Hard Rock Roots Box Set (117 page)

“Maybe you just need to get laid more often?” Sydney says, and hearing her say the word
laid
does all sorts of things for me. She moves forward, like maybe she's considering touching me, when the door opens again and America appears with an angry look hovering over the perfect mask she's plastered on for all the TV execs. She's been our manager long enough now that I know how to see it.

“Dax, I can't stress how important this is, so whatever it is that you're up to in here, I suggest you wrap it up quickly and get your butt out here.” She throws a death glare Sydney's way and then disappears again, leaving me in a very awkward situation. But I guess Sydney Charell just doesn't do awkward.

“I can't wait to see your interview,” she tells me, moving past with a wink.
I knew it. She
did
wink at me earlier. What the hell is going on here?
“Let me know if you need another kiss.” Sydney's shoulder brushes mine, and I spin around, like she's magnetic, pulling me towards her. I'm a moon in orbit.

“I thought we weren't acting on this?” I blurt, making a complete ass out of myself. Sydney pauses with her hand splayed out on the door and glances back at me. Her smile is freaking priceless.

“I didn't think that we were,” she says, shrugging gently and moving out into the narrow hallway. I have to cross my arms over my chest and dig my fingernails into my skin to keep from following after her. I think I even draw a bit of blood.
Fuckin' A.
This is so not cool. I don't need this right now. I don't need to be stumbling around pissing on trees and trying to impress a woman. She might be hot, but that's not everything. That's not my fucking life. That's Turner or Trey or Kash. Not me. I splash some cool water on my face and let the PCP sink in. It takes a concentrated effort for me not to stumble when I walk out that door and head back down the hallway.

“There he is!” America sing-songs when I come around the corner. Her skin is stretched tight across her face, and she isn't happy. “Everyone else is out of hair and makeup already,
Dax.
And we're up first.” She leans in close to my ear and snaps her white-white teeth at me. “Get out there and stay quiet. You don't have to stand out, but you better not fuck up.”

I move around her and follow a chattering woman with a clipboard out of the hallway and into the studio. The rest of Amatory Riot is already there, milling around our instruments in a sea of strained silence. Hayden Lee stands at the front, hands on her hips, chin lifted. She has her million dollar smile on her face and a red dress that leaves little to the imagination. To anyone else, she looks like the lead singer of a successful rock band. To me, she looks sad. Pathetic even. Hayden isn't going to make it out of this. I have a bad feeling about it.

I move over to the drums and touch my hand to the kit, running my fingers along the smooth surfaces, letting the potential rhythms flow through me. When I sit down, my head starts to spin, and I smile. The drugs are my weakness, but the music is my strength. Sometimes, I forget that. Thank God I only took a few hits. I didn't realize we were playing today. We had a schedule all laid out for this shit, but when Trey woke up, everything got scrambled. I can hardly remember which interview is for which venue, who the photo shoot we did the other day was for. It's all a mystery. I guess I should've paid more attention to America on the van ride over. Unfortunately, the only thing I was thinking about was driving to Tulsa. And now, that's been replaced with Sydney Charell. She's so flirty. I don't get it. We agreed not to sleep together, but how am I supposed to resist when she's brushing my hair back, winking at me, flashing me that perfect smile?

“Okay, everyone.” The clipboard lady moves aside for a woman in a black suit. She has the same no-nonsense look that America does. Her dark hair is slicked back just the same, and to put it simply, she kind of just smells like a bitch. Maybe I'm biased from working with America, but I still tell myself to be careful. This is the kind of person you work really hard
not
to piss off. I glance over my shoulder and wonder where Turner is. It'll be interesting to see how his set goes. “My name is Rain Colbert, and I'm the executive producer for LMTV's hottest show, Live Work.” When the woman talks, her white teeth reflect back the lights surrounding the stage like a mirror. They're almost blinding. She sounds like an infomercial and she gestures a lot with her hands. It's disconcerting, turning my high into a small headache. “If you're not familiar with the program, we start off with a live set. No frills, just music. When you're through, you're going to be immediately greeted by our host, Miley Culbrath. There's no wardrobe change, no hair and make up. This is about being real, people.” She claps her hands like it should all be perfectly clear now. Wren and Kash exchange glances and shrug. But they do pick up their instruments. Interviews? Eh. But music, we can do music. “Any questions?” She sends her blinding smile around the group like a politician and then nods her chin. “Great. I'll be giving you a countdown. When you see me hit one, you start playing. I'd say,” Rain checks her expensive looking watch with a squint of her brown eyes. “About two minutes. Think up a good song for us.” Her expression sparkles mischievously as she turns away, and I get the bad feeling that we're being played by her. I bet she's counting on drama. How could she not? The whole world saw our set the other day. Hayden and Naomi are a disaster waiting to happen.

