Stone: A Standalone Rock Star Romantic Comedy (Pandemic Sorrow)

by Stevie J. Cole

  I glance down at my shirt and notice chunks. “Fuck my life right now.”

  “Yeah, yeah. It happens to the best of us.”

  I grab the hem of my shirt and go to lift it over my head, but stop. “Turn around,” I slur.

  “Oh my god. Like I’ve not seen tits before.”

  “Not mine.”

  He frowns at me before turning around. I quickly pull my shirt off, toss it to the floor, and slip his on. It’s warm and soft and smells clean and spicy and lethal. Like him. “Okay,” I say before I fall back on the pillow, and he turns back around, smiling before he crawls into bed beside me, his jeans still on.

  “Feel better?” he asks.

  “A little.”

  “Good.”

  And the next thing I know, I’m out.

  17

  Stone

  Phoenix shifts in the bed next to me and I’m still wide awake. She throws her arm over my stomach and moves right up next to me, laying her head on my chest. This should be weird, and while it is…it’s not. It’s one of those things where it feels right. She feels right. Even though she’s been a complete asshole, I’ve always had this pull to her like there is something my soul identifies with deep within her. And isn’t the pull of another person’s soul the most electrifying sensation?

  She’s breathing hard and heavy, clinging to me like she doesn’t want to be alone either, and in this world, it’s all you ever can be. Alone, because the minute you let someone in, they usually fuck you.

  I put my arm around her, combing my fingers through her hair, just soaking up the raw side of humanity I think I’ve possibly forgotten about. This…this is the quiet I’ve been looking for, the normal, and for the first time in years, when I finally close my eyes, I drift into a restless sleep.

  ___________

  The creaking of the door wakes me. My eyes blink open. The sun pouring through the window nearly blinds me. “Shit,” I groan, covering my eyes as I sit up in the bed. I hear something fall.

  Phoenix swears under her breath. “Where are my shoes?” she whispers, I guess to herself.

  “You weren’t wearing any when I found you,” I say, and drop my hand from my face.

  “Found me,” she snorts. “What am I now? A stray dog?”

  “You’re a little scary yet endearing like one.” I laugh. She doesn’t.

  “Shit, my head is killing me.”

  “The way you were puking last night, I don’t doubt it.”

  She covers her face with her hand and sighs. “Shit.”

  I glance at the clock and flop back on the bed. “Why are you up at six in the morning?”

  “Because I’m still drunk.”

  I pat the bed. “You need more sleep.”

  “I need to leave… Oh god, I need to leave.” I prop up on my elbows and she drops her chin to her chest. “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “Oh come on now. I’ve seen much worse.”

  “That’s no consolation.”

  I glance at my Nirvana shirt she’s still wearing. “So you were trying to leave with my Nirvana shirt? That’s an original I found at a thrift store in Savannah.”

  She glances down at it, then back up at me, her eyes slowly widening and a ripple of fear crossing her face. “Oh god.” She gasps. “Did I fuck you?”

  I stare at her. I really should fuck with her, but even I’m not that big of a dick. “No.”

  “Thank god.”

  “You know, you really know how to make a man feel good.”

  “You’re more like a man-child, really.” She crosses the room, stopping at the foot of the bed to toss the comforter back. “Where’s my shirt?” I point to the other side of the room where her vomit shirt lays crumpled on the floor. Huffing, she walks over and snatches it up. “I really am sorry about last night…” she starts to pull my shirt over her head.

  “You do realize your t-shirt has vomit all over it?”

  She glances down at the shirt in her hand and snarls. “Oh…right.”

  “It’s fine, you can borrow the Nirvana shirt.” I smile.

  “Thanks. Jesus, I’m such a shithead.”

  “Nah, just a rock star in training. It’s fine, I don’t mind taking you under my wing.”

  A soft grin shapes her lips. “And thank you for not being a dick and taking advantage of me.”

  I shrug. “I’m not Rush, and besides, I watched you hurl for a good ten minutes.”

