Trent smiles at the picture, and image of me from my first concert at Hawk and Dove. No doubt Vera had one of her young employees print it off some gossip website or another.
“You’re a hometown hero,” Trent teases, wiggling his eyebrows, “You should be proud.”
“Or something,” I say.
“Well, look who it is!” I hear a familiar voice crow. In a heartbeat, a pair of meaty arms have me all wrapped up in a hug—my face pressed uncomfortably close to some very familiar cleavage. Vera holds me like I’m a long lost daughter, returned from the war. She’s nothing if not hopelessly dramatic whenever she gets the chance.
“What did you think, I could stay away from your home fries forever?” I laugh, straightening up in her crushing embrace.
“So it’s just the cooking you’re back for?” she sniffs, “I thought you’d want to come grace me with all your tales of celebrity.”
“I don’t have all that many yet,” I remind her, “But I promise not to leave you out of the loop.”
“You’re damned right,” she says, “I’m singlehandedly responsible for feeding you and that Mitch character all through high school. The least you could...” but she trails off, catching herself having mentioned Mitch.
“It’s OK Vera,” I tell her, “It’s not like we were star crossed lovers or anything.”
“Tell that to him,” she says, “You know that boy was crazy about you. In fact, it seems like you’re collecting smitten musicians left and right these days...” I follow her gaze to Trent, who’s been standing at the door, waiting for a break in her bumbling affections.
“Hello,” he says smoothly, sidling up next to me, “I’m Trent Parker.”
“I know who you are,” Vera says, eyeing him up and down. “You’re the fancy pants rock star who’s stolen our Ellie’s heart away.”
“Vera!” I exclaim.
“I just call them like I see them,” she says, raising her hands in the air.
“That you do,” I say, tugging on Trent’s arm. “Come on, we’ve got someone else to meet.”
I tow my rock star away from Vera, over to my favorite booth in the place. As we approach the table, I see a familiar face waiting for us. Just like I planned.
“Hello Teddy,” I say, drawing up to the booth.
The young man looks up, doing a bad job of masking his nerves. “H-hi Ellie,” he smiles, “It’s good to see you again.”
“I’m sure it is,” I say coolly, “This is Trent Parker, as I’m sure you know.”
“Of course,” Teddy says, “It’s an honor to meet you, Mr. Parker.”
“It’s Trent,” he says, looking confused. “Ellie, who’s this?”
“This,” I say, sliding into the booth, “Is the little man who’s responsible for my first landslide media coverage. You know—the one I got trapped under just as I was arriving at Hawk and Dove.”
“You didn’t like the story I wrote?” Teddy asks, as Trent sits down beside me.
“I didn’t like that you lied about where your story was going to be printed,” I tell him archly. “I thought we agreed that our interview was going to go in the Barton Bugle?”
“We never...actually specified,” Teddy says, his voice rising a note with every word.
“You’re going to make a great journalist,” I tell him, “You’re already weaseling through loopholes like a pro.”
“You have to admit,” he says, leaning onto the table, “That article did cause a pretty big spike in your popularity.”
“It also caused a huge falling out between Mitch and I,” I tell him, crossing my arms, “A falling out that wouldn’t have happened if you’d quoted me correctly.”
“I’m...I’m sorry if you were hurt,” Teddy says quietly, eyes darting nervously toward Trent, “That wasn’t my intention at all. I just knew how talented you were, and figured that I could earn myself a reputation in the music journalism world with an exclusive story about you.”
“It was a shitty thing to do,” I tell him.
“I know,” he sighs.
“But,” I go on, “The fact of the matter is that breaking off my partnership with Mitch was for the best.”
“Oh?” Teddy says, his ears all but perking up, “You don’t say?”
“I do say,” I tell him, “In a weird, roundabout way, you’re sort of responsible for the start of a much more...exciting collaboration.”
Teddy’s eyes grow wide, skirting between me and Trent. “You mean...you two?” he says breathlessly, “I did that?!”
