I don’t look back as we walk down the stone steps. The sooner I forget about it, the better. We stuff the loaded trash bags in the trunk of my car and I slam it shut. It feels like an ending.
“I’ll meet you at The Cobra,” Brown Eyes says.
“Okay,” I say. I can feel my nose twinkling. I’m surprised I have any smiles left at this point.
Chapter 24
VICTORY
I park my Altima behind The Cobra.
Brown Eyes swings his leg over his jet black motorcycle like he’s done it ten thousand times. He takes off his helmet and swaggers toward my car.
I’m acutely aware of the swing of his hips, which are a narrow platform for his muscled chest and broad shoulders. No wonder so many women have eyes for this young man. I can’t pull mine away.
“Doing all right?” he asks with obvious compassion.
“Yeah, fine,” I smile as I climb out of my car. I get the sense he thinks I’m distraught about Scott and the band, which I am, but I was also half hypnotized watching him walk. I’ll keep that bit of information to myself.
We walk to the back door of The Cobra together. I wish I’d changed out of my stage costume. I don’t feel like a rock and roll assassin at this point. Yoga pants and a comfy baby tee sounds perfect right now. It’ll have to wait.
I’m about to rap on the steel back door with my knuckles when I pause. “What if Scott’s still here?”
“They’re your amps, right?” Brown Eyes asks.
“Yeah.”
“So fuck ‘em. We’re getting your amps.” He knocks on the door for me.
We wait. No one opens the door.
“Should we try the front?” I suggest.
“Sounds like a plan.”
The crowd outside is totally gone. I guess my trip to and from Silver Lake to get my stuff was long enough for everyone to clear out. I hope Scott and the boys didn’t take my amps so they could sell them. At this point, anything is possible.
We walk down to the entrance on Sunset. There’s a beefy bouncer standing out front looking bored.
“Tony!” Brown Eyes says to him.
“Kellan!” Tony smiles. “Whatchoo doing back at the club?”
They hug like best buds.
Brown Eyes tips his head toward me, “Came to get her stuff.”
“Who’s your friend,” Tony asks, smiling at me.
I finally realize that I don’t even know Brown Eyes’ name. I guess it’s Kellan? But he doesn’t know mine, yet he has seen my underwear drawer, helped me move, and kissed me. Well, I suppose I kissed him, but same difference. I can’t decide if it’s totally bizarre that neither of us ever asked names, or some kind of strange twist of fate that spending time with a total stranger seems totally normal. Not that names matter. I know Scott’s name, and look where that got me with him.
I shake hands with Tony, “My name is Victory. I played the show tonight. With Skin Trade.” I glance up at the marquee. Seeing Skin Trade up there in big letters makes me nauseous. Three hours ago, it made me proud. What a sad turn of events.
“Oh!” Tony grins sheepishly. “Sorry. I never get inside to see the acts. Makes sense though, Kellan hooking up with the hottest female in the joint, and the star of the show no less.”
I start to blush at the compliment, then notice Kellan run a hand through his hair. I think he’s blushing too. He seems to swing between boyishly cute and overly cocky every other minute. I can’t seem to pin him down.
Tony grins at both of us, “What can I do you for?”
“I need to get my amps,” I say.
Tony looks confused. He sure doesn’t know much about music for a guy who works at a music club.
I say, “The ones I used during the show. They should be backstage? And my makeup bag is in the green room.”
Tony finally nods, “Gotcha. You know where everything is?”
“Yeah,” I answer.
“Have at it.” He slaps a heavy hand on Kellan’s shoulder. “Watch out for this character. He’s nuthin’ but trouble.”
I arch an eyebrow, “Oh?”
Tony’s face softens into a broad smile. “I’m kiddin’. Kellan is a good kid.” He slaps Kellan’s shoulders a few more times.
Kellan rolls his eyes.
“G’wan,” Tony motions inside. “I gotta lock up anyway. You guys can go out the back. Make sure you close the door good and tight.”
“Will do,” Kellan says.
