Turner rolls his eyes and moves over to the door, ashing his cigarette in the bushes as he glares at Amatory Riot's other boys, Kash and Wren.
“This is gonna be real, real fun,” I say with a wink as Dax's attention snaps over to me. I can't see his eyes through his sunglasses, but I'm dressed to please today. Hell, I'm dressed to please everyday just in case. We need to have a talk, me and Dax. I cross my arms over my yellow tank. The metallic gold cursive ripples, the words No, They're Not Real highlighting my very expensive personal enhancements. “Like a sleepover or something. Can we throw a few sleeping bags in the living room and tell ghost stories?”
“Screw you Sydney,” Turner says because, well, he's just a fucking asshole like that. I notice Dax's fingers curling around the straps of his bags, his teeth gritting as he casts a glance over his shoulder at my brother's best friend. “I'm not saying I'm totally opposed to being immortalized on TV, but why do we need these motherfuckers here with us? This is my crash pad. I should get to decide who to invite over, not some dumb bitch in a pantsuit. Besides, I don't know how healthy it is for me to be feeding Sydney's emo cock addiction. Bet that shit's, like, chronic or something.”
“I'm not exactly thrilled about this either,” Dax snaps, sliding off his shades and giving me another look, one that smolders and burns as I take him in with a single sweeping glance and tilt my lips up in a smile. You're supposed to be distancing yourself from this guy, my logical brain peeps, but I ignore her and move into the foyer, looking up into Dax's gray eyes. That little quickie in the hotel was a serious mistake, like someone trying to quit smoking by sneaking a few puffs. I got that nicotine in my blood now, baby.
“Maybe we can finally go ring shopping?” Turner muses, completely ignoring Dax and saying every goddamn thing that pops into his head every second that it flickers into existence. “I need to buy Naomi a rock before she's like, fully conscious and everything. She's too perceptive. If I wait, she'll know.”
“Are you sure you're actually engaged?” Ronnie asks, pausing next to Kash and Wren and looking them over with a distinctly paternal gaze, Lola by his side. “I mean, you did actually ask?”
“I did more than offer her a green card,” Turner snaps, and I roll my eyes.
“You'll get used to the banter,” I promise as Dax gazes down at me. I don't tell him that I tried to catch a glimpse of him by visiting Blair and Naomi in the hospital yesterday. Some bitch nurse named Dina told me I'd just missed him. It's too embarrassing to admit that I even tried. “Eventually it'll fade away into white noise.”
I flick my fingers at the boys, my body going tight as Dax keeps looking at me, just staring down at my face like he's trying to memorize every feature. I've never had a guy look at me like that before, like the shape of my smile mattered.
I bite my lower lip hard and tilt my head to the side. Dax almost looks ashamed. Can't figure out for the life of me why.
“I've been trying to stay out of your way,” he says suddenly, his lips barely moving with the words. “You've been taking care of me. I'm not sure why, but you have. And I owe you for that. But I don't want to be a burden anymore. Since we're … kind of living together now, I thought we should talk. Set up some boundaries or something?”
“You two going to kiss or what?” Turner laughs, flicking some cigarette ash at Dax as he prances by. Dax grits his teeth, but he doesn't pull his gaze away from mine.
“You want to get out of here? Go for a picnic or something? You can throw your stuff in my room for now.”
“Hear that, Trey! Emo Boy's shacking up with your sister.” I glance over my shoulder with a sigh just in time to catch my brother flipping Dax off from the direction of the living room.
“Dear God, please,” Dax whispers and then we both pause and turn at the sound of boots on the marble floor behind us. It's Brayden Ryker with a big smile plastered across his face, Paulette Washington at his side.
“Ladies and gentlemen, I've asked Brayden Ryker to continue as the head of security for both bands and he's graciously accepted the position.”
“Fantastic. The guy who let my girlfriend and my best friend get shot is going to be protecting us again. I feel so much safer now.” Turner slaps his palm on his chest as he backs away and into the living room. “Oh, and thanks for bringing a bunch of strangers into my house. Who the hell is this anyway?”
“My name is Kash,” the blond says with a small sigh. “We played several gigs together while Naomi was missing.”
