True Body Rock (Rockstar Romance) (The Body Rock Series Book 4) (3 page)

For now.

We practiced until midday, working until we were sounding cohesive.
At this rate, we'll be able to play this tomorrow night just fine.

We were interrupted by Colt and Porter. The two slid into the room quietly, respecting how caught up we were in our song. They sat on the sidelines, eyes focused, ears straining.

By that time, I was more comfortable with my instrument. Years of playing as a child, into my teens, were coming back with the waking of my muscles. Lola never called me out on my errors; I noticed all of them, though.

I'm still not as good as I wanted to be, growing up. That doesn't matter anymore.

Being a guitarist hadn't been
my
dream, after all.

It had been my father's.

“It's sounding great,” Porter said, clapping when Lola and I paused. “You sure you don't want me and Colt to join in on this?”

“Maybe a little 'oomph' from the drums?” Colt added, mimicking playing his sticks in the air. “It'd add some texture to the song.”

Setting the guitar aside, I stood and cracked my back. “I appreciate the offer, but I'd like it to be just Lola and me out there for this one.”

Colt rubbed at the side of his right eye. “I'll try to hold in my tears of jealousy.”

“I won't.” Frowning deep, the bassist gave a few hollow sobs. “This is how it begins. Kicked out of the band. I hear guitar only teams are taking over.”

Wrapping his arm around Porter's shoulders, Colt nodded sagely. “I told you, we should have just learned guitar.”

“Bass is close!”

“Bass is
not
close,” Colt snorted.

Digging out a bottle of water, I drained half of it. “Want some, Lola?”

Setting her guitar in its case, she leaned it on the wall and headed for the door. “I'm fine. Think I'll go find some food.”

Lola's escape was briefly ruined by Brenda, the red-head bumping into her as she tried to enter. “Oh! Hey, sorry Lola—where are you running off to?” Turning in place, our manager backed into the practice room.

Hardly slowing, Lola's voice faded the further she got into the bus. “Food. I need to eat.”

“But I was going to order us lunch! The hotel we're all staying at is ready for us now, it's super nice! We could all use a nice day to relax—and—hey!” Holding her hands up, Brenda watched in confusion as Lola escaped from view. “What the hell was that about?” she asked, looking at all of us.

One by one, they all stared at me.
Ah, shit.
“It's nothing. Don't worry about it.”

“Drezden, what did you do?” Brenda sighed.

“Nothing!” Throwing up my arms, I tossed the water bottle at the trash can. The sound of it missing was poignant. “Why would you think she's upset because of me, Brenda?”

“So she
is
upset,” my manager said. Digging into her purse, she lifted out her phone and eyed it. “Doesn't matter. There's nothing going on between now and the final show, let her blow off some steam.”

Porter brushed a palm over his fuaxhawk uneasily. “No, I wanna know what Drez did that made her so tense.”

“Nothing! It was nothing, fuck.”

My drummer and bassist shared a knowing look. I wanted to bang their skulls together. Brenda, amazingly, came to my rescue; her hands clapped sharply. “I said forget it. Now, who wants to go check out the jacuzzi in the suit I booked for myself at the Hilton? Oh, that's right.” She jammed a ruby nail at herself. “Me. This girl. Now come on, I've got a car waiting to take us over. Everyone needs a break.
Especially
me.”

Relaxing was the furthest thing from my mind. But, if it got everyone off my back, then I was glad to follow the path of least resistance.
Lola's fine. She just needs some time. That's all it is.

I was never great at lying to myself.

****

T
he drive to the hotel was smooth. I couldn't control how I looked around for Lola in the parking lot, at every turn, only to feel morbid when I didn't spot her. In the car, I finally gave in and sent her a quick text. It was nothing special, as close to a plea as I could make, asking her to call me if she needed anything.

Brenda handed our keycards off to us in the Hilton lobby. When she gave me mine, she held it tight, not releasing it from her grip. “This time,” she whispered, “I didn't put you and Lola in connecting rooms. Get my drift, Mr. Keep Everyone Awake at All Hours?”

Yanking the card free, I shoved it deep in my jeans. “It doesn't matter how far apart you put us.”
If I want to see her, I'll do it, rooms be damned.

