Wild Angel

by Shari Copell

  Stone waved at a guy carrying a black leather case. “That’s Rob Walters, our drummer.”

  Nicks ducked her head and peered through the windshield. Rob was an average-looking guy, wearing faded jeans and a black denim jacket. His brown hair was messy, as though he’d just gotten out of bed. He put her in the mind of someone you’d see pumping gas or putting new tires on your car at Walmart.

  She tried to engage Rob with a smile. A half-hearted nod was all she got in return. “I hope you know what you’re doing. He isn’t happy about me at all.”

  “Tough shit.” Stone opened the van door and stepped out. “They’ll be smiling a lot less if I walk today. And I will walk if they’re too rough on you.”

  She got out of the van, slammed the door, and searched for some backbone. What happened today would set the tone with Stone’s bandmates forever. She needed to be firm, but positive. And pleasant. She didn’t want him quitting Heavy Remedy over her.

  Stone already had the back of the van open. “Can you take your guitar? I have to get to my dolly.”

  She took the guitar case from him and tried to absorb the carnival-like atmosphere around her.

  The stage was large—one of the largest she’d ever seen for a festival of this size. Metal pipe scaffolding rose high into the air, covered in canvas in some places. Huge banks of lights on all four sides aimed down at the platform.

  Several tables holding the sound boards and light controls were placed off to the far right. Three men stood behind them, studiously working to make sure everything functioned properly. Nicks watched the front bank of lights swing left, then right as it flashed a rainbow of colors onto the stage.

  A black-sparkle drum kit was partially set up in the center. It was a typical three tom, one snare and kick drum set, but there were at least a dozen cymbals of various sizes placed all around. A large, brass gong with a Chinese symbol of some sort in the middle stood behind the drums. Apparently, Rob Walters liked to make noise.

  Another man—she wasn’t sure if it was the bass player for Heavy Remedy or not—had a red Fender jazz bass slung over his shoulders. He ran his fingers up and down the long neck in a scale of low notes as he worked with the soundman to find the perfect setup.

  A crowd of people had already gathered at the base of the stage. She took a deep breath and tried to calm her nerves. She had to be flawless today, or she’d never be able to look Stone in the eyes again.

  “Ready?”

  She turned back to find him smiling at her. He had the dolly tipped back, loaded up with his amps.

  She nodded. “Yeah.”

  “You’re not nervous, are you?”

  “Hell, yes. Not about playing though. I should be really pissed off that I have to pass inspection like this.”

  “Are you sure you want to do this? It’s been a pretty emotional day for you so far. I wouldn’t blame you if—”

  She spun toward him, whacking the fender of the van with her guitar case. “I had a pretty good shock to my system today, but it just makes me all the more determined. Playing guitar is the one thing I excel at, the one thing I’m sure of. I’m not going to let a bunch of knuckle-dragging droolers piss all over that.”

  He stared at her for a moment, his mouth slightly agape.

  “I’m sorry.” She exhaled and tried to relax. “Do you feel like maybe you’ve hit a nerve?”

  “I’m the one who’s sorry. I promise I won’t let them get on your shit too much. Let’s go.” He gave the dolly a push and started forward across the grass. After a few steps, he stopped and turned. “Asher would be so damned proud of you right now.”

  It took a few minutes to walk around to the back of the stage. It was as busy back there as it was out front.

  God, this feels like a perp walk. Nicks gripped the handle of her guitar case a little tighter. The seven-year-old stutterer kept trying to rise to the top. The eighteen-year-old badass rocker kept pushing her back down. She didn’t feel like she had a damn thing to prove to anyone—least of all these chuckleheads—but this was a test she was going to pass.

  Stone was ahead of her by a step or two. He turned and gave her the strangest look then faced forward, his focus on a group of men standing together tighter than a huddle at the five-yard line. She chewed her lip. One of them was Rob Walters. She supposed this was the rest of Heavy Remedy.

  Stone straightened, squared his shoulders, and walked with purpose toward the group. He was as nervous about this meet-and-greet as she was.

