Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Page 4
“Ever heard of Nuclear Kool-aid?”
She looks at me like I just asked if she’d ever heard of the Beatles. “Uh… yeah, obviously. I’ve got all their albums in my Spotify. Ian Monroe is one of our generation’s greats,” she says, kind of dreamily, definitely a fan, which makes me smirk remembering her ‘don’t you know who I am’ moment a few days ago.
“Well, I was their drummer.”
She stares at me for a long moment in open-mouthed silence. “Holy shit,” she whispers. “You’re Serge Davenport?”
“How many Serge’s do you really think there are in the world?” I tease.
“You’re serious?!”
I nod, swallowing thickly. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe telling her about my past was the wrong tact.
“You’re a drummer,” she says smacking her forehead. “Of course.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She grins. “It means I’ve seen you fumble with more than one instrument.”
“Yeah, well, I prefer sticks to strings,” I say defensively.
“Well, yeah, with your talent, I’d guess so.”
That just earns an eye roll from me. “So you know about my band. Do you also know what tore us apart?”
“Yeah, obviously— you’re the one that almost died, aren’t you?”
“I know better than to blame anyone else for the mistakes I’ve made in my life, but I can tell you that the pressure to be somebody is what drove me to heroin in the first place.”
She’s got her elbows on her knees now, her chin in her hands, looking like a kid that’s just met Santa for the first time, her eyes glittering with wonder.
“When are you going to get back to performing? I’ve seen videos of your performances… You’re a beast.”
I try really, really hard not to feel too proud about that, but I can’t help it. It’s been six years since the band split and it’s not like the drummer’s ever the one to get any recognition anyway, this little bit of fan excitement might be all I ever get again. Might as well enjoy it, right?
“No, that’s all behind me now,” I say. “I’ve got more important things to worry about now. Sobriety, mainly.”
She’s looking at me like she’s waiting for the punchline, but there isn’t one. I mean it. I almost died and it was a huge wake-up call for me. Ian, too, and now look where he’s at. He couldn’t be happier with his new wife and their jet-setting lifestyle on tour. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy really. Ian’s been my best friend for ages, so of course I’m happy for him.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t a little jealous. Jealous that he’s able to be on tour, able to do shows, meet with fans, and go to press tours, all without needing any help from our old friend. I just don’t think I can do it. Even getting on his plane from Atlanta last year made me itchy under my skin. And knowing the stuff was on board — thanks to someone trying to tarnish his good name — only made it worse. Sheer force of will was the only thing that got me through the following couple of weeks while Ian was too busy with his romantic interests to listen to my problems — not that I called him with them. I didn’t want to step in on his happiness.
But I know how close I came to ruining it all again. I know how tempting it is. I know how easy it would be. And above all, I know I need to keep my goddamn distance.
“You can’t mean that,” Tori says, voice full of disbelief. “You’re amazing. You—” She pulls her phone out of her pocket and quickly finds a YouTube video. “Look! Look at you!”
There’s a video of us playing live on stage probably seven years ago. I’m sweaty and pale, hammering out drum lines without a problem even though my eyes are barely open.
“Pretty sure I shot up right before that song, actually,” I say, my arm itching. I look away from the phone, that guy inside of it a stranger. Someone I don’t even know anymore.
“I can’t believe you have all that talent and you’re just going to throw it away,” she says.
“What good does it do anyone if I’m in a pine box?”
Tori sighs, shaking her head as she slips the phone back in her pocket. “I guess I’ll see you Friday?” she asks. I nod, trying to will the twitchy feeling under my skin to go away. As she leaves the room, she’s still sending glances over her shoulder at me, confused and defiant. I don’t really care what Tori Winters thinks about my life choices. There was a time when it was pretty fucking unlikely I’d make it to thirty, but here I am, and it’s without help from people like her thinking I’m wasting my talent, thank you very much.
