On the Rocks Read online

  His face blanched and dropped as though gravity had just intensified. “But we were just getting started.”

  I could feel his semen making its way out of my pussy as I pulled my panties up my leg. I’d have to throw those fuckers away after a shower. “No, we’re done. You can go fuck yourself.”

  He stopped himself from frowning. “I’m sorry, Kyle. I guess I had you all wrong.”

  I was pulling my shirt over my head. “Damn right you did.”

  “It’s so strange. Most women who are sassy and rebellious and mouthy like you are actually submissives who completely get off from being ordered around.”

  I stood as I zipped up my jeans. “Yeah? Well, some of us are just sassy and rebellious and mouthy. You ever think of that?”

  “No. I guess not.”

  My boots on, I started marching toward the door. “Maybe you should.”

  I slammed the door and tried to orient myself. His house was fucking huge, but I thought I could remember how to get downstairs. Fortunately, by the time I reached the bottom of the stairway, the man who’d driven me to the house was there waiting. Jesus. More creepiness. I said, “I need my jacket…and could I get a ride back to my hotel?”

  “Certainly, ma’am.”

  It was less than five minutes that we were back in the thick of traffic. There was a glass divider between the front and back of the limo, but the glass was open. I said to the driver, “You know what? Your boss is a sick fuck.”

  He cleared his throat but gave nothing away. He simply said, “Others have said as much, ma’am.”

  I would have laughed if not for the sad, empty feeling in my chest. I felt used and abused. My nipples still hurt (the parts that weren’t numb) and my ass ached. And I felt psychologically…dirty. That was the only way to describe it. But not good dirty. Bad dirty. Yucky dirty. Unlovable.

  It made me miss CJ so badly.

  And so I cried the rest of the way to the hotel, grateful when the driver pretended he didn’t notice.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I RESISTED FOR a week, but I finally broke down and texted CJ. He would probably ignore it, but I was going to do it anyway. In spite of how shit had gone down, CJ was a good guy—even when he was on the road and fucking around. It wasn’t like he’d lied about what he’d been doing. No, he’d been consistently open and honest about it all.

  And that’s probably why it hurt so much—he’d never seemed to give enough of a shit to forsake all others.

  But it didn’t matter. He was still someone I considered to be a good friend, still someone who would have my back if I needed it.

  Hey. Just wondered how things are going. Hope you’re doing well.

  That was it. What I really wanted to do was to call him and just talk about nothing…and everything. But I wasn’t going to. As it was, I’d been the first to reach out, in spite of the fact that he’d made it pretty clear that he was unhappy with me.

  And I sat in our tour bus sitting by myself, looking out the window as the brown scenery whizzed by, growing angry with myself for texting him. I’d figured out that he was upset that I’d moved out without saying anything before I’d done it, but how the fuck was I supposed to know that he’d grown fond of having me around, had extended the offer to stay at his place for forever? I wasn’t a fucking mind reader.

  Instead of dwelling on it, I focused on what was coming later that day. We were starting a new leg of the tour, and we would be supporting Last Five Seconds, an amazing and huge band—so amazing that several shows were already sold out, and we were playing in monstrous arenas. I suspected we were going to be seen by lots of people who either hadn’t heard us before or who hadn’t heard much. It was going to be our time to get some serious recognition.

  Another reason why I was excited was because I was a huge fan of LFS. They were hardcore but their tunes were catchy—in a metal way. I was pretty sure there wasn’t a song of theirs I didn’t like. So, not only was I thrilled to be playing with them, I was stoked as a fan.

  I was envisioning that part of the tour, wishing either Jake or Brandon would come out from sleeping in the bunks so I’d have someone to talk to, when my phone buzzed.

  It was CJ.

  I almost felt my heart swell in my chest. God, I had it bad for this guy…and for what reason? He didn’t give a shit—not really. He wanted me in the abstract sense, and maybe also in what I would consider the knick-knack sense—it was nice knowing I was there, nice seeing me, touching me, holding me, but I was best left on a shelf. I was there when he wanted me and he could pretend I wasn’t when he didn’t.

