He didn’t even look up. “I’ll deactivate it and get you a new one. Be a bit more careful with this one.”
“Yes, sir.” I thought about adding a salute but decided not to ruffle him.
I signed a form and got the new key.
“Hey, why wouldn’t the other guy do this?” I asked. “He was a complete jerk over it.”
The clerk just shrugged. But really, I should put in a report to the hotel management. He’d caused major problems. Well, maybe not so major, and maybe not so problematic, either.
In the elevator on the way back up, Fartstard gave me the once-over.
“So, you and Damo?”
“So?” I raised my eyebrows.
“So?”
There was no way I was going to pour out my heart to Fartstard. I had no idea what was going on, myself. All I knew was that it’d been good. Beyond good. Beyond amazing. Beyond anything I’d even dreamed was possible. But I had no idea what Damo was thinking. Maybe he’d just wanted a one-night stand. He didn’t seem the type, and he definitely didn’t seem the type to do it with someone from the tour, but who knew with men? Sometimes, the morning after, they could be like completely different people.
When we got upstairs, I realized I couldn’t get back into Damo’s room, not without knocking on the door and waking him up. Shit, I hadn’t thought of that in my rush to leave.
I went back to my room and took a shower before heading back to bed. When I woke up, I’d go talk to Damo, no matter how awkward it was.
Chapter 19: Damo
When I woke up, Polly was gone. What the hell? She’d snuck out in the night. Obviously, she’d had second thoughts.
I ran my hand through my hair. If she wanted to be like that, it was probably for the best. We weren’t compatible; that much was facts. Even so, I reached out and grabbed the pillow she’d slept on and hugged it to me, her scent still strong on it.
I’d told her we should go slow. That’d nearly killed me, but I didn’t want to rush her. I didn’t want to rush myself, either. I needed to think this whole situation through. If we hadn’t been touring together, it would have been fine, but we’d be forced into close proximity over the next few months. If this thing didn’t work out, my life would be hell, and I wasn’t cut out for stress and tension. Maybe I should’ve explained that I didn’t want to go that slow. Hell, I had no idea what I wanted.
I couldn’t get back to sleep.
Screw it. I showered and dressed, then decided to head out to that cafe I’d been to with Fartstard. I needed coffee, not the shit over-brewed stuff you got at the hotel, but decent coffee. Some bacon would be mighty fine too, since I’d only had that crappy sandwich last night.
As I left my room, I ran into Elijah.
“Morning,” he said with a knowing smile.
What was that smile about?
“I’m going to get breakfast from that cafe down the street,” I told him.
“I’d be into that. I’m getting a little bored with the same thing that’s on offer here every day.”
“Don’t you ever sleep?” I asked him.
He never ceased to amaze me with his scanty sleep schedule. His lack of hangovers despite his heavy drinking was almost insulting, too. And to be honest, for a dude who’d been out partying all night, he looked pretty good.
“Plenty of time to sleep when you’re dead,” he said. “Actually, my plan was to hit the breakfast buffet before it finishes, then come back and have a nap.”
We left the hotel and walked to the cafe. It surprised me that the streets were buzzing with so many people. It felt like early morning to me, even though it must’ve been about lunchtime.
“So, what did you do last night?” he asked.
“I got the lyrics written for the new song. I’m pretty happy with it, too. I’ll play it for you during sound check tomorrow.”
“Is that all?” he said.
God, he knew. He wouldn’t be smirking like that if he didn’t know. I’d hoped to keep this Polly thing—if there even was a Polly thing—quiet for a while. Hell, I almost blushed. Why should I even care? What I did in my own time was my business, and that was business I didn’t want to discuss with Elijah. Despite his knowing gaze, he couldn’t know what had happened last night.
“Should there be something else?” I asked.
“Dude, we all saw Polly leave your room last night. Well, this morning.”
Fuuuuuck.
