by Virna DePaul
“Thanks, man,” I said, “but I’m really shot. Don’t want anything tonight but my own company and some z’s.”
“That why you got a blow job?”
I forced a laugh. “I was kidding about that.”
Helen stared at me for a second before her face relaxed. “Ah, I’m good for it. I’ll see you at the buses tomorrow. Can I ride with you this time, or are you going to make me ride with the merch crew again?”
“Uhhhh…” I stammered. Well, she was our merch manager. Was this a trick question?
“You know what? Forget I asked. See you tomorrow, Lee.” She punched my arm and dragged away, thumping the wall softly as she disappeared down the hall. My head was spinning with confusion. For a second, I wanted to go after her, but then decided I’d talk to her tomorrow, when I wasn’t so tired.
Outside Robbie’s house, the valet brought my Suzuki GSX-R600 and handed me my helmet. “Thanks.” I slipped a fifty into his hand and straddled the bike.
Before I took off, though, I sat there thinking about the weirdness of the evening— wanting to chat with the cello player, not wanting to partake of Bella’s talents, and Helen acting different. All of a sudden, it hit me. There was something I’d been wanting to do all night. Since I met Abby. Poor girl must think all rock musicians were assholes, the way Tucker behaved. I wanted to send her something to change her mind. To reassure her there was no reason to regret taking the job and going on tour with us.
I hesitated, though. Any gesture I made could be misconstrued, could lead Abby on just as much as I feared cuddling and snoozing with Helen could do to her. But no, that was different. I wasn’t talking about having physical contact with Abby here.
I only wanted to be a good boss. To right a wrong, not marry her.
She’d see that.
Pulling out my phone, I summoned Siri’s help.
CHAPTER THREE
Abby
Rosemary rosined her bow like she wanted to kill it—hard. She was fierce this morning, ready to practice the second half of Save Me Tonight over and over again, until she got it perfect. This was her MO—beating the composition to death until it was emblazoned in her mind. She sliced the bow along her violin’s open G, then D, then A, then E strings, tuned the pegs, then tweaked the fine-tuners. Clouds of dusty rosin floated into the rays of light filtering in through the hotel blinds.
“Something wrong?” I pulled my cello out of its case, eyeing Rosemary carefully.
She rested the violin on her knee, gripping it by the neck. “I can’t believe he talked to you as long as he did.”
She didn’t have to clarify who she was talking about. There’d been only one man who’d talked to me recently who mattered. Liam Collier. The same man I’d been thinking and dreaming about since we’d met.
Thinking how…sweet he’d been.
And dreaming about how sexy he was. How sexy he made me feel.
Last night, remembering what Tucker had said about me resembling the happy-endings massage girl, I’d tossed and turned long after Rosemary had fallen asleep, unable to get rid of the image of me and Liam together, and me, well…making him happy. It had been far too easy to conjure a wordless fantasy of him on a massage table, big and brawny and buck naked except for a cute little towel slung over his muscular butt.
I’d seen it all in Blu-ray clarity and intense Technicolor, despite the fact I’d never in my life given anyone a massage.
A drizzle of oil down his spine for starters. Then my hands spreading it around, rubbing away all resistance. Short strokes first, to ease tension in his broad shoulders and neck. He’d be resting his forehead on his folded hands, allowing me to massage his nape and up around his ears. A little tugging and pulling on his earlobes would make him hide a smile of pleasure at the highly sexualized caress. With no sex on offer. Not until I was ready.
Then long strokes over his back, from spine to his sides, moving steadily down his body and up again to his shoulders. I would enjoy watching him adjust his position, rocking a little to make room for his growing erection.
And then I’d move on to his ass, which my oiled hands would caress and rub, pushing him down into the padded table with every stroke. He’d get a sex flush that I’d see even from the back, a wave of heat in his mostly concealed face that spread to his neck.
Mmmm. Gleaming skin and all that male muscle on display. Super hot.
And then I would say… Now for your legs.
