So I Married a Rockstar (7 page)

I want to tell him that working for Harry was only supposed to be a stepping stone to bigger and better things. Michelle was always wonderful to me, and she even sent me an email after she left to keep in touch. I was hoping to get some experience with Harry before applying at her national firm. Guess that plan's shot to hell. No one's going to hire me without references, and I'm guessing Harry wouldn't give me a glowing one.

"Wanna move your sweet ass, honey?"
 

I glance up to see a big, barrel-chested guy bearing down on me with a huge black rolling case. Standing around moping on a busy loading dock after the cancellation of a concert probably isn't the best idea ever.
 

I jump out of the way and stumble, the low heel of my boot slipping off the edge of the dock. You know how people say something happened to them in slow-motion? Yeah, I always thought it was a line of B.S., too, but then I start falling backward and everything slows to half-speed.
 

The first thing that happens is the open jar of peanut butter flies out of my hand as my arms windmill in circles to maintain my balance. I pray no one is filming this because I know I look just like Wile E. Coyote as I flail around and try to stay upright.
 

The next thing that happens is that my foot slips off the platform completely and I know I'm going over. Is there equipment down there? I hope I don't break any bones. Where's my insurance card? Speaking of cards, Pepper's birthday is coming up and I need to buy her a card. Funny how your brain works when death and dismemberment are imminent.

The last thing that happens is I hit the ground. Somewhere in my brain, I register surprise that it's a lot softer than I thought it would be, and lumpier, too, but then all the air gets knocked out of my lungs and the world goes hot white. The only thing that matters is breathing and that ain't happening.

I think I hear shouts as I wheeze and struggle to catch my breath. A tiny wisp of air finally trickles in and my eyes pop open with surprise that I might not suffocate after all.
 

There's nothing at first, just fuzzy shapes moving around, but then a few things start to sharpen. Faces, I think. Then one swims into focus, leaning close into mine, ice blue eyes piercing through the panic enough for me to recognize him. I use up all my air to greet him.

"Asshole."

By the time I can breathe semi-normally again, a crowd has gathered around me. Drax is still leaning over me, and smiles when I blink up at him.

"Welcome back to the world of the living dead, Lola."

His voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a chilly night. It reverberates down to my toes and, even in my dizzy state, does things to me. Things I don't want done to me. Not now, and certainly not by him.

He does help me to sit up, though, and I'm more than a little grateful as the world tips and spins around me. But a few more blinks and everything settles down.
 

"Ma'am, can you hear me?"

Now there's a cop hovering over me. What the heck? I could see calling an ambulance but the police? I cough out a 'yes'.

"Did you hit your head? Does anything feel broken? That was quite a nasty spill you took."

I groan as I flex all my body parts to see if everything is intact. It is.

"No, just got the wind knocked out of me. I'm okay. Wha--what happened?"
 

"You fell, don't you remember?"

Drax's big warm hand is rubbing circles on my back, just like Dad used to do when I was a kid. It's so comforting but confusing at the same time. Why is he even touching me? God, I hope he doesn't stop.
No!

"I remember," I say, shrugging his hand off my back and turning to him. "What I want to know is what the hell happened to
you
?"

He doesn't look so good, like he's really hungover. I'm sure he is, considering how drunk he was this afternoon. But he doesn't look ashamed at all. It seems he could at least be a little sorry for getting me fired and losing the band's manager. Not to mention pissing off their fans. If anything, he looks angry. Exhausted, sick and angry.

"It's a long story..." he starts, but I'm not letting this asshat off the hook so easy.

"I have nothing but time now. Explain away." I tilt my chin up defiantly and cross my arms. Hopefully he doesn't laugh at the way I'm sort of swaying around. I'm trying to be stern here!

He sighs and glances up at the cops. "There's this woman, Kayla, who's been following us on this tour. She was even at the signing this morning. You might have noticed her. She doesn't really look like one of our typical fans. Sorta like a flamingo in a murder of crows."

He tries a smile on me but quickly sees it's not going to get him very far and continues. "When I got here after the signing, she was waiting at the bus."

