One Kiss from the King of Rock (The One Book 2) Read online

  In the present, he couldn’t take his eyes off her hand, the reddened tip of her nipple. She might as well have been stroking him. He got with the program like a roadie, chasing a bump-out bonus, meeting her on the bed, tumbling her backwards, making her shriek, tucking his face against her neck so he didn’t seek the knowledge of her lips.

  Evie used that ring on him and made him squirm, then she used her mouth on him and made him see the future. He had to find a way for them to keep their shells intact and go from sex to being together without losing the independent futures they’d already drawn up, without hurting each other again.

  Sleep was a friend who wouldn’t leave a party long over. Even with Evie breathing softly in his arms after he’d finger banged her into a coma, he couldn’t find its quiet, his head full of new hopes and old fears, a crosstalk of all the reasons why they might not make it work a second time. He had a kind of heartburn of the soul and it kept waking him until close to dawn when what woke him was the sound of a guitar being strummed. Suzy Q.

  It was early, gritty orange sky. Evie wasn’t beside him, she was in the other room plucking some tune he didn’t recognize, stop start, then over again. How long had it been since she picked up a guitar?

  He sat bolt upright, his skin goose bumping, a chill rippling up his spine when he heard her voice. A field of carpet and a showroom of furniture stood between them and yet he went rigid, trying not to rustle the sheets in case she shut down. She wasn’t goofing off, she wasn’t singing in the shower for the love of the acoustics. She was singing about fate and second chances.

  About ten minutes was all he could stand of hiding out. It’d started to feel dishonest. He had the tune in his head and he needed to see her face. He got to the doorway where he could see her sitting cross-legged on the sofa wearing undies and a slinky little robe she’d brought from home. Her eyes were on her hands, but her vision was somewhere outside the room, in the flow of finding words to go with music.

  This wasn’t some song he’d simply never heard, it was song she was writing. He cleared his throat.

  In her normal speaking voice, she said, “I woke you. Sorry.” Her eyes coming to his slowly, as if she was reluctant to be back in the room.

  “I was having trouble sleeping.”

  “I woke up and couldn’t get back to sleep.” She sighed and that didn’t need to be explained. They were in this after-zone of misplaced feelings and more sex wouldn’t fix it.

  He came further into the room. “That’s good. What is it?”

  “It’s nothing. I’ve almost forgotten how to play. I’m just noodling.”

  “But it’s yours?”

  “It was just there in my head.” Her eyes went wide as if that was freaking her out.

  “Can I hear it again?”

  She put the guitar’s base on the floor, hands still on the neck. “No. I don’t remember it. It’s not anything.”

  “It was something. And look at you.” That tie on the robe had come undone, it was short so she was all thighs and knees and a glimpse of her polka dot underwear. There were dark smudges under her eyes and her hair was tangled and knotty. “You’re beautiful and I’ve missed your voice.” He went across to the stand of instruments and picked another guitar from the group. Steel string. He played what he’d heard her play.

  “I’ve missed it too.” She swung Suzy Q back into her lap and he sat on the coffee table facing her and they played together. The second time around she sang the chorus, eyes still on her hands, a tremble in her voice.

  “Side taker, heart wrecker, world maker.

  Damage is a speeding ticket to a truth zone.

  Throw a girl a bone.

  Danger courter, soul breaker, loss maker.

  Love can be risk factor, consequences unknown.”

  He would’ve kissed till her mouth ached and they both wept, if he’d had permission. He knew she had more, but she stopped, rested her chin on the guitar’s waist. “I don’t remember the rest.”

  “Yeah, you do.” She’d almost had a whole song. “Throw a boy a bone.”

  “It was too easy. It’s really nothing.”

  “You think that was easy.” He reached over and cupped her face in his hands. “There’s a decade’s worth of living in those words and an afternoon of hard truth. Time to let it out.”

  She pulled away. “I don’t know.”

  “What are you afraid of?”

  “Your multiple hit singles. Come on, Jay. I haven’t done this for years. I don’t want to be doing it in front of you.”

  “It’s just me, Evie.” He put the guitar down so there was less of a physical barrier between them. “You know I can’t grow a proper beard, that I’m scared of needles and have a weak stomach. If I eat cheese bad things happen. You know I’m a broody drunk and what an awful guitar player I was.”

  “Are you still a broody drunk?”

  He nodded. A much better guitar player, but still not keen on needles, scruff was the best he could do and he avoided cheese for health and safety reasons. “I am the official unlife of the party.” He was almost an anti-rock star in every respect. No trashed hotels or drug-wasted orgies in his résumé. “It’s all downhill to sleep from the third beer.”

  She smiled, her sunlit garden of goodness smile. “So will you write a song with me, Jay, broody drunk, cheese gives you the runs, not one single tattoo Endicott?”

  Evie wrote the song, all he did was encourage her and record it on his phone so later when they woke again, inevitably starving, neither of them thought it was a flashback to a dream.

