Hard Rock Love

by Davis, Rhona

  I look around the hotel room and then back at him. “Err, I don’t know if you’ve been paying attention but I am away with you.”

  “I mean really away. Like on a vacation.”

  “Really?”

  “Yeah, I have a few weeks off after this short tour and I’d like to do something before we hit the road for the big one. I was thinking of spending a few days in Oakland, see the family, then just take off somewhere . . . maybe Mexico.”

  “I—”

  He frowns. “You don’t look so keen.”

  “Oh, I am . . . I’m just—I need to go home. Figure out what I want to do for a career.”

  “I’m sure a few more weeks won’t hurt.”

  “I need to do something with my life, Jay. Figure out what’s next.”

  “Why don’t you figure that out while going away with me? Just imagine it . . . back of my Harley, out on the Interstate . . . picking anywhere we like. Fuck it, we could catch a flight . . . travel Europe.”

  “You really want that?”

  He traces my lips with his thumb. “Damn straight.”

  I’m speechless. The drink’s definitely been shocked out of my system. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say yes.”

  I pause, looking down at my hands as they make funny knots in the sheets.

  “Come on, Krissy, the suspense is killing me.”

  “I’ll need to see mom first. To sort stuff out.”

  “That’s cool.”

  “And you really want that . . . to go away with me?”

  He nods.

  I turn my attention back to my hands. “It’s crazy.”

  “This is all crazy . . . Krissy, look at me.”

  Slowly, I do what he says. The glint in his eyes makes me feel giddy all over again.

  He cups my face. “But it feels right . . . right?”

  I lean into his hand. Shifting close, he steals a kiss. My eyes close and my breathing is shallow. He is slow and gentle now.

  Something deep inside of me stirs as our mouths dance. It’s not the orgasm he just gave me, or my growing attraction—which are both way off the charts—but something quite different . . . something that can’t be taken back.

  12

  Jay

  San Diego . . .

  Three weeks later

  Checking cellphone messages from Krissy, who’s spending some quality time with Monica in the city, Mike walks into my dressing room. “Big one tonight, man. Just three nights to go.”

  I nod idly; too busy responding to Krissy’s latest kinky message.

  “Can’t believe we’ve gone all the way to San Francisco and back without a single drama,” he says.

  Mike starts searching through some travel bags that rest against a small amp case. “What are you looking for?” I ask him.

  He mumbles to himself.

  “Mike?”

  “Ah, here the little bastards are.” Turning on his heel, he holds up some drum sticks. “My lucky pair.”

  “We don’t need luck.”

  “I do. Every time we play San Diego I bump into Sally.” He smirks. “I’m wearing my lucky boxer shorts, too.”

  I snigger. “Not still chasing after her, are you?”

  “Hey, I’m not drowning in pussy like you . . . look at me, three hundred pounds over here.”

  I roll my eyes. “You’re in the biggest rock band in the world. You got no trouble.”

  “I’m the drummer, remember?”

  “So?’

  “So, drummers don’t get noticed. When people talk about the Beatles they talk about John and Paul . . . George at a push.”

  “Ringo’s cool.”

  He frowns. “Yellow Submarine?”

  “Point taken. Why her though? You’re still famous. You could take your pick.”

  He starts over to me, stretching out the drum sticks in his hand. “She’s the one I’m telling you.”

  I laugh.

  “Maybe I’m mad for thinking it,” he says. “But I’m gonna marry that girl. You just watch.”

  He pushes in for a man-hug, patting me on the back. “Have a good show.”

  “You too, buddy.”

  My phone beeps. Mike pulls back and looks down at my jean pocket. “Krissy?”

  I fish out my phone. “Oh yeah.”

  “You sure you want to stick to just one girl?”

  I stare at Mike dead in the eye. “For the first time ever . . . yes.”

  “Fair enough.” He smiles. “I’m just glad to see you happy again.”