We walk into the nearly empty night club.
Inside the main room a couple of janitors have big trashcans on wheels with different colored spray bottles hanging from the rims, and they’re picking up trash and sweeping. The house lights are up and the place doesn’t seem nearly as romantic and exciting as it did when I was on stage.
As we walk across the wide open floor, I say, “Your name is Kellan, right?”
He nods.
“Interesting name,” I say. I wait for him to ask about mine. People usually do.
He doesn’t.
I frown, “Aren’t you going to ask about mine?”
“Ask what? It’s Victory. What am I supposed to ask?”
“I don’t know,” I say, frustrated. “People usually ask me about it because it’s different.”
He stops in the middle of the main room, “Do you want me to ask,” he grins cockily, “or do you just want to talk about your name?”
I open my mouth to object, then close it. “You’re annoying.” I try to hide my smile, but I don’t do a good job.
He grins at me, “So?”
“Is this how you always act with the ladies?”
“No.”
“Fine, I won’t talk about it,” I smirk and start walking.
He follows, “Okay, tell me about your name.”
I say nothing. Two can play this game.
“Aren’t you going to tell me?” he asks.
I glare at him, “See how it feels?”
He grins and shakes his head, “I don’t need to know. You brought it up.”
I stop in my tracks and spin around, my fists clenched at my sides. “You are infuriating! You know that?”
He chuckles, “So?”
I narrow my eyes, “You’re one of those one date guys, aren’t you? The kind who women are dying to go out with because of your—” I wiggle my hand at him and wrinkle my nose, “because of your hot body,” I say like it disgusts me, “but as soon as they spend any time with you, they never want to see you again, do they?”
With cocky confidence, he says, “I only need one date.”
I roll my eyes, “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a pig?”
His eyes gleam with humor, “Oink.”
I scowl at him and jab my finger at him repeatedly like I’m going to say more, but all that comes out is, “Uuuugh!” I spin again and march across the room without him.
He hollers at my back, “Has anybody ever told you that your ass is as hot as your head?”
I smile from ear to ear, but I refuse to turn around and let him see it. I keep marching. I notice that the two janitors have stopped sweeping and are leaning on their brooms, watching the fireworks display.
“The way you’re walking right now,” Kellan says, “makes your ass wiggle in a way that makes me want to bite it.”
I stop and spin, my fists on hips and I glare at him with all the glare I can muster.
He smirks, “The front’s as good as the back. But I think I prefer the back.”
My eyes goggle.
The nearer janitor laughs.
The other janitor nods agreement.
I shake my head, “All of you are pigs!”
Kellan and the two janitors erupt into laughter.
I flip them off.
They laugh harder.
I turn around, and start walking, but with less march, so my ass isn’t putting on a show for Kellan and the janitors.
“Walk however you want,” Kellan hollers, “your ass still makes me want
to bite it.”
I can’t win.
“She’s a keeper,” one of the janitors says behind me. “Go get her, son.”
I secretly savor the comment.
“Too much work,” Kellan says.
I almost falter but keep it together. I remind myself I’m here to get my amps.
“If you don’t want her,” the other janitor says, “I’ll take her.”
Now I feel like a piece of meat.
“I got her handled,” Kellan says.
I whip around again, stopping in my tracks. I shoot a look at all three of them that is so dirty, a hundred janitors couldn’t clean it. Then I set my sights on Kellan, “Handled? Are you serious?”
“You’re gonna need to hogtie her,” the older janitor says. “I think I’ve got rope in the back.”
The younger janitor chuckles.
Kellan drawls, “Rope won’t work on a fox like this. You gotta outsmart ’em.”
I can’t decide if that’s a compliment or not. Based on the way he’s grinning, I’m leaning toward compliment.
He strolls up to me. It takes all day. As soon as he’s close enough, I punch him in the arm as hard as I can, which is rock solid. I don’t let him know my hand now hurts.
The older janitor says, “She’s got spunk, that one.”
“Careful,” I threaten Kellan in a low voice, “I’ve got spunk.”