Brenda rolled her eyes with gusto. “I'm just trying to encourage you to get some sleep. You guys have such a big final show, especially with this new song and all. How's that coming, by the way?”

Someone nudged me, an arm circling my neck to pull me into a rough hug. “I heard it earlier,” Colt chuckled, “it sounded great. Tell him to add some drums, though, would you Brenda? Please?”

“As if he'd listen to me,” she snorted.

Struggling out of the hold, I adjusted my shirt, ignoring the teasing grin Colt shot me. “Give me a break, this song is—it's just that I have a vision for it.”

“Man, it's fine.” Palming the back of his head, the drummer winked. “I'm kidding around. For real, though, I guess I just miss jamming and making music with you. Even if you always wrote the songs, you at least listened to my input when we were kids.”

Strangely, I flushed at his observation.
I guess we did used to create more stuff when we were younger.
“The music could use a shakeup,” I muttered. “After the tour, maybe we should work on a new CD.”

Porter slid between all of us, a fist full of hotel mints. “Love it. But you know what I'd love more?” The hard, white sugar crunched like porcelain in his teeth. “Some lunch.”

“I'll say!” Shaking her thick mane of hair, Brenda pushed us towards the elevator. “Unload your stuff in your rooms, then let's order some room service. You guys are going to lose it when you see the private jacuzzi I have.”

“Why did you give yourself all the cool stuff?” Porter whined.

“Because I deserve something nice for once!”

It took longer for Brenda to corral us than I think she would have liked, but in the end, we all gawked at the gorgeous, open air jacuzzi that sprawled off the main section of her room. Brenda was stretched beside it, already on her third drink by the looks of the glasses piling up. “Gentlemen,” she said, waving lazily. “It's now, officially, time to relax.”

And, thanks to Brenda, time itself was quick to fly by.

Food came and went, my band mates chomping away until they couldn't fit anything else in their stomachs. I managed to work down something, but my appetite was poor enough that I didn't even remember what it was.

When the late hour came, the sky above warping from watercolor-red to brackish blues, the boys vanished to their rooms and abandoned us. Alone with my manager, who had gotten progressively drunker over the hours, I finally felt the weight of my day.

Lola hasn't called me at all.

“She's fine,” Brenda said, too good at figuring me out. Standing tall, she stretched her arms over her head and yawned. “Let her have space, it seems like she needs it.”

Lifting an eyebrow, I shifted on the edge of the chair. The beer washed over my tongue, giving me time to consider my response. “How would you know?”

“I just do.” She yanked her shirt over her head. I wasn't shocked; she'd been talking about the jacuzzi all day. In a bright green bikini, my manager slipped into the tempting, circular pool. “Here, just come and try to chill out for once.”

“I don't really think it'll help.”

“Suit yourself.” Dipping to her chin, she pointed at the bucket of champagne—the fourth one—that she'd ordered. “Can you get that for me?”

My knees popped as I stood.
I'm feeling like an old man.
I was too young to have so many aches and pains, but the tour had done a number on me. Sliding the bucket and glasses close to Brenda, I made a snap decision.

Turning so I faced her, I slid my shirt up across my chest. It kept her from seeing my scar, even though I suspected she'd done her research on me before signing the band.
She probably knows, but I'm not taking the chance now. I don't want to deal with that.

I wasn't looking for a reaction, but Brenda ran her eyes up and down me without pretense. “Coming in after all?”

“For a bit.”

She saw me unbuckle my belt, wrinkled her nose. “You don't have swim trunks on, do you?”

Her disgust was enough to make me smirk. Drunken-Brenda wasn't going to cheer me up, but she made things interesting. In just my dark boxers, I lowered myself into the heated water across from her. It tingled along my skin, demanded my muscles work out the knots. “Damn, this does feel good.”

“Right?” Beaming, she offered me a glass of golden alcohol. I didn't question it, I took it and swallowed a healthy mouthful. “Like I said, you need to relax.”

The way she stated that made my mouth pucker. “Don't act so all-knowing.”

