Slow Body Rock (Rockstar Romance)

by Nora Flite

  Kissing the back of the paper, Amy did a full body shiver. “Oh my gosh. Thank you! Okay, let me get that bag up to your room.”

  Reaching down, I pulled Lola's bag from her unprepared fingers. “Actually, on second thought, I've got it. Thanks though.”

  “Oh.” Blinking, Amy tugged anxiously at the hem of her blouse. “Okay. Alright. Um, call down if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

  My nod was faint. Hoisting my luggage and Lola's, I hurried to the elevator. She said something softly to Amy, her sneakers clomping as she caught up. Ducking through, Lola set her guitar case onto the floor while the doors closed behind us.

  In the tiny box, mirrors flushing our images all around, she spoke over the whispering elevator music. “Are you alright? You hurried out of there really quick.”

  With my hands tied up in the bags, I could only shrug. “It's nothing, just thought you might want to get to your room and chill out before tonight.”

  “I mean, you said that.” A hint of scrutiny coated her voice. Messing with her hair, Lola squinted up at me. “It feels like something else was wrong.”

  Everything is wrong. I can't decide what I want from you, from this, and it's giving me a fucking ulcer. Normally I wanted to gaze on her sweet face and intoxicating eyes. Now, I regretted that no matter where I turned, her reflection waited for me in the elevator. “What if something is wrong? In fact, I think you know what's on my mind.”

  Her sigh cut into my ears. “Drezden, look. All of that stuff yesterday...”

  Stuff. She calls it stuff, like it's so simple to throw away.

  “...And the stuff from the night before that...”

  My fingers choked the handles of the bags.

  “It can't happen, it won't happen. I was serious when I said I can't risk messing this chance up. Being in this band is a once in a lifetime thing for me.” I saw her turn away in the mirrors. “Lifetime chances don't just come along like breakfast. Seeing that stage today, I just—I knew I had to stay firm, to focus. I'm sorry.”

  Having her apologize, brush me aside and act like I wasn't worth even considering, was worse than being stabbed. She's saying I'm not worth the risk. My insides balled up, knotting until they overwhelmed my mind. The disgust was muffling my promise. It strangled the words and desires I'd formed about Lola Cooper.

  No. Like a man hanging below the surface, inches from the air he needed not to drown, I lifted my head. No, not like this. In the mirror, I saw my eyes. The green was the color of acid, but it was my mouth that wanted to dissolve. My lips throbbed to melt something—someone—and in that elevator that didn't seem to end, I gave in.

  Lola wasn't looking at me, not at first.

  The sound of me dropping the bags changed that.

  For a second, I saw her wide blue eyes focus on me. Then I was on her, fingers trapping her on the hard wall. Ravenous with the pangs that had haunted me since the night in the tub, I let myself go. Lips that had marked her in only my mind, now turned her mouth into a landing zone. She was ground zero for me.

  Lola tasted like caramel and salt and nightshade. I'd let her poison me if I could. If she wouldn't let me into her life, death was on my horizon. How could a man struggle to breathe when he was denied the existence of air?

  My nostrils flared to claim her scent. In my ears, her moan was a mixture of surprise and delight. She wanted this. Wanted it. Her argument had said it, I knew that now. She called me a risk, but one she had concentrated on resisting.

  I'm no more a risk than she is. I lost my hands in her thick brunette locks. My ribs screamed, telling me I needed oxygen. Ignoring them, my mouth pressed on her even harder. Lola wrapped her perfect hands, her fucking perfectly magical hands, around my waist. It was an aphrodisiac.

  The 'ding' of the elevator ended the moment.

  Lola's seeking touch become rough; a shove, aiming to push me away. I gasped for air, eyes glowing on her blues. Her creamy cheeks were fire, but so was her voice. “Get off of me, Drezden.”

  It took everything I had to step backwards. My hands slid through her hair, the strands silken and buttery. We were both breathing hard. I saw the hint of her nipples straining through her shirt. Each heave taunted me more.

  Lola's gaze darted down. I knew she had spotted my raging hard-on, I was wishing my pants weren't so fucking tight.

