Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) (25 page)

“Well, there’s this little matter of a rock concert I need
to play in about an hour...”

“Oh!” I cry, “We should go...”

“Do you want to come?” he asks.

“Of course I do, are you crazy?” I say, “I’ll watch from the
wings like last time.”

“Maybe,” he says, “But I think I have a better idea. Follow
me...”

We race off together, plunging into and through the sea of
photographers that follows us everywhere. But this time, they don’t scare me.
With Trent’s hand in mine and a guitar hanging across my shoulders, I feel
truly invincible.

Chapter Twenty

We scramble into the green room of the Hawk and Dove main stage.

Ellie’s cheeks are beautifully flushed after our mad dash
across the festival grounds. I can’t help but mirror her wide, beaming smile. I
knew that we’d sound great together, and that the audience would love us, but
even I didn’t expect our surprise collaboration to go over
that
well.

And here I was, worried that playing together might
complicate whatever relationship is springing up between us. Turns out, music
is just another expression of the fact that we’re a perfect fit.

Ellie throws her arms around my shoulder and brings her lips
to mine. I happily accept her kiss, grabbing her by the hips and drawing her
tightly against me. We’re the only ones in the little green room tent, and I
intend to take advantage of our momentary solitude.

I let a hand wander down Ellie’s round, sumptuous ass,
grazing along the back of her shapely leg...she doesn’t stop me. Her teeth
close lightly on my bottom lip, and I have to fight to keep myself from laying
her out in the grass right then and there. Every time I touch this girl, the
need to be close to her only intensifies. There’s no extinguishing my desire
for Ellie, but luckily enough, the feeling seems to be mutual.

“Trent,” she says, her breath warm against my neck, “I’ve
never felt like this after a show.”

“I should think not,” I grin, wrapping my arms around her
waist.

“How did you learn how to improv like that?” she asks,
peering up at me with bright eyes. “I felt like we were sharing one mind the
whole time we were playing. I mean, I know you’re more experienced with the
whole band thing...”

“Honestly Ellie,” I tell her, “That’s the first time I’ve
ever felt that on stage, too. That communication, I mean. It’s never been like
that with any band I’ve played with—not even with the guys I play with now. I
don’t know what to say...”

“Does that make me your first?” she smiles wickedly.

I let out a laugh. “I suppose it does,” I say, kissing down
her throat.

She lets out a little moan and presses herself harder up
against me. What I wouldn’t give to blow off my concert and whisk her off
somewhere a little more private. I imagine us hopping back into that jet and
taking off for the Virgin Islands, or Tahiti...or Siberia, for all I care, as
long as we can be alone together.

“They really loved us, didn’t they?” Ellie sighs happily.

“The audience? You bet your sweet ass they did,” I say.

“I really felt like they understood me,” she says, “I’ve
never experienced that before. Usually, it feels like only snippets of what I
mean are actually getting through to the audience. Like, they’re too distracted
by the costumes or the duo gimmick to get anything from my songs. But this
time...it’s like they were really with us every step of the way. No
distractions or anything.”

“Damn,” I say, “Could it be that there were no red suspenders
or stupid facial hair onstage to draw focus away from what was actually
important?”

She gives me a little punch on the arm, just to keep me in
line. “Be nice,” she says, “Mitch will find his way.”

“As long as he doesn’t expect that way to be at your side,
it’s fine by me,” I say, “Because the thing is, sweetheart, I’m calling dibs on
every single side you’ve got.”

“You’re a creep,” she laughs.

“Tell me about it,” I say, sliding my hands down the
curvature of those coveted sides of hers. “Do you have any idea how much of a
turn-on making music with you is?”

“Oh, I think I have an idea,” she says, leaning into me. I’m
sure she can feel me growing hard against her. “But darlin’...I think you’re
forgetting something at the moment.”

“What’s that?” I all but growl.

“You have another show to play. Like...right now,” she
reminds me.

“Ah, shit,” I sigh, putting a couple of healthy inches
between my stiffening groin and Ellie’s gorgeous body, “You’re right about
that. It’s completely unfair that I have to be somewhere other than on top of
you right now, though.”

