Ruin Porn (8 page)

“Right,” Josh conceded. “I think you’re right.”

“Did they tell you to placate us?” Miah asked, surprised with Josh’s ease at admitting defeat.

He shook his head. “I’m a fan. Nervous to be here, honestly.”

Finn chuffed and looked at Miah. “When do you think they’ll stop sending the interns?”

“I’m not—” Josh started, but Ritchie stopped him with a shake of his head.

“They’ll stop when we get to number one and stay there,” Miah answered Finn.

“Which would be infinitely easier if we had some goddamn support from our own label’s public relations department,” Finn added. He was using his Matthew McConaughey tone—the one where he could get away with something that would generally be considered dickish or at the very least combative, but the words just rolled off his tongue with down-home parlance. Or the honesty that comes from a sweet spot on a drunken night.

“We’re not blaming you for that, Josh,” Ritchie inserted into the conversation. “But we’re going to need more help from you.”

“Are we here to do an interview or give shit to the kid straight out of college who was just thrown into a snake pit by his boss?” Evin piped up.

That shut everyone up right quick.

Damn, so the newbie did have balls.
“Glad your testicles have finally descended,” Miah approved.

Evin ducked his head and chuckled as Ritchie gave a proud papa grin and knocked a shoulder against his.

Finn continued to pick out notes, an arrangement Miah didn’t recognize. He’d have to ask Evin later if he did recognize it since he was no good at the name-that-guitar-solo game and Finn was loath to share any of his new work until it was near perfection. Ritchie had tuned Finn’s background soundtrack out in favor of the waffle cookies in front of him, but Evin had his head cocked in Finn’s direction and was stealing glances—watching Finn’s fingering—when the conversation was uninteresting. Which, it apparently had been up until ten seconds ago.

The door clicked open and Sid entered the room, his face flushed and eyes bright. Sid wore success like a second skin; maybe he had more promise than Miah had given him credit for.

Sid leaned against the wall by the door and slid his phone into his pocket. “You’ll have major promo ops set up in Paris, Milan, and Madrid.”

“Was that so hard?” Miah replied with a sweet smile.

Sid’s effort to restrain a smile was more than enough of an answer. “So what do we have going on in here? All set for the interview?”

All eyes went to Josh, whose mouth opened and closed a few times before his neurons fired and caught up to the fact that they were going to let him do his job. “Yeah, they’re all fine.”

“Of course they are,” Sid answered and waved them up. “Let’s get you set up in the studio.”

Finn set down the borrowed guitar and caught eyes with Miah. Miah hung back and let Josh, Sid, Ritchie, and Evin through the door first.

When they were in the hallway, Finn held back for a beat longer to give some them space, then asked, “You think he’s ready for all of this?”

Miah caught on to who he was talking about right away. With anyone else Miah would have remained guarded about his opinion since he’d been the one to put his ass on the line for Evin. But he trusted Finn to give him the harsh truth. He played with the twist of leather around his wrist.

“I go back and forth on him. More forth than back. What do you think?”

“The music part he’s got down.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah. But when it comes to being in the spotlight….” Finn shrugged and let the suggestion hang in the air.

Miah breathed out a sigh of relief. If Finn thought Evin had it, then he had it. “The rest will come.”

When they entered the studio, they went through the usual introductions, hand shaking, and mutual shows of appreciation, then sat down and put their headphones on. Today’s show would be streamed live on the radio station’s website as well, which the Rezors always loved. Miah took out his phone and sent a tweet to make sure they knew where to find the connection. He sat next to Evin, who was next to Finn, with Ritchie at the last seat and Sid standing off to the side with Josh in the cramped space. A voice came through the headphones announcing they were about to go live, and Miah adjusted the location of the microphone in front of him, then fixed Evin’s as well.

“We’ve got the members of Resonator in the studio today,” the DJ started, his Dutch accent not so thick that they couldn’t understand him. “But there’s one more than the usual Detroit 3 gracing us.”

Evin bounced his foot that rested on his knee. Miah set his hand on Evin’s ankle and stilled the movement.
Breathe
, he mouthed.

The host continued, “Three cities into your Made in Americana tour, I think most fans know by now that you’ve picked up a fourth member, but this is the first time we have the pleasure of hearing Evin Rene’s voice. Welcome to Amsterdam, Evin.”

