Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2)

by Virna DePaul

  We got our drinks and Nikki nodded to a large and comfy white leather bench seat.

  I sat down next to her and pointedly ignored the few women staring my way. For tonight, Tucker Benning was both taken and not talking to the fans. Some nights, you just needed time for yourself, and if Nikki wanted some fun, I was going to give it all I had to give it to her.

  My saucy vixen poured me a shot and I chugged it down, loving the way it burned down my throat and made my gut feel like it was on fire. It was smooth because it was expensive, but it was a fierce tequila and still had that fire that attracted me deep down.

  She took her own shot then quickly poured and downed a second. I tightened my grip just a bit on her knee, an instinctive message to slow down. She stared at me and took a third shot, a clear message to go to hell.

  Fine. I’d just keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t get in too much trouble. Hell, wasn’t that a funny thought, a relationship where Tucker Benning, party animal, was the responsible one. Civilization as we knew it might be collapsing outside. If me being the level-headed guy on a date wasn’t a sign of the end of days, I wasn’t sure what was. Maybe dogs and cats living together.

  Yeah, probably that.

  “It burns in all the best ways,” she said. “But I can say that about you too, baby.”

  “You’re sweet,” I said, lowering my voice to a rumble.

  She held out the bottle. Part of me wanted to meet her unspoken challenge, my pride unwilling to let a little thing like her drink me under the table early on. Part of me wanted to keep up with her shot-for-shot. But a bigger part of me wanted to stay sober so I could protect her. In the end, it wasn’t a difficult choice. I declined the drink.

  “This band? Joe’s right. They do suck,” I said, wincing as the reverb hit deafening levels. God, they were going to kill the amps if they didn’t adjust.

  “You need to get up there. You have the invite.”

  “Huh?” I asked, even as she dragged me to my feet.

  But I didn’t object. I mean, I wanted to be modest, but let’s be honest, with us on hiatus it might be a while before I got on drums and behind a mic again. I usually sang back up. I was no Liam, but I was better than these clowns.

  Nikki shoved the lead singer aside and got to the mic. The crowd must have been both as drunk and tired of these idiots as we were. They cheered just to have anyone else at the mic.

  “Okay guys, get ready. We have Tucker Benning of Point Break ready to beat on the old skins here. So let’s get ready to fucking rumble!” She glared back at the drummer, who wasn’t moving.

  The blue haired bartender yelled out from across the club. “You’ll still get paid but move your ass, amateur.”

  When the guy walked off stage, I slipped behind the drum set. Bastards didn’t even keep it in good condition. That pissed me off. One of the things about being a rocker was that you had to be good to your equipment so that it would be good to you. It was scuffed to hell and the idiot drummer had even tried using duct tape on the legs. I hoped that Sacre Bleu never hired them back. The assholes didn’t deserve it.

  I held the drumsticks over my head and counted down the beat as well as announced the song, a bit of classic Nirvana that even these morons could thrash to. The song blared to life, and I was lost in the moment, my arms burning the effort, my heart hammering with adrenaline, and the sounds of the drums ringing in my ears. This was why I’d started years ago, and this was what I lived for. I had to have this even if Liam full-out left to settle down with Abby. He was so nuts in love lately that I wouldn’t even put it past him. I was singing too, and I hoped I wasn’t doing too bad to Kurt Cobain’s legacy.

  In front, Nikki was dancing on the stage and throwing her hands up. She was shaking that fine ass of hers, and it was almost hypnotic to watch, so damn distracting that I had to focus on the white skins of the drums to keep from missing the beat. The girl looked damn fine, and of course she knew it. I was concentrating so hard on the song, trying to keep my own lust and wild thoughts from outracing me, that I didn’t see it at first, just heard the wild roars.

