Page 23 of Rock Strong

Helen punched his bicep hard. “Who’s acting like the fucking dad now?”

“Shut up,” he said.

I thought that was it—he’d be gone without another look my way.

But just as he was heading off with Helen leading the way, he turned and walked backward, connecting that amazing smile with my hopeful, grateful eyes once again. He kissed two fingertips and raised them in the air toward me. A moment was all it took to understand what women the world over saw in him—the hot, chiseled body, the handsome face, the sorcerer of kissery…

Embarrassingly, though, I was one of them now. But I refused to see him for just those things. In fact, Liam Collier was already proving himself to be more than a hot bod, more than a rock ’n’ roll playboy. He was a sweet, kind man, who made me feel respected every time I saw him. If I could summon up the nerve, I might allow myself to see past the punk cowboy into his real soul. I would explore him. Understand him. Hell, I might even master him.

I waved a little good-bye at him.

If I let myself, that is.

Which I intended to.

Chapter 8

Liam

We rocked our first Seattle show right off its hinges!

I loved this city, and not just because our up-and-coming rock colleagues got their start here. It was always good to musicians of any genre. No, I loved Seattle because my grandparents lived here before they died. My brothers and I had visited often when we were kids.

Plus, our shows went on, rain or shine, and since it rained here like nobody’s business, it was not uncommon to do our whole show in the middle of a drizzle, which always made for an awesome vibe. Our fans were like, Hey, fuck it, we’re already standing out here in the rain, we may as well party!

And they did.

And we loved it!

Made for some great photography, too, like me tonight suspended in midair, shaking water droplets off like a dog, or Corbin soaked from head to toe in his leather pants. Tucker didn’t like playing in the rain, but fuck him, because the pics of him smashing the drums, sending spattery drops flying everywhere, backlit by some hot-white lights, were KICKASS!

But what made tonight’s show even more awesome was when it was time for the orchestra to come out for their two songs. In the darkness, I watched as they shuffled in, took their seats, and that pervert Richard lifted his conducting baton, then the bright lights spilled all over the string section. Friggin’ yeah! Abby was dressed in her black skirt with a different white top, but still wearing her pearls, looking ever so classy, the hot NYC girl. She glanced at me and did a terrible job of holding back a smile.

What happened between us earlier in the garden was a shock to me, and yet it wasn’t. I’d kissed a lot of women, but they all knew who I was, they’d all listened to our music, and they’d all flocked to me because of it. They wanted me before they’d even met me. I was a fantasy to them.

With Abby, it was different.

I was pretty sure she’d never even heard of Point Break until she arrived in LA. And I was fairly sure, at that crucial moment in the garden, she’d been overcome by the raw need to feel close to me. I’d felt the connection, too. I hadn’t wanted to leave her.

So what now?

With any other woman, I’d have one night with her, maybe two or three, and then we’d go our separate ways. It was understood that I wasn’t looking to get married and settle down. I hadn’t made that crystal clear to Abby—that I wasn’t looking for a relationship. If I didn’t, she might expect more. Fuck, she deserved more. Not to say other girls didn’t deserve more, but the other women I’d been with knew the score. And besides, even if Abby agreed to something casual with me, something temporary, I knew it wouldn’t be the kind of casual I was used to.

For as long as we were together, Abby would demand attention. She wouldn’t put up with backstage parties, Tucker, Wes, Corbin, or any of our roadies’ shenanigans, for that matter. And yeah, it would’ve been nice to meet Abby a few years down the line. That way, I could seriously give her everything, but I was only twenty-two, about two years younger than I wanted to be when that happened. So I had no choice but to be honest with Abby about where my head was at. I also had to make sure that I really could follow through on whatever limited promises I made her. And I had to believe that when things did end between us, Abby wouldn’t be the worse for wear. That maybe she’d even smile as we said good-bye. That she wouldn’t collapse. That I wouldn’t see her lying on the floor, the way I’d seen…

No, stop. It wasn’t your fault. It was on her, all on her…

I couldn’t compare Abby to Vanessa. They were completely worlds apart. Abby was older. Stronger. And, truthfully, she was smarter. She was under no illusions about the life I led. So long as we were honest and up-front from the beginning, there was no reason we couldn’t take things one day at a time and explore the intense chemistry between us.

Starting with another kiss—or two or ten or twenty—as soon as possible.

After the show, I searched for Abby through throngs of photographers, celebrity friends, contest winners, and all our tech crew. She was trying to find me, too, I could tell, because we kept running circles near each other, only for someone like Helen or Robbie or Wes to spin me around and make me take a pic with someone waiting nearby.

Even backstage, the show never ended.

Shots all around, and liquor flowing freely, the girls—our companions—were let in, the usual ones and a few new ones who were giddy, nervous, and dressed to sex, something that titillated the fuck out of me when we first started but now made me sad. Why was this the only way we’d let women backstage, showing cleavage, baring asses, or plain walking around naked? Because we liked blow jobs after the show, sure, okay. But weren’t there any elegantly dressed women who also liked having sex? For once, I would’ve loved to see some CPA, doctor, or lawyer lady in a suit be admitted backstage for some fun. They were probably more refined and better lovers anyway, since they were more restrained in real life.

Anything for variety.

---