Rock On: A Bully Romance (The Rockstars of Hollywood Hill)

by E. M. Moore

  The good news is the car ride doesn’t take long. Archer doesn’t seem to follow conventional road rules, so when we pull up to the first bar we see, I’m eager to get out. Not that I mind being this close to Finnick. It’s just being this close to Finnick with the threat of death looming over us that bothers me.

  He smells good tonight, too. Like a husky, sweet scent that invades my body as soon as we’re within touching distance. Finnick slips his arm around my back when we make our way to the front door of the bar. It’s a small place with neon signs in the windows advertising different brands of alcohol. They’re about a block away from the beach, and I can easily see the place packed with beach goers through the day, but tonight, there’s what I think of as the usual bar clientele. People dressed to impress in tight pants and shirts. In the corner, there’s a stage with a band getting ready, hooking up their instruments to amps and checking the microphone.

  Sean heads right over there, fist bumping the guy kneeling next to an amp like they’re old friends. At first, I think he must know him, but the longer I watch, the more I realize they don’t know each other at all, they probably just recognize themselves in each other.

  Ian takes a direct route toward the bar, and Finnick follows closely after with me in tow. Archer’s with us, too, though he’s casually perusing the bar, his gaze stopping on people every once in a while before moving on. I feel like he looks at everyone but me, like it’s some sort of game he’s playing in his head.

  Just like at the grocery store, the bartender doesn’t card any of us. I decline getting a drink when Finnick asks me if I want one in case I really do need to drive their drunk asses back to the house. We are doing this for Ian after all, but they all could use a night out to unwind. While Finnick drinks, he doesn’t take his free hand away from me. His fingertips casually graze my hips while he shifts, talking to his cousin like they’ve done this same thing so many times. Though Ian is comfortable in his surroundings, his face is strained. I can tell whatever he got in that mail bothered him. Finnick’s really trying to get Ian out of his funk too. It’s like he’s put on a new personality to try to draw his cousin out, but Ian’s too far gone. He’s so out of it, he’s even forgotten to be a dick to me and is just more or less ignoring the fact that I’m even there.

  A few minutes later, Sean returns, bringing a few guys behind him. Whatever was said over by the stage, the band that’s about to play knows who The Rowdy Rogues are. They’re shaking everyone’s hand excitedly, but with a mix of composure like they’re still trying to keep their bad boy persona. When Sean gets to me, he says, “This is Aisley. Our assistant.” He doesn’t even over pronounce the ass part like usual.

  I wave, giving them a small smile. Ian’s not very talkative either. He’s turned on his stool toward the bar, more intent on drinking the beer in his hand than trying to buddy up to the guys in this local band. Archer and Finnick have no problem talking though. They chat about music and other things for a few minutes before the guys say they have to get on stage to start their set. “Maybe you guys can play a song or two on our break,” one of the band members offers.

  I look at Sean immediately, hoping they do. Hell, I’ve been dying to hear them play live myself, but it’s Sean who told me how much he missed playing in small places like this. I’d love to hear them play one of the songs on their first album. One of the songs that got me so excited to come here in the first place. “That’d be cool,” Sean says. “I’ll talk to the guys.”

  I can tell by his face that he wants to.

  “I’m down,” Archer says, eyeing up the bass guitar the guy is strapping around himself on the stage. I see his fingers flex around his beer.

  Sean, Archer, and Finnick look at Ian. It’s all down to him. Noncommittally, he raises his beer, but doesn’t look over his shoulder at the rest of us.

  Excitement builds in me. I look up at Finnick. “I hope you do. I’d love to hear you guys.”

  Finnick tightens his arm around me, an emotion consuming the amber of his eyes. Ian’s gaze flicks to mine. There’s fire there, too, it scorches my skin. His gaze falls to where Finnick is touching me. “I guess because our assistant wants us to, we probably should.”

  “I think we should because I fucking miss it,” Sean says.

  Ian scoffs. “We’ve been playing together for weeks. We’re shit.”

