Beats (2 page)

I kind of feel sorry for me too.

My daily dose of self-doubt tries to talk me into leaving. What the hell am I doing with these people? I don’t fit in here.

With nothing to do with my fidgeting hands, I decide it’s time to bail. Need my drumsticks. Need to hit something. I scoot my chair back and stand.

“Where are you going?” Letty says.

Avoiding Toombs’s gaze, I lie. “Bathroom.”

Letty jumps to her feet. “Ooh, I gotta piss too.” She stumbles around the male barricade surrounding us, grabs my arm, and drags me toward the restroom.

So much for escape.

“This is the perfect opportunity for you to sink your teeth into a slab of Toombs,” she says under her breath.

I stop and wriggle free of her grip.
Are you high?
I want to scream at her. Instead, I say, “He and Rax have…plans. I’m not getting in the middle of that. I’ll go for a walk or maybe hang out here.”

“Another night alone? Come on, Jinx, I know you still have a thing for him. You gotta take the bull by the horns and ride the shit outta him.” She grabs invisible motorcycle handles and grinds her hips into the air. “Where are those womanballs you started to grow when we began this tour? Damn, girl, just a couple months ago, you had him following you around with his tongue halfway down the back of that fucking leopard-print monokini you wore onstage. You could totally hook up with him if you put your mind to it.”

I can’t tell her my dreams of having Toombs to myself died when I caught him and Rax enjoying a mutual reach-around. The thirty or so women they’ve co-conquered since we signed our record deal might have had something to do with it too. Not that I’m counting.

God, I’m such a pathetic, whiny bitch. I wish I had Letty’s balls, her absolute lack of fear about anything.

“That’s okay.” I look away.

A hooked finger draws my chin Letty’s way. Sincerity fills her face and her voice. “Toombs likes you. He just doesn’t know it yet.”

My shoulders droop as my lungs deflate. Fat chance.

“I’m gonna let you in on a little secret. The way to a guy’s heart is straight through his dick. Once you conquer the cock, his soul is a piece of pecan pie drizzled with cum, begging to be savored.” Her way with words makes me cringe.

“I don’t know anything about that.”

Letty straightens, eyes wide. “You’re not a,” she leans close and whispers, “
virgin
—are you?”

Like
virgin
is a dirty word. Maybe to someone as experienced as Letty, it is.

I sigh. “No, I’m not a virgin. I just don’t…I’m not as…outgoing as you are.”

She guides me to the nearest empty table, and pushes me into a seat. Oh boy. I feel like I’m about to have a sex talk with my Catholic mother. I’m pretty sure steam rises off my cheeks, they’re so hot.

Letty rakes her gaze over me as if appraising the value of a horse. Then she gestures to my chest. “You have great tits. A gorgeous face—”

I flush some more.

“—the cutest, most fuckable ass I’ve ever laid eyes on—”

“Letty—” The word doesn’t come out nearly as forcefully as it sounds in my mind.

She tips her head to the side, then rests it in her upraised palm. “You got some kind of hideous deformity hiding under those clothes I don’t know about?”

I frown. “No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Isn’t that the million-dollar question?

Hmm…let’s see. I don’t know how to
talk
to a guy, let alone screw one the way Toombs probably wants to be screwed. I don’t have a dick. I’m not Rax or a bodacious groupie looking for a fame fuck. And I certainly don’t want to share Toombs with anyone else, least of all Rax.

What
isn’t
the problem?

With a shrug, I glance away. Straight into Toombs’s line of sight across the bar. His icy, silver eyes slice right through me. And oh, look. There’s a girl on his lap, pawing at his goatee. I quickly drop my gaze to my lap.

I want to die.

“I have a plan.” Letty folds her arms and rests them on the table like the Queen of Sheba before her court.

For the love of all that’s holy, please, no plans.

“Tomorrow you’ll embark on your maiden voyage into Letty Dillinger’s Twelve-Step Program. I’m gonna take you on an educational ride through the zipper and straight to Toombs’s heart in thirty days or less. I personally guarantee results. If you’re not completely satisfied, I’ll offer Shades—or myself, if you prefer—for a night of sex so insane, you won’t even remember Toombs’s name when you’re done. Deal?” She offers her right hand.

“I don’t want to have sex with Shades,” I say softly.

“Me then?” She lifts a hopeful brow.

