by Nora Flite
She's been zoned out for days. And the reason is fucking obvious. It bothered me constantly how, after I'd confronted him in the dark hours half a week ago, Sean still hadn't reconciled with Lola. The piece of shit said he'd talk to her. He clearly hasn't. Do I need to corner him a second time?
“Now you're the one zoning out,” she said, perfect lips tilting in a smile.
If there wasn't a table between us, I would have pushed her down right then and kissed that taunting mouth. I settled for reaching across, stealing her fingers and guiding them over the notebook I'd set in front of her. “I asked what you thought of these lyrics so far.”
Like my touch had revitalized her, Lola squeezed my hands. Curls of her thick hair toppled her bare shoulders when she leaned down to read the words. I hadn't had anyone judge my song-writing skills in such a long time. Watching her scrutinize the bits of my brain and soul carved into ratty, lined paper was making my heart jump.
What if she hates it? Blood pounded in my ears. Fuck, it doesn't matter if she hates it. Why would that make a difference? I was sure my lungs were going to collapse from holding my breath. Of course it would make a difference. I want her to be impressed.
I'd never felt so vulnerable; I regretted handing her the lyrics.
Maybe I could grab them back?
“These are wonderful.” The pink blooming on her cheeks made her blue irises sparkle even brighter. “How did you write these so fast?”
Swallowing past the dry patch in my throat was difficult. “It's been almost a week since we decided to collaborate. That's plenty of time.” I'd poured over the words hourly between dreaming and waking. Writing a song like this—and did she understand what it was?—took every moment I had.
And Lola said it was wonderful.
The table between us was mattering less and less.
“I have a question, though,” she said. Pulling her hands from me, Lola turned the notebook around, brushed her nail down the paper. “Am I insane, or did you mark down a section for a second guitar?”
Now it was my turn to smile. “We'll play together.”
She set the notebook down like it was a bomb. “Both of us?” I didn't understand the tension crawling across her forehead. What was she thinking about that had her so unsteady?
Leaning forward, I tucked her hair behind her ears. The way she startled, bent into my touch, made my jeans far too tight. Fuck, she works me up by just existing. “Is that a problem?”
Lola didn't relax, I felt her pulse under my palm. “It's fine. I didn't know you could play guitar, is all. It's... kind of weird to not know that about you.”
The bus seat rumpled when I fell back into it with my full weight. “I'm no where near as good as you, but I'm decent enough to play with if you'll lead.”
“How long have you been playing for?”
Grimacing at the memory that rose up, of large hands guiding my own across the strings of a guitar, I hesitated. No. I don't want to go down that road. “Who knows,” I mumbled quickly, “I guess since I was a kid.”
“Then you learned from someone, like me. Was it a brother? Do you have any siblings at all?” There was an edge in her voice that left me confused.
“What? Why does that matter?”
Furrowing her eyebrows, Lola set her intense stare right on me. It was impossible to break away. “Because it's something about you I don't know. Tell me about your family, about learning to play. Just give me more information about yourself.”
“You're acting weird.” Lola flinched at my observation, but she didn't look close to backing off. What's this all about? Why the sudden digging into my life? “I don't like this inquisition. You're asking me things that don't matter.”
“Then what does matter?”
Grabbing my notebook, I spun it on the table, jammed my finger onto it. “This! Our final tour performance is tomorrow night. Let's start practicing so we can show everyone out there how serious this is!”
“Maybe you should show me how serious we are, first!” Scowling, Lola pushed out of the seat. “You said we were dating, that you're my boyfriend, now. I hardly know anything about you!”
We hung on the precipice of destruction. I could see it in her eyes, knew she was about to storm off that bus if I didn't do something. Pulling in a lungful of air, I stood up to block the aisle. “Lola, listen. What you're poking at here... maybe there's a reason I don't want to go into it. Okay?”
Holding her ground, she looked into my eyes and didn't waver. “So there is something you're hiding from me.”