  We both walk out of my dressing room and see the rest of the band spill out from the one next door. As standard, we come together to form a tight circle. We’re a gang—arms linked, saying a prayer for another gig we’re going to smash out the park.

  The crowd roars.

  That’s our sign. It’s show time.

  This is fun again . . . all thanks to my Krissy.

  * * *

  Rolling down the corridor backstage, the band all laugh and cheer. A line of beautiful girls hang off each member of the band’s arms. Bottles of beer and champagne are held high. For the first time in months, almost years, I’m celebrating with them.

  Scott digs me in the arm, as some nameless red-head chews on his ear lobe. He motions me inside the band’s dressing room, looking over at two hot blondies who make themselves comfortable. “Twins . . . you coming?”

  I shake my head. No way am I fucking things up now. Krissy is all I can think about.

  * * *

  Away from trouble, I shut my dressing room door. My phone sits on the armrest of a leather couch in the middle of the room.

  I scoop it up.

  Rude messages await, one telling me I should expect a surprise. I don’t think I can wait until tomorrow to see her again. My balls are fit to burst. I don’t follow the girls into town, though. I’m the rock star here; a little distance helps create mystery, anticipation.

  Whipping off my t-shirt, I start over to the dressing table. As I reach into the usual bucket of booze, something catches me off guard. Leaning against the mirror is a glass vase full of roses.

  I hate flowers but smile—weird, but thoughtful.

  Just as I inspect them, the dressing room door swings open. I turn my head. “Krissy!”

  “Missed me?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I couldn’t stay away.” She props herself against the door frame. Her thumbs are hooked on the belt of her slim-cut black velvet pants. She’s wearing a tight, lime-green halter top and her dark brown hair is straight ironed and draped over her supple shoulders. She looks so damn fuckable. My cock strains against the zipper of my jeans in an instant.

  “Well,” I say, slowly creeping toward her. “You’re just full of surprises, tonight.”

  Her brows meet. “What do you mean?”

  I jerk my head toward the vase on the table. “Them. Isn’t it supposed to be a guy’s job . . . buying flowers for his woman?”

  She laughs. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  I take her wrist and pull her in close. Her perfume is crazy sweet, like lush nectar to a bee. “Don’t mess with me, Krissy, or I may have to spank you.”

  Her lips curl up and she raises one perfectly manicured eyebrow. “You’re cute but I still don’t know what you mean.”

  “The roses,” I gesture to them again. “Thanks . . . but a little too girly for me, angel.”

  “I didn’t buy them.”

  My jaw opens to say something else, but I fall short of speaking. Instead, I pace over to the vase.

  “Looks like you have a secret admirer,” she says.

  Inside, a piece of paper is nestled between two stems. It’s half-submerged in water. I take it out and unfold it.

  My heart sinks when I read what’s written.

  “Jay?”

  I don’t answer. Trying to compose myself, I feel Krissy’s hands glide over my shoulders from behind. Spinning around
, I push her to the wall with measured force. Her face stretches in shock. “Jay, what’s—”

  I don’t let her finish. I crush my mouth to hers, craving that sugary taste from her sweet lips. Ripping at her clothes, I’m crazed—a whole different level to the man I’m sure she thought she knew. I want to feel her, drive myself deep inside. Her tight body, her smell . . . the way her lips move with mine.

  It doesn’t take long before I’m spreading her pussy lips apart and digging in. As she moans and writhes, I pull down my jeans. I want her to see how hard I am for her. My god, she’s like an addiction. I kiss and suck on every part of her exposed flesh. She tastes like honey and milk.

  No.

  Damn it . . . NO!

  Fighting every flicker of burning compulsion that runs through me, I pull away.

  “I want you out,” I tell her. Just like that—ice-cold.

  She starts to protest but I don’t listen. Grabbing her arm, I drag her toward the door.

  She kicks and fights but I soon get her out.

