by Shey Stahl
Her eyes light up, and they’re kind and beautiful and full of things like true love and happiness, emotions I didn’t think existed in the world any longer. At least not organically. “That’d be so much fun!”
“Jesus Christ,” I say with a laugh, blowing out smoke. “Control yourself. It’s just one fucking song.”
She fixes her intoxicating green eyes on mine, and the air in my lungs seizes. “I know, but it’s exciting. What should we write about?”
I clear my throat and sit up, resting my elbows on my knees. Trying to redirect my thoughts, I turn a shaky hand through my hair. “Good songs come from extreme happiness or sadness. Everything else is watered-down bullshit.”
“Okay. . . so that leaves. . . .” Her timid voice trails off, and she fidgets with the pen in her hand and the notebook beside it. Apparently, she wants to write a song right now. I’m not sure I have it in me today because it’d probably involve me trashing this room and fucking her up against the wall.
I drag my eyes to her face. “Revenge.”
Her eyes widen. “Revenge?”
Yours. Mine. Ours.
“Yes, revenge.” I swallow the bitterness in my throat. “As long as I get to call her a gold-digging whore, I’m happy to write about whatever else you want in the song.”
Nodding, she begins fidgeting again. “So we’re writing a song together?”
I roll my eyes. “Don’t make me regret this. I have a reputation to uphold here.” I’m being serious, but also sarcastic. Her smile ignites my own.
She takes the drink in her hand, and I’ve never wanted to be a straw more in my life when her lips close around it. I watch her swallow, and have to concentrate on breathing in and out. “I have a question for you.”
Panic rolls in my stomach, tension burrowing between my temples. I fear questions about myself. I lace my fingers behind my head and lean back again. The coat’s still open, and her eyes are darting anywhere but my junk. “I knew you would. . . .”
“Why did you say those things about me?”
Okay, I wasn’t expecting that one. My eyes sweep to hers. Green on blue. Tough on soft. “I don’t know, high or drunk, maybe both. But be honest, your lyrics don’t say anything substantial.”
“They do too.”
I raise an eyebrow and snub the cigarette. Smoke filters up from the ashtray and into the space between us. “C’mon, really?”
Red laughs, hiding her face in her hands and then smiles. “Okay, maybe they’re too pop for someone who writes about politics and zombies.”
“If you’re referring to ‘Disease,’ it’s not about politics. It’s about addiction, in any form, and how it distorts your version of reality. It makes you think nothing’s safe anymore, even your own mind.”
“So why don’t you tell people what it’s really about? You have the majority of the world thinking if the president’s assassinated, it’d be you.”
“I don’t tell people what the songs are about. Any of them for that matter. I want a listener to find their own meaning. Never forget the weapon words can be, and if you give them meaning, it can ruin the song.”
She doesn’t get the chance to say anything else before a wordless knock hits the door and in walks her ex. Goddamn it. I thought I locked that. Apparently not.
He glances at Red, then me. “Am I interrupting something?”
“Yeah, you were,” I bark, scowling at him. “Leave.”
Breckin snaps his eyes to Red. “What’s he doing in here?”
“I don’t think I have to explain that to you,” she bites back.
He says some shit to her, most of which I don’t hear because believe it or not, I don’t fucking care. What gets me is when I get up to leave, because I can’t sit in the same room with this piece of shit any longer, he says to me, “You don’t scare me, Revel,” as if he knows what I’m up to.
I laugh, rolling my eyes. “Yet. I don’t scare you, yet.” I wink at Red. “See ya, Princess.”
EYES ON YOU, PRINCESS
TAYLAN
“What was that about?” Breckin demands, like he has any right to be demanding anything aside from my wrath. “Why is he in your dressing room?”
I send a text to Bella telling her to come back, and to get hair and wardrobe in here. “Does it matter?” I set my phone down to find Breckin glaring at me.
“Seriously? You guys go out one night and suddenly you’re collaborating together on a song?”
Ah, look at him trying to be the caring guy here. Not a chance, buddy. “Again, does it matter? I didn’t realize I had to run my plans by you.”