  “Hey, guys,” Stone called. “Sorry we’re a bit late. We had to make a detour.”

  Three sets of eyeballs turned toward them. The facial expressions were amusing. Slight smiles then blank surprise then comprehension, followed by narrowed eyes.

  “Hey, Stoney. We were worried about you. Thought maybe you’d bailed after all.” The man spoke to Stone but stared at Nicks. She met his gaze and sent it boldly back to him.

  It was the same man who’d been tuning the bass on stage. He was of moderate height and medium build, nothing special. Dirty blond hair. She was too far away to see eye color. What struck Nicks was the pervasive air of cockiness the man projected. He hadn’t said a word to her, and she already wanted to smack him.

  “This is Nicks Sorenson.” Stone pulled her forward.

  Holding her breath, she gave them her best smile.

  “Rob Walters, our drummer.”

  “Nice to meet you, Rob.” She shook his hand. It was as limp and cold as a fish. He gave her a quick glance, which told her everything she needed to know. He liked to bang on the drums, but she suspected Rob was a bit of an introvert.

  “This is Gio Maroni, our keyboard player.”

  “Nice to meet you, Gio.” She moved to shake hands with him. Gio appeared to be 100% Italian, from his little black mustache to the olive-tan skin tone. He was really good looking. She liked her guys dark and mysterious.

  He gripped her hand with warm fingers, gentle enough to make her heart flutter. Oh yeah, this man was a player. His eyes were a sparkling green blended with brown. They spoke of old-world romance, wine, and dinners for two. She decided she liked this guy.

  “And this...” Stone waved his hand toward the last man, “...is Mike Dorton, our bass player.”

  “Stoney saved the best for last, sweetheart.” Mike took a step forward and looked her over, letting his eyes linger in places that pissed her off.

  Whistling loudly, Mike turned back to Stone. “Christ, you hit the fucking jackpot, didn’t you? You lucky son-of-a-bitch. I’d be all over that like ugly on an ape.”

  If I didn’t kill you first. Nicks smiled sweetly but said nothing. Mike didn’t offer a hand so she didn’t offer hers.

  The bass player took another step forward, crowding into her comfort zone. “It’s nice to finally meet you. I bet Stone told you all about me, didn’t he?”

  It was a real effort not to step back. The douchebaggery was so overwhelming she could practically smell it on him. Batting her eyes, she continued to smile like a beauty pageant contestant. “Not a word, actually.”

  Everyone burst into raucous laughter. Well, everyone except Mike.

  Hmm. Mike might be a bit of a passive/ aggressive narcissist.

  His ego recovered quickly. “Ah well, I suppose Stoney was speechless. Mike Dorton’s one of a kind.”

  “I’d be willing to bet money on that,” Nicks said stiffly.

  More laughter. “I gotta go get dressed,” Mike mumbled as he turned to leave.

  Another man came down the stairs at the back of the stage and joined the group. Nicks recognized him as one of the guys who’d been standing behind the soundboard.

  “Stones, man, where you been? You ready to do a sound check?” The man was thin as a bean pole and a bundle of nervous energy. He clapped his hands together and looked them both over. “Who’s this?”

  “This is Nicks Sorenson. She’s going to be a guest guitarist today, so you’ll need to tune her up too. She plays with Wild An
gel every Friday night at Tapestries on East Carson Street.”

  The man’s eyes went wide. “Jesus. I’ve seen you play! You gals are freakin’ awesome!”

  Nicks blushed and extended a hand. “Thanks.”

  The man took her hand as Stone introduced him. “This is Turd Ferguson, our sound guy.”

  “Nice to meet you...er...” She looked at Stone. “I’m not calling him Turd.”

  “Why not? Everyone else does,” Turd said jovially. “You’ve seen the Saturday Night Live sketch then? Best sketch ever. My real name is Ted, though you may not get an answer if you call me that.”

  “Okay.” She laughed and pumped his hand. “Turd it is, then.”

  Turd pivoted and motioned for them to follow him. “C’mon. Let’s get you two tuned up and ready to go.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief as she watched the man walk away.