"That pink girl?" Jake asks. "Man, she's hot."

"And psycho," Frank adds. Jake shrugs his ambivalence.

"That's the one. So she begs me to have a drink with her and, honestly, I was a little worried she was gonna cause trouble, so I agreed. One drink, then I was gonna ditch her. We walked over to that bar down the street and the next thing I know, I'm waking up in some random hotel room."

"Doesn't surprise me you blacked out," I say as I try to stand. Four sets of big hands help me up but I manage pretty well. "I saw you leave the bar and you were trashed. Totally snockered."

One of the cops steps up, flipping open a notebook. "You saw him leave, ma'am? Tell us what you saw."

Really? Is this for real? The cop is scribbling away like it somehow matters. But I tell him anyway, and when I'm done, he asks, "Can you remember the license plate of the car?"

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure that will haunt me forever. Sparkles."

"Excuse me?"

"Sparkles. It was a California plate that read 'sparkles'. Why?"

"Because the woman driving that car is suspected of drugging and kidnapping Mr. Maxwell here, and you're the only witness."

You know how I compared myself to Wile E. Coyote earlier? Well, now I feel like every cartoon character ever drawn whose jaw drops to the floor. I'm completely dumbfounded. All I can do is gape at Drax.

"Really, man?" Jake asks. "That's what happened to you?"

Drax grimaces. "I guess. I wasn't drunk, that much I know. She must have roofied me when I wasn't looking."

Frank scratches his head. "I don't get it, bro. I mean, it's not like she could, ya know,
do
stuff to ya if you're passed out."

"I dunno. When I came to, she was gone. I was fully clothed and nothing was missing from my wallet. Called the cops right away, though. Been at the hospital for hours getting blood drawn and evaluated. Checked myself out against their recommendation so I could get down here."

"Why didn't you call one of us, too?" Savory asks. I'm wondering the same thing.

"Left my phone on the bus and I was too groggy to remember any numbers. Never have to. Just have to punch a button and it calls you." It's the truth. If the cop were to ask for my best friend's number, I'd have to think pretty hard. "Besides, I couldn't have gone on anyway. I'm just starting to feel normal again."

Savory slaps a hand on Drax's shoulder and gives him a grimace. "Marvin's gone."
 

Drax nods at the news. "He always hated me. Probably glad for the excuse to dump us. Sorry, guys."

They all shrug but I know they're worried. A rock band without a manager is basically dead in the water. I don't know much of anything but I know that much.
 

Then Drax turns his gaze on me, and it's like the first time I saw him. I want to attribute my suddenly weak knees to the fall but I know better. It's him. It's always him.

"I'm just glad I got here in time to break your fall."
 

That was him?

"That was you?"

"Yup. Just wish I'd had about five more seconds and I could have caught you. How bad-ass would that have been?"

"Did I hurt you?" I'm not a tiny wisp of a thing and my full weight hurtling off a four-foot loading dock is bound to do some damage.

He laughs. "Are you kidding me? A little thing like you? Woman, I could break your fall a hundred times a day and still be able to fling you over my shoulder and carry you to the back bedroom of that bus."

I flush at the suggestion and heat suffuses every nook and cranny.
Especially
the nooks and crannies.

"You know Lauren lost her job over this."
 

I shoot a dark look at Savory. Mind your own beeswax, that look says.

Storm clouds flash across Drax's face. "What the hell? It's not her fault! Where's Harry? I wanna talk to Harry!"

He's getting riled up, which can't be good for someone who's recovering from being drugged. "No, it's done. He's a jerk anyway, right, Save?"

Savory agrees. "Totally. She shouldn't be working for someone like him." He pauses a beat, then ads, "Should she, Drax?"

My gaze bounces between the two men as they have a silent conversation with their eyes. I'm not liking this one teensy bit. My spidey-senses are tingling, and not in the fun way.

After an eternity of meaningful looks, an evil grin forms on Drax's perfect lips. "I couldn't agree more. And isn't it convenient that we find ourselves without a manager? Lauren, how would you like to join our team?"

