by Nora Flite
“Yeah, fine. Yes, it's fine! Brenda, just—yeah.” He rolled his gaze to me, thoughtful. “She's fine, we'll be fine. Even better if we can eat something before we all starve. Then you'll have no band at all.” He winked at me, which of all the things so far, set my hair on end the most.
Is he trying to be friendly? Is it an act?
Showing us his back, Drez nodded his head as if Brenda could see. “Alright. Sounds good. See you soon.” Shoving the phone in his pocket, he gave us all a tiny shrug. “Private room at some place called the Griffin Bar And Grill. An hour away or so. Best I could do.”
Colt stood up, making the table and beer bottles shake. “An actual restaurant? Thank god!”
“Brenda didn't like the idea, did she?” Porter rubbed his nose, matching the amusement on Drez's face.
The singer just shrugged again, shooting me a look from the corner of his eye. “She never likes my ideas. Hope you're ready to see some of the upsides to dealing with all of this shit, Lola.”
I could only wonder what he meant.
Chapter Four.
Drezden
This kid.
This fucking kid.
How could one girl throw me for such an endless loop? First she blows me away with her talent, her innocent fucking little smiles and genuine reactions.
Next, she's dropping notes and sweating herself into a mess like it's her first time on a stage. And we weren't even on a stage!
Rubbing my inner arm, I watched Lola from the corner of my eye. After telling her we'd be stopping to get food, she'd gone off to use the showers on the bus.
My lip ticked at the memory of how high her eyebrows had shot up. She'd stammered, disbelieving we even had showers until Colt went to show her.
Now, the young guitarist was stretched out on one of the long couch-seats. Her hair was ruffled, a wet out of bed look. The racer-back grey top was replaced by a long sleeved black sweater, too thin to be much warmth, sleek enough to reveal the swells of her breasts.
I realized I was staring at her lean body. Like she sensed me, Lola flicked her blue eyes up. They met mine and stayed there.
I was the first to look away.
Shit, I thought angrily. I need to get it together. It's been too long since I've been around someone who pulled me in, that's all. That's all it has to be. Telling myself to stop getting wrapped up in the kid's eyes or lips or how her hands moved like birds through a storm when she played wasn't enough. I need a distraction. Why the hell am I so interested in this girl?
I wanted to blame her talent. I knew better than that, though. Lola was fucking good at guitar. There was more to her than that, I had to admit it. Sexy and with a mouth made for kissing. I thought about how I'd held her face. It was a strange memory.
She bit the shit out of her tongue, I reminded myself. That was both dumb and disturbing. If I told myself Lola was messed in the head, would that turn me off? No, you're fucked up, too. My fingers dug into my knee cap. I wanted to push the image of her wet mouth and wide eyes from my skull.
My attempts to stop thinking about Lola were backfiring.
I'm a smart enough guy to know this is a bad road to go down. Too many variables exist. Brenda beat into my head constantly how important the fans were. The last thing I need is fucking drama over who I decide to fuck.
Drama, right. That was another issue. I'd seen bands torn apart because of members fighting. Relationships didn't belong in a band. One bad breakup, and boom. The show was over with.
Literally.
Porter said something. Whatever it was, it made Lola laugh. The sound was like sugar in my mouth. My tongue tingled as I looked back at her, stuck staring at her long throat and sparkling eyes. I'm ignoring the most important problem, aren't I?
Nothing I thought or felt mattered if Lola wasn't into me. Could that be my out in all of this? If the kid was chaste or just didn't dig me, my problem would solve itself.
She looked at me again. Once more, I broke my stare. That's what I'll have to hope for. A solution that doesn't involve me doing anything at all. If Lola wasn't even an option, I was bound to get over my... my whatever it was with her.
“We're here!” The voice was gruff. Our bus driver, Gerald, was a cantankerous man. All I cared about was that he was the most reliable driver I'd ever seen.
Rocking from my chair, I adjusted the hoodie I'd thrown over my tanktop. I'd left it open, the zipper teeth grating across the thin, white cloth beneath. “Come on, let's get some food.” I needed to dig my teeth into something.
