Rock Angel (Rock Angel Series Book 1)

by Bogino, Jeanne

  “You can ride with me,” Ty said. “We’ll meet you there, Q. What time?”

  Shan went inside for some coffee, leaving her bandmates to work out the logistics. As she poured, Quinn came into the kitchen. “Don’t worry, I haven’t forgotten that I said I’d help you find a clinic,” he said, dropping his voice. “Did you get a referral?”

  “Yes. There’s one in Van Nuys. Is that close?”

  “Pretty close. About half an hour.” He was practically whispering and she smiled.

  “You can talk about it out loud, Q. It isn’t a secret, not with the phyamps in the fridge.”

  “But it’s nobody else’s business,” he said. “I don’t want you feeling weird about it.”

  “It’s just as well everyone knows because I don’t want to have to hide it. It’s exhausting,” she said and he nodded, squeezed her shoulder, then went upstairs in search of Dan.

  Shan took her coffee out to the front porch. Ty had gone upstairs, too, so she was alone. She blinked in the bright sunshine, then leaned on the railing to survey the valley around her.

  It was beautiful, in a rugged, desolate sort of way. Their house was tucked into a deep cleft in the mountain—Echo Flats, it was called, or so Quinn had told them the night before. The mountain was impossibly steep but, somehow, thick and twisted with trees and bushes that grew green and thrived in the rocky soil. The brush had a prickly, alien look unlike anything she’d seen before, even in the Rockies, which they’d crossed on their drive west. The mountains in the Berkshires where she’d grown up were mere hillocks compared with these.

  The screen door slammed as Quinn emerged. “It’s beautiful here,” she said to him, “but it seems so remote.”

  “It is. The nearest neighbor is about three miles that way.” He pointed back up the road they had traversed the night before. “I like that about it. There’s no one to complain about the noise when we practice. Ready?” he asked as their roommates emerged from the house en masse. Dan and Ty were just finishing a joint.

  Denise nodded. “Do I look all right?” she asked Shan. She was pretty in yellow and had toned down her usual punky makeup, wearing only light mascara and a sheer lip gloss.

  “You look beautiful,” Shan told her. “Very ladylike.”

  “I keep telling her not to worry about it,” Dan said. He knocked the head off the roach, examined it to make sure it was out, then frugally preserved it in the small silver stash box he always kept in his pocket. “My folks are going to love her.”

  “They’re pretty laid back,” Quinn said, “just like Dan. They’ll go easy on you.”

  “But they’re my future in-laws,” Denise fretted, smoothing down her dress. Her diamond sparkled in the sun. “I want to make a good impression.”

  “Of course you do,” Shan said. “I’d feel the same way if I was meeting Q’s parents.”

  Quinn looked uncomfortable. “They’re the opposite of laid back, but don’t worry. I’ll never subject you to them.”

  Suddenly the sun didn’t seem quite so bright to Shan. Quinn appeared not to notice. “Get there early,” he said to Ty. “It will blow her mind, so make sure she has enough time to look around.”

  “I’d like to see Hollywood, too,” Shan said, burying her deflation. “Will there be time?”

  “Sure,” Quinn said. “That’s where the store is. But don’t get your hopes up about Hollyweird,” he added, boarding the van behind Denise. “It’s not what you expect.”

  Shan found out what Quinn meant later that day, when she saw Hollywood Boulevard for the first time. She chattered excitedly, poking Ty and pointing as the HOLLYWOOD sign appeared on a distant hillside. She gasped when she spotted Michael Jackson outside of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, but a moment later realized it was just an impersonator. Hannibal Lecter, Edward Scissorhands, and a drag-queen Madonna all occupied the same block. Ty pulled over, anyway, so she could get out and look at the famous footprints in front of the theater.

  It was a hot, sticky day and the boulevard was crowded with tourists. She saw they were milling on the Walk of Fame, but beyond the pretty pink terrazzo stars were tattoo parlors, shabby bars, and a couple of establishments advertising nude dancers. There were tour buses everywhere and each block seemed to house a different version of the same dingy souvenir shop. As they got back in the car, Shan wondered how this place had earned its reputation for glamour.

