Rock Me Deep

by Nora Flite

  His words startled me. “Yeah, yeah.” My smile was weak, I tried to cover it with a swig from the beer. The fire burned on my wound and made me grimace.

  Colt chuckled, waving his beer in the air. “It can't taste that bad, kid.”

  It tastes fine, I thought silently. Better he think I was making a face over the flavor, though, and not an injury. Settling down on one of the seats behind the pair, but furthest away from Drez, I made myself grin. “You'd think you guys would have better stuff, seeing as you're headlining.”

  “She joined us because she hoped we had fancy beer!” Porter shouted, his false anger quickly vanishing. “I knew it all along.”

  “I wonder if she's even old enough to drink,” Colt teased, looking me up and down. I wasn't, but underage drinking was so common on tours, I didn't expect to have to defend myself. “Either way, she isn't getting it all,” he declared, finishing his bottle to prove a point. “I'll get it first!”

  We all laughed, the tightness in my neck smoothing out. Looking over, I caught Drez wearing a sideways smile. His eyes flicked to mine, holding them a moment. “You should eat something," he said.

  My mouth went dry, the beer forgotten. The word 'eat' from Drez's lips had too many dirty connotations.

  “In fact,” he sighed, shooting a glare at the two men, “You all should. Don't get drunk before dinner, I'm not dealing with that again.”

  Colt rolled his eyes, setting his bottle down loudly. “Shit, you never had to babysit me, Drez. We all know it was Johnny getting sloppy, and he's gone now, so calm down.”

  Drez's silence was stifling. I felt how he studied Colt, watched the drummer wither under that look.

  “Dammit,” Colt said under his breath. “Sorry, didn't mean to bring him up. It isn't some dirty secret or something, though.”

  They all gave me a meaningful look. Clearing my throat, I spoke carefully around my swollen tongue. “Everyone knows about the fight with Johnny. Sort of, anyway. Can I... can I ask what really happened? The stories are pretty wild.” Shark's version of the incident rippled in my memory.

  Drezden sank into his chair, feet kicking up onto the small table. “It's not much of a story. Johnny just fucked up too many times. I wanted him gone, he didn't like that. Not exactly shocking.”

  “He tried to murder Drez with a bottle,” Porter said, pushing his empty one away like it was the actual weapon being discussed.

  Drez made tiny circles with the base of his beer on the table, wet smudges that went round and round as he spoke. “He didn't try to murder me. That's how these shitty rumors start, Porter.”

  The bigger man tilted his chin down. “Sorry. Johnny was pretty pissed, though. I think he would have messed you up if he'd had the chance.”

  I hadn't realized I'd begun leaning forward. Half off my seat, I spoke with unbridled curiosity. “So what actually happened to him?”

  Drez continued to twirl his beer. “He got dragged off by security.”

  “Not before that asshole ripped my gauge, though,” Colt muttered. He pointed to his ear for emphasis.

  “Honestly," Drezden said, "I don't know where the fuck he is now. I don't care, either."

  “You're not worried he'll come back and cause more trouble?” I asked. "If I'd been kicked out of my band, I think I'd be furious."

  The singer lifted his eyes, showing me a hint of the fierce animal living in his head. The beer didn't slow its perfect circles, his voice was a low, dry mutter. “Johnny knows if he ever shows his face to me again, I'll break his fucking jaw.”

  And I believed him. Down to my gut, I didn't think he'd made an idle threat.

  Porter started to say something. A hard, meaningful glare from Drez stopped whatever it was. I had the terrible idea that they knew something and didn't want to tell me.

  “So,” Drez went on. Lifting the beer, ending the endless circles, he took a deep drink. “No. I'm not worried about him.”

  My breath came in, sharp and loud. I'd been so wrapped up in Drezden's words and tangible emotions I'd forgotten that I needed oxygen. A thrill went up my spine, tickling the back of my brain and throat. His passion turned my insides to butter. That worried me.

  Colt broke the serious mood. “About that food. Should we call Brenda, see where we can stop?”

  Yawning, Porter stretched his beefy arms over his head. “As long as it isn't pizza again. I'm so sick of pizza.”

  Drezden pushed his phone to his ear. “We need to stop and refuel soon. I'll tell her we want to stretch our legs and get a bite.” His attention shot to me, and instantly, I squeezed my beer too hard. “What do you want to eat? Any preference?”

  “Uh,” I managed to say. “I don't really care. I'll eat anything.”

  The green in his eyes went wild, a forest that was eager to sweep me up and let me get lost. Whatever flicker of heat between us that was there vanished when he stood, speaking into the phone. “Hey, we're hungry. When's the next stop?” He waited, listening. “No, no more damn pizza. Uh huh. Then pick a place where we can get a private room and not get mobbed. That's what you get paid for.”

  Smiling, I imagined the put-together woman arguing with Drez on the end of the line. I was getting the impression she got frustrated with him a lot.

  I was starting to know the feeling.

  “Yeah, fine. Yes, it's fine! Brenda, just—yeah.” He rolled his gaze to me, thoughtful. “She's fine, we'll be fine. Even better if we can eat something before we all starve. Then you'll have no band at all.” He winked at me, which of all the things so far, set my hair on end the most.

