On the Rocks Read online

You’re itchin’ for a fight

  With your constant bitchin’.

  I’ve had it with you.

  Cry me a river.

  See my finger? See my fist?

  They will deliver.

  This bitch is back.

  Yeah, this bitch is back.

  When we finished, I felt pretty good about it. Yeah, if it felt that good to sing every night, I could do it and I’d enjoy the hell out of it. Any remaining doubts I might have had were washed away by the look on my bandmates’ faces.

  “Hot damn!” Guidry exclaimed. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about.”

  I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. It felt right. “Thanks.”

  “You write those words?”

  I nodded. “Yep. Music too.”

  “Nice.”

  Jake said, “You’ve got a great metal voice. How high’s your range?”

  I shrugged. “Hell if I know. I don’t sing much.”

  “Well, you will be now. I don’t think you’re quite a soprano.”

  “So? Who gives a shit? Sopranos aren’t metal. They’re stupid little pop queens.”

  He laughed. “You might be right.”

  “I am right.” I wasn’t going to point out that Barbie’s range was also soprano. No way in hell did I want to be associated with her in any way, shape, or form. I also knew I was a mezzo-soprano, but we weren’t going to go there. Then they would know that I had actually been considering singing for real.

  Guidry asked, “You said you’re gonna be recording a demo?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What the hell for?”

  “Gotta find a new label.”

  “Are you kidding me? Between what I’ve been hearing from your band and the fact that Kyle Summers—former bad ass lead guitarist of the Vagabonds—is frontwoman for her new band, I know half a dozen indie labels that would snatch you up in a heartbeat.” He paused. “What is the name of your band, by the way?”

  I blinked. That was something I hadn’t thought about, not once, although it should have been at the top of my brain. I started to open my mouth to say as much, but sweet little Brandon said, “Why can’t we just bill ourselves as Kyle Summers? I mean…people fucking know you. You’re gonna sell the albums, not us.”

  I wasn’t so certain of that. Billing the band as my name sounded egotistical as fuck—and it made me nervous as hell. “I’m not so sure… Maybe we could use my name but still have a band name.”

  Jake said, “What? You mean like Tony Orlando and Dawn?” Wow. No wonder I thought the guy was decade-fluid. I doubted Brandon—and maybe even Teddy—had even heard of them. I only knew of them because of my parents’ eclectic musical tastes.

  Teddy said, “Like Myles Kennedy and the Conspirators.”

  “Yeah. Exactly.”

  Or…like Liz Mayer and the Vipers. But no way was I saying that out loud. I’d rather just go with a band name if it came down to it. But I nodded, wanting to see what they had in mind. They didn’t need to know yet that I would have the label change us to simply be whatever the band was called—without my name leading. That just seemed egotistical. “Yeah, okay. So what do we call you?”

  Brandon—the kid I’d just been thinking of as sweet—said, “Kyle Summers and the Dipshits.” There were negative murmurs but he said, “Seriously. Just Kyle, man. It doesn’t diminish the rest of us in any way.”

  Teddy smiled. “Actually, I could see us scoring a whole hell of a lot more pussy that way. Lots of women, old fans of the Vagabonds, wanting to come worship Kyle seeing our raw masculinity onstage? Yeah. It could work out very well.”

  Jake nodded. “I like the way you think, mate.”

  Teddy shrugged. “Beats what I’m doing now.”

  I grinned. “What are you doing now?”

  “Washing dishes at Village Inn. I’m gonna play in this band, and I don’t give a shit what you want to call us. Let’s just rock and fuckin’ roll.”

  And so Kyle Summers, the band, was born.

  Chapter Four

  “HEY, SEXY.” OH. I loved a greeting like that from the man who was, whether he wanted the title or not, my hot fucking boyfriend. I’d walked in the door and he was just inside the kitchen stirring a pot.

  I tried not to think of the fact that he was going to be gone in less than a week. That meant we were getting ready to have another year or more apart. Again. I was getting less able to tolerate those times away anymore, because we were both cheating bastards when we were separated. I only was because I knew he was gonna do it with or without my approval, but it was getting harder to take.

