True Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (The Body Rock Series Book 4) (2 page)

His frown was soft on the edges. “If I knew of a way, would you help me?”

Instantly I stood straighter. “Of course! God, you know I'd help you anyway I can, Sean.”

There was a storm in his eyes, far greater than the one that roared around us. The words that left his mouth tugged at my blood until it clawed away the last of my warmth.

“I want you to leave Four and a Half Headstones.”

My tongue stuck inside my mouth. “W—what?”

Sean curled his palms around my fingers, trapped me under his pleading stare. “Quit the band, come join Barbed Fire. You can be our second guitarist, do rhythm! I'm an idiot for never suggesting it before. I know you always wanted to join my band.”

“Wait, Sean...”

“Lola. Please.” His grip tightened on me; I struggled to decide if he was begging me or intimidating me. I didn't like either option. “If you do this, we can both make it big. You, me, together we'll destroy the stage! We'll be on top! Both of us.”

Both of us.
“What happens to Four and a Half Headstones?”

“They'll find someone to replace you. Don't worry about them.”

Replace me.
My muscles screamed as I ripped my hand from his. For a moment, I stumbled backwards into the rain; the cold droplets were what I needed to clear my head. “How can I not worry about them? I care about all of them, Sean! They're my friends.” Drezden's scent tickled my brain. “And... more than that.”

Lifting his chin, Sean held the umbrella steady. “You're actually picking them over me. Over my dream that you acted like you cared so much about.”

“I do care! You can't expect me to shove them aside like this, though!”

“What makes them worth more?” In the low lights, Sean's teeth looked muddy. “What makes
him
worth more?”

The pity in my heart bled away. “He isn't making me choose between you and him.”

Laughing bitterly, Sean tilted the umbrella away. He didn't react to the water that splashed down his throat. “No? Think about it, Lola! That asshole makes you choose in every second you spend with him. Someone like him...” Gritting his molars, Sean looked me dead in the face. “You think a person like him is worth more than your own brother?”

“Stop saying that! Stop acting like it's about any of that!”

“He's an entitled piece of shit!”

Waving my arms, I heard my voice rising. “You're the one acting entitled! I just wanted us to talk again, for things to be normal! Why are you being this way?”

Rain had drenched us both. It felt like we were the only ones alive in the world right then. Sean spoke at a whisper, but I heard it so clearly. “Because I care about you. Because I want to protect you.”

“I'm not in any danger, Sean.”

“You really think
he
isn't dangerous?”

My brain was forever spinning. “Drezden wouldn't hurt me.”

Sean's brows ducked low. “Are you sure? He's got a hell of a temper. Do you actually know anything about him?”

“Of course I—”

“Anything
real?
”

Gripping my forehead, my skin throbbed. “Real? Real like what?”

The satisfied smile that crawled across my brother's face left my insides twisting. “How about his real name.”

Something inside me crackled; exploded.
His real name.
It left my ears ringing, made me wonder if true thunder had boomed inches from me.
Drezden isn't his real name.

How had I not known that?

How had
Sean
known that?

He offered me the umbrella. When I didn't reach for it, Sean forced it into my hand, curled my fingers around the base like a vice. “You think you know this guy. You don't know anything about him, not really. He lies and hides from you. He's a deceptive, greedy motherfucker. Okay?”

I looked at the ground, said nothing.

“Lola. Look at me.”

There were raindrops living on my eyelashes. When I lifted my head, they rolled down like tears.

Releasing the umbrella, Sean stepped back. “Ask him to tell you the truth. When he won't—and he
won't
—come talk to me. I promise I'll be waiting, I'll bring you the answers you need.” For a while we both listened to the storm, watched each others pale face. He moved to leave, hesitated. “Unlike him, you can trust me.”

In the early morning, muted shades of the world, I stood alone. Existence was tip-tapping rain, the whistle of wind; that was all. Beside me, I saw the water rushing along the road, carrying trash and vanishing into the sewer grates, never to be seen again.

I wished I could wash away with it.

