by Flite, Nora
Lola met my gaze, a wildness in her blues that halted my breathing. “Of course it does. Aren't you scared?”
I'm not scared of the music. Not even the crowd. Thinking to myself, I considered my reply. I was only scared of one thing lately. It wasn't something I was ready to admit to her.
Not yet.
“When I first played on a big stage,” I said slowly, “I was extremely afraid. That's normal.”
“You're calling yourself normal?”
Startled, I gaped down at Lola. The smile she wore was made from innocence and mystery. It took a concentrated effort not to curl my fingers into her thick hair, right there in front of the massive stage we'd soon perform on.
Perform.
This fucking girl made me want to put an entire new meaning to that word.
Breaking the gravity between us, she looked at the large lights overhead. “It'll be packed in here, won't it?”
My fingers hooked into my pockets. “The concert sold out the day it was announced.”
“I wonder if Sean will watch me.” She spoke wistfully, like her question wasn't for me.
How much I'd love to watch you from the crowd, too. “Barbed Fire is opening tonight. He should be able to see you from backstage, if he hangs around.” The thought was a squirming maggot in my belly. Though Lola and Brenda had done their best to convince me Sean Cooper held no bad feelings for me, I didn't want to see him up close. The guy might as well have been Johnny.
Rubber scuffed on wood; the toe of her converse dug into the floor. “Lot of pressure on me.”
Crinkling my nose, I tilted my head. “If it'd help, I can make sure he isn't back stage.”
Cold distress filled her voice. “No no! I want him there. I just meant, you know, it's a big deal. Performing tonight is... fuck.” She clasped the side of her throat. “It means everything to me.”
My chest ached, yearning to pull her against me. Not so long ago, I'd have said the same thing she had. Lola's existence, the way she'd come crashing into my life, had changed things. I want her to myself. She's the best fucking guitarist for our band, she fits right in, and I want to just take her away and hide her from the world. I didn't want the crowd to see her like I did.
Greedy. That's what I was.
“Can I ask you something?” she croaked, teeth tugging her lip. I'd have answered any question she had. At my quick nod, she pushed on. “Did any of your family come to your first real show?”
I hadn't expected that. “My mother did.” The memory brought a sideways smile forward. “She came to all of them for awhile.” Even after she couldn't hear any longer, she came. If that bastard hadn't injured her so long ago, maybe she could still—no. I had no intention of cutting my heart open. Being vulnerable had its time and place. “Why, did you want to have your parents here? I'm sure Brenda could find a way to fly them out by tonight, if we tell her right now.”
Lola was shaking her head, hair flipping, before I'd finished. “No, no. Don't worry about it. They wouldn't want—” Closing her mouth, she stopped herself.
“What?” Hunching closer brought us level height. “Tell me, they wouldn't want to what? Fly?”
Glassy, fogged, her eyes became frosted glass. There was a staleness that expressed a hurt so raw it left me concerned. “Yes. They hate flying. Can we go to the hotel? I'd like to clean up before tonight.”
The change of subject wasn't lost on me. Lola was hiding something. “Sure. Follow me.” Straightening, I led her back down the hall. It was a silent walk. Heavy dread, a brooding too real, hung off of Lola like thick lace. What's wrong? Something about her parents, clearly, but...
My plan had been to cheer the girl up by showing her the stage. Now, glancing at her as we broke into the early daylight, I had the feeling I'd lifted her up just to drag her back down.
I just wished I knew what I'd done.
****
We rode in a simple black car, tinted windows hiding us from the world. I'd even slid on a pair of shades to help protect my identity. It was a fast trip, the Ramada was up the street.
Lola said nothing as we drove, her hands wrapped on her guitar case and bag. Each tap of her nail on the solid wood sent electric shocks up my neck. She was cloaked in something bleak. Even so, my body was plagued by my hunger for her. She's miserable, and I just want to bend her over in her seat and nibble her fat lower lip.
Wiping my mouth to remove the thought, I cleared my throat.
The car rolled in front of the hotel entrance. Kicking open my door, I glanced at Lola. “Come on, let's see how nice our rooms are.”
A tiny smile from her was encouraging. “I don't remember the last time I slept in a hotel.”
“You traveled with your brother,” I said, ignoring the driver as he tried to help me with my one bag. “What did you do then?”
Her laugh was sharp, short. “Bus seats are comfortable enough in a pinch.”
My bag felt heavy in my grip. I'd never had to crash on a bus seat. When I started Four and a Half Headstones, we went from driving our cars to local shows, to getting picked up by an agent in a mere few months. We'd had money, fancy tour buses, everything we needed for the shows on the road.