I unsuccessfully try to squash the smile that sneaks past my lips. “You’re not my type.”

Letty pinches my cheek. “You’re so fuckin’ cute, Jinx. I’ll tell you what I think,
percussionist
. You’re happiest when you’re beating on shit. So why don’t you get it over with and beat Toombs’s meat?”

“I don’t know the first thing about…beating meat.” Or beating out new rhythms for the upcoming album due soon, but I’ll keep that to myself.

“Just like beating a drum. Except you get an orgasm out of it.” Letty grins for a long moment before her expression softens. “I just want to see you smile. You don’t do that nearly as much as you did a couple months ago.”

I don’t like her scrutiny. It makes me very uncomfortable.

Letty continues. “I know how to catch a man. If you can’t nab Toombs’s attention when I’m finished with you, it’s a sure sign he’s gay.”

I’m not touching that one with a sterilized ten-foot pole, so I just nod. Letty only hears what she wants to hear anyway.

“Here’s a sneak peek into your first lesson: eye contact. Make it.” She subtly gestures behind me.

The guys and their “date” pull up to our table. Shades holds out my Pink Panty Pull-Down. The ice is gone, and it’s room temperature. “Thanks.” I accept the glass and lower my gaze.

Eye contact. Yeah, right.

Can’t look at Toombs or the chick giggling between him and Rax, a walking blowup doll made of high-pitched bubbles and silicone. Lucky girl is about to be all over, under, or on top of what
could
be mine if I had bigger balls.

“You guys fuck off for an hour,” Rax says. “We’ve got the bus.”

I’ll give them two hours. Just to be sure.

“What’d you say your name was?” Rax tweaks the nipple poking proudly through the girl’s low-cut cami. No bra, naturally.

Her giggle sounds like a hiccup. “Terri.”

Rax slips a sly grin to Toombs, who’s sporting his usual “I’m bored out of my mind” scowl. “You ready to meet the two biggest cocks you’ve ever seen, Terri?”

A hysterical flurry of hiccups erupts from Mt. Bimbo. “Yeah!”
Hiccup. Hiccup. Hiccup.

I don’t know how much longer I can do this.

From beside me, a rough, tattooed hand swipes my elbow. All eyes are on the bouncing ball of plastic femininity. Except for Toombs’s.

He peers down at me, his normally harsh brow lifted a tad, the frightening gash tattoo adorning his throat somehow softened by the uncharacteristic hint of light fueling his expression.

My ticker pounds inside my chest. Airways constrict. Heat floods my face, pulse bangs against my eardrums. Where are my drumsticks? I need my drumsticks…Flustered, I look around me, but of course, they’re not here.

The vibrating phone in my butt pocket comes to my rescue. Licking my lips, I snatch it out while my bandmates laugh at some lewd comment Rax makes. My little brother’s sweet face with wild, floppy hair lights up the screen.

Shit. I forgot it’s Thursday.

“I gotta go.” Avoiding Toombs’s stare, I bound out of my chair and beeline for the door, leaving one set of worries behind at the table in exchange for another.

As soon as the humid air hits my lungs, I engineer a happy smile and answer the video chat request.

“Hey, Mikey. I’m sorry I didn’t call. I lost track of time.”

“Hi, Gianna,” he says in that flat, quiet voice of his. He may be sixteen, but when I look at him, I see the cute, sensitive baby I used to cuddle when no one else could calm him down. Not much has changed. I’m still his lifeboat in a lot of ways. And happy to be so.

I run through the usual script, asking questions in the right order.
How was school? Who did you hang out with? What did you do when you got home?

Always the same questions, always the same monotone answers. Until we get to piano.

“What song are you working on?” I say.

Here’s where the robot morphs into a heavenly being with a soul, life, and purpose. The transformation gets me every time. “Beethoven’s ‘Pathetique.’ First movement.” His tone remains flat, but his face is animated.

I’m not familiar with that piece. I’ll have to look it up.

“Will you play it for me?” I already know the answer, but I ask anyway.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“It’s not ready.”

“When, then?”

“When it’s ready.” Even on the tiny screen, the gleam in his eyes almost blinds me. He always gets excited when we talk about music, but today is different. He’s
beaming
. This song must be really hard. Mikey doesn’t handle challenge well in social situations, but when it comes to piano, he lives for it.