  Slamming the door shut in her face, I hold it closed. I don’t want to see those pretty eyes of hers beg with me. I couldn’t bear it. This hurts, but the consequences will hurt so much more if I don’t save her from me. She’s banging on the door, raving and crying.

  This has gone too far. I can’t have her involved. It’s a bitter medicine to swallow but it has to be this way.

  Through the breeze block walls that divide the dressing rooms, I hear the band party away. I wait for a moment, listening out for Krissy. When I’m sure she’s disappeared, I send a text to Mike. He’s the only one who can help; the only one in the band who knows the shit I’ve been through.

  13

  Jay

  Closing the door behind him, Mike approaches me with a look of concern on his face. “What happened, dude? You all right?”

  “Do you believe in ghosts?”

  He frowns.

  I draw his attention the roses.

  “I don’t follow,” he says.

  Taking the crumpled note from the table, I force it into his hand. “Read it.”

  Pacing the room, I impatiently wait for his reaction. Slowly, he looks up from the note. “What are you gonna do?”

  “No fucking idea. I thought that bitch was locked up.”

  “Man, you have to call the cops.”

  “No!”

  “She’s dangerous.”

  I pace again. “I’ll deal with it. As soon as the tour’s over I’ll call the authorities.”

  “Why wait?”

  “We only have a few dates left, we can’t ruin them.”

  “Fuck the tour,” Mike snaps.

  “I created this mess in the first place. I’m not doing that to the rest of the guys.”

  “Jay, you fucked her. She was a groupie. Shit like that happens when you’re in a band. How were you to know she’d go all schizo? You gotta call the cops.”

  I scratch at an itch on my neck. “What’s security doing?”

  “It’s pretty hard to vet twenty thousand fans, bud.”

  I take a deep breath. “I know. Shit.”

  “What about Krissy?”

  “I dumped her.”

  His eyes round. “For real?”

  “It’s for the best.”

  “Don’t you think you should at least warn her?”

  “That bitch won’t know about Krissy. As long as I keep my distance from her, she won’t get hurt.”

  “I still think you should call the cops. If we have to cancel the last dates, then so be it. We’ll pick it back up on the next leg.”

  I punch the armrest of the sofa out of sheer frustration. Serves me right for screwing around.

  “Jay, are you listening?”

  “The last two shows will go on.”

  He pauses.

  “Please, Mike.”

  “Okay, fine. But tell Krissy the truth. It’s not your fault you have an obsessive fan.”

  I blow out through my nose. “I don’t know, man.”

  “Hey, you like Krissy. She makes you feel good. Don’t let the past destroy it. She seems like a smart girl, so I’m sure she’ll understand.”

  There’s a knock on the door. I crane my head past Mike’s broad frame and see Monica gingerly push inside.

  “Hey,” Mike says.

  “Hey,” she replies. She fixes her attention on me. “Is Krissy on your bus tonight?”

  “No. Why?”

  “Weird. Well, do you know if she took her stuff to your bus?”

  Mike speaks up. “What is it, Mon?”

  My stomach twists. I’ve never seen that look on Monica’s face before. She looks worried as hell. “All her bags are gone.”

  No questions asked . . . I storm out the room.

  “Jay,” Monica shouts out after me.

  “I have to find her,” I shout back, not breaking stride.

  I have to do more than find her.

  I have to fix this.

  14

  Krissy

  My feet are sore, the straps of my bags cut into my shoulders, and the weight of the suitcase is dragging me down. To add to the misery I’m all out of money. But I don’t care. I’ll walk back to New Jersey if I have to.

  Falling for Jay was a terrible mistake. All I was to him was another dumb conquest.

  I hate him.

  The night sky is pitch-black and I’m making my way down some narrow road, just off the Interstate. Occasionally a car zooms by. I try my hand at hitchhiking but no one stops. Obviously all those indie road movies I watch are nothing but a myth.

  I don’t know how long I’ve been walking for . . .

  An hour . . .