  She moved forward; I inhaled sharply. When she just grabbed her bag and guitar, spinning out the doors, I felt the cold prickles of distress. Lola was running away. Giving into my burst of emotion, my desire, hadn't changed a fucking thing between us.

  Watching her stumble down the hall, stopping in front of a door, I did nothing. When she fumbled for her keycard and burst through, I still did nothing.

  It wasn't until she vanished from my sight that I grabbed my bag. Exiting the elevator, a place cloying with her scent—and mine—I stepped into the quiet hallway. I messed that up. Badly. I wanted to laugh until my throat was ruined. Fuck, did I mess that up.

  My move had been something a teenager would have done. She's the nineteen year old. I should fucking know better. Lola was stronger than I thought.

  I'd given up my cards, she knew my hand.

  Digging into my pocket, I revealed my keycard. It said room 704. Looking up, I stared blankly at the door Lola had entered; 705.

  We were right fucking next to each other.

  Then I really did laugh, and it was bitter as lemon peels.

  Chapter Four.

  Lola

  I couldn't get my breathing under control.

  Leaning on the inside of my hotel room, I buried my palm on my chest and hyperventilated.

  Holy shit holy shit holy shit holy shit.

  Drezden had kissed me. Kissed me.

  Holy fucking shit.

  Reaching up, I dragged my fingers over my lips. His taste remained; cinnamon and tobacco. I should have hated it, but it was exotic and made my head foggy.

  He fucking kissed me. Now what was I supposed to do?

  Every inch of my body was acutely electric. Even the backs of my ears felt like someone had run a static roller over them. Waves of heat ricocheted from head to toe, settling into my lower belly until I had to squeeze my thighs.

  Each time Drezden had gotten close to me, fate had intervened. The tub, the practice room, and now a fricking elevator.

  He kissed me!

  I couldn't get the image out of my head.

  At my feet, my bag and case lay in a heap. I'd dropped them unceremoniously as soon as I'd escaped Drezden's molten stare. The way he'd looked at me when I shoved him off... I hurt him. I told him to get off of me. He didn't expect that. Running my fingers over my eyebrows, I smoothed them repetitively; nervously. Well, too fucking bad! I told him we couldn't, we shouldn't, and he fucking has the balls to try anyway.

  I loved that he had tried.

  I hated it too.

  Ugh, what do I even want anymore? Was anyone as confused as me in this weird world? I was supposed to be thinking about how I'd be playing in front of thousands of people tonight, not getting swept up in my obsession with Drezden Halifax. Drezden and his velvety mouth. Drezden and his dexterous fingers and searing heat and fuck could he ever kiss...

  I banged the back of my skull on the door. Out, thoughts! Out!

  They remained like ticks, burrowed and bloated in my flesh.

  I wanted Drezden. Wanted him in a way I'd never known was possible. Being a virgin became increasingly more frightening to me. Was it normal to be so hot, so hungry for someone? I knew he would be experienced. A guy couldn't kiss like that, hold me like that, if he wasn't.

  He was bold, making a move like that in the elevator. The wildfire in his depths had crushed my lungs and eaten my strength. If the elevator hadn't opened, ruining the spell, I might have—Nope! That's it, shower time.

  Preferably a cold one.

  ****

  Sweet, wild, and blacker than pitch. Whatever I was hearing pulled me from my dream. It was
a sound I'd heard before, during a time when I needed to feel like someone understood me. At the tender age of seventeen, it's impossible to feel anyone does.

  In my case, with bullies and the tantalizing kiss of a blade, even harder.

  Cracking open my eyes showed me a white wall. Right, my hotel room. The shower had stolen all the strength from my muscles. With thick wet hair wrapped in a towel, I'd crashed on my bed and promptly passed out.

  The sound came again; words through the walls. I caught snippets and clung to them.

  “You fight me,” the familiar voice sang.

  Drezden. It was Drezden singing through the plaster.

  “Backed into a corner with your hands, and I can't keep my feet beneath me...” He wasn't screaming the lyrics. It was a low rumble, baritone and thick with constraint.

  He's singing to me, was my initial, throat gripping thought. No. Impossible. He's just practicing for tonight. Sitting up, the towel fell from my head. Wet strands tickled my bare shoulders while I ripped my cell phone off the side-table. It was already three.

