“Right.” War’s expression turned determined. “So, we need to knock all those Rebel Heart followers on their asses. Win them over fast.”
“Then we should do ‘My Way or the Highway’ first,” I said.
“That song’s not ready yet, Lacey.” War squeezed my shoulder in a condescending way that made me bristle.
“It is ready,” Bryan said, countermanding War. Something he rarely did, especially when it came to the band. “The lyrics are set. The bridge is worked out. My solo is blazing hot. What’s not ready?”
“It hasn’t been tested in front of an audience.” War’s brows drew together beneath his red bandanna.
“It’s in your face,” I said. “It’ll certainly catch their attention. It’s the kind of tune you play first. Screw ’em if they don’t like it.” I smoothed my hands over his chest, feeling the tension in his muscles. “It’s you, War.”
“It’s a manifesto for all of us.” Bryan lifted his chin.
“Okay.” War nodded. “Go tell the others. I want a little private time with my woman.”
Bryan’s gaze skimmed over mine before he moved. It seemed that he wanted me to note he’d sided with me.
“Babe,” War said, stepping in front of me as the door closed behind Bryan. “You’ve been back here a while.” His eyes searched mine. “Why aren’t you already dressed?”
“I was listening to my music.” I gestured to my cell and the headphones attached to it.
His lips curled. “Don’t know how Britney Spears gets you in the right mindset for being onstage.”
“It’s not always Britney.”
“Most of the time.” The curl of his lips became a mocking grin.
“She’s a performer. Her music gets me in the mood to dance. Makes me feel less self-conscious and nervous.”
King threw up. Bryan smoked. My brother screwed somebody. Sager read. We all had our own pre-show rituals.
I shrugged as if my ritual wasn’t a big deal, but maybe deep down it was. Listening to Britney reminded me of the good times back at the University House apartments when my brother, Bryan, and me had showboated on our makeshift stage. Back then, life had seemed simpler, the music an inseparable part of our friendship.
Now things were different. Tempest was mostly War’s vision. The music felt different. My role was different. I wasn’t an equal partner, I was just a small subpart, one that seemed ill fitting with me as the only girl in the band.
“Better let me get dressed,” I said softly.
“I should.” His features tightening, War dipped his fingers into the vintage silk. Separating the lapels, he untied the belt, revealing me and the ruby-red bra I wore beneath. “Fuck, Lacey.”
His gaze dropped, his passion-roughened voice scraping awareness into me. He skimmed the pads of his fingers across the swell of one of my breasts, and both my nipples tightened to points. Down into the valley between my breasts, he traced, and my lips parted to accommodate my rapid breaths. Up and over the swell of the other breast, he went, and between my legs I grew wet.
His gaze was dark when he lifted it. “I can’t wait until Thursday.”
“Me either,” I managed to say and swallowed.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed.” He took a step back, sweeping his gaze over me and shaking his head. “Too bad I can’t allow you onstage like that. We’d win the popularity contest without even playing a single note.”
That gave me an idea. “I won’t go onstage like this.”
I wouldn’t even consider it, though Britney had certainly gone onstage in less. I felt it was important to be clear with War about my parameters, because sometimes I thought he would do just about anything to make sure the band was a success.
“But you guys should go shirtless,” I said, smirking. “The chicks would love it. And nothing screams bad-boy rocker like a guy onstage with his perspiration-slick skin glistening under the lights.”
War grinned. “You’re probably right.”
“I know I am.”
Although it wasn’t my boyfriend’s sexy torso I had in mind, but one I hadn’t yet seen.
Lace
A knock on the dressing room door startled me. The untied laces on the bodice of my strapless Stevie Nicks-style dress dangling loose at my back, I went to answer it.
“Hey.” Bryan lounged in the doorway with his sculpted and tatted arms stretched over his head. “War’s asking for you.” His gray-green eyes swept over me, returning to focus on my face after a leisurely journey. They were much darker after their trek.