“Sure thing, bro. I'll try to remember your name, but I'm sure you'll get shot and killed at the next concert, so I might not even bother.”
“Can we please go now?” Dax asks, and I nod. “Another minute of this shit and I'll be the one with a gun in my hand.”
“Sure thing. Let me pack us a lunch and we'll get the hell out of here.” My eyes sparkle as I glance up at Dax again, my fingers finding their way to his chest, feeling the hardness of the muscles beneath his shirt. “I have just the place in mind.”
A couple o' forty ounces, a handful of condoms, and three day old pizza and I've got a picnic fit for a king. Kind of reminds of me of lazy high school afternoons spent cutting class and smoking cigarettes in the cemetery that sat adjacent to our trailer park. Ah, the good ol' days. Wish I could say I missed 'em, but … sayonara baby.
“Think we'll really be able to get out of here?” Dax asks as I flick the lights off and turn the volume on the TV up as high as it can go. There's a porno playing, some filthy fucking thing that I charged to Trey's debit card. He owes me one anyway.
I glance back at Dax, highlighted by the flickering colors of the TV. His eyes are on the screen and his fists are curled tight by his sides. Oh yeah. It's getting hot up in here. I look away with a smile and move over to the sliding doors that lead out to my balcony.
“If there's one thing I've learned in life, it's that if people think you're fucking, they'll generally leave things well enough alone. Whenever I was short on rent and the first would roll around, I'd just slap on some bukkake video and climb down the fire escape.”
“Bukkake?” Dax asks and I almost choke on a laugh. For a rock star, he's so fucking innocent it's cute. I turn around and watch as Dax slings our bag over his shoulder. I can't help teasing him, so I slide my fingers up his jaw, over the slight stubble and enjoy the moment as he shivers under my touch.
“You know, when like a dozen guys spank their junk and come all over a single girl?”
“This is a thing?” Dax asks as I lean up and follow the path my hand just took with my tongue. Behind me, the woman on the TV screams in false porno pleasure. “People do that?”
“Some people,” I say as I step back and move towards the sliding doors.
“Like you?” Dax asks as I wink at him and swing my leg over the bars of the patio.
“Wouldn't you like to know,” I tease as I drop down and let myself hang suspended for a moment over the hot tub. When I let go, there's a second of weightlessness and then I'm landing on the soft top and reaching up to catch the bag when Dax tosses it down to me. He follows after me and lands with a grunt, running his fingers through his hair.
“Please tell me the answer to my question is a no.”
“What? You don't like the idea of a bunch of dudes jacking off on me?”
“Not particularly,” Dax says as he follows me over to the wall and gives me a boost up. I dragged a patio chair over here earlier, but this is a lot more pleasant, letting Dax lift me up like I weigh nothing. Fuck, he's strong. It's that quiet easy strength that you don't notice at first, not all up in your face like some of Brayden's bodyguards.
“Jealous?” I ask as Dax spots my chair and uses that to get a hold of the top of the wall, hauling himself over like it's nothing. “Because if you are …”
“I'm not jealous,” he says as he examines the dark street, the small dedicated crowd that hangs out overnight, candles lit in remembrance for the people that died on the tour. I don't let myself
think about them, tossing the bag to the strip of grass that borders the sidewalk and climbing down with Dax by my side. “It's not any of my business anyway.”
“Oh, please,” I say, casting a glance over my shoulder to make sure none of the crazies spotted us. The last thing I want to do tonight is fight off some psycho ass fangirls. Whether Dax knows it or not, he's got 'em. “You're saying one thing, but you're thinking another. Tell me what's on your mind. This is the first time in over a week that you've been this sober. I want to keep it real.” I smile over at him, but Dax is already frowning.
“Am I that obvious?” Dax asks, following me down the street, his eyes hooded with shadow as we pass through the patches of darkness between streetlights. “When I'm fucked up, I mean?”
I shrug my shoulders. I don't want to talk about any of that. Tonight, this is our night. Maybe the only one we'll get for a while. With the way things have been going, it's hard to know what'll happen tomorrow. If there'll even be a tomorrow.