  After a short distance, Ty pulled over again. “Here we are,” he announced.

  Shan got out of the car, shouldered the Angel, and looked up at an enormous building with a huge red guitar over its awning. She’d heard of the Guitar Center. Every musician had.

  Ty had crossed the street and was standing under the awning, motioning her to follow. She did, and when she joined him he pointed down. “This is the RockWalk,” he said.

  She looked down and saw that the sidewalk beneath her feet was just like the one in front of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre, except it was covered with handprints instead of footprints. She moved from square to square, looking at the names. “John Lee Hooker,” she read. “Les Paul. Oh, look, Ty,” she gasped. “Eddie Van Halen!” Ty chuckled as she dropped to her knees.

  She was still there when Dan dropped Quinn off nearly half an hour later. He spotted her as soon as he got out of the van. She was down on her hands and knees in front of the shop, her guitar still strapped to her back. “Having fun?” he inquired.

  Shan looked up at him. “B.B. King,” she intoned with reverence. “But you know, Q, there are hardly any women.”

  “There are a few,” Quinn said. “The Wilson sisters. Carole King…”

  “But where are Joni Mitchell and Joan Baez?” she said. “Or Sarah McLachlan?”

  “All good guitar players,” Quinn agreed, “but they don’t particularly rock.”

  “Bonnie Raitt, then. And how about Joan fucking Jett?” She looked affronted.

  “There just aren’t that many awesome girl rock guitarists out there, which is what makes you so special. Once your handprints are here, you’ll lead the way for the rest of them. Couldn’t you find a case?” he asked, switching gears as she rolled her eyes.

  “What? Oh,” she said, remembering her reason for visiting the store. “I didn’t look yet.”

  “Have you even been inside?” She shook her head. “Christ,” he said, taking her arm and leading her into the store. “We’re going to be here all day.”

  She followed Quinn, but stopped dead just inside the door.

  There were guitars, hundreds and hundreds of electric guitars festooning every inch of floor and wall space. Guitars of every conceivable brand and model and color and size. Gibsons and Fenders and Kramers. Telecasters and Flying Vs and Explorers. The Gretsch Black Phoenix like Brian Setzer. The ’63 Strat hybrid like Stevie Ray Vaughn. And—

  “The Gibson Lucille!” It was set up and plugged in, just waiting to be played, and Quinn laughed as Shan sprinted to it.

  “Just like B.B. King,” he said as she lovingly took the guitar into her hands.

  “This is not a music mall,” she called to Ty, who was himself playing a Gibson Thunderbird over in the next row. “It’s guitar nirvana.”

  Some time later, Quinn found Shan in the vintage section. “Have you found a case?”

  “Nope.” She didn’t look up, as she was concentrating on the solo from “Stairway to Heaven,” which she was playing on a late-fifties Sunburst like Jimmy Page.

  “You’re beginning to annoy me,” he told her. “This place isn’t going anywhere, you know. You don’t have to play every fucking guitar in the store today.”

  She let him take the guitar out of her arms. “I want them all.”

  “For now, you should take care of the guitar you’ve already got.” He carefully set the ’Burst back into its metal display stand. “The cases are up there,” he said, pushing her through a door and pointing up a flight of stairs, “along with the rest of the guitar trimmings. Do I have to go with you, or can you ma
nage to take care of this on your own?”

  She pointed her nose in the air and marched up the stairs. Quinn waited to make sure she didn’t get sidetracked again, then headed back to the keyboard zone, shaking his head.

  At the top of the stairs, Shan discovered a loftlike space as jam-packed with equipment as the rest of the store. Instead of instruments, the walls and display racks were covered with picks, straps, capos, and a plethora of other guitar accoutrements. Before her, in front of a wall bedecked with packets of strings, was the sales counter. The clerk was deep in discussion with a tall, red-haired man, so she looked around as she waited. Almost immediately she spotted an array of guitar cases toward the back of the room. She headed that way.

  She tested one hardshell case after another and finally narrowed it down to two. Neither looked particularly sturdy, but they were the only ones in her price range.