“She lost her key, and the desk clerk wouldn’t give her a replacement. I let her crash in my room.”
“Yeah, she said. She wanted Fartstard to sort it for her.”
“Is that all?”
Elijah could stop smirking. He seemed awfully amused. I pretended to be interested in something in a shop window to avoid his gaze.
“What else would there be?” I asked.
“She didn’t look like she’d just crashed. She had the look of a woman who’d been kissed. A lot. Trust me, I can pick that look. Bruised lips, smeared lipstick. It doesn’t take a genius in deductive reasoning.”
I raised my eyebrows. If I told Elijah even a word, this would be all over the tour. Polly and I would be lumped together as a couple before we even got a chance to work out our feelings. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want to be forced into a corner.
The cafe wasn’t too busy when we walked in. We got a table near the counter.
“How was the party last night?” I asked Elijah after we were seated.
He sighed. “Going out with a bunch of guys is the worst. Especially musos. You think it’s going to be all strippers and hook-ups. You know what the reality ends up being? A bunch of musos sitting around talking about their music. I’d have done better on my own.”
“It’d do you good to have a night off,” I said.
The waitress came over to take our order. She fluttered her eyelashes at Elijah.
“You’re The Freaks, right? I went to your show the other night.”
She wrote something on her pad, then slipped it to Elijah. Her phone number, no doubt. I had to give it to the guy: he never even had to work at it. I hated that flirty shit, but he ate it up.
Then I remembered what Polly had said about how she hung out with her fans. I could make a little bit of an effort instead of having this constant barrier between me and them.
“Did you enjoy the show?” I asked her.
“Sure. It was great.”
I tried to think of something to say to keep the conversation going, but there was nothing. What else did people say?
“What are the specials today?”
I guessed that couldn’t really be classed as making conversation, not when she was a waitress. She reeled off a bunch of stuff, but I stuck to the bacon and eggs.
“You trying to cut my grass?” Elijah said when the girl had moved off. “Isn’t Polly enough for you?”
“I’m just being friendly,” I said.
“Since when?”
The grind of coffee beans interrupted our conversation. The smell of those beans made up for the annoying noise. I couldn’t wait for my coffee.
“Do you ever think about fans as real people?” I asked him. “Not just as fans, and not as groupies, but as people you could hang out with?”
“Mostly as groupies. I mean, I don’t meet any other kinds of fans. I’m sure there are plenty of regular people who enjoy the show, then go home to their husband and kids, or their boyfriend or whatever. But you never meet them because they’re too busy with their real lives. We’re just a temporary break.”
I picked up the salt shaker and turned it in my hand. “Polly makes friends with people. She goes out drinking with them.”
Elijah grabbed the shaker from me.
“You are never going to be that person, Damo, and you know it. If you have to make an effort to do that kind of thing, then it’s not natural. You’re an ivory tower kind of guy. You hate people. You hate making conversation. You like being locked up with your own thoughts and your
own... whatever it is you do. You’re a guitar person, not a people person.”
“Still, it might be good for me. I’d connect more with the audience.”
Elijah laughed. “Try it. Who knows?”
The grin on this face annoyed me.
“Stop it. Stop that grin,” I said. “What’s that for, anyway?”
“It didn’t take long. Polly says this. Polly says that.” He took a sip of water.
“Shut your mouth. It’s not like that. I’ve always been open to new ideas.”
Elijah spat the water across the table.
“What?” I asked. His reaction was stupidly over the top.
“Open! Open? You are the most closed-off guy I’ve ever met in my life.”
Before I could put him right, the waitress came back. Elijah sprawled back in his chair, watching her. He picked up the slip of paper and then looked at her.
“Say, Nina, what time do you get off work? I need someone to show me this beautiful city of yours.”
She beamed back at him. “I finish up in an hour.”
“I’ll be waiting for you,” he said.
Elijah could stand being a bit less open.