  FIFTEEN

  Evie trailed behind Errol, Grip and her brothers on the stadium site inspection, mostly to make sure Oscar didn’t peel off and disappear and Abel was comfortable with all the arrangements. She was also taking photos for a backstage tour post and she’d shoot video of the guys when they did their sound check.

  Jay and the rest of World’s End were here somewhere but they hadn’t run across them yet. She almost didn’t need to capture more images of Jay with Lost Property. Their views, likes, shares, comments and engagement scores had gone ballistic since the show at the Grumpy Fiddler. And it looked like they’d sold two more shows in Sydney at the end of the Australian tour. Everyone was happy with that.

  Not everyone had the timing problem Evie had.

  If she didn’t have Jay’s lips to herself soon she might blow up an internal organ. Her heart was already so swollen and full of light that it floated in her chest in a way that made her whole body feel refreshed and vital. Given they’d barely had any sleep the last two nights, that was probably an indication of impending fatal organ shutdown. Like how trees and shrubs that were dying blasted out a last surge of out of season flowering before they turned to twigs.

  Was that a real thing or had she imagined it? She probably should Google that. Or ask Teela.

  Hey Tee, so I’m probably in love with Jay but I’m not sure if it’s good for my heart. I might even be *shudder* happy. Please send ice cream.

  Nope, if she sent that message, Teela would make Evie come over for Vietnamese takeaway and force her to talk about it all and she’d have to confess to what Errol did, the no-kissing rule, the no PIV addendum, having slept with Jay and, cough, having written a song. Since all of those things were out of character, it might rock the foundations of their long friendship.

  I wrote a freaking song.

  She tripped up a step, making a racket on the metal staircase and let out a shout. Every member of her family rushed to see that she was okay. Joke, hah, hah. Not one of them even turned a head to check she wasn’t lying there bleeding out.

  They loved her, they did. Bastards.

  She wrote a song and it wasn’t terrible and she wanted to write another, if she could find the time. Catching Teela up was important but it was well down in the list of things she needed to do, way under have it out with Errol and find the right time to kiss Jay’s mouth.

  And the timing was everything because s
he and Jay had worked out how to be together and not have each other’s mouths. Oh, it was a close thing; so many near misses, chins and cheeks and foreheads that were poor substitutes, lips that went enthusiastically to genitals to save the day and produce gasps and grunts and sighs. They’d been endlessly inventive to avoid breaking the rules.

  Jay had been so tolerant of her boundary and had never once genuinely tried to push things.

  It wasn’t only the rules keeping them from defining what they were doing together. Jay might still be afraid of needles and have a low tolerance for alcohol and a weak stomach, but he was also a different man. He couldn’t not be different to the painfully endearing guy with more front than skill that she’d fallen for at sixteen. He was secure in his abilities now, his confidence fit like lucky jeans and his opportunities were only limited by his interests.

  And Evie couldn’t be more different either.

  Back then she’d been the one with limitless opportunities. Sing, join a band, form her own, write, teach music, go into management like Errol, use her marketing degree. She’d also been the one with responsibilities. Family household manager, father backer, brother herder, argument settler and ego tamer.

  Some of that she’d taken on without thinking about whether it was appropriate, some of it was foisted on her after their mum died in the bullshit way that emotional labor inside a family was still considered women’s work.

  Jay had been her escape from indecision and the all-encompassing Tice politics. And she didn’t know how much of loving him ten years ago was bound up in the way she could be carefree with him.

  She wasn’t responsible for him eating right or skipping class or showing up to rehearsals. She didn’t have to make excuses for him when he forgot a commitment, be the only one who washed his dishes or put away his clean underwear. Her first genuine adult relationship with someone she loved as an equal who didn’t need her to be his maid, pride or conscience was with Jay—and it had been easy.

  It was only a small thing that she could never tell him about the family arguments that made his bandmates look greedy or arrogant, or missing necessary the brain cells for ultimate survival. And she didn’t tell him how much Errol disapproved of their relationship. She’d certainly never mentioned the pressure she was under to go professional. Jay was her stress-free zone. His only politics was spending time together and hers was to make certain nothing interfered with that.

  It sure felt like his politics hadn’t changed. He told her in so many ways, from his hands on her body to the words he said; that he loved her.

  Fast forward and the easy had grown a thick hide to cover over the scars, and horns and spikes to protect against new ones. They both had lives they liked, commitments they’d welcomed. He’d exceeded all her expectations for him, yet enough of the Jay who’d cooked for her and kept his dingy flat stocked with all the beauty products she liked best remained to make her want to forget all that and start again.

  She needed more than lucky jeans to navigate this.

  There was some hold up and they had to wait, so she snapped a few pictures of the guys leaning on a gantry rail looking up at the stage. Grip flashed her a peace sign and then used it to make rabbit ears over Oscar’s head. It was an improvement.

  Up above, Jay appeared with Janina and members of his management team, road crew and the World’s End guys. He looked down at them and grinned and then his eyes found hers and his expression went from hey everyone, isn’t this cool to Evelette Violet Tice, you’re mine.

  It was a jolt, like tripping again. She should’ve bristled at the possessiveness. She was not another guitar Jay could own and tote around the world.