“I wouldn’t go that far,” Trent says under his breath.
“Your article created the circumstances that let Trent and I...get to know each other,” I tell Teddy, “So, I can’t be that angry with you. In fact, I wanted to offer you another exclusive, if you’re interested.”
“Of course I’m interested!” Teddy squeals, “An interview? With both of you?”
“Is that OK, Trent?” I ask, “Since we’re here.”
“Oh...Why not,” Trent says, “You’re the mastermind, here.”
“Lovely,” I say, “Here’s the thing, Teddy. There have been a lot of rumors going around about me and Trent, and I want the record set straight. I’m offering you the chance to be the person who does that straightening. There are a couple of conditions, though. For one thing, you have to actually report what we say accurately. Trust me, you won’t need to take quotes out of context to make our story more interesting. Also, you need to publish the story in the Bugle first. It’ll get picked up by every single music magazine and blog out there, but I want to give back to the place that taught me how to write in the first place, you understand?”
“Absolutely,” Teddy says, “Can we do this right now?”
“I don’t see why not,” I say.
Teddy plunges his hand into his pocket and digs out a tape recorder. Trent raises his eyebrow at the device.
“How did you know to bring that?” he asks suspiciously.
“A reporter always comes prepared,” Teddy says, self importance oozing from every pore.
“Right,” I say, “Why don’t we get started?”
“Just one minute,” Vera says, bustling up to us with three mugs and a pot of coffee, “No good conversation ever happened without a cup of Joe to keep it going.”
I think of my and Trent’s early mornings at Hawk and Dove, sipping on coffee together as the world dawned over the festival. “You may be right,” I allow.
Satisfied, Vera pushes a mug of coffee toward each of us and hurries away. I take a sip, stealing a glance at Trent. He looks benignly mystified, happy enough to go along with my master plan. I like that in a man.
Teddy fumbles with the settings on his tape recorder and finally sets the thing down on the table, just like he did not too long ago, back before any of the Hawk and Dove madness ensued. He looks up at us, eyes big and hopeful.
“So,” Teddy begins, “You two are back from the Hawk and Dove festival with some exciting news for the rest of the world...”
“That’s right,” I tell him, “During our time in Kansas, Trent and I struck up a new musical partnership that we plan on exploring from here on out.”
“We’re both very excited to see where it takes us,” Trent puts in.
I have a feeling that’s he’s not just talking about the music, now.
“Do you have any big plans for your collaboration?” Teddy asks eagerly.
“We do,” I say, “This summer, I’ll be touring with Trent and his band as they make their way around the country.”
“In what capacity?” Teddy asks.
“Oh...You know,” Trent smiles, “Muse, and such.”
“Trent and I might play some new stuff we’ve been working on,” I suggest, “Or maybe I’ll open for the guys a couple of times. We haven’t worked out the specifics. But we were so excited to find so much musical common ground that we want to keep up our partnership.”
“Trent,” Teddy says, “Don’t you think tha
t fans who’ve grown used to your harder, tougher image might take issue with Ellie’s presence during this tour?”
“Anyone who thinks that way just doesn’t have any idea how tough Ellie really is,” Trent says, throwing me a smile.
“Let me rephrase,” Teddy says, “Your styles of music are so different. Trent, you play hardcore rock, and Ellie, your songs are far more folksy and lyrical. How do you expect resolve that disparity?”
“Just because we’re different, doesn’t mean we don’t complement each other,” Trent jumps in, “A little variety makes for an exciting partnership. Ellie and I seem very different at first glance, but there’s a lot that we see eye to eye on. Our differences only strengthen our resolve about the things that are really important.”
“That’s very insightful,” Teddy says.
“You sound surprised,” Trent sneers.
“No! It’s just...Your tone during interviews is usually not so...”
“Intelligent,” Trent says. “I know that. My fans should brace themselves from here on out for a different shade of Trent Parker than they’re used to. I’ve been doing some spring cleaning, in terms of my personal brand, my approach to music and my public persona. I’ve let myself become pretty predictable these past couple of years, and I admit that I’ve sold out some.