“Okay, so I'm thinking that I want it to be my business,” Dax says as I follow a set of directions that I crammed into my skull before we left. I'm good at that kind of thing, like a human GPS or something. This is the best route out of Beverly Hills, the path that we're least likely to get caught on. Then, we'll take a cab to our final destination. “I'm thinking that I really don't like the idea of a dozen guys blowing their loads all over you.”
“Aw.” I put my hand to my chest and pout my lips. “That's the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me, Mr. McCann. Don't stop. Keep wooing me.” Dax's sad little mouth turns up into a small smile.
“Is that a no then?”
“That would be a no, I've never done bukkake before.”
“Thank god,” he whispers and I grin back at him. “No secret rock star lovers, love children, abortions or fanatical sociopath ex-boyfriends?”
I tap my finger against my lips for a moment.
“No, no, no, and no,” I say and then pause. “Unless, of course, you count as a secret rock star lover?”
“Maybe,” Dax says, still smiling. I feel so comfortable with him, like we've known each other forever. I keep trying to tell myself that he's just an energy suck, that I should distance myself as best I can, but … I like him too much. Way, way, way too much. “Except that we've only fucked twice and the first time I was kind of, a little bit drunk during the whole thing …”
“Still counts,” I say, getting a chill down my spine as I remember him slamming into me from behind, confessing that it wasn't Naomi he was thinking about in that moment. Is he over her? I glance his way and try to figure out how to bring that shit up. “Anyway, I was the one that initiated the whole thing. You just seemed so … sad. All of that crap with your dad, you know.” I purposely avoid the subject of Hayden and Tara. That moment haunts my dreams. I'm sure the last thing Dax wants is for me to bring that shit up.
“I spoke to him the other day, you know,” he finally confesses and without even registering what I'm doing, I reach down and curl our fingers together. Dax freezes for a moment and then squeezes his hand tight around mine, his fingertips hot, the black knit fabric of his fingerless gloves comforting against my palm. “He said … some shit that I'm not even sure I believe. Maybe I shouldn't care? It's just … I've spent my whole life thinking that if my mom had lived, that she at least would've loved me. Based on what Arnold said, maybe that isn't true at all.”
“Fuck that guy,” I say, bumping my shoulder into Dax. It's a balmy So Cal night so we're both sporting rolled up sleeves, our bare tattooed arms sliding together with the motion. I bite my lower lip at the goose bumps that spring up along my skin. I also may or may not start watering the downstairs lawn, if you catch my drift. “That man's sick in a way no doctor can cure. He's got a little black broken heart, and he isn't happy unless he's inflicting his disease on someone else. Be glad that he's not your dad, biological or otherwise. This is a fresh start for you, Dax McCann.”
“You, too,” he says, looking at me with those dreamy eyes of his. I call them gray, but I think maybe they're really blue? I don't know, but when I get caught on them, I have a real, real hard time looking away. “This could be your fresh start just as easy.”
“I guess so.” I drop Dax's hand and slide my fingers into the pockets of my black leather shorts. “Think there's a future for me in reality TV?” Dax looks over at me, but his face is sad again. I get it. His best friend's in the hospital, his dad isn't really his dad, his high school sweetheart and his lead singer are dead. He has a lot to be sad about. A ton. But all I really want is to see him smile.
Woo.
Like that line doesn't belong in a Lifetime made-for-TV movie. Yuck.
“I think you could do anything you wanted,” Dax says as the houses start to get smaller, the streets a little less clean, the streetlights a little less frequent. “Is that too douche-y to say?”
“You don't have to apologize for being the nice guy, Dax McCann,” I say as I pull out my phone and tap the app that'll let me call a cab. Once I do, I look back up at him. What did I say about getting rid of him again? Not sure how that's going to be possible with us living together. Hmm. I reach up and rub a thumb across Dax's lower lip, enjoying the shudder that passes through him at the touch. “It's because you're the nice guy that I like you. Now, I hope you brought enough cash to cover this cab because I'm broke as a dime store hooker on payday.”
