“In shock,” I offered, bringing my hand to her chin. Allowing this little gap, a bridge for us to meet, it felt like change. Something I wanted and didn’t realize until now. She beamed at me, her smile growing wider while her eyes seemed to glimmer. “Can’t believe you’re here.” As if the words hurt her, she closed her eyes, her lip wobbling a little. “Don’t cry, little demon.”
“Shouldn’t have taken this long,” she whispered, batting away the emotion shining in her expression.
I leaned forward, unable to help the urge to kiss her. Before I reached her lips, I paused, closing my eyes, existing without them pressed together.
Her breath brushed my lips, our noses practically touching, all while we just stood face to face like this.
When my gaze met hers, they shone with unshed tears, but she quickly dabbed at her face before we continued walking to the lobby. I’d texted Royce earlier, making sure he was available to drive us around.
Unlike me, he’d been here several times over the years. Like Brightmore and Kempville, he knew London well.
“Where to?” Royce asked as soon as we met up. With his chestnut hair sprinkled with gray and his sharp nose, you’d think he was rude or distant, but as soon as the crow’s feet and smile came through, his entire face softened in such a dad way.
I pulled my phone from my pocket, shielding it from Andy’s view. “A surprise for her,” I explained, pointing at the address on the phone.
A tiny grin welcomed me, his eyes alight with humor. “She’s going to love that.”
“She’s standing right here,” Andy grumbled, folding her arms across her chest. I loved that, the way she still sassed, even when she seemed to reflect on so much.
“Let’s head out,” Royce directed, giving Andy a hug before opening the door for her. I was grateful for Royce sticking by her side when I didn’t. He helped her, loved her, and gave her what I couldn’t.
We drove to the original Hard Rock Café, the city passing by as we drove. Andy would die as soon as she saw where we were headed. I knew she went to the hotel in Vegas, always mentioning how the original that just so happened to be in London was a dream destination.
There was an aura about the Hard Rock Café. From floor to ceiling, it embodied old rock and legends. There were signed guitars, posters, records on the wall. They had pictures with the staff and jackets from famous musicians before us.
Andy walked around the lobby as we waited to be seated, she read every note on the wall, every detail given, she absorbed, and when her gaze met mine, I knew I’d done good.
“It’s breathtaking,” she mused, her eyes once again glazed with emotions. “It’s like a warm hug somehow.”
I knew what she meant. It was busy, people milling about while we peered at the memorabilia. Walking around, being here, it felt right. Welcoming in a way that places didn’t always feel.
“I can’t believe you got us a table,” she whispered, her fingers grazing the plaques lining one of the walls. “I heard they’re booked most days.”
“Perks of being a rock star,” I said with a shrug, appearing as if it wasn’t a big deal. I’d do anything for her and she didn’t even realize that.
“You’re amazing, you know?”
I shook my head immediately, a default reaction to compliments, but her hand reached out, about to grasp my bicep, before stopping. She bit her lip and I nodded, allowing her touch while also waiting for the discomfort to zing up my arm.
She gripped me, the touch of her palm warm and shocking. Like putting your tongue to a nine-volt battery, she dazzled me. My heart beat strongly, and I somehow felt it multiply under her fingertips, the way it centered and pounded hitting my ears too.
Her touch didn’t bring me nausea or the ant-crawling sensation. The cloying film didn’t take over, begging to be scrubbed, it simply existed beneath the surface, waiting for its time to react.
“One day, you’ll see yourself the way the world sees you.”
“They said to never make idols of rock stars, we are all monsters beneath the surface.” She shook her head, disagreement in the shape of her mouth.
“They warned you because Dox knew what idolization caused. To the world, he was a god. To you, he was the man who never kept his promises,” she explained, her forehead creasing. “Worshipping humans causes us to make excuses, allowing them to fuck up and not forcing them to pay the consequences. Dox got away with too much and he didn’t want you to end up the way he did.”
“Look at what good that did me,” I grumbled, kicking the imaginary shit on the floor, thinking of how I once revered my parents, thinking they were superhumans, heroes. They were faulty, like all humans, but I put on those rose-colored glasses, ignoring it all blissfully.
“Table’s ready,” a man with short hair and a kind smile called out to us.
“Ready to eat, little demon?”
She smiled at me, insurmountable joy in the creases of her eyes and lips.
That, right there. It was worth it all.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
MakeDamnSure – Taking Back Sunday
Madden
“You’re on in five,” Candy called out as the guys and I stood in the back, doing our pre-performance rituals. Memphis took a shot from his special flask. Carrig smoked a joint while someone blew him, he said the high of both were his good luck charm. Stony rubbed one out in front of a mirror, letting his alter ego take over his performance while he took the backseat. And me? I did Molly, Xanny, booze, or all three at once.
Shows were never easy for me, not the first ones anyway. I hadn’t performed live in over a year, other than that shitshow at the bar. Carrig fidgeted, his fingers thrumming as if he held a drumstick. As far as I knew, he hadn’t hooked up with anyone, and that would set his whole mood for the performance.
Tonight, liquor and the thought of fucking Andy after the show would have to be enough for me. She hated when I did drugs. She didn’t say it, but I could tell it reminded her of my dad. The withdrawals had been rough, I’d been milking several bottles of vodka to cope. Not that that was any better.
It’d been three days since we fucked. That edging that was supposed to end with her having the best orgasm of her life earlier that night... well, it didn’t happen.
As soon as we got back from the Hard Rock Café, our manager had us doing a ton of pre-tour shit. Meet-and-greets where I hid, stopping at Abbey Road to take pictures for the socials, and even stopping at random hot spots for rock stars.
She was the best and we wouldn’t replace her for the world, but she definitely had a hard-on for hating Andy and kept us apart the last three days.
“Not doing my ritualistic drugs is not what I’d say is a good time,” I grumbled, thinking of getting high and then going back to the hotel, having Andy on her knees to take the edge off.
Fuck, I’d been in a revolving door of hard and soft and horny as hell. It didn’t make sense why I wanted to dick her down so bad when I hadn’t felt the urge to for years.
Something about Andy was different, that much was apparent, but the fact that I’d been stiff for days with zero release and lack of softness had me cranky.
“Yeah, especially when you’re a dick without it,” Memphis joked, but in his raised eyebrows, I knew it wasn’t one.