“Thank you,” Evin said into the microphone.

“So,” the DJ said, then shuffled his papers and leaned forward on his elbows. Miah had to take conscious control of his own breath, whatever was coming out of the DJ’s mouth next was going to challenge Evin.

“Are you the reason why there’s no official opening band for the Made in Americana tour?”

Evin’s eyes went wide, and for a flash—one blink, less than one breath—Miah was sure Evin was going to choke. Then Evin tipped his head, scratched his fingers through his scruff, and laughed. “If I am, then I’m okay with it. Pretty damn happy where I’ve landed.”

Miah squeezed his hand around Evin’s ankle. Their newbie definitely had it. The rest would come with time.

E
VIN
NOTICED
the black-haired girl for the first time when he, Finn, Ritchie, and Miah exited the Van Gogh Museum. Even if she hadn’t been following them so close, he probably would have spotted her anyway, with that blue-black feathering of spiked hair and the glint of sunlight off the silver piercings that lined her aristocratic bone structure. She was thin, in jeans and a black safety-pin-laden top, with dark eyes lined in black kohl. Eyes that seemed to track their movement away from the modern structure and toward the car they were all going to pile into to take them downtown for more sightseeing.

But she didn’t make a move to catch up to them, and Evin forgot about her as Miah jabbered away on some useless fact about Van Gogh’s artistic process that Evin tuned out in favor of watching the countryside pass. Finn slung his leg over Evin’s with casual ease that made Evin’s heart rate speed and the remainder of the short trip into an interminable infliction of body heat and the scent of whiskey-flavored lollipops Finn had picked up in Dublin.

By the time the car slowed to drop them off at Dam Square, Evin had the door open partway before they stopped and one foot on the concrete as soon as he could eject himself from the metal cube of proximity torture. He stopped cold when he realized what was at the center of the square: a statue that jutted into the air. So fucking phallic. Fantastic.

He didn’t have long to ponder just how fucked he really was, because he saw the goth girl from the museum appear on the other side of the square, her spiked hair cresting the steps first as she studied the crowd.

Lucky for him and how turned-on Finn had made him on the car ride over, stalking was a definite turn-off. Girls too. Evin’s libido came into firm check as he grabbed Ritchie. “I think that girl by the base of the statue followed us from the museum.”

Ritchie craned his neck, then waved to her.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Evin whisper-yelled at him.

“She’s probably just a fan, Ev. Chill.”

“Probably? A fan? Chill?”

Ritchie grinned, as copacetic as always. “Yeah. Chill.”

The girl approached them, unable to make eye contact, but seemingly determined. “Hey. Sorry. You are Rez? Resonator?” She was so timid, so curved into herself, that Evin melted. He wanted to reassure her there was nothing to be nervous about. He wanted to hug her. It was Ritchie who offered to instead, and the girl broke into a smile that revealed the dimples two of her piercings accentuated.

“Hey, Miah! Finn!” Ritchie called out to them.

That was all it took for chaos to hit the square. One moment the four of them were talking to her, signing autographs and taking pics with the girl and her friends, then there was a line. Within minutes the queue for their impromptu meet-and-greet snaked around the stone steps. They had three hours left until they had to be at the theater for their show, and Miah had been determined to get them out to actually see something of note since they’d been through two countries and seen very little of either. Maybe they wouldn’t see much of Amsterdam after all.

The goth girl gave a sheepish frown when she saw the line. “I snapchatted my picture with you, then tweeted it with the Rezors hashtag. I did not think this many would show up.”

“Not a problem, love,” Miah murmured to her, then bellowed into the growing crowd, “Rez loves Amsterdam!” to roaring approval.

“This is so surreal,” Evin said to no one in particular as he was pulled into another photo by Miah. It wasn’t until that fan had moved on that Ev realized he had no idea if he’d smiled in the pic—or any of the others so far. He was sure he was going to look like a tool in every one of them.
Shit!

He leaned in close to Miah. “These aren’t going to be posted everywhere, are they?”

“Just on Twitter, Instagram, Facebook”—he shrugged and gave a glowing smile just in time for yet another pic that likely caught Evin in yet another grimace—“you know, the usual. People will tag you if you want to see them.”

