Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance (23 page)

Ire was becoming a familiar burn. He could beat the shit out of the dipshit drummer and be done with it once and for all. But he forced himself to remember this was the other guy’s first international tour. It would be an asshole thing to do if he fucked up those memories for the other guy, even if he was asking for it on a daily basis. Refusing to show his irritation, Gage slung his own things onto the single mattress above it. Instead of climbing the plastic footholds, he squeezed into the tiny bathroom to take a piss. Afterward, he dug through his bag for his hoodie, shrugged it on, checked the pockets, and without a word to Landon, headed outside.

The one window on the pod Scarlette had been assigned to was a square of white light. She’d ended up with her own room. Maybe she’d finally get a good night’s sleep. The dark circles beneath her eyes told him the schedule was getting to her. Nevertheless, she kept them stocked in protein bars and drinks, vitamins, and non-fast food, gluten free organic meals.

He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and began to walk. Somewhere through the woods was the bank of the lake. The VIP pool and the concession area near it had been pointed out as they drove by. His sneakers barely made a sound as he traversed the worn path until the trees opened into a clearing.

No one was swimming, but the luminous glow of the water surface and the lighting around the area lit small groups of festivalgoers. Voices and laughter echoed. He chose a chair in a dark corner and warmed up his vape pen. Besides random social drinking, it was his only vice these days, and he’d only begun using it when he was given the go ahead from his rehab counselor who he had graduated from seeing every thirty days to every ninety days.

Delving out his phone, he checked his messages, finding nothing new. Amazing how quiet his phone was these days. A full itinerary showed up daily along with timely reminders of scheduled promo events. But the continuous buzz of the world that had once revolved around Gage Remington had ceased. Hell, even Colt’s texts were few and far between. And once they had a dialogue going, sometimes it was a day or so before Colt replied.

He knew his friend was busy. The world was revolving around him, same as it had once Gage. Enough already with the self-pity. He took in his surroundings, and found himself under scrutiny from a group of three women not far away.

“Want a drink?” One of them, a hot number wearing a bikini top with short shorts, held up a plastic tumbler.

The light behind her chair glinted off her platinum blonde, straight-as-a-board hair. He was sick of blondes. Everyone in L.A. was blonde. Curving a smile, he accepted and held up his pen. “Sure. Want a smoke?”

Drinking and smoking at the same time. He’d only done it once since his rehab stint. Although it hadn’t been advised against, it felt weird. Like he was falling back into old habits. Like to forget the mind fuck being around Scar had become, he was using. And that felt wrong. So when he wiped out the mixed drink, he declined another. When they passed back the pen, he only took a small hit before passing it back, and so on, until he eventually pocketed it.

The original blonde had worked her way so close, he could smell the chlorine in her hair, and her bare foot continually brushed the laces of his Jordans. On his other side, one of the babes had grown bold enough to begin touching his arm as she chattered. And then she halted mid-sentence and asked, “Wait! Why is your band different?”

Well fuck
. He’d been made. Even out here in the dark with a hoodie covering his ink and a cap shadowing his face. The last thing he wanted was to explain why he was in a new band to anyone who miraculously didn’t know. Gently detaching from their clutches, he leaned forward to stand.

The other girls had taken notice, and he was confused for a second when they held their wrists out for his perusal. “Is this your camp?”

Oh. BAND. As in wristband. He noted the red and black stripes of his own contrasting with the blue and yellow of theirs.

“Yeah. I’m right through there.” He nodded at the tree line, knowing they would see him when he headed that way anyway. “I’m temporary staff though. I guess that’s the difference.”

“Oh. What do you do?” Despite the evidence of money in their manicures, and the hair extensions he noted on the yellow blonde, there seemed a genuine and remarkably lack of snobbery in their interest. “Do you get to meet the bands?” Another asked.

“Um. Well…” Deciding to make an excuse and make his exit, he stood. “It was nice meeting you. Thanks for the drink.”

“There you are, man. Jeezus, I’ve been looking everywhere.”

