Page 83 of Dirty Rock

“And sober.” Coops frowned, leaning closer to get a better look at me. “Have you… shaved?”

“Fuck me, I think he has,” Big D gasped.

“Look at his jeans,” Hawk piped up, pointing at my pants.

“Have I got a boner on for you already?” I asked, making each of them huff out a rough round of laughter before Hawk shook his head, catching my eyes and holding them accusingly.

“They’re clean. No spills. No smokes. No stains.”

“I’m always clean!”

“Not that clean,” Coops agreed with Hawk as he pinched the T-shirt I was wearing. He ran his finger down the edge of it. “Is this fuckingironed?”

I thought of Julia standing in my hotel room that morning wearing nothing but a G-string and a lace bra as she used the hotel’s iron and ran over her shirt on the board. She’d glanced up at me as I tugged a load of crinkled stuff out of my bag, and she’d shaken her head and simply held her hand out for me to pass them to her. I’d given her my things before I’d dropped a kiss of gratitude to her soft, swollen lips,and then I’d sang Fleetwood Mac’sGold Dust Womanto her.

“Fuck. Me… what is that smile?” Hawk asked sharply, pulling my back to the present.

“What?” I laughed.

“Did you go to rehab while we were apart?” Coops asked, serious.

“You got me. Rehab. It was a crash course. Pay triple the price, spend a week sweating and shaking, then boom! You no longer want to drink Peroni for breakfast or neck Smirnoff with dinner. I thought you boys would be happy.”

“I like it.” Presley smirked.

“You can fuck off, too,” I said, turning my back on them and dropping myself down on one of the leather sofas. I dragged the rucksack from the top of the coffee table and tucked it in between my feet. Glancing the guys’ way, I waited for them all to join me.

They did.

As did Dicky not long after.

We were reunited, going through our upcoming schedule, talking about our plans, hopes, and dreams for the next album. Big D wanted us to speed things up—to put out an album that would shout from the rooftops who we were and why we weren’t to be messed with. He wanted Presley to showcase some drum solos, pitting hardcore rock against lyrics that shouldn’t work. Lyrics about love, heartbreak, and what it feels to keep you alive. Coops had tried to write a couple of tracks, too, but the ones he showed us were… okay. One in particular not one of us fucking understood, but Coops was adamant he wanted to try it out once we all got back behind the instruments. Hawk admitted to feeling pretty uninspired and flat. He was convinced that the Devil’s Doormat tour and album was something we would struggle to top. Dicky shouted at him on several occasions, warning that pessimism would not be tolerated on the first day of our next chapter. Apart from a few nods and grunts here and there, I’d stayed pretty quiet, leaning back on the sofa with one arm over the back of it while my other hand held smoke after smoke after smoke, and my knees jiggled in waiting.

Where is she?

That’s all I could fucking think about.

I could still smell her on my skin.

I could taste her pretty little tongue, feel the harsh yet soft texture of her beautiful nipples between my teeth.

It was after a few hours that I realised one thing to be true:

I was fucking nervous.

Nervous about her returning to me in front of the guys, and about keeping it secret. I was nervous that I’d fuck it all up with my big mouth, badly timed jokes, and overenthusiastic need to just… kiss her.

Do you know what I love most about them? I love how Presley always gets so nervous before Tess walks into a room. He got weaker and she grew stronger. It was incredible to see the way love changed them both.

“Rhett?”

My head snapped to the side, where Dicky was staring at me like I had three heads. His elbows were resting on his knees, hands hanging limply between his legs.

“What?” I croaked, clearing my throat and sitting up as I released a long stream of smoke up towards the ceiling.

“If you could pay attention, that would be great.”

I rubbed a tired eye and yawned. “Sorry.”

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