by Lisa Swallow
The venues get bigger as word about Ruby Riot grows. They’re not touring but gigging regularly, playing new tracks from our recording session. Steve agreed to sign them based on those tracks; a full album is scheduled for April after the tour with Blue Phoenix in January. I’m proud – and vindicated. This isn’t because of my fantasies about the lead singer.
Ruby arrives offstage half an hour later, hair damp, and heat radiating from her skin. She’s on the high she always is after performing, the one that twinges jealousy because I want to be up there again. I’ve nagged Dylan about starting rehearsals for the tour, but he’s still on his own world tour with Sky. Liam and Bryn have agreed to start in November. Nearly two months.
“You okay?” she asks, sliding her arms around my waist.
I smooth a tendril from her forehead as we head to the Green Room. “Yeah. Some nights I’m jealous of you getting to do this.”
“I bet you won’t be saying that a month into a tour,” she says. “Anyway, you’re always welcome to play onstage with us.”
I push through the door to the Green Room. “Sure, Jax would love me taking his place.”
“Just a couple of tracks would be cool.” Ruby kicks off her shoes then roots around in her bag and pulls out a fresh t-shirt. “He’d be okay with that.”
I can’t respond because Ruby unzips and steps out of her red dress. Does she still do this in front of the other guys?
“What?” She pushes her arms through the t-shirt.
I soak in the sight of her lace-covered tits and the tiny panties before the material of her t-shirt covers them. “I wish you wouldn’t do that. It switches my brain off.”
Happy memories of this morning skip into my mind and I go from wanting to chat about Ruby Riot to wanting to pin her to the wall and fuck her hard. Ruby gives me a warning look.
“Come here.” I beckon with my finger.
“No.” She deliberately bites her lip coyly.
“Right. I’ll come over there then.” I take the couple of steps across the space between us and back her to the wall. Her breath rushes out but not from the force, but the reaction to my hand sliding around to that perfect ass. I play my fingers at the edge of her panties. “You know not to be alone in a room with Jem Jones, especially if you’re stripping for him.”
Ruby laughs and winds her fingers into my hair, holding her forehead against mine. “I like being alone in rooms with Jem Jones.”
“Yeah, but you never know what he might do to you.” She inhales sharply as my finger slips beneath the lace, toward the wet heat that’ll be there for me. I taste the perspiration on her skin as I lick from her neck to her ear.
“He never wastes any time, does he?” She shifts and presses into my hand.
“Makes a change that I’m the groupie,” I whisper.
Ruby thumps my chest with her palm. “Do you mind not mentioning groupies when you’re about to screw me?”
“Am I?”
“Ruby, Ruby, Ruby!” calls a voice to the tune of the Kaiser Chief’s song, followed by a knock. Jax.
“For fuck’s sake…” I mutter and let go of her.
“Yeah?” she calls.
Jax continues to sing the song as he opens the door, then stops dead as he sees me. “Oh. Hey, Jem.”
That bloody song. Jax sings it around Ruby a lot and I’ve yet to figure out whether he’s attempting to communicate something. I’m aware that he’s torn between not accepting her involvement with me and needing to hide this because of the role I have in his life.
Jax is shirtless, hair as damp as Ruby’s, every bit the rock star he’s morphing himself into. Ruby’s t-shirt barely reaches her thighs and if he doesn’t stop staring at her legs… Jax has his own chicks now; he can keep his eyes and mind off mine.
“Were you wanting the room?” I ask. “Got someone with you?”
“Nah. Not tonight, too tired. Besides, we’re doing some celebrating with Ruby, aren’t we?”
“No, we’re not,” warns Ruby.
“Why? What happened?” I ask.
Ruby shoves her discarded dress in her bag and pulls her jeans on. “I’m tired too. Let’s go home, Jem.”
Jax crosses his arms and pulls his brows together. “It’s your birthday!”
“And we went through this last year; I don’t do birthdays!”
Jax looks at me and waves hand at Ruby. “Tell her!”