Automatically, Gage’s feet took a few steps away from Landon’s voice before acknowledging him. “I was just headed back. Here, you can have my seat.” Noting the other man’s very male assessment of the women, Gage paused to attempt an introduction. Trouble was, he’d always sucked at names. Instead, he said, “These beautiful women are from Brussels.”

As he nodded and moved away, Landon’s boast floated from behind. “Well, beautiful women from Brussels, I’m Landon, from Rattler.”

“Where’s Rattler?”

Gage wanted to fall down laughing, but he continued his even strides toward the concession area.

“Wait, isn’t that in India?”

“That’s Ratlam.” One of the friends corrected.

“Rattler. The band.” Landon’s correction sounded very terse.

“The band?” Their voices carried over the water. “Wait! He has a red bracelet too!”

Picking up his pace, Gage rounded the corner and stopped before a vending counter tended by one inebriated acting employee. After ordering a veggie sandwich from the overhead menu, he sat to wait and scanned tomorrow’s itinerary. Fatigue was setting in, and it didn’t make him happy to see a few interviews before noon and the show around three.

He ate quickly, sucked down the lemonade, threw away his trash, and returned to the room. Scar’s window was still lit, and he wondered if she was awake or had fallen asleep with a light on. Punching the code into his door, he opened it to…

A small party.

The three chicks and Landon.

They were all topless and sprawled comfortably on Landon’s bed. The little soap tray from the bathroom was lined in white powder.

Landon looked up, immediately palming a rolled up bill, but telltale powder still clung to his nostrils. “There he is. Told you he’d be back!” The drummer indicated the tray. “Come on in. Get you some of this, man.”

“Nah. I’m good.”
Fuck
. His eyes drifted to his bunk and his bag.

“Get you some of this then.” Landon’s arms wrapped Miss Hair Extensions and squeezed her tits. “So good.” His head dropped, and he suckled noisily while his hands disappeared into her shorts.

“Here.” Platinum blonde unfolded and came to stand before him, offering her pinkie.

Seeing the powder spooned in her long glittery nail, he shook his head. “No thanks, sweetheart. I’ve got to sleep.”

“Rest up for your show?”

“Yeah.” He made a move for his bunk, wondering if he’d do better to go sleep in a chair by the pool.

“You play guitar in Landon’s band?”

Flicking his gaze to Rattler’s drummer, Gage found him still feasting like a starving infant on the boobs in his face. “Yeah. Guitar.”
In LANDON’S band
.

“You don’t look like the guitar player.” The brunette scowled at pictures on her phone’s browser.

“He’s a stand in.” Landon came up for air long enough to state.

“You’re hotter than the real one.” Brunette widened appreciative eyes between her phone and him in the flesh.

Deciding he was taking off, sleeping on the ground if he had to, he put one foot in the plastic foothold and reached for his bag.

“Are you really going to sleep?”

Ignoring her, he grabbed the pillow and blanket too and rolled them with his bag.

“At least let me give you a little something to sleep by.” She’d done the coke herself and now she used those pretty nails to pull his zipper down.

He froze, the one foot still propped. A blowjob sounded fuckin’ stellar. At least a dozen times a day he imagined Scar’s velvet tongue and her head bobbing. He’d run out of underwear a couple of days ago and so his hardened cock popped right out into her hand.

Another gaze to Landon found him on his back, the two women on him, one sucking his dick. What harm was there in a blowjob? It translated into stamina to withstand the seduction of Scar for at least through the show tomorrow.

And then it hit him. Where he’d been headed when he’d grabbed his things. To see if Scar would let him slumber party with her. He damn sure wasn’t climbing into this bunk after a blowjob and falling asleep to Landon’s fuck fest. And he double damn sure wasn’t going to Scar’s room with the saliva of another woman on his dick.

Dropping his things and tucking himself in, he descended to the floor and bent to her level long enough to pull her up straight and brush her hair from her face. “I gotta go. Got someone waiting on me. He swiped his tongue up her neck. “If I didn’t though, I’d eat you up, babe.” Straightening, he gave her a light push to the lower bed. “Go get you some of that.”

Feeling happy when he saw no hurt feelings or anger cross her features, he grabbed his things and quietly let himself out.