Which he would part slightly, not able to sprawl on the narrow massage table. Maybe a few more downward pushes on his buttocks while his legs were spread. Digging my nails into the oiled skin to let him know I was the boss.
He would enjoy what I was doing too much to roll over, though he would be fighting for self-control. He would strain and hold on to the table, forced by sheer pleasure to stay still, his gasp encouraging me to continue the delicately erotic torment. I’d run my hands over his back and ass and thighs, until I felt like sliding them around his sides and into his taut groin, making him tremble. And groan. His hair would be damp with sweat when I strolled around to the front of the table and made him kiss me. He would do anything I asked. Because he was about to come and…
“Abby? Abby!”
I jerked, my face flaming as the torrid fantasy dispersed into the air like a puff of smoke. Horrified, I blinked rapidly, licked my lips, and struggled to remember what Rosemary and I had been talking about even as she side-glanced at me knowingly. I cleared my throat, striving to sound cool and composed despite how hot and bothered I felt. “Um, yeah. Liam Collier talked to me for a bit. Are you mad about that?” I loosened my strings to adjust the bridge of my instrument, which had shifted since yesterday. Yeah, my hands were shaking a little, but I shifted my body slightly in the hope Rosemary wouldn’t notice. “What’s the big deal?”
For a second, Rosemary looked suspicious, then she blew out an exasperated breath. “Just the way he looked at you, Abby. I watched from a distance. He was into you. And no, I’m not mad. Just super envious. That was LIAM COLLIER!”
Yes, Liam Collier, who was sexy, and gallant, and whose naked butt I’d been pawing at just a moment ago, if only in my head. To Rosemary, I just said, “So? Liam Collier who walks and talks like anyone else. Who uses the bathroom like anyone else,” I said, giving a mental fist pump at how convincingly casual I sounded.
“Who graces the cover of Rolling Stone and wins Best Rock Performance at the Grammy’s, like anyone else?” She tilted her violin like a ukulele and pizzicato’d the C major scale in a fast frenzy. “The whole thing was just surreal, that’s all.”
“Well, we do work for him. We were bound to run into each other and strike up a conversation at some point. Kind of hard not to. Besides…he was kind of…”
“What?” Rosemary tapped her short nails on the fingerboard.
I hesitated for a second, then said, “Normal.” It was true. As sexy and larger-than-life as Liam Collier was, he’d also seemed relatable. Down-to-earth. For a rock god, that was saying something, and it was probably the only reason I’d been giving him as much mental time as I had. I was intrigued by his complexity. By the tension between his celebrity status and his unassuming charm.
“Really? I heard he’s elusive,” Rosemary said. “Even for rehearsals, like yesterday…which he missed.”
“Maybe he saves his energy for his shows. I’m sure his act is all drama and little real vocals.” But even as I said it, I didn’t believe it. The man I’d met last night? I couldn’t imagine him being anything but superbly talented in anything he chose to pursue.
“You’ve never heard any of their songs? Never heard the man sing at all?”
Other than playing the two songs during rehearsals, I hadn’t. And I’d never been tempted to listen to Point Break’s other songs until last night. After the party, I’d had to force myself not to pull up a Point Break playlist. His voice had been so lovely just talking to him, and since I knew the melody of the ballads he sang… Well,
let’s just say I didn’t need the sound of his voice, all sultry and lovelorn, echoing in my ears as an accompaniment to the slide show of sexy images I’d already stored away and played over and over again in my dirty little head. Of course, I wasn’t willing to admit any of this to Rosemary. “He’s a rock star, Rose. I’m sure most of what he does is scream into a microphone.”
“Abby…” Her eyelids fell to half-mast. “Not all rock singers scream. Liam actually has a pretty decent voice. You should’ve done a little more homework on him.”
“Josh Groban sings. Placido Domingo sings. Jussi Björling sings. What Liam Collier probably does is create smoke and mirrors with theatrics,” I said, remembering his punk cowboy attire at the party last night and how he wore it well. Oh, so well.