Idiot. No one was more open than me. It wasn’t like Polly had any effect on me at all. Elijah just liked being a prick, that was all.
Chapter 20: Polly
I knocked on Damo’s door. No answer. Had he gone out, or was he ignoring me? It was hard to know with him.
I went back to my room. Maybe I should write a note and slip it under his door, but what would I say? If he wanted to talk, he knew where I was.
A day off. I hadn’t planned to do anything. Sleeping seemed better than anything else, so I flopped back on the bed. Maybe I could clean up my room a little, though. I started gathering up all the clothes off the floor. It was stupid to leave them there. I had to walk all over them to get to the bathroom, and they got even filthier. It wasn’t like there was anywhere to easily wash them around here, either.
I folded the t-shirts into a neatish pile, then stacked them in the wardrobe. I had a bunch of dresses, mostly for onstage wear. I hung them up. Even if it was only for a few more days, at least they looked neat.
I put my boots in the bottom of the wardrobe and all my dirty underwear into a laundry bag. That bag was fuller than I liked. If I got stuff washed at the hotel, it’d be like a hundred bucks for one dress. Damn it. Maybe I needed to find a laundromat, but I couldn’t check Google Maps because my phone was in my jacket pocket in Damo’s room. So was my wallet. I hoped that guy got back soon.
I went to check again, and as I opened my door, he was getting out of the elevator.
“Polly?”
My pulse raced and I wanted to run to him, but I held back. If he pushed me away or made polite excuses, I’d die inside. I hated how much that mattered to me. It’d only been one night.
“Hey, I need to get my coat from your room.”
He looked like he wanted to say something but then thought better of it.
“So, everyone saw you leaving my room,” he said.
He ran his hand through his hair. I didn’t think he liked that idea.
“Sorry. I wanted to get the key thing sorted out, and I didn’t think...”
Was he shitty about that? I guessed he didn’t want people knowing about me, but I hadn’t been able to help it. I couldn’t stay locked out of my room forever.
“Yeah, you needed your key.” He smiled.
I grabbed my jacket, then checked my pockets. Phone and wallet still there. I didn’t want to look like I was lingering, not if I wasn’t welcome, but I didn’t want to rush off, either.
Damo busied himself with tidying the room, although it didn’t really need it. He didn’t look at me.
“I guess I should leave you to it,” I said finally. I couldn’t just linger forever.
He turned but still didn’t meet my eyes.
“Do you want to go out and do stuff?” he said. “Sightseeing or something like that?”
The hesitancy in his voice was totally out of character. Maybe he cared, just a little bit.
“Actually, this might sound stupid, but I really need to find a laundry.”
God, had I just blurted that out? I sounded lame as fuck. Who in the world suggests doing laundry when a famous rock star asks them out for the day? Yep. Me.
He grinned. “Romantic.”
“I can leave it. Sightseeing also sounds good.”
His grin broadened, and I couldn’t help but grin back.
“No. Laundry it is. I have some stuff that needs washing too.” He picked up his phone. “There’s a place nearby.”
I grabbed my stuff, and we walked the few blocks. It was only when I was loading the machine that I realized this was insanely intimate. My underwear was in that machine, mingling with his. Sex was one thing, but mixing our underwear together—that was such a couple thing.
I perched myself on the worn table and picked up a magazine. Then I realized it was all in German. I couldn’t understand a word. I flicked through, looking at the pictures.
Damo got two drinks out of the vending machine and handed me one.
“This is the rock dream, right?” he said. “Did you ever imagine that, when you started a band, you’d end up in a coin laundry in Berlin drinking some mystery drink from a machine?”
I didn’t want to say it, but I’d never imagined I’d end up in a laundry with someone like him. I’d never imagined kissing someone like him or hooking up, either. And I sure as hell had never imagined chatting with him like this the next morning.
“Hey, it could be worse. I could be in a laundry alone, having never left my home town,” I said.
