“Your stuff gets a little heavy sometimes, right?” she asks.
“Sometimes,” I tell her, “I really won’t be offended if that’s not your thing.”
“I like all kinds of things,” she says, “I’m not a strictly ukulele-and-harmonica kind of girl.”
“I didn’t suppose that you were,” I smile.
“And besides,” she goes on, taking a step towards me, “Even if I may not be well-acquainted with something, it doesn’t mean I’m not interested in learning something new.”
I swallow hard, and will my body to behave itself. There’s a renewed, irresistible determination glinting in Ellie’s eyes. I know that look quite well.
But there’s something else behind the raw desire, something more private, more secret. She wants me as badly as I want her, that much I'm sure, but it’s not just a one night fling that she wants. She’s making herself vulnerable to me in a way that women usually don’t. Usually, it’s a roll in the hay and a peck on the cheek. But with Ellie...
There’s something in her that I recognize. Something fragile, and honest, and more than a little lonely. I recognize it because I can feel it too—though I’d be loathe to admit it to anyone in the world.
Being with Ellie would mean stripping away every defensive layer I’ve managed to build up over the years. But what if we tried it, this whole new kind of honesty, and something went wrong? Can I really risk dismantling these carefully crafted bits of armor without some kind of assurance that things are going to work out?
Or, forget “work out”, just not end in a horrible train wreck of heartbreak? How does anyone get to know someone else without that kind of guarantee?
“You’d better get going,” she says, taking a quick step forward.
Before I can respond, she gives me a simple kiss on the cheek. Her lips brush against my stubbled skin, sending a scorching bolt of sensation straight through me. I look down at her, more than a bit bemused. This girl has already got quite the hold on me.
“Go on then,” she laughs, “Break a leg! Or someone else’s. Whatever you rock and roll types are into.”
“I’ll do my best,” I smile, turning reluctantly away from her and tearing through the backstage realm toward the green room. It’s time I see to my rock star duties again.
I fumble toward the makeshift tent that’s supposed to be serving as our green room. Ducking into the flimsy lean-to, I nearly burst out laughing at the sight of Kelly. She’s standing stock still in the middle of the space, surrounded by the rest of my band. Her nose is scrunched up like she’s just stepped in a pile of dog shit, and she’s practically vibrating with fury. I did warn her this trip was going to be rustic, but I suppose she underestimated the extent to which that would be the case.
“Where the hell have you been?” she screeches at me. I’m glad she seems to be frozen in place—she looks about ready to claw out my eyes.
“Enjoying the festival,” I tell her, “Ellie and I caught another one of the act’s shows.”
“Oh, really?” Kelly hisses, planting her hands on her hips, “You’re telling me that instead of preparing for this rather high profile concert, you were off gallivanting with some charity case all afternoon?”
“First of all,” I say, feeling heat rising in my face, “Since when have we ever practiced more than the absolute minimum? And more importantly, what the hell do you mean ‘charity case’?”
The guys move off to the corners of the tent as Kelly and I square off against each other. They’re used to our showdowns by now.
“I mean,” Kelly winds up, “That the New Voices contest is a scheme to get more ticket buyers interested in the festival. It’s not as though it actually counts for anything. I mean, it would be one thing if your little friend and her playmate were any good, but considering—”
“Ellie is an amazing singer,” I interject, “You heard her the other night with your own two years!”
“She’s fine, I guess,” Kelly drawls. She can tell she’s getting to me, and she digs her nails in even deeper. “But as long as she’s hanging around with that mopey little string bean she calls a band mate, she doesn’t stand a chance in this business. There are plenty of pretty girls in the music scene, Trent. Far prettier than her. You should know, you’ve screwed most of them by now.”
“She’s better than that,” I shoot back.
“Not with her little boyfriend, she’s not. And it doesn’t look like they’re splitting up anytime soon. At least, that’s what the blogs say. And you know their word is law.”