Breckin plops down, huffs out a sigh, folding his arms over his chest. “This isn’t you.”
I turn to face him. “Maybe that’s my problem,” I growl, my voice so harsh I can’t believe it comes from me. Revel’s wearing off on me. “I’ve never been me, until now.”
He leans into the edge of the vanity, glancing down at me with what I think is supposed to be his sympathetic side, but I don’t see it. All I see is him trying to control me just like my dad does. They all think they know what’s best for me. “He’s going to hurt you, T.”
Bitterly, I smile back at him. “Like you did?”
He rubs the back of his neck, sighing and looks up at the ceiling. “It doesn’t change how I feel about you.”
“And it changed everything I felt about you,” I finish, my eyes hard on his face.
He shakes his head, raking his fingers through his hair. “I was stupid back then. I didn’t see what was right in front of me.”
I fight the urge to stuff my palm in his face. “Are you trying to get me back or to stay away from Revel?”
“Both.” He moves toward me and I slap his hand away when he tries to touch me.
I squeeze my eyes shut. “Leave.” I hadn’t realized I had a mean streak until now, but I desperately want to punch Breckin, more so than when I found out he’d slept with another woman.
I stare up at him. He doesn’t budge. Where I see warm hazel, I want cool blue and frowns. I have to remind myself that had Breckin not cheated on me, I wouldn’t have realized my life and career were heading in a direction I didn’t want. Should I thank him for cheating on me?
Nah.
When you’re little and you’re being told all those fairy tales, the ones that tell you there’s a Prince Charming out there for you, they leave out the villains. The monsters lurking. They don’t warn you about the ones hidden behind a disguise with pretty eyes and smoke in their lungs. One look at that villain and I know even bad boys have a story to tell. So forget Prince Charming. Give me the guy with tattoos and the bad attitude. I want that “fuck you” smirk and the roughness of his touch. This good girl is definitely looking for one of them.
That night in Anaheim, my performance goes without a hitch, and though I don’t get bottles thrown at me, I know who they’re anticipating. Revved. Everyone here came for one band, and it’s them. I have something in common with these fans, but my interest doesn’t lie with Deacon, or Hardin, or even Cruz. It’s the man in front, his energy on stage and his effect on the crowd that’s incredible. They worship him.
After they finish “Black Heart,” Revel’s eyes find mine side-stage and the look he gives me freezes me in place. He nods, a quick jerk of his head before he turns to the audience screaming for their hit song “Halo” to be played next. I know the song. Everyone in the world does. It’s played in commercials, movies, plastered all over the radio stations, but why is he nodding to me? What the heck is going on?
When I don’t come out on stage, he gives me the finger. Like Patrick Swayze did to Jennifer Grey in Dirty Dancing. You know exactly what I’m talking about, don’t you?
But still, I don’t move. I’m not sure I can.
Panic rushes through me, anxiety tensing my neck and shoulders. We haven’t practiced any songs together, nor have we started writing the one together. Why would he call me out to the stage? I’m seriously hyperventilating
. Not to mention, I’m wearing tights and an oversized T-shirt that says “I’d rather be eating tacos.” Not exactly spotlight material here.
With wide-eyes and quick breaths, I look to Bella standing next to me, drooling over Cruz and his sick beats on the riser floating about ten foot above the stage behind Revel. “Why is he nodding at me? Do you know anything about this? What’s he doing?”
Bella giggles. “No, silly. I’ve never even spoken to Revel. Like at all. Other than I think he stole my water bottle earlier and dumped it down that jock strap thingy he had on. I think I saw his penis in the process.”
I snap my eyes to her. “What?”
She waves me off. “Nothing.”
Thankfully, he’s no longer wearing that stupid coat. It got tossed aside after the third song of the night, and the jock strap was replaced with jeans, and I’m pretty sure he’s not wearing any underwear.
I’ve never been more nervous in my life. Other than my first appearance at the Grammys. I was sweating so bad that night my dress kept falling down and my wardrobe assistant had to tape it for me with clear tape.
Tonight is nothing compared to that night. Trying to gather up the courage to put one foot in front of the other, I draw in a deep breath. Here goes nothing. Me on stage in a taco shirt and tights.