Rosemary shoved her violin’s chin rest against her neck. “Still. Doesn’t excuse the fact that the only Point Break songs you’ve heard are the ones we’ve already rehearsed. Not when you’re going on tour with them. Today, I might add.”
“I’ve been busy.” I sighed. But I had a feeling that before the day was over, I would have given in and listened to some of Liam’s songs. I was too curious. Too tempted to have an audio soundtrack to go along with my fantasies of him. They were just fantasies, after all. No harm in fantasies so long as I kept my head about me, which I was definitely going to do. It wasn’t as if Liam Collier would ever be interested in someone like me, anyway. Not with the bevy of bikini goddesses he had at his disposal twenty-four seven. “Can you pass me the rosin? Look, I’m not trying to disrespect the band. I’m just saying, the average consumer of rock music wouldn’t know a singer from an actor, a cellist from a flautist. All they care about is eye candy. A few well-placed tattoos, a couple piercings, a brooding demeanor…and poof—famous. Meanwhile, real musicians like us have to work twice as hard for a fraction of the pay. We should be the ones making the big bucks.”
“Listen to you!” Rosemary tossed me the rosin. “Last time I checked, you played the cello for the love of music, not because you wanted to make big bucks.”
I clamped my mouth shut. That was true. I would be completely content with a small Manhattan apartment, performing at Avery Fisher Hall, making tiramisu on weekends, and playing at my friends’ weddings. I would call that a full life. So why did I feel so envious? Why did the thought of Liam passing me over make my heart hurt?
“Did you like the house last night?” she asked.
I was grateful for the slight change in subject. “The party wasn’t my thing.”
“I didn’t ask about the party. I said, did you like the house? Would you want to live in a house like that?” When I didn’t answer her right away, she continued. “It could be all yours, Mrs. Future Collier for the low, low price of marrying a rock star.” She bit her lip and wiggled her eyebrows.
The image hit me like a freight train. Me in a white dress, walking down the aisle toward Liam Collier, his eyes shining with love. Holy moly, but my imagination was working overtime, and in all the worst possible directions. “Don’t be ridiculous. I only talked to him one time, and now you’re marrying me off to him?”
As much as I’d found Liam Collier attractive last night and couldn’t stop the ridiculous fantasies I kept having about him, I could never date anyone like him. Seeing him surrounded by all those gorgeous women, I’d always feel like the ugly duckling in comparison. The most I would allow myself was the pleasure of checking out his hard body next time I saw him—every time I saw him—but that was it. He could not, would not get into my pants. That would be a recipe for disaster.
“He barely talked to anyone else last night. Only you. I watched him after you left. Like a hawk.” She played a zippy sound on her E string like a bird taking flight. “You were the only person he had an actual conversation with.”
“Pfft. That’s absurd,” I said, though my heart suddenly skipped a beat at the thought. Was I really the only person he talked to for any reasonable amount of time? “Why would he have any interest in the geeky cello player?”
“Hey.” She pointed her bow at me. “Geeks rule the world. Never be ashamed of that.”
“I’m not ashamed, but this is all in your overactive imagination.”
“Well, I have to imagine him with someone, if not me. He didn’t even so much as glance my way,” Rosemary said with a shrug. “Trust me, I tried my flirty eyes.”
“Your flirty eyes work on everyone.”
“Not Liam Collier.” She blew out an exasperated puff of air.
I took a breath and let it out slowly. “Now, can we get through this song at least once? We still have another one, and—”
“He’s hot for you.” A slow smile uncurled on her lips. “I saw it, Abby. All over his face. And his body. A man acts different when he’s trying to impress a girl. Tucker picked up on it, too. That’s why he bolted.”
“Um…” I plucked a flyaway horse hair from my bow. “He bolted because I threatened to kick his testicles if he didn’t stop with the Asian jokes.” Holding the bridge in place, I tightened my strings, one by one. “I can’t believe he’s the drummer. God, how embarrassing.”
Rosemary pressed her forehead against her violin and laughed that silent laugh I loved where her shoulders shook but no sound came out. “God, what I would’ve given to be there at that moment instead of stuffing my face with crab cakes.”