He’s now standing inches away from me. “I’ve got spunk too,” Kellan grins. “Loads and loads of it.”
I narrow my eyes. I’m not going to acknowledge the innuendo. I stare him down.
His eyes drop toward… his crotch. He arches an eyebrow, like he’s daring me to look.
I don’t. I just keep staring at his eyes. His smoldering eyes.
He stares back. Yeah, he really is too damn handsome for his own good.
Against my will, my lips loosen into a big smile. “I need to get my amps.”
I turn and survey the stage, hoping to put this fire out, and wondering if my amp is still onstage where I left it. It’s not. A nervous snake unwinds in my belly, and snuffs out the fire that was there a second ago.
I can’t afford to buy a new amp right now. I really hope it’s in the back. The door leading backstage off the main floor is wide open. I walk toward it, confident that Scott and the boys are gone. I hope my amp didn’t go with them.
Kellan follows and we pass the vintage rocker stage manager in the hallway backstage. He says, “You still here? I thought you’d gone home.”
“I came back for my amp. Have you seen it?”
“I put it in the green room with your other stuff. Your bandmates said you’d pick it up. Door’s open.”
“Thanks,” I smile.
The stage manager gives me a friendly wink while walking past us and turns down another hallway.
Kellan and I walk to the green room. I heave a sigh of relief when I see my Marshall head on top of my 4x12 speaker cabinet in the corner, next to my Line 6 practice amp. The cables and chords are neatly wound and resting on top. I doubt Scott or the band did that. Probably the stage manager. I’ll have to thank him again on the way out.
I pick up my Line 6, which is small enough for me to carry by the handle bolted to the top. It’s awkward, and I have to lean to one side and use both hands, but I can manage. “Can you push my Marshall?” The amp head and speaker cabinet are more than half my height and weigh a ton, but it has wheels on the bottom.
Kellan walks over and picks it up with the big handles on both side of the speaker cabinet. I’ve never seen one guy carry the amp like that. Usually it takes two guys because it’s so bulky.
I smile, “It rolls, you know.”
“And now it floats,” Kellan says.
“You don’t get a trophy for carrying it,” I quip.
“Any prize will do.”
I can’t decide if his boldness scares me or thrills me. I don’t dwell on it. I walk out the door, lugging my amp, and stop. “I forgot my makeup. We’ll have to make two trips.”
“You can put it on top of the Marshall.”
“Will you be able to see? We can make two trips.”
“Just put it on top of the amp.”
I do, and he’s right, he can easily see over it. “How tall are you?”
“Tall enough,” he grins.
We walk the amps outside together and I make sure the back door is locked tight.
Kellan sets the amp down next to my car. “Unlock your car and I’ll put it in.”
I have a hot flash as I mull over the various meanings of “put it in.”
I unlock one of the back doors and Kellan slides the cabinet in like it’s weightless. Usually two people have to wrestle it in the back seat because it barely fits. Kellan makes quick work of it, but not without a lot of muscle flexing, all of which I watch with quiet excitement.
He puts the Marshall head in the front passenger footwell and the little Line 6 practice amp in the seat, then walks back around and runs his hand through his hair, smoothing it out of his face. “All loaded,” he smiles.
I hold up my makeup bag and grin, “You forgot this.”
He shakes his head and cocks a grin, “Now you really have to tip me.” He walks it around to the front seat with the amps.
“I should go,” I say more despondently than I want to.
“You have a place to go? A friend’s or something?”
“Yeah,” I lie. I haven’t thought my escape plan through that far ahead. I open the driver side door. I can feel myself lingering, not wanting to leave. But it’s for the best. I need to get some headspace. I have a lot to process right now. As nice as it would be to curl up in the muscled arms of this amazingly talented and equally mysterious man who I know next to nothing about, I really don’t want to do any rebounding. Not this soon, anyway.
Time to cut this short. I wince smile, “You’ve been totally helpful, Kellan. I can’t thank you enough.”
