Rock Into Me (2 page)

Harvey Stiles was about to say, ‘No,’ when Christy conveniently dropped her pen and bent over in her micro-mini skirt, knowing full well that the owner needed some visual encouragement. She was a complete promo-whore insofar as knowing how to sport her incredible figure to the band’s benefit. To Christy, it was ‘all-is-fair-in-booking a gig’ and what her six-foot-four boyfriend didn’t know supposedly wouldn’t hurt him. She never actually let anyone put their hands on her, but she worked the person over with her seductive power real good. Heaven help her if one day someone called her bluff.

Orion finished the set, and Alana coughed, a tickle that had begun in the back of her throat blossoming into an irritating ache. She bent and retrieved her bottle of water, sipping, but nothing relieved the sting in her throat. The band collectively waved to the audience. It was all for show because they’d return on stage for the customary encore number. The last number was their most popular song and Billy demanded they leave it to last. He’d said, “
Give them something to remember us.
”

At the edge of the stage, just beyond the curtains, she stood next to Christy, checking out the first row. “Hey, did you happen to notice any weird fans tonight?” Alana said, pushing back her sweaty bangs plastered to her forehead.

“Weird, as in totally loving us? This is a change. I bet Harvey is gonna ask us back. He’ll pay, though. We basically did this set for free. The bastard. But not the next one. I’ll crank it to him good.” She grinned a perfect ‘four-years-of-wearing-braces-and-still-sleeping-with-a-retainer’ smile.

“Christy, no. Different. Like someone who thought we…”

“We what? Stunk?” Christy snorted. “As if.”

She nodded. “Exactly. Crazy. Right?”

“Is this a joke? Ya know, we seriously rocked our asses off, and listen to them. We own them. Man or woman, they want us. And not just our bodies. Our voices. Our music. Our fucking souls. This is the reason we huff it on that rat trap of a bus for half the year. Alana, so far Nashville has shown us some genuine love.”

Alana pulled Christy’s arm, bringing her to the edge of the curtain, and she pulled the ancient crimson velvet material back. “Him. He looks as though someone is pinching him.”

“He looks a-fucking-mazing. Holy shit. I think that dude is Lansing.”

Billy shouted out to them, “Let’s go! Christy, now!”

Alana held onto her friend. “Who is Lansing?”

Christy stared at her, scrunching up her nose. “I’m not about to be late for an encore. Billy will have my ass. And I do mean that literally. He starts off with twenty smacks for shit like this. Come on.”

She spun on her heel, and marched behind her boyfriend. “Way too much information, girlfriend,” Alana shouted at the back of Christy’s head.

Up ahead Christy shrugged, tapping her tiny rear-end, and then knelt to pick up her guitar. The crowd stood, from what Alana could tell of the first couple of rows, but it took GQ a lifetime to rise. He looked from one side to the other as if he might find others who had opted to remain seated. Alana fumed. Absolutely fumed inside. She hoped to God that, afterwards, she would run into him. If she did, she fully intended on schooling in him audience etiquette.

 
Lansing whoever
. When she looked at him, she only saw a jerk. Well, what goes around, she mused. She vowed to take his level of discomfort up several more. The venue was rather intimate, in the basement of an old bar from Nashville’s heyday. The stage was set perhaps three feet above the crowd. Their last song was a bluesy little number that rocked the Billboard charts. The song that got them noticed six months ago, and was still being played heavily.

Alana danced while the band played the intro. The music sounded soulful, low, and melodic, and it was easy to get lost in the sensuous notes. She swayed her hips, pivoting them in a figure-eight, and lifted her arms, letting her shoulders go liquid. The years of taking Spanish dance lessons came back to her as she let her arms snake and coil through the air.

 The crowd was whistling, feet were stomping, and for a few seconds Alana was swept away by the beat pounding throughout her body. The effect was liberating, and liquefying. She danced, free from her mother’s expectations that she’d be a famous opera sensation. She moved with the glee-filled room. Fun-loving people out for a rip-roaring time, not dealing with her father’s illness, something so devastating to her family and something she was powerless to change.

Even though her dress edged up her thighs, she moved undaunted as she danced her exasperation away. For years she’d put up with her mother’s disappointment, and now it seemed like the band was going to get a break. This town and this moment should be framed in a sweet memory, not some bitter pill of a man who stared up at her with dissatisfaction.