“Oh, please,” I groan, “That little twerp is just trying to boost his own popularity.”
“Manufactured or not,” Kelly says, “There’s definitely something going on between them. So if you’ve got any sense in that thick skull of yours, you’ll stay far away from her.”
“What is this, West Side Story?” I laugh incredulously, “You have no authority over who I spend time with, Kelly.”
“Maybe not,” she says, taking a step toward me, “But as your manager, I have ultimate authority over your music career. Have you forgotten that, Trent?”
“Are you threatening me?” I ask quietly, advancing toward her in turn.
“Of course not,” she sniffs, “Just reminding you of the way things stand. I’ve always been your advisor, Trent. Your trusted advisor, I’d like to imagine. Why you would feel the need to stray away from my guidance is beyond me. Haven’t I done a good job for you so far?”
“Sure,” I admit, “Sure, I suppose you have.”
“Then listen to me now,” she says, dropping her voice so that the others can’t hear, “That Ellie girl would be terrible for your image. For your entire career.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, “How the hell do you figure that?”
“Have you seen your fan base, lately?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow, “The people listening to you are hardcore rockers. Your fans are tough, and loyal, and merciless. What the hell do you think would happen if you started carting around some ruffly, girlish nymph, huh? They’d burn your damn records. Write you off as pussy whipped. She’s the exact opposite of the kind of woman they want you with, Trent. They hate people like her. You know it’s true.”
“Well, what about what I want?” I counter.
“You’re an entertainer!” Kelly cries, exasperated, “What you want is about as significant as a piss in the Atlantic Ocean!”
“Is that so?” I say, “I don’t think I would have signed up for the job if I’d known that going in.”
“Don’t play the gallant troubadour,” she laughs, “You love your fame. You love being fawned over. You love the sex, and the drugs, and the herds of willing, young bodies. Don’t you dare try to deny it, either. I’ve been with you since the beginning, and you’ve taken to this whole fucked up world like a duck to water. It might seem like fun to try on the noble prince costume for a minute, Trent, but it’s unbecoming. It’s not worth losing all this just for some indie try-hard.”
“She’s not like that,” I growl, “Even if she was, it wouldn’t be any of your goddamn business. You do realize that there’s a life outside of the industry, don’t you Kelly?”
“No,” she snaps, glaring at me, “I don’t accept that. This is my life, Trent. You’re my life. And you can be sure that I’m not going to let some no-name songstress fuck this up. And you can tell her I said so.”
Kelly storms out of the room, pushing Rodney roughly out of the way. The three of them stare at me quizzically, but I’m too livid to bother filling them in.
Instead, I take a long swig out of the nearest bottle and let out a loud shout. The guys rally around me, passing the booze between them. We collapse into our ceremonial huddle, and I focus on their eager, amped up faces.
“OK guys,” I say, “Let’s get out there and do what we do best!”
They erupt into whoops and cries of boundless enthusiasm, and their bottomless energy starts to get to me, too. I can feel the jolting, unstoppable bu
rst of adrenaline flooding my system, just like it always does before a show. We break free of our huddle and charge out of the holding tent.
Stage hands flock around us as we make our way toward the stage, handing us our instruments. The stresses and conflicts of the real world begin to fall away from me with every step that I take toward the mic stand. Right now, nothing in the world matters but getting on that stage and pouring my heart out through the speakers.
We swing onto the wide, deep platform just as the stage lights blast us with a blinding flash.
Thousands of screaming fans send rapturous shouts up into the dusky sky as we take our places before them. Beyond the audience, the quiet plains stretch on forever, lit up with millions of fireflies. For a second, it’s all I can do to stand there and take it all in.
I want to memorize this moment, keep it on my shelf forever, just like I do with every single show. No matter how many of these massive gigs I play, it never gets old.
Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a flash of gold beyond the curtains. I turn and spot Ellie, grinning out at me from backstage. Any trace of doubt or frustration has faded from her features. She’s beaming at me, now, her whole body radiating excitement.
