Always

by Amanda Weaver

  Then she realized Ash was still talking. That was probably a novel experience for him— a girl in a bar ignoring him. But he was trying to introduce her to the rest of the band, and she was a fan of them all, so reluctantly she pulled her attention away from Dillon.

  “Justine James, of the awesome porn star name and the killer voice, this is Rocky and over there’s JD.”

  Rocky was leaning on the bar behind Ash, chatting up one of the girls. He was a stocky wall of solid-packed, tattooed muscle. The forest of metal lining his ear cartilage, piercing his eyebrow, lip and nose, was forbidding, but the open, friendly grin he threw her was not.

  “Nice name, Justine James,” he smirked.

  JD, taller, soft-featured, with shaggy brown hair, was sipping his drink, talking to the same girl as Rocky, but he glanced up long enough to smile and nod at her in greeting.

  Justine knew who they were already, of course. And while Rocky looked like a fascinating individual and JD was no doubt a talented bassist, there was only one person she’d come out here to meet and that was Dillon.

  Ignoring Ash’s mildly leering grin, she turned back to Dillon. “I’m really glad you caught the show tonight.”

  “I am, too. Like I said, you kicked ass.” He gestured to her empty hands. “You need a drink?”

  Justine smiled and nodded, stepping up to the bar into the space between Ash and Dillon. He turned to face her just as Ash turned back towards Rocky and JD and then it was just the two of them. The bartender showed up much faster for friends of Ash Thoren than he ever had for her and in moments, she had her water and he had his beer. There was so much she wanted to say and now she finally had her chance, she didn’t know where to start. Taking a deep breath, she decided to jump into the deep end.

  “Can I say something without sounding like a creepy fangirl?”

  “I’m pretty sure it would be impossible for you to sound like a fangirl. Shoot.”

  “I loved this last album. I liked your first one, too, but this last one, it was good on a whole new level. Soul of Rust? That song... it was brilliant.”

  Dillon looked at her with mild surprise. “Thanks. That song was my favorite, actually, but most people know—“

  “Heartbreak Tonight. Yeah, it’s good and I’m so glad it’s charting. You guys deserve it. But I don’t know… Soul of Rust really got to me. The lyrics, the sound. You produced it, right?”

  He shifted awkwardly and rubbed his palm across the back of his neck. “I just tweaked some stuff.”

  “There’s what the credits say and there’s what everybody knows, and everybody knows you’re the one who really produced that album. It’s amazing.”

  Dillon gave a nod, acknowledging her compliment. “So how long have you been with… sorry, is it Failsafe?”

  Justine nodded and took a sip of her drink before answering, giving Dillon a moment to watch her. He’d been intrigued the minute he’d seen her approaching them. To be fair, he’d been intrigued the minute she’d walked on stage. It was hard not to be intrigued by a girl who looked like Justine. Once she’d started singing, though, he’d been floored, and his attention hadn’t wavered for the entire thirty minute set.

  “I’ve been singing with them for two years.”

  The way she worded her answer piqued his curiosity. “It’s not your band? I mean, you didn’t start it?”

  She shook her head. “David did. He plays guitar. They advertised for a lead singer and they found me.”

  “Lucky for them,” Dillon said and she smiled. And it was their lucky day for sure. The band was utterly unremarkable, from their name—Failsafe? Really?—to their uninspiring, broody rock songs and their muddy arrangements. He couldn’t remember the chorus of a single thing they’d played tonight. The guys in the band were all of decent ability but completely forgettable. He couldn’t even remember how many of them there were. There was only one good thing about Failsafe and she was standing in front of him.

  But Justine wasn’t just good, she was great. She was beautiful, her most obvious asset, with long, thick brown hair and wide eyes that dominated her face. Their color was somewhere between green and gold, edged by lashes so long they seemed to tangle with the thick fringe of her bangs every time she looked up at him. Her movie-star face lit up with animation every time she spoke, making her much more than just another pretty girl. Her killer body was on full display in an insanely hot pair of silver shorts and a top that was little more than a bra, but she wore it all with an easy confidence that was anything but slutty. The girl made hot pants look classy.

