benny Stucco.
By the time they hit eighteen, they were rotten rich, world-wide super stars. Ninety Miles is the only set of musicians out there who never fluctuated in their success, who never lost their adulation, who never lost their title as “matchless”, “incontestable”, “inimitable”. Only musicians to tour the world on a constant loop and never had a single event that wasn’t sold out.
“Yeah. Four houses meant one for each of us. But as you can see, they’re all different designs. Beach Rock’s the best with a beach view bonus. So we had this huge fight over who gets Beach Rock. Everyone wanted it, no one was backing down. Till we decided we’d all just move in and wait for the first man to throw in the towel and move out. Last man standing, Beach Rock is his. ”
I cracked up at the sheer ludicrousness of it all. “Any luck yet?”
“Nope.”
“Y’all are whacked.”
Outside Beach Rock, he eased into the only available of the five parking spaces, between an Aston Martin and a Lamborghini. Oh yeah, I was in rock star land.
“Are you sure you want to introduce me as your girl to your band mates?” I asked him as I freed myself from the seatbelt.
In all honestly, I was all for keeping us on the down low. Xavier was wholeheartedly into this with me, and I didn’t know how to suggest he kept us quiet without offending him. I did like him, but I was also in love with someone else. The less people knew about us, the easier it would be when the time came to break it off with him. Had I known beforehand his plans were taking me here, I would’ve found an excuse out of it. But by the time I’d bothered to inquire I was already in his jeep en route to the villa.
“There’s always Groupie, Hangover Pussy, Warm-up Pussy, Recovery Pussy…choose one.”
I blinked at him, waiting for a “gotcha” laugh. None came. He was serious-to-God waiting for me to choose, not a glint of humor on his face.
“Okay,” I dragged out the word. “I’m familiar with Groupie, but what the hell is Hangover, Warm-up and Recovery?”
“Warm-up, chick you call in before a performance, kick-start the adrenaline. Recovery, chick who shows up after a performance, helps kick out the adrenaline. Hangover, chick on speed dial for when you wake up with a brain-mashing hangover and wanna get the bad feeling sucked outta you. Each has a different style of stabbing. Reason they’re positioned accordingly.”
More blinking. “Uh…”
“Tell you what,” he said, irritation clouding him, “How ‘bout I introduce you as Nothing? Not like we’re stabbing anyway, right?”
He got out of the jeep and slammed the door. Hard.
Seizing my handbag, I jumped out and followed him, grabbing his thick arm to stop him. “Are we fighting?”
As though I were a germ spec he needed a magnifying glass to see, he squinted down at me. “Look, boys suggested I bring you over so they could meet the chick doing my head in. We can go in, get this shit over with and I drop you home. Or, we can forget it and I drop you home. Don’t give a shit either way right now.”
Taking a calm breath, I tentatively reached the tips of my fingers up to the side of his face and trailed them along the sharp lining of jaw. Right now he was just a big, pissed-off beast that needed to be rubbed between the ears and soothed.
Without moving his head, his eyes slid sideward to my fingers on his face, then back to me. “What’re you doing?”
“I love your lips.”
“Yeah, everyone does,” he gruffly responded, un-placated.
“I know that.” I moved in closer to him and tipped my face up, imploring him to lower his mouth to mine. “But I love your lips.”
“And that’s supposed to mean something?”
Still playing tough alright, but I could see the anger leaving him in soft steams.
“You know you wanna kiss me, Xavi.” I smiled, he didn’t. “So just shut up and do it.”
He scowled, knocked my hand away.
I sagged, accepting defeat, but then he cupped my face with his big hands and kissed me with a dissolute fierceness.
He kissed me with fervor and explosion. Kissed me with the heat of a bullet piercing through gravity. He kissed me with the avid passion of virgin honeymooners. Kissed me with the urgent desperation of secret lovers in an alcove.
He kissed me. And I savored every second of it.
An obnoxious harrumph tore us apart.
Xavier stared over my head, and when I turned I wasn’t sure if I were to scowl or smile.