“I’m having trouble getting the laces tied.” My breaths were suddenly labored. Why did his perusal always make me feel like he’d caressed me? “Could you help me?”
“Sure.” Bryan swallowed, and I watched his Adam’s apple bob in his thick masculine throat. “I’d better come inside to do that. Some of the guys from Rebel Heart are hanging out in the hall.”
“That’s probably best,” I said, shocked I could formulate words at all with Bryan shirtless. Obviously, my idea had been adopted by the group.
My pulse beat wildly as he came forward, and I backed up. His skin was a vibrant bronze, the tan on his torso earned during his construction job the past summer. While he worked, I’d jammed in extra courses to jump ahead another grade level so I could graduate when Dizzy did. I didn’t want to be alone with Uncle Bruce in his house without my brother there.
In only indigo jeans, and those hanging low on his narrow hips, Bryan Jackson was a living, breathing bad boy of rock ’n’ roll. Thoughts about school scattered. My fingertips tingled as I imagined tracing the smooth skin stretched taut over his bulging muscles. Biceps, pecs, the ridges of his abdomen—all wore the evidence of his physical labor and hours of time at the gym.
He stepped closer, moving behind me. “Your hair’s in the way,” he said low after a significant pause.
“Sorry.” I trembled as his crisp, clean scent and body heat washed over me. “I guess I should have worn it up tonight.”
I started to lift my hair out of his way, but Bryan was faster. His warm fingers skimmed my exposed skin as he brushed the long length of my hair over my shoulder. A tremor shuddered through me from the unintentional caress.
“No, you shouldn’t have. I like it down. It’s so soft. Softer than I imagined.”
Bryan had imagined what my hair would feel like? That was news to me.
“Your hands.” I licked my dry lips, thinking about how I’d imagined his hands on me. Lots. “The pads of your fingers are rough.”
“Play calluses from my guitar,” he whispered.
“Of course,” I said, trying not to babble. “I should have guessed.” Shimmery sensations rippled over my skin as he fumbled at my back, searching for the ends of the delicate laces.
“Do you mind?” His warm breath spilled over me as he concentrating on his task, stirring wisps of fine hair at my nape. “The roughness, I mean?”
“No, not at all.” The scrape of his touch on my skin seemed to unravel nerve endings already completely frayed. I tingled everywhere. If his touch was a revelation, I wondered what his lips would feel like pressed to mine.
“Here it is.” Finding the ends of the laces, he tugged to tighten the loose crisscross binding.
The silk stretched tighter in the front over my breasts. My focus shifted to imagining his lips fastened around the now throbbing tips.
“Bryan,” I said, my breaths short. “You mentioned my hair. Did you ever wonder about anything else regarding me?”
His fingers stilled at my back. “Like what?”
“What it would be like to kiss me?”
“Don’t, Lace.” His voice was deeper than I’d ever heard it, and strained. He’d hinted earlier about War being a deterrent. Was War the only thing that had kept Bryan from ever trying anything with me?
I switched to a different approach. “My birthday’s this week.”
“I’m aware.”
“Did you get me a prese
nt?”
“No,” he said.
“Can you give me one now?”
“Not if it’s something that will cross the line of friendship between us.”
“My line or War’s?”
“Fucking hell,” he muttered, his fingers moving again. “Done.”
His hands splayed wide, spreading warmth at my waist. My pulse pounded below his hands, and between my legs, I was hot and wet. His grip flexed tighter. Silent anticipation filled the air, broken only by his breathing and mine.
When he released me, I turned around to find he was already halfway to the door. “What are you afraid of, Bryan?”
“I’m not afraid of anything.” His hand on the knob, he turned his head to give me a hard look over his broad shoulder.
“Back when we used to be real friends,” I said, edging as close to the truth as I dared, “I used to only be afraid of one thing. Losing you. Losing your friendship.”
“You haven’t lost me. I’m here. We’re real friends now.”
“Not true. Real friends confide secrets to each other. Their hopes, their dreams, maybe even a forbidden little fantasy like I just did. Real friends don’t lie to each other.”