“I don’t have Twitter or Instagram.”

“Yeah, you do. Sid set it up for you.”

Evin croaked. “Shit.”

Another fan stepped up and pointed her camera to take a pic. “Smile!”

This time he attempted a grin but probably looked more like a child predator on the loose.
He needed more time to prepare. He wasn’t ready.

He gripped Miah’s arm and pulled him in. “It’s just… I’m… I’m just an ordinary guy.”

“I’m not,” Miah said with a haughty twist of his lip. “Bring on the boobs!”

Evin felt something hit his chest, and he looked down to find a black Sharpie at his feet.

Miah’s left hand was full of tit while the right one scrawled a heart, then Miah’s name. Miah kissed the voluptuous redhead on the cheek before turning back to Evin. “You’re a rock star. Sign some fucking boobs.”

“It really is easier if you just sign them and move on,” Ritchie offered, getting between him and Miah. “This whole thing used to freak me the fuck out too. Telling you it gets easier is a lie. The bigger we get, the weirder this whole thing feels. Like, why does anyone give a shit enough to want to meet me? I bang sticks on stuff.”

That phrase stopped Evin cold. He’d heard Ritchie say that before—in YouTube interviews Evin used to watch in his bedroom as he followed their rise to fame.
Holy shit.
“I used to be one of these fans.”

Ritchie nodded. He got it. “Whole new perspective, man. Just try to show the same appreciation you would have wanted if it was you waiting for an autograph.”

Evin thought about it. “I can do that.”

“Is your boy still freaking out, Myer?” Miah called out.

“Nah, man. He’s cool.” Ritchie winked at him and went back to giving all of his attention to the next person that stepped in front of him.

Someone behind Evin yelled out, “Who the hell are you?” He turned toward a scrawny man with a pirate ship tattooed on this chest and a leather vest.

Finn appeared at Evin’s side and clapped his palm over Evin’s chest. “This is the luckiest summabitch in the world. He gets to see your beautiful country with us.”

Evin extended his hand. “I’m Evin Rene. Rez’s new bass player.”

The man rolled a toothpick in his mouth. “Are you a musician?”

When Evin glanced at Finn, he was holding back a laugh. Evin pulled his hand back and wiped the sweat off onto his jeans. “Well, yeah. I guess.”

“You guess?” The man poked a bony finger at Evin. “You’re a fake bass player.”

“I’m a fake bass player,” Evin repeated with deliberate slowness.

Next to him, Finn erupted into guffaws and yanked Evin away from the rest of the guys. “Most of them aren’t assholes. Sid just texted Ritchie to let him know he’s on his way with an extraction team to help us get to the venue.”

Evin jerked when Finn slapped him on the ass, and to Evin’s even greater surprise, the hand remained there when a fan popped up in front of them and yelled “Say cheese!”

For fuck’s sake, he didn’t even want to see what he looked like in
that
photo, sure it would be part surprise, part grimace as he swallowed down the moan the touch induced.

The next few minutes were a lesson in pure fucking torture. Finn’s arm was wrapped around him, hip bumping against Evin’s as phone after phone was shoved in their faces. Luckily for Evin’s sanity, a cadre of bouncer types showed up and reined in the crowd, with Sid pulling Miah out of the middle of a pack of groupies.

Ritchie sidled up to Finn and Evin. He tipped his head in the direction of where Sid, Miah, and one of the fans were huddled together. “That is fucking dangerous,” Ritchie commented.

“We’re in Amsterdam,” Finn answered. “What did you expect?”

Evin had no clue what they were talking about, but didn’t want to ask.

Finn bit at his lip. “We’re never going to Peru.”

“Agreed.” Ritchie slapped Evin on the back. “Be prepared, Ev. Tonight’s going to be a crash course in dealing with ego-bloated, metaphysical-mystic Miah.”

Evin was beyond lost at this point. “I have no idea what that means.”

Finn smirked. “After tonight, you may be
wishing
you were Rez’s fake bass player.”

F
INN
KICKED
onto the back legs of the rickety wooden hotel chair. He propped his feet onto the desk and ran his thumbs over the tips of his pointer fingers and the roughness of his string-callused pads. His hands ached from the show, that buzzing delicious ache of a hard—but so fucking satisfying—night’s work.