  Is he trying to be friendly? Is it an act?

  Showing us his back, Drez nodded his head as if Brenda could see. “Alright. Sounds good. See you soon.” Shoving the phone in his pocket, he gave us all a tiny shrug. “Private room at some place called the Griffin Bar and Grill. An hour away or so. Best I could do.”

  Colt stood up, making the table and bottles shake. “An actual restaurant? Hell yeah!”

  “Brenda didn't like the idea, did she?” Porter rubbed his nose, matching the amusement on Drez's face.

  The singer just shrugged again, shooting me a look from the corner of his eye. “She never likes my ideas. Hope you're ready. You're about to get a taste of what it means to be famous.”

  If it's anything like being close to you, I thought, smiling like some plastic doll in his direction—a plastic doll full of heat and icy nerves who was barely keeping it together.

  Then it just might kill me.

  - Chapter Five -

  Drezden

  This kid.

  This fucking kid.

  How could one girl throw me for such an endless loop?

  First she blew me away with her talent, then her innocent fucking little smiles and genuine reactions to everything around her. Next, she's dropping notes and sweating herself into a mess like it's her first time performing. And we weren't even on a stage with thousands watching us!

  Rubbing my inner arm, I watched Lola from the corner of my eye. After telling her we'd be stopping to get food, she'd gone off to use the showers on the bus. My lip ticked at the memory of how high her eyebrows had shot up when we'd told her the showers weren't a joke, they really existed.

  Now, the young guitarist was stretched out on one of the long couch style seats. Her hair was ruffled, that wet just-out-of-bed look that made my cock firm up in seconds. The racer-back grey top she'd had on was replaced by a long sleeved black sweater, too thin to bring much warmth, and sleek enough to reveal the swells of her breasts.

  I couldn't break away from eating up her sexy body. Up and down, I scanned her from head to toe, as if I could scribe her image into my mind for later. Like she sensed me, Lola flicked her blue eyes up. They met mine and stayed there.

  I was the first to look away.

  Shit, I thought angrily. I need to get it together, but it's a challenge when this damn woman with legs all the way up to her asshole is inches away from me. Yeah. It's just a
bout sex, that's all.

  Just sex.

  Nothing else.

  On the couch, she absently toyed with her hair. Right away, I thought about how her hands moved like birds through a storm when she played guitar. Lola was fucking good; I had to admit that. Talented... and with a mouth made for kissing.

  I thought about how I'd held her cheeks as I checked out her injury in the back of the bus. She bit the shit out of her tongue, I reminded myself. That was both dumb and disturbing. If I told myself that Lola was messed in the head, would that turn me off?

  No, you're fucked up, too.

  My fingers dug into my knee cap. I wanted to push the image of her wet mouth and wide eyes from my skull. My attempts to stop thinking about Lola were backfiring.

  I'm a smart enough guy to know this is a bad road to go down. The last thing I need is fucking drama because of where I stick my dick. I'd seen bands torn apart because of members fighting with each other. Relationships didn't belong in a band. One bad breakup, and boom.

  The show was over with.

  Literally.

  Porter said something; I missed it, but whatever it was, it made Lola laugh. The sound was like sugar in my mouth. My tongue tingled as I looked back at her, stuck staring at her long throat and sparkling eyes.

  She looked at me again. Once more, I broke my stare. It wasn't that I was nervous, no. I just knew that this thing in me, this fierce hunger that wanted to jump on Lola and taste her moans or her sweet pussy, rose to the surface every time she looked into my eyes.

  This was a dangerous game. I needed to end it.

  “We're here!” Gerald grunted. Our bus driver was a cantankerous man, easily unlikable and often in a sour mood. All I cared about was that he was the most reliable driver I'd ever seen.

  Rocking from my chair, I adjusted the hoodie I'd thrown over my tank-top. I'd left it open, the zipper teeth grating across the thin, white cloth beneath. “Come on, let's get some food.” I needed to dig my teeth into something.

  A hot meal would have to do.

  The air outside was crisp. It was a far cry from the earlier heat in the day, but I was still amazed that the weather had shifted so fast. We were still a day and half out from Colorado, could the warmth flee so easily as the time vanished?

  Craning my neck, I saw the line of cars parking behind us and across the street. The restaurant was about to get slammed by the groupies trailing the tour. I felt a glimmer of pride over knowing we could hide in our private room and avoid most of it.

  “Wow,” a soft voice whispered at my elbow. Lola had come up beside me, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “I'm so used to being near the end of this caravan. Look at all those headlights.” Her attention darted up to me, making me aware of her nearness, how thick her lashes were. “It's kind of intimidating, huh?”

  My heart jabbed into my ribs. Intimidating? No, what's fucking intimidating is how much I need to rely on someone like you to make sure the rest of my shows even happen. That knowledge was making me anxious.

  “If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “You'll piss yourself when we play in front of them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building. I didn't look back to see if my words had hurt Lola. I didn't care. I couldn't fucking care.

  Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.

