Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow)

by Stevie J. Cole

  “Were you…um…” she swallows and points toward the glass. “You’re um… Stone Steele.”

  I grin the widest, dorkiest fucking smile I can. “Yeah. You a fan of Pandemic’s?”

  Her cheeks go cherry red. “Of course. I love you guys.”

  “Aw, awesome, thanks. So glad to hear that,” I say. By now, I can feel Phoenix’s gaze burning a hole through the side of my face. I step toward the woman, my eyes dropping to her name tag. “So, Susan,” I smile wider, deeper, sexier, “is there any way that you could,” I shrug, “I don’t know, get us in there to see the penguins.”

  “Ohhhhh…” she hisses in a breath, her gaze drifting from me to the glass and back. “I mean….”

  “Stone!” Phoenix whisper-shouts. “Stone Steele!”

  I wave her off, still smiling like a fucking idiot at Susan. “Backstage passes to our show next week sound like a fair trade?”

  Susan’s eyes nearly bulge out of her head. “I mean…I just don’t want to get in trouble. It’s a liability and…”

  “It’s fine,” Phoenix says, stepping between us.

  “Ah, come on, I wouldn’t let you get into trouble.” I wink at Susan, and she closes her eyes, biting on her lip. I’m awful, I know I am, but I want Phoenix to hold a damn penguin. “Please, Susan. All you got to do is get me back there and I’ll take it from there. I’ll never even mention your name.”

  She stares at me. I dig my phone from my pocket. “Here, put in your name and email and all that shit, I’ll have the label send you passes.” I cross my heart.

  Slowly, she takes my phone. She stares at the screen for a second before typing in her contact information and handing my phone back to me.

  “Okay,” she says quickly. “Okay.” She glances around before hurrying toward the hallway. “Come on.”

  “Stone!” Phoenix says, grabbing my wrist. “You’re going to get her in trouble.”

  “Nah, I got this. Trust me.”

  “Fuck my life,” she groans, but I can see that smile she’s fighting.

  We follow Susan through the hall and sneak through a door she unlocks. She rushes us along a corridor filled with buckets and ladders and stops in front of a little blue door. “They will bite,” she says as she unlocks the door. “And just…don’t let them out. Please, and please don’t tell on me.”

  “I wouldn’t dare.” I grab her hand. “Thank you.” She smiles before she turns around and hurries down the hallway.

  I glance back at Phoenix as I grab the door. “You gonna come in or what?”

  Smiling, she nods. I push it open and the smell – fuck me the smell. I gag and choke. Phoenix coughs.

  “Oh my god, they smell awful.”

  I fight through the water building in my eyes and shuffle along and out into the exhibit, reaching behind me and yanking Phoenix out with me. She stands up and looks around at all the dirty little birds now waddling up to us and squawking. The pure joy that’s swimming in her eyes like a kid in a candy shop with a million-dollar bill is worth every bit of trouble I’ll likely get in for this shit, because I put that smile there. Damn right.

  “Oh my god!” She squats down and slowly reaches out for one of them.

  “I mean, she said they bite, I wouldn’t…”

  But her hands already stroking over the back of its neck. It stretches and closes its eyes while flapping its wings. “This is incredible,” she whispers.

  More penguins shuffle over to her, crowding around her like she’s their god or something. I figure what the hell and crouch down to touch one and the little shit hisses at me. “What the fuck?”

  She laughs.

  “What are you, the penguin whisperer? Their fearless leader?” I look at the bird that just hissed at me and it’s waddling its ass over to her. I shake my head and point. “I brought her in here to you, you ungrateful bastard.”

  “Wow, swearing at god’s creatures.”

  I can’t help but laugh at that. I’m still crouching next to her, staring at the nasty birds hopping and shuffling around. One in front of me lies down on its stomach and gets still. “Is that one dying or something?” I ask.

  Phoenix glances over at it. “I hope not.”

