Page 75 of Spark

When Cooper’s out the door and presumably led somewhere to take a break and simmer down, Kendrick returns to the mic. To the band behind him, he shouts, “Awesome job, guys! C-Bomb, you’re going to put me out of a job, man. That was better than my version.” As the musicians behind Kendrick variously salute him and wave to the crowd, and then start exiting the stage, Kendrick returns to the mic with a wide smile and shouts to the rabid crowd, “I’m gonna play drums now. Cool with you?”

The crowd cheers wildly, letting him know that’s very, very cool with them.

“Get up here, fellas.” Kendrick motions to Savage and the two guys next to him at the side of the stage for a quick changing of the guard.

Still shirtless, Kendrick, now sitting at the drumkit, counts off the tempo with four clicks of his sticks, and a second later,all four guys launch into playing yet another iconic hit that doesn’t belong to any of them: “Shaynee” by none other than C-Bomb’s band, Red Card Riot.

Everyone screams, since it’s now clear Kendrick is playing a game of tit-for-tat with the last drummer to sit behind that drumkit. And not only that, he’s doing it with one of the most iconic songs in modern music history.

“Shaynee” isn’t a dance track like “Hate Sex High,” even though it has a danceable, crashing beat. But it doesn’t matter, because it’s now become one of those songs that’s so damned famous and singable, it’s a party must.

As I watch Kendrick putting his own unique spin on C-Bomb’s well-known drum parts, I’m mesmerized by his talent and the expert movements of his gorgeous body. Not to mention the scowl on his handsome face as he plainly feels the angsty lyrics of Dean Masterson’s first verse, currently being delivered by Savage at the front mic.

Whenever I perform with our band, I’m way too busy delivering my own parts to study what Kendrick is doing to my right at the drumkit. But now, getting to watch him performing this tortured banger as a fan, I’m blown away by his expertise, charisma, and musicianship.Kendrick Cook’s a goddamned rockstar.

I always forget that, since he’s been a close friend for so long. Like a brother to me. At least, that’s what I always tell myself and anyone else who winks and asks if there’s ever been anything more than friendship between us. But standing here now, it’s like I’m seeing Kendrick for the first time again. Only this time, as the swaggy, confident, insanely talented twenty-eight-year-old he’s become, rather than the sweet, quiet teenager with football dreams who could barely say hello to me twelve years ago.

The song is barreling toward its first chorus now, and everyone on the dance floor is holding their collectivebreath in anticipation of Savage wailing the titular name of the song, “Shayneeeeee!” with everything he’s got. But when the time comes, much to everyone’s surprise, Savage changes the world-famous lyric to his wife’s name, instead.

“Laaaaaiiiilllaaa!” Savage wails into his mic, sounding every bit as tortured and heartbroken as Dean on the original track. Not surprisingly, every person in the packed party loses it at the name change, but nobody more so than Laila herself, who’s standing next to me looking like she’s having veritable stroke.

The song progresses, and when the second chorus is imminent, we’re all ready for the name change—poised to wail Laila’s name along with Savage this time. But of course, the world’s favorite unhinged superstar does something unpredictable, this time, calling to Kendrick banging on the drums behind him, “Sing it for them, KC!”

Without missing a beat in his furious, crashing drumming, Kendrick wails from the depths of his very soul, “Rubbbbbyyyyyyyyy!” And again, every partygoer in the building simultaneously loses their shit.

I can’t believe Kendrick did that! I feel like I just got shot out of a cannon. Indeed, I’m so swept away and overcome in this moment, I have to grip Laila’s arm to keep myself from crumpling to the ground in an orgasmic, feral, lust-drunk heap. Yes, I’ve played stadiums and arenas with that man and our band. But in this moment, I feel like a groupie. A fangirl. The president of the Kendrick Cook Fan Club. In fact, the way my body’s reacting to the sound of my name pouring out of Kendrick’s mouth, I might as well be a high schooler at a rockstar meet-and-greet.

Without warning, Laila grabs me by the arm and drags me, rather forcefully, through the packed crowd to the edge of the stage with Miranda in tow; and that’s where our trio proceeds to fangirl, scream, and jump around, like we’re experiencing areligious rebirth at a Baptist revival. And the best part? Without missing a beat in his playing, Kendrick keeps on staring at me with that same, hot smolder of his, the one that’s now causing a specific kind of throbbing and dampness between my legs.

The bridge hits, cueing some famously tricky drum work, and Kendrick rises to the occasion and nails C-Bomb’s complex combination with ease and gusto.

Finally, the song reaches its final crashing, heart-wrenching chorus, and I can’t help wondering—along with everyone around me, surely—“Who’s going to sing the famous chorus this time?And what name will he sing?Will it be Kendrick again, singingmyname?”

Quickly, I get my answer, at least to that last part, when Kendrick yells into his mic, even before the chorus hits, “Peace out, guys!” With that abrupt farewell, he lays down his drumsticks, lurches from his stool, and leaps off the edge of the stage like a madman, landing right next to me on the dance floor. But since the remaining musicians onstage are pros, they simply carry on with the song, despite losing their drummer to provide the driving beat.

As Kendrick strides toward me, looking like a man possessed, Savage onstage wails the original lyrics of the song for the first time of the performance: “Shayneee!”

Kendrick reaches for me with both arms, his blue eyes blazing, so I wordlessly throw my arms around his neck, rise up onto my tippy toes, and shout, “Kendrick, that was?—”

I don’t get to finish my sentence. But I’m not complaining. Before I get another word out, Kendrick crushes me into him and urgently smashes his mouth to mine.

Without hesitation, I return his kiss furiously. Like my life depends on it. And Kendrick reacts to my extreme enthusiasm by sliding a greedy hand into my hair and deepening the kiss with near-desperate passion. Even as my body explodes withdesire, it occurs to me Cooper’s not here to witness this. Which means Kendrick must not be kissing me for show, like he did at his birthday party. That’s especially true, since everyone had to check their phones. No, this time, he’s most definitely kissing me for real.And I’m right there with him.

As our bodies cleave together and our kiss intensifies, I feel Kendrick’s rock-hard bulge pressed against me—and it’s a sensation that turns me on even more. He grips my back as his tongue and lips invade and devour, and I’m quickly so aroused, I raise my leg and rest it on his thigh, desperate to feel his hard bulge pressed against a certain spot on my body that’s throbbing like crazy.

Looking punch drunk on feral lust and visibly twitching with arousal and adrenaline, Kendrick breaks free of our kiss. With almost maniacal energy, he gestures to the bass player onstage, who throws Kendrick his crumpled clothes in reply, and as the band reaches the very last bars of the song without the benefits of a drummer, Kendrick grips my hand and pulls me toward a hallway on the opposite side of the room from where Cooper was dragged out only a few minutes ago.

21

KENDRICK

As I pull Ruby out of the packed party and into an unfamiliar hallway in Reed’s hotel-like home, I’m euphoric. Breathless. Dizzy. Out of my head and experiencing a kind of natural high I’ve only ever felt playing for tens of thousands of screaming fans. Except this high is even better. Far better. In fact, that kiss with Ruby made me feel so fucking delirious, I almost creamed my pants during the thick of it. Damn. I thought the kiss with Ruby at my birthday party was mind-blowing. But this one blew it out of the water.

Ruby.

Ruby, Ruby, Ruby.

She’s the only girl I’ve ever truly loved. I know that now, without a doubt, and I fully accept it. I’m done trying to deny it or stuff it down. Done playing games. Fuck what Savage told me to do. I know he only wanted to help me, but fuck the games he told me to play with Ruby. The manipulations he convinced me would be necessary to get what I want.

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