  “They probably have the proper case for that out in back,” someone said behind her.

  She turned and discovered the customer who’d been at the counter, a giant of a man, easily six four, wide shouldered and buff in a skin-tight purple T-shirt. His eyes were a striking deep blue and his coppery hair tumbled halfway down his back. A gold hoop glittered in one ear and spidery tattoos snaked up both arms. Pretty hot in a California rocker way, she noted.

  She realized he was examining her as well. In fact, he was giving her a very definite once-over. “Are you a guitar player?” she asked.

  He pulled his gaze from her breasts up to her face. “Yes. Why, do I look like one?”

  “Well, you seem to have opinions.” He nodded, grinning.

  “I wouldn’t use one of these cheap shit cases, especially not with a guitar like that,” he said. “Nice axe. A Martin, right?”

  “Right, and thanks. What’s yours?”

  “My main one’s a Gibson. A Les Paul.”

  “Also nice,” she acknowledged. “I was just playing one downstairs.”

  “Are you in a band?” he asked, just as Quinn materialized with a bagful of audio cables under his arm.

  “There you are,” he said to Shan. “Have you found…hey!” he exclaimed, catching sight of the red-haired man. “Where’d you come from?”

  “Well, hey there, Q,” the man said, his face lighting up in a big grin. “Why am I not surprised to run into you here?”

  “So you met?” Quinn asked, gesturing at Shan.

  The red-haired giant looked puzzled for a moment, then comprehension dawned on his face. “You mean this,” he looked down at Shan, “is the angel?”

  “Well, this is the Angel,” she corrected him, tapping her guitar. “I’m Shan O’Hara.”

  “And this is Dave Ross,” Quinn said, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Also known as Dazzle.”

  Dave was regarding Shan with a new respect. “I’ve been listening to your chops,” he said, “working up some rhythm parts to go with them. You’re one hell of a guitar player, Shan.”

  “Thanks. I haven’t heard yours yet, but Q’s been raving about you.”

  “Yes, you have heard him,” Quinn said. “Dazzle’s on at least three of the CDs in your collection. He’s been a session sideman for years.” Quinn’s gaze shifted to the guitar cases on the floor beside Shan. “You’re not buying one of those cheap pieces of shit, are you?”

  “It’s all I can afford until we start gigging,” she said, flushing when Dave chuckled.

  Quinn pulled out his wallet. “Get a decent case,” he told her, handing her some bills. “You can owe me for it,” he added as she began to protest. “You shouldn’t fuck with that guitar.”

  Shan hesitated, then shrugged and moved toward the counter.

  Behind her, she heard Quinn talking to Dave. “All set for our first practice? I think the two of you will be dynamite together, if the chemistry is right.”

  Shan glanced back over her shoulder. Dave was looking straight at her. “I look forward to exploring that,” he said, with a little smile.

  Later that night, Shan and Quinn were back in his bedroom, fine-tuning the song they’d worked on the night before. After a couple of hours, they had an arrangement they were both pleased with, and they christened it “Echo Flats.”

  “I’m done,” Shan announced at about eleven o’clock. Her hair was bundled into a knot and she pulled out the pencil she’d used to anchor it in place. “I have some ideas for lyrics, but let’s work on those tomorrow.” She shook her hair out and struck what she thought was a sexy position, tresses flowing over one shoulder.

  Apparently it was, since Quinn reached for a handful of her curls. “Okay,” he said, winding his fingers through the ringlets. “I like that we’re back in the same city. Long-distance composing just doesn’t work.”

  “I’m just happy we’re together again.” Her eyes met his. “I missed you so much.”

  “I missed you, too.” He let go of her hair and stretched out on his back, lacing his hands together behind his head. She waited for a few moments, but he didn’t say anything more.

  “I thought about you all the time while you were away,” she confessed. She shifted closer to kiss his cheek, then raised herself up on one arm to gaze down upon him.

  He grinned amiably up at her. His hair was loose, spilling over the pillow like a splash of sunshine and his eyes looked blue as a summer sky. She’d never get used to it, how beautiful he was. She hesitated, then lowered her head to kiss him on the mouth.

