No Quarter (NOLA's Own #2) (20 page)

“Mmhmm,” I replied with a smirk. “It’s nice to have some eye-candy.”

Lying back on his bed, looking at the sparkles in the ceiling, we heard the honk of the cab in the driveway.

Phil turned his face toward me and gave me dimples. “I think this is gonna be fun.”

The cab driver pulled all the way up to the door as Phil had instructed.

After hearing the total, he handed the guy cash. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks, man!”

Phil grabbed my hand. “I don’t know what kind of crowd this is, so don’t go wanderin’ off without me, okay?”

“What do you mean? It’s the same crowd here every—”

“I mean, chances are, these people will know who I am, and I don’t want anythin’ to happen to you, all right? Let’s try not to get separated.”

“All right.”

I noticed two bouncers were waiting outside the taxi, trying to appear nonchalant. There was quite a line wrapped around the front of the building, tailing into the dinky parking lot.

My eyebrows rose. “Oh.”

Phil chuckled. “Yeah, oh.”

He opened the door and whisked me out of the car. Music was beating itself out of the building while the bouncers flanked us, trying not to allow the line to see who was being ushered to the front door. The thing was, Phil kind of stuck out like a sore thumb, towering over even the security detail.

“Oh my God!
It’s Phil Deveraux
!”
I heard someone shout.

“NOLA’s Junk fuckin’ rules!”

“Phil! Oh my God! Can I have your autograph?”

“Holy shit!
Phil Deveraux
!”

“Hey, guys!” Phil’s voice boomed out. He waved to the line of people, quickly dragging me to the door and shoving me in before him. “If anythin’ happens, she comes first, got it?” he told the bouncers.

“Yes, sir,” both of the bouncers replied.

“Seriously, Phil!” I scoffed.

We didn’t head to the ground floor area but turned left into a narrow stairwell leading up to the VIP section on the upper level. There was an unimpeded view of the stage, and it was where the bands and a few of their people would sit to watch and wait their turn. I’d never been up here. I’d only glanced up on occasion to see Louisiana’s up-and-coming rockers lean themselves on the railing, drinking beers and checking out the talent.

Another narrow stairwell was on the opposite side of the VIP terrace from where we’d entered. Turning left led to the four VIP bathrooms, and turning right led down to the back porch overhanging on the bayou. That was where—one night, six years ago—a few hours spent in each other’s company had changed Phil and me forever.

“Holy shit!” cried a man’s voice. “Phil
Deveraux
?”

Phil turned his head and smiled, squeezing my hand.

Is he nervous? Was this a bad idea? Should we go?

I recognized the guy who had called out. It was the singer for Devil’s Advocate, the band scheduled to headline tonight. I liked them a lot. They had a great sound, and they got involved with their fans and the crowd. It was never a bad show when they played.

“Sweet!” I said, tugging on Phil’s hand. “That guy is Andy, and he’s got a hell of a voice.” Quickly, I told him about the band.

Phil leaned in to listen to me, holding his hand up to stop everyone from coming up and interrupting me.

Wow. That was kind of hot.

Smiling, he brushed his mouth over mine. “I can’t wait to see what they can do. I’m sure if you like them, then I’ll be impressed.”

He turned back to Andy and held out his hand. “You’re Andy then?”

Andy looked ready to faint with happiness. “You’ve heard of us?”

“No, but my Baby Girl says you guys are great. Can’t wait to hear what you have lined up.”

Andy’s eyes moved over to me. “Baby Girl?”

“Yep, and she’s dyin’ for a beer—” said Phil.

“And a Jäger,” I stated, smiling at Andy.

“And a Jäger, so we’ll talk in a bit, yeah?” said Phil.

“Oh, fuck yes!” said Andy.

Pulling me over to the bar, Phil ordered two bottles of beer and two shots. He handed me my shot first and clinked his against mine. “To a lifetime of Fridays together.”

I let out a giggle to which he cocked an eyebrow before busting out into a dimpled grin. We took our shots, grimacing together, and sucked down a healthy amount of beer to chase it.