  Sorry—that just wasn’t working out for me.

  And yet I felt my heart clench when my phone vibrated in my hand.

  They’re fine. Looks like you’re killing it on your tour.

  I felt a wistful smile turn my lips up a little. He always kept tabs on me. Of course, I was the same. As much as it hurt, I couldn’t look away. I knew Death Crunch was off for about a month before going on the road again. CJ right now was probably somewhere in Colorado Springs—whether he was alone or not, I didn’t know.

  I didn’t want to know.

  But I could still do small talk and be friendly. How’s YOUR tour going?

  I looked out the window again while I waited for his response. I’d hoped texting with him would make me feel better and, in a way, it did. It was nice knowing he was there…but it wasn’t making me feel better overall. Not by a long shot.

  Same old. Except it doesn’t get old. You know what I mean.

  Yeah, I did. I hadn’t yet had a show where I thought, “Oh, man, nothing will ever top this.” And even when that day came, I knew I’d still be thrilled.

  I wanted to talk to CJ and tell him that this tour was tough. I felt tired, but on the flip side, I was beginning to feel energized, because my band was finally starting to get noticed. I was starting to think all my old fans were on the Liz bandwagon. They’d abandoned my ship for hers and, I guessed, I’d have to give Liz a little credit. She must have known what our fans wanted.

  They just didn’t want me.

  God, I was in a bad place, a dark hole, and the only time I’d pop out of it was during a show. I hadn’t realized how horrible it was until just this moment…after having been in a shitty situation with a masochistic lover (God, talk about an oxymoron), exhausted from a grueling tour, somewhat depressed that I wasn’t getting the recognition or attention I thought I deserved (even though this tour and album were doing much better than the first), I was at the end of my rope. CJ had always made me feel better—hell, even just knowing he was there had often brought me comfort, but it wasn’t working now.

  Maybe it was time for me to cut the strings for good…except I didn’t want to, and I wasn’t sure I knew how.

  Yeah, I know what you mean. Nothing like the road.

  I knew that was where I had to focus my attention—and instead of paying attention to all the fans who’d abandoned me in my time of greatest need, I needed to recognize and appreciate the ones who were there, rocking out with me night after night, buying my album and singing my songs. Those were the people I was performing for, not my fair weather friends who’d left for mediocre pastures.

  I had to remember that I’d be playing the guitar with or without an audience. I had to recapture that youthful exuberance I’d once enjoyed, back in the days when I sat on my bed and played a song over and over until it was flawless, when I’d worry a riff to death until I could perfectly duplicate the original.

  I had to be okay with being alone…because I was the only fucking person I could rely on.

  Take care, CJ.

  That was my goodbye. It had to be…because I had nothing else left.

  * * *

  If meeting and playing with Last Five Seconds wasn’t enough to pull me out of my funk, nothing would. Those guys were frenetic and wild but serious when it came to their music. They were consummate professionals on stage and with their fans, but absolutely fuckin
g insane backstage.

  They were exactly what I’d needed.

  And they turned out to be some of the nicest guys in the business. We’d made lots of friends on the road, but LFS were just plain above and beyond. On our first night, the four guys in the band rapped on our door, a small room with a couch and chairs and a makeup mirror that served as a sort of greenroom for us. They had a bottle of champagne and shook our hands, introducing themselves to us, but I already knew them all. First, there was Sam, known as Devil to fans. He was their lead vocalist but, on occasion, he’d do some weird rhythm thing on an old-fashioned washboard. The fans ate that shit up.

  Then there was Clay, AKA Jet. Amazing guitarist. I’d learned several of his songs over the years, and I was truly honored to be in his presence. The guy was top notch.

  Next was Brian, their bassist. For some reason, he didn’t have a stage name like the rest of the guys. He had long brown straight hair and twinkly blue eyes. He and I seemed to hit it off, but I was nervous, and it could have just been my perception.