“I can do this,” I tell myself. I’m not so sure. And I’m definitely not at all sure when I see his face behind me on the big screen, sweat trickling down his torso looking so yummy and incredibly hot. It’s like seeing a life-size version of Jason Momoa on the big screen and trying not to drool.
“Play ‘Halo’!” someone yells from the front row.
With a sarcastic laugh into the mic, Revels shoots them a glare. “Shut the fuck up. I ain’t playin’ that song right now.” He pauses and points at me. “Red, get over here!”
He motions again and then flicks his wrist at the band. Cruz smirks, seeming to know what’s going on. My eyes hit a stage light and it momentarily blinds me, but I keep walking toward him. Neon green, blue, and yellow sparkle against Revel’s skin, his gaze fixes on mine and the distinct opening riff of “Walk This Way” begins, the crowd roaring in response. I’m not even joking here. “Walk This Way” by Aerosmith and Run-D.M.C.
What? That’s the song he pulls me on stage for, like I’m going to what, sing it with him? He can’t be serious.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-shout to him, wondering if he’s lost his damn mind. No, I know he has; it’s his intention I’m worried about here.
His eyes cut to mine and my face feels like it’s on fire. I curl my hand around his forearm, using him to balance my unsteady grip on reality. Studying me with careful scrutiny, his warm breath washes over my face. I’m overwhelmed by how alive he looks in this moment. “Eyes on you, princess.”
I stare. No, they’re on you. They’re always on you.
“Revel,” I whisper in his ear, keeping a smile plastered on my face and my hand on his shoulder. I actually have a death grip on his arm, and it’s rather hard to do with how sweaty he is. And it’s super gross to think about, but I really want to weld my body to his just to feel his sweat on me. Maybe I’m the one who’s lost my mind? “I can’t do this. I’m not rock, or rap, or whatever this song is.”
His brows furrow, thick and low above his lashes. Deacon approaches, smiling. “Do you know the lyrics?” Revel asks, bobbing his head to the drum beats behind him.
I take a deep breath, exhaling slowly, the energy between us intensifying. “Yes, everyone does.”
“Then you can do it.” He shrugs one shoulder and hands me a mic one of the road managers rushes on stage with. “Who cares what the fuck they think?” His gaze moves around the stage, scanning the audience in front of him, breaking our connection. “If they laugh, fuck ’em. Get out of your head and find your sound. Not the sound your daddy created, that’s not you. Show me the wild side.”
“I’m not sure I know me,” I admit, fidgeting with the microphone.
“You do.” His hand moves under my chin forcing me to look at him. I hear girls screaming from the front row. “You do.”
Our eyes connect—stars in mine, I don’t know what’s in his—but I know one thing, he makes me feel a thousand feet high. He places me on a pedestal, for reasons I don’t truly understand, but I know, deep down, he can knock me down without a care.
Tread lightly, heart. You’re in so deep.
Raising the microphone to his lips, he begins the first verse, and then looks to me to continue.
My heart pounds a million miles an hour, but I do, without hesitation, and it’s everything I can possibly dream of. I’ve been on a stage my entire life, but nothing, and I do mean nothing, compares to being next to him. Here is a rock legend standing beside me, inches from me really, and I’m up close and personal with his ability. With his iconic rough growls and jaw-dropping vibrations, I can’t deny the intensity behind him, the influence he has on me.
Throughout the nearly seven minutes we play the song, we laugh, tease, and flirt all over the stage like we’ve been singing together for years. It’s amazing and leaves the audience in awe of us. We’ve never rehearsed together, yet here we are, seamlessly pulling off a complex rap cover together.
The rest of his band joins in, but when Hardin kisses me on the cheek during part of the song, Revel shoves him back and continues on with the chorus. When it comes up again, the kiss part of the song, Revel takes his time as I’m standing in front of him. Lowering the mic, he runs it up the inside of my thigh and grins like the devil as the crowd roars in response. I was innocent before I met him. Now, I’m possessed because that right there, gave me such a thrill that I finally understand every meaning behind the saying, “he makes my knees weak.”