“Be that as it may,” she says, taking a step back, “You do
have other people who are counting on you. They may not also double as
excellent bedmates, but your band mates still depend on you. Think you’re ready
to get out and play another set?”

“Are you going to be back in the wings?” I ask.

“Of course,” she says, “I wouldn’t miss it.”

“In that case,” I say, “I’m going to be just fine. Maybe you
could even come out and do a little surprise appearance?”

“Yeah, OK,” she laughs.

“I’m serious!” I tell her, “I’ll call you out for one of the
songs.”

“You think your band would be OK with that?”

“You’re forgetting something rather crucial,” I say, “Our
act is just Trent Parker, not Trent Parker and Friends. At the end of the day,
I’m still the one calling the shots.”

“How the hell do you manage to make arrogance so goddamn
sexy?” she asks, shaking her head in wonder.

“A lot of practice,” I tell her, “I’ve been looking out for
myself for most of my life. This whole ‘partner’ thing is kind of new.”

“For both of us,” she says.

I start to bring my lips to hers, but a raucous cheer
distracts us both. Kenny, Rodger, and Rodney come barreling into the tent,
whooping and hollering as they always do before a show. Ellie grins at them,
and the hint of shyness creeping through her smile makes my heart ache with
affection for her. This girl’s going to turn me into a huge softy if I’m not
careful—but it’s OK. That’s what take-no-prisoners stage personas are for.

“Trent! Since when do you play
music
music?” Kenny
bellows, slapping me on the back.

“You guys sounded awesome”! Rodger says, “I couldn’t believe
that was you up there, Trent.”

“After all these years of hard core screaming, who thought
you’d still be able to carry a tune?” Rodney puts in, “You were like...Like
fuckin’ Frank Sinatra or something up there!”

“You’re just saying that because he’s the only singer you
can name,” I reply.

“Maybe,” Rodney says, “But you get the point, right?”

Kenny turns reverently to Ellie, full of admiration. “And
you’re like...scary good.”

“Why thank you,” she laughs.

“I mean...I don’t even know how you could possibly sing that
well,” Kenny goes on, “And those words, too? They’re like...poetic and shit.”

“How eloquent,” I say, rolling my eyes.

“Look,” Rodney says, squeezing Kenny’s cheek, “You’ve made a
fangirl out of Kenny!”

“Hey c'mon,” Kenny grumbles, pulling away from Rodney, “I
was just being honest.”

“You guys think the fans will forgive Trent for playing with
me?” Ellie asks. She’s struggling to keep her tone light, but I know that she
has reservations she’s trying to mask.

“Oh, whatever,” Rodger says, “Screw anyone who’s got a
problem with it. People got down on Joni Mitchell when she went all jazzy, but
that didn’t change the fact that she’s a musical genius.”

“You like Joni Mitchell?” Ellie asks excitedly.

“Who doesn’t like Joni Mitchell?” Rodger replies.

“Straight men, generally,” Rodney guffaws.

Rodger draws himself up to his full height. “I happen to be
confident enough in my masculinity to admit that Joni Mitchell makes me all
gooey inside. So suck my balls, asshole.”

Rodney tackles Rodger to the grass, and Kenny falls into the
playful wrestling match as well. I shrug my shoulders at Ellie, but she doesn’t
seem the least perturbed.

As rambunctious and destructive as my band mates are, she’s
having no trouble at all fitting in. I imagine what it would be like to bring
Ellie along for a tour. The five of us, cruising around the country in the jet,
partying together—she and I sneaking off whenever we please. It’s a damn
appealing picture, I must say. But she’s still in school, with a plan of her
own. Who knows whether she’d even want to schlep around with us assholes?

“OK, OK, break it up,” I grumble, nudging the guys with my
foot, “You may have forgotten, but we have a show to go play.”

“Oh, right,” Kenny says, pulling himself up off the grass,
“Ready when you are, chief!”

“We’ve got the set list down,” Rodney says, sitting on the
grass like an oversized toddler.

“Let’s do this,” Rodger says.

