Rock Dirty (Rock Candy #2) (9 page)

“Yeah, I am,” I said, reaching over and shaking his hand.

“Then even if you weren’t with Nik here, we’d let you in, man. Have a blast. The band on tonight isn’t that good but the one we had bailed last minute for a gig.”

My smile stiffened a little. “Isn’t it a bitch when rockers change their plans last minute?”
Like when he cancels a fucking world tour to spend time with his little Asian Persuasion?
“If they let me give a few licks on the drums, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Definitely, man, save us from mediocrity,” he finished, lifting the velvet rope. “Have a good time.”

“Always plan on it,” I said.

Nikki winked back at him and laid her palm flat on my chest. “How can anyone have a bad time with me, Joe?”

“Scratch that then. Don’t do anything a sane person wouldn’t do, Tucker.”

“Well no one ever got that out of me before but thanks for the good advice,” I added, stepping into the club and wincing.

He hadn’t been wrong. The band on the stage was okay. Mostly a wannabe punk band that tended to hit a wrong note or have too much reverb about every third line. People were dancing a little on the tiny floor space provided, but most were lounging on the car seats scattered throughout the club. No, not those ones for little kids either, not like booster seats. Leather benches out of old classic cars, huge monsters like from classic Chevys. There were street signs and even hazard lights. The interior of the club looked like a mix of a classic car lover’s wet dream and like an explosion had rocked a city street. Fast and furious with an apocalyptic vibe.

“Whoa,” I said, my tone appreciative.

Nikki smirked back at me and made a bee line for the bar. “I told you this place was awesome. Most of the patrons totally speak English, not that most places can’t in a city like Paris, but this place encourages it. No attitude needed. Like I said,
expats
. They’re the nicest people on freaking Earth,” Nikki continued. I followed after her, admiring the view of her ass and appreciating the massively high stilettos she was in. They were normal black heels so I assumed she was wearing something she hadn’t designed. She grinned at the woman with the electric blue hair behind the bar. “Tilly, it’s been forever!”

“It’s been six months, girl,” the bartender answered back. “We missed you. What will you have?”

“A bottle of your finest tequila and two shot glasses.”

If the woman recognized me from Point Break, she didn’t say. That made sense. Paris was like LA or New York. A big club like this was going to get famous people (and if Liam’s vacation tanked our band in three months I’d be a lot
less
famous). The long timers and bartenders or staff who knew how to stay employed were the ones who knew how not to make a big deal out of things.

We got our drinks and Nikki nodded to a large and comfy white leather bench seat.

I sat down next to her and pointedly ignored the few women staring my way. For tonight, Tucker Benning was both taken and not talking to the fans. Some nights, you just needed time for yourself, and if Nikki wanted some fun, I was going to give it all I had to give it to her.

My saucy vixen poured me a shot and I chugged it down, loving the way it burned down my throat and made my gut feel like it was on fire. It was smooth because it was expensive, but it was a fierce tequila and still had that fire that attracted me deep down.

She took her own shot then quickly poured and downed a second. I tightened my grip just a bit on her knee, an instinctive message to slow down. She stared at me and took a third shot, a clear message to go to hell.

Fine. I’d just keep an eye on her and make sure she didn’t get in too much trouble. Hell, wasn’t that a funny thought, a relationship where Tucker Benning, party animal, was the responsible one. Civilization as we knew it might be collapsing outside. If me being the level-headed guy on a date wasn’t a sign of the end of days, I wasn’t sure what was. Maybe dogs and cats living together.

Yeah, probably that.

“It burns in all the best ways,” she said. “But I can say that about you too, baby.”

“You’re sweet,” I said, lowering my voice to a rumble.

She held out the bottle. Part of me wanted to meet her unspoken challenge, my pride unwilling to let a little thing like her drink me under the table early on. Part of me wanted to keep up with her shot-for-shot. But a bigger part of me wanted to stay sober so I could protect her. In the end, it wasn’t a difficult choice. I declined the drink.

“This band? Joe’s right. They
do
suck,” I said, wincing as the reverb hit deafening levels. God, they were going to kill the amps if they didn’t adjust.

“You need to get up there. You have the invite.”

“Huh?” I asked, even as she dragged me to my feet.

But I didn’t object. I mean, I wanted to be modest, but let’s be honest, with us on hiatus it might be a while before I got on drums and behind a mic again. I usually sang back up. I was no Liam, but I was better than these clowns.

Nikki shoved the lead singer aside and got to the mic. The crowd must have been both as drunk and tired of these idiots as we were. They cheered just to have anyone else at the mic.

“Okay guys, get ready. We have Tucker Benning of Point Break ready to beat on the old skins here. So let’s get ready to fucking rumble!” She glared back at the drummer, who wasn’t moving.

The blue haired bartender yelled out from across the club. “You’ll still get paid but move your ass, amateur.”

When the guy walked off stage, I slipped behind the drum set. Bastards didn’t even keep it in good condition. That pissed me off. One of the things about being a rocker was that you had to be good to your equipment so that it would be good to you. It was scuffed to hell and the idiot drummer had even tried using duct tape on the legs. I hoped that
Sacre Bleu
never hired them back. The assholes didn’t deserve it.

I held the drumsticks over my head and counted down the beat as well as announced the song, a bit of classic
Nirvana
that even these morons could thrash to. The song blared to life, and I was lost in the moment, my arms burning the effort, my heart hammering with adrenaline, and the sounds of the drums ringing in my ears. This was why I’d started years ago, and this was what I lived for. I had to have this even if Liam full-out left to settle down with Abby. He was so nuts in love lately that I wouldn’t even put it past him. I was singing too, and I hoped I wasn’t doing too bad to Kurt Cobain’s legacy.