  His lips were pliant, but he didn’t exactly kiss her back and, when she lifted her head, she saw he was no longer smiling. “Angel,” he said softly, “what are you doing?”

  His eyes were serious but, deep inside, she could see a glow, like a spark on the verge of flaring. Its promise fanned the warmth inside her. She took a deep breath and rolled on top of him.

  She kissed him again and this time he pulled his hands from behind his head. Then his arms were around her, holding her tight, and she kissed him harder, opening her legs so she was astride him. When she felt his erection she arched against it, experiencing a throb deep in the pit of her groin.

  He muttered and his hands found her ass, giving it one long, appreciative squeeze. Then he released her ass, took hold of her chin, and turned his face away. Shan’s tongue popped out of his mouth, flailing around like a sperm in search of an egg.

  “Shan.” His voice was expressionless.

  She pulled her chin out of his grasp and dove toward his chest, burying her face against the little bit of hair visible over the V-neck of his T-shirt. “Look at me, Shan.”

  She hesitated for a moment, then raised her head.

  “So now you want to fuck,” he said in the same bland tone. He could have been talking about the weather. “Is that it?”

  How romantic. She didn’t know what to say.

  “Well?” He raised his eyebrows.

  She could feel his erection between her legs, almost painfully hard. She knew he wanted her, no matter what he was saying, and that gave her courage. “Er…make love?”

  “Whatever,” he said, still annoyingly expressionless. “You’ve changed your mind, then? We can screw each other’s brains out and, tomorrow, everything goes back to normal. No questions asked, no strings attached. Is that what you have in mind?”

  She stared at him, eyes wide. I love you, she wanted to cry. Please, please love me back. She knew if she uttered a word that’s what she’d say, so instead she said nothing.

  He continued to watch her for a beat, then, “Not a fucking chance.”

  He twisted and she hit the bed with a thud. Her face burned. “All you have to do is say no. You don’t have to shove me off like I’m contagious.”

  He rolled away so he was out of her reach. “Apparently I do. This is the same thing that happened last summer. I had to practically peel you off of me.”

  “That was mutual, as I recall, and things are different now!”

  “What’s changed?”

  “We moved past the friend stage a while ago, but
when you went back to school things were put on hold. So now that we’re together again, I thought…” her voice trailed off, because the look on his face was something approaching horror.

  “I don’t know what you’ve been thinking,” he said, “but I never had any ideas beyond picking up where we left off and we left off as friends.”

  A cold, hard knot was beginning to form in her stomach, displacing the liquid heat that had resided there just moments earlier. “I guess we left off in different places, then.”

  “Oh, shit.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Don’t do this to me, Shan. You know how I feel about attachments. I’ve been straight with you from day one.”

  “But we have a connection. You said so yourself. I feel like I’ve been in a holding pattern.”

  “A holding pattern?” He looked incredulous. “You don’t think I’ve been living like a monk since last summer, do you?”

  She winced. “No. I know you better.”

  “Good, because I haven’t. I care about you a lot, as a friend, but if you’re thinking we’re going to set up house here and live happily ever after, then you’d better think again. You have to stop bringing it up, too. It’ll affect our friendship if you don’t, if it hasn’t already.”

  A wave of indignation burst through the pain his words had wrought. “You’re such a dick sometimes, Quinn. When have I ever brought this up before? But it’s there between us all the time. I thought the mature thing to do would be to get it out in the open.”

  “Fine,” he said curtly. “It’s out in the open. And I don’t want to hear about it again.”

  She scrambled off the bed and headed for the door. She slammed it with satisfying force, but the drama of her exit was cut short when she realized she’d left her guitar behind. She marched back into his room and snatched it up.

  “Infant,” she heard him snort as she stormed out once again.

  chapter 20

  The next morning Shan woke in a foul mood. She was cranky and cross, and her back hurt. Since her futon still wasn’t set up, she’d spent the night in her sleeping bag. She took a long time showering and dressing in capris, flip-flops, and a blue halter top, but eventually her jones kicked in.