Chapter 4
Tori
I jump into Onyx’s van and immediately pull my phone back out of my pocket.
“What’s up?” he asks, starting the ignition.
“Just need to see something.”
I Google Serge’s name and find a thousand articles about him, about the end of Nuclear Kool-aid, about how he nearly died, his trip through rehab, the whole thing.
“Shit,” I say, blowing out a heavy breath. He really did almost die. Like, in a coma for a few days, almost died.
I guess I can see where he’s coming from. I’ve seen a lot of guys in this industry chewed up and spit out by the addiction monster. And I get that it’s scary to nearly die. I get that he’s turned his whole life around in order to put that kind of stuff behind him, but he can’t just quit.
A guy like Serge is too talented to just never play music again.
“What?” Onyx asks, his voice a little sharper now.
I shake my head.
“Ever heard of Nuclear Kool-aid?”
He gives me a look like I’m stupid. “I haven’t lived in a cave for the last fifteen years, so yeah. I’ve heard of them.”
“The guy that teaches the kid’s choir was their drummer.”
Onyx whistles, his eyebrows disappearing in his hairline. “Really? What the hell is he doing here?”
“Serge Davenport’s his name. Ring any bells?”
Onyx frowns. He hates when I give him riddles instead of answers. But he thinks about it for a minute. Then his brow furrows and he thinks for a minute more.
“Oh… shit, the drummer’s the one that—”
“Yeah,” I say with another heavy sigh.
“So, what’s the problem?” Onyx asks, knowing me too well.
I put my feet up on the dashboard, throwing the seat back, flicking through articles, watching clips of videos.
“Tori?” he asks after another few minutes of quiet on my end.
“I want him to play with us.”
“What?”
“Maybe this weekend. We have that show on Friday night and I still haven’t booked a drummer since Tad’s stuck on the east coast for who knows how long.”
Truth is, I’m pretty sure Tad’s not coming back. He’s have baby momma drama and she’s trying to get full custody. Tad’s not a great guy by any means, but he’s a good dad and he loves that little girl. I wouldn’t be surprised one bit if he never comes back to the west coast. Which leaves us drummerless. But I haven’t officially told the band that. We’ve just been hiring randoms to fill the space, hoping Tad will be back with us in no time.
But like I said, I don’t think he’s coming back. And Serge presents a whole new opportunity.
“I dunno, Tor,” Onyx says, his mouth working on the problem like it’s a sourball.
“You don’t understand. When he plays… it’s transcendent. He needs to be back up on that stage. You’ll see.”
Onyx frowns, dragging his hand through his shaggy hair. “Didn’t he quit music to get sober?”
“Yeah, but that was like six years ago. I’m sure he’s over it by now.”
Onyx shakes his head. “That’s not how it works. You should know that. I think you’re playing with fire,” he says, his face grim, but I just wave him off.
“You’re being paranoid. It’ll be great, you’ll see.”
It’s practically all I can think about until Friday ro
lls around and it’s time for class. I don’t bring it up beforehand, obviously. Serge is preoccupied with collecting permission slips and consent forms, making sure everyone’s coordinated on what they’ll be wearing for the big performance.
Hardly any singing happens, and what does is kind of sloppy, but it’s Friday and the kids are rambunctious. I can tell that Serge is catching it too, having trouble focusing on any one subject for long while the kids flit from one thing to another. He’s in a great mood when everyone leaves, so I know it’s my best chance.
“You did good today,” he says smiling. For a minute, my mind goes blank, blinded by his smile and the hot trickle of desire between my legs. The man is unnaturally attractive on his worst days. When he’s in a good mood, feeling successful and invincible, he is magnetic.
“Thanks,” I say, suddenly bashful. “I’m having more fun with the kids than I thought I would.”
His grin just grows.
“So…” I say, stepping in closer to him, biting my bottom lip. “Are you doing anything tonight?”