  “Right…” her cheeks blush and I find it fucking adorable. “Well, thanks for letting me stay and not letting me die and all that jazz.”

  “All that jazz?” I laugh.

  “Yeah, all that jazz…” She heads toward the door. “I’ll get your shirt back to you.”

  I start to tell her not to worry about it, but it gives me an excuse to see her again. I crawl out of bed, shoving my hand down my pants to adjust my morning wood, and her eyes track the movement like a hawk. I grin. She rolls her eyes.

  “Really?” she huffs.

  “What, you want it sticking out like a tent pole? It’s hazardous to walk around with that shit.” I shrug, and she walks through the door and into the hall. I follow her out of the room. “Want breakfast?”

  “Ugh, the thought of food makes me want to barf again.”

  “Oh, come on. Some greasy hash browns and eggs would make you feel better.”

  She fakes a gag. At least I hope she’s faking that shit because I’m not mopping up puke. I follow her down the stairs and into the living room. She stops in front of that picture of my mom for a second before she heads toward the back door. Suddenly, I remember the handprint on her arm.

  “Hey, you know, why don’t you let me walk you to your car?”

  She turns around. “I’m fine.”

  “Come on, just let me walk you.”

  She arches a single brow.

  “Look,” I say, “you were upset last night and the handprint – you know I saw that. I just can’t –”

  “Oh shit, Stone,” she says, placing a hand on my bare chest, “it’s fine. I grew up with Harvey. He got shitfaced and he tried to kiss me. It was nothing.”

  “You were crying.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. And I also kissed you.” Ouch. “It was the tequila. I’m fine. I don’t need saving, okay?” She drops her hand from my chest, and I stare at her for a second. “Oh my god, he was my stepbrother. Okay, he’s fine.”

  “Dear god, Jimmy Rage and fucking Henry Edwards? Your mom was on a roll, huh?”

  “Something like that…” she shakes her head and reaches for the door.

  “Hey,” I stop her. “If you don’t want me following you, at least text me and let me know you got home okay?”

  “Oh for the love…” She pulls her phone out and hands it to me. “Put your number in.”

  I take it from her and type my number in, smiling when I hand her phone back.

  Her gaze drops to my mouth and she bites down on her bottom lip before turning around and pushing open the door. “I’ll get your shirt back to you. Promise.” There’s a little hop in her step when she walks out the door, and damn, if it’s not the cutest thing I’ve seen in a long time. She’s sexy. And bitchy. And funny. And cute. A deadly combination, because it’s the cute that really gets me. That innocent, I don’t give a shit what you think about me vibe is like a barb right in my heart. Shit, that woman is push and pull. And I don’t know what to do with that. I really, really don’t.

  18

  Phoenix

  The door clicks shut behind me, and I take a breath. A deep breath. I hurry across the warm pool deck, grabbing the wrought iron gate that leads to the beach and shoving it open. It’s early morning and the sun’s still low enough in the sky that the ocean has that placid blue tint to it. The breeze kicks up, catching the scent of Stone’s cologne and lifting it from the shirt I’m wearing. That smell of man swirls around me like some sex haze, and I can’t help but take a deep breath of it. Shamefully, a little sigh works its way up my
throat. He’s all dark and swoony and a little Neanderthal– and not at all what I imagined. He’s a fucking good guy! Shit. I like him, and I hate it, because messing around with him would be like eating a piece of candy that you know will give you the shits. He can be as nice as he wants. He can be a good guy all day long, but the second they go back on tour it’ll be like the full moon effect on a werewolf and he’ll turn into this monstrous sex addict shoving his cock down every open mouth from here to Timbuktu. But he felt so nice lying next to me in the bed. He smells good. And his lips. And his…Jesus, I know better, so why in the hell am I so hung up on him?

  I kick at the sand, sending it flying into the air. “Leave him alone, Phoenix,” I grumble to myself as I trudge down the beach to the shoreline. I stand at the edge of the water, letting the cold Pacific rush around my ankles.

