Rock Chick Reckoning

Which made my toes curl.

  He bent in, touched his lips to mine, giving me a neck squeeze at the same time. Then, lips still on mine, he promised, “We will be.”

  That gave the toe curl the addition of a full body tremble.

  He gave me another neck squeeze then walked away and I stood motionless in the kitchen watching him move toward one of his bags. For some reason, my skin started to feel hot so my eyes shifted toward Hector who was standing, arms crossed on his chest, gaze on me, mouth curled in a sexy grin.

  Sheesh.

  I came unstuck and did the only thing I could do (legally) at that moment.

  I got down to the business of feeding my dog.

  Mace was sitting on the edge of the bed platform tugging on his boots when the buzzer went.

  “Jesus Christ,” Mace muttered and Hector moved toward the panel.

  I bent to put the bowl of food on the floor and Juno shoved her face in it before it was settled. I was rubbing down her body when I heard the disembodied voice of Hugo in the room.

  “We gotta know a secret password or what?”

  “It’s the band,” Hector told Mace (I will note he told Mace, not me).

  “Let them in,” I said.

  “I’ll talk to them,” Mace said at the same time, getting up and walking toward the door.

  Erm, what?

  Now wait just one effing minute.

  “You can just let them in,” I told Mace as I followed him.

  “Stay here with Stella. I’ll be back with the band.” Mace ignored me and spoke to Hector.

  “Mace!” I snapped. “Just let them in.”

  Mace turned to face me. “We’ll be right up.”

  My eyes narrowed on him.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I just want to get a few things straight with the band.”

  I did not think so.

  “About what?” I pushed.

  “About ‘no comment’.”

  Oh.

  Okay.

  I could see that.

  Mace and I both knew everyone, including the grieving Buzz, would be happily loose-lipped with reporters unless warned. Especially if they thought they could get The Blue Moon Gypsies and any of our gig dates in print.

  “You can talk to them up here,” I told him.

  “I’m talkin’ to them downstairs.”

  “Mace.”

  “Stella.”

  “Jesus, is someone gonna let us in or what?” Pong’s disembodied voice didn’t come through the panel, we could hear him shouting from outside.

  “Two seconds,” Hector said into the speaker and before I could say another word, Mace was gone.

  I looked at the door then at Hector and remarked angrily, “He’s annoying.”

  “He’s probably got his reasons,” Hector replied.

  “And I should care about those reasons because…” I prompted.

  Hector didn’t hesitate. “You don’t have to care about ‘em, you just gotta understand he has ‘em.”

  I glared at Hector for a beat.

  Whatever.

  It was then I realized I was alone with Hector and it was then I remembered to feel uncomfortable.

  I stared at him.

  He grinned at me.

  All of a sudden I didn’t know what to do or say. All I could think about was Mace telling me that in twenty-four hours, Hector would have me flat on my back, him on top and both of us would be naked.

  And this didn’t seem like a bad idea.

  Oh my God, you are SUCH a slut, my brain remarked.

  This was all communicated to Hector on some Hot Guy Secret Wavelength and his grin turned to a wolfish but highly effective smile.

  Effing hell.

  Thankfully, he threw me a bone.

  “You were makin’ coffee?” he reminded me.

  “Oh yeah, right,” I muttered and then scooted into the kitchen.

  I grabbed the pot, filled it with water and turned to the coffeemaker while Hector joined me in the kitchen. I would have preferred him to stay further away (say, Alaska) but I didn’t have a choice and I didn’t want to ask him because he’d think I was a slutty wuss.

  I poured the water into the coffeemaker and tucked some hair behind my ear.

  “So…” I searched desperately for conversation, wondering how long it would take to tell the band they had two words they could say to reporters and other than that they had to keep their mouths shut and I figured, with my band, it would take approximately eighty-two hours.

  I was going to have to make a lot of conversation.

  I glanced at Hector. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  Now why did I ask that?

  Why, why, why?

  “Nope,” Hector replied.

  “No one special?” I went on.

  Shut up! My brain screamed.