  Right now, though, all was forgiven. He was wearing a black wifebeater that showed off his biceps. No, he was no bodybuilder, but the definition in his arms made me shiver from head to toe anyway.

  I wanted to lick every curve, every shadow on his upper arms and then work my way down from there. But I wanted to gauge his interest first—and if his greeting was any indication, dinner would wait. “Sexy? What’d I do to deserve that?”

  He grinned, raising his eyebrows. “Guidry sent me a snippet of ‘This Bitch is Back.’ Damn, woman. I hope you’ve finally settled on singing for your damn band.”

  I sidled up next to him, trying to lean past him to see what was cooking in the pot on the back of the stove. And I wasn’t ready to tell him that I’d made up my mind. “Eh, I dunno.”

  He turned his head to face me but waited until I looked him in the eyes before he said, “There should be no question, Kyle. You’ve got a great voice—it’s husky, throaty, and perfect for hard rock. You’d be stupid to let someone else front your band.”

  I traced his lower lip with my index finger and said, “That is the last thing on my mind right now.”

  He half smiled but I could see the twinkle in his eye. “Dinner then?”

  Ah, CJ had always loved to tease. But I gave a slow shake of my head, my eyes focused on that full lower lip that my finger was now pulling on. He reached over and switched the burner off before bringing his hand to cup my cheek. As his lips met mine with unleashed passion, my fingers moved to the button of his jeans.

  I had a lot of musical energy built up that I needed to expend.

  Yeah, I’d discovered over the years that playing hard and heavy music moved me in a lot of ways, and it created a pent-up sexual energy that had to be burned. That was why sex on the road was not uncommon for me. In the absence of a good fuck, a strong drink would do.

  But the look in CJ’s eyes combined with that sexual tension made it easy to move into that mindset. He brought his lips to mine and melted me in a kiss. His kisses had become more passionate and hotter since the first time his lips had touched mine, and I couldn’t imagine never wanting him. Much as I wanted to keep kissing him, though, I had another one of his body parts in mind and, once I made my way inside his jeans, I wrapped my hand around that cock and stroked it, the sensations promising lots more to come.

  He moaned and breathed my name. God, I loved the way his voice sounded when he was teetering on the edge and my name was on his lips. He wound his fingers through my hair as I dropped to my knees, ready to make him feel like a million bucks. At this point in my life, I didn’t give many blowjobs. It’s not that I was bad at it or didn’t like it—it was that I didn’t care about anyone enough to. CJ was the only guy who mattered to me anymore, and it was an act of lust, sure, but also one of love.

  Yes, even though I’d known it in the back of my mind and I’d mulled it over on more than one occasion, it was a huge reminder that I cared more about CJ than I had any other guy, and I suspected that might never change.

  As horny as I was, I was willing to make him come right then and there, even though he’d be spent. He always found the energy to make me feel amazing too and as far as dinner went? Well, it could wait all night as far as I was concerned. But, after a few minutes, I felt his cock throbbing hard and I knew he was ready. His hands gently tilted my head up and he said, “Come here.”


  I grinned around his cock and blinked but obeyed. I ran my tongue along the bottom of his shaft and circled the head once before standing. In one swift motion, he grabbed the bottom of my t-shirt and pulled it over my head and then smattered my chest with kisses while undoing the clasp on my bra. He sucked on my left nipple and it was my turn to let out a heavy sigh. I fumbled with my jeans until I managed to unbutton them.

  A moan escaped my lips as he kissed between my cleavage and I pulled my panties down past my hips. “Fuck me now, CJ. I want you inside me now.”

  I felt his hot breath on my skin as he said, “Can do.” He reached for the wallet in his back pocket—the wallet that wasn’t there. “Damn.” He looked me in the eyes, and I already knew what had happened—his wallet was somewhere else and we were going to have to put the moment on hold until he could find a condom.