Lighting up a cigarette with a smirk on his face was Zach, the drummer for Ice Steam. He’d built some muscle since I’d last seen him. Spiky dark hair, tattoos galore, and an average face.
When recognition hit him, he froze, lighter paused mid-air, cigarette hanging from his lips. Taking a step toward me, he removed the cigarette from his mouth and looked closer.
“Holy shit!” he exclaimed. “Ally?”
As he moved in to hug me, I stiffened. I couldn’t be all gay and ‘long time no see’ with him, or any of Ice Steam’s band members for that matter, lest Xavier picks up on my fib.
Zach stopped, taking umbrage. “The hell, Ally? Why’re you being so weird? We used to be cool.”
“Hi, Zach,” I returned, stiff and curt, bracing back into Xavier, who possessively swung an arm around my middle from behind. “Nice seeing you again. You’ve…grown.”
Zach’s face skimmed through a myriad of expressions before settling on bewilderment.
Before he could expose me for the fraud I was, I turned in Xavier’s arm and asked, “You ready?”
His glance went over my head to Zach again, then returned accompanied by a nod.
He might not have commented on the strange exchange between me and Zach, but I knew better than to think he was a bucket of dirt.
Leaving Zach gaping after us, we made our way inside the house, and I tried not to think about the fact that Zach would run straight to Davian and blab about seeing me, not just in L.A., but in Ninety Miles Villa, sucking face with the Xavier Xander.
Xavier removed his arm from around me once we were inside, I guess because he was unclear of my stance on ‘us’ where his band-mates were concerned.
The house was strangely quiet and a little too kempt for a rock star palace. Wide, airy, with many different layers and cool spots, all white, glass and steel.
A huge glass case displayed all their awards and trophies, and on the white walls were blown-up photos of The Rolling Stones, Guns & Roses, Led Zeppelin, Metallica, Linkin Park, Pink Floyd, Kings of Leon, Bob Marley, The Beatles, Michael Jackson and Nirvana.
Leaning in close to Xavier, I whispered, “Where is everyone?”
Xavier glanced down at me, lips twitching as he whispered back, “Why’re you whispering?”
More whispering, “I dunno. Because it’s so quiet?”
He broke out laughing, shaking his head. “Quiet usually means they’re all in one place.”
Seizing my hand, he pulled me along down a long hall to a door at the dead-end, through the door and down a set of stairs, and a right turn left us in a movie room. Sex noises poured through surround speakers.
I made out silhouettes of the other three members of the band and two busty girls all lazily lounging, watching lesbian porn of two women rubbing tits on big screen, one undressing the other.
“Fifty says she got a fat, pierced clit,” said one guy. “Like a kettle bell. Thick, juicy clit you can suck on all day like a pacifier.”
Giggles from the girls.
“Nah,” said another. “A h
undred says she got a flat-lipped cunt. Tiny clit you gotta treasure hunt for. Like Kim K’s.”
“How do you know what Kim K’s cunt look like? You stabbed her?”
A pause, then, “Dude, if you tell me you’ve never watched Kim K’s sex tape before, you’re gay.”
“Nope. Never watched it. Not because I’m ‘gay’, but because I happen to like Ray J’s music, and the last thing I wanna be thinking about while vibing to his jam is how black his dick is.”
Long silence, then, “Yeah, he’s gay. Who on earth listens to Ray J’s music?”—more giggles from the girls— “And why watch Ray J’s dick when Kim K’s fat cunt is—”
“Got company, perverts,” Xavier said out loud.
All the gimmicking stopped at once, and five heads turned in our direction. In the theater-like darkness of the room, I couldn’t make out who was who.
Someone paused the porn and switched on the lights, and I blinked a couple times before my eyes adjusted.
Everyone stared.
Leo, the bassist, the one accused of being gay, was sitting in recliner on the right, grinning—buzz cut dark hair, lanky, and noticeably handsome. Mark, the drummer, was on the recliner beside Leo’s—a bit on the chubby side, but in a totally attractive way, with greasy, mahogany, shoulder-length hair, ungroomed sideburns, mustache and goatee, tattoos scattered all over, having a twisted resemblance to my favorite Sons of Anarchy character, Opie—a voluptuous blonde in nothing but a sheer negligee perched on his lap, his right hand cupping one of her breasts, openly kneading.