  Shrugging, I turn back and stare at it. I can barely make out people on the other side of the glass, pointing. Cameras are flashing like crazy. “This is going on a tabloid; you do realize that?” I ask, and just then, this explosion of yellow and brown goop shoots out of that fucking bird’s ass at warp speed, arching into the air and splattering all over my shirt. I fall onto my ass before scurrying to my feet and wiping at my mouth. “That shit splashed up in my mouth!” I shout, pacing and frantically trying to get the warm shit off my face.

  Phoenix is hysterically laughing. Then she snorts. “Oh my god. That bird just projectile shit on you!”

  It stands up and wiggles its tail before diving into the water. “You little shit!” I grumble, pointing at it when it pops back up to the surface. Phoenix steps up behind me and rubs over my shoulders.

  “This is the sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she says. It makes me happy and sad at the same time, because having someone bribe their way back to let her see some nasty birds only to get defecated on shouldn’t be the sweetest thing anyone’s done for her. “We should probably go get the shit,” she snort-laughs, “off you.”

  “Yeah, and out of my mouth.”

  When we turn around, a middle-aged security guard is blocking the exit. “What are you doing in here?” he asks.

  “Getting shit on by the penguins,” I say, smiling.

  He stifles a laugh and grabs his belt, hoisting his pants underneath his massive gut. “Well, you aren’t supposed to be back here.”

  I nod. “I know, but I’m a fucking rock star.”

  “Oh god, really?” Phoenix groans behind me.

  “You can get fined for this,” the guard says.

  I toss my hand up. “Fine me.” I shove past him and out into the hall, dragging Phoenix behind me. “I mean, I’ve got shit all over me, like that’s not enough.” I grab the bottom of my shirt and carefully peel it over my head, then use the inside to try and clean the remaining splatter off my cheeks.

  “Sorry,” she says. “He suffers from narcissistic dick syndrome.”

  The guard looks unamused, but lets us leave anyway.

  When we step back into the aquarium, there’s a crowd of people lined up. Some snap pictures. One girl stops me for a picture and I stare at her. “I have penguin shit on me,” I say.

  “It’s fine.” And she holds up her phone, taking a selfie where I’m pretty sure my mouth is hanging open. I shake my head and drop my shirt in a trashcan on the way out. We’re not even into the atrium before there’s yelling and the bang of a trashcan falling to the tile floor.

  “They are not trying to get your shirt out of the trash?” Phoenix says.

  I shrug. “Rush purposefully took a shit in his boxers one time and threw them out of the tour bus window into the parking lot. One girl knocked another one out for those shit-stained drawers.”

  “Oh my god. What is wrong with people?”

  “I don’t know, babe. I don’t know.”

  24

  Phoenix

  The water to the shower cuts off and I shift in bed, attempting to prop myself up just so before I fluff my hair out. God, look what this guy’s making me do, go all girly and… just shit. The bathroom door swings open and he struts out with wet hair and a pair of boxer briefs on. My eyes trail over his hodgepodge of tattoos that scream bad boy, his hard stomach, the happy trail that disappears underneath the Armani waist band of his boxer briefs. My skin heats with that primitive lust, the want. My stomach flip flops.

  “I had to wash myself three times before I felt like that shit came off,” he says as he approaches the side of the bed.

  “That sucks.”

  “Yeah, but, you won’t ever forget today, will you?”

  “Absolutely not.”
/>   “Can’t wait to see the tabloids with that headline.” He waves his hand through the air like it’s a lit-up Hollywood sign he’s reading. “Stone Steele breaks into penguin exhibit and gets shit on,”

  “Um-hmm.”

  He grins. “What are you ‘um-hmming’?” He crawls onto the bed and wraps his arms around me, kissing over my neck and sending chill bumps scattering across my skin. “Huh?”

  “You’re just so ridiculous.”

  “You like it.”

  “Maybe,” I say, and take a breath. “I like you.”

  He stops kissing my throat for the briefest of moments. I can feel his lips shape into a smile against my neck. “Good, because I like you.”

  And then we fall back onto the bed. His mouth works up to my jawline, my cheek, my lips. My heart pounds, my skin flushes with heat as one of his hands trails over my arm. It seems so innocent and natural. Right. I breathe him in before deepening the kiss and dragging him on top of me. With every second that we kiss, the tension and want grows, swelling and popping like a living breathing thing. He fists my hair, yanking my head to the side as he deepens the kiss before raking his teeth over my lip on a groan. “Fuck, woman,” he says.