  But I didn’t want to wait. It was stupid, yeah, but CJ and I had been together, off and on, for years…and I’d seen his cock up close and personal enough to know that he was more than likely clean as a whistle. I knew I was, because I didn’t usually do sex without one. It was too risky.

  And I hadn’t said it to CJ, but he was my world, the only guy who mattered, who would probably ever matter. He was a risk worth taking.

  “Just do it.”

  He raised his eyebrows. I saw a mixture of adventure and skepticism. “Without a glove?”

  I grinned. A glove. That was cute. “Yeah. I trust you.” But then I saw it, that I had to assure him. “I’m clean. I don’t fuck without them either. Ever.” I sighed. “But go ahead.” Man, that look in his eyes hurt. He thought I was a careless slut.

  Without another word, he lifted me by my ass and turned us around so that I was half-sitting on the counter before he entered me. It took my breath away but my heart hurt. No matter how good he felt inside me, it didn’t take away the pain that the look in his eyes had caused.

  It was the first time I ever faked an orgasm.

  * * *

  Later that evening, we sat at the table eating pasta primavera, salad, and garlic bread, all courtesy of CJ’s mad cooking skills. He’d gotten those from his mom.

  I was trying to keep a smile on my face, and as long as I focused on the music, it was easy. If I thought about CJ, I felt sad. Not only did that look in his eyes earlier cause me pain, but I knew he would be leaving soon. I wasn’t prepared to deal with that again.

  But maybe it was for the better.

  “Are you still feeling guilty about Vicki?”

  I raised my eyebrows. I was simply shocked that he’d figured out I was down. Sure, her disappearance and certain trek into the abyss niggled at my mind more often than I would have liked, but that was not what was bothering me. I didn’t know if I wanted to tell him. So I shrugged and picked at my salad.

  In my peripheral vision, I saw him nod. He knew his leaving would affect me emotionally, because it always had, but I knew that he wouldn’t want to talk about that.

  We continued to be quiet for a bit until he said, “So…how long until you start recording?”

  Did he know me or what? Yeah…the best way to pull me out of a funk was to get me to talk about my first and one true love—the only one who’d never let me down. “I’m not sure—but, damn, those guys are good.”

  CJ was a hot guy no matter what he did—hell, he was jumpable even in his sleep—but he always upped the heat when he smiled. A lot of guys would melt panties with a raised eyebrow or even the right leer, but CJ could do it by baring his pearly whites. Damn…the guy did it for me more than any man I’d ever known and I doubted that could ever change. “I knew they’d be perfect for you.”

  “Thanks for that.” As much as I hated to admit it, I owed CJ a lot. He’d helped put the Vagabonds on the map by helping me make our first single “Dream World” even better, and here he was, years later, helping me assemble the best band I could ever wish for. And so I thanked him and he grinned and blew me off with a little “Aw, it’s nothin’” response, but I knew I owed him a lot.

  And my payment to him? Well…as I lay in bed in his arms that night, unable to sleep while CJ’s soft snores lulled me nonetheless, I realized that my heart and soul would forever belong to him—most likely, at my own peril.

  Chapter Five

  THAT YEAR BECAME my year of quitting.

  Death Crunch left the next week and CJ assured me I was welcome to stay in his apartment as long as I wanted. He had no issues with my being a part of his life—his life at home, at any rate, but he never referred to me as his girlfriend or partner or anything like that in the press, so I strayed from that topic as best I could. If he wasn’t going to publicly acknowledge whatever was between us, I sure as shit wasn’t going to. That would make me look pathetic—and Kyle Summers was nothing if not a bad ass.

  So it was time to start acting like it. It was time to quit acting like a baby and let CJ go.

  With CJ gone, it was easier to focus on what mattered the most—my music—and songwriting became my therapy. I retooled the song I’d written while still with the Vagabonds—“Wipe Your Muddy Shoes on Me”—but I also wrote another one, fueled by the emotions I’d felt when CJ had debated over the condom.

  Yep, I called it “Slut.”

  I had no idea what the fans and press would make of those self-deprecating songs, but it didn’t matter. They had to come out of me and it was as though I was detoxing, because just putting them on paper and then belting them out made me feel so much better.