Frost darted through my veins. What does she know? “Everyone hides things.” Lola's eyes rippled, hinting at a deep guilt. She had hid things from me, too, until recently. I was sure I could have turned the whole conversation on its head until she felt bad about pressing me.
Instead, I settled for wrapping her hands in mine. Her breath caught as I pulled her against my chest, my voice soft in the silence of the bus. “Lola, listen to me. You want to know more about my past, but it's just not worth knowing. Nothing about who I was before we met is important.”
She leaned into me, stiff as old bread. The way she was resisting me, all while her heart thumped along my ribs, just encouraged me to try and break her down. Before I could do anything beyond inhaling along the side of her throat, Lola squeezed my fingers and turned away. “Everything about you is important. Past, present, and even future. Isn't it the same for you, about me?”
Shit. She had me there. I wanted to know, to have, everything about Lola Cooper. Gingerly, I glided my fingers up her arms, explored her goosebumps. When I reached her shoulders, I cupped the smooth skin and held her still. “Please trust me. When I say my old life isn't important, I mean it. I don't want you asking me about it.” I don't want to explain or rehash or—just anything. “Alright? Lola?”
Her eyelashes hid those blues from my view. “No. It's not alright.” Her elegant neck arched back, allowing her to look at me so matter-of-factly. “You told me not to lie, or to act tough when I'm faking it. So I won't. I'm frustrated you won't talk to me. Hell, I'm even mad about it. But, I also won't force you to tell me about your past.” Untangling herself, she scooped up the notebook from the table. “Come on. You wanted to practice, let's go do it.”
The air around me felt... colder. Watching her taught spine, how her shoulders were pulled back sharply enough to treat her shirt like a coat hanger, I regretted my words. But what else can I do?
In what world would telling Lola about my fucked up life help either of us?
****
We had the practice room to ourselves for some time. That was good, because I was rusty as hell on guitar, and didn't want Colt and Porter watching me fumble. We should have practiced sooner. It didn't help that I was feeling the pressure from Lola's glum mood.
Tightening my strings, I glanced up at her where she sat so close. We both needed to see the sheet of paper with the music notes, especially as we randomly scribbled changes while we worked.
The song we were creating was coming together. It was a beautiful thing, made muddy by the tension between me and the girl I adored.
“You think this part should be faster?” she asked, tapping the page, adjusting the stratocaster in her lap. “Where you sing, 'wrapping, coiling, merging with the world?'”
When she says the lyrics so bluntly, it makes me feel... ashamed? She was missing the whole core of the song. My face was hot; looking at her was difficult. Shit. I feel like an awkward teen all over again, fuck. “Yeah. Let's speed that section up.”
Lola smudged more pencil down, then plucked a few notes thoughtfully. “I think that'll sound better. More intense.”
Swallowing around my sluggish tongue, I drained my water bottle. “You write a lot of music before this?”
“None.” At my look of disbelief, Lola shrugged. “Nothing structured, like this. I just goofed off and made stuff up when it came to me.”
Goofed off. Thinking about her audition, I let my s
tunned smile take over. “A god damn prodigy.”
Shifting on her stool, she looked away. I could see the pink blush coating her cheeks. “Says the guy who can play guitar and sing.”
“I told you.” My fingers slid down the neck of the instrument, exploring it as if I'd never held one of its kind. “I'm only okay at guitar. You have ears.”
“My ears tell me you're better than you think.”
“Guess we're even there.”
Chewing the side of her lip, Lola stared pointedly at the floor. “Come on. Let's play this again. Neither of us are where we want to be, yet.”
No, I thought sullenly, letting my guitar pick strike the chords. Right now I want to be on you, wrapped up in your scent and panting cries. My lower belly thrilled with a surge of heat at the image.
I'd have to settle with singing about my desires.
For now.
We practiced until midday, working until we were sounding cohesive. At this rate, we'll be able to play this tomorrow night just fine.
We were interrupted by Colt and Porter. The two slid into the room quietly, respecting how caught up we were in our song. They sat on the sidelines, eyes focused, ears straining.