  It should be simple, but I can’t trust him. I should trust people– shouldn’t I? I mean, that’s what normal people do. It’s just that I’ve never really had someone not fuck me over and that does things to you. I stare down at the foamy water lapping around my feet. When he kissed me, it made me feel like a teenager. My heart went all racy. My mind went into a gridlock. That electric buzz snapped and crackled inside me. What the hell am I doing? Turning around, I head toward Harvey’s, silently berating myself for kissing him, for sleeping in his bed, for wearing his shirt home on purpose to give me a reason to see him again– hell, it’s better than that dumb earring trick, right?

  I come to Harvey’s gate and open it, stomping up the walkway and around his pool to the backdoor. I go to pull it open, but it’s still locked, so I bang over the glass, because I’m sure as hell not crawling through the jungle of palm trees that line the side of his house.

  “Harvey!” I shout. “Harvey!” I use my hand to shield the sun from the window and peek into the house. I can see him sprawled out on one of his leather couches, one leg and one arm hanging over the edge. “Jesus,” I groan before slamming my fist over the glass again. “Harvey, wake up!”

  Finally, he moves and falls off the couch to the floor. He sits up and drags a hand over his face. I bang against the window again. He slowly pushes to his feet, swaying as he staggers through the kitchen toward the back door. When he reaches it, he just stands there like an idiot, staring at me through the glass like I’m some freaking animal at a zoo.

  “Open the door, dipshit,” I say, and he unlatches the lock before sliding the door open.

  “Why are you outside?” His brow wrinkles with confusion.

  I glare at him when I walk past him and straight to the kitchen to get some water. “You don’t remember?”

  “I smoked a ton of weed last night and drank a handle of tequila. I don’t remember shit.”

  I grab a bottle of water, twist off the top, and guzzle half of it. “Well,” I say, “you tried to get me to fuck you, then locked me out.”

  All he does is laugh.

  “It’s not funny.”

  “Yeah, it is.” He turns and heads back into the living room, falling back on the couch.

  I follow him and grab my purse from the coffee table. “Do you want to know how you tried to convince me to fuck you?” I smile. “Telling me that stepbrother-stepsister sex was the in thing to do.”

  He shrugs. “Tell me it’s not.”

  “Oh my god, I can’t even with you.” I dig through my purse and find my keys, palming them. “Please tell me you were just that shitfaced, and you really weren’t trying to fuck me.”

  “I don’t know. Shit, I mean, you’re hot and we’re not related, you can’t fucking blame me.”

  And that sense of doubt creeps in. Is that why we’re friends? Is that why we’re close? And really, what the fuck does it matter anyway? “

  He drags a hand over his face. “So, did you sleep outside or something?”

  “Yeah, something…” I say and head toward the door.

  “I’m sorry, okay. Sorry.”

  I wave at him without turning around. “It’s fine, Harvey. It’s fine.” And I open the door and leave.

  Maybe I should have given Harvey more grief than I did. I mean, he’s my ex stepbrother, kind of best friend, and he tried to come on to me by saying incestuous relations were hot, but I’m too focused on Stone. On the fact that the lead singer to the biggest, most man-whorish of a rock bands had me shitfaced in his bed, and did not fuck me. I shouldn’t find that sweet or romantic, but I do. I find it absolutely swoon worthy because in this world I live in that is basically handing a girl two dozen roses and a velvet teddy bear.

  _________

  “Hair of the dog,” Lauren says, shoving a drink across her kitchen counter at me.

  I pick it up. The second I bring it under my nose, I’m gagging. “Oh my god, what’s in this?”

  She shrugs. “Some bourbon and tequila and…” she grabs a can and reads the label, “ginger beer.”

  “Are you trying to make me sick.”