  And without hesitation, I’m grabbing his hand and moving it down my stomach to the waist of my shorts. Each breath I pull in is ragged, every inch of skin his fingers glide over heats under his touch. He shifts, moving his body to the side of me as his fingers dance along the waist of my shorts. I gnaw at my lip and fist at the sheets with the anticipation.

  “What do you want me to do?” he whispers against my throat before he kisses my neck again.

  “You…” I grab his face and pull him to me to kiss his lips. “I want you to touch me.”

  A deep laugh rumbles from his chest as he pops the button to my shorts loose and slowly undoes the zipper. He barely tugs my shorts over my hips before he stops, trailing his finger from one hip to the other. God, the teasing is about to kill me, but I don’t want him to stop. His fingers lazily creep down, skirting across my panties with just enough pressure to cause my body to react with a jolt. “Jesus…” he whispers when he slips a single finger under the lace. Such a small touch, and I’m moaning, tossing my head back. “You’re so fucking wet.”

  All he does is slide his finger up and down, stopping every few strokes to circle over my clit. With each swipe, every muscle in my body tenses and bunches, winding me so tightly in a beautiful form of torture.

  “I almost just want to watch you squirm,” he laughs, and I grab his wrist, shoving his hand hard against me.

  He inhales a deep breath before sliding his finger inside, slow and hard and steady. My chest is heaving. My body on edge. The pace of his hand picks up, and my legs fall shamelessly open for him. His fingers curl and flex, coaxing moans. A flush of heat courses over my body. Within seconds, he has me on that edge where I’m holding my breath just waiting to fall, and then all that tension uncoils. That tingling heat drowns me as I grab at the sheets and let go. “Shit…” I pant when I’m left weightless in that fog of bliss. I glance over at him and he smiles before bringing his fingers to his lips and slowly, seductively slipping them, one by one, into his mouth, his eyes locked on mine.

  This is not about sex. This is not about fucking. This is about us, which makes this dangerous on every level, because it makes it so very real. Reality, that’s what kills you.

  25

  Stone

  Jag walks across Rush’s backyard with a helmet tucked under his arm. I can see the wooden ramp from here. Rush is on the side spray painting the Pandemic logo on the side. “How high were you two when you built that?” I ask.

  “I don’t know, but it looks epic, doesn’t it?”

  I stop walking for a second and take it in. It has to be 10 feet tall with platforms on each end. To be honest, it looks too good to be something either of these shitheads could have put together. “You two built that?”

  Jag huffs as he points across the yard at it. “Do you see it?”

  There’s a huge dick spray painted on one of the walls.

  “So,” he says, “have you fucked the angry chick yet? I know that’s who you’ve been hanging out with. Fess up, bro.”

  “No.”

  He stops walking, his brow scrunching with confusion. “Why not?”

  “It’s just not important.”

  “Aw, man. Fuck me. You’re fucked, bro. Like totally, inevitably fucked in the ass with a huge, glitter bomb, double-ended dildo if that’s the case.”

  I shake my head.

  “We’re rock stars,” he says. “We don’t date women.” He starts towards Rush’s garage. “We fuck women.” And he trots off to the side of the yard.

  I take a seat on one of the lawn chairs, staring at the ridiculous ramp the two drug addicts built. Rush tosses the spray paint can to the ground and looks over at me, smiling. “So,” I say, “tell me again why the hell you have a ten-foot wooden ramp in your backyard, Rush?”

  “Why not?” he says. I shrug. A door slams shut behind me, and I turn around just as two girls walk out of Rush’s pool house with a cooler.

  “Who the fuck are they?” I ask.

  Rush glances up and grins. “Oh some chicks I picked up at the party both you and your bro wussed out on.”

  Giggling, they place the cooler beside my chair and take a seat on the lounge next to me. “Heeeeey,” one of them winks at me, and it looks like she’s having a stroke.