Ruby focuses on the wall over my head.
“Tell her what? You can’t make her celebrate her birthday.”
“So you knew too?” he asks.
“No. But I don’t like celebrating mine, so I understand.”
“But it’s your twenty-first!” protests Jax, ignoring me. “At least have a drink with the guys.”
I recognise Ruby’s stance, the tension beginning in her stiffening shoulders, and spreading toward her hardening mouth. I get the brunt of this enough to know when to calm things down. But it’s her trembling hands as she puts her shoes on that worry me because I’m not entirely sure this is anger.
“Ruby doesn’t want to do anything,” I say. “Leave it.”
“Jesus, Ruby!” snaps Jax.
“If you hadn’t nagged me or mentioned my birthday I might’ve stayed, but you’re stressing me. I’m going home.” Ruby grabs her bag then pushes past him and he swivels his head to watch her go.
“But, Ruby…” Jax is rewarded with a one-finger salute given to him over her shoulder.
“How long have you known her?” I ask. “Long enough to understand Ruby doesn’t operate on the same level as you. This is a situation connected to her past and you pushed it!”
“What, so she’s like you? You understand each other?” he asks, voice laden with sarcasm.
“I understand the world is different shades and not black and white. Maybe when you grow up a bit, you will too.” I pause. “And yeah, we understand each other.”
Jax chews hard on his bottom lip, his silence telling.
“Spit it out,” I say.
“Don’t hurt Ruby.”
“We’re none of your business.”
“She’s my friend and I watched her moving from a bad place. Then you came along. You helped, but now I think you’re going to make things worse.”
“I don’t abuse her! Don’t you fucking accuse me of being bad for Ruby.”
Finally alone with me, he has the balls to say what he thinks. “I’m not going to fight with you, but think about where she came from. Don’t fuck with Ruby’s self-esteem by screwing her over and kicking her to one side.”
“Watch who you’re talking to, little boy,” I growl.
“Hit a nerve, have I?”
“I suggest you stop now before this gets nasty.”
Jax drops his aggression, eyes taking on a look of concern. “Ruby deserves to be loved. If you can’t give her that, do you deserve hers?”
Before I can respond, he turns and walks away. For all his bravado and swagger, this guy has an intuition I wouldn’t expect. He’s naïve, his sheltered background protecting him from the bad in the world, but he understands chicks in the same way Bryn does. How do guys do that? Maybe he grew up in a house full of sisters like Bryn and got conditioned the same way. Yeah, I get Jax’s worried about Ruby; but he has no place to interfere, and if he says anything again, I doubt I’ll react as calmly.
****
The topic isn’t mentioned on the way back to the house. Instead, Ruby chats about the gig, over analysing every track the band performed as she usually does.
“You guys rocked, as always,” I tell her as we head into the kitchen.
And as always, my approval of her musically makes Ruby smile. She rewards me with a slow, soft kiss, wrapping her arms around my back, and gripping me close. I lift Ruby onto the kitchen counter and put a hand either side of her, shifting so her legs circle my waist.
“So, it’s your birthday, Ruby Tuesday?”
“I don’t like celebrating my birthday,” she mutte
rs. “All it does is remind me of loneliness. I rarely had friends to share birthdays with; and after mum left, my uncle and aunt forgot half the time anyway.”
“Twenty-first, though.”
“So?”
“I don’t remember my twenty-first,” I tell her. “I know it involved a shit load of alcohol and drugs, and more than a couple of girls.”
Ruby scowls and drags both hands through my curls, and tugs my hair to shut me up. “The birthday subject is closed, Jem.”
“I know why you don’t celebrate, and I have to tell you the reason isn’t true.”
The grip on my hair tightens. “Really?”
“Yeah. Because if people want to celebrate your birthday, it’s because you mean something to them. They want to make you feel special, and you don’t believe you are.”
“Thanks, Dr Freud.” She shifts away from me and attempts to climb off the counter, but I grip her legs.
“I understand. I’m the same about my birthday for the exact same reason.”
