Southern Rocker Boy (Southern Rockers Book 1) (10 page)

Lacy said as little to me as was humanly possible. What she did say amounted to barked orders for me to follow, like I was some paid flunky she had to tolerate. I didn’t like it but I took it. I understood where she was coming from. She thought I was encroaching on her dream, which was obviously very important to her, second only to the man who owned her heart.

“
Do you love him
?” I had asked.

“
More than music
,” she had replied, with a conviction I could never muster if I wasn’t talking about my family.

I dutifully played guitar and followed where she led. It only seemed to piss her off more.

I had never seen the Thursday night crowd at Southern Nights before, but I wasn’t surprised that it wasn’t as jam-packed as the weekends. I wasn’t expecting how hard they would be to win over. It had always seemed fairly easy before, but it was clear Lacy was in a mood where she simply didn’t give a damn. She was going to take out her aggression on stage. She wore her jeans and a corset over a T-shirt, clearly in defiance of the sexy image that Gay was trying to hone between the two of us.

In fact I barely knew the guy who looked back at me from the mirror. The beard was starting to fill in nicely, which was a far cry from the nice, clean-cut image I had always preferred. I looked like a bad boy ready to pounce, as evidenced by the sizable bulge in my jeans. I wore another sleeveless tee, which showed my hard-working biceps as I played. The ladies loved it all, screaming for me every time I walked to the edge of the stage. So I paid them special attention, trying to get them nice and loud, to goose the lifeless crowd.

The more they clamored for me, the madder Lacy got. She ended the set with “
Bad Reputation
,” and I had to race to keep up, given this was one of the songs I didn’t know all that well, and the guitar work was aggressive and relentless. It was like she was challenging all of us. When it was over, she kicked the mic stand over with a resounding thud that sent feedback through the speakers around the club.

I barely put away the guitar before I was sprinting down the steps to follow her. Again I muscled in to the dressing room behind her.

“What the fuck was that?” I demanded at once.

“That was me,” she announced. “That’s who I am as an artist.”

“Bullshit,” I said. “That’s who you are as a spoiled little brat.”

“Fuck you!” she spat.

I held out my arms. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

She swung at me, which I caught. She swung her other hand, which I caught as well. She was breathing hard as I folded her arms behind her back and brought her body against mine. Her eyes fell to my mouth the same moment mine fell to hers. Slowly I brought her up my body until we were face to face.

“So tell me, Princess,” I said softly. “Are you pissed I’m in the band? Or are you pissed that the ladies love me in the band?”

She chortled. “You’re certainly full of yourself.
Ace
,” she added spitefully.

I chuckled softly. I knew she could feel every single contour of my body. “You still haven’t told me I’m wrong.”

She struggled against me but I held her fast. “Let me go, you asshole,” she gritted.

I captured her eyes with mine, losing myself in their depths.

“Jonah,” she finally said, and I was done for after that. I crushed my mouth on hers. I expected her to slap me or push me away. Instead she almost immediately opened to deepen the kiss. All my resolve, and my honor, dissipated. I released her arms, which snaked around my neck. I lifted her up until her legs locked behind my hips. Lost in her kiss, I kept walking until we slammed up against the wall of the dressing room. We could hear the pulsating beat of music just outside those walls, and the noisy crowd just a heartbeat away. That didn’t stop her from tearing my shirt up my chest and away from my body. I ripped that T-shirt away until her creamy skin was bared in the corset she wore. When I dove into her smooth neck, her fingers clasped handfuls of hair.

She moaned and I carried her to the couch just a few steps away. We tumbled together. I landed on top of her and she wrapped her body around me as she pulled me closer for a deeper kiss.

It was as though she had been starving for the touch and kiss of a man. She couldn’t get enough.

Neither could I. She smelled sweet, like a meadow of flowers, and her skin, though scarred with more tattoos than I could count, was smooth as silk under my hands. I was just about to free her breasts from the satiny corset she wore when someone came pounding on the dressing room door.

It was someone that wouldn’t be ignored.