This tour will be a great opportunity to take back my autonomy as an artist. I’m done putting on airs for people, or pretending to be something that I’m not. I plan to make a full return to authenticity this summer, and that might piss some people off. But you know what? I’m sick of trying to live my life for the sake of record sales.
The true fans will stay loyal, no matter what. And those who don’t like the new direction I’m taking can go find some other Top 40 machine to worship.”
“Strong words,” Teddy says excitedly, “Ellie, do you see yourself as part of this transformation in Trent? Do you feel like you’re the catalyst for this change?”
“I don’t think it’s a transformation as much as a revelation,” I say carefully, “I feel very honored to have Trent trust me the way he does. We’re very open with each other.”
“Pardon me for saying so,” Teddy starts, “But this sounds like more than a strictly musical partnership to me...”
I look over at Trent, hesitating. Is this it? Do we come clean to the public, our fans, as a couple? We’ve never even really discussed any titles or labels where our relationship is concerned. I’d feel rather strange calling Trent Parker my “boyfriend”.
He’s much more to me than that, after all.
Trent takes my hand under the table and smiles cavalierly at Teddy. “We’re partners in many senses of the word,” he says. “Maybe even every sense.”
“Meaning...?” Teddy leads.
“Did I stutter?” Trent barks, “I just fed you your headline. Take it or leave it, twerp.”
Teddy turns eighteen shades of red, and I have a feeling that I’m blushing just as deeply. Just like that, we’ve declared ourselves a pair to the rest of the world. There’s no turning back now.
“Good luck with your story,” I tell Teddy, standing up from the table, “And remember, no fudging the quotes.”
“You got it,” he says softly, as Trent and I begin to walk away. Vera waves at us as we make our way back to the car, and I’m pretty sure I see her tacking up a second picture onto my wall of fame—one that includes Mr. Trent Parker.
“You’re pretty good at this media thing, Jackson,” Trent tells me, as we slip back into the car, “Maybe you'll be our new manager?”
“Please,” I scoff, “I’ve got my own brand to deal with, thank you very much.”
“Well...Maybe you could stick around in a more permanent capacity anyway,” Trent says, “Like...as an actual band member?”
I let my keys fall away from the ignition. “What?” I say dumbly.
“You should be a part of the band,” he repeats, “You’re already coming on tour with us. And now that we’re between managers, we can make any drastic changes that we want.”
“I’ve only played with you guys once,” I exclaim, “You haven’t even talked it over with the others.”
“They love you,” he insists, waving away my protests, “And besides, I’m the front man. I call the shots.”
“Why do I feel like they would take issue with that?” I laugh.
“Hypothetically, then,” he says, laying a hand on my knee. His smallest touch still sends chills straight through me, “Is that something you might possibly be interested in, in the future?”
“God Trent, I don’t know,” I tell him, my breath coming hard and fast, “Why don’t you let me get through this tour, and then we can talk?”
“Why wait until the end of the tour?” he persists, “If you decided now, we could make our debut right away!”
“Why are you pushing this?” I ask, a little alarmed by his attitude.
“I...I’m sorry,” he says, “You’re right. I’m getting ahead of myself...I guess I just want you to feel safe with us. Like you’re not going to get hurt, or anything.”
“I don’t think that,” I tell him, a little confused. “Should I be worried?”
“No,” he says quickly, “No, of course not. Sorry, I’m an asshole. I just want to protect you as best I can, is all.”
“If you want to protect me,” I say, “Don’t try so damn hard to keep me safe.”
“That doesn’t quite follow,” he laughs.
“What I mean is, don’t hold on too tight,” I tell him, “That always spells trouble.”
“Isn’t that what Joni Mitchell told Graham Nash?” he asks.
“Look at you!” I exclaim, “Pulling out the Joni Mitchell trivia...Are you just trying to impress me?”