  I slept that long? Shit. Tugging at the snarls in my hair, I tuned into Drezden's soft murmur. Even with a wall between us, his music wrapped my lungs, filled my soul. He was connected to me in a way he could never know.

  My arm throbbed sympathetically. I rubbed my tattoo, soothing the phantom wounds.

  “...one more night until we fall. Fight me with curled nails and wicked teeth...”

  Closing my eyes, I let myself fall under his trance. There was comfort there, among the passion, the fear. In my room I was safe. Drezden couldn't see or hear me and my reactions. It was like I was seventeen again, chasing his lyrics down into the soft belly of my mind.

  Back then, I never imagined I'd talk to Drezden Halifax. My dream to play in a band had been relatively optimistic. I knew I was good, but there was more to the industry than that.

  Sean was proof if I needed it. He'd struggled for years to get to where he was, and I knew it still paled beside what he desired.

  Even so, if I could have gotten into a position as glorious as my brother's, that would have been enough. And now I'm soaring above him. Opening my eyes, I stared down at my bare feet. He'll see me tonight. He'll cheer me on, be so proud of me.

  Remembering standing in the Fillmore with Drezden, my mouth birthed a bitter frown. Too bad my parents will never come. He offered to fucking fly them out. Fly them!

  My parents couldn't be coaxed to believe in what I was doing.

  They'd hated it from the start.

  Only Sean has been there for me. Clasping my phone, I began calling. It rang several times, each one dampening my mood. His voice mail beeped. “Hey,” I whispered, afraid Drez would hear me in his room. “Uh, just calling to say I can't wait to see you tonight. I'll cheer you on, too, okay?” I wanted to say so much more. Thanks for everything, thank you for pushing me.

  Thanks for being more of a parent than either of them.

  “Bye.” One word was all I had left in me. Hanging up, I hid my face in a waterfall of hair. He's probably getting ready. He goes on at five, it makes sense. Logic wasn't the best for quelling my frustration. I needed to talk to someone.

  “You fight me...” Drezen sang, tormenting me. “And I can't keep my feet beneath.”

  Vigorously I scrubbed my cheeks. Two can play this game. My guitar case thunked, clasps snapping open from my quick fingers. I spent the barest time tuning, one ear aware of the next song Drezden began.

  “Sticky sweetness,” he crooned. My pulse jolted, the stiff pick between my fingers tickling my strings. Behind the cloak of my strums, I heard his silence, his falter.

  He hadn't expected me to reply like this.

  My grin hurt my cheeks.

  “Burning fast.” He was louder; stronger. Had he moved closer to my wall? “My love, my dear, this will be your last...” Standing smoothly, I didn't miss a note while I walked towards the painted barrier.

  With everything and nothing between us, Drezden and I played together. We were perfection. Without needing to see, we sensed the tempo and followed the scent. He led me, but I left the trail for our return. As we sped up, my heart did, too.

  There was an echo in his lyrics; like his cheek was pressed on the hotel's surface. “If I take you from the grave, you'll be mine.”

  Clenching my molars, the tremble boiled through my cells. Before, he'd been singing for himself. A shift had happened.

  He was singing for me.

  “You'll be mine...”

  Swallowing over my swollen tongue, I pressed my knees together. The heat was back. It clawed at me, steam that needed to be vented. I was fucking ready for Drezden. That was what this feeling was. An emotion that bent me to its will, held me prisoner as much as my dark singer's voice did.

  I wondered what it would be like to kiss him again.

  He was so insistent, so primal. He smelled so good, god, if I just got close again... Before I realized what I was doing, I placed my puckered lips on the wall. It was stupid; I knew that. If someone saw me they'd think I was insane.

  Or pathetic. But there was no one to spy on me. Right then, with our music mixing, there might as well not have been a wall at all. I was kissing cold paint, but his gritty tone vibrated the material. It numbed my mouth, brushed my lungs, my spine, and beyond.

  With my eyes closed, I played the ending of Velvet Lost. The last of the music melted, snow flakes on my scalding skin.

  I thought of his honey tongue, his astringent gaze. When I looked up, the blank wall left me dejected. Fighting Drezden was too hard. Everything was too fucking hard.