I cursed as I fell away, snatching my shirt from the floor just as the door opened. Gaynell barged in, madder than a wet hen, until she saw the disheveled state we were in.

“In my office,” she commanded before she turned to leave. “Now!”

I handed Lacy her hoodie, which she took without a word. I shadowed her through the crowd as we headed upstairs.

Lacy entered Gay’s office first. I followed and shut the door behind me. Gaynell was pacing in front of her desk. She spun on us. “I don’t give one rat’s ass what you do outside this club, but when you’re here, you’re mine. Got it?”

We both nodded. Lacy looked more contrite than I did, if that was possible.

“I’m going to be in charge of the set list this weekend. And the wardrobe,” she added, glaring at Lacy. “Shows like tonight can’t ever happen again, not if you really want to see yourselves headline a club. So you’re hot for each other. Great. Chemistry sells tickets. But you leave your drama at home where it belongs. Understood?”

Again we both nodded. “Dismissed,” she added.

I followed Lacy back to the dressing room. She stopped me at the door. “I should change,” she offered without looking at me.

I nodded before I stepped back from the door frame and left her to it. She reemerged minutes later, dressed down in her jeans, her hair up under her hat, her hoodie covering her bare, and luscious, skin. I stepped inside and closed the door, quickly changing from the jeans and shirt I wore for the show to another pair of jeans and shirts that were more appropriate and better fitting.

I wasn’t sure she would be there waiting for me when I opened the door. My heart leapt when I saw that she was. I said nothing as she stepped inside to grab her backpack.

She didn’t ask me to walk her to her car, and I didn’t offer. I just did it. We remained quiet and thoughtful until we stopped beside our vehicles, which had been parked next to each other. Finally she looked up at me. “I’m sorry about that, Jonah.”

I shuddered at the sound of my name on her lips, but I simply nodded. “Me, too.” I swallowed hard. “I don’t want to make things more complicated for you.”

“You, either,” she said.

I stared into those eyes that so captivated me. I had fallen hard for her in the short time we’d known each other, and it was pointless. It was hopeless. But I could no more deny it than forget to breathe. She had felt like heaven in my arms. If Gaynell hadn’t interrupted, I likely would have taken her right there in the dressing room, on a tattered old leather couch. This woman left me without reason. It was a dangerous place to be. But we were stuck together for the foreseeable future. At this point, though, it was all damage control.

I couldn’t wreck her chances to make her dreams come true. And I couldn’t take her from someone she loved, even if it was clear she was starving for love in return.

And I couldn’t walk away from Southern Nights, even if it was the smartest thing to do for my heart and my head. For my family, I had to make it work.

I held out a hand. “Truce?”

She stared at my hand for a long minute before she accepted it. Finally she slipped her soft, tiny hand in mine. “Truce,” she said.

Neither of us let go as we stared into each other’s eyes. She pulled away first and slipped soundlessly into her car. I stared after her long after it had rambled away.

Leah was still awake when I got home that night. I gave her a mock scowl. “You should be asleep, Peanut.”

“Like I could sleep!” she said. “I want to hear all about it. Did you sing?”

I shook my head. “Not yet.”

“Did any screaming fans throw their underwear on stage?”

I laughed. “For someone who has never been to a concert, you have definite ideas of what goes on there.”

“I watch TV,” she explained. “Are you going to sing tomorrow?”

I thought about the upcoming weekend with a tug in my gut. “I don’t know.”

Her face fell. “You’re not changing your mind, are you?”

I offered a helpless shrug. “It’s not me, Leah. I was born to work on a farm. Like Daddy.”

“Bullshit,” she said.

“Leah!” was my shocked reprisal.

“You love to sing more than anything,” she said. “Your face lights up with a joy I never saw when you came in from the fields.”

I thought about that. She was absolutely right. Picking that old guitar and singing for my audience of one was usually the highlight of my day. But I always thought it was because it was one of the things in her sheltered life that brought her happiness. It had never occurred to me until that moment that what truly made her happy was the joy I felt when I performed.

Maybe, for Leah, it was just like what I felt when I heard Lacy sing.