“
Bloom?
” Hayden asks, suggesting her favorite song. It's from our first album, so it's not as polished as the newer stuff, but she likes it because the chorus is pervy as hell. I always wondered where Naomi was coming from when she wrote that one. Nobody responds to her inquiry, so Hayden shrugs her shoulders loosely. “Okay then,
Bloom
it is.”

“Whatever you say, princess,” Naomi responds, adjusting her Wolfgang with fond hands. She's got on a pair of skinny jeans, a loose pink tank and a bright red bra that peeks out as she moves around, fondling her instrument and bringing my attention back to my crotch. My hard-on, it's gone. I look back up at Naomi, her perfect body, her curvy hips, the shades that cover her eyes, the smirk on her lips.
Goddamn it.
You'd think I'd be happy about this, but I'm not. What the fuck is this crap? Am I switching my attention from Naomi to Sydney, so I can feel better about myself? Love can't just be turned off, yet the burn I've been feeling for Naomi for the last year, it's not scalding so painfully.

I look up and scan the darkness, trying to adjust my eyes to see beyond the realm of the camera crew. I bet Sydney's back there somewhere, watching me, judging me. I swallow hard and pick up my sticks, holding them tight in my fingers. I blame my weird reactions on the stress, the drugs, on some fucked up mating ritual sort of shit. It's always easier to pretend the body's base desires are overriding your brain. Things make more sense that way.

“Don't fuck with me today, Naomi,” Hayden growls, lowering her voice so it's only audible to those of us onstage. “If you do, you'll be sorry. I can guarantee that.”

“Oh, I won't be,” Naomi reassures her, plucking a string on her guitar. “This is probably going to be one of the last times your daughter will be able to see you live, so I'm going to be nice.” Hayden actually laughs at that, reaching her hands into her dress and adjusting her cleavage for maximum exposure. I sigh and pray to the universe that they keep it civil today. I've had more than enough excitement for a lifetime.

“Is that so?” Hayden asks with a smirk, turning around and sweeping her gaze over Blair, Wren, Kash, me. We lock eyes and for a second there, I swear I see a hint of regret in her expression. But then it's gone and she's turning back around, focusing her eyes on Rain Colbert. Two minutes before a set is perfect. No time for drama. I focus my eyes past the camera and pretend I'm looking right at Sydney. If anything, I can get out some of this sexual frustration in my music. And then I'll go back to pining over Naomi because that's what I'm comfortable with. Some part of me, a part I refuse to acknowledge, knows that one of the reasons I'm so 'in love' with Naomi is because I can't have her. It's comforting to know I'll never have to try it out, never have to face rejection or pain. Because let's be honest: Turner and Naomi are one of those toxic couples that lasts forever, that fights the day of their fiftieth anniversary but goes to bed happy every night. I close my eyes to clear my head and then look up.

“Ready guys?” Rain asks and then holds up a hand. Four fingers. Three. Two.

I hit my cymbals running, trying to find some of that raw anger we put into our first album,
Ribbons.
I can see the artwork in my head, a dark background with a girl's naked body, melting from her hips down into ribbons of red. The image fits this song to a T. It's about breaking down and finding yourself in sex. I think Naomi started writing it
before
she'd ever had any. Only virgins are this dirty.

“
Ahh, I see your head in my bed, baby. I think I need another look because what I see doesn't do it for me. I need more than just a pretty face. And if we keep going at this pace, my body's sure to break.
”

I grab a couple rim shots on my snare drum, wondering how anyone could think of a musician as anything other than an artist. My arms are moving over a canvas, and my sticks are the brushes. The stroke is as important as the color. The angle of the stick, the pressure I use. When the sweat starts rolling down my face, I taste it and savor the salty tang of real music.