  I said, “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”

  “It was such short notice,” she groaned, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”

  The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”

  “Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, her heavy-makeup coated lashes swishing at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”

  Something bumped into me. For a second, I'd hoped it was Lola, but no; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security guard. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”

  We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.

  Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. The young guitarist was walking next to Brenda, the two of them speaking with their heads close. My manager had swept her long arm around Lola's sharp shoulder blades like they were old friends.

  If I knew Brenda, she was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people. It was the ease in which they were touching and talking that was making my neck throb.

  My attention stuck on Brenda's nails digging into Lola's side. I wanted to be the one bending my lips near her ear and making her grin. I ached to swallow Lola in my arms and smell her hair, to feel her shiver.

  It took all my strength to rip my eyes away and look ahead.

  The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attached with some pool tables and flat screen TVs. Along one wall was a series of tables that had been pushed end to end.

  Porter dropped into a chair, snagging a menu from the middle. Someone, probably the owner, had placed a bottle of champagne in a bucket for us. The very-pink label winked at me as I got closer.

  I didn't bite back my snort. “Who thought we'd drink this?”

  “It's champagne,” Brenda said, sliding around and freeing Lola from her grasp. She touched the neck of the green bottle. “Fancy champagne, even. I'll keep it if it doesn't get touched.”

  Colt slid the bucket away from her, sitting across from Porter with it in his grasp. “Oh no, I'll take it. It'll make a great dessert.”

  “Or we could all share it," Porter said, snatching the champagne back. He ignored Colt's pout. “We've got an excuse to celebrate.”

  I suppose we do, I thought silently. As a group, we all turned to watch Lola.

  She shifted from one foot to the next. “What, because of me? Come on, don't make me blush.”

  A chunk of me lurched forward at the simple idea of making her cheeks glow pink. It was close to the itch I got for tobacco when things were stressing me out. Striding forward, I pulled the bottle from Porter. In my other hand I snagged an empty champagne flute. “Everyone,” I said, “take a glass.”

  Lola twitched as I approached. “I'm not technically allowed to drink," she said, laughing. "Maybe I should have said that sooner? Before all the beers?” The tilt of her lips at the corners sent electric pricks over my spine. She reacted to me so openly. Was that what was drawing me to her? How she projected her emotions on her lovely face?

  “No one is going to say anything to you, not in this group,” Colt chuckled.

  “Here, take this.” I pushed the glass at Lola until she took hold.

  “Seriously,” she said, sourness dancing on her tongue, “We don't need to do this.”

  With ease, I gripped the bottle. The sound of the cork popping made her flinch. I said, “Yes, we do.” Lifting an eyebrow, daring her to stop me, I filled her glass.

  Like we were in some unbreakable bubble, the rest of the group hovered nearby, not getting too close.

  Staring Lola down, the champagne fizzing in her glass, I waited. I didn't know what I was waiting for.

  “Hey,” Colt said, nudging me and shattering the moment—whatever that moment really was. “Share the stuff, Drez.”

  After I filled their glasses, grabbing one for myself, I abandoned the bottle on the table. There was no need to explain; I lifted my drink, they all copied me.

  Even Lola.

  Looking her dead in the eye, I said my piece. “Cheers to
a new guitarist who won't be found with her cock buried in some random girl in the bathroom while we're supposed to be playing on stage.”

  They all laughed. Well, everyone but Lola. She just looked away, a delicious red heat crawling up her neck. There. That was what I'd wanted.

  Why the fuck did I need that so badly?

  We finished our toast, which seemed to give the two waitresses hovering by the door enough courage to sway the rest of the way inside. The one with long, onyx hair spoke first. “Can we get you boys anything to drink?”

  Brenda's scowl had us all smiling again. “This boy will take a vodka tonic,” she said with false, sugary sweetness.

  Tugging a chair out, I sat towards the end, furthest from Colt and Porter. The way the girls were staring at me was familiar. They knew who I was, they smelled money and fame. Beyond that, they were ogling my chest as it peeked through my open hoodie.

  I said, “I'll take whatever beer is on tap.”

  The scrape of another chair, right across from me, made me look up. Lola settled in with her eyes lowered. I wanted to see into her head, to know what she was thinking. Is she being shy, or is she nervous she'll get carded in spite of what Colt said? I doubted anyone would bother. The restaurant was happy we were here, if they said a peep about Lola not being twenty-one, they risked us leaving.

  They wanted our business more than they feared a single underage drinker in a private room.

  Corruption is a funny thing.

  “I guess I'll have what he's having,” Lola said, glancing up at me, then to the dark haired waitress. She only relaxed when the other woman nodded, scribbling the order down in her tiny notebook.

  The girls moved down the line, talking to the other two men. The chair under me creaked as I leaned towards Lola. “I figured Brenda had done her research, making sure you could legally sign that contract, but please tell me you're not secretly a preschooler," I teased.

  “I'm nineteen,” she laughed, pure blue eyes landing on my greens. Then, like water on oil, she her eyes back to the menu on the table. “I'll be twenty in four months.”

  Nineteen. She's getting her break pretty early. I was twenty-one now, but I was only seventeen when I'd started foraying into the music world seriously. A chance meeting at eighteen had been the start of my rise to fame.