Lying back on a big, black sofa, was the lead singer, Tex Laklin, the most rocker-ish of them all. Swathed in tattoos from neck to wrist, he wore thick black eyeliner around his captivating ice-blue eyes, and had extremely long jet-black hair, all pierced up from ear-hole to asshole. Saskia Day’s ex, Tex was undeniably hot. In an overly-intense, overwhelming, underwhelming, all-consuming, take-it-or-leave-it kind of way.
There was no dispute, however, that Xavier Xander was the hottest, sexiest, most drooled over in the band. Plus he was the only member who didn’t look all rocker-y. His glowing olive complexion was unmarred with permanent ink, and his hair was always fresh and wavy and billowy. His lips, eyes, build and height were to be talked about some other time. Xavier would more pass for a movie star than a rock star.
Lying on top of Tex was a girl who, if she had a baby bump, I would have mistaken for Saskia. Kind of freakish how much she resembled her, back when Saskia had raven-black hair. Gray eyes, dimple in the chin, and even a tattoo sleeve, just like Saskia.
Tipping up so my mouth was at Xavier’s ear, I asked in a hushed voice, “Why does that girl look every bit like Kia?”
A female voice spoke up from behind us, making me jump. “Because his sorry ass only screws sluts who look like his ex. If you don’t have gray eyes, raven hair and tattoos, boo, no Tex cock for you.”
I turned to see a tall, blonde girl who could pass for a twin of the man standing next to me. Metal gray eyes, long blonde waves, and naturally red lips.
“It’s pathetic, really,” she went on, rolling her eyes, “the way these desperate whores are bleaching their hair, tattooing themselves and wearing gray contacts, all vying for a chance to suck Tex Almighty’s limp dick. Like that slore over there, she’s really a redhead.”
“I heard that, skank!” said the girl lying on top of Tex.
“You were meant to, airhead,” the Xavier lookalike retorted.
Tex knifed up and knocked the girl off him. “You don’t disrespect my peeps. Ever. Get out.” Then he glared at the Xavier lookalike. “And you need to stop dissing my dick, Xena.”
“I’ll do whatever the hell I want,” she shot back. “And I saw your dick. It’s limp.”
“I was in the damn shower!”
“Trust me, honey,” said Saskia’s lookalike, “Tex’s dick is a lot of things, but ‘limp’ isn’t one of them.”
Xena stretched out a hand across my middle and moved me to the side along with her so neither of us was blocking the stairway. “The way out is up these stairs, cumbucket. You know, just in case you forgot.”
The girl looked from Xena to Tex, and Tex arched a brow. “You heard her.”
With a huff, Saskia Lookalike stomped past us and up the stairs.
“You should probably leave with your friend, too,” Mark told the curvy blonde on his lap.
“But why?” she whined. “I never said anything bad about Xena. I actually like Xena.”
Beside me, Xena scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“I know, I know, sweetie,” Mark said, patting her head as if talking to a toddler, “but you’ve kinda worn out your welcome. You’re Hangover Pussy, remember?”
She pouted. “Will you call me over tomorrow?”
“I’ll call you when I’m hungover.”
Were these people serious?
The blonde seemed happy with this promise and pecked Mark a kiss before strutting off. As she passed Xena, she said an ingratiatingly sweet voice, “Bye, Xena.”
“Choke on a dick and die, bitch,” Xena muttered under her breath.
Okay, this Xena person must be suffering from neurosis. Now she was glaring daggers at Tex and he was glaring right back.
I edged closer to Xavier, who’d been quiet throughout the whole ordeal.
Saskia had given me the whole rundown on the band members already: Leo, the bassist, was the “different” one who the guys all suspected was queer or bisexual at least, but could never get him to admit to it.
Mark, the drummer, was the jocular one who liked to goad others. Tex was the intense, sneaky instigator, who also loved to brawl. And Xavier was the quiet, reserved, brooding one. A man of few words.
