Ruin Porn (5 page)

Damn.
Finn was hot when he smiled. Hell, he was hot when he wasn’t smiling too, but when Finn’s face lit up in excitement…. Evin was so fucking doomed. How in the hell was he going to hide his attraction when he had all that sexy in his space 24/7?

“You were already international. I saw you play in Canada at this shack bar outside Vancouver,” Evin admitted, returning the smile.

“That feels like a lifetime ago.” Finn handed him the magazine. “I don’t consider Canada international anyway. More like the resource storage unit for the States.”

“I’m not sure how the Canadians would feel about that description.” Evin chuckled, returned the magazine to the rack, and fell in step with Finn as they made their way through the airport.

“Shit. I forgot to ask if we need to stop by baggage claim for you.”

“No, got everything I need stuffed into my duffel.”

Finn stopped on the stairs, Evin nearly running into him. He had to grab the railing to keep from falling back on his ass. “What the hell, man? You got your rig folded up in here?” he asked, pointing to Evin’s bag.

Rig?
“You mean my guitar? Nah, I didn’t bring it. Didn’t figure I’d need it since I’ll be playing bass.”

Finn’s eyes went wide as he stared at Evin for a moment. He shook his head and started back down the stairs. “I don’t go anywhere without Beelzebub, man. Might as well cut my fucking right arm off.”

“It shows. Nobody rocks old-school like you do,” Evin praised.

“Hey, thanks, man. That means a lot,” Finn remarked as they stepped out of the terminal. “I work my ass off trying to improve my craft, you know?” He held up his hands and wiggled those talented fingers. “I got the shitty-looking digits to prove it. Try getting lucky with these fuckers, they’re like coarse sandpaper. It just doesn’t happen.”

You could get lucky with me with those hands anytime, moisturized or not
was the first thought that popped into Evin’s head. There was no chance he was the only person who felt that way. Finn’s claim of never getting laid had to be total and utter bullshit. The line of Rezors waiting to meet the band was always full of half-naked chicks. Evin doubted a single one of them would turn down the chance to get lucky with Finn because of some calluses.

As if to prove Evin’s inner monologue, a woman yelled out, “I love you, Finn!” as they exited the terminal.

Finn grinned and waved in her direction.

“Trouble getting laid my ass.” Evin bumped Finn with his shoulder.

“No comment.” Finn said with a wink, pulled another sucker from his pocket, and popped it into his mouth.

They passed under an outcropping of pink and purple lit glass, heading for the curb. Finn opened the back door of a cab and motioned for Evin to get in. “After you.” Finn tossed the duffel onto Evin’s lap and jogged around to the other side. When he got in, he leaned over the front seat to talk to the cabbie. “Maida Vale Studios on Delaware Road.”

“Aren’t we waiting for Sid and Miah?” Evin asked as they pulled away from the curb. “And where’s Ritchie?”

Finn pulled his shades down over his eyes and put the sucker back into his mouth, speaking around it. “They’ll meet us at the studio for dinner before we do the session. Hope you got some sleep on the plane ’cause it’s going to be a long night.”

“I’m good,” Evin responded, pulling out his own sunglasses and slipping them on. It wasn’t the sunlight that bothered him—there was a conspicuous lack of it in the autumn London sky—but those shades seemed to be a ubiquitous celebrity accessory. No one would recognize him, but it probably wouldn’t be long before that started to happen. The flight had left him achy and exhausted but still the adrenaline surged through him—he was in London with Finn, for fuck’s sake, of course he’d be fine. Who the hell needed sleep anyway?

“Does that happen often?” Evin asked. “The fan thing?”

“Didn’t used to. More now, I guess. It’s still weird, you know?”

Evin nodded, even though he had no fucking clue. Sock in the Sun would’ve never been big. They’d been destined for the 99-cent CD bin at some dying record store all along. Rez, on the other hand, was on their way up. Evin relaxed his tight shoulders and cracked his knuckles. The surreality of his situation was beginning to fade away and panic threatened to settle into its spot. He wouldn’t give in to it, though. He was cool. He could do this.

Besides the whole driving on the other side of the road thing, London freeways weren’t far off from typical Los Angeles traffic: gridlock for no good reason, businessmen tipped on the edge of road rage, with all of the chaos interspersed with construction.

“You ever been here before?” Finn asked as he stared out the window.