Dancing on stage, the only thing that Alana desired was to prove GQ wrong and make certain he noticed her. She glanced in his direction under her lashes and,
oh yeah
.
Pay day
. His gaze traveled down her body; the type of burning she noted in his eyes no longer resembled a man sitting on pieces of broken glass. Everyone in his row was dancing. He scrubbed his hand over his parched expression. He appeared very much in need of a glass of water. Hell, a whole bucket. With ice.

Well, good. She stopped moving, and stomped her feet into a wide stance. Inhaling, Alana sang the first verse, staring straight into GQ’s smoldering eyes. As the last song, it was time to draw a line in the sand. He’d tormented her for six songs, and brother, now it was her turn.

Every other person up and down that aisle smiled broadly up at her. All but one. So she grabbed the mic and unhinged it, singing her part just for him. The one jackass in the place. She walked to the edge of the stage, one hand on her hip, and the other holding the microphone, never breaking eye contact with GQ.

If only she could stand right in front of him. Then she’d see who blinked first. The floor wasn’t that far from the stage, but in five-inch heels she couldn’t jump off. This itty-bitty dress would hardly do well in body-surfing the crowd. As she sang and moved, everyone’s attention followed her. By singing to GQ, she condensed the audience to him as the one focal point in the room. The words of the song caressed her lips and she contemplated him. His thick, dark hair was a mess—really rocking wild style. And the way his white, oxford button-down shirt fit hardly seemed fair. His broad, muscular shoulders and a tease of dark chest hair peeking out had her leaning over, and her mind blanked for a second.
Chorus.
Sing the chorus
, a voice inside her said.

Cat calls erupted and she realized her neckline had fallen away from her chest, revealing a clear view of her cleavage. Rapidly, she popped upright, heat blossoming across her face. GQ arched a brow up at her. She studied his angular cheekbones and mouth. His square jaw with a few days of stubble gave him a rugged, sexy appearance. Not the type of man who was easily swayed she suspected.

Alana sang the final verse, and the applause erupted. The other band members came to the front of the stage and they all waved. She gazed back at the man. The breath stilled in her chest. GQ was gone. She scanned down the row. No white-shirted man. Squinting, she couldn’t see beyond the glare and she bit her lip, casting a glance at the other band members. Hank initiated their exit off the stage, followed by Billy.

Alana turned and raised her hand, waved, and then acted as though she were pushing aside her sweaty bangs and shielded her eyes, silently cursing her weakness. Back against the wall, he leaned sipping a drink, surrounded by a small crowd. He towered over those around him and, even in the darkened room, she could tell he’d been watching the stage by his body position squarely facing her. Their gazes suddenly connected, leaving her breathless. Across the room, the heat from his eyes blazed hotter than the sweltering stage lights.

Backstage, Alana could hear the screeching of chair legs and the shuffling feet of the crowd making their way upstairs. “What are you doing?” Christy asked, hooking her arm with Alana’s and tugging her. “Come on. Time for a drink. I’m going to talk business with the owner.”

Walking arm in arm, they ascended the backstage stairs and came out into the crowded bar area on the main floor. The stranger was talking with two older men, both dressed in suits among a room filled with hipsters, university students, and a few rockers of questionable age.

Alana moved to the far side of the main bar, smiling at the compliments they received along the way. She and Christy stopped at the fringe of where Billy, Hank, and Carl were holding court. A few groupies were giggling, and there were a couple of familiar faces, people they’d met over the last few days of playing and doing radio spots.

Carl patted two seats next to him. “Right here, girls.”

“This ought to be rich.” Christy narrowed her eyes at the two women leaning over Billy. “Well, two can play this game.”

Alana watched Christy bat her eyelashes at a couple of local DJs sitting on the other side of her. Smiling and adjusting her dress to better display her assets, Christy twirled a lock of her jet-black hair. “So, boys, what’d ya think of the show?”

“You all need to consider Bonnaroo. We can get you in if you agree to come by the station and do a couple of shows. Play a couple of songs.”

Christy laughed. “Jam and kibitz with your listeners. Sounds fun.”