A hot meal would have to do.
The air outside was crisp. It was a far cry from the earlier heat in the day, but I was still amazed that the weather had shifted so fast. We were still a day and change out from Colorado, could the warmth flee so easily as the time vanished?
Craning my neck, I saw the line of cars parking behind us and across the street. The restaurant was about to get slammed by the groupies trailing the tour.
I felt a glimmer of pride over knowing we could hide in our private room and avoid most of it.
“Wow.” Lola had come up beside me, hands shoved deep in her pockets. “I'm so used to being near the end of this caravan. Look at all those headlights.” Her attention darted up to me, making me aware of her nearness, how thick her lashes were. “It's kind of intimidating, huh?”
My heart jabbed into my ribs. Intimidating? No, what's fucking intimidating is how much I need to rely on someone like you to make sure the rest of my shows on this tour keep everyone happy. That knowledge was making me nervous. And nervousness, well.
That pissed me off.
“If you think that's scary,” I said in a low tone, “you'll piss yourself when we play for them all later.” Brushing past her, I made a beeline for the front door of the building.
Dressed in a tight, dark jacket and matching leggings, I almost didn't see Brenda. She had arrived ahead of us, a security guard for the Griffin Bar and Grill at her side. “Drezden, hey!” Her arm snapped side to side.
I didn't hold back my eye roll. “Hey. Everything okay for us to go inside?”
“It was short notice,” she said, juggling her phone up to her ear for emphasis. “And I have no idea how many people are going to end up here. Couldn't you just let me order you some catering and have it delivered to the bus?”
The familiarity of her exasperation brought a smile to my lips. It was comforting, a status quo returned in my recently turbulent emotions. “Sorry, we were all sick of stale pizza and sandwiches.”
“Whatever, whatever.” Her sigh was dramatic, heavy-makeup coated lashes aiming at the guard. “Can you show them to the room in the back?”
Something bumped me gently; Porter had squeezed past, impatiently walking in front of the security. “Yeah! Show us. I'm starving, let's go.”
We formed a sloppy line through the restaurant. To our sides, I saw and heard the flashes from camera phones. We were probably the biggest stars the building had had in some time.
Wanting to see Lola's reaction, I glanced backwards. I didn't get a sound out. The guitarist was talking to Brenda. Brenda, who had uncaringly swept her long arm around her sharp shoulder blades. The red-head was talking into her ear, saying who knew what.
The arrow of chilly frustration hit me deep. No, stop, I told myself. This is good. Let Brenda become the familiar friend and confidant.
I doubted Brenda would do much beyond gossip with the kid. She was probably getting a kick out of feeling important, informing Lola about this or that as we moved through a sea of excited people.
My attention stuck on her nails digging into Lola's side. It took everything to make me rip my eyes away and look ahead. Stop getting... what? Jealous? Brenda is just being friendly. Am I being so pissy that she can touch Lola like it's nothing and I can't? Since when do I get fucking jealous.
Now wasn't the time to ponder.
The guard led us into a side room, a door blocking it off entirely from the restaurant. There was a game area attache
d, a pool table and some flat screens.
Along one wall was a series of tables. Porter dropped into a chair, snagging a menu from the middle. Someone, probably the owner, had placed a bottle of champagne in a bucket for us.
I didn't bite back my snort. “Who thought we'd drink this?”
“It's champagne,” Brenda said, sliding around and freeing Lola from her grasp. She touched the neck of the green bottle. “I'll keep it if it doesn't get touched.”
It was Colt who slid the bucket away from her, sitting across from Porter. “Oh no, I'll take it. It'll make a great dessert.”
“Or we could all share it.” The bassist reached out, retrieving the bottle. He ignored Colt's pout. “We've got an excuse to celebrate.”
I suppose we do, I thought silently. As a group, we all turned to watch Lola.
She shifted from one foot to the next. “What, because of me? Come on, don't make me blush.”
A hungry chunk of me lurched forward at the simple idea of making her cheeks glow pink. It was close to the ache I got for tobacco when things were stressing me out.