His eyes go wide, darkening a shade as they flick down my body. He might have the wrong idea, but I’m not doing anything to correct it. There will be time for all of that after the show.
“Uh… I don’t have any plans, no. What did you have in mind?”
I nibble my lip more, suddenly nervous about my proposition. What if he says no? He’s really my only option at this point. Onyx told me not to put all my eggs in this one unstable basket, but I’ve never been good at listening to advice. Especially good advice.
“Well, I’ve got this show tonight.”
His eyes flick down my body again and he takes a step forward, the heat from his body radiating between us, making the air hot and thick, erasing thoughts from my mind before I can even try to grasp for them.
“You want me to come watch you play?” he asks, his voice low and husky. I think for a minute he might just lean down and kiss me right now, and I lick my lips on instinct, his gaze making me dizzy and unsteady on my feet.
“Not exactly…”
“So what is it you do want, Tori?” he asks, the rumble of his deep voice shaking me to my very core, making me shiver and shudder, aching for him to reach out and grab me roughly, pulling me into a fierce kiss.
I swallow. “We don’t have a drummer and I was hoping…”
The spell’s broken and Serge takes a step back from me, his eyes turning hard, the heat all but gone.
“I don’t do that anymore,” he says, turning away, starting toward his desk.
Panic wraps its fingers around my heart. He can’t say no. Not that quickly. I can’t take no for an answer.
“I know,” I say quickly, grabbing his arm. He freezes, his eyes going to the place where we connect, warming a fraction before some of the tension goes out of his shoulders. “I wouldn’t ask unless I really needed it. The guy’s a no-show and there’s no time to find a replacement. We’ll have to cancel otherwise. Please, Serge? Just this once?”
I can see the conflict playing out behind those expressive eyes and I hold my breath.
He sighs, shaking his head, and I think that I’ve failed, but then he says, “Okay, just this once,” and everything falls back into place.
I squeal happily and throw my arms around his neck, squeezing him in a fierce hug. He’s still, shocked frozen for a moment, but then his arms go around me and I like it way too much. Enough that the hug goes on longer than any normal hug should, me squeezing him tight, breathing in the manly leather and spice scent of him. I don’t know if it’s aftershave or cologne or just him, but it’s so good my eyes roll back in my head a little, pleasure going all the way to my toes with each inhale.
He finally pulls away, his eyes sparkling down into mine, and I’m struck again with the feeling that he’s going to kiss me. I know it’s probably crazy and I’m probably projecting how much I want him, but I swear it’s there for a moment.
“Sound check’s starting in twenty,” I say, my voice soft, whispered, still silently asking him to lean forward and do it. But he doesn’t.
“Where?”
“The Sound Hole,” I say, grinning at the name.
He snort-laughs and the last of the sexual tension between us disappears. “That’s a hell of a venue name.”
“You’ve been out of the game for a while,” I tease. “They’re all like that now.”
“All right. Let me run home for a quick shower and I’ll meet you there.”
I nod, feeling the urge to perch on my toes to kiss him before I leave, but I don’t. That would be ridiculous.
“Thanks, Serge. I owe you one.”
He laughs, shaking his head. “You owe me more than that.”
I grin and head out of the room, already coming up with ways I could repay him.
“What are you so happy about?” Onyx asks the moment I’m in his van.
“He’s doing it! He’s going to play with us tonight!”
“You never booked a drummer? Jesus, Tori, the show’s tonight!”
I shrug. “I’ve got a drummer now, what does it matter?”
He growls, his hands twisting on the steering wheel. I know there’s a lot of things Onyx would like to say to me right now, but he doesn’t. He’ll never pick a fight before a show, and by the time the show’s over he’ll have forgotten what he was so pissed about. Win-win for me.
“I can’t believe you waited until two hours before the show to have someone. He doesn’t even know our songs. There’s not gonna be any time for a rehearsal. It’s going to be a total disaster. What were you thinking?”