  Stone bumped her shoulder with his own. “So?”

  “So far, so good.” She took a deep breath. Round one was over. It felt like a win.

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  The plan was to finish the sound check and walk around the festival together. Nicks was hoping to grab some cotton candy somewhere. It was her favorite carnival food, and she hadn’t gotten a single bag of it that summer.

  They didn’t even get fifteen feet away from the stage.

  Just as they cleared the corner, Stone seized the opportunity to push her between two white box trucks parked side-by-side. He wasted no time backing her into a stack of Anvil amp cases and holding her there with his body.

  “What’re you doing?” she asked as he captured both her wrists and held them over her head against the cases.

  “I have some questions I want to ask you.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Yeah.” He bent his head until his lips were nearly touching hers. “What do you think of Stone Jensen?”

  “I think he’s pretty hot. Why? Do you know him?”

  “Yeah, I do. What would you give me if I introduced you to him?”

  He pinned her down with those dark eyes like a butterfly specimen. She was dimly aware that some sort of response was required to whatever he’d said, but she couldn’t remember what it was.

  “What?”

  “Girls who don’t listen get spanked.” His lips tickled her right cheek as he spoke.

  “What?” She started to giggle.

  He ran his nose up and down the column of her throat then nibbled on an earlobe. She tipped her head to the side to give him better access. “Jesus, that feels amazing.”

  “Are we a thing, Nicks?” It was odd how his lips pressed against her neck seemed to complete some type of circuit to her clit.

  “A thing?”

  “Do you want me the way I want you?”

  Oh, God. Flames of longing licked at her, triggering a flood of moisture that made her squirm. “Yes. God, yes. I want you as bad as you want me.”

  He pushed his hardness against her. “Do you feel how much I want you?”

  “Jesus...yes.”

  “Will you be mine?”

  He was killing her, torturing her with pretty syllables said in a bedroom voice that gave her chills. “I’ll be yours.”

  “I haven’t had much of a chance to kiss you. At least not properly. May I kiss you?”

  He had her so mesmerized, so hypnotized with his words she’d have done anything he wanted. Her arms draped themselves around his neck when he released them. “Oh, God. Kiss me.” She closed her eyes in expectation.

  “May I touch you while I kiss you?” His right hand moved across her waist, her ribcage, finally settling under the curve of her right breast. His thumb brushed across the nipple. Every muscle of her body contracted, sending her shivering against him.

  “Will we be able to stop if you do?”

  “I don’t know. I’m willing to take that chance though. I’ve wanted to touch you for a very long time, Nicks.”

  She closed her eyes and laid her head against his chest as his hand brushed across the zipper of her jeans. “I get that, but I don’t want our first time to be standing up against a pile of amp cases. I sort of had a romantic—”

  “Stone! What are you doing there?” a shrill female voice called from behind him. He stiffened and swore under his breath.

  “Go away, Emily.”

  Curious, Nicks peered over his right shoulder. A hefty, dark-haired woman was standing at the end of the corridor made by the trucks, staring at Stone’s back. Dressed entirely in black—right down to black lipstick—the woman was pretty in a glam-rock, Gothic sort of way. Even her fingernails were painted black, long and squared off like straight-blade screwdrivers.

  Nicks pulled her gaze back to Stone. “If this is an ex-girlfriend of yours, you need to explain some things to her. If it’s a current girlfriend, you have some things to explain to me.”

  Stone shook his head. “She’s never been a girlfriend of mine. Emily follows us from job to job, pretending she’s the wife or girlfriend of one of the guys. It just happens to be my turn right now. I think she’s a little whack to tell you the truth.”

  “Great. Crazy stalker groupies. Love it.” She sighed. “Well, you’ve been busted making out with me. Is she going to go all ninja on us now?”

  “She’s never been violent that I know of.”

  “First time for everything,” Nicks answered.

  “Stone! I’m talking to you.” Emily was beginning to sound hysterical. “Is that a woman in there with you?”

  “You better deal with this,” Nicks whispered. “She sounds pissed.”