Striding forward, I pulled the bottle from Porter. In my other hand I snagged an empty champagne flute. The table had been set for us, something I normally didn't care about. “Everyone,” I said, “take a glass.”
Lola twitched as I approached. “I'm not technically allowed to drink, maybe I should have said that sooner.” The tilt of her lips at the corners sent electric pricks over my shoulders. The kid reacted to me so openly. Was that what was drawing me to her? How she projected her emotions on her lovely face?
“No one is going to say anything to you, not in this group,” Colt chuckled.
“Here, take this.” I pushed the glass at Lola until she took hold.
“Seriously,” she said, sourness dancing on her tongue, “we don't need to do this.”
The sound of the cork popping made her flinch.
“Yes, we do.” Lifting an eyebrow, daring her to stop me, I filled her glass. Like we were in some bubble, the rest of the group hovered nearby, not getting too close.
Staring Lola down, the champagne snapping in her glass, I waited. I didn't know what I was waiting for. “Hey,” Colt said, nudging me and shattering the moment—whatever that moment really was. “Share the stuff, Drez.”
After I filled their glasses, grabbing one for myself, I abandoned the bottle on the table. There was no need to explain anything. I lifted my drink, they all copied me.
Even Lola.
Looking her dead in the eye, I said my piece. “Cheers to a new guitarist who won't drop her guitar on stage.”
They all laughed. Well, everyone but Lola. She just looked away, a delicious red heat crawling up her neck. There. That was what I had wanted.
Why the fuck did I need that?
We finished our toast, which seemed to give the two waitresses enough courage to poke their heads into the room finally. The one with long, onyx hair spoke first. “Um, can we get you boys anything to drink?”
Brenda's scowl had us all smiling again. “I'll take a vodka tonic,” she said with false, sugary sweetness.
Tugging a chair back, I sat towards the end, furthest from Colt and Porter. The way the girls were staring at me was familiar. “Whatever beer is on tap.”
The scrape of another chair, right across from me, made me look up. Lola settled in with her eyes lowered. I wanted to see into her head, to know what she was thinking. Is she being shy, or is she nervous she'll get carded in spite of what Colt said? I doubted anyone would bother. The restaurant was happy we were here, if they said word one about Lola not being twenty-one, they risked us leaving.
They wanted the business more than they feared a single underage drinker in a private room.
“Uh, I guess I'll have what he's having,” Lola said, glancing up at me, then to the dark-haired waitress. She only relaxed when she nodded, scribbling something down.
The girls moved down the line, talking to the other members. The chair under me creaked as I leaned towards Lola. “I assumed Brenda had gotten all the information out of you earlier, but all this talk about not being old enough to drink...”
“I'm nineteen,” she said, pure blue eyes touching my green ones. Then, like water on oil, she slid them back to the menu on the table. “I'll be twenty in four months.”
Nineteen. That feels like forever ago to me. I was only seventeen when I started foraying into the music world seriously. A chance meeting at eighteen had been the start of my rise to fame.
Squinting at Lola, I studied the top of her head. She had her nose near touching to the menu. It's weird to think that she was some teeny-bopper when I was out dealing with so much, learning how the world works.
Not sure what to say next, or if there even was anything to say to her, I took her cue and looked at my menu. The restaurant had all manner of things. My hunger had abated with the kid so near me.
By the time the waitresses returned with our drinks, I hadn't figured out what I wanted. No, that wasn't right. I knew what I wanted.
She just wasn't an option on the menu.
Flicking the plastic sheet up so the dark-haired girl could take it, I met her smoldering stare. “Just give me what you like.”
“I—what I like?”
Taking hold of the chilly glass of caramel colored beer, I put on a half smile. “Yeah. Your favorite food, whatever you would eat here. Get me that.”
Tossing her hair back, clearly enjoying the envious glare of her fellow waitress, the girl giggled. “Alright, I can do that. I'm Scarlett, by the way.”
“Scarlett,” I repeated back. The name sounded fake, but who was I to judge? “I guess I should introduce myself, I'm—”
“Drezden!” she blurted, her smile wide as the moon. “You're Drezden Halifax. Yeah. I know.”
