Page 2 of Rock Strong

“You think they do this before every tour?”

“Jaromir said they do this before every show. And every night in between.”

Rosemary’s eyes widened. “Are you serious? How would he know?”

“He said he’s a Point Break fan. Rose, there’s money in this business. It’s all showmanship, album covers, women-filled videos, self-inflated promotion… Real musicians don’t care about stuff like this. Real musicians just want to play, even if it’s to an empty auditorium with three cats listening.” Even as I spoke, I mentally winced. I sounded like a ripe old snob, and a bitter one at that. Real musicians shouldn’t diss other musicians, period. I knew that. And normally I didn’t. But now…here… I needed to hold on to some semblance of confidence. If I was overcompensating, I was only doing it in front of Rosemary, who hopefully wouldn’t hold it against me.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Rosemary downed her beer. “But it’s still awesome to be a part of it. You want something to eat? I’m gonna go get something.”

“I’m fine, thanks.” I wasn’t so sure there was anything awesome about this. In this world, music was a means to a lavish lifestyle. In my world, the lifestyle was a means to the music. Losing yourself in the music was all that mattered. Which was why I’d made it a point not to get sucked into Point Break pics, gossip, and drama before coming. I read only what I needed to know about the band—recording history and discographies.

Wikipedia—nothing more, nothing less.

“By the way, you look really hot in that dress.” She winked and slinked away.

In this? I fidgeted with my pearls, glancing down at the only cocktail dress I owned, a black A-line more at home at a Manhattan shindig than a party in the Hills. “Thanks,” I said, not entirely convinced.

Before I knew it, Rosemary skittered away, leaving me alone with my so not-hot self. I should have gone with her, but I’d been following her around the whole night, clinging to her skirt like a little girl behind her mama, hiding from scary boys. Which wasn’t too far off from the truth.

In retrospect, now that Rosemary had left me alone, I wished I would have perused Point Break’s online pics before coming, so I would at least know what they looked like. But between my mother’s life lectures, packing for the trip, and fighting with Samuel, I didn’t have much time. Plus, I’ll admit I hadn’t wanted to look. I told myself it didn’t matter who my bosses were or what they looked like. It didn’t matter if I liked or respected them. This was just a temporary job, one I had to get through to make my own dreams come true. However, I’d started to think I’d been unprofessional by not doing more homework. I should at least introduce myself to my new bosses and thank them for the job. That’s the main reason I was here.

Looking around, however, I tried guessing who the band members might be, hoping no one would notice the solo cellist standing by the potted tree. Much to my dismay, it was a bigger call to attention than I’d feared.

A pair of smiling eyes zeroed in on me from the opposite end of the pool. Wearing loose jeans, a leather vest over his strong, bare chest, a cowboy hat, and a big, silver belt buckle, the guy looked like a punk cowboy who’d lassoed himself a few ladies. Flanking him were…one, two, three, four, five girls in bikinis. Although, upon closer inspection, it appeared that two of them were topless. They played with his hat, laughing and taking it off, passing it around. His heavily tattooed right arm was wrapped around a girl’s waist. His other hand held his phone. He raised it, aimed it in my general direction, snapped a shot, then tucked it back in his pocket.

Did he really just take a picture of me when he was surrounded by all those nearly naked girls?

I tucked my hair behind my ears, feeling more self-conscious than ever, fingering my pearls some more. No, that didn’t make my awkwardness any more obvious to him, of course not. I wanted to hide, call it a day, and run back to my hotel room to the safety of my big, fluffy Hilton Hotel comforter.

Two guys careened by me just then, loud, obnoxious, holding each other up in their inebriated stupors. “Oh, sorry,” one said. If I hadn’t stepped out of the way just in time, he would have knocked me into the pool. He had a stubbly, short beard, intense brown eyes, and a rascally smile when he flashed it at me.

In the illuminated blue water, a bevy of bikini angels laughed at them. “Jacob! Throw Corbin in!” one of the girls cried.

Corbin! I recognized the name. Was the cutie with the short beard part of the band? And what about his friend Jacob? Was there a Jacob in the band? No, I was pretty sure the band members were Liam, Wes, Corbin, and…one other one.

“Yeah, we’ll take care of him!” The other girl laughed, boobs bouncing up and down, beach ball in her manicured hands.

I watched with mixed emotions. On one hand, I was annoyed that anyone could laugh so outwardly, without shame and pure confidence, while wearing strings and flaps of fabric for swimwear. Who gave them the right to look so perfect? On the other hand, I envied them—not just the girls and their beautiful bodies, but the guys, too, the way they managed to get the girls’ attention and be so at ease while goofing around.

It was baffling to me. I would never fit into this group dynamic, not in a million years. But I didn’t have to fit in. I was just here for background noise, literally, and only for a few months at that.

If Samuel were here, he’d tell me they were all drunken buffoons, Neanderthals, devoid of intelligence or class. However, since Rosemary and I arrived, everyone in this production had been super nice. Catered meals throughout the day, a car to go anywhere, whenever we needed it… Apparently, money either made you act incredibly stupid or incredibly generous.

Finally, after more poolside wrestling, Jacob and Corbin faltered and sank into the pool with a huge splash, eliciting cheers from the partygoers. The bikini girls flocked to them, hanging off their shoulders. Short Beard started making out with one of them.

“Nice!” Standing near me, a guy with incredible green eyes lifted his drink high into the air, his arm wrapped in a tribal tattoo much like Punk Cowboy’s. Like most of the men at the party, he was easy to look at, though not as easy on the ears. “That’s what I’m talkin’ about!” he shouted, bending over to laugh. Then he straightened and walked past me, surveying my side of the pool. Suddenly, his eyes fell on me, and the man literally turned on his heels to head my way. Oh, God… Where was Rosemary when I needed her?

He sauntered over and paused in front of me, one hand on his hip, the other lifting his square glass of ice and clinkiness to his lips. His eyes, face, and brain took in every inch of me from head to toe, not that I had much on display for him to ogle. “Helloooo, Asian Persuasion.”

Ugh, no. He did not just say that. “That’s not funny.” I gave him a deadpan glare.

“You’re right. I apologize. Sort of, but not really. Can you, um…” He grazed his cold glass along my arm. He smelled like vodka…I thought. “Wear a kimono for me later? I promise I’ll make it up to you.” Eyebrows danced over those bright green, but mischievous eyes.

“How about I kick your balls in instead?” I said before I could calculate a more refined response.

His eyes flew open for a moment. “Ha!” Then, he closed them and shook his head in silent laughter. “A feisty one, I love it,” Vodka Breath said, holding on to his stomach.

Meanwhile, my stomach sank. My heart pounded. I was about to get away from him.

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