Nonchalantly, Alana let her gaze take a trip to the other side of the room. Lansing, or whatever his name was, lounged cool as a cucumber except for his mercurial eyes that immediately met hers. Once again, it was a game of who would look away first. Within a few seconds, her cheeks broiled uncomfortably. She forfeited by breaking eye contact and zoned back into the conversation with the DJs.

Christy played with a swizzle stick. “We’d have to speak with our manager. But I think something can be arranged.”

“What are you promising now?” Billy’s booming voice descended upon them. His large hands gripped Christy by the shoulders and he planted a kiss on her neck. She arched, smiling coquettishly over her shoulder.

“Hey, babe.”

Billy shook hands with the DJs. He cocked his head toward the door. “There’s a mobile station outside. Pretty impressive.”

Oh, no
. The wheels in Christy’s head were turning. Alana jumped into the conversation before her friend had an opportunity to say something they’d all regret. A live broadcast wasn’t in their best interest tonight. Drinking and performing on the fly was a no-no. “We’ll stop by tomorrow. Where will you be broadcasting from?” Alana asked, squeezing Christy’s thigh.

Without thinking, she let her gaze drift across the room and caught sight of Lansing. A young woman stood next to him, apparently hanging on his every word. Feminine instinct jabbed her to stop staring but she ignored the recommendation, scrutinizing the way the girl wound her hand along Lansing’s shoulder.

At that point she’d seen enough, and smiled brightly into the DJ’s face. “We adore your station. Super smooth, and you guys are so witty with the one-liners.” No doubt these DJs had heard that a gazillion times from every indie band.

“Consider the admiration mutual,” the DJ returned. “So I can expect to see you soon?”

Alana peered across the room as Lansing laughed into the woman’s face. What a difference a smile could make. He was drop-dead handsome. Her stomach twisted and she stopped trying to flirt with the DJ. “We just need to clear a date.”

“The sooner the better. Tomorrow or the next day. My slot is from two to six for the afternoon ride home. Great exposure. Alana, I think Orion is going to hit big. With the right traction. I can help you. You’ve got this incredible sound…” His gaze dropped down the front of her dress. “And the looks.”

“We appreciate the support.” She had to turn the direction of the conversation.

She had to close him down before he got his hopes up. At all costs, stay clear of industry personnel. She’d been there - done that before - made that mistake. It had ended horribly, almost costing the band their future. Alana had learned fast that business and pleasure were awful bedmates.

Women had gotten the rap on being vindictive, but Mark, her last boyfriend, was an artisan in backstabbing. He had made it his personal mission to trash Orion’s reputation, going out of his way to pulverize their music during his radio shows. Unmercifully. Mark had claimed his sudden dislike of Orion was not personal. How coincidental, then, that his tirade had started the day after they broke up. Only recently had his distressing comments dwindled - possibly the result of his hook-up with the singer from Spirit Chaser. Alana wished Mark the-hell-well as long as he stopped tormenting her band because of a bruised ego.

 “It goes both ways.” The DJ grinned, his gaze slowly sliding down her body again.

She had to work fast or this would fizzle into a misunderstanding. They needed the station to play their promo materials. “I promise, I’ll contact you. Do you have a card? I’ve a migraine. Allergies or something.”

Christy chimed in. That was their code for HELP! “Your head is still hurting? We need to get you back to the hotel. One drink, and then we’ll split.” Christy turned to the DJ. “You know how it is. Traveling, and on the road.”

The DJ nodded, handing over a card. He smiled. “I suffer from springtime allergies. It’s a bitch. Especially in this part of the world. Try the twelve-hour antihistamines. They work the best.” He rose from his seat and squeezed her shoulder. “And call me when you feel better.”

“I will, Todd. I promise.” She hated this part of the gig. So many sensitive toes and she was a novice, learning how to avoid stomping on them little by little. “I’m so ready for that drink,” Alana whispered to Christy

Waving a pool cue, Carl yelled out, “Hey, man, you gonna talk shit all night, or shoot?”

Christy let go of Billy after Carl stalked away toward the other side of the bar. A game of billiards was about to get going. This was how they worked the crowd. Everyone had a part. The fans loved to hover and, luckily, the guys were totally into the social scene. Not too many women ventured up to Alana and Christy tonight. Few and far between.