  “Didn’t say that,” Hector answered.

  Interesting. My brain was no longer screaming.

  I shoved the pot under the spout, flipped the switch and looked at him fully.

  “There’s someone special?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer.

  “But she’s not your girlfriend?”

  He crossed his arms on his chest, leaned a hip against the counter and again didn’t answer.

  “Who is she?”

  “She’s not a Rock Chick,” he told me. “She’s rich. She’s unbelievably fuckin’ beautiful. She made the first move and then shut me down so she’s gonna have to make the second move too.”

  I blinked.

  This seemed a lot of sharing for a badass tough guy, a badass tough guy I barely knew.

  I was curious to know what shutting Hector down entailed and why any woman in her right mind would do such a ridiculous thing but I was too much of a scaredy-cat to ask.

  “And what do you do until she makes the second move?” I asked because she would make the second move, no doubt about it, she’d be crazy not to.

  He was back to grinning and he answered, “I have fun.”

  Oh lordy be.

  I knew what Hot Guy Fun consisted of. I’d had a dose of it that morning with Mace’s hand in my panties.

  Whoever-she-was, she better hurry up.

  All of a sudden, Hector said, “You’re good.”

  I stared at him, my mind still on whoever she was and hot guys’ hands in my panties, I wasn’t following.

  “What?”

  “I’ve seen you play, at The Little Bear, Herman’s, The Gothic. You’re good.”

  I had compliments before, even compliments from hot guys, even compliments from hot guys who wanted to get in my panties (likely, they were complimenting me because they wanted to get in my panties).

  But something about the simple way Hector shared his opinion felt different, more honest. I knew innately that he wasn’t the type of guy who threw meaningless compliments around for the ef of it.

  I felt my cheeks getting warm, turned away to look at the filling coffeepot and muttered, “Thanks,” hoping he’d move on to a different subject. This one was even more uncomfortable than the last.

  Then I felt his body heat and it was both immense and close.

  I looked up to see he’d closed the distance and was inches away.

  Yikes!

  Before I could say anything, he spoke.

  “What I wanna know is,” he started softly, “what the fuck you’re still doin’ in Denver?”

  I was finding it hard to breathe, seeing as he was close, his heat was hitting me, he was seriously good-looking and I had nowhere to retreat.

  I persevered, “I live here.”

  “No, I mean you and the band. Anybody who sees you play knows they got a bargain. They should be payin’ top arena prices to watch the likes of you.”

  I was no longer finding it hard to breathe, I was just not breathing at all.

  Did he really say that?

  He kept going. “You need a decent manager. You should be on the road. You should go to LA. You shou
ld get under the nose of some scouts.”

  “I’ve talked to scouts,” I broke in.

  “And?”

  “I like where I am.”

  I watched as surprise crossed his features and he muttered, “You’re shittin’ me.”

  “No, really, this is good.”

  He shook his head. “You’re better.”

  I felt that weird panic edging into me but it was connected with the same thrill of being on the front page of The Denver Post.

  “This is good,” I repeated, ignoring the panic and the thrill.

  “You’re better,” he repeated too.

  “You don’t understand,” I sighed and pressed myself against the counter to get a little space but this didn’t work because he leaned in. I stared in fascination as his face grew hard.

  “No, I don’t. I don’t have a gift. Been watchin’ yours for awhile now and wonderin’ why you don’t share it with more people.” He paused and got even closer before he asked, “You wanna tell me why?”

  “Not really,” I answered and it was the truth.

  Not only was it the truth, it was none of his business.

  I barely knew this guy!

  Granted, he told me about whoever-she-was but this wasn’t share and share alike.

  Unh-unh.

  No way.

  He stared at me.

  I stared back.

  He stared at me some more.

  I stared back some more.

  Then he moved away an inch and said, “I fuckin’ hope Mace can talk some sense into you.”

  “Once this is done, so are Mace and I,” I informed him bitchily.

  I watched his brows go up right before he burst out laughing, throwing his head back and everything.

  I crossed my arms on my chest.