He nodded, but Finn was so focused on the passing scenery that he didn’t look over. So Evin answered out loud, “With my family when I was younger.”

“From the sheer joy in your voice, I take it that family holiday was memorable.”

“My family traveled a lot. The locations were always more memorable than they were.” He hesitated, then decided to lay his reality out there. He added, “Still are.”

Finn turned to look him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, man.”

“Nothing to be sorry for. I know a lot of people who have it a hell of a lot worse. My mom and dad just aren’t engaged or interested in well… anything. Let alone me. I’ve adjusted. What about you? Been here before?”

Finn grinned around his lollipop. “First time outside of North America.”

“Your parents must be proud.”

“They are. Would’ve rather had me playing classical guitar with a symphony, but yeah, they’re proud.”

“We head to Dublin next, right?”

“Yep. Was going to hook up with some of my extended family, but it’s a twenty-four-hour in-and-out. I offered to fly my parents over for the concert, but they want to go when I can spend more time than a day with them.”

“You and your parents. You’re close.”

“Yeah, they’re cool people. What can I say?”

The route they took didn’t bring them into the city. While Evin had seen it before, so much of the skyline had changed since he was a kid and he would’ve liked to see it again. He kept watch out for the Thames but realized they had to be heading north of the city when it didn’t come into view. They entered a neighborhood of what Evin thought were old Victorian homes, and the cabbie dropped them off in front of a white archway with a stone flourish above it but no sign to indicate if they were in the right place. There were two brass plaques off to each side of the entryway that Evin slowed to read, but Finn was already through the front door so he had to rush to catch up to him.

The space Sid had rented was stocked with instruments and equipment, but Finn insisted on working his charm to hook Evin up with a bass that was up to his standards. Which in this case meant the same model John Paul Jones had used when he played for Zeppelin.

“A Fender Precision Bass. It’ll be lucky. I guarantee it.” Finn winked and went back to tuning his guitar, which was already in perfect pitch.

Evin’s confidence grew with every song they played. Soon, they stood facing each other while Finn worked his talented fingers, picking, strumming, and sliding along the strings as he rocked it out to “Drone for the Masses.” It was one of the more obscure songs from the deluxe version of Rez’s
Ruin Porn
album, but Evin knew it well. The bass wasn’t natural in his hands—it was much larger than the guitar he was used to playing—but he picked up the rhythm, followed Finn’s lead, and realized he was more comfortable envisioning himself on the stage than he’d ever been before.

With a bass in his hands, he could fade into the shadows between spotlights and allow Finn to be the star he was. He could build a foundation for the chords Finn tore out of the guitar with racing fingers. He could step back from the art of performance and focus on the music. It was so much more
him
. How had Miah known?

The song moved into the lead solo, and Evin watched Finn close his eyes, hips swaying as he lost himself in the music. Finn licked his lips and opened his mouth, his fingers drawing sounds from the strings that almost no one in the world could recreate. That was the face of sheer bliss. Evin now had a good idea of what Finn looked like during the grips of orgasm. Evin’s blood heated, making a mad dash to his groin.

Goddammit!

Nope. Not happening.

Finn and orgasm in the same sentence—bad idea—got it.

The solo ended and Finn opened his eyes, but Evin couldn’t meet his gaze. Instead he continued the song, thankful his new bass hid his straining bulge. He jerked and swayed to the music and danced his fool ass off rather than make eye contact.

Evin pushed it even further when Finn started to laugh—a rolling, carefree sound that made him feel happiness as if it was a physical thing—and Evin started hopping and gyrating, twirling his guitar, all in an attempt to buy himself more time and hear more of Finn’s addictive laugh. Evin was able to keep the beat until Finn lost his riff completely with a fit of hysteria that caused him to wheeze and snort. Evin couldn’t help but join in.

“What the hell was that, man?” Finn choked out.

Evin wiped the tears from his face, belly aching. “I was jamming, man.” He tried for serious, but his reply came out followed by a ridiculous giggle. Which sent them both into another fit of cackling.

“Alright, I think that’s enough practice for one day,” Finn conceded once he got himself under control. He slipped the strap on Beelzebub over his head and placed the instrument in its case with as much care as one would a sleeping babe. “I’m starving and the guys should be here soon so we can practice together. You ready for some grub?”