  Should’ve. Didn’t.

  Simply wondered if she was still going to have the use of her legs.

  Fortunately, it looked like no one noticed until Grip sidled up beside her as they walked on. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to; his smirk was a page of dialogue.

  “What?” she said. It might work to throw him off.

  “Nothing,” he said, but his face was all smirky-smirk McSmirk smirk.

  She stopped walking and Grip wheeled around in front of her to shield his reply. “One day you’re going to thank me for the fact your reunion with Jay featured my broken zipper.”

  Grip never got enough credit for his ability to put two and two together and not come out with twenty-two and not let on that he could read the subtext. Not that she was going to give him credit now. The other rule of her engagement with Jay was secrecy.

  “How do figure on that?”

  “Quickest way to prove to a guy in denial that he’s full of shit is to make him watch his girl handle another man’s package.”

  “I never touched your package.”

  “Jay didn’t know that. You guys were gunning for each other from then on. I’m happy for you both.”

  She could lie. Grip did get credit for being a vault. Information went in, but it generally got smothered there. “It’s complicated. We’re not the same people anymore.”

  He patted her on the shoulder. “You keep fooling yourself, Evie.” Backing off, he added, “I want to be a bridesmaid.”

  She’d have kicked him, but he was ready for it and had put too much distance between them. He’d make an amazing bridesmaid.

  Oh, shut up.

  By the time they got up to the stage, Jay and his crew had moved on, but his lighting team had stayed behind to talk through the band’s needs. She shot some video and posted it to all the regular places, responded to a few comments and tweets and generally got busy so she didn’t have to think about Jay and her timing problem.

  Or the fact that she was standing on a large purpose-built stage, facing an arena where thousands and thousands of fans would have an absolute blast. There’d been talk that the final Sydney show would be filmed as part of a TV special, which meant what happened on this stage would reach a world audience. That was overwhelmingly good news for Lost Property. Social media was a core influencer, but nothing caught people’s attention and held it better than a big screen.

  Seagulls dipped and dived above, their squealing would be replaced by a different kind of sound. She could almost feel the hypnotic thud of music in her bones, see the faces of the crowd, their arms raised. What would it feel like to perform on this stage? To stride across it under hot lights. To be the one everyone waited to see.

  Just thinking about it made her pulse dance harder and a smile crack over her cheeks.

  She walked toward the edge and looked out over the arena. Down below, Jay and his people were standing around the line array where all the speakers were stacked. They’d be discussing how the sound was mixed for the audience and for World’s End to be able to hear themselves onstage. People had paid to hear Jay but the sound engineer was the rock star who made Jay worth hearing in a venue like this.

  What would it be like to stand here with a live mic in her hand, to have her own sound engineer, sing her own songs for people? She snapped a photo of the empty seating and then threw her arms wide and turned slowly in a circle trying to imagine what it must feel like to fill this place with music. It would transform you, change your skin, alter your brainwaves make you something entirely different, a shape you had to slip off when you returned to the ordinary world.

  Her turn ended facing out front and she took a bow, bending from the waist and grinning at the make-believe applause in her ears.

  “Don’t jump,” Abel quipped from behind her as she straightened, and Isaac grabbed her and made as if to push her off the edge.

  She jammed her feet into the ground, making her legs go stiff and leaned back into Isaac. As he pushed, the two of them lurched forward, four feet thumping. They were nowhere near the true edge and she knew Isaac wasn’t about to hurl her over but a ripple of fear snaked up her spine all the same and a shout curdled in her throat.

  “Scared yah,” Isaac said. He was excited, but instead of showing it like a normal person, he was trying to take years
off her life by threatening her physically.

  She jammed her elbows into his ribs. “I’m not the one who’s scared.”

  She wasn’t the one who had to stand in front of fifty thousand people for ten nights and make them happy they’d paid the ticket price and front up to buy the next album. She didn’t have to curate her social media and her real-life friendships. She didn’t have to feel the pressure of needing new songs that charted, wearing the right clothing and having the right hair and opinions.

  But the idea of hearing her own music, loud and dominating a space like this was slyly seductive.

  Isaac’s push became a hug and he lifted her off her feet. “This is going to be fucking awesome.”

  “Do that to me again and you won’t live long enough to experience it.”

  He put her down gently and grinned at her like all he’d eaten for a week was sugar and he was permanently hyped up on it. That could even be true. Then he snatched her phone out of her hand and took a selfie of the two of them. When she looked at it, the photo showed her up front, and Isaac slightly behind in the foreground, and Abel, Oscar and Grip in the background. It was like a promotional shot for the band she wasn’t lead singer of and made her laugh.

  “You looked good up there, Evie,” Errol said, looking over her shoulder at the phone screen. “Before the part where your brother tried to break both your legs.” That made Isaac retreat. “You could still have this, you know. Smaller audiences, different venues. We could make it happen. Especially as we’ve got real momentum.”

  She wasn’t intending on having it out with Errol now, here, but there he was, disappointed again, dangling the bait again. Wishing he had a different person for a daughter.