  I see it now. The reason for the fire and all the hatred. Ian tries to cover it up well, but he’s worried. He’s being combative, but it’s fear underneath the anger that’s driving him. The way Finnick talks, Ian was the driving force behind the band, so maybe he feels like the problems they’re having are his fault too.

  “We’re not shit,” Archer says. “We just need to find our groove with the new album.”

  The band starts up in the corner, cutting off any retort from Ian. They watch and listen as the guys do their intro and then launch right into one of their songs. They don’t sound like The Rowdy Rogues. They’re a little heavier, I guess. A little less polished. It’s not bad, but you can tell the difference between professionals and the people who play the bar scene. Some of these guys who start here, eventually make it to where The Rowdy Rogues are, and some of them never will. This band is passionate about it though, clearly evident by the way they play on stage, so they have that going for them. The more I listen, though, the more I realize it’s the lead guitarist. He’s just not up to par with the rest of them. He’s singing lead and playing his instrument. As a singer, he’s pretty good, and he’s even pretty decent with the guitar, but he doesn’t have the chops to pull off lead guitarist. Not like Finnick.

  Finnick leans over, his lips brushing against my ear and sending a zing through me. “What’s wrong with this picture?”

  I look over my shoulder. A feeling of warmth spreads through me that he would actually want to include me in this. “The guitar,” I say. “He needs work.”

  Finnick kisses my temple, a soft brush of lips that makes my body heat. When I look back around, Ian’s staring at us again, but he looks away when I make eye contact with him.

  Sean grabs my hand. He downs the beer he ordered, places it on the bar, and then pulls me out onto the dance floor where people started to gather. I wouldn’t necessarily call this music to dance to, but the way Sean moves, it doesn’t matter. He’s more carefree now that he let out all that steam about his ex. It’s like he’s come out of his shell a bit with me. He’s as fiery as his hair. “You should stay in my room tonight,” he says, dancing close to me.

  I bite my lip, unsure of how to answer.

  “Oh, come on,” he says. “I realized there are a few parts of your body I didn’t get to see out on the beach.”

  He brings me close to him and squeezes my ass. My heart leaps into my throat. Part of me just wants to tell him we can do all that right now. Then, Sean looks up at the same moment I feel a body at my back. I stiffen until I smell the husky, sweet scent that is Finnick. I’m sandwiched between the two of them. Neither one of them seems to care that we’re drawing looks from the crowd. Since it doesn’t bother them, I decide to turn that part of my brain off and just dance, feeling both of them pressed close to me.

  We stay that way for the rest of the song until the last notes linger through the speaker. Then, we step apart to clap. Well, Sean and Finnick clap, I catch my breath, trying to rearrange the feelings storming through me into nice little boxes, but it’s impossible.

  When Sean sees me trying to pull it together out of the corner of his eye, his hazel eyes spark, and he leans over. “Too much for you, Aisley?”

  I keep my mouth shut and shake my head. They might be, but there’s no way I’m going to admit it.

  “Good,” he says, drawing his finger down my cheek, leaving a trail of fire in his wake.

  Archer and Ian stay at the bar while Finnick, Sean, and I dance. Sometimes we dance together, the three of us, and sometimes they get drinks, leaving me with one or the other. Other times, we just bop along to the music,
watching the band do their thing. When they announce it’s the last song before their break, Sean looks at Finnick. “I got to play, man.” I can see it on him too. He’s all hyped up, running on adrenaline. He’s practically vibrating with energy.

  “You just have to convince the other two,” Finnick says. “Aisley wants to hear us play,” he says, looking down at me. “So, I want to play for her.”

  Sean doesn’t need much encouragement because Finnick’s hardly done talking when he’s already walking back toward the bar. I wrap my arms around Finnick’s waist and move him closer to me. Maybe it’s the energy in the small place, but I feel a little buzzed too. “Can you play ‘Angel Stars’?” I ask. It was absolutely, hands-down, one of my favorites on their album.

  Finnick’s amber eyes widen for a moment, then slowly return to normal. “We don’t play that one live.”