“My pleasure.” He’s so tall, he’s resting his elbow on the roof of my car. His abs are poking out between his shirt and jeans again. He has to be doing this on purpose.
“You should go,” I say, and run my car key down the center of his chest. I’m flirting, and I can’t help it.
“I should,” he grins.
I’m getting hot, and he can tell.
“Okay,” I say, “I need to go.” I start to slide into the driver’s seat.
“You shredded the shit out of your axe on stage tonight.” He grins, “I’ve never seen a girl play guitar like that.”
I smirk at him. Surprise. He’s a sexist pig. Oh wait, we determined he was a pig earlier. This is just further proof. I narrow my eyes into harsh slits.
“Shit,” he continues, ignorant of his piggishness, “I’ve never seen a dude play like you.”
I can’t tell if he’s back pedaling. But the way his eyes are roaming over my low cut top, tonguing my cleavage with his rapacious gaze, I suspect all this guitar talk is just a way to get into my pants. Not that I’m entirely opposed to the idea.
I sigh and smile, “What do you want?”
He ignores my question, “You stole that eight finger lick in that solo near the end of your set tonight from Jennifer Batten, didn’t you?”
Now I’m intrigued. I frown, “How the hell do you know about Jennifer Batten?” Only old dude guitar players and girl guitar players know who Jennifer Batten is.
“I went to a guitar clinic she did in my hometown when I was like fourteen. I totally crushed on her after that for the longest time.”
“She’s old enough to be your mom!” I’m not sure how old Kellan is, probably not more than twenty-five or maybe twenty-eight. Either way, Jennifer Batten is at least twice his age.
“So?” he shrugs. “You’ve heard her play guitar.”
I’m not exactly sure what he means by that. I can’t imagine a guy like Kellan ever looking at a woman over the age of twenty-five for the rest of his life because he won’t have to. He’
s going to have his pick of nubile young women until his dying day, I would bet.
Which begs the question of why he’s hanging out with me? Sure, at twenty-two, I’m in his age bracket, but I’m hardly a pick. I’m a newly dumped rocker chick with no money, no place to live, and garbage bags for luggage.
It doesn’t make any sense.
Nothing about tonight makes any sense.
Which is why I need to be alone right now. I don’t want to make things worse by doing something stupid with Kellan. I know I’ll regret it. I’m going to have more emotional baggage than all my possessions put together after my tornado break up with Scott and Skin Trade. I might be fun company tonight, but the hurt and heartbreak are going to knock me down tomorrow. I won’t be any fun then. Kellan is not going to want to stick around.
Who would?
I drop my head as memories of Scott’s betrayal flood my mind, chilling me from head to toe. My long hair curtains my face as the pain seizes me. My entire body prickles like an infected wound. I don’t want Kellan watching me as war rages in my guts. I feel physically sick, like I’m coming down with the flu. I can’t decide if my chills are from the night air, which has noticeably cooled, or the sadness I told myself I wasn’t going to have to deal with.
With great effort, I mumble, “You…should go.”
“You okay?” Kellan asks gently, brushing hair away from my eyes so he can see my face.
I accidentally glance at his eyes, those smoldering eyes that pinned my heart to the stage over an hour ago. They have the burning ember look of a flame top ’56 Sunburst Strat. Everything about this guy seems to be on fire, and it’s catching.
I’m getting hot again.
His heat is burning away my sadness.
He leans toward me and I feel his warmth.
I welcome it.
A second ago, my heart had frozen into a dark broken thing, smashed into cold black chunks by Scott’s betrayal. But Kellan’s burning eyes staring into mine ignite a flame in my chest that I secretly feared might be dormant for years to come. Warmth flows from this smoldering man into me.
Adrenalin rush.
I want him.
I want Kellan.
The next thing I know, he’s feathering kisses across my lips and I’m desperately clutching his t-shirt, pulling him into me. His passion burns away all of the frigid pain in my bones. Kellan’s fire fills me, warms me, consumes me.
Victory RUN 1 Page 9