  Frowning, I kept time as I looked out at the crowd. There was Nikki crowd surfing like it was no big deal. I hadn’t seen people do that in years, and I certainly didn’t think debutante daughters of fashion magazine editors would even know how, let alone dare do it. She was making far mileage now, almost pushed by the throng of hands back to the bar. I shook my head as I went back into the chorus. In that moment, I felt my heart open up to her in a way I wondered if I was falling in love. But I couldn’t deny I was a little bit scared that she was wilder than even I was—that maybe I couldn’t keep up.

  Hell, that maybe I wouldn’t even want to.

  This was fun. But it would get old.

  Making love to her? Eating breakfast on a balcony with her?

  That wouldn’t ever get old. At least not for me.

  For Nikki, it might be a different story.

  A flash of light momentarily distracted me and I lost a bit of the beat and had to speed through to catch back up to the guitarist.

  Someone was taking pictures.

  Soon, depending how fast it took to upload, the world would know that at least the drummer and damn it, one of the other founding members of Point Break, was still rocking hard.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nikki

  I woke up with my mouth tasting like the floor of a New York City cab, and yes, I know exactly how that tastes thanks to a nasty frenemy in prep school and far too many shots of Petron. I lay frozen for a second, trying to get my bearings.

  Blinking back the light, I stifled a groan. Judging by the Irish step-dancing team in my skull, I was going to have to down water and aspirin like crazy just to feel normal again. But it had been worth it.

  I remembered being out with Tucker and partying hard at Sacre Bleu. He’d been a god on the drums last night and it turned out he was a great singer too. He was obviously worried about Point Break’s future if Liam Collier stepped down as the lead vocalist, but Tucker could totally rock anything they needed. He just needed more confidence.

  I shifted slightly, smiling when I pressed against something warm and hairy. I pried my eyes open. Tucker was curled around me, his arms holding me lovingly and protectively. It was hard to reconcile the things he’d promised, the big talk of being just casual, when he was cradling me like this.

  But I had to do it.

  I had to remember what Tucker and I were about. Fun times. For the moment.

  That was all.

  Still, I stared at him for a long time, taking in his beautiful face and the sexy, lean lines of his body.

  Finally, sighing, I slipped out of bed as smoothly as I could, grateful he didn’t wake up, and then grabbed my clothes and shoved them on. It was short work after that to call a cab to head back to Claude’s.

  * * *

  When I arrived, I found Hermes sitting at the breakfast table, poring over the morning paper and eating a plate of hardboiled eggs and fruit. As I found out on the night of the boutique opening, he had a key to Claude’s place, too, something my mom had apparently asked Claude for “in case Dominique needs us for any reason.”

  What she’d really meant was “in case Dominique messes up again and I need to send my lackey Hermes over to her to get her back in line.” Because that’s what Hermes was. Anna Lorenz’s lackey and my part-time babysitter when my mom so chose.

  And if I wanted my mom’s support with my shoe line, that’s what she chose.

  I wished I could be stealthy or invisible, find any way to sneak past the rat bastard who had regularly been the bane of my existence, but it wasn’t like I was Harry Potter with some mystical cloak. Although I did have some amazing stilettos. That should count for something, but they didn’t help me at the moment.

  “Well, well, Dominique, how nice of you to finally show up.”

  “It’s only ten and I wasn’t aware we had an appointment today. And I’d really apprec
iate it if you wouldn’t just let yourself in while I’m staying here. It’s rude.”

  “Not as rude as you acted at the opening when you slapped that photographer.”

  I pressed my lips together as my head started to throb even more.

  “I don’t want to talk about that.”

  “Fine. How about we talk about the fact you reek of liquor and smoke, and obviously spent the night with, I’m guessing, a certain rock star?”

  “I don’t need a caretaker, Hermes.”

  “Your mother disagrees. So do I. If you could control your baser nature and your temper, then I wouldn’t need to come around,” Hermes reminded, his tone as measured as always.

  “I don’t have to do everything my mom wants. I’m almost twenty-seven years old. I don’t have to listen to any of you. I took out the loans for the business and I’m doing well despite her constant criticism. I don’t need you and I don’t need her.”