“Cool, well if you understand, drop it. Get me something to drink.” She pokes me with her foot.
“But I’m going to buy you a cake tomorrow.”
She drops her mouth open. “Piss off.”
“And a present.”
Her face darkens. “Don’t you dare!”
“Tough. You’re my girl; you’re unbelievably important to me, and I want to let you know how special you are. Is that a problem?” Ruby won’t meet my eyes so I twist her face to mine. “You tell me I avoid how I feel, so don’t shoot down my attempts to show you.”
Ruby’s eyes soften as she recognises the truth in my words; how her attempt at hiding something has failed because of my choice not to disguise my own thoughts. I do understand. I’m telling the truth and I’d be furious if she said the same to me.
“When’s your birthday?” she asks.
“November 13th”
Ruby pulls her phone out of her back pocket and swipes the screen. “I’ll make a note.”
Closing my fingers around Ruby’s hand holding the phone, I place my mouth on hers and press myself closer. Ruby turns her head away and pulls her hand from my grip. “Nice try, Jem.” Ruby nudges my chest with her knees, so I have to step back. She hops off the counter, focusing on the phone as she types, before tucking it back into her pocket.
“Done. Now you can kiss me,” she says, a smile playing around the edge of her mouth.
“Kiss you? After you stripped in front of me earlier, I want to do more than kiss you!”
“Uh huh? Stripped?” Ruby slowly pulls her t-shirt over her head and curves her warm body against mine. I run my fingers across her velvet skin and grab her ass. When she wriggles out of her jeans and sits back on the bench, any thoughts about birthdays vanish as my head switches to the things I like to do most with Ruby.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Ruby
“I am not going to one of your bullshit awards ceremonies,” I inform Jem as I pull my boots on.
He laughs at me as I search around for my leather jacket. “Ruby Riot will be going to them one day, best get used to them.”
“Screw that. I’m already over all the ‘Jem Jones’s girlfriend’ crap and the insinuation I’m fucking you to get a recording contract.”
The man who completes me sits on the bottom stair in his house, watching with increasing amusement. “Now, now, everyone in the industry knows that’s bullshit; don’t get all high and mighty.”
“Plus, they don’t like the foul-mouthed rock chick who throws things at them.”
“I’ll keep anything away from you that could be used as a projectile missile. I’m not paying off another photographer for minor head injuries from flying phones.”
I switch tactics and pull an exaggerated pout. “Jem, please…”
“Nope. You’re coming.”
Sulkily, I stomp out of the house with Jem in tow, as we head to our favourite coffee haunt. The autumn sun hovers behind clouds and the chill of the air heralds winter. Winter. That means it’s only a few months until the tour.
“Naw, c’mon, stop it.” Jem slides a hand around my shoulder and kisses me fiercely on the head, his hair brushing my cheek. “I want the world to see us, to see the changed Jem Jones and the foul-mouthed rock chick who kicked his backside into line.”
I humph but smile as he traces a heart shape across the back of my hand. We still won’t say the words, as if what we have is greater than everyone else’s lesser description. Ours is honest and open, scary but getting easier. Jem slides his hand into mine and squeezes, the simple gesture flooding calm over my growing anxiety. Two months ago, we took our lives, shook them up, and watched as the pieces settled into a crazy, mixed-up Jem and Ruby world. What other place could we live in?
“Fine, I’ll go, but I don’t think I fit in with the other Blue Phoenix girlfriends.”
“Talk to Bryn’s then.”
“He doesn’t have one, does he?”
“Exactly. So you won’t be able to piss her off.”
I smack his arm. “Ha fucking ha.”
****
Jem neglected to tell me the awards ceremony is in Germany, which doubly pisses me off. Bad enough when English-speaking paparazzi mob me, now I don’t understand what they’re saying. They seem to understand the English swear words I throw at them though.