  “No?”

  He shakes his head. “Not in forever.”

  “Okay,” I say, letting the disappointment wash off me. “How about ‘Lies I Know’?”

  The corner of his mouth tips up. He bends at the waist to press a kiss to my lips. He pulls just barely a breath away. “That’s my song, you know.” I pull away a little more to see a redness start in his cheeks, taking over his entire face the more I watch. “I wrote most of it anyway.”

  Of course, he did. Replaying the lyrics in my head, I can totally see it. I bet if I listened to the album again, I’d be able to pick out who wrote each song. “You need to write another one like it,” I say. “It’s beautiful.”

  The local band’s song winds down. The only thing that tears my gaze away from Finnick’s is when Sean pats him on the back. “Let’s go.”

  Amazingly, Ian and Archer are following Sean to the stage. Finnick squeezes my hand once and then follows them. The lead singer of the band already up there nods at Sean when they approach the stage. Then, he grabs the mic and says, “A little treat for you all. The Rowdy Rogues are about to play a few songs while we’re on our break. These guys are fucking amazing, so let’s give them a round of applause.”

  I stand on my tiptoes and clap, watching as the guys climb the stairs to the stage, exchanging instruments with the guys who were just up there. Both Finnick and Archer make adjustments to the straps on their instruments while Ian makes his own to the microphone. Sean, who was instrumental behind this, peeks above the drums and winks at me. My stomach churns like I’m riding a life raft in the middle of a storm.

  As soon as they’ve made their adjustments, they all move back toward Sean, words passing between them. When Ian returns to the front of the stage, Sean starts the beat on the drums and then the rest of them join in. I find myself dancing all by my lonesome, but I don’t care. These guys who I’ve stayed with for a few weeks now, who I’ve gotten to know on a personal level, are the band I heard on the way here again. Their sound rattles me in a way, like it’s stripping layers of skin off me.

  Ian. Fucking Ian.

  I watch him sing into the mic, my stomach tightening. I can’t help but fixate on his words and his beautiful voice singing those lyrics. Despite the asshole he can be, he’s so talented. I can separate the two in my head and admit I’m crushing on him musically. Hell, even physically. He has a plain white t-shirt on with a grouping of long necklaces that swing around his chest when he gets moving, putting every ounce of energy he has into the song he’s singing. His black hair and light blue eyes stand out in the spotlights the bar has fixed from above to shine down on the stage. It’s like we’re not even in this nobody bar right now. We’re somewhere else entirely.

  Everyone else in the room can feel it too. Sure, the guys don’t have their own equipment, and they don’t even have topnotch equipment like they’re used to, but the difference between the two bands is night and day. Soon, whispers start getting louder, people wondering who they are, or maybe it’s people just now recognizing who they are. They probably never suspected to go out tonight and hear a band of this caliber play. I know I didn’t. I wanted it. I’ve been thinking about seeing them live ever since I first heard their album, but I was sure it wasn’t going to happen anytime this summer.

  With the way they are on stage right now, no one would have any idea they’re struggling with their next album. They’re so in sync. The lyrics? They’re made for them. They sing and play their hearts out, and I think even the guys can tell that something amazing is happening up there. I see Archer, Finnick, and Sean smiling at one another as they play and rock out next to one another. Ian—although he seems like he might be in his own little world, eyes closed, belting out his feelings without caring what the world sees him as—he’s just as in tune with the rest of them as they are to him.

  When they finish the first song, I’m almost breathless. I jump up and down, clapping until my palms sting. If I knew how to whistle, I’d probably do that, but I’ve never been able to figure out how, so I cup my hands around my mouth and yell.

  While the people in the bar show their appreciation just as much as me, the guys reconvene by the drums and start another song right afterward. The band who was just up there are standing off to the side. They seem just as happy to watch them as they were to be playing on the stage.