Mikey spent two months on Rachmaninoff’s “Prelude in C Sharp Minor.” During that time, he played
nothing
else. He’s a very private musician. Doesn’t like for anyone to hear a song until it’s perfect, and it was nearly so the first time he played “Prelude.”

When I was living at home, I often listened to him practice behind the closed door. He regularly brought tears to my eyes. It’s shocking how a person can appear so devoid of emotion on the surface and at the same time convey such gut-wrenching beauty through a series of notes hammered out on a primitive instrument. Mikey’s music is pure, concentrated passion. I wish I had half the talent he does.

Once he mastered Rachmaninoff, Mikey never touched the song again. He didn’t need to. He’d conquered it.

My autistic brother is a social misfit on the outside and a musical prodigy on the inside. Unfortunately, most people see the parts that don’t fit into their cookie-cutter mold of what “normal” should be, and they react accordingly.

Some of his schoolmates last year called him a “retard.” I straightened out those little shits in the parking lot after school one day, and as far as I know, they haven’t picked on him since. Nobody calls Mikey names.
Especially
not that one.

I smile. “You gotta wait for me to come home for the Beethoven unveiling. I won’t miss it for the world.”

He says nothing. Just stares at me.

“I love you, Mikey.”

“I love you too, Gianna.” Back to the empty monotone. He
does
love me. He just has a different way of expressing it.

“I’ll talk to you next week. I promise to be on time.”

“Bye.”

“Bye.” I tap the screen, and my brother’s blank face freezes.

Rax, Toombs, and the Flavor of the Night stumble out of the bar and head for the taxi waiting at the curb. None of them notice me.

Heart aching, I look down at Mikey’s picture and clench my jaw.

I want to go home.

Step One:
Eye Contact. Make It.

I spend the rest of the evening nursing an endless supply of ginger ale until the bar closes at midnight. Letty and Shades are long gone, off to do…whatever it is they do. As customers head for the door, I call for a cab to the tour bus parked on the other side of town. The ride is uneventful.

I poke my head inside the bus to listen for grunts, moans, or other declarations of pleasure. Hearing none, I trudge to my bunk trundle. I’m so damn tired. Of everything.

Not sure if anyone’s asleep, I tiptoe down the aisle with toothbrush and pajamas in hand. This week is going to suck. With no gig on the horizon for several days, I’ll have to find something to do or somewhere to hide until we hit the road again. Not sure I can handle another—

“Jinxie,” shirtless Rax drawls appreciatively.

My jaw drops, and I freeze. It takes a full five seconds for me to make sense of the scene unfolding around the couches in back.

Rax is pelvic-thrusting into the kneeling blond appendage attached like a vacuum to his crotch. This is a different chick from the one they picked up earlier. He doesn’t even slow his pace as my shocked gaze falls on the BJ in progress. Like he’s proud to show off his mad bedroom skills.

And Toombs? Oh God. Toombs rests casually against the leather cushions, stroking his dick through the open zipper of his jeans as he watches Rax courting his new lady friend.

My lips make a funny
pop
when I slam them together. I swallow. “Sorry,” I mumble and hurry toward the toilet.

Shit. Wrong direction.
Bunk. Bunk, you moron.

“Hold up.” Rax grabs the girl by her hair and shoves her off his very big and—oh my God—very
tattooed
penis. Holy crap. The head of his dick provides the backdrop for the tail end of the snake tattoo that winds all the way up to his neck.

Gulp.

I execute an about-face to the window. I don’t even want to
think
about checking out Toombs’s package. Especially not with this girl around.

My cheeks burn. Can you die from embarrassment? I’m about to find out.

“Come ’ere, Jinx.” Rax. Judging by the loudness of his voice and the heat scaling my back, he’s right behind me.

Trembling, I close my eyes. “I just gotta brush my teeth.” Could I sound more pathetic? Why didn’t I run back to my bunk or out the damn door when I had the chance? Too late now. Cornered.

My hands fidget at my sides, tapping out a 6/8 rhythm to keep me from blowing apart.
One, two, three…One, two, three…One, two, three…

Rax touches my arm. I want to push him off, spin around, and scream in his face,
Leave me alone, you asshole.
Instead, I shiver.

“You’ve been eyeing me and Toombs since you gave us that lap dance on New Year’s Eve,” he whispers over my shoulder.