Rock Me Deep (16 page)

I'd love to watch you from the crowd, too.
“Barbed Fire is opening tonight. He should be able to see you from backstage if he hangs around.” The thought was a squirming maggot in my belly. Though Lola and Brenda had done their best to convince me that Sean Cooper held no resentment for me, I didn't want to see him up close.

The guy was as unwelcome in my presence as Johnny would be.

Rubber scuffed on wood; the toe of her converse sneaker digging into the floor. “Lot of pressure on me tonight. He'll be watching to make sure I don't make a mistake.”

Crinkling my nose, I tilted my head. “If it'd help, I can make sure he
isn't
backstage.”

Cold distress filled her voice. “No no! I want him there. I just meant, you know, it's a big deal. Performing tonight is... fuck.” She clasped the side of her throat. “It means everything to me.”

My chest ached with a yearning to pull her against me. Not so long ago, I'd have said the same thing she just had. Lola's existence, the way she'd come crashing into my life, had changed things.
The music doesn't mean everything to me. She does, now.

I wanted to take her away and hide her from the world. I didn't want the crowd to see her like I did; talented, astounding... perfect.

Had I always been so greedy?

“Can I ask you something?” At my quick nod, she pushed on. “Did any of your family come to your first show?”

I hadn't expected that question. “My mother did,” I said softly. “She came to all of them for a while.”
And if that bastard hadn't hurt her, maybe she could still—no.
I had no intention of cutting my heart open here. Being vulnerable had its time and place. “Are you asking because you want to have your parents here? I'm sure Brenda could find a way to fly them out by tonight, if we tell her right now.”

Lola was shaking her head before I'd finished. “Don't worry about it. They wouldn't want—” Closing her mouth, she stopped herself.

“What?” Hunching closer brought us to eye level. “They wouldn't want to what?”

Her eyes became frosted glass. “They wouldn't want to fly. They hate airplanes, that's all. Can we go to the hotel? I'd like to clean up.”

The change of subject wasn't lost on me. Lola was hiding something. “Sure. Follow me.” Straightening, I led her back down the hall. It was a silent walk; heavy dread hung off of Lola like thick lace.
What's wrong with her?

My plan had been to cheer the girl up by showing her the stage.

Now, glancing at her as we broke into the early daylight, I had the feeling I'd lifted her up just to drag her back down.

I just wished I knew what I'd done.

****

W
e rode in a simple black car, tinted windows hiding us from the world. I'd even slid on a pair of shades to help protect my identity. It was a fast trip, the Ramada was right up the street.

Lola said nothing as we drove, her hands wrapped on her guitar case and bag. Each tap of her nail on the solid wood sent ripples up my neck.
She's miserable, and I just want to nibble her pouting lower lip.
Wiping my mouth didn't remove the thought.

Our car slowed in front of the hotel entrance. Sensing a chance to escape the claustrophobic depressing bubble, I kicked my door open—the driver slammed his brakes. Lola jerked against her seat belt, eyeing me like I'd lost my mind.

Grinning, I said, “Come on, let's see how expensive our rooms are.”

Her tiny smile was encouraging. “I don't remember the last time I even slept in a hotel.”

“You traveled with your brother,” I said, reaching my hand out to help her from the car. “Where did you sleep when you were on the road?”

Her laugh was sharp and short. “Bus seats are comfortable enough in a pinch.”

I started to chuckle—the sensation of her fingers wrapping in mine stopped me. A river of energy flowed from her hot skin into mine. I'd meant to steady her next to the car, but instead, we both stumbled.

Lola's face came close to mine; I could see the tiny diamonds in her blue irises, fragments that broke up the rich color. My lips were magnetized to hers, and it was only thanks to the driver coming around, trying to yank my bag and be 'helpful' that I was stopped from tasting her.

"Here you go," the guy said, beaming up at me.

My fierce glare made him drop my bag; I caught it before it hit the pavement. "Thanks," I mumbled, "But I can take it from here."

Lola exhaled, it came out in a great whistle that she had no control over. Her cheeks were glowing. When she spun to face the hotel, I suspected she was trying to hide her reaction from me. "This place is gigantic," she said.