Three doors down, he slowed. The little window on Scarlette’s Flextel room was now dark.
Fiftieth fuck of the night
. Darting into the shadows between the two buildings, he sent a text to her.

The door opened, and at the sound, he rounded the corner to stand on her dark porch. With a nervous look around, he asked, “Can I come in?”

She eyed the pillow, blanket, and carryon bag. But she stepped back and then closed the door behind him. He blinked, adjusting his vision to the darkness. Her room would be identical to theirs and that meant only a couple of square feet of clear floor space. Carefully, he ventured a step toward the back wall where he knew the beds should be.

Suddenly the room filled with light, and she turned from the wall sconce. God, she was beautiful with her hair tousled around her face, and yes, even with the dark half-moon circles of exhaustion just above her cheekbones. The tee shirt she wore was so sheer it was practically see through, and it barely covered those sexy silky boxers she had always worn—if she’d worn anything to bed—when they’d been together. “Landon picked up some girls.”
And he’s gacked out on coke
. “Fuck. I’m so tired. Can I take your other bed?”

“Yeah. Sure.” With a generous wave of her hand, she indicated for him to make himself at home.

His lack of underwear denied him the liberty of stripping down to the comfort of his own boxers. He ducked in the tiny bathroom and had to stand in the shower stall to have room to change into a pair of shorts. The room was dark when he emerged except for the glow of the light sconce next to the top bunk.

She was in bed, facing the wall with her hair fanned behind her on the pillow and the sheet pulled to her shoulders. He couldn’t tell if she was asleep or awake. To be safe, he climbed extra stealthily into the bunk, arranged his pillows, cocooned in the blanket he’d brought, and turned off the light.

The last half hour invaded his mind, and he fought off the memory of female fingers curved around his junk and his imagining of them belonging to Scar.

“I can’t sleep.” The whisper drifted from below and sped up the pace of his heart.

“Why not?”

“It’s these things. Have you seen how they’re assembled?”

He thought of the tiny building they were lying in and knew it was delivered compressed accordion-style on a flatbed trailer. On site, a crane pulled it up and it was secured. “Yeah…”

“If it doesn’t hold, we’re squished Like bugs.”

“But it holds.”

“As far as we know.”

“We’re living in the age of the internet. If someone had been squished like a bug, we’d know it.”

“I guess.” A rustle of bedding and a minute went by, and then her voice floated into the darkness again. “How tired are you?”

Again, his heartbeat slammed against his ribs. Did she even remember the times she’d used that same phrase—as a seduction? Was this the moment he’d been waiting for?
Never too tired to fuck you
. The echo of his answer from times gone by suspended on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he managed one word. “Why?”

Cotton whispered together again, and he felt before he heard the thump of something hard against the plastic of his bed.

“Can you play something for me?”

Reaching, his fingers closed around the guitar neck, and he dragged it into his bed, positioning it on his stomach. “Anything special?” Spontaneously, his fingers had already begun to play on the strings. His ears attuned to the plinking, and he wondered when she didn’t answer if she had her headphones plugged into the portable amp as she always did on the bus in the bunk above him.

Closing his eyes, he plucked out a melody he’d been working on recently, eventually dwindling.

“Why’d you stop?” She whispered.

“That’s all there is right now.”

“Oh. What’s it called? Or is it named yet?”

The Make Up Song
. Just this very second named. But he didn’t dare say it. Instead, he denied it had a name, and let the moments quietly tick by. “I’ve heard you playing on the bus.” Was she falling asleep? “You’ve got good chops, Scar. Really good.” That much he’d assessed even while hearing the un-amped versions of her licks, riffs, and covers.

“Thanks.”

“Play something for
me
?”

“No.”

“Why?” He could feel her thoughts churning, and suddenly he knew. It wasn’t because she was on the verge of sleep. It was because her music was personal to her. Intimately so. As intimate as sex.
It’s so… intimate…
The memory of those whispered words and everything that had happened afterward had him hot and achy. “Please?” He dangled the guitar over the edge and didn’t release until he felt it safe in her grasp.