It was a cold eye opener, realizing how blessed I'd been. I would never call myself entitled, but what would I do if Brenda ever suggested we sleep on a hard bus seat?
And she's been doing that for... I don't even know how long.
There was so much I didn't know about Lola Cooper.
Strolling up to the front desk of the Ramada, I fought with a drilling sensation of doubt. If I knew so little about her, why the fuck was I so wrapped up in wanting her? What was drawing me to a girl who I'd only just met two days ago?
Lola stood beside me, head level with my shoulder. From the tip of her nose, to the curve of her mouth, she was beautiful. It's possible I'm being shallow. Is it just a physical attraction?
Like she felt me weighing her, Lola peeked upwards. Perfect sapphire depths peered at me, wide with her pure curiosity. It killed me and gave me life in the same moment.
Those fucking eyes reassured me. A similarity existed between us, a thing I didn't truly grasp yet. The hurt and emotion boiling in her eyes reflected mine. I didn't need details to recognize it.
There was more to this than something as petty as looks.
“Can I help you?”
Turning, I smiled at the woman behind the counter. She was cute, though exhaustion and a too-tight bun were doing her no favors. Digging out my keycard, I flashed it like it was money. “You can, in fact, help us. We have rooms here. I'm—”
“Drezden Halifax,” she blurted, fingers covering her mouth. I smirked at her struggling to find the line between fan and professional. “Right! Your room is on the seventh floor. If you have your card, you can go right up.” Gesturing at the elevator, her cheeks went pink. It was endearing, but Lola's blush was far more enticing. “Um, do you need help with your luggage? I can—I mean, someone can—”
Waving my hand, I gripped my bag. “Thanks, but I think we can handle these.” Facing my companion, a wave of surprise careened along my spine. Lola's elegant fingers were crushing the handle of her guitar case, turning them the color of ivory. Every line of her forehead told a message.
Jealousy. Lola was jealous. That fact pleased me so much, I could have hugged her right there. I'd sensed it the other night when we were at the Griffin, too. How she'd fidgeted over my flirting with the waitress, a girl whose name I'd already forgotten.
She could just be jealous that this woman recognized me, and not her. Don't get so excited yet. It was sobering, but it also brought another idea to mind. Standing tall, I slathered my best smile onto the girl behind the front desk. Her hazel eyes were glazed over, like the donuts that morning. “Actually, I could use help with something...” I squinted at her name tag. “Amy. If it isn't too much?”
“Of course not!” Beaming wide, she smoothed her too-smooth scalp. “Just ask! I'd love to be of
assistance.”
I pointed at Lola's bag. “Could you carry up her luggage?” Amy's eyes followed my finger, excitement deflating. “She's tired from practicing all night on the bus. We've got a big show tonight, so I'd like to have her as rested as possible.”
Uncertainty melded into disbelief, then recognition. In an act of unprofessionalism, Amy whipped her phone out and started tapping it. I caught the bright colored screen, the web page for Four and a Half headstones loading up. “Oh my god! She's the new guitarist, isn't she?” The woman stared from Lola, to me, then back again. “You're Lola Cooper, the one replacing Johnny Muse! Oh god, I'm so sorry—I should have noticed!”
Now Lola squirmed, shuffling her feet at the attention. “Oh, uh, it's fine. Don't worry about—”
“I saw all the photos last night,” Amy rambled, the flash on her phone blinding us. “Everyone was talking about it, all over twitter and everything! I can't believe I'm meeting you.” Her eyes bugged from her skull. “Can I get your autograph!?”
It was hard not to laugh. Lola was gawking at me, mentally begging me for help. If you lose it here, you'll faint tonight. The poor girl was going to have a heart attack.
I planned to rescue her, to explain that Lola couldn't sign anything without permission from our manager, when the guitarist abruptly burst into a proud smile. “Sure, what would you like me to sign?”
Saliva vanished from my throat.
“Here,” Amy gushed, handing over a pamphlet for the Fillmore. “Just sign this, it's that or a information packet for the hotel.”
Selfishly, I'd longed for Lola to feel nervous. But she's not, she's scribbling her name down and looking pleased as fuck. My scheme to save her from embarrassment at the hands of a hotel receptionist crumbled under their mutual giggles.
Amy held the shiny paper high. “This is so great!” Grinning at me, she offered it my way, along with the pen. “Um, could you sign it too?”
I was disappointed by the turn of events. Seeing Lola's name scrawled like swirling flowers on a breeze muted that. Is this her first signature ever? It was certainly the first as a member of my band. Amy had a piece of gold there, if anyone ever told her. I can add my name, share Lola's first signature.
Taking the pen, I marked the pamphlet. The two names twisted near each other, not quite touching. It was an allegory for us.
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 hyperventila
ted.
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.