Her comment made me scan the building again. I'd grown so used to staying in a hotel that they all blurred together now. Unlike Lola, I'd never had to crash on a bus seat. When I'd started Four and a Half Headstones, we'd gone from driving our cars to local shows, to getting picked up by an agent in a mere few months.

Realizing how blessed I'd been was a cold eye opener.

I would never call myself entitled, but what would I do if Brenda ever suggested we sleep on a hard bus seat?
And Lola's been doing that for... I don't even know how long.

Strolling up to the front desk of the Ramada, I fought with a drilling sensation of guilt. This honest woman had, unintentionally, made me reevaluate my privilege. I was torn between appreciating that... and hating it.

Lola stood beside me, her head level with my shoulder. From the tip of her nose to the curve of her mouth, she was beautiful. Like she felt me weighing her worth, Lola peeked upwards.

Those fucking eyes reassured me of one thing: A similarity existed between us. The ancient pain boiling in her eyes reflected my own. I didn't need details to recognize her scars—but I still wanted them. I needed to understand Lola Cooper.

“Can I help you?”

Turning, I smiled at the woman behind the counter. She was cute, though exhaustion and a too-tight hair bun were doing her no favors. Digging out my keycard, I flashed it like it was money. “You can, in fact, help us. We have rooms here. I'm—”

“Drezden Halifax,” she blurted, fingers covering her mouth. I smirked at her struggling to find the line between being a fan and acting professional. “Right! Your room is on the seventh floor. If you have your card, you can go right up.” Gesturing at the elevator, her cheeks went pink. It was endearing, but Lola's blush was far more enticing. “Um, do you need help with your luggage? I can—I mean, someone can—”

Waving my hand, I gripped my bag. “Thanks, but I think we can handle these.” Facing my companion, a wave of surprise careened along my spine. Lola's elegant fingers were crushing the handle of her guitar case, turning them the color of ivory. Every line in her forehead told me a story.

Jealousy.

Lola was
jealous.

That fact pleased me so much, I could have hugged her right there. I'd sensed it the other night when we were at the Griffin, too; how she'd fidgeted over my flirting with the waitress, a girl whose name I'd already forgotten.

Standing tall, I slathered my best smile onto the girl behind the front desk. Her hazel eyes were glazed over. “Actually,"I said, "I
could
use help with something.” I squinted at her name tag. “Amy. If it isn't too much?”

“Of course not!” Beaming wide, she smoothed her already too-smooth scalp. “Just ask! I'd
love
to be of assistance.”

I pointed at Lola's bag. “Could you carry up her luggage?” Amy's eyes followed my finger, excitement deflating. “She's tired from practicing all night on the bus. We've got a
big
show tonight, so I'd like to have her as rested as possible.”

Her uncertainty melded into disbelief, then it became recognition. In an act of blunt unprofessionalism, Amy whipped her phone out took a photo of Lola. “Oh my gosh! She's the new guitarist, isn't she?” Amy stared from Lola, to me, then back again. “You're Lola Cooper, the one replacing Johnny Muse! I'm so sorry—I should have noticed!”

Now
Lola squirmed, shuffling her feet at the attention. “Oh, uh, it's fine. Don't worry about—”

“I saw all the photos last night,” Amy rambled, the flash on her phone blinding us a second time. “Everyone was talking about it, it was all over twitter and everything! I can't believe I'm meeting you before you play for the first time!” Her eyes bugged from her skull. “Can I get your autograph?”

It was hard not to laugh. Lola was gawking at me, mentally begging me for help.
If you lose it here, you'll faint tonight,
I thought in amusement.
If I don't step in, she'll have a heart attack.
But before I could explain that Lola couldn't sign anything without permission from our manager, the guitarist blurted out, “Sure, what would you like me to sign?”

“Here,” Amy gushed, handing over a pamphlet about the Fillmore. “Just sign this, it's that or an information packet for this hotel.”

My scheme to save Lola from embarrassment at the hands of a hotel receptionist crumbled under their mutual giggles. With a messy, unpracticed hand, Lola signed the paper. Amy held it high triumphantly. “This is so great!” Grinning at me, she offered it my way along with the pen. “Um, could you sign it too?”

Bending over the pamphlet, I studied Lola's name. It looked like swirling flowers on a breeze.
Is this her first signature ever?
It was certainly the first as a member of my band. Amy had a piece of gold here—I was about to make it even shinier.