  Last was Dane, the drummer, known as Silver to the fans. The guy was crazy on the drums—fun to watch, because he liked to do trick sticks…so it was no surprise to me when Brandon made a beeline for the guy once introductions were over.

  We were outnumbered now that my band was a three-person show, but somehow I wound up chatting some with Clay and Sam for a while and then, when Sam left, saying he needed to track down his girlfriend, we all settled in, waiting for my band’s call to go onstage.

  When the door closed behind Sam, Brian said, “Man, that dude is the most pussy-whipped guy I’ve ever seen. I’m surprised he doesn’t meow.”

  Clay and Jake started laughing, and that was when I began paying attention. Clay said, “Did you see the claw marks on his cheek?”

  Brian nodded and began chuckling even louder. I was confused for a second, because I hadn’t seen any marks on Sam’s face, but that was when I realized they were just cracking jokes. Brian said, “You have no room to talk, Clay. I’ve been looking around for your leash.”

  Clay was still laughing when he said, “Fuck off, man. Just ‘cause your last six dates were with your hand…”

  Brian held up his hand and wiggled his fingers. “She’s good, man. She knows exactly what I like.”

  I felt like an outsider, so part of me was relieved when one of our roadies peeked his head in the door and said, “Places,” letting us know it was time to head up to the stage.

  The three guys again wished us best of luck and Clay patted me on the shoulder. “Rock it, kid. It’s great seeing a woman sling an axe like you do.”

  Holy shit. Having one of my idols compliment me like that? Priceless…and a great reminder that the guitar I was getting ready to hold and caress was the love of my life.

  Chapter Sixteen

  THAT SPRING WAS unbelievable. Sales on our album were slowly gaining momentum and I was making lifelong friends. Of all the tours I’d ever gone on, this leg would be the most memorable. Last Five Seconds—and their peripherals (meaning girlfriends, roadies, techies, etc.)—were a great group from start to finish: inclusive, fun, and enjoyable to be around. Life with them was one nonstop party—and not the hazy Vagabonds kind. When we weren’t onstage or on a bus, our bands were together doing stuff. Mollie grew exasperated because we had thrown her itinerary to the wind, but it was okay. We weren’t getting drunk or high every waking moment, so I felt like cutting loose was all right.

  Clay also took some time to show me some cool shredding techniques. I’d been in the limelight as long as he had (only with another band and, as a teen, I’d been discounted more times than I could count), but he was a bit older than I and might have (although I’d never asked) had lots more experience.

  Clay and Devil were the oldest in our combined groups, but almost everyone else was about the same age—except for Brandon, the baby in the group. Baby…yeah. He was nineteen, older than I was on my first tour and, unlike my experiences, he had people who cared about him. Peter hadn’t given one shit if we’d blasted our brains out, so long as we could halfway play, and even then it was questionable if he cared. As long as we made money or made the newspaper, he didn’t appear to give half a fuck about what we did.

  I noticed that I was spending more and more time with Clay, Brian, and Emily, Clay’s girlfriend. It got started when the three of them were playing a board game and needed a fourth person for teams of two. They’d asked Jake first, but Jake had already promised two fans he’d meet them for coffee. Emily and I were a team against Clay and Brian, and then we switched it up and Clay and Emily formed a team against Brian and me. At the end of the second game, though, it was pretty obvious—to me, at least—that Clay and Emily needed some alone time. I’d heard rumors about that guy’s insatiable sexual appetite, so it didn’t surprise me.

  Brian asked if I wanted to go grab a drink somewhere. We had a show the next night in the same town, so I knew that I could drink a little and be okay. I could still get hammered and function tomorrow, but I’d mostly put the party hard days behind me. Yes, I could work and function on a hangover, but that didn’t mean I wanted to.

  We sat at a quiet booth and Brian asked, “You’re dating CJ Slavin, right?”

  I managed a halfhearted grin. “Was. Don’t you keep up with the news?”

  He chuckled. “Yeah…I make sure to buy my copies of The National Enquirer and Star the second they’re hot off the press.”

  “Ever hear of Revolver?”