“
Ohh, guess this means we're ready, baby. Take me in your arms and kiss me hard. I want to know how things work down below, if you're ready to show me your dark side. I'm ready to slip into this and go on a wild ride.
”

Naomi hops up and down, mimicking the bouncing rhythm of the song with her feet, turning the page on this story with her fucking hands. I watch her own the music from start to finish, and I wonder how she got that way. When we started out, she had a hard time taking control. Sometime in the last few weeks, it just sort of happened. I try to absorb some of her self-confidence, and I find myself feeling affectionate again. See? I knew my feelings weren't completely gone. I shake my head to the beat and pretend I'm not imagining Sydney's arms around my waist. The faux fire of her touch makes me hit harder, louder, moving the song along at a steady gallop.

“
We're in this forever, getting dirty together. You touch me here and I touch you there, and when you're inside of me, I believe you care. If it's a lie, you'll be bound to me forever. I make you come away, and even if you don't stay, we'll always have a part of us that stays this way.
”

I smile and get ready for the chorus, all the while completely unaware there's someone imagining me right back.

Chapter 10
Sydney Charell

Oh man.

I know screwing Dax would be a big mistake. A big, dirty, sweaty, sexy mistake. A mistake that would make my toes curl and my limbs quiver. I lean against the back of Turner's chair and wrap my arms around his neck. Unlike most women, touching him has the opposite effect on my snatch game. I don't deal cards for family. If you're missing the analogy, basically he keeps my libido in check.

“Stop fucking breathing in my ear, Sydney. You're like, fucking panting and shit.” Turner bristles while I touch him, his gaze just as focused on the stage as mine is. In my head, I can imagine a fling with Dax. A single night or two of dark, breathy pleasure. In my heart, I know I can't let that happen. He's … different. His gaze is heavy and his face shows every emotion he's feeling at every moment he's feeling it. I stomp out my feet. It's the sensation thing again. I can practically feel him watching me, even though I know that's not possible. The spotlights are focused on the stage, washing it in white blindness that I know Amatory Riot can't see through. But if I close my eyes and let the words wash over me, the building doesn't feel so stifling anymore and the sweat that's plaguing me, sticking my hair to my forehead and my shirt to my back, it turns into a cool wash of sensation, like I've just jumped into the river. I've never met a guy who makes me feel cold at the same time he makes me hot. It's weird. But I like it. Too much.

“This sucks, Turner,” I say, wishing Trey was here. I actually do miss him. Even though we go for so long without seeing each other, I think of him, and I know he thinks of me. We went through so much together as kids, it's not even possible for time to erase that bond. Turner lifts his hands up and untangles me from his neck, flicking his fingers out like they're filthy.

“What sucks, Sydney?” he asks with a sigh, turning to look over his shoulder at me as I stand straight and swallow hard. “That you have a mega fucking lady boner for Dax? Why?” I sigh right back at him and tilt my head to the side, blonde hair scraping across my skin like knives. All touch is painful right now, even the waistband of my jeans hurts. I just want it all
off.
This fucking song isn't helping either.

“
Flip me around and make it worth my time. Convince me why you should stay behind.
” I listen to the throbbing vibrations of Dax's drums as he breathes out hard, blowing droplets of sweat into the air. I bite my lip,
hard.
“
And don't you fuck with me. I'm not here to play. I just want you inside of me. When we're done, I'll breathe easy.
” That Hayden chick bounces a bit, moving across the stage and drawing the cameras with her. I'll admit, from back here she looks good, like an idol, somebody you see splashed across the cover of every magazine. But based on what I saw this morning, chick is half-toasted and ready to burn. I watch her inhale against the mic, just so. “
Uh, uh, uh.
” A moaning chorus that gives me chills when I imagine Naomi singing it. After all, everybody knows she writes the songs. And I mean everybody, even the fans know that. Not that they give a shit. “
Flip me around and make it worth my time. Convince me why you should stay behind. Make it eaaaaasy. I come eaaaaasy. I break eaaaaasy. You slide eaaaaasy.
” I try to keep watching Hayden. After all, she's the one orgasming into the microphone, but I can't keep myself away from Dax. I don't know what my problem is. Do I
want
to get tangled in the hard, delicious muscular arms of a man six years my junior? Um yes. Actually, yes. The problem is, I get the feeling he won't be easy to
un
tangle myself from.