Evin set the bass on its stand and ran his fingers through his damp hair. “I thought you’d never ask. The shit they served on the plane”—Evin wrinkled his nose—“I’m not even sure it could be categorized as food.”

Finn bumped his shoulder against Evin’s as he walked by. “Trust me, by the end of the tour, you’ll have a whole new appreciation for a home-cooked meal.”

S
TUDIO
F
OUR
at Maida Vale could’ve been almost any studio anywhere in the world, Miah thought, except for the balcony above them where BBC Radio VIPs were seated waiting for Rez to begin their
Live Lounge
set. Ritchie and his drum kit were situated at the back of the room, angled behind Miah so the cameras could get a view of him too. He was tapping his foot and snapping his gum to a complementary rhythm, a preshow tick that everyone else found annoying but put Miah at ease. Finn and Evin stood next to each other, headphones on, amps connected, with guitar and bass facing each other. Finn was without his shoes, sucker planted firmly between his lips. How that sugar freak didn’t have any cavities was beyond Miah’s understanding. Then there was Evin. Wide-eyed and skittish, as if he’d been kidnapped and was searching for the most inconspicuous way to escape. But Finn said something to him and followed it with a little jump, and Evin’s face softened into a quirky smile.

“We’re about set in here,” a voice came through Miah’s headphones. He nodded and spoke into the microphone since the control room was behind him. “We’re at your mercy.”

Sid leaned against the stairs leading up to the balcony, a can of Coke in his hand that he tipped in Miah’s direction as he and the label exec next to him laughed.

“Let’s get this moving,” the instruction came from the booth.

Miah nodded and they were off. They opened with a floor-rumbling rendition of “Assisted Blankicide.” It wasn’t one of Miah’s favorites off the album, but it was the next single, so they hadn’t had much of a choice of which of their songs they would be performing. The second song—the cover song—was a different story. He, Ritchie, and Finn had spent days arguing over what to perform, and once they’d hit on the idea all of them were behind it.

He looked around to the other guys to make sure they were ready before they transitioned into the complicated part of this set. The riff Finn had arranged for turning Sia’s “Chandelier” into a rock piece was extraordinary. Brilliant, really, in its simplicity. This song was a showpiece for Miah’s voice, stretching him in ways he hadn’t dared to take on in Rez’s first album but that was sure to get the attention of fans and record execs alike.

The second part of the cover song mashup gave space for Ritchie and Evin to shine. Miah swung his voice low to signal the shift, and Ritchie’s machine gun
ratttattttaaa
kicked up. Evin filled out the drum line with a thumping timbre of beats that were just as staccato and crisp as Ritchie’s bass drum, but gave the song a distinct hollow effect. When Miah’s voice and Finn’s guitar picked up the melody of “Not Afraid” by Eminem, the audience in the balcony broke into surprised smiles.

The whole session lasted less than ten minutes, but there was no doubt in Miah’s mind that Rez had left an indelible impression. There was a beat of silence, and then the gallery erupted into applause, whistles, and whoops. The label exec next to Sid nodded his satisfaction.

Miah stood up and cracked his knuckles. Someday they would stop being surprised by Rez, and hopefully today would be another step in that direction.

The control room tech’s voice came over their headphones again, “Come in and take a listen. But I think we got it.”

Finn bumped fists with each of them. “Yeah, we did.”

“You fucking killed that bass line, Ev,” Ritchie praised.

Miah grinned and locked eyes with Evin. “Of course he did. Fucking knew you would.”

CHAPTER THREE

Dublin

H
IDDEN
OUT
of view from the raucous crowd, Miah jumped up and down, getting himself pumped up in his familiar pre-performance ritual. Ritchie was standing behind him twirling his sticks and chomping his gum as they waited for their moment in the spotlight. Finn glanced back at Evin. Evin looked every bit the role of hipster rocker: Converse, skinny jeans, and T-shirt sporting a chimp wearing 3D glasses and a fedora. Finn cocked his head and studied Evin. In fact, Evin looked a little like him. They were almost the same height, same slight build, they would even have the same shade of brown hair if Finn hadn’t dyed his black for the tour. Damn, Finn hadn’t noticed it before, but other than the difference in skin coloring—Evin had a bronze cast to his skin that spoke to his SoCal roots—they could be brothers.
Whoa.
That realization was a little freaky considering….