Sure, he might just be playing a part on stage but to me, it was more than that when he whispers only for me, “You make me fucking weak.” And then he takes my face in his hands, drops the mic on the stage, and then acts as if he’s going to kiss me, only I playfully push his face away.
The crowd roars in response, their energy contagious and consuming, but it’s nothing in comparison to what I feel inside. I watch them closely, their approval evident in their enthusiasm. So lost inside, I never knew the power of my voice, my performance, until I let Revel Slade in. With his encouragement, I don’t care about any of that. It’s not his acceptance I had been hoping for, it’s theirs and in this moment, I have it.
Revel smirks, and pulls me in closer, his eyes on my lips, but he doesn’t kiss me. The intensity in his eyes draws me in, neon green and purple lights reflecting off his face as he whispers, “You’re fire and I crave the burn.”
I never craved a sin like him, until I met the real Revel Slade and he showed me what his tasted like.
Backstage I have no expectations. I’m not even sure how to comprehend the last fifteen minutes, let alone my reaction to it, or what Revel’s will be to me. He might just snub me again. Only that’s not what happens. I’ve gone over it in my head, and dreams, thousands of times. . . how our first kiss might happen. Nothing compares to how it actually goes down.
Do you notice us backstage? Tucked away in the shadows? Roadies rushing by us breaking down the stage and pulling equipment. That’s when Revel shoves me flush against the wall and corners me completely, his hand above my head on the wall behind me. He actually shoves me. I love how easily he manhandles me. Someone calls his name in the distance.
He nods and tells them he’ll be right there.
Only. . . he’s not moving. His eyes find mine again.
Our breathing intensifies, my heart attempting to jump its way out of my chest the moment he steps forward and presses his bare chest to mine, the hard planes of his body welding into me. I can’t get close enough. I’m dying inside, and I think, no, I know I need him closer. I want to rip everything off him and smoosh our naked bodies together.
I don’t have the greatest view of him seeing how it’s dark, but I can see sweat glistening at
his temples, and he gives a faint shake of his head, whispering, “Princess.”
Heat crashes over me. He’s like a black widow. Silent, shiny, and oh so deadly.
His hand moves from my hip to around my back, up my spine to the nape of my neck. Goose bumps spread like fire, rapidly increasing. He grabs the back of my head, fisting my hair between his knuckles, and gives a light tug.
And then I realize what’s about to happen. Holy fuck. He’s going to kiss me.
It takes me a moment to process it, and then it happens.
Revel Slade kisses me, and my reckless, foolish heart believes a rock god could really fall for a pop princess.
Finally surrendering to the need, his lips flutter over mine, our breath mixing. There’s a gasp, though I’m not sure from who. Maybe both of us. No words are said as he explores my mouth, dragging my lower lip between his teeth before claiming my mouth as his. As I attempt not to hyperventilate or do something equally as unsexy, Revel angles his head and deepens the kiss, his tongue swirling with mine. His hand that’s still on my hip tightens, palms greedily seeking heated skin.
Breathe, Tay. Freaking breathe!
He draws me closer, devouring me completely, passionately as he groans into my mouth. I’m overwhelmed by the taste of him, a delicious mixture of alcohol and cigarettes. I know, sounds disgusting, but in a way, it’s not. The vodka he’s been drinking all night has given his tongue a unique sweetness. Tilting my head, I give myself fully to the kiss, surrendering to him completely for him to devour.
For a moment, the world falls away and I’m left in the arms of a man I never thought I’d want to be in the same room with, let alone have him kiss me. It’s everything I imagined it would be, yet so much more than that as he kisses me as if he’s drowning and I’m the air he desperately needs.
Before I have the chance to jump his bones, Revel pulls away, ending the kiss before I can comprehend its meaning or what will happen next. His eyes drift from my lips to my eyes and the world spins. And still, the meaning of the kiss remains unsaid. It hangs there in the air, waiting for definition, and yet I realize it’s not the end of the kiss. It’s the beginning of so much more. When you’re falling, you rush to fill the gaps your heart so desperately wants to mend, but it’s these moments, the ones suspended in silence that fill them completely.