However, she never mentioned a choleric Xena who freakishly looked like Xavier’s twin.
Breaking her stare down with Tex, she turned to me and grinned, eyes twinkling. Holy hell, what a transformation! From a bitch to a sweetheart in 0.2 seconds flat. “I’m Xavi’s little sister and the band’s PR. Brother has been going through a dry spell over the past couple of months so I decided to investigate. That’s how we found out about you.”—I snapped a glance to Xavier and found him rubbing his forehead. Clearly, his sister gave not just him, but everyone headaches all the time.—“I’ve been dying to meet you. You’re absolutely stunning! Wish my hair was as full and bouncy as yours. Markie thinks you have a platinum vagina and that’s how you hooked Xavi. So, you’re a model?”
Christ, I’ve landed in a very strange world with some very strange people. “Not yet established.”
“Oooh, I can—”
Xavier cut in, curving an arm around my shoulders and pulling me back to his side. “Forgive my sis, Chino. Think she’s had a little too much caffeine.”
“Don’t be rude, Xavi!” Xena said, shoving Xavier’s arm from around me and looping hers through mine.
Xavier looked at me and gave a shrug that said, “She’s incorrigible.”
Xena turned with me to the rest of the members, all still staring. “Stop staring at her like she’s a Chinese blow-up doll with a vagina for a mouth and say HI,” she ordered.
Tex narrowed his gaze on Xena, but I surprisingly agreed with her.
“I’m with her, guys,” I said. “Weren’t you the ones who begged to meet me?”
“Yeah,” said Mark, “but to be honest, we didn’t think you were real. We thought he was relapsing and he just made you up to throw us off.”
I felt a bit defensive of Xavier, that they’d doubted his sobriety, doubted his word and demanded he bring me so they could test his veracity. When I looked at Xavier, he didn’t seem bothered by it, as if this was a regular habit of theirs.
But I was bothered.
“Well, as you can see, I’m realer than the bottle blonde and Saskia lookalike who just left,” I defended. “And with me Xavier doesn’t need alcohol. My juice is intoxicating enough for him to get drunk on. I�
�m Alina O’Hara. You can save your introductions. Saskia already told me y’all are dickheads.” I turned to Xavier who had a look of surprise on his face, while Xena grinned her face off. “You ready?”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Mark said, “slow down, platinum vagina—”
“Don’t call her that,” Xavier warned in a quiet but threatening voice.
“Look,” Leo said, getting up, “we just wanted to be sure Xavi’s staying clean, alright? He hasn’t been with a chick in months and that’s just…alarming. We were worried, we’re brothers, that’s what we do. We weren’t dissing your man.”
“And did you just say Saskia? As in Saskia Day? You’re friends with her?” asked Mark.
They seemed genuine in their concern for Xavier, so I relaxed. “More like family. She’s been taking care of me since I was seventeen.”
A short, but solemn laugh came from Tex. “Yeah, sounds like Saskia: always taking care of someone.” His now desolate eyes flicked to Xavier. “Didn’t think to tell me this?”
“So you can use the opportunity to do something stupid again?” Xavier scathingly replied. “Nope. Didn’t think to tell you at all.”
Xavier might be referring to Tex’s over-the-limit attempt at ruining Saskia and JK’s engagement a while back—I wasn’t sure, though.
Thick silence followed, then Tex abruptly stood up, knocking over a beer bottle, and stalked out of the room. I peeked over at Xena and found her staring after him with a dejected expression.
Mark broke the strained silence. “We’re die-hard friends of Saskia, platinum vagin—I mean, Alina. She’s one of the coolest, most down-to-earth chicks I’ve ever met. Rolls with us anywhere, anytime, anyhow. Love her to the end, even though her pretty boy husband’s a shithead. Long as you’re her peeps, you’re good with us.”
“No,” I said firmly, “I wanna be good with you because I’m Xavier’s girl.”
A wry grin splitting his face, Mark looked at Xavier. “Jesus, Xavi, where’d you find this ball-buster?”