––––––––

“H
ey, you alive in there?”

Lola sat up ram-rod straight. Sunlight, streaming in from the small window in the roof of the bus, made her face glow. “Sorry, I zoned out. What was that?”

She's been zoned out for days. And the reason is fucking obvious.
It bothered me constantly how, after I'd confronted him in the dark hours half a week ago, Sean still hadn't reconciled with Lola.
The piece of shit said he'd talk to her. He clearly hasn't. Do I need to corner him a second time?

“Now you're the one zoning out,” she said, perfect lips tilting in a smile.

If there wasn't a table between us, I would have pushed her down right then and kissed that taunting mouth. I settled for reaching across, stealing her fingers and guiding them over the notebook I'd set in front of her. “I asked what you thought of these lyrics so far.”

Like my touch had revitalized her, Lola squeezed my hands. Curls of her thick hair toppled her bare shoulders when she leaned down to read the words. I hadn't had anyone judge my song-writing skills in such a long time. Watching her scrutinize the bits of my brain and soul carved into ratty, lined paper was making my heart jump.

What if she hates it?
Blood pounded in my ears.
Fuck, it doesn't matter if she hates it. Why would that make a difference?
I was sure my lungs were going to collapse from holding my breath.
Of course it would make a difference. I want her to be impressed.

I'd never felt so vulnerable; I regretted handing her the lyrics.

Maybe I could grab them back?

“These are wonderful.” The pink blooming on her cheeks made her blue irises sparkle even brighter. “How did you write these so fast?”

Swallowing past the dry patch in my throat was difficult. “It's been almost a week since we decided to collaborate. That's plenty of time.” I'd poured over the words hourly between dreaming and waking. Writing a song like this—and did she understand what it was?—took every moment I had.

And Lola said it was wonderful.

The table between us was mattering less and less.

“I have a question, though,” she said. Pulling her hands from me, Lola turned the notebook around, brushed her nail down the paper. “Am I insane, or did you mark down a section for a second guitar?”

Now it was my turn to smile. “We'll play together.”

She set the notebook down like it was a bomb. “Both of us?” I didn't understand the tension crawling across her forehead. What was she thinking about that had her so unsteady?

Leaning forward, I tucked her hair behind her ears. The way she startled, bent into my touch, made my jeans far too tight.
Fuck, she works me up by just existing.
“Is that a problem?”

Lola didn't relax, I felt her pulse under my palm. “It's fine. I didn't know you could play guitar, is all. It's... kind of weird to not know that about you.”

The bus seat rumpled when I fell back into it with my full weight. “I'm no where near as good as you, but I'm decent enough to play with if you'll lead.”

“How long have you been playing for?”

Grimacing at the memory that rose up, of large hands guiding my own across the strings of a guitar, I hesitated.
No. I don't want to go down that road.
“Who knows,” I mumbled quickly, “I guess since I was a kid.”

“Then you learned from someone, like me. Was it a brother? Do you
have
any siblings at all?” There was an edge in her voice that left me confused.

“What? Why does that matter?”

Furrowing her eyebrows, Lola set her intense stare right on me. It was impossible to break away. “Because it's something about you I don't know. Tell me about your family, about learning to play. Just give me more information about yourself.”

“You're acting weird.” Lola flinched at my observation, but she didn't look close to backing off.
What's this all about? Why the sudden digging into my life?
“I don't like this inquisition. You're asking me things that don't matter.”

“Then what
does
matter?”

Grabbing my notebook, I spun it on the table, jammed my finger onto it. “This! Our final tour performance is tomorrow night. Let's start practicing so we can show everyone out there how serious this is!”

“Maybe you should show me how serious
we
are, first!” Scowling, Lola pushed out of the seat. “You said we were dating, that you're my boyfriend, now. I hardly know anything about you!”

We hung on the precipice of destruction. I could see it in her eyes,
knew
she was about to storm off that bus if I didn't do something. Pulling in a lungful of air, I stood up to block the aisle. “Lola, listen. What you're poking at here... maybe there's a reason I don't want to go into it. Okay?”