“You snooze, you lose. You know me, always full of surprises.” I smirked, because I was, of course, the complete opposite of spontaneous. I tuned my strings, and together we warmed up with fifths starting with C-G on open strings then octave C-C, then fourths.
In a few hours, we’d be leaving for San Francisco, so I wanted to get in at least one more hour of practice time, even if it was just in the hotel room. Once we arrived tonight, we’d be playing the first show, and I hadn’t completely learned all of Save Me Tonight yet. Not that there was anything challenging about playing quarter notes for sixteen measures at a time.
“I will say one thing, though…” I said, opening the sheet music.
“Yes?”
“No one,” I stressed, “has the right to smell as good as he did.”
Swirling stars sprang out in Rosemary’s golden eyes. “Did he really?”
“Oh, yeah. He smelled like…” I closed my eyes and imagined lying next to Liam’s naked body. I bet there were more tattoos where the one on his arm came from. In this fantasy, he smelled like fresh sweat mixed with ocean breezes mixed with…
“Go on…”
“Almonds, or lemon, or I don’t know. But it was delicious. Fucking delicious.”
“Fucking delicious?” Rosemary gasped. “Abby, I do not believe I have ever heard you use that word in all our Juilliard years. What has gotten into you?”
Nothing yet. “Well, when you fully expect someone to smell like an ashtray, but instead, they smell like manly heaven, it’ll linger on your brain for a day or two.” I chuckled.
Rosemary snorted a laugh. “So you do find him attractive. Abby! Your pheromones are talking! I love it!”
“Hmm, maybe they are.” I suppressed a smile. “But that doesn’t mean he’s hot for me. He was just being sweet, I think, because of Tucker. It was probably all an act,” I said, thinking there was no way a man with all those women surrounding him would come talk to me unless it was to help out. “He was really very gallant. More than I would have expected.”
“Then he’s probably interested in you.”
“Rose, he was only being polite. We’re new, we’re not part of his regular crew, you know. I’m sure, given some time, he’ll start acting like the self-absorbed lead singer he probably is.” That was exactly why I could not allow myself to entertain Rosemary’s delusions. I did not, not now, not ever, want to be a part of the rocker lifestyle.
“Well, according to everything I’ve read, he is quite a player. He’s been linked to everyone from Brianne Campbell to Reese Newfound to Giselle Vici,” Rosemary said. “But that’s to be expected. Women th
rowing themselves at his feet all the time comes with the territory, I guess.”
“I suppose.”
Thinking once again of all the topless women in the pool last night, my stomach sank like a brick in water. Not like I realistically expected him to ever like me. He was the lead singer of the hottest rock band in the world, for Christ’s sake. A guy who had every right to sow his wild oats, whatever that meant. I was no one to stop him.
“This is all moot anyway.” I plucked out the first line of the song pizzicato.
“Why’s that?”
“Because I just came out of a four-year relationship, Rose. With a guy who wanted to manage me like one of his accounts. I wouldn’t want to jump into another one so soon. Also, once the tour is over, I’m auditioning—”
“For the New York Philharmonic. Yes, yes, you’ve only said it like fifty-five times.”
“Sorry, but when you have debts to repay your mother like I do…”
The thought lingered in the air while we played the first half of the song. We were in perfect sync, as usual—the reason why Rosemary and I often played wedding gigs together for side money. We were definitely the treble and bass clef duo of choice at most Long Island and Westchester County weddings.
Apparently, Rosemary wasn’t happy with my reason to pursue the NY Philharmonic, because she huffed and said, “But, Abby, your mother not making it to Principal Cello wasn’t your fault. She got pregnant. You were only a baby. I’m sure she was happy to take care of you. Personally, I’d prefer raising a baby over having all that pressure hanging over my head.”
“You don’t know my mom,” I said. “I know her need to quit wasn’t my fault. It was my dad’s, for disappearing when she needed him most. Anyway, doesn’t matter. I want this for myself more than for her. Though, wouldn’t it be really lovely to tell her I made it?”