What on earth is he talking about? "I think the roofies made you loopy. I don't know the first thing about managing a band."

"It would just be temporary, till we find a permanent replacement. Besides, you didn't know anything about producing a rock show this morning."

"And look how well that turned out!" Then something clicks in my head. "Wait, how did you know that?"

His evil grin turns even more evil. "I have my sources. Now whaddaya say? We gotta get on the road if we're gonna make the Vegas show, and we
need
to make that show. You in or are you out?"

I'm floored. One of the hottest bands on the west coast is asking me to be their manager. Anyone else in my position would jump at the chance, but I'm not so sure. I can't just hop on the bus and leave town without saying goodbye to my dads, can I? Papi would probably wail for a week. Pepper would understand, probably encourage it, but still...

Drax's smile softens. Taking my hand in his, he pulls me into his arms. Right there in front of God, the band and every roadie in town! The weirdest part is that it feels like coming home. I sigh and rest my cheek on his chest.

"Come on, Lola," he whispers into the top of my head, just loud enough for me to hear. "What do you have to lose?"

Oh, maybe just a little thing called my heart, but how can I say no? Especially when every cell in my body is screaming DO IT!

At my nod, he squeezes me tighter and buries his face in my hair.

"Lola?"

"Hmm?" I reply, deliriously happy.

"Why do you smell like peanut butter?"

What the hell am I doing? This isn't like me. I'm the girl who started preparing my college applications when I was a freshman, not the one who went to wild parties and made out with the star quarterback. I'm the dependable one. The one who thinks everything through before committing. So how in the world did I end up on Roadkill's tour bus headed for Vegas and why am I so excited about it?

Holy crap, I still can't believe this is happening to me. It's like a whirlwind picked me up from my dads' record store and plopped me down in the lap of a scorching hot rocker. Tough life, right?

Okay, so I'm not really in his lap, but Draymond 'Drax' Maxwell is without a doubt the sexiest man I've ever met in real life, probably the sexiest man that ever walked the planet, and I'm cuddled up next to him on the band's bus
and
he has his arm draped over my shoulders. I need to say that again just to make sure it's real:
He has his arm
draped over my shoulders!

Sigh...

I suddenly have a newfound appreciation for those girls who made out with the quarterback.

"You're gonna love Vegas, Lola," Drax says, his fingers tracing tiny circles on my arm that make all my bits tighten. "I plan on showing you a
very
good time."

My skin heats up at the insinuation, especially since he says it right in front of his bandmates, but it doesn't make me want him any less. I hardly know the man but the attraction between us is an inferno. The one kiss we've shared was the most intense experience of my life -- sexual or otherwise -- and I'm desperate to discover what making love to him is like.
 

Of course, it's been so long I'm a little worried I'll forget where everything goes. When I called Pepper just before boarding Roadkill's bus, she laughed at my fears.
 

"Lo, you'll be fine, trust me. Just take notes for me, m'kay?"
 

I hope she's right. Not about the notes part, but the other thing.

"Drax, why do you call her Lola?" asks Savory, the bass player and, from what I can tell, Drax's best friend. "You know her name is Lauren, right?"

Jake, the guitar player, bursts out into drunken laughter, his red-tipped spikes bobbing merrily. He started drinking beer way early and really doubled down after the concert was cancelled.

"Yeah, like dat time in Shheattle. Man, dat chick was piiiiished!"

I don't know these guys very well, but even for for metal-head rockers, that kind of comment seems crass. I'm probably just being a delicate flower or something. But then Drax leans across the tiny aisle and snatches Jake's half-empty bottle from his lax fingers, so maybe it wasn't just me being sensitive.

"I think that's enough for you, my friend. We've got a show tomorrow, remember?"

Jake looks like he's going to argue but then leans back into the black leather couch and drifts off into oblivion. Frank has a beer, too, but he's not wasted like Jake. He looks pretty surly, though. More surly than usual, that is. Boy, I need to get a handle on these guys if I'm going to be their manager, temporary though it might be.

"Her dads call her Lola," Drax explains to Savory. "I think it suits her, don't you?"