  By the time The Rowdy Rogues finish their second song, the bar starts to crowd in. I’m pushed toward the front more as everyone piles in, shoulders pushing into shoulders. It doesn’t bother me. This is my favorite thing to do when I’m at a college bar. I always try to talk Heather into going to one with a band playing. She doesn’t usually fight me on it because she’s just there to dance anyway, so it’s a win-win for both of us. I’m used to the sweaty confines of a small bar with questionable cleanliness and feeling as if you’re packed in like sardines. That’s when you know the band is good. If they weren’t, you’d have more room to breathe, and who wants to breathe when you can feel like this?

  My gaze tracks over to Archer. His face is more relaxed than I’ve seen it yet. I study him further because he looks like a completely different guy than the one I’ve known the past few weeks. His shoulders are unstrained. His fingers pluck over the strings with ease, and there’s a calmness on his face that makes me think what I’ve seen of him before now was just a mask of tension. Of sadness, too. Maybe.

  And damn, Finnick is so freaking good. I’m not just saying that because he’s had his tongue down my throat either. He’s amazing. He plays with such certainty that my gaze can’t help but get caught up in him. He’s confident, maybe even more so than he is when we’re just hanging out at the house, talking, or even making out.

  Sean…is crazy. He bangs on the drums like he owns them. I noticed that before when they were in the booth, but this is at a whole other level. He knows these songs inside and out. He plays them with such feral energy that I find myself biting my lip, thinking about what happened between us out on the beach.

  These guys as a group—as a whole—they’re an unstoppable force. I look around to find that it’s not just me. Everyone else is watching them with the awe they deserve.

  A hand palms my ass. I turn to find a guy pressed against me. “Sorry,” he mouths with an apologetic smile.

  I turn back around. Everyone in here barely has any room, so it makes sense he would accidentally cop a feel. It happens. I dance until they finish the song. When they do, Finnick finds me in the crowd and smiles. I smile back at him. I don’t understand what the smile was for until he starts to play the intro to “Lies I Know”.

  I bounce up on my toes. His gaze is intent on his guitar, but when he looks up again, he finds me in the crowd. I have to take a steadying breath when the overwhelming feeling of it all hits me. These guys are amazing…and I’m not going to lie, hot as fuck. There are girls all around, practically salivating while they watch, which makes my hackles raise.

  Another hand touches my ass. I brush it off, focusing on Ian as he belts out the words to one of my favorites.

  By the time the end of the song nears, there’s been more than a few
accidental touches. Worry starts to creep over me, but when I see everyone around me is even more sandwiched together, I tell myself I’m being paranoid. But then, a firm grip grabs my hips and suddenly, I’m pulled back, flush against a guy with a hard-on. “Hey,” I say, squirming out of his grip.

  I turn to find the same guy who accidentally brushed me before. His eyes are glassy with alcohol or something else, but that’s no excuse.

  “Don’t touch me,” I say.

  He leans over. His breath stinks of beer as he raises his voice to be heard over the music. “Aw, come on. It’s fine. You should smile more. You’re super hot.”

  He goes to grab for me. I try to maneuver out of his grip, but I don’t have much space to put between us. There are people all around, plus the stage in front of me, effectively blocking me in.

  The guy lifts his hands, almost as an apology. A chill slithers down my spine, but I turn back around anyway, edging as close to the stage as I can to get away from the creeper. When I turn around, though, Ian’s gaze is on mine. His eyes are hard. He’s still singing, but I can tell the difference from before I turned around and now. He’s going through the motions. I would be surprised if he’s even conscious of the words coming out of his mouth. He’s probably done it so many times he can sing on auto pilot, but what he seems to be focused on now, is me.

  I’m so struck by his stare that I don’t move. It’s like he’s pinning me in place. Slowly, my nerves start to amp up. They move on a gradual decline until momentum kicks in. While I’m freefalling down, I feel another touch on my ass. This time, it’s a full-on grab. There’s no mistaking what this was. I whirl around. “Hey!”

  The guy doesn’t seem affected at all. He’s grinning at me, and then moves forward like he’s going to dance up against me. I put my hand out to stop him, but at the same time, a voice cuts off mid melody, and says, “Get the fuck off her.”