  Just like him. Everything about him is hard, too. Like a true virgin, I turned beet red. My privacy was appreciated more.

  “Lola.”

  Startled, I jumped back from the wall. Oh, shit. What else had I expected? “Hey,” I said lamely, hearing the cracks in my voice.

  Something slid over the wall. I didn't know if it was his hand, or something else. My eyes went to where I'd kissed, imagining him copying me. “Lola,” he said again, metallic. “We should get the guys and head to the Fillmore.”

  I was nodding, knowing he couldn't see. “Alright. Let me get changed.”

  “They'll have clothes for you there.”

  Crinkling my mouth, I laughed. “Seriously? Fine. Most of my stuff is dirty anyway.”

  He said no more, so I scrambled to slide on the cleanest things I had left. If the staff for the venue—or was it just for Four and a Half Headstones?—was going to fix me up, I wouldn't fret.

  Tying my hair back in a tail, I let my neck breathe. I was sweltering from the tiny jam session, and not because of the effort. When he sings, I feel like he's sliding through my skull and into my gut, my being. Thinking about Drezden sliding himself into any part of me was making me wilt.

  For a long moment, I stood with my hand on the brass handle of my door. I was counting the seconds. Each one was one more bit of existence with a solid barrier between Drezden and myself. Willing my heart to calm the fuck down wasn't working.

  Defeated, I pushed out into the hall.

  The singer was waiting for me.

  Leaning across the way, his ankles crossed, fingers in his jeans, he reminded me of a cowboy from a western. He even had an unlit cigarette in his teeth. The heavy cloak of tobacco was hanging all over him. Was he smoking in his room?

  Drez pushed the cigarette to the corner of his mouth with his tongue. “I need a quick one before we head out. That alright?”

  Shrugging, I propped my case on my hip. “It's whatever you want.”

  He crooked an eyebrow, but made no comment. I actually hesitated when he entered the elevator. The mirrored surface threw my bloodless face back at me. “You coming?” he asked nonchalantly.

  Is he pretending nothing happened in here? Biting my tongue, I dragged myself inside. I guess that's the best way to handle this. I did reject him, it's only fair. If it was fair, why were my palms so clammy?

&n
bsp; I knew the answer, and I loathed it.

  I'm so weak, god. I told him to get off of me, told him this couldn't happen between us, and here I am lamenting his aloof fucking attitude.

  My head was throbbing.

  Drezden made a beeline for the front doors when we landed in the lobby. It was hard to keep up, his long legs gave him an advantage. He'd barely lit his cigarette when the car pulled up in front of us. In the back seat, Porter and Colt waved.

  “Hey!” The bassist looked quite proud. “Perfect! We were going to head out and send the car back for you two, but you're here, so just pile in.”

  The end of Drez's cigarette burned cherry-red; smoke billowed from his lips. “I need to finish this, first.”

  Colt stretched over Porter, scowling wildly. “Man! Don't fucking smoke before you sing! I keep telling you this.”

  He's right. It seems irresponsible. For a man so obsessed with how the band sounded, it was out of place. “Can't you just smoke after?” I asked.

  That glare was so sharp, I stepped backwards. “Sorry, are you giving me fucking advice on singing?”

  “I'm only saying—”

  “She's only saying what we're all saying,” Porter growled. Leaning out of the car, he took a swipe for Drezden's cigarette. Sidestepping, Drez avoided the attempt with ease. “Come on! Just get in the car, Drez!”

  He showed us his back, inhaling deeply; his response was flat. “Send the car back for me.” Then he was gone, strolling around the building without looking back.

  I took a single step before Porter reached out, grabbing me gently. I wasn't as slick as Drez; I couldn't avoid it. “Forget him, Lola. Let's just go.”

  Shooting a glance where the singer had vanished, I frowned. “Shouldn't we make sure he's okay? That he's coming?”

  “He'll come.” Colt rubbed his shaved head roughly. “That guy just gets into a black fucking mood sometimes. Jesus.”

  In the evening sun, Porter's eyes looked like melting chocolate. “It's fine. Remember who we're talking about. Drezden won't abandon a show. Not ever.”

  It took great effort, but I opened the door and climbed inside.