Holding her ground, she looked into my eyes and didn't waver. “So there
is
something you're hiding from me.”

Frost darted through my veins.
What does she know?
“Everyone hides things.” Lola's eyes rippled, hinting at a deep guilt. She had hid things from me, too, until recently. I was sure I could have turned the whole conversation on its head until she felt bad about pressing me.

Instead, I settled for wrapping her hands in mine. Her breath caught as I pulled her against my chest, my voice soft in the silence of the bus. “Lola, listen to me. You want to know more about my past, but it's just not worth knowing. Nothing about who I was before we met is important.”

She leaned into me, stiff as old bread. The way she was resisting me, all while her heart thumped along my ribs, just encouraged me to try and break her down. Before I could do anything beyond inhaling along the side of her throat, Lola squeezed my fingers and turned away. “Everything about you is important. Past, present, and even future. Isn't it the same for you, about me?”

Shit.
She had me there. I wanted to know, to have, everything about Lola Cooper. Gingerly, I glided my fingers up her arms, explored her goosebumps. When I reached her shoulders, I cupped the smooth skin and held her still. “Please trust me. When I say my old life isn't important, I mean it. I don't want you asking me about it.”
I don't want to explain or rehash or—just anything.
“Alright? Lola?”

Her eyelashes hid those blues from my view. “No. It's not alright.” Her elegant neck arched back, allowing her to look at me so matter-of-factly. “You told me not to lie, or to act tough when I'm faking it. So I won't. I'm frustrated you won't talk to me. Hell, I'm even mad about it. But, I also won't force you to tell me about your past.” Untangling herself, she scooped up the notebook from the table. “Come on. You wanted to practice, let's go do it.”

The air around me felt... colder. Watching her taught spine, how her shoulders were pulled back sharply enough to treat her shirt like a coat hanger, I regretted my words.
But what else can I do?

In what world would telling Lola about my fucked up life help either of us?

****

W
e had the practice room to ourselves for some time. That was good, because I was rusty as hell on guitar, and didn't want Colt and Porter watching me fumble.
We should have practiced sooner.
It didn't help that I was feeling the pressure from Lola's glum mood.

Tightening my strings, I glanced up at her where she sat so close. We both needed to see the sheet of paper with the music notes, especially as we randomly scribbled changes while we worked.

The song we were creating was coming together. It was a beautiful thing, made muddy by the tension between me and the girl I adored.

“You think this part should be faster?” she asked, tapping the page, adjusting the stratocaster in her lap. “Where you sing, 'wrapping, coiling, merging with the world?'”

When she says the lyrics so bluntly, it makes me feel... ashamed?
She was missing the whole core of the song. My face was hot; looking at her was difficult.
Shit. I feel like an awkward teen all over again, fuck.
“Yeah. Let's speed that section up.”

Lola smudged more pencil down, then plucked a few notes thoughtfully. “I think that'll sound better. More intense.”

Swallowing around my sluggish tongue, I drained my water bottle. “You write a lot of music before this?”

“None.” At my look of disbelief, Lola shrugged. “Nothing structured, like this. I just goofed off and made stuff up when it came to me.”

Goofed off.
Thinking about her audition, I let my stunned smile take over. “A god damn prodigy.”

Shifting on her stool, she looked away. I could see the pink blush coating her cheeks. “Says the guy who can play guitar
and
sing.”

“I told you.” My fingers slid down the neck of the instrument, exploring it as if I'd never held one of its kind. “I'm only okay at guitar. You have ears.”

“My ears tell me you're better than you think.”

“Guess we're even there.”

Chewing the side of her lip, Lola stared pointedly at the floor. “Come on. Let's play this again. Neither of us are where we want to be, yet.”

No,
I thought sullenly, letting my guitar pick strike the chords.
Right now I want to be on you, wrapped up in your scent and panting cries.
My lower belly thrilled with a surge of heat at the image.

I'd have to settle with singing about my desires.