  “Are you done yet?” he asked, his tone both grave and serene.

  “No!” I shouted, and I hated that my voice was rising, but I couldn’t help it. I watched as he typed on his phone, and it was obvious he’d already relayed my rash behavior to Mom. Rage coursed through me, and for a moment I wanted to go berserk. Throw things and shout.

  But then I thought of Tucker. And surprisingly, I felt myself calm.

  Tucker didn’t think I was a fool. He’d been kind to me. He thought I was amazing and he had faith in my talent. That knowledge, just like at the Pont Neuf, was like a steadying hand to the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me.

  “Look, Hermes,” I began, my voice steadier and calmer than it had been.

  “You know that she’ll be at the fashion show,” he said.

  I blinked. “What?”

  “Your mother will be at your show.”

  “She will? But why? She never comes to my shows herself.” Normally she just sends her assistants.

  “She wants to support you. She cares about you and your career, Dominique. She really does.”

  He said it with such sincerity. His tone combined with the news that my mom was actually going to make the effort to attend one of my shows left me disoriented and uncertain.

  When I remained silent, Hermes stood, wiped his mouth and hands with his cloth napkin, then softly kissed my cheek. “I’ll tell your mother you’re pleased she’s coming. And speaking of you almost being twenty-seven, I’ve set up a celebratory party for you at Jules Verne, and have invited the best of the best. It all came together after the disaster of your opening night. I figured it would help put things back on track. Plus, it’s your birthday. A true reason to celebrate.”

  I stared at Hermes. His voice had softened and he seemed to be looking at me with true affection. I had to admit it felt nice that he’d gone to the trouble of organizing a party for me. That he was trying to help me in spite of everything. “That’s very nice of you, Hermes. Thank you.”

  He nodded. Then, continuing to surprise me, he softly kissed my cheek. “I’ll text you the details. In the meantime, stay out of trouble, okay?”

  * * *

  After Hermes left, I took a long shower and brushed out my mop of red hair that tended to get frizzy after long nights out. I brushed my teeth three times and guzzled mouth wash. Then I got to work.

  Call me a fool, but Hermes’ news that my mom was coming to see my show to support me had filled me with pleasure and a resolve that this time I wouldn’t let her down. I’d prove to her that I have what it takes to be a success in my own right. I went to work with my team, happy with the progress they’d made. That afternoon, I delivered some shoes that were set to be highlighted in another designer’s show. The retro ‘80s theme complete with neon colors complimented the architectural platforms I’d designed. They highlighted the pinks and greens of the tulle skirts phenomenally and gave it all a surreal funky feeling.

  I loved it, and I couldn’t wait to tell Tucker.

  I was enjoying talking to some fellow designers at the after-party when I excused myself to find a bathroom. That’s when I overheard Francois LeBeau, the head editor of one of Paris’s premiere fashion magazines, speaking with a group in a corner. The words he uttered cut into my heart and soul as cleanly as a samurai blade:

  “Jean-Michael has put on another miraculous show, except for using shoes from Nikki Lorenz. Everyone humored her for a while about her designs because who wanted Anna’s wrath? But, really, there’s no need for designers to throw themselves on a pyre like this. It’s completely ridiculous. She’s a hack, and if the community weren’t so scared of Anna’s ire, they’d admit it too.”

  I backed away from the palm fronds separating me from LeBeau and his cronies. Most of them were hangers-on and sycophants, but LeBeau was very well-regarded not just in Paris but throughout the world. If he felt my designs sucked and all the extremes were awful—things I sometimes worried about too—then maybe they did.

  Hurrying out of the after-party and out into the street, I didn’t even have a plan. All I did was keep walking. Eventually, through the cold and frustration, I found myself on the Pont Neuf. I tried to remember my time with Tucker. His words. How wonderful it had felt being with him. Instead, what shoved itself into my brain most was how I’d stood on the railing of Claude’s balcony. How scared and reckless I’d felt. How relieved and grounded I’d felt afterward.