“Wait a minute, guys,” I say, “I’ve got an idea for
something we can try tonight.”

“Ohhhhboy,” Rodger mumbles.

“In case you’ve forgotten, we’ve got the rare opportunity
here to play a show without having to answer to a manager afterwards,” I say,
“We can do whatever we want, play whatever we want, without any fear of having
to deal with some bullshit afterwards.”

“You’re right,” Kenny says, “It’s like Christmas morning!”

“So, what should we do?” Rodney asks.

“I think we should forget all the garbage we’ve been writing
to sell records,” I say, “We should get back to basics. Play the stuff that
earned us a fan base in the first place. I’m talking way back to our first
album—when we actually meant it.”

“Yeah!” Kenny cries, all but leaping in the air, “We can play
the hard stuff again. Really get people going.”

“That’s what I had in mind,” I say, “Let’s toss out the rule
book and start playing the kind of music we want to make, not the kind that’s
engineered to get us to the Top 40.”

“Hey, if they don’t like it, you’re the big name,” Rodney
says, “It’s no skin off my ass.”

“Nose,” Rodger says.

“Whatever,” Rodney mumbles.

“So, anything goes,” I say, drawing them all in for a
pre-show huddle. Ellie tries to give us some space, but I pull her in anyway.
She belongs here as much as anyone. With Ellie here, I feel a whole new source
of energy opening up to me. It’s a raw, unstoppable power that only comes from
knowing you have the support of the people who mean the most to you in the
world. I feel like I can do anything, just knowing that she’s here with me.

“Let’s make this one hell of a show!” I roar.

The guys answer with cheers and shouts of their own, and we
break to get to our places. I take Ellie’s hand and lead her back through a
maze of curtains and equipment. We come to the edge of the stage, and I take
her up in my arms. She kisses me deeply, letting her tongue glide against mine.
The surging sound of the crowd blocks out my low groan, but the vibration of it
moves through each of us. I pull away and see Ellie’s wide eyes shining in the
low light.

“Go get ‘em,” she grins, giving me a firm slap on the ass.

“You’re going to pay for that later,” I tell her.

“Is that a promise?” she asks.

“You bet is it,” I say, and turn toward the stage.

The lights blaze to life as I stride to center. The rush of
taking the stage never fades, no matter how many concerts I play. Every time,
that terrified little fourteen year old experiences a moment of ice cold panic,
followed by a rush of intense, indescribable power. I raise my arms up to the
crowd and let their applause and cheering rush over me like a crashing wave.
I’m the conduit for their energy, the source and the beacon of everything
they’re feeling. For this fraction of time, I feel like more than a man.

I grab a standing mic and drag it across the stage,
screaming as I go, “Hawk and Dove! Are you ready for one last show?” A roar of
sound erupts through the air in response. “We’re holding nothing back tonight.
No half measures, no way. We’re going back to the very beginning, back to the
music that made you lose your minds for us in the first place. How about that?”

A massive swell of noise bursts, and a wild grin spreads
across my face.

My band mates are waiting, poised at their instruments.
Every cell of every body onstage is pumping with energy begging to be expressed
in song. I look back at Ellie and catch her staring at me with a rapturous
glint in her eyes. Her excitement puts me right over the edge.

I lean back and bringing the mic to my mouth, letting loose
with a wild, throaty, animal yell. The pent up aggression and pain and joy that
have been muddled for so long by catchy refrains and ticket sales rip through
me now, filling the entire sky with blazing, unmitigated fury.

I stalk across the stage, right up to the very edge. A sea
of people roils before me, moved by our every note, my every primal grunt and
cry. I reach out to the up-stretched hands, drawing more and more energy from
the desperate, exuberant excitement of my fans.

In the center of the crowd, I watch as an enormous gap opens
up. Bodies fly into the abyss, arms swinging, legs kicking. The mosh pit grows
and surges, people throw themselves into the dangerous fray left and right. I’m
suddenly tempted to join them down there, among the thrashing limbs and furious
movement. It’s been so long since I’ve felt like this at a show, like anything
in the world could happen.