Page 6 of Rock Strong

I gave her a once-over. She looked pretty hot tonight in tight jeans, a perfect, fitted tank that hugged her boobs, and lots of necklaces tangled in her cleavage. I’d touched them once. The boobs, not the necklaces. Sophomore year. But I’d been drunk, and we’d both laughed it off. “I was upstairs getting a blow job. Blew my load all over her face. It was fucking awesome. You?” I knew the answer would disgust her, but that should teach her not to ask where I’d been anymore.

“Bullshit.” She called my bluff. “You’re going home. Nothing happened.”

My chest deflated. “How’d you know that?”

Helen scoffed, shook her head. “You think you know a person.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means, whenever you have sex, you stay in bed till at least noon the next day with said person. If you’re leaving early, it’s because you’re tired and want to sleep undisturbed.”

“Am I that transparent?” My eyebrows flared.

“To me, you are.” There was the girl I was used to, though there was something in her face tonight that tipped me off.

Something had changed. I just wasn’t sure what it was. Had she met someone? Did he not feel the same way? Was that why she seemed so gloomy? I knew I should be a good friend and ask her. But right then, I just wanted my bed and some sleep. “Okay, well, I’m heading out.”

Her eyes narrowed, and she swirled around the contents of her glass—Jack and Coke, most likely. “Need someone to go with you?” she asked suggestively.

Uh…what? Sleeping with a warm body would be nice, and Helen did know me better than anyone, but we weren’t bed buddies. Maybe she was just lonely and wanted someone to cuddle with, but if she was that vulnerable, I didn’t want to risk leading her on. I’d never thought of her that way before. She was just Helen, my best friend since middle school—no more, no less.

“Thanks, man,” I said, “but I’m really shot. Don’t want anything tonight but my own company and some z’s.”

“That why you got a blow job?”

I forced a laugh. “I was kidding about that.”

Helen stared at me for a second before her face relaxed. “Ah, I’m good for it. I’ll see you at the buses tomorrow. Can I ride with you this time, or are you going to make me ride with the merch crew again?”

“Uhhhh…” I stammered. Well, she was our merch manager. Was this a trick question?

“You know what? Forget I asked. See you tomorrow, Lee.” She punched my arm and dragged away, thumping the wall softly as she disappeared down the hall. My head was spinning with confusion. For a second, I wanted to go after her, but then decided I’d talk to her tomorrow, when I wasn’t so tired.

Outside Robbie’s house, the valet brought my Suzuki GSX-R600 and handed me my helmet. “Thanks.” I slipped a fifty into his hand and straddled the bike.

Before I took off, though, I sat there thinking about the weirdness of the evening— wanting to chat with the cello player, not wanting to partake of Bella’s talents, and Helen acting different. All of a sudden, it hit me. There was something I’d been wanting to do all night. Since I met Abby. Poor girl must think all rock musicians were assholes, the way Tucker behaved. I wanted to send her something to change her mind. To reassure her there was no reason to regret taking the job and going on tour with us.

I hesitated, though. Any gesture I made could be misconstrued, could lead Abby on just as much as I feared cuddling and snoozing with Helen could do to her. But no, that was different. I wasn’t talking about having physical contact with Abby here.

I only wanted to be a good boss. To right a wrong, not marry her.

She’d see that.

Pulling out my phone, I summoned Siri’s help.

Chapter 3

Abby

Rosemary rosined her bow like she wanted to kill it—hard. She was fierce this morning, ready to practice the second half of Save Me Tonight over and over again, until she got it perfect. This was her MO—beating the composition to death until it was emblazoned in her mind. She sliced the bow along her violin’s open G, then D, then A, then E strings, tuned the pegs, then tweaked the fine-tuners. Clouds of dusty rosin floated into the rays of light filtering in through the hotel blinds.

“Something wrong?” I pulled my cello out of its case, eyeing Rosemary carefully.

She rested the violin on her knee, gripping it by the neck. “I can’t believe he talked to you as long as he did.”

She didn’t have to clarify who she was talking about. There’d been only one man who’d talked to me recently who mattered. Liam Collier. The same man I’d been thinking and dreaming about since we’d met.

Thinking how…sweet he’d been.

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