It was magic.

I ruffled Leah’s hair. “How’d you get so smart, Peanut?”

“I listened to Daddy,” she said, melting my heart. I reached for a long hug. That night I played the Bob Seger tune for her that Gay wanted to include in the set. Except this time when I sang it, I sang it for the pure love of singing it. I thought about Daddy, sitting on that old log by the stream that cut through our property. He strummed that old guitar as best as he could as he sang the lyrical poetry with such feeling it was like he had written the words himself. I sang about the glory of youth, the mystery of sex, and the inevitably of it all coming to an end.

By the time I finished, Leah clapped her hands. “Best ever,” she said.

“You’re the best ever,” I told her as I kissed her on the forehead.

The next day was a Friday, which meant that Mama was finishing up her workweek, so I stayed with Leah. She begged me to take her to the park, but I was hesitant after her last illness. “Next week,” I promised.

Instead we spent the next day practicing my song. She told me to do it in front of a mirror, but I found that too distracting. It was better I didn’t know how much I was giving away during a performance. Otherwise I might be tempted to hold back. I just wanted to sing from the heart and genuinely connect with other people.

I prepared dinner for Mama and Leah by the time she got home from work that evening. She walked in the door at five-thirty, and I walked out of the door at five-thirty-two. I knew it was crazy to rush to the club to see Lacy, but I couldn’t stop myself even if I wanted to. We were united in the music if nowhere else, and I couldn’t wait to perform with her again.

I got to the club before she did, which left me somewhat listless. I decided to spend my nerves on rehearsal instead. The other guys were already there, so we test-drove my solo song. It made everyone in the joint stop to pay attention, which was unnerving enough.

Then I spotted Lacy in the back corner, nursing a bottle of water as she watched me. She looked pained, though I couldn’t presume to know why.

She couldn’t be threatened, not when her talent so surpassed my own.

Was she feeling the same longing I was, for something equally as forbidden? I thought about how she tasted and how she felt. It made the lyrics I sang even more poignant. Several employees clapped when I was done. Lacy finally made her way on stage. “That was good,” she said softly.

“I take that as a high compliment, coming from you,” I said.

She nodded before she turned to the songbook. She had decided to tackle a Janis Joplin tune, which utilized my guitar. We sat for at least an hour, her on her stool, me on mine, as she sang about a long-lost love affair. Her voice was so rich, layered with the kind of torment that sculpts an artist. I believed her heartbreak, even though I knew she was happily in love.

Or did I?

I started to wonder how happy she was as she sang. She could step in and out of a character like she was stepping in and out of a pair of jeans. But there was something deeply hurt in this girl. She wasn’t just singing about a lover long gone… she was speaking about love long gone.

And she was every inch a star as she sat there in her faded T-shirt and her ripped blue jeans, her wild hair obscured by her knit cap. She wore sneakers on her feet and silver rings on almost every single finger, with a cuff on one wrist and a watch on the other. She looked like some mall rat, but her voice was damn near angelic as she belted the end of that song, stopping everyone in earshot so they could hear her sing.

I was speechless when it was over. I would have given anything to take her into my arms and kiss her for a job well done. She was so amazing that I just wanted to be a part of her … just for a second.

We stared at one another for a long moment before she turned back to the book. “Want to try a duet next?” she asked.

“Sure,” I managed.

She opened the book to a Lady Antebellum song that painfully detailed every iota of longing I felt for this woman. I knew the song well, having heard it in clubs and bars and on the radio when I fell asleep alone in my bed at night. But until I met Lacy, no face had ever filled in the person those lyrics could belong to.

Now it was only her.

It had always been her.

It made me nearly weak in the knees when she sang them to me. When we joined together on the chorus, it was as intimate as taking her into my arms. I relished how our voices blended in near perfect harmony without trying to.

It stopped every single person around us, including Gaynell, who watched us thoughtfully from one of the tables where she worked on the duty assignment list for the night.