His eyes flashed. “I haven’t lied to you.”
“You’ve honestly never wanted to kiss me? Never thought about it? Not even at that first party at my uncle’s house?” I said, but what I meant was before War stepped between us.
Bryan shook his head, the longer brown layers in front shadowing his gaze.
“Not even when I tripped on that first walk home from school? Not even earlier this evening before War came in?”
“No.” Bryan’s expression was solid steel, his eyes darker gray than green.
“Never?” I asked. My eyes burned, bearing the brunt of his denial. “Not even just one time to see what it would be like?”
“No.”
“Okay,” I said, wanting to cry, but proud of myself that my voice was firm and didn’t wobble like my stomach did.
I told myself it was good I hadn’t revealed more. I remained alone, the only one to know that I’d waited, maybe even put War off from going all the way, because I’d hoped Bryan might develop feelings for me.
War
“Where’s Lace?” Standing just offstage, I frowned at Bryan as he barreled toward me. Without her.
“In the dressing room.” His lips pulled back from his teeth, he snapped, “Go get her yourself. I’m through playing errand boy for you.”
Before I could get into it with him, Lace appeared, looking contrite, which set off all sorts of warning bells.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said, her amazing tits practically falling out of her top. A full skirt swayed around her shapely calves as she came to stand beside me.
No wonder she’d wanted to change. She was sexy as hell. A great outfit for her solo that unfortunately we’d had to ditch.
“What took so fucking long?” I asked her.
“I had trouble with the fastening on my dress.” She glanced at Bryan.
Keeping his head down, he was clipping on the strap for his guitar and didn’t notice her glance, or maybe he did and was just avoiding it. Something had happened between them that had pissed him off.
When he lifted his head and caught me looking at him, his eyes blazed even hotter than they did a moment before.
Fuck. We didn’t need bullshit like this before going out in front of a packed house with the guys from Rebel Heart breathing down our necks.
“Listen up,” I said, throwing my arm around Lace as I beckoned to the others.
King stepped forward. He still looked punk, but better than he had before he’d puked. Sager wore a chill expression, and Dizzy an even chiller one. Those two were reliable every time Tempest took the stage.
Lace would probably be okay. Her contribution would be minimal, given the change in our set list.
I focused on Bryan. “We start out with your riff on ‘My Way or the Highway.’ I want you walking out there and playing as you take the stage. All eyes will be on you to kill it before the rest of us come in.”
“I’ll slay that shit, brother.” Bryan frowned, apparently not digging the lack of faith my expression conveyed. “What’s your issue?”
“You.” I released Lace and got up in his face. “Your attitude suddenly sucks. Did you get into it with one of the guys from Rebel Heart on the way back here?”
“No.” He shook his head.
“Did something happen between you and Lacey?” I asked, wanting to get to the root of it and rip it out before we took the stage.
His gaze went over my shoulder, and he swallowed. “Nah. Just nerves, man.”
Nerves, my ass. Bryan loved to play, lived to shred that guitar of his, unless he was plowing pussy. He’d been doing a lot of that this past year.
“If you say so.” I’d have to wait until later to figure out what his deal was. I shifted my gaze to include everyone. “So, Bry starts us out, then the rest of you need to watch me for your cues.” I locked eyes with my drummer. “King, don’t hold back. Unleash the beast.”
“Will do, ese.” He lifted his chin.
“Diz,” I said, taking in my rhythm guy.
“Yeah, man?”
“Need you to hang real tight with Bry. Let him go crazy, but ground him with some steady chords. Yeah?”
“You got it,” he said.
“Sage.” I turned my attention to our bookish bassist. “That new snaky groove you introduced in practice is epic. I wanna hear it loud and clear on each transition.”
“Sure, War.” He gave me a more serious version of his already serious look.
“What about me?” Lace asked, and I turned to look at her.
“Do what you always do. Make me sound good with your harmony, and make the guys in the crowd nuts with how sexy you are. Right?”