  I didn’t want to be scared anymore. I didn’t want to be reckless.

  But I did want to feel centered and at peace.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Tucker

  I spent the day after Sacre Bleu in my hotel room, sleeping and recovering from my night out with Nikki, and trying not to feel pissed that she’d snuck out on me this morning and I hadn’t heard word from her since. I knew she had things to do. Work to attend to. And me being pissed at her for doing that made me worse than a clingy chick.

  What was wrong with me? I’ve been known to love and leave more than my fair share of women. Since when did a woman’s independence bother me rather than relieve me? So she’d left without sharing breakfast with me. So what?

  I should just be happy that Nik and I had the kind of night that would make anyone jealous. But the fact was, I wasn’t.

  Shit. One day after telling her we were about fun and nothing else, it suddenly dawned on me why I was feeling so out of sorts with her for sneaking off. I did want more with Nikki. At the very least, I wanted more than just being ding-dong ditched come morning. No, that didn’t mean I was ready for long term, or for wandering the world for the rest of my life with one girl the way Liam was with Abby.

  Fuck, Nikki and Abby couldn’t be less alike.

  Yet…

  There was something bubbling up between us and, as nuts as it was after just a few days, especially for someone like me, I wanted her to feel like she could wake in my arms and not be weird about it. I wanted her to be the first face I saw in the morning, at least on nights when we slept together. No, I wasn’t talking exclusivity or moving in, not yet, but I just didn’t want to wake up to an empty bed either. That wasn’t too much to ask, was it?

  Maybe it was because I obviously had my own pride to deal with. I could have texted her at any point today and I hadn’t. All because I wanted her to need me too. Pissed at both of us and supremely confused, I grabbed lunch and headed out, hoping the fresh air would clear my head. Soon, I found myself heading toward Pont Neuf. It made sense I’d be drawn there since I’d been there with Nikki. The girl had an impressive ability to haunt my mind, no doubt.

  But was haunting what I needed?

  Maybe this was all too much for the both of us. Bad timing given Nikki’s responsibilities with her career and my worries about mine. Maybe I should head back home to LA, and stop whining, even if it was in my own head, about what Liam was doing to Point Break. Hell, there were four of us in the band. Even if Liam ended up leaving, there were avenues to explore and organize. What was the alternative? Just letting it all go?

  No way
in hell.

  For a moment, as I contemplated it, it was what I wanted to do. Go back to LA, where things were simple, at least when it came to where my head was with women. Because let’s face it. This thing with Nikki and me wasn’t bad timing just because of her business responsibilities. She was clearly dealing with hardcore shit. With her slapping that photographer and harboring some serious resentment for her mom, there was train wreck written all over her, and that wasn’t my problem. I was drawn to her, and I liked her, but I had my own band in tatters to think about and a life back in the States.

  I’d go to her show first, of course, but then I should go back home. If she were interested in things after that, then she could always track me down. Maybe she wouldn’t. Maybe, like me, she’d rethink the wisdom of the two of us hanging out together. Last night had been a blast, but it had been relatively mild on the party hard scale. I was no one’s saint, and two sinners thrown together would and could create Chernobyl levels of mess and confusion.

  But man, with Nikki, images of burning and exploding were a fucking temptation as much as a warning sign.

  It was probably a sign of how obsessed I was with Nikki that as I walked on the bridge, I thought I saw her. There, a woman with wild red hair, standing on the fucking wall. The only thing keeping her from plummeting into the water below was her balance. At first, I was sure it was some kind of hallucination. That it wasn’t possible.

  Then the woman turned and looked at me, and I’d have known those bright, desperate eyes anywhere.

  It was Nikki.

  Shit, she was going to fall! I sprinted toward her, summoning speed I almost only used to run from screaming fans when cornered in hotels or venue alleys. Reaching up, I yanked her down into my arms, confused as fuck when she pulled against me, as if she wanted to be up there, just dangling above the Seine.