“That’s true.” He raised his can to me.
“Even rock stars need clean underwear, I guess. Although I couldn’t imagine David Bowie in a coin laundry. Or Elvis.”
I laughed. “You’d shit yourself, right? Walking into a laundry and Elvis was standing there, waiting for his clothes to dry.”
“I guess he had people to do it for him.”
“That’s okay for him. And for you. You could send Fartstard out to do your laundry. I’m not trusting that guy with my dirty panties, though.” I shuddered at the thought.
“Good point. Actually, I don’t think I’d trust him with my dirty underwear, either. He’s a bit of a freak.”
We both laughed. It was so easy, being with him like this.
I gave him the side-eye. “I had a good time last night,” I said, my stomach lurching.
I hated admitting that kind of thing. I didn’t like showing my hand.
“Me too,” he said.
Thank goodness. I’d have been embarrassed as hell if he hadn’t.
I brushed my hair back from my face. This laundromat was steamy as hell. Not in a good, sexy way, but in a frizzy hair kind of way.
“Miles will be unbearable, though,” I said. I didn’t want to drag that whole mess up, but I wanted to warn Damo. “He wasn’t happy when he saw me this morning.”
“Well, it’s none of his business.”
“Exactly, but he doesn’t see it like that. I broke up with him a few weeks before the tour started, and he hasn’t really handled it well.”
“Hence, the shitty onstage antics?”
I nodded. “I don’t know how to handle it. I can’t make my entire life miserable just for the sake of peace in the band, but I can’t deal with the way he is, either.”
Damo grimaced. I’d said too much. He didn’t want to know our issues. He’d made that clear.
“It must be tough. I’d kick him out of the band.”
“But he’s the front man. We can’t just kick him out.”
That was the option I’d pick, but it seemed impossible. I’d played the whole situation out in my head so many times, and there was no solution. It seemed like every day this tour went on, the more impossible he became.
“That might be true, but you’re the one people want to see. You have th
e charisma and the talent.”
I couldn’t look at him. Had Damo actually said that? Was he just being nice? He didn’t seem like he’d say things just to be nice, but then guys would say anything for sex. But, hell, he’d gotten the sex without being nice to me. Did that mean he wanted more sex? Because I was totally up for that.
Still, was I the charismatic one? I had a lot of fans, I knew that, but I figured it was just being a chick in a band. I wasn’t really anything special. Anyway, charisma and talent couldn’t replace a guitarist. I could do the singing. I could even play guitar. I knew the songs on guitar as well as Miles did, but we’d still be one member short.
“It seems impossible, though. In mid-tour. I guess I’ll just have to suck it up,” I said.
Then the machine beeped. I jumped up to put the stuff in the dryer before Damo could get a look at my granny undies. I needed to maintain my sexy image.
Chapter 21: Damo
We left the laundry and went back to the hotel.
“Want to grab some lunch after we drop this off?”
“More like dinner,” she said, checking her watch. “Sure. I’m starving now.”
The two of us headed out, looking for somewhere close by to eat.
“Ah, it’s nice having a day off,” Polly said. “I love playing, but it’s a hectic schedule.”
“True.”
I wanted to grab her hand as we walked, but I wasn’t sure. Holding hands was such a couple thing to do, and maybe she’d hate it. She didn’t look like a holding hands type of person, and I didn’t want to make things awkward. But then she dangled her hand near mine, almost as though she was doing it on purpose, so I could grab hold of it if I wanted to.
Was I regressing into a schoolboy? I could make women faint with my guitar playing, but the thought of reaching for her hand made me come out in a cold sweat. That was ridiculous.
As I reached for it, she scratched her nose. Damn. I’d missed the chance. Why was holding hands so much harder than kissing her or any of those other things I’d done? It seemed like a step toward something. I didn’t want to take that step alone, but I did want to take it.
Guitar Freak (Rock Stars on Tour Book 1) Page 8