She nodded, but the brightness in her eyes didn’t seem right.
“Hey, guys,” Addy said, stepping up onstage. “I’m going to make the introduction for you tonight.” Throwing her bar towel over her slender shoulder, she swept her gaze around the group before settling it on me. “You ready to kick some musical ass, Warren?”
She got my mood after I’d spent some time tonight at the bar complaining to her about Vance.
“Yeah,” I said. “We’re ready.”
“Good.” Her messy blond topknot bobbed with her nod. “For what it’s worth, I think you’re better than them. But there’s also the fact that Vance pisses me off more than you with his attitude, so I’m biased.”
My brows hit the bandanna I’d tied around my head. It surprised me that my attitude took second place to anyone else’s.
But Addy wasn’t done. “You should know there are A&R reps from Black Cat and RCA in the house. They’re here scouting Rebel Heart, but if you put on a good show, they might take notice.”
This was huge news. “Thanks for the heads-up, Addy.”
“You got it.” She held out her hand to me for a fist bump, and I gave one to her. Smiling like I’d given her a Grammy or some shit, she strode to the center of the stage. “Hey, Footit’s crowd,” she said into the mic. “How you feeling tonight? Besides thirsty.”
Only a few seemed to get her joke and responded with laughter.
Wincing, she glanced at me. Tough crowd, her pinched expression said.
Speaking to the crowd again, she said, “Well, I know most of you came to see Rebel Heart. But first up is a band that’s been rocking it out during the rest of the week at my place. This is their first Friday night appearance. From right here in Southside, I give you the most dangerous up-and-coming band in rock ’n’ roll, Tempest.” Amid some clapping, she stretched out her arm to our side of the stage.
Cued, Bryan walked out, throwing his shoulders back as he strutted past her. He looked confident.
A girl in the front fanned her face. A few appreciative whistles pierced the sudden hushed silence.
Bryan leaned over to plug in h
is guitar and got some feedback. Ignoring it, he stepped to the front of the stage, put one boot on the woofer, and leaned back. All rocker cool, he began to play so fast, his fingers blurred. One piercing speed metal chord after another, he slayed it.
I noted more than a few astonished faces as I took my rightful place at center stage beside him. The rest of the band moved into position. Addy was much shorter than me, so I adjusted the mic, bringing it to a comfortable height. Then I put my mouth to the mic and sang.
At her keyboards, Lace lightly harmonized. Sager grooved on his bass. King demolished his drums, and Dizzy nailed down the rhythm perfectly, making Bryan’s riffs soar.
We were tight, first to finish. Every cue met. No filler between songs, just rock—stripped down, raw, and real.
My lofty expectations were exceeded, and when we walked off the stage, the crowd didn’t just politely clap here and there like they did on the lightly attended weekday nights. No, this time they roared, and it sounded like thunder.
Loud, approving, addictive thunder.
Lace
“Hey.” After the show, Dizzy scooted into the empty space beside me at the bar. “How’s it going over here?”
“Not so well.” I frowned into my soda.
“Yeah, I noticed your expression from way over there.” He hooked his thumb over his shoulder where the others were on the other side of the room.
“You should go back with them.” I glanced up. In the mirror behind the bar, I could see the rest of the band, along with a slew of adoring fans—mostly women. Two suits were watching the guys. A&R reps from Black Cat Records and RCA seemed to be taking in and noting everything.
“We kicked ass tonight,” my brother said, meeting my gaze in the reflective surface of the mirror. “Why aren’t you happy?”
“I just don’t feel like I’m a part of it.”
“Because you’re over here alone. Come back and hang with us.”
“Did War send you to get me?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
I sighed. “I’m fine waiting here. I was just in the way.” It was embarrassing being handed cell phones by girls who wanted to have their picture with the guys. No one even noted I was in the band.
SOUTHSIDE HIGH: Rockstar Enemies to Lovers Romance (Tempest World Book 1) Page 12