Of course she knew.
I hid my smile behind the beer, the crisp and bitter liquid refreshing on my throat. I caught Lola watching me covertly from over her menu. “You going to order?” I asked her.
She blinked, and Scarlett realized she was ignoring the rest of the table. Casting me a final, flirty smile, she moved over to the young brunette. “Sorry about that. What can I get you?”
“Just some tenders and fries,” Lola said. She watched Scarlett nod, then stared after her as she bobbed out of the room, hips swinging. I was sure she was doing that for me. I peered at Lola curiously.
What did she think about that behavior? “She's cute,” I said flatly, gauging her reaction.
“Oh, uh. I guess so.” Her fingertips went white on her glass of beer. It told me nothing.
Is she envious of the flirting or not? Why can't that information just be stamped on her—
“Fuck!” Lola coughed, covering her mouth and holding the beer at a distance. “That's strong!”
The laugh escaped me. I couldn't have stopped it if I'd wanted. But, fuck. It felt good. “It does have a kick. Still, what is this, baby's first beer?”
Narrowing her eyes, Lola slid the drink closer to herself. “No! I've had alcohol before, I'm not straight edge or something.”
“Oh, sorry.” Lifting my palms in mock protection, I gave her a cocky grin. “You were the one saying you shouldn't be drinking. I thought that meant this was all new.”
“It's just that beer, that's all.” Fidgeting, she watched me warily. “It's just strong.”
“I know,” I said. Angling my chin up, I took a long, deep draught of the beer. It was a stupid move, entirely too braggart. Why was I acting like a show off? Setting the glass down heavily, I arched an eyebrow at Lola's stunned expression.
Perhaps she wanted to prove something. I couldn't be sure. All I knew was that the kid proceeded to emulate me, chugging back half of her huge glass. I gawked at her jugular as it pulsed.
She managed not to cough, watery eyes challenging me after she slammed the drink down harder than I had. “Well,” I murmured, gliding my fingers over the top of my damp drink, “aren't you a big gir
l.”
Lola's blush was sweeter than the beer.
“Stop teasing her.” Brenda draped herself into the chair beside Lola. The vodka tonic in her slender fingers was already over halfway gone. As professional as she was, I'd never known her to curb her love of booze. She knew too well that she had a whole day to sober up before the next show.
The red-head reached out, lifting Lola's beer and taking a quick sip. I gave her a pointed look. “She's right. It's pretty strong,” she said, ignoring my frown.
“I believed her.” The beer warmed my blood. That was fine, the crisp shard of irritation at Brenda breaking into the moment needed something to smother it. “You don't need to protect her, that won't really help her image.”
She rolled her eyes, but it was Lola who spoke first. “It's not an image thing. Yeah, alright, I don't drink much beer. The stuff my brother used to have around was always cheap, weak stuff.”
Right, her brother. I fixed my attention on Brenda. She just perched her plump lips on the rim of her drink. “About that. Sean Cooper, he's really your older brother?”
“Sure.” Lola hesitated, glancing between me and my manager. “Why, is that a problem?”
It could be. “No,” I said, taking a pull from my glass. “If Brenda didn't think it was, then no.” She knew, there was no way she didn't realize when she took her name down.
The ice clinked in Brenda's suddenly empty glass. She pushed it aside, making it obvious for the waitress when she would next swing by for refills. “I didn't, and don't.” Brenda leaned towards Lola. To my pleasure, Lola tried to casually increase the distance from her. “Drez is just being paranoid.”
“About what? What's wrong with my brother?”
“Nothing,” Brenda said quickly. She scrunched her nose at me, and I knew she hated that the topic was coming up at all.
But it had to.
Looking over at Porter and Colt, I checked how they were busy laughing over something I hadn't heard. “Lola,” I started, wondering how much she did or didn't know, “your brother doesn't have the best history with me.”
“I didn't think he had any history.” Lola craned forward, confusion twisting her features. “Most Sean ever said about you to me was telling me to lower your music if I blasted it.”