  I grunt in response.

  A sudden, high-pitched buzz echoes across the yard. I glance across to the garage as Jag comes barreling through the lawn on Rush’s old dirt bike. He revs the engine and it sounds like an angry weed eater. Clumps of grass fly into the air when he cuts the wheel and spins out. Pumping his fist in the air, he shouts before taking off and heading toward the ramp.

  “Oh fuck,” I mumble.

  He hits the wood and flies up the curve catching a good 6 feet in the air. When the bike lands, the tires spin out underneath him and he tumbles off the bike. He hops right back up and yanks his helmet off, not bothering to pick the bike up. “That shit is awesome! We need to have a music video where we’re just ramping shit off this!”

  They’re fucking idiots. They really are.

  “That was sooooo hot,” one of the fuck dolls next to me says, well, kind of moans.

  “Damn right it was,” Jag says. “Hey Rush, you’re turn.” He tosses the helmet at Rush before sitting on the end of the lounge chair the two girls are sharing.

  Rush shoves the helmet over his head before shooting a dumb ass grin at those chicks. He grabs the handles of the bike and sets it back up before cranking the engine and taking off. He does circles around the ramp before finally flying up the curve and catching air. The engine screams when he lands, the tires wobble, but he manages to keep the bike up and floors it, coming to an abrupt stop in front of me. He pulls the helmet off and tosses it to me. “Your turn, pussy.”

  I chuck the helmet right back. “Fuck no.”

  “Oh, come on, dude. Don’t grow a hairy vagina.”

  “I’m not doing tricks off some janky-ass ramp you and my dumbass brother built.”

  “Hey,” Jag says, punching my arm. “That’s as sturdy as my cock.”

  The girls giggle. I just lean back in the chair and cross my ankles over one another. “You two have at that shit. I’ll just call the paramedics when it collapses.”

  “What the hell, dude?” Rush says. He struts over to the cooler like his dick is too big for his jeans and grabs a beer.

  “Ah,” Jag dismissively waves his hand through the air, “he’s gone all puss. He’s been all up Phoenix’s ass– and I don’t mean all up her ass with his dick.”

  “You sell-out!” Rush points at me.

  “Fuck off,” I say.

  “Hasn’t even fucked her yet,” Jag says, his voiced laced with disgust.

  “Who are you?” Rush asks before chugging his beer and belching.

 
“Someone that’s grown up enough to know I don’t have to fuck everything on two legs.” I shrug. “I like her.”

  “Aw,” both the girls sing in unison.

  I just shake my head.

  “Fucking likes her, he says.” Jag points at me before standing from the chair and walking to the dirt bike. “Likes her. He likes her!”

  “Dude, we’re rock stars.” Rush grabs another beer from the cooler and pops the tab.

  “And?” I say.

  “You like them and it throws off your entire rocker image.” Rush shakes his head. “You’re supposed to be depending on Viagra to get your junk up before you settle down.”

  Those annoying girls laugh like fucking hyenas.

  “You worry about yourself, dickface,” I say.

  “Man,” Jag throws his leg over the dirt bike and releases the kickstand, “when we have to replace you because you’ve tainted the Pandemic Sorrow name with some lovey-dovey bullshit…” he shakes his head, and I just flip him the bird.

  I grab a beer from the cooler, then another and another as I spend the next hour watching Jag and Rush take turns seeing who gets more air. Rush lands one time, grinning. “Beat that, pussy.”

  “You aren’t getting fucking air,” I say before chugging my beer.

  “Yeah,” one of the girls says, “Jag’s totally beating you.”

  “What? No way. I’m getting better air than that shithead!”

  I shake my head. The girls shake their heads.

  Jag takes a bow. “It’s my cock,” Jag says, “the weight of it gives me more momentum.”

  “Whatever dude,” Rush laugh, “if your cock was bigger than mine, it would weigh you down.”

  “No, it wouldn’t it gives me more thrust.” Jag humps the air like his dick is a jackhammer.

  “Nah, dude. That’s why those stealth jets are made out of that lightweight material.”

  “What the fuck do you know?” Jag scoffs.