I feel a thrill rush from my head to the tips of my fingers—the joy of making her happy, of exciting her, is unlike anything I’ve ever felt. I take two longs strides and grab the standing mic, dragging it close to my lips.
“To all my hawks, and all my doves,” I scream, letting the adoring cries of the crowd wash over me, “Get ready lose your fucking minds!”
They don’t need any permission from me. They’re already roiling by the time I slam the first chord into the throbbing night air. The guys follow me into our first number, our latest hit single Eviscerate. The rhythm of the music overtakes my body, resets the beat of my heart. I’m fully within it, encompassed by the song itself. My entire universe shrinks down to this stage, this wild crowd, the warm night air against my skin...and the beautiful woman standing just beyond the wings.
We pound through verse after chorus after verse, sending the audience into a frenzy. I give myself room to roam around the stage, stalking like a predator about to fell his prey. This primal feeling comes over me every time I begin to sing. It’s far more powerful than I am, but I don’t mind. I’m enough of a man to accept being overcome every once in a while. Especially when the conqueror is as sweet as this. I let the force of the music sweep me away, transport me to a place where no one can follow.
I turn my back to the audience, letting my eyes sweep across the stage. Rodney, Rodger, and Kenny are out of their minds, pure conduits of the sound. We’re all of us alone and as one with the audience right at this moment.
As I pivot back toward the stage, I catch another glimpse of Ellie. I nearly let the microphone tumble from my hands.
She’s dancing with abandon, all on her own. Her hips gyrate along with our pummeling tempo, her blonde hair whips all around her upturned face. I’ve never seen anyone move so freely to my music.
She catches me watching her, and I fear she’ll become self conscious and stop her gorgeous, writhing dance. But instead of being drawn out of her state by my attention, she sinks more deeply into it. We draw each other further beyond the realm of the mundane, ever on toward transcendence.
I let an animal wail rip from my throat, and the audience rages at an even greater pitch. I look out over the crowd, surging beneath the clear night sky. These are the moments that I live for. This is everything I’ve ever wanted. And I realize suddenly that Ellie is becoming a part of that everything.
We soar through the rest of our set, revving the crowd up more and more with each passing number. The audience grows and shifts as the night wears on, and soon it looks like everyone within a five mile radius of the stage has congregated to listen.
There’s sweat pouring down my face and neck, soaking my tee shirt. As we transition to another hit, I rip the dripping garment off my back and toss it into the crowd. A little cloud of dust arises as a dozen fans dive for the shirt. I hear a hearty laugh and turn to catch Ellie giggling over the scene my offering has made. I grin back at her and dive into the next number.
I’ve never felt the presence of another person so clearly during a show. Usually, it’s just me—lost inside of the music. But with Ellie, it’s like she’s traveling with me. I don’t need to translate or explain anything to her, she just understands. And if this is what it’s like when music is involved...what kind of connection would we have in other, more intimate communications?
I snap my mind back like a dog on a leash. It wouldn’t do to start rocking a major hard on in front of a crowd of thousands. I signal for the guys to start our final number. We take a collective breath and throw our entire selves into the show closer.
At this point, it hardly feels like we’re even in control of the sound. It just happens. We’re just witnesses to what’s moving through us. I scream out the final notes and let the adoration of the crowd all but bowl me over. Their attention is intoxicating, but there’s another party who I’m far more interested in connecting with.
From the wings, I can feel Ellie’s eyes on me, the heat of her gaze. I surface from the depths of the music and make my way to her as the guys file offstage in the other direction.
Without breaking stride, I scoop Ellie up into my arms, picking her up right off the ground. She’s laughing with abandon, wrapping her arms around my shoulders. There’s nothing jarring about our closeness—no resistance or hesitation. I spin her around in the dark backstage nook, acting for the world like a heartsick Romeo.