“If I can be honest,” he whispers, “I actually have a secret music crush on Joni Mitchell. Always have. Don’t you dare tell anyone, you got it?”
“Got it,” I laugh, shaking off his bout of over-protectiveness. “Let’s get home, shall we? I’m sure they’re all waiting for us.”
We start off through the back roads, sitting in silence. It isn’t even awkward, just sitting with Trent without the distraction of conversation. I’ve never felt that with a man, before. Usually, silence just means that we’ve run out of things to talk about, but with Trent it’s different.
Even without words, I feel like we’re sharing something, just being here together. Our communication doesn’t depend on words and phrases—our understanding of each other is far deeper than that.
I let my eyes wander over his body as we pull up to a red light.
He leans back casually in my passenger seat, one knee bent. His bright green eyes are gazing off into the middle distance, and his well-muscled body is perfectly balanced in its stillness. I still get taken off guard by how gorgeous he is, when I look at him long and hard like this.
But one thing has changed. I’m not worried anymore about matching his physical perfection. I’m not worried about what we might look like together, or who might have a problem with us. When we’re together, he makes me feel like I’m his ideal woman, that there’s no one else in the world he’d rather be with. I’ve never felt sexier in my life than I feel when I’m with him. His own beauty doesn’t intimidate me anymore, because it isn’t just his body that I’m in love with—it’s his soul, too.
“Eyes on the road, you,” he says, catching me staring at him. I ease my foot onto the pedal as the light turns green. It’s a good thing these roads are so familiar to me, because I’m having a hard time concentrating on anything apart from how much I want Trent right now.
“You’re not too hungry, are you?” I ask, my voice riding low in my register. My voice is always the first thing to betray my lust.
He looks over at me, intrigued by my tone. “That depends,” he says, “On what kind of hunger we’re talking about.”
“I see,” I murmur. “Well, if you’re amenable to the idea...we could always take the scenic route home
. I wouldn’t mind showing you a little more of my hometown before we head out.”
“Did you have a particular place in mind?” he asks, placing a hand firmly on my bare inner thigh. I draw in a deep breath, trying to keep my hands steady on the wheel.
“There’s a lovely grove out in the woods,” I breathe, writhing a little as his fingers work further and further up my leg. I can feel a deep, throbbing need growing between my legs even as I speak.
“That sounds great,” he purrs, leaning toward me. As I flip on my turn signal, Trent lays a sweet kiss at the base of my neck, running his fingertips along the skin of my thigh. I need to be out from behind the wheel as soon as humanly possible, that much is for sure.
I reroute us as fast as I can, hurtling along the country roads until we reach a little dirt path leading off into the thick woods. I turn off into the forest, breathing deeply as Trent’s fingers graze against the warm wetness just beyond the thin cotton of my panties. I’ve been back to this little corner of the woods with a couple of beaus in my day, but never with the sense of urgency that I have now.
“You’re going to make me drive us into a tree,” I moan, navigating the bumpy trail.
“You’d better pull over then,” Trent growls, “Because I don’t know how much longer I can keep from getting on top of you...”
I swerve off into a secluded clearing, throwing the car into park and switching off the engine. Darkness engulfs us as we rush into each other’s arms, out in the middle of deep, dark woods. I scramble onto my knees in the driver’s seat, wrapping my arms around Trent’s shoulders. His fingers brush aside the wet panel of fabric that rests against my slit, and I moan as he begins to stroke me there. My thighs tremble as his fingers caress me, moving deeper and deeper until finally sliding up within me.
My breath is coming in short little bursts as I tumble into his lap, unable to keep upright as he begins to knead and flick my most sensitive flesh.
He knows exactly how to touch me, precisely how to get me off. I bring my mouth imploringly to his as he traces luscious circles around that sensitive little nub, urging me onward toward the latest staggering orgasm.
“I love making you feel good,” he groans in my ear, rubbing me with dexterous, magnificent grace. I try to reply, but I can’t manage anything but a low moan as that hot, familiar pressure builds up inside of me.
Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) Page 24