  She had plenty of physical appeal, but hot girl singers were a dime a dozen. Justine changed the game when she opened her mouth and sang. Her voice was like whiskey, rich and rough, with a hell of a kick. Coupled with her immense stage presence, it made her one of the best performers he’d seen in recent memory.

  And she liked his music. Dillon was trying not to preen under her admiration, but it was hard. He’d meant it when he said she could never be just some fangirl. Someone as talented as she had no business worshipping at anyone else’s altar, especially his.

  “You guys signed?”

  “We made an album last year on our own. You know, like you guys did. We got a few nibbles, but nothing’s panned out.”

  Dillon wasn’t surprised. Even Justine’s appeal didn’t make up for what the rest of the band lacked.

  “Hang in there. You’ll hit it eventually,” he said noncommittally.

  “You think so? I don’t know…” Justine looked back over her shoulder towards the stage. “Sometimes I get a little frustrated. It feels like we’re spinning our wheels, singing the same damn songs week in and week out. They don’t become hits just by singing them more.”

  “Who writes your stuff?”

  She sighed, looking defeated. “David.”

  Dillon made a noise in his throat. Justine looked at him and raised an eyebrow. “Just say whatever it is you’re thinking. I’m a big girl. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

  “I’m not worried about your feelings. You’re great. The best part of your band, if I’m being completely honest.”

  “I appreciate complete honesty. How about some more?”

  “I’m just a guy in a band. I’m hardly an expert.”

  Justine shifted to face him fully. “I’m venturing into creepy fangirl territory again, but I’ll say it anyway. I really admire you. Your songwriting, your playing, your producing. I would really like to know what you think. Your opinion probably matters more to me than anyone’s.”

  Dillon gave her a long, appraising look. She seemed completely genuine. Plenty of people blew smoke up his ass, especially lately since they’d gotten a song on the charts, but that wasn’t what this felt like. This girl was telling the truth.

  “Okay, honestly? The songs suck. Well, that’s harsh. They’re forgettable, which is kind of worse. I can’t tell when the verse stops and the chorus starts. I can’t remember a single bit of one the second you guys stop playing it. The only good part is you’re the one singing them.”

  Justine was nodding her head slowly in understanding or agreement, he couldn’t tell which. He wondered if maybe he’d gone too far, despite her assurance that she could take the criticism. Maybe she was hurt or offended.

  “Tell me you’re not going to cry or slap me or something.”

  “Not at all. You’re totally right,” she said with candor. “I tell David the same thing all the time. Well, I’m nicer about it. But yeah, it’s like he’s allergic to a catchy chorus. It drives me crazy.”

  Dillon shrugged and smiled. “Earnest and brooding is all well and good alone in your bedroom, but there’s nothing wrong with a decent pop hook. Too many people forget that, in my opinion.”

  “I know!” Justine reached out and squeezed his arm briefly in her excitement. His eyes flickered down to her hand on his arm and he ignored an impulse to shift closer to her. “We fight about it all the time. God forbid we do something people can actu
ally sing along to. That’s what I loved about what you did with your last album, by the way. The songs on the first one were solid, but you— I don’t know— it’s like you got down to the basic elements on the second one. You cleared out all the extra sound and I could really hear how good they were.”

  Dillon laughed. “You want to follow me around all day telling me how awesome I am? Because I could get used to this.”

  Justine smiled and looked down in her drink, for a second looking almost bashful. “I just really admire you as a musician. God, that sounds so lame, but it’s true.”

  Dillon nudged her elbow. “After tonight, I could say the same about you. It takes a hell of a performer to make mediocre songs that much fun to listen to. I meant it when I said they were lucky to have you.”

  “That… I can’t tell you how amazing it is that you think so. I need to shut up before I keep gushing and thoroughly embarrass myself.”

  “Trust me, there’s no chance.”

  Justine exhaled. “So, can I ask you a question about the album? It’s been driving me crazy.”

  “Shoot.”

