Page 11 of Rock Star

“How are your salad making skills?” he winked.

“Awesome,” I said, still stunned at the weird domesticity of this rock god.

He pointed toward the humungous fridge. “Lettuce and tomatoes are in there.”AxelWe took our plates out to the table on the deck and sat facing each other. I stared down at my guitar-string-calloused-fingers holding my knife. “So, tell me about yourself, Phoenix Johnson,” I said, lifting my gaze. “Is there a boyfriend who’ll miss you while we are on tour?”

She shook her head. “Just my parents.”

“We could fly them out for one of the concerts, if you like,” I said, surprising myself. There was something about this girl that was bringing out my sincere nice side, a side I didn’t often show to the world.

My balls had tingled when she’d intimated that she was single, which might be the reason for my sudden niceness. No way you’ll be inside her, I told my twitching cock. Shame, though; her body had fitted against mine perfectly while we’d sat next to each other on the piano stool.

Phoenix stared at me with worried eyes. “Thanks for the offer, Axel. But my parents don’t leave the apartment much these days.”

I speared a tomato with my fork. “Why?”

“No particular reason…” She was lying and I knew it.

I chewed a mouthful of hamburger, then swallowed. I’d find out. Maybe Jake had already run a background check on her but had omitted to tell us what was going down…

“Why the name Phoenix?” I asked.

“Why the name Axel?” she countered.

I laughed. “My mum was a Guns N’ Roses fan, but she preferred the Scandinavian spelling of my name.”

“My parents chose my name before they even conceived me.” A smile stole over her face. “They decided it would fit a boy or a girl.”

“It’s a cool name. Firebird, right?”

“Yeah. I’ve got a tattoo of one on my shoulder.” She giggled. “But it’s covered by my t-shirt.”

I wanted to reach over and pull the damn thing off her. “No doubt Camila will have you wearing skimpy sparkly dresses on stage. You won’t be able to hide it…”

“Oh. My. God. I’ve never worn a skimpy sparkly dress in my life.” Her voice had risen an octave. “There’s so much more to this gig than I ever imagined when I auditioned.”

“No regrets, I hope?”

“Hell, no.” Her smile was infectious. “I’m loving every minute so far.”

This was just the kind of talk I wanted from her. It would give me something to think about when I next tried to write.

Sudden lightness filled my chest as I realized that I hadn’t thought about my sister once since Phoenix had arrived. Which was good. I knew Ella wouldn’t have wanted me to dwell on the past. I was actually looking forward to writing again. First the words, and then the music— a catchy intro riff which we’d repeat throughout the song after every chorus. The band and I shared writing credits. But it was always me who came up with the initial ideas—they all contributed by layering them up before our producer had the final input—and I’d been dreading presenting them with the dark, dismal words that had been whirling around in my head these past several months.

I bit down on a smile. “Tell me more about yourself, Firebird.”

“What do you want to know?” She fixed me with a serious stare, like she’d guessed the importance of the matter.

“Any quirks?”

She giggled. “I’m a little OCD about stepping on the cracks in sidewalks. And, someone once told me it was unlucky to open an umbrella inside the house, so I avoid that at all cost.”

“Nice one.” I thought for a moment. “Likes and dislikes?”

“I’m scared of thunderstorms. Love cold weather.”

“You don’t get much of either in California.” I paused. “Where do you see yourself in five years?”

She glanced at me. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise.”

“I’ll love to be signed to a record label and fronting a band.”

Her words sounded so innocent, like she had no clue what that would involve. The crippling hours, the dedication, the giving up of a personal life.

The pressure…

“If you want it, you’ll need to be hungry for it,” I warned.

“I am.” She nodded. “Music is my life.”

“After the rigors of the tour, you might change your mind.”

Her face assumed a determined expression. “I won’t.”

We carried on eating, sharing information about our tastes in food (she liked Italian while I preferred Spanish), music (we were both slightly obsessed with Radiohead… best shit ever) and sport (I was a soccer fan whereas she was into American football).

After we’d finished our food, she helped me load up the dishwasher. She said she should be heading home, and I made a mental note to ask Jake for more info on her background. Everyone had secrets, and something told me she was hiding something. Not that I would use it against her.

---