  “What’s so damn funny?” I snapped.

  When he stopped laughing, his face was still warm with it and if I thought he was good-looking before, I was wrong. Now, he was just plain beautiful.

  “You are, mamita. You’re fuckin’ hilarious.”

  “Am not,” I returned, sounding like a six year old and also not caring. He was freaking me out!

  Hector leaned in again. “You are and I’ll want fuckin’ backstage passes when you’re on your first world tour.”

  “Right,” I muttered dismissively but feeling the panic and thrill slice through me again.

  “Right,” Hector replied firmly.

  The door opened and I was saved from further discourse with Hot Hector by my loud band storming in, led by Mace.

  It took Mace a millisecond to notice Hector and I in a close squeeze in the kitchen and it took another millisecond for his temper to flare.

  “What the fuck?” he asked.

  “I was making coffee,” I explained immediately, sounding stupid.

  “Thank God. Coffee!” Leo exclaimed, making a beeline toward the kitchen.

  “Be cool, hombre. We were just havin’ a chat,” Hector put in, exiting the kitchen as Leo entered.

  “I hope that fuckin’ coffee’s strong,” Hugo grumbled.

  “A chat?” Mace asked.

  “Yeah, nothin’ to get excited about,” Hector replied but I watched and Mace didn’t look like he believed Hector.

  “Is there gonna be enough coffee for everyone?” Buzz asked.

  “It’s not even finished brewing yet!” Pong shouted like the coffee was going to take three years to brew and that was the only sustenance he was allowed.

  Juno shifted her big dog body out of the small space as the male, human, Blue Moon Gypsy bodies pressed toward the coffeepot. I took my opportunity and followed her.

  I was done.

  D-o-n-e, done.

  I stomped straight to the bed, Juno leading the way, and when we made it there, she jumped up on the bed and I looked at her.

  “Why me?” I asked my dog.

  Juno woofed.

  “Why can’t I be a lesbian?” I continued.

  Juno sat down, her tail sweeping the bedclothes in a wide arc, her tongue lolling out the side of her mouth, her inability to speak English hindering our counseling session.

  “Why couldn’t I form an all-girl band like The Go-Gos?” I went on.

  “The Go-Gos! Surfer-girl music? Shee-it. You crazy?” Hugo called from behind me.

  I turned so my back was to the bed and flopped down, threw my arm over my eyes and tried to pretend I was on a beach. A deserted beach. A deserted beach thousands of miles away from civilization.

  Juno got down on her belly and snuffled my neck with her big, wet nose.

  Well, okay, a deserted beach thousands of miles away from civilization but with Juno with me.

  I dug my fingers in the fur of her head, scratching behind her ears.

  Juno licked my face.

  I felt something on either side of my knees, which were bent at the edge of the bed. Then the bed depressed and I took my hand from Juno’s fur and lifted my arm from my face.

  Mace was in push up position, his body looming over mine, bent at the waist, his hands in the bed on either side of my body.

  I could see the bunched-up muscles in his upper arms and I felt a warm rush between my legs.

  Down Mace Slut! My brain cautioned.

  What was the matter with me?

  “Babe, I gotta go,” Mace said softly.

  “Okay,” I replied.

  “Remember, no comment.”

  I sighed then said, “I remember.”

  “When I get home tonight, we’ll have dinner and talk.”

  Mace referring to my place as “home” caused that panicky feeling to emerge again, right along with the thrill.

  “Fine,” I said.

  “Use the alarm,” he went on.

  “Gotcha.”

  “I’ll call sometime today.”

  “Mace, are you gonna go or what?” I was losing patience and my ability to hold back the panic, thrill and the warm rush at his proximity.

  He grinned, bent his elbows until his chest was brushing mine, kissed me hard but closed-mouthed then did a push up and he was gone.

  I closed my eyes and wondered what to do next.

  I didn’t get a chance to form a plan, something big hit the bed and both Juno and I bounced with it.

  I opened my eyes as I heard the door open. Pong had jumped on the head of the bed, flat on his back. I looked toward the door and saw Mace and Hector were leaving.