By that time, I was more comfortable with my instrument. Years of playing as a child, into my teens, were coming back with the waking of my muscles. Lola never called me out on my errors; I noticed all of them, though.
I'm still not as good as I wanted to be, growing up. That doesn't matter anymore.
Being a guitarist hadn't been my dream, after all.
It had been my father's.
“It's sounding great,” Porter said, clapping when Lola and I paused. “You sure you don't want me and Colt to join in on this?”
“Maybe a little 'oomph' from the drums?” Colt added, mimicking playing his sticks in the air. “It'd add some texture to the song.”
Setting the guitar aside, I stood and cracked my back. “I appreciate the offer, but I'd like it to be just Lola and me out there for this one.”
Colt rubbed at the side of his right eye. “I'll try to hold in my tears of jealousy.”
“I won't.” Frowning deep, the bassist gave a few hollow sobs. “This is how it begins. Kicked out of the band. I hear guitar only teams are taking over.”
Wrapping his arm around Porter's shoulders, Colt nodded sagely. “I told you, we should have just learned guitar.”
“Bass is close!”
“Bass is not close,” Colt snorted.
Digging out a bottle of water, I drained half of it. “Want some, Lola?”
Setting her guitar in its case, she leaned it on the wall and headed for the door. “I'm fine. Think I'll go find some food.”
Lola's escape was briefly ruined by Brenda, the red-head bumping into her as she tried to enter. “Oh! Hey, sorry Lola—where are you running off to?” Turning in place, our manager backed into the practice room.
Hardly slowing, Lola's voice faded the further she got into the bus. “Food. I need to eat.”
“But I was going to order us lunch! The hotel we're all staying at is ready for us now, it's super nice! We could all use a nice day to relax—and—hey!” Holding her hands up, Brenda watched in confusion as Lola escaped from view. “What the hell was that about?” she asked, looking at all of us.
One by one, they all stared at me. Ah, shit. “It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”
“Drezden, what did you do?” Brenda sighed.
“Nothing!” Throwing up my arms, I tossed the water bottle at the trash can. The sound of it missing was poignant. “Why would you think she's upset because of me, Brenda?”
“So she is upset,” my manager said. Digging into her purse, she lifted out her phone and eyed it. “Doesn't matter. There's nothing going on between now and the final show, let her blow off some steam.”
Porter brushed a palm over his fuaxhawk uneasily. “No, I wanna know what Drez did that made her so tense.”
“Nothing! It was nothing, fuck.”
My drummer and bassist shared a knowing look. I wanted to bang their skulls together. Brenda, amazingly, came to my rescue; her hands clapped sharply. “I said forget it. Now, who wants to go check out the jacuzzi in the suit I booked for myself at the Hilton? Oh, that's right.” She jammed a ruby nail at herself. “Me. This girl. Now come on, I've got a car waiting to take us over. Everyone needs a break. Especially me.”
Relaxing was the furthest thing from my mind. But, if it got everyone off my back, then I was glad to follow the path of least resistance. Lola's fine. She just needs some time. That's all it is.
I was never great at lying to myself.
****
The drive to the hotel was smooth. I couldn't control how I looked around for Lola in the parking lot, at every turn, only to feel morbid when I didn't spot her. In the car, I finally gave in and sent her a quick text. It was nothing special, as close to a plea as I could make, asking her to call me if she needed anything.
Brenda handed our keycards off to us in the Hilton lobby. When she gave me mine, she held it tight, not releasing it from her grip. “This time,” she whispered, “I didn't put you and Lola in connecting rooms. Get my drift, Mr. Keep Everyone Awake at All Hours?”
Yanking the card free, I shoved it deep in my jeans. “It doesn't matter how far apart you put us.” If I want to see her, I'll do it, rooms be damned.
Brenda rolled her eyes with gusto. “I'm just trying to encourage you to get some sleep. You guys have such a big final show, especially with this new song and all. How's that coming, by the way?”
Someone nudged me, an arm circling my neck to pull me into a rough hug. “I heard it earlier,” Colt chuckled, “it sounded great. Tell him to add some drums, though, would you Brenda? Please?”