Taking the pen, I signed my name with my usual sharp angles. The letters twisted near each other, not quite touching. It was fitting, when I thought about it.

Kissing the back of the paper, Amy did a full body shiver. “Oh my gosh. Thank you! Okay, let me get that bag up to your room.”

Reaching down, I pulled Lola's luggage from her unprepared fingers. “Actually, on second thought, I've got it. Thanks, though.”

“Oh.” Blinking, Amy tugged anxiously at the hem of her blouse. “Okay. Alright. Um, call down if you need anything. Anything at all, okay?”

My nod was faint. Hoisting everything with a soft grunt, I hurried towards the elevator. Lola said something softly to Amy, her sneakers clomping as she caught up to me. Ducking through, she set her guitar case on the floor while the doors closed behind us.

In the tiny box, mirrors flashing our images all around, she spoke over the repetitive elevator music. “Are you alright? You hurried out of there really quick.”

With my hands tied up in the bags, I could only shrug. “It's nothing, just thought you might want to get to your room and chill out before tonight.”

Messing with her hair, Lola squinted up at me. “It feels like something else is going on. What's wrong, Drez?”

Everything is wrong. I can't decide what I want from you, from this, and it's giving me a fucking ulcer.
Normally I wanted to gaze on her sweet face and intoxicating eyes. Now, I regretted that no matter where I turned, her reflection waited for me in the elevator.

I asked, "What if something
is
wrong? In fact, I think you know what's on my mind.”

Her sigh cut into my ears. “Drezden, look. All of that stuff with us yesterday...”

Stuff. She calls it stuff, like it's so
meaningless.

“...And the stuff from the night before that...”

My fingers choked the handles of the bags.

“It can't happen,
we
can't happen. I was serious when I said I won't risk this chance. I want to make a name for myself, being in this band is a once in a lifetime thing for me.” I saw her look at her feet in the mirrors. “Seeing that stage today, I just—I knew I had to stay firm, to focus. I'm sorry.”

Having her apologize to me was worse than being stabbed. My insides balled up, knotting until they overwhelmed my mind.
She's right. Hooking up with me—getting close to me—will put her career in danger.

Why don't I care about that?

Like a man hanging below the surface, inches from the air he needed not to drown, I lifted my head high. In the mirror, I saw my eyes; the green was the color of acid, but it was my mouth that was ready to dissolve.

All around me was
Lola.
The molecules in the air were crafted from her energy, her scent. I felt her on me even though we weren't touching. My lips ached to crash onto hers. In that elevator ride that never seemed to end, I made my choice.

I couldn't hold back any longer.

So I wouldn't try.

Lola wasn't looking at me, not at first. The sound of me dropping the bags changed that. For a second, I saw her wide blue eyes focus on me. I glimpsed her fear—I spotted the lust she kept trying to hide from me.

Then I was on her, my long fingers trapping her against the hard wall. Dizzy with the need that had haunted me since the night we'd rubbed together in the tub, I let myself go. My lips turned her mouth into a landing zone; she was ground zero for me.

Lola tasted like caramel and salt and nightshade. I'd let her poison me if it came to that. If she wouldn't let me into her life, death was on my horizon, anyway. She filled my lungs with her high pitched whimper—how could a man breathe when he was denied such sweet air?

My nostrils flared to claim her scent. In my ears, her moan was a mixture of surprise and delight. She wanted this.
Wanted it.
She'd called being with me a risk.
I'm no more a risk than she is.

I lost my hands in her thick brunette locks. My ribs screamed, telling me I needed oxygen. Ignoring them, my mouth pressed on her even harder. Lola wrapped her perfect hands, her fucking perfectly magical hands, around my waist. It was an aphrodisiac.

The 'ding' of the elevator ended the moment.

Lola's seeking touch become rough; a shove, aiming to push me away. I gasped when our lip-lock shattered. Her creamy cheeks were hot as fire. So was her voice. “Get off of me, Drezden.”

It took everything I had to step backwards. My hands slid through her hair, the strands silken and buttery. We were both breathing hard. I saw the hint of her nipples straining through her shirt. Each heave of her lungs taunted me.