  “The bridge on Falling… It reminded me of something. Were you thinking about anything in particular when you wrote it?”

  Dillon took a drag on his beer while he thought about it. “Back when I was writing it, I was listening to this crazy album from the 90’s… some random thing nobody knows. Astral was the band. Anyway—”

  Justine cut him off. “I love Astral.”

  “You know Astral? Nobody knows Astral.”

  “I know Astral! I heard them once at this party in high school. I wouldn’t rest until I tracked down a CD. The album was amazing.”

  “Right? They had that retro-psychedelic thing going on, but with a beat.”

  “Yes! And the harmonies in Rewind Time… I could listen to it for the rest of my life.”

  “I love that one, too. It’s always blown my mind those guys weren’t huge. But they made the one record nobody bought and then they vanished.”

  “The lead singer OD’d. At least that’s what I heard.”

  “Shit, are you kidding?”

  “I met this DJ who knew them back then. He told me.”

  “What a waste.” Dillon shook his head. “I still can’t believe you like that band. Do you know Paul Westley?”

  “Oh my God, yes! I love him!” Justine’s eyes lit up with delight, and Dillon had to smile at her enthusiasm. “What about The Masters? Not this last album. The first one.”

  “Yes, the first album for sure. Freaking genius. The second album was a total letdown.”

  “Agreed. Abigail Christiansen?”

  The next ten minutes passed in a blur as they traded music and influences. Dillon knew more music, including a dozen indie bands Justine had never heard of, but when they touched on a band they both knew, invariably, they felt the same about the music. She was electrified by the conversation, and by finding someone who saw everything just the way she did. The fact that it was a musician she idolized only made it better. The fact that it was Dillon— good-looking, mysterious Dillon— was the delicious icing on the cake.

  They paused just long enough for Dillon to lean across the bar and flag down the bartender for more drinks. Justine watched the muscles in his biceps flex as he leaned forward on his elbows. He drummed his fingers on the bar while he gave their order. His hands were amazing, long, agile, guitar-player’s hands. She caught herself licking her lips and had to look away to get herself back in hand.

  “So it’s clear we need to get together and listen to music sometime,” he said as he turned back to her.

  “We absolutely do,” Justine agreed.

  “Do you maybe want to—”

  “Hey, Dillon.” Rocky spoke over Justine’s shoulder, startling them both out of the bubble they’d been in. “We gotta bail. Brendan said one and it’s all the way out in Laurel Canyon.”

  “Yeah, okay.” He turned back to Justine. “Sorry, this guy at our label asked us to play a song for his wife at her New Year’s Eve party and we’re late.”

  “You’re not staying for our set?” Mick was mumbling behind her somewhere.

  “Next time, man,” Ash said, clapping him on the shoulder.

  “Well, it’s nearly midnight. You gotta stay.” Mick said, planting his hands on the bar. “Here. We’ll do a shot at midnight and then you can cut out.”

  “Well, if you put it that way,” Ash laughed. A girl was perched on a barstool behind him, her legs wrapped around his waist and her fingers in his hair.

  She knew how it was for these guys in bands, especially ones on their way to stardom like Ash and Dillon. The girls were plentiful and so easy. She’d seen it a million times. She wanted to think Dillon was different, although she knew he probably wasn’t. Just because he’d spent time talking one-on-one with her, seemingly interested in everything she said and not just how she looked, didn’t mean he wouldn’t leave here tonight and go pick up any one of a million willing, eager groupies. It was a depressing thought.

  “Sorry you can’t stay for our next set,” she said brightly, aiming for off-handed.

  “I am, too,” Dillon replied, sounding genuinely disappointed. “It feels like we have a lot more to talk about. Hey, why don’t you come to our show on Wednesday? We’re playing the Greek. I’ll leave your name at the box office and you can come backstage after. We’ll finish this then.”

  Her heart pounded as the thrill worked its way through her. “Sounds good. Thanks.”

  “No, thank you. This night turned out to be way more entertaining than I thought it would be.”