  “Later, Hector,” I called and watched him casually lift a hand in response, total cool.

  “Is the coffee ready yet?” Pong yelled to Leo who was standing in my kitchen staring at the nearly full pot.

  “We’re close,” Leo answered.

  There was more movement on the bed when Floyd sat down.

  I looked at him.

  He looked concerned.

  He also looked something else. Something frightening. Something I sensed had to do with Mace’s demons. Something that was somewhere I did not want to go.

  “You okay?” he asked softly.

  “No,” I replied honestly.

  “Is anyone gonna ask me if I’m okay? It was my fuckin’ head that nearly got blown off,” Pong demanded.

  “They were aimin’ at Stella Bella,” Buzz commented, throwing himself on his side lengthwise at the foot of the bed.

  “So?” Pong snapped.

  My eyes moved to Pong. “Are you okay?”

  Pong looked at me, lost his annoyance and grinned. “Sure. Bitches were all over me last night. Bein’ in mortal danger appears to be an aphrodisiac.”

  I rolled my eyes back in my head.

  “You’re a fuckin’ idiot,” Buzz said to Pong.

  “A fuckin’ idiot who had a foursome last night,” Pong shot back.

  Oh lordy.

  “I’m too old for this shit,” Floyd muttered.

  The phone rang and I got up on my elbows and watched Hugo move toward it.

  “No comment, Hugo,” I reminded him.

  “I spe
ak English not Swahili, mama. I heard Mace. I hear you. Jesus,” he paused, beeped on the phone and greeted, “Yeah?”

  I flopped back down on the bed re-thinking my career path. Then re-thinking my romantic path. Then my careening thoughts conjured up a sketch of a woman who would be silly enough to shut Hector down. Then the look in Mace’s unguarded eyes flashed before mine and I got a full body shiver.

  Then I heard Hugo say from above me, “Stella, it’s Monk.”

  I opened my eyes to see Hugo standing at the side of the bed.

  Effing hell.

  I did an ab curl and reached a hand out for the phone.

  I wasn’t looking forward to this conversation.

  Monk had had someone with a rifle in his club last night. Worse, that someone fired the rifle. Even worse, Monk had missed out on post-gig last call due to a frenzied stampede. Even worse, Monk would have no entertainment tonight. We were set to play there again and there was no way in hell we were going to do that.

  “Monk,” I said into the phone.

  “Stella, beautiful,” Monk gushed exuberantly, not sounding angry at all.

  Erm, what?

  “Monk, I’m sorry about –” I started.

  “Did you see The Denver Post?” Monk interrupted me.

  “Um, no,” I told him. “Not exactly.”

  He didn’t care if I saw it or not and I knew this when he announced, “The Palladium was mentioned five times in The Post. Best advertising you can get, fuckin’ free! This is shit-hot.” Monk continued speaking happily in my ear. “We’re gonna double the cover charge tonight. We’ll make a killing.”

  He wasn’t serious.

  “Monk, we can’t play tonight,” I said.

  Silence then, “Why the fuck not?”

  I looked around at my band. They were all watching me.

  “Well, because we got shot at last night,” I explained.

  “So?” Monk asked.

  “With a rifle,” I went on.

  “And?” Monk pressed.

  “Pong nearly got his head blown off,” I continued.

  “Last night, Pong had women drippin’ off him,” Monk returned. “That boy hasn’t been that lucky since the University of Colorado women’s volleyball team came to see your show.”

  I remembered the night the volleyball team came to see the show. That hadn’t been a good night, at least not for me and definitely not for Mace. It had ended in a five o’clock in the morning phone call that saw Mace extricating Pong from a situation where Pong lost all his clothes (but his black bikini briefs) in a game of strip poker. When he tried to get them back, he’d learned how strong a gaggle of college-aged female athletes could be. And let’s just say that Mace hadn’t been all that thrilled to have Pong sitting in the front seat of his silver Chevy Avalanche wearing only his black bikini briefs.