  “No, I’m trying to make you human again. You look like shit.” Her eyes drift over my shirt, and she smirks. “Nice shirt by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I say, then pinch my nose and slam the drink back. It tastes like a combination of regret and lost pride, burning on its way down. I place the glass back on the counter and take a seat on the barstool. “So, should I be annoyed that Pam is trying to act like mother of the year?”

  “You should be annoyed at anything Pam does trying to refer to herself as a mother.”

  I laugh at that. “She always says she did the best she could.”

  “Mm-hmm, hell, she could be someone’s role model if they wanted to be the most conniving gold digger in the history of the world.”

  “Very true.”

  “I’m sorry,” Lauren says, rounding the counter and taking a seat on the barstool next to me. “I shouldn’t say shit like that.”

  “It’s true.”

  “Yeah, she’s your mom though.”

  I snort. “I’m twenty-three and I haven’t called her mom in thirteen years because she didn’t want to ‘ruin her reputation’.”

  “God, she’s a cunt.” Lauren drums her fingers over the counter. “So, whose shirt is this?” She tugs at the sleeve.

  “Some guy’s.”

  “Uh-huh.” She leans over by my arm and sniffs the shoulder. “Uh-huh.”

  “What?” I cut my eyes over at her.

  “Some guy, huh?” She grins. “Stone Steele, maybe?”

  How in the hell does she do that? “No,” I say much too quickly.

  Her smile deepens. “You sneaky little whore.”

  “Look, I did not fuck him.”

  “You’re in his shirt. With his scent all over you.”

  “It’s a long story, and I have a headache.”

  She stands up, goes around her counter, and opens a cabinet. In three seconds flat, she’s got a bottle of water and a Tylenol. “Take it, suck it up, and spill.”

  “There’s nothing to spill.”

  “Look,” she glares at me, “I tell you all the dirty details of my sexcapades and–”

  “And I don’t ask you to. You torture me with them.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You like it, you’re just as big of a pervert as me.”

  “Not by far.”

  She shakes her head.

  “I’m not the one who dreams of one day bending a man over and ramming a strap on up his ass.”

  “Because you’re a wallflower.”

  “Oh my god, I just don’t want shit anywhere near me.”

  “They clean it out, Phoenix.” She huffs. “God.”

  All I can do is stare at her, because she is serious. This is my best friend. My chosen best friend… I shake my head. “How the hell did we get on the topic of ass sex, again?”

  “Because you wouldn’t admit you screwed Stone.”

  “Because I didn’t.”

  Lauren places her hands on her hips and gives me a once over. “Then, you disappoint me.”

  “Becau
se I have morals?”

  “No,” she tosses her hands in the air, “because you haven’t fucked anyone since Voss.”

  “And?”

  “That was almost a year ago, Phoenix. Three-hundred-sixty five days. All I want is for your vagina to have a good exorcism.”

  “An exorcism?” I say.

  “Yes, an exorcism. Voss was the last living thing inside of there and it needs to be cleansed of his demonic presence.”

  I eye the bottle of Jack on her counter. “How much have you drank today?” I ask.

  “Nothing.” She sighs. “I mean, fine, don’t fuck him, but you like him.”

  “I like him as a person.”

  “As a….oh for fuck’s sake, Phoenix, are we twelve?”

  “Maturity wise, us? I think twelve is reaching a little.”

  She laughs. “Look, I’ve been friends with you since we were nine. I taught you how to hike your skirt up in school to showcase your kneecaps, I know you, and I know you have a thing for him.”

  “He’s nice,” I say.

  “He is nice and hot and Stone Steel.”

  “Yes, and Voss was nice and hot and Voss Henson.”

  “No, Voss was always a dick, you just didn’t care.” She sighs. “Stone could be your lobster.” She giggles, and I grab a dishtowel and throw it at her.

  “So are you and Rush…”

  “Nope. I mean, I never expected anything from him, he’s a dog, but ever since you referred to his dick as Subway ham, it’s just not the same.”

  “Sorry.”

  She shrugs. “It’s fine. Good stories for when I’m in the nursing home, you know?”