Page 10 of Rock Strong

I opened my mouth to speak, but no sound came out. Only the ferocious wail of Rosemary’s violin singing Save Me Tonight echoed throughout our hotel suite.

Chapter 4

Liam

It was the day after the kickoff party, just past noon, and I was waking up to huge wood and a seriously ravenous appetite. Which to take care of first? The hard-on or the hollow stomach? As easy as it would be to text Bella, Lana, or any of the girls who usually waited on us hand and cock, I didn’t want to deal with their chatter, questions about my life, what it’s like to be famous, or how to score with Wes, Corbin, or Tucker. Blah, blah, and more blah.

In an ideal world, if I was going to spend that kind of energy talking to a girl, I wanted her interests to match mine, so I wouldn’t have to explain what it’s like. I wanted to be completely taken by her charms. I wanted someone who made me want to ask the questions.

Such a woman had made it into my life only once before—senior year in high school. Later, I’d broken her heart, then she’d gone and married a high-powered lawyer ten years older than she was, but not before she’d dealt with some serious shit. Shit I’d been a huge factor in creating.

Of course, thinking of Vanessa made my wood go away. Which was fine, since I had to get up anyway, eat something, and run to the buses. Checking my phone, I saw about eighteen missed texts and calls. Dude, what was everybody’s panic at the start of every tour? We’d done a North American tour three times now, and not once had the world ended. People seriously needed to chill.

One text was from my high school buddy Garrick Maze, asking if I was excited to be heading out. Another was from Helen asking if I was awake yet, and another was from Giselle with a smooth, sunlit selfie and a “Bonjour, beau,” which she always sent me.

Ah, Miss Vici, how stunningly beautiful she still was. A world-class supermodel, she was also the only girl I’d ever been remotely interested in, post-Vanessa. She had as much money as I did, so I knew she didn’t want me for that.

I scrolled through Internet pic after Internet pic of her. Her name should’ve been Gazelle Vici with those legs—holy shit. Last year, Giselle took a three-month break to go on tour with us, and it made for fantastic press, what with all the photos of us partying together, holding hands, doing shots, or making out in public. Fucking A! She was great for my ego. But Giselle hooked up with Corbin, too, near the end of the tour, and there was some bad vibes for a bit. I wouldn’t be dramatic and say she nearly broke up the band, but I was kind of hurt.

For like twenty minutes.

Giselle had been messaging me a few weeks now, sending racy pics and texts like: “Hé bébé, I miss you so much. Plz let me come along? I swear I behave.” But I’d been strategically ignoring her. Last I heard, she was spending time with her mother in Vancouver, one of the stops on our tour this year. She’d probably show up at our concert there. In a way, I kind of wished she would. A bad girl always made the news. A bad girl appearing with a bad boy… Well, that would just make more headlines. Something we could never get enough of.

The truth was, however, I wasn’t really interested in seeing Giselle any more than I’d been interested in Bella last night. No, there was only one girl who was managing to hold my interest. One girl I couldn’t stop thinking about.

One girl I was hoping enjoyed the flowers I’d sent her.

Abby.

Maybe the flowers were too much, but I’d been driven by some inexplicable need to make sure she was happy working for us. It would suck to spend three months of your life thinking your bosses were a bunch of assholes, right?

But even more important, I didn’t want her to think badly of me. I didn’t want her to think that what she’d witnessed at the party last night was all I was about.

Why did I care so much about her opinion?

No clue, to be honest.

Yeah, she was beautiful and elegant, and I could probably get her to give it up. I mean, I did see her eyes moving over me last night, checking me out. A tryst with her would be fucking hot, but—no. Despite the way she continued to invade my thoughts, I had to keep things real.

A woman like Abby would want more, and more was something I couldn’t give her. Not now. No fucking way.

I was firmly entrenched in a rock ’n’ roller’s wild life, and that wasn’t about to calm down in the foreseeable future. Hell, why would I want it to? I was young, and I knew these days of fame and women weren’t going to last forever. I didn’t even want them to. But for now, it was fun. It was what my bandmates and I had worked so hard for.

I had to stick with women who knew the score. Women like Bella and Giselle. That way, I could live the life I wanted, free and as raunchy as all get-out, without worrying that I’d repeat past mistakes and hurt another woman the way I’d hurt Vanessa.

Back then, I’d had the excuse of being a snot-nosed, wide-eyed kid adjusting to a new life as a freaking rock star. Today, I had to be the man I was and do the right thing.

For myself.

And for Abby.

And that meant staying away from her.

By the time we finally got our asses on the six-hour stretch of road, it was already one p.m. Luckily, our roadies, rigging crew, and lighting technicians left twelve hours earlier than we did, so they were in San Francisco setting up our elaborate new stage before we even got the sleeper bus cranking. We wouldn’t be performing until after our opening act, Orifice, finished anyway. Our backup musicians were probably already on the road, too. Abby would be on that bus.

Despite the little “come to Jesus” talk I’d given myself earlier, I couldn’t stop thinking about her.

I wondered if she liked her flowers.

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