“That was...Trent, that was amazing!” she breathes, planting her feet on the floor in front of me. Her dainty hands rest firmly on my shoulders, and her face is turned up toward mine in something that looks an awful lot like rapture.
“Thank you for being here,” I tell her, daring to rest my hands on her waist. The curvature of her body feels so good, so comfortable under my fingers. I don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to resist her. She’s looking up at me with deliberate intention, and I can read pretty clearly what’s running through her mind.
“Thank you,” she says, taking the smallest of steps forward. “I’ve never been at a show like this before. It was so raw. So intense...” The closeness of her is sending a hot, throbbing need down through my body. If she comes any nearer, she’s sure to feel it for herself.
“I liked knowing you were right there,” I tell her, letting my hands slip further around her body. “I could feel you, even through all the noise and the chaos.”
“I could too,” she says softly.
Her teeth close on her plush bottom lip, and I have to swallow down a low groan. I know that we’re caught up in the moment, and that this isn’t how real life works. But what about my life is anything near real? What’s the use in trying to follow rules that simply don’t apply?
“Ellie,” I say firmly, cupping her chin in my hand, “I need you to kiss me.”
“Wh-what?” she stammers, taken aback by my request. I suppose it’s a little unconventional to ask for permission at a time like this.
“Kiss me,” I tell her, “Please.”
The sudden thrill of agency washes over her body, and I see a spark of gleeful authority sizzle in her eyes. She presses her body against mine, gasps as she feels the hard length of me against her. Her arms encircle my neck as she offers up her lips to me. Close enough, I think, and bring my mouth firmly down to hers.
Our mouths move together, and I shudder as the taste of Ellie sends shockwaves through my entire system. She opens herself to me, and our tongues tangle and caress as our bodies press closer and closer together. I let my hands wander down to her round, firm ass, grabbing hold with relish. I feel her hands running through my hair, her breasts billowing against my bare chest.
I back her up through a partition of curtains and press her up against the nearest wall. We’re cocooned in our own private world, even the middle o
f this raging festival. Ellie wraps her long, smooth leg around me, and I lean into her embrace.
My stiff member is pressed against her, right where we both want it most. She breaks away from my mouth and starts to kiss my throat, my chest. I let my hands wander all along her body—cupping her breasts through the thin fabric of her dress, letting my thumbs glance over her nipples.
I’m tantalized by the bare stretch of thigh that reveals itself as the hem of her skirt falls back. God I want to fuck her so bad.
I lay my fingers on her tanned, tender skin and close my eyes as she runs her hands down the panes of my chest. Our eyes meet in the darkened space, and I can see she’s swept entirely away.
We pause as one, our hands lingering on each other’s bare skin. We both know where this is heading, where we want it to head...and we both know that it can’t. Not right this second.
I straighten up before her, peering down at her beautiful face in the half light. I’m not going to screw her up against the wall of a concert venue as if she were just another groupie. I’ve never met someone like Ellie before, and I have no idea how these things are supposed to progress, but I’m pretty sure this isn’t the part where we get to have each other, we barely just met.
She lifts her hands off my body and brushes down her skirt.
“Well,” she says, “There that is.”
“I hope you’re not offended,” I say, rather self-conscious of the bulge in the front of my jeans.
“Of course not,” she says quickly, “This is all just...I’m not used to this.”
“Me either,” I say.
“Yeah right,” she laughs, “You probably get down with women backstage every night.”
“I didn’t mean that,” I tell her, “I meant that I’m not used to actually liking someone enough to save the screwing for somewhere other than on an amp.”
That one’s stumped her. Her mouth falls open prettily, and I can’t help but let out a laugh. God, does this girl do anything that’s not hopelessly sexy?
“Oh,” she says, “Right. Um...You know, it’s not that I’m not attracted to you. Because I am. Obviously. It’s just...things feel so unsteady. With all this attention. And Mitch is all—”
Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 9