“I
am
all-knowing,” she laughed. “I know you're freaking out about Lola, for one.” I shot a glare at her, then peered into my drink in silence. The next time Brenda spoke, it was far softer, more kind than usual. “Drez, what's going on? You're obsessing over this girl—and don't get me wrong, she's talented and pretty—”

“Gorgeous.”

“—Whatever enough. But I've never seen you so... off. What did she say to you?”

Listening to the jets running around us, feeling them prodding my lower back, I shut my eyes. “You actually want to know?”

“Of course I do.”

Swirling my drink, I sipped it. The alcohol was like a blanket of cotton on my brain. “She wants to know about my past.”

I heard her put the bottle back into the bucket. “And I take it you don't want her to know.”

My champagne glass was empty. Drinking it made me think too much of Lola, of the way we'd celebrated her induction into the band—into
my
band. “I just want her to want me as I am. Nothing about who I was, what I dealt with, matters now.”

Sinking deep into the water, Brenda considered me. Those thin eyebrows moved into her bangs, vanishing in the tangles and ringlets she'd piled up in a bun. “Not everyone gets what they want. If anything, you two are stupid lucky.”

“What the hell does that mean, how am I lucky?”

“Sometimes we fall for someone at the wrong time, or someone who just never meshes with us.” Her tone fell, fragile and bitter. “I don't know, some of us get saddled with being attracted to someone that we suddenly see all the time but can't ever touch.”

Oh, shit.
My back went tense against the wall. Had Brenda literally just admitted to being interested in someone she saw all the time but couldn't, for some reason, have?
Fuck! Is it me?
The very concept was awkward as hell. My skin prickled, suddenly I couldn't look her straight in the eye.
If my manager has had a crush on me this whole time, then...

“You fucking moron,” she snorted, covering her mouth and laughing into the bubbles.

“What? What is it?” Setting my elbows on the edges of the huge jacuzzi, I tried not to look too curious.

Brenda tucked a curl of crimson hair behind an ear, dark eyes watching me with sly amusement. “I can tell what you're thinking. It's not
you
that I'm interested in, asshole.”

“Good job confirming you were talking about yourself, though.”

Her whole face turned redder than her hair. “That—I—just forget it, jeez. We're supposed to be talking about you and Lola, not me and whoever.”

My interest was piqued, but ultimately, Lola was my focus. “You really think I can't have what I want?”

Reaching over, she refilled her glass, took a deep swig. “If you mean, have a relationship beyond the surface level with the girl you
love.”

Alcohol makes her too bold.
I was listening with held breath.

Brenda narrowed her stare pointedly. “Without telling her about everything you went through, without facing it yourself? Then no.” The champagne vanished in one gulp. “Drezden, Lola isn't that kind of person.”

Facing it myself.
“What kind of person is she?”

Hesitating, my manager wiped her mouth. “Did she ever tell you what she answered, the day she auditioned?”

“I—answered?”

“That stupid question you made me ask everyone.”

My heart slammed into my ribs.
What does it take to be a good guitarist?
“She never told me, no.”
I forgot—no, I guess I didn't even care. I got caught up in how good she was, in all of her. That question didn't even matter.

“You told me, turn away anyone who answered 'talent' and to let in anyone who said 'patience, hard work, or determination.' Right?”

Of course I remembered. Those were the answers I had long concluded came closest to defining the difference between those who would make it big, and those who would not. In a daze fueled by too much alcohol, too much steam, I nodded.

Pushing her empty glass away, Brenda tilted her head. “Lola didn't say any of those things. That day, the first thing that came to mind for her, was... honesty.”

“Honesty?”
Honesty. Honesty. How the hell does honesty make—oh. Oh, fuck.
All too quickly, so that it left me reeling, I actually understood. Lola, who she was and
how
she was.

Her music... hell, music in general.

Honesty.

It was why she was so fucking good.

And it was why I was constantly drawn to her open nature; her body's honest responses to what I made her feel.

Honesty.
I wanted to laugh; the answer was so simple, so obvious.
That's why she's so upset with me. Someone who values honesty so much... who spilled her guts about her past to me, sat by while I refused to do the same... someone who believes that honesty is what lets people create the best music they can...

And I've been telling her to accept my lack of honesty from the start.
“I'm a real dumb ass, aren't I?”