“Fuck, Kenna, you just
had
to be a dude on the inside, didn’t you? You couldn’t be some girlie-girl who likes lemon drops or some sort of fruity shit?”

Laughing, I replied, “You got a problem with my inner dude,
dude
?”

Roughly, he pulled me into his chest and growled in my ear, “I fuckin’ love your inner dude. I’m gonna go all
fabulous
later and violate the fuck outta him.”

“Awesome. I’ll bring the lube,” I said.

He nipped at my neck. “Yeah, I think tonight’s the night,” he murmured. He grabbed my ass, pulling me harder into him.

I was already planning on it, dude.
“I’ll think about it.”

“I’ve been thinkin’ about it for a while.”

“Have you now?”

“Mmhmm,” he replied, his eyes heating up and making my lady parts tingle. “Have you?”

“Maybe a little more than I’d care to admit,” I replied.

I could swear, his eyes went black with his desire. His hand slipped into my back pocket, and he squeezed my ass hard.

“I fuckin’ want it.”

“I’ll—”

“Give it to me, I know.”

“Ass!”

“Yeah,
your
ass. With my dick in it. Fuck, I’m chubbin’ just talkin’ about it.”

I bit my lip to keep from giggling again, and his head ducked down to suck my bottom lip into his mouth, biting it for me.

“You’re fuckin’ sexy as all fuck, you know that?” he said softly.

“Even when I let my inner dude out?”

He grinned. “
Especially
when you let him out. I love that guy. He’s a trip. Does he want another shot?”

“Sure.”

The second one went down much easier than the first. I was feeling extremely warm and mellow while I was pretty sure Phil needed a few more to get a buzz going.

“You got some fans who are dying to talk to you,” I told him, catching sight of Andy and some of the others longingly eyeing us.

“Yeah, but I’m here with you, Kenna. They should respect that.”

“They are, so go put them out of their misery, and let’s talk to them.”

“Will you give me your ass later?”

The bartender totally heard that, and I busted him sucking in his cheeks to keep from laughing. I winked at him, which made Phil turn and glare, and the poor bartender ducked beneath the counter.

“It’s a strong possibility,” I replied.

“Oy! You totally winked at him!”

“And you totally gave him the image of you in my ass later, so who’s flirting with whom now?”

Phil’s jaw went slack. “Fuck it.”

“That’s the impression my ass
and
the bartender got.”

His eyes crossed, and I burst out laughing.

“Come on,” he said, his lips twitching.

Grabbing my hand, we headed over to the table where Devil’s Advocate sat.

The guys jumped to their feet to shake hands with one of their idols, and I couldn’t help but get caught up in their excitement. Over the last few weeks, I’d gotten to know Phil Deveraux the Man instead of the untouchable legendary rock god. I had almost forgotten that, to so many, he was the face of an entire music genre, the voice that inspired the passion and devotion of multitudes. For these guys who were in a decent local band, he was also their hero.

Watching him smile, seeing him genuinely happy to be meeting his fans and taking the time to speak with and listen to them, was fantastic. He knew what it was like, being in their shoes. He never forgot how hard NOLA’s Junk had worked to get to where they were today. He was no more and no less a fan, just like everyone else here.

For that alone, I fell even more in love with him.

Involuntarily, I squeezed his hand, the emotion in me welling up, needing to release in some way. I didn’t mean to interrupt him, but he stopped talking to a starstruck Andy and turned to face me.

Something must have shown in my eyes, on my face, because his eyes widened slightly. He didn’t have to ask me. He simply
knew
what had just happened inside me, and the look that crossed his face was so profound, so fierce with pride, that it stole the breath from my lungs.

In front of everyone, he reached up and cradled my face, smiling down into my eyes.

“Damn, Kenna,” he whispered. He pressed a sweet kiss to my mouth.

“Um…do you need another beer?” I asked, breathless.

Knowing I was trying to cover the awkwardness I felt, he smiled. “Sure.”