Our ride reeks like hell, almost as bad as the body we left in KK's room. And the cabbie? Well, Christ on a cracker, he's got one of those mirror-leers. You know what I'm talking about ladies, the cab drivers that check your tits out in their rearview? I got a fuckin' kick out of it when Dax hit the back of the man's seat and made his fat, chubby neck snap forward. That was funsies all the way around.
Dax pays the dude exact change—no tip—and waits for me to climb out of the car ahead of him. Once the asshole speeds off with a peal of tires, he finally takes a look around and realizes where we are. I'll give you a hint: it ain't Beverly Hills.
“Shit,” Dax murmurs as he glances around the dirty streets, looks up and examines the broken streetlights above our heads. “We don't even have to worry about snipers out here. I think drug dealers and pimps will do just fine.”
“Oh stop that,” I tease, tossing a wink over my shoulder at him. Being alone together like this, out in the real world, it's making me a little giddy. God, I really like this guy, don't I? “Your Midwest is showing, country boy. Now, make sure there aren't any cops around and gimme a boost.” I wink at Dax and run my tongue over my lower lip. He doesn't miss the motion, his eyes darkening in response as he steps up and grabs me from behind, taking hold of my hips.
I suppress a groan as he lifts me up and I grab hold of the wall. This one's a hell of a lot shorter than the one surrounding the mansion. Not as many fangirls to keep out of a cemetery, huh?
“You did that on purpose,” I murmur as Dax hauls himself up to sit next to me, straddling the brick and cement wall that surrounds the cemetery. I reach up to tuck a chunk of blonde behind my ear as we exchange a long, lingering look. I feel like the hair on the backs of my arms are standing up straight, lifted by the electric flow pulsing between our bodies.
“Maybe,” Dax admits in a low voice, pulling his gaze away from me with a visible effort and grabbing his first look at what lies on the other side of all this mortar. “A graveyard?” he asks and I feel myself grinning, reaching over to flick my fingers against his tats.
“Don't tell me you're scared, Dax-y Boy. Come on. Let's wake up the dead.” I slide over the edge and land with soft feet in the grass. It's green as hell, almost neon in the moonlight. That's ten times creepier to me than the cement headstones dotting the landscape. Green grass in a desert. Is it any wonder that I moved the hell out of LA when I had the chance? Not that Detroit was awesome either. I don't even know how I ended up there. I guess I've never felt at home; I think I've been searching for it all this time.
D
ax lands next to me, so fucking sexy in his buckled up boots and his dark jeans. I'm not even a hundred percent certain he's aware of how hot he is. Which makes him hotter. Plus, he's like the complete opposite of Trey and Turner. That's exactly what I need right now.
“I figured we'd be left alone if we came out here.” I move over and kneel next to a gravestone, running my fingers against the dates. 1955-1984. Twenty-nine years old. Same as me. Now that's not ominous in the least.
I stand up with a shiver and look over at Dax, his gray irises highlighted by the silver shafts of moonlight. His eyes are ringed in liner, the Born Wrong tattoo on the backs of his eyelids covered up with black.
“Dead bodies do tend to freak people out,” Dax says, running his fingertips across the top of a curved headstone. “I doubt we'll run into any fangirls out here.” He pauses and focuses his attention on the inscription, tilting his head to the side as he studies it. “Hopefully we can avoid bodyguards, roadies, and reality TV producers, too.”
“They'll survive the apocalypse you know, reality TV producers. Them, and Turner Campbell.”
Dax chuckles, touching his hand to the headstone before moving away and finding a nice, cozy spot at the base of a mausoleum. It's as tall as he is, twice as long, and locked up tight. The family name says Carter. Good. As long as it doesn't start with a fucking H. I've about had all I can take with Harding and Hammergren and whatnot.
“Bright pink, covered in yellow skulls. Picnic blankets sure have come a long way,” Dax says as he opens up my bag and spreads the fabric across the ground. “Whatever happened to plaid?” I wrinkle my nose and shake my head, sweeping my hands up and over my hair.
“Puh-lease, did you expect anything less than style out of me? I mean, come on. I've got swag for days.” I give Dax another wink and flop down next to him while he draws out a pair of glass bottles from my bag of goodies.
Heart Broke (Hard Rock Roots #8) Page 7