  Maybe two . . . ?

  My phone buzzes in my pocket.

  Dropping my bags I check my cell and see fifteen new messages in my inbox. I make no attempt to read them. I don’t want to know. I’ll explain all to Monica when I eventuality get home, if I don’t die out here from pneumonia.

  After walking a few more minutes, I break. I drop my backs down to the gravel road and take out a hipflask of water from the smaller bag across my shoulder. The rage and sorrow I felt have been replaced with regret. Maybe I was too hasty? Maybe I should have stuck it out?

  As I drink the last drop of water in my flask, a bright light creeps over the horizon to my right. Hoping I can finally catch a lift, at least to the nearest bus station, I walk out into the middle of the road and flag it down.

  As the light draws closer, the vehicle slows. Squinting, I can just about make out the shape of a motorcycle.

  Shit.

  “Krissy.”

  I turn my back on him, fetch up my bags, and walk away as fast as my legs will carry me.

  “Krissy,” he calls again.

  “Get lost, Jay.”

  He slowly rides up beside me. “Please, let me explain.”

  I stop. “What . . . to say sorry again? How many times are you going to treat me like crap? I thought we had something.”

  “We did. We do.” He revs the engine. “Get on.”

  “No.” I charge ahead.

  Speeding past me he makes a U-turn, approaching me again before pulling on the break and blocking my path. “You’re going the wrong way.”

  “It won’t work, Jay.”

  “What won’t work?”

  “Your cute little one-liners, the private song reveals . . . all your bullshit. You think that because you’re this big rock star I’m just gonna keep running into your arms. Well I’m not one of your stupid airhead groupies, Jay. I have a brain!”

  “I know. That’s why I like you so much.”

  I pause. I really don’t have much choice to go with him, unless I want to be eaten by wild coyotes or have some strange guy in a pickup truck murder me in the dead of night.

  “I’ll explain all.” He stretches his hand out toward me. “Jump on.”

  I take a deep breath.

  Climbing onto the back, I struggle to keep by bags together
. Creating a wedge with my suitcase between us, I pull the rest of my stuff over my back.

  I look down at the chrome and steel of the Harley Davison. “Where did you get this?”

  “The trunk of the bus. It’s Mike’s pride and joy.”

  He takes his foot off the break. “Hold tight.”

  Reluctantly, I hook my arms around his waist.

  * * *

  I think we could have something special. I’ll be waiting for you. Your biggest fan. Xx.

  I place the note down on the table and run my fingers over my scalp, looking off into space. We’ve been talking on the bus for the last half hour. “Why didn’t you tell me you had a crazy stalker?”

  He opens up a can of beer from the mini-refrigerator and takes a seat next to me. “I never thought I’d have to. I was sure she was locked up and long gone.”

  “She really attacked you?”

  Jay lifts up his shirt and points to the tattoo of a dragon across his left pec.

  Uncertain of what I’m looking at, I shake my head and find his gaze again.

  He takes my hand and places my finger on the dragon’s tail. “Feel that?” he asks.

  “Yeah . . . fuck.”

  “Bitch stabbed me with a switchblade. The doctors said I was lucky I didn’t end up with a punctured lung.”

  “Jay, you have to call the police. Yeah, okay, the girl is sick. And yes you messed around with her . . . but it’s not your fault. That girl needs help, before she does something else . . . maybe worse.”

  “Now you know why I chucked you out. I didn’t want you hurt.”

  I breathe out through my nose. “I’m a big girl now. I’ve just finished college, trust me . . . there’s a crop of pyscho bitches in those places. I can handle myself.”

  He laughs.

  “Sure you want to carry on with the rest of the tour?” I ask.

  “For the band . . . yes.”

  “Then just step up security. And if you get a whiff of her hanging around, get the cops involved.”

  “Will you be okay?”

  “Yes. I have Monica looking out for me.”

  He looks at me with a glint in his eye.