“As if he'd listen to me,” she snorted.
Struggling out of the hold, I adjusted my shirt, ignoring the teasing grin Colt shot me. “Give me a break, this song is—it's just that I have a vision for it.”
“Man, it's fine.” Palming the back of his head, the drummer winked. “I'm kidding around. For real, though, I guess I just miss jamming and making music with you. Even if you always wrote the songs, you at least listened to my input when we were kids.”
Strangely, I flushed at his observation. I guess we did used to create more stuff when we were younger. “The music could use a shakeup,” I muttered. “After the tour, maybe we should work on a new CD.”
Porter slid between all of us, a fist full of hotel mints. “Love it. But you know what I'd love more?” The hard, white sugar crunched like porcelain in his teeth. “Some lunch.”
“I'll say!” Shaking her thick mane of hair, Brenda pushed us towards the elevator. “Unload your stuff in your rooms, then let's order some room service. You guys are going to lose it when you see the private jacuzzi I have.”
“Why did you give yourself all the cool stuff?” Porter whined.
“Because I deserve something nice for once!”
It took longer for Brenda to corral us than I think she would have liked, but in the end, we all gawked at the gorgeous, open air jacuzzi that sprawled off the main section of her room. Brenda was stretched beside it, already on her third drink by the looks of the glasses piling up. “Gentlemen,” she said, waving lazily. “It's now, officially, time to relax.”
And, thanks to Brenda, time itself was quick to fly by.
Food came and went, my band mates chomping away until they couldn't fit anything else in their stomachs. I managed to work down something, but my appetite was poor enough that I didn't even remember what it was.
When the late hour came, the sky above warping from watercolor-red to brackish blues, the boys vanished to their rooms and abandoned us. Alone with my manager, who had gotten progressively drunker over the hours, I finally felt the weight of my day.
Lola hasn't called me at all.
“She's fine,” Brenda said, too good at figuring me out. Standing tall, she stretched her arms over her head and
yawned. “Let her have space, it seems like she needs it.”
Lifting an eyebrow, I shifted on the edge of the chair. The beer washed over my tongue, giving me time to consider my response. “How would you know?”
“I just do.” She yanked her shirt over her head. I wasn't shocked; she'd been talking about the jacuzzi all day. In a bright green bikini, my manager slipped into the tempting, circular pool. “Here, just come and try to chill out for once.”
“I don't really think it'll help.”
“Suit yourself.” Dipping to her chin, she pointed at the bucket of champagne—the fourth one—that she'd ordered. “Can you get that for me?”
My knees popped as I stood. I'm feeling like an old man. I was too young to have so many aches and pains, but the tour had done a number on me. Sliding the bucket and glasses close to Brenda, I made a snap decision.
Turning so I faced her, I slid my shirt up across my chest. It kept her from seeing my scar, even though I suspected she'd done her research on me before signing the band. She probably knows, but I'm not taking the chance now. I don't want to deal with that.
I wasn't looking for a reaction, but Brenda ran her eyes up and down me without pretense. “Coming in after all?”
“For a bit.”
She saw me unbuckle my belt, wrinkled her nose. “You don't have swim trunks on, do you?”
Her disgust was enough to make me smirk. Drunken-Brenda wasn't going to cheer me up, but she made things interesting. In just my dark boxers, I lowered myself into the heated water across from her. It tingled along my skin, demanded my muscles work out the knots. “Damn, this does feel good.”
“Right?” Beaming, she offered me a glass of golden alcohol. I didn't question it, I took it and swallowed a healthy mouthful. “Like I said, you need to relax.”
The way she stated that made my mouth pucker. “Don't act so all-knowing.”
“I am all-knowing,” she laughed. “I know you're freaking out about Lola, for one.” I shot a glare at her, then peered into my drink in silence. The next time Brenda spoke, it was far softer, more kind than usual. “Drez, what's going on? You're obsessing over this girl—and don't get me wrong, she's talented and pretty—”