Grabbing his now empty bottle, I headed back to the bar and ordered two more beers. The bartender gave me a cheeky smile, and I couldn’t help but laugh.

“So, you’re the infamous Baby Girl?” he asked.

“So I’ve been told. How much?”

He shook his head. “There’s no charge.”

“Sure there is. I’ve been coming here for years. I’ve always had to pay for my beer.”

He leaned his elbows on the bar top. “Yeah, but no one knew you were the owner’s Baby Girl then.”

“Come again?”

The bartender smiled, and it was a nice smile, too.
Very sexy.
“Phil Deveraux owns this place. He has for the last five years.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“He harassed the old owner for about a year to get him to sell, too. You didn’t know?”

I looked over my shoulder and found Phil watching me covertly behind hooded eyes. I cocked an eyebrow at him, and he cocked one right back at me.

Fucker
.

Turning to face the bartender again, I said, “Give me a shot, too.”

He flashed his pearly whites at me. “Sure thing.”

Shot of Jäger ingested, I headed back over to the knot of people surrounding Phil, holding his beer aloft over some heads. Instead of the bottle, he latched on to my wrist.

“You people need to move your asses out of the way. I don’t like it when my woman can’t access me.”

Bodies parted, and eyes turned toward me in awe.

Seriously, I’m just his girlfriend. Sure, there might be some songs written about me, but still…I’m just his girlfriend.

He pulled me toward him, holding me so that my back pressed to his front, his arm anchoring me at my waist. “Everyone, this is my Baby Girl. Kenna, this is…” And he pointed out Thom, the guitarist; Mojave, the bassist—I didn’t think that was his real name unless he had been conceived in the desert—and Will, the drummer.

Behind Thom, I noticed a really pretty, laid-back-looking chick. She wasn’t dressed like the other women up here, who were in tight short skirts and heels, but rather more like myself, with baggy jeans and a Devil’s Advocate T-shirt. She had her straight thick black hair down and cut in chunky layers that looked fantastic. I gave her a chin tilt in greeting, and she smiled sweetly in return.

Andy turned a worshipful gaze on me, which I found really bizarre. “Whoa, man. What’s it like being with this guy? I mean, you hang out with him on a regular basis!”

Phil’s chest was vibrating, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was.
Yeah, we just hang out, you know, on a regular basis.

Holy shit. I spend most of my free time banging Phil fucking Deveraux.

“Honestly”—I gave Andy a conspiratorial eye—“it’s fucking awesome. And I’ll tell you why. It’s because, underneath all this, he’s just a down-to-earth regular guy.”

“Seriously?”

“I know, right?”

Phil released laughter.

On the first level, the lights went down, and there were some loud whoops and cheers coming from the gathered crowd.

“Who’s up now?” I asked Andy.

“Space Monkeys,” he replied.

Turning to Phil, I excitedly told him, “These guys are brilliant! I want to see them—”

He immediately pushed us through the gathered throng and steered me to the railing, standing next to me rather than behind in a possessive manner. I appreciated that. Everyone here knew I was his. He had made that perfectly clear.

The Space Monkeys had a groovy, trippy rock sound that I found unique. I could tell they were classically trained musicians and loved to push the boundaries of the sound they produced. The first time I had seen them, I had gone and bought their demo, and I’d listened to it at least once a day until I knew it by heart.

Phil seemed quite impressed with them, too.

“These guys aren’t contracted yet?” he asked me between songs.

“I don’t think so. I have their demo in my car if you want to listen to it.”

“I think I’m just gonna go buy one,” he told me before kissing my head. “I’ll be right back.”

“All right,” I replied.

“Hey.” I heard a woman’s voice to my right.

I turned to see the pretty black-haired chick. “Hey,” I said with a smile.

“I’m Siggie,” she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

Taking it, I replied, “Kenna.”

“So, I guess Baby Girl isn’t on your birth certificate,” she joked.

“Nope,” I replied, laughing. “So, you’re with Devil’s then?”

“I guess I’m their manager. And their promoter. And their driver,” she said. “Oh, and Thom’s girlfriend.”