  Stone rested his forehead against the amp case behind her. After a moment, he straightened and turned.

  “This is my girlfriend, Emily. She’s my situation now, and hopefully she’ll be my situation for a long time to come.”

  The woman’s face fell. “You’re cheating on me.”

  “You can’t cheat on someone if you’re not with them. You and I have never been a couple.” Stone’s shoulders were bunched with tension. Nicks wondered how many times he’d had to have this conversation with Emily.

  “You talked to me at the Beef Haus four months ago. You sat at the table with me, right beside me. I thought that meant…” Emily’s voice dropped to a mewling whine.

  Nicks felt sorry for her. It was no fun having feelings for someone when they didn’t reciprocate those feelings.

  “It meant I was being polite. You called me over, and I sat down with you and your friends for a few minutes. I didn’t mean to imply anything. I certainly never made you any promises.”

  “Let me see the little bitch you’re hiding behind you. Is she pretty?” Emily’s face twisted into a mask of anger. She started toward them, hissing through her teeth like a snake.

  “Don’t answer her!” Nicks whispered, ducking her head behind him and clutching at his shoulder. “Jesus, did you see those fingernails? She’ll kill me!”

  “That’s none of your business. You need to leave,” Stone said.

  Nicks had seen women like Emily before. Obsessed groupies were a breed unto themselves. Nothing he said would convince her that she and Stone weren’t a couple.

  “I want to see her!” The woman stamped her four-inch platform boots against the grass.

  Nicks took a deep breath. They’d be here all day if something didn’t give. She let go of Stone and stepped out from behind him. “I’m sorry, Emily. No one meant to hurt you. Maybe you should go now.”

  Emily’s eyes narrowed to pinpoints, lips thinning in an icy smile. “You’re that whore who plays guitar at Tapestries on Friday night.” She turned her attention to Stone. “Hope you wrap it when you fuck her. Wouldn’t want you to catch something.”

  Stone surged forward and pointed a finger in her face. “That’s it! We’re done here. You ever say anything like that again, and I’ll—”

  “What? You’ll hit me?” Emily stiffened and gave Stone an ice-cold glare. “It would be my pleasure to have you arrest
ed, you cheating son-of-a-bitch.” Her gaze drifted to Nicks. “I’m not letting someone like you take my man away from me. You haven’t heard the last of this.” She spun and stormed away.

  “Well, that was fun, wasn’t it?” said Nicks when Emily was out of sight. “Are there any more like her out there?”

  “Not that I know of.” Stone blew out a breath. “She’s a real piece of work. Rob had to deal with her before she transferred her attention to me. She stole every single drumstick he owned from his car once, trying to get him to notice her. She’s apparently sane enough to hold down a job, but crazy enough to be scary.” He threw her a worried glance. “I’m not big on giving orders, but I don’t want you out of my sight today. Okay?”

  “Okay.” She wasn’t about to disagree with that. She didn’t want Emily the Goth Vampire Queen catching her alone somewhere.

  Emily had ruined the mood with her intrusion, so Stone and Nicks sat under the stage and talked. Truthfully, he thought he enjoyed that more. His sides hurt from laughing at her wicked sense of humor.

  All too soon, Stone’s phone rang.

  “Hey Stones, time to get ready, man. You and your lady got twenty minutes, then I need you up here,” Turd said.

  “Thanks. We’ll be there.”

  They went to the back of his van to dress in their stage clothing. She laughed when he spun around and turned his back on her, totally unnerved by the sight of her in a lacey black bra and thong. He couldn’t help it. Her woman’s curves made his hands ache to touch them.

  He changed into black skinny jeans, a Godsmack T-shirt, and his brown leather boots. She totally rocked a plain, black, long-sleeved T-shirt, tucked in, killer black boots that came to the knee, and faded jeans that were so shredded they barely covered her body. Both of her thighs, the curve of an ass cheek, and one knee peeked out of the frayed holes. He silently marveled that she managed to make such a casual outfit look as though it belonged on a Victoria’s Secret runway.