My sulking intensifies when a Blue Phoenix PR girl suggests I dress up, indicating I could get paid for kitting myself out in some up-and-coming designer’s creation. I pretend to comply by accepting a dress, and then deliberately leave the expensive item on the bed in Jem’s house. Hence, I’m sitting around a table, in the star-studded venue amongst the overdressed in my black dress covered in skulls and unicorns. Jem comments that at least I match his black shirt even if I do fail at looking like a normal person. I stomp on his foot with the heel of my matching green and black shoes.
“No, look, I put a sparkly clip in my hair,” I say as he pours me a glass of water.
“Right. A sparkly skull shaped clip.”
Jem in a suit amuses me, the PR girl’s magic works better on him. I’m not into men in suits, but I can look forward to removing his designer clothes later. He’s already dispensed with the jacket and hung it over the back of the dining chair. Yes, I’m definitely unbuttoning his shirt and getting my hands on the taut muscles barely hidden by the cut of his shirt as soon as I can. Jem spots my scrutiny and arches an eyebrow. When I smile, he bends closer and kisses my cheek. I run a hand along his arm, hoping his stressed aura over the last few days is about coming to the ceremonies he dislikes, and nothing to do with us.
A woman – an actress I vaguely recognise - sashays past our table. Perfectly primped in a sparkling silver designer dress I can only describe as unique, her disdain for me is obvious. I lift my glass in a toast and she looks away.
Liam and his fiancée, Cerys, sit across the white-clothed table. I haven’t seen them since they came to a Ruby Riot gig a few months back, and they’re a nausea-inducing, lovey-dovey, holding hands under the table couple. Cerys has also foregone the designer clothes trap, opting for a simple black dress and an inexpensive-looking necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Liam’s arm is across Cerys’s shoulders, as he rubs her neck with his thumb. She’s what I’d call down-to-earth; and not the kind of girl I’d imagine falling in love with a longhaired rocker. But what do I know? Nothing about these people, Jem barely discusses them.
Despite the fact Jem forced me to come to this, his stiffened shoulders and fingers tapping on the table reinforces he doesn’t want to be here either. Why make us come?
“You okay?” I ask.
“Yeah. You having a drink?”
I shake my head. “How many times? I don’t drink around you, Jem.”
“Everyone else is, it doesn’t bother me,” he says tersely.
“Water’s fine.” I pick up my glass and drink to reinforce the point.
Dylan appears with Sky who looks as
happy about being here as I am. The venue is filled to the brim with star power; musicians from all genres rub shoulders, and in some cases, clash egos. Jem always has an energy humming around that sets him apart from others, and Dylan shares that. More eyes follow Dylan than anyone else I’ve seen arrive today. Perhaps his natural comfort in his own skin, an assured poise, is what eclipses Jem slightly. Not to me, but to those around.
Sky grips his hand, dressed in a short blue dress that matches her eyes, hair loose and curling to her shoulders. She wears little make-up, doesn’t need to. Dylan rubs a hand along her arm and whispers something that breaks her look of concern into a smile. They sit and he takes her hand.
I’ve not met either Sky or Dylan before, and he scrutinises me before glancing at Jem.
Jem shifts in his seat. “This is Ruby,” he says with a half-hearted hand gesture. His under-enthusiasm prickles.
“I know,” says Dylan. “Hey, Ruby.”
“Hello.”
“Did you want a drink?” Dylan asks, taking the champagne from the ice bucket.
“No. Thanks.”
“Sky?” Dylan hovers the bottle over her glass
Sky places her hand over the top of the flute glass. “No, I’m not feeling well.”
“Still?” Dylan’s face creases with concern.
“I’ll be okay, feeling sick, just gastro I think, but coming here doesn’t help,” she mutters and picks up the water jug to pour herself a glass.
“Yeah, I’m with you on that one,” I say.
“I can imagine. Nice to finally meet you.” Sky gives me a small smile before turning to Cerys. My stomach sinks, my reputation obviously precedes me because, despite her words, something in her expression is distrust. Of course, any chick with Jem is going to be far too obnoxious to join their gang. Like I give a shit.