In front, Nikki was dancing on the stage and throwing her hands up. She was shaking that fine ass of hers, and it was almost hypnotic to watch, so damn distracting that I had to focus on the white skins of the drums to keep from missing the beat. The girl looked damn fine, and of course she knew it. I was concentrating so hard on the song, trying to keep my own lust and wild thoughts from outracing me, that I didn’t see it at first, just heard the wild roars.

Frowning, I kept time as I looked out at the crowd. There was Nikki crowd surfing like it was no big deal. I hadn’t seen people do that in years, and I certainly didn’t think debutante daughters of fashion magazine editors would even know how, let alone dare do it. She was making far mileage now, almost pushed by the throng of hands back to the bar. I shook my head as I went back into the chorus. In that moment, I felt my heart open up to her in a way I wondered if I was falling in love. But I couldn’t deny I was a little bit scared that she was wilder than even I was—that maybe I couldn’t keep up.

Hell, that maybe I wouldn’t even want to.

This was fun. But it would get old.

Making love to her? Eating breakfast on a balcony with her?

That
wouldn’t ever get old. At least not for me.

For Nikki, it might be a different story.

A flash of light momentarily distracted me and I lost a bit of the beat and had to speed through to catch back up to the guitarist.

Someone was taking pictures.

Soon, depending how fast it took to upload, the world would know that at least the drummer and damn it, one of the other founding members of Point Break, was still rocking hard.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Nikki

I woke up with my mouth tasting like the floor of a New York City cab, and yes, I know exactly how that tastes thanks to a nasty frenemy in prep school and far too many shots of Petron. I lay frozen for a second, trying to get my bearings.

Blinking back the light, I stifled a groan. Judging by the Irish step-dancing team in my skull, I was going to have to down water and aspirin like crazy just to feel normal again. But it had been worth it.

I remembered being out with Tucker and partying hard at
Sacre Bleu
. He’d been a god on the drums last night and it turned out he was a great singer too. He was obviously worried about Point Break
’s
future if Liam Collier stepped down as the lead vocalist, but Tucker could totally rock anything they needed. He just needed more confidence.

I shifted slightly, smiling when I pressed against something warm and hairy. I pried my eyes open. Tucker was curled around me, his arms holding me lovingly and protectively. It was hard to reconcile the things he’d promised, the big talk of being just casual, when he was cradling me like this.

But I had to do it.

I had to remember what Tucker and I were about. Fun times. For the moment.

That was all.

Still, I stared at him for a long time, taking in his beautiful face and the sexy, lean lines of his body.

Finally, sighing, I slipped out of bed as smoothly as I could, grateful he didn’t wake up, and then grabbed my clothes and shoved them on. It was short work after that to call a cab to head back to Claude’s.

* * *

When I arrived, I found Hermes sitting at the breakfast table, poring over the morning paper and eating a plate of hardboiled eggs and fruit. As I found out on the night of the boutique opening, he had a key to Claude’s place, too, something my mom had apparently asked Claude for “in case Dominique needs us for any reason.”

What she’d really meant was “in case Dominique messes up again and I need to send my lackey Hermes over to her to get her back in line.” Because that’s what Hermes was. Anna Lorenz’s lackey and my part-time babysitter when my mom so chose.

And if I wanted my mom’s support with my shoe line, that’s what she chose.

I wished I could be stealthy or invisible, find any way to sneak past the rat bastard who had regularly been the bane of my existence, but it wasn’t like I was Harry Potter with some mystical cloak. Although I did have some amazing stilettos. That should count for something, but they didn’t help me at the moment.

“Well, well, Dominique, how nice of you to finally show up.”

“It’s only ten and I wasn’t aware we had an appointment today. And I’d really appreciate it if you wouldn’t just let yourself in while I’m staying here. It’s rude.”

“Not as rude as you acted at the opening when you slapped that photographer.”

I pressed my lips together as my head started to throb even more.

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“Fine. How about we talk about the fact you reek of liquor and smoke, and obviously spent the night with, I’m guessing, a certain rock star?”

“I don’t need a caretaker, Hermes.”

“Your mother disagrees. So do I. If you could control your baser nature and your temper, then I wouldn’t need to come around,” Hermes reminded, his tone as measured as always.

“I don’t have to do everything my mom wants. I’m almost twenty-seven years old. I don’t have to listen to any of you. I took out the loans for the business and I’m doing well despite her constant criticism. I don’t need you and I don’t need her.”

“Are you done yet?” he asked, his tone both grave and serene.

“No!” I shouted, and I hated that my voice was rising, but I couldn’t help it. I watched as he typed on his phone, and it was obvious he’d already relayed my rash behavior to Mom. Rage coursed through me, and for a moment I wanted to go berserk. Throw things and shout.

But then I thought of Tucker. And surprisingly, I felt myself calm.

Tucker didn’t think I was a fool. He’d been kind to me. He thought I was amazing and he had faith in my talent. That knowledge, just like at the Pont Neuf, was like a steadying hand to the maelstrom of emotions swirling inside me.

“Look, Hermes,” I began, my voice steadier and calmer than it had been.

“You know that she’ll be at the fashion show,” he said.

I blinked. “What?”

“Your mother will be at your show.”

“She will? But why? She never comes to my shows herself.” Normally she just sends her assistants.

“She wants to support you. She cares about you and your career, Dominique. She really does.”

He said it with such sincerity. His tone combined with the news that my mom was actually going to make the effort to attend one of my shows left me disoriented and uncertain.