  She took in his dark eyes, focused just on her, and the slight smile as they made plans to meet again. In that moment, it was the best night of her life. “For me, too.”

  The song playing overhead suddenly cut off, like water being thrown on the crowd. The magic of the past half hour disappeared into the chatter of voices all around them.

  A moment later, the DJ began the countdown to midnight and someone handed them shots. As the crowd shouted down the numbers, she looked at Dillon and he looked back, smiling. The moment felt huge, important, the kind you look back on years later and think “It all started then.” What they were starting wasn’t entirely clear yet, but Justine hardly cared. When “one” rang out, the room erupted into noise, Dillon tipped his head back and downed his shot. She watched his throat work as he swallowed before closing her eyes and raising her own glass to her lips with an unsteady hand. The burn slid down her throat, her chest erupting in fire, and she exhaled.

  When she opened her eyes, Dillon’s face was just inches from hers and her breath stalled in her chest.

  “How about a kiss to ring in the New Year?” he murmured.

  All she could manage was a tiny nod and then his mouth was on hers. She couldn’t tell if it was the whiskey or him, but it didn’t matter. It burned just the same. It was barely a kiss, just a gentle caress of lips on lips promising so much more, and then he was pulling away. A lazy smile curled his lips, which were nearly perfect, she noticed. Full and almost pretty.

  “Alright, Dillon,” Ash called out, having just broken off a more x-rated kiss with the girl still draped on him. “We gotta roll.”

  Behind Ash, Rocky was whispering in the ear of another girl and she was giggling. JD already had his arm slung over yet another girl’s shoulders, getting ready to leave with her.

  “See you Wednesday, Justine,” Dillon said, never looking away from her as he backed up.

  She nodded. “Wednesday.”

  He finally turned, following Ash, Rocky and JD—and the pack of girls in tiny dresses, she noticed with dismay—into the crowd.

  A moment later, Mick slid an arm around her shoulders. “What do you say, Jessica? You got a midnight kiss for me, too?”

  “Ugh!” she groaned, shoving him away. “Not a chance. Don’t you have a set you’re supposed to be playing?”

  Mick raised his hands, laughing. “Settle down,
sweetheart. Didn’t realize Dillon was a special case. See you later, maybe?”

  She didn’t answer, watching him disappear toward the stage up front. Dillon was most certainly a special case. She had no idea just how special until tonight.

  Justine turned away from the cash register and reached for her vibrating cell phone.

  “You mean you’re not dead? I was beginning to wonder.”

  She smiled at her sister’s sarcastic version of a greeting. “I’m hanging up, Em.”

  “No, no, no!” Emily protested, laughing. “I haven’t heard from you in almost a week. I was about to hoof it down to LA and start patrolling skeevy backrooms in clubs to find you.”

  “Very funny. How’s the painting going?” Justine knew she was deflecting, asking about Emily’s art, but she wasn’t above it.

  “Ugh,” Emily groaned. “I hate everything, I want to burn the canvas. You know, the usual. Now quit avoiding the issue. Where have you been hiding and why? You never stop calling unless you’re all freaked out about something and don’t know what to say.”

  “Well, for most of this week, I really was just too busy. We’ve had a gig every night this week, plus I’ve been working every day.”

  “When are you going to give up the stupid retail job?”

  Justine cast a despairing look around the deserted vintage store. As far as day jobs went, she loved hers. She didn’t earn a lot of money, but the store had an interesting clientele and her employee discount helped her acquire awesome things like her New Year’s Eve silver hot pants. “When being a rock star pays my rent, I’ll quit. And since that’s still a long way off, I’m stuck selling smelly cast-offs to hipsters.”

  “Okay,” Emily conceded. “You were just busy. So why do you sound all weird?”

  “I do not!”

  “Justine…”

  “Okay, fine.”

  “Spill.”

  Justine squeezed her eyes closed and took a deep breath, spitting her reply out in a rush. “I met Dillon Pierce.”

  “Dillon Pierce? Oh, wait… the guy from that band you like?”

  “Outlaw Rovers.”