  “They print shit like that?”

  That told me all I needed to know about Brian Zimmer. He was a good guy and he didn’t go in much for gossip of any kind. I grinned as the waitress brought us two bottles of beer and I drank a quick swig. “What about you? You been dating a hot bassist?”

  He laughed again. “I am the hot bassist.” Now, let’s pause here. Brian was hotter than hell—he just wasn’t my type. He had felt like a friend from the beginning—and I think he felt the same way about me. We just clicked on a level that I don’t with most people. And it was instantaneous.

  When we were done laughing, I asked, “Okay…so who’s dating the hot bassist?”

  He shook his head. “Not anymore. I’m kinda in between relationships like you.”

  I could tell right away that joking with him was probably the best way to go—after all, we’d already been doing it. So I said, “Who says I’m in between relationships? Who’s to say I’m not done?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Fair enough.” Then he took a swig of his beer. “For argument’s sake, though, I’m gonna assume you’re just on pause like me. And…well, it might take me a while to get back on the horse.”

  Oh. He got serious all of a sudden. I nodded. “Sorry to hear that.”

  He shrugged, lifting his beer to his lips again. “Don’t be.” After he took another drink, he said, “You know, they say the longer it takes you to get over somebody, the more you loved them. Or some shit like that. I dunno. I didn’t really love Cookie.”

  “Cookie?” I was shaking my head, certain I’d misheard. “Were you dating a poodle?”

  “No. Her real name’s Caroline, but her friends always called her Cookie. She’s a model.” I nodded, taking a long draw off my beer. “A bra-and-panty model. I guess it wasn’t bound to last.”

  “Too many guys ogling over her?”

  “No. Too damn stupid. And too damn vain. I get that she’s gotta look good, but rough sex is gonna mess up your hair. If it doesn’t, you’re doing it wrong.”

  That girl reminded me of someone else who seemed vain and stupid. “Her name wasn’t Barbie, by any chance?”

  He started laughing. “Oh, shit. Speaking of the news, I’m surprised you haven’t sued that woman.”

  A shiver charged down my spine. “What? Why?” I’d actually been out of touch while on the road. Yeah, I could have turned on a TV once in a while to watch that train wreck of a TV show Barbie was on, but I wasn’t much for reality television�
��especially if it featured a person I was glad was no longer part of my life. But it was sounding like she wanted to continue to be in my life, whether I wanted her to or not.

  “I don’t watch that show all the time, but at least once an episode, at least the ones I’ve watched, she vilifies you. Sweetheart, you are the bane of her existence.” Brian, with those two sentences, solidified our friendship for all time. He was the first rock star I’d ever met who not only used the word vilify but knew what it meant…and then letting me know that Barbie blamed all her shit on me? Well, that wasn’t so good, but if Mollie was right and there was no such thing as bad publicity, then let her bring it.

  “So what is she saying that I should sue her for?”

  He shrugged. “Really, I don’t know. She’s just a bitch. She makes all the people in the house miserable—she’s the one making the drama, and I think the network wants to keep her for that reason alone.”

  I didn’t have to think back over my years with the woman to know that was true. “That’s the one thing she’s really good at. More power to her…and good riddance.” I held up my almost-empty bottle.

  Brian touched his bottle to mine. “I’ll drink to that.”

  * * *

  Over the few months that our bands toured together, Brian became the best friend I’d never had before. He was more than my high school friends had been, more than Vicki or Liz had been capable of…even more than CJ, and I was sure that was because my emotions always got in the way with my ex. Brian and I were compatible and close and had fun on a monumental scale, and by the end of the tour, we were just about inseparable.

  At the end of the summer, both our bands had a few days off before going our separate ways. Last Five Seconds was getting ready to tour Europe, while my band was going back to headlining smaller venues.

  Our time with LFS had been worth it. Our record sales continued to increase and we had one more single to release, along with a video, that we knew might help.

  The break was needed, though. Brandon’s sister had just had a baby and he wanted to meet his newborn nephew and Jake—like me—just wanted some time to rest.