  But the more I sang, I realized that my smoking habit was going to have to go. I couldn’t sing and continue to smoke. I hated the patches and the gum, but it was time to give up that nasty habit—and cold turkey worked just as well. I was such a bitch during that time that we decided to not rehearse for a week. I was trying to eat way too much to satisfy my oral craving, though, so I took it all out on a punching bag at the gym.

  Guidry had a list of indie labels for us to ship our demo off to once we’d recorded our best four or five songs, and while I was getting the nicotine out of my system for good, I got a call from an old friend. Well…an old acquaintance, at any rate.

  “Mollie! To what do I owe the pleasure?” And, I also wondered, how the hell had she gotten my new number?

  I’d had a love-hate relationship with the last manager the Vagabonds had ever had. Mollie had been a bit of a ballbuster, but—in all fairness—she probably needed to be. We girls had been out of control and, frankly, unmanageable, but she’d done the best she could, and sometimes that meant she had to be a cast iron bitch.

  I could see that now.

  Her tone changed slightly, and I’m sure it was because I was being friendly, even if it was slightly sarcastic. “Hi, Kyle. I have a business proposition for you—if you have a few minutes to spare.”

  “Have you had your coffee yet?”

  And so we met at Starbucks an hour later, because, of all the things I’d quit that year, coffee wasn’t one. But it just so happened that one of my quits, my former best friend Vicki Graham, had been the one to give Mollie my number—and yet that friend had yet to call me back. But I couldn’t concern myself with that right now. Mollie and I sat in some overstuffed chairs around a short wooden table in the small coffee shop and I tried not to look at the big fluffy snowflakes drifting outside the window, even though they were distracting as hell.

  I’d missed snow—a lot—while on the road over the past few years, because we tended to tour the southern states in the winter months. I’d discovered that I actually loved snow, and the last thing I wanted to do right now was talk business…but it was a necessary evil and I was prepared to listen.

  We had just taken off our coats and settled in when she asked, “So…do you have a manager?”

  I was pretty sure she already knew the answer to that—or why else would she go to the trouble of asking? Still…I remembered the “used car salesman” speech of my dad’s, and I wasn’t going to just give her a response. “Why are y
ou asking?”

  She grinned. “Still a rebel, eh, Kyle? And exactly how’s that working out for you?”

  I took a sip of my latte before replying. “Just fine.” I took a deep breath. “My band and I are going to be recording soon—and I gotta tell you, they are amazing.”

  “I heard a rumor that you’ll be fronting.”

  I nodded. “It’s true.”

  “Well?”

  I shook my head slightly and looked back out the window. One tiny snowflake, followed by another and another would eventually lead to a blanket on the landscape. For now, though, those little white bits were disappearing as soon as they touched the concrete outside, but everything looked gray. We were likely going to get a hell of a lot of the white stuff before nightfall. I considered that before opening my mouth. “Well…we have a few indie labels we’re going to send our demo to once we’re ready.”

  “And who’s representing you?”

  “Damn, you’re stubborn.”

  “That’s right, Kyle—and that’s why I’m a hell of a manager. You know that. You know you’d be in good hands.”

  “Would I?” I was now ready to call her bluff, a dangerous move but one that I had to make. “Is that why Liz turned you down?”

  I saw it—a tiny twitch, just the corner of her left eye, and she managed to maintain it pretty well, but it was there just the same. Then I knew I’d struck a nerve and the only way I would have done that was if I’d been right in the first place. What would determine if I would actually work with Mollie would be if she was truthful right here and now. “Who told you that?”

  I forced my face to be stone—no budging, no giving away my position. “Is it true?”

  She shook her head. “Sort of. But your sources screwed up your intel.” Ha. Like I had time to worry about what Liz was doing—even though I totally was concerned, and even that pissed me off. “It was Barbie I was representing, not Liz. You seem to have forgotten that Liz can still buy whatever and whoever she wants—and it wasn’t me.”