“He’s coming to soundcheck. It’ll be fine. He’s a legend. He’ll pick the songs up no problem.”
Onyx glares at me. “And when was the last time the legend was on stage?”
I mutter under my breath.
“What was that?”
“Seven years, okay? But it’ll be fine. Better than fine. It’ll be great. You’ll see,” I say, still beaming from ear to ear as I put my feet up on the dash. “You’ll see.”
Onyx is still shaking his head as he drives off, headed straight for The Sound Hole, fingers drumming on the steering wheel the whole way there. I know he’s mad at me, but it’s far from the first time and it’s far from the last. That’s just the nature of the beast. When you’re the one heading the show, sometimes you’ve gotta make choices that the other people aren’t totally on board with. And if it all blows up in my face, well, I’m the one taking the heat, so he doesn’t need to sweat it.
Serge shows up only a few minutes after us, his hair still damp and dripping. He’s wearing a tight black t-shirt that does amazing things for his sculpted muscles and shows off the extent of ink he’s got snaking up and down both arms. He’s also wearing faded, fraying jeans with a pair of drumsticks tucked in his back pocket. The moment he walks in, the rest of the band on stage gets real quiet.
He’s got that kind of presence. The kind of power that makes you stop what you’re doing to pay attention to him. And he must be used to it, because he doesn’t seem to mind at all, all swaggering cocky confidence as he walks up to the stage, his smirk pure arrogance.
“You made it!” I say brightly, trying to ignore the surge of want at seeing him in his element. Because this is clearly where Serge feels at home. He’s not bothered at all by the big echoing space. He’s not gawking around, he’s walking right up to the stage, inspecting the equipment.
“Said I would.”
“Guys, this is Serge, he’s going to be filling in on drums for us tonight. Let’s run through soundcheck real fast and then run through the set list.”
Onyx gives Serge the ‘dude head nod’ of acknowledgment, and the other guys, Sam and Rock — actually his name, yes — nod at him too. He goes around the group once, shaking hands and reintroducing himself, but we really don’t have time to dwell on it too long, so I pick up my guitar, look at the guy in the booth, and shred out a riff until he gives me the thumbs up.
Sam and Rock are looking at each other wide-eyed, then they look at me and we’re all grinning together, because now they see what I see in him. Now they know why he’s here. And even Onyx looks a little annoyed that he’s gotta admit I was right in holding out for Serge.
“Vocals,” the booth-guy shouts, and Onyx and I move to mics to finish it out. The booth guy could do the levels on everything together while we run through the set with Serge. We don’t have time for doing things twice.
“So, we’ll just cut out the drum solos unless you’re really feeling one,” I say over my shoulder to Serge. He shrugs. “Cool, we’ll just start and you jump in when you’ve got it.”
“Not my first rodeo,” Serge says, twirling his sticks absently with a look out to the empty space in front of the stage. As confident and at home as he looks sitting there, I see something else. I don’t know Serge super well, but I know him well enough at this point to tell he’s apprehensive.
But of course he is. It’s his first show in seven years. Why wouldn’t he be a little nervous? It’ll be fine though, and I know it.
I look to the other guys and nod and then we launch right into the first song. Within two measures, Serge is on the beat, adding flourishes that make the song sound better than it does on the record.
Now I kind of hope Tad doesn’t come back.
From one song, we go right into the next, and as soon as Serge has found the rhythm of that one, I cut it short and go to the next. We work our way through the set list at breakneck speed and we’re clearing the stage right as the ushers are coming in to open the doors.
I let out a heavy breath, heading to my dressing room to unwind. I could really use a drink to calm my nerves but there’s no time. It’ll just have to wait.
It seems like I’m only in my dressing room for a minute when the assistant stage manager is telling me I need to get to the wings. I know it has to be longer than that, because when I get to the stage, the place is already packed. I don’t know where the time is going, but I’ve got a good feeling about the show, about Serge, so I’m ready to go.