In that song I could say everything I wanted to say to this unattainable angel. Best of all, she could sing back all the things I wanted to hear. It was the shortest five minutes of my life. We were met with resounding applause when we faded out. Gaynell walked to the stage, her hand to her chin, as she evaluated the possibilities of our performance. “Sing it Saturday,” she said before she walked away.

She didn’t wait for our confirmation. It was simply understood we would follow where she directed.

I turned back to Lacy, who was scanning the book for another song.

But I couldn’t imagine a song more perfect, despite our lack of a pianist or keyboard player to round out the accompaniment.

By the time the doors opened that night, we had narrowed it down to a three-song set, which included the Joplin tune, a Heart classic and “Join Together,” by the Who. It was the only song I would be required to provide vocals, as a sort of ‘introduction’ to the band.

I was nervous as I dressed in my standard bicep-baring shirt and tight jeans. Despite how Gay micromanaged what Lacy wore, she kept me in clothes I could wear on and off stage. It seemed to annoy Lacy, who glanced over my attire with a curled lip before heading into the dressing room to dress into something more provocative than she’d ever dare wear willingly.

She wore leather pants, studded boots and a buttoned down shirt tied at the waist, buttoned down nearly as far. It enflamed my desire when she brushed by me, smelling of freshly watered flowers. I followed her onto the darkened stage as we assumed our places.

“Give a warm Southern Nights welcome to Blaze!” Gay bellowed before the lights all burst to life at once, two of the white spotlights right on Lacy and me as we sat at our stools center stage. I assumed we’d have to struggle to get the rowdy crowd’s attention with the slower, classic song, but from the minute I started strumming, people flocked around the stage. The minute she opened her mouth I knew we had ‘em. I knew she knew it too by the wink she spared. She looked like a hippie transported right from the 1970s, an old soul we were all blessed to hear. I think she channeled Janis halfway through the song. She really let go in a way I had never seen her. The crowd responded in kind. I stared at her while she sang. I didn’t even bother to hide my open adoration of her. I was in awe, and had been from the first time I heard her sing.

We skipped the piano part and went right into the guitar solo, which made the girls in the crowd squeal in appreciation. We abandoned our stools to work the crowd and barely gave them time to catch their breath before I took over the guitar intro of “
Crazy on You
.” 

I switched from acoustic to electric guitar mid-song, which drove the girls even wilder. I would make eye contact with different girls, holding their gaze until they were screaming for me as I played.

Lacy walked over to me, to croon the lyrics to me like a woman possessed by her desire. I threw myself into the illusion as I reached the solo, singing backup even though I hadn’t practiced doing so.

“How y’all doing tonight?” Lacy asked the crowd. It was the first time I remembered her doing so. Before, she had kept guard of that wall between the singer and the audience with iron vigilance. Now she opened up, and the audience responded in kind.

“Gonna end our set,” she said, which caused immediate booing at the idea before she could even finish her sentence. “But we’re going to sing a classic I know y’all know. So sing along. Everyone in the band is going to join together.” She glanced back at me. “Ladies, meet Jonah.”

They went absolutely berserk as I walked to join her center stage as the drummer, Lee, employed a mouth harp to start the song. Lacy and I launched into the lyrics together, our voices strong and clear, with the band joining in behind us, each powerful voice rising right up to the rafters.

She held out the microphone so that the crowd could sing along. I did likewise on my side of the stage, winking at each lovely lady who belted out the lyrics the minute I knelt closer. It was a festive way to close our part of the show, and it definitely left the crowd wanting more.

Lacy was quiet as she hurried offstage. I trotted to keep up with her. “Great show,” I said.

She nodded as she looked up at me. “You, too.”

We stopped by the dressing room door. “I hope it wasn’t too…,” I said, trailing off, uncertain suddenly what exactly I was trying to apologize for.

She shook her head. “It was okay. I mean I guess it’s going to have to be, right?”

Both of us fell silent. I knew she wasn’t happy with our being thrown together. I never wanted to muscle in on her glory, no matter how it felt when the crowd clamored for me. That was all incidental to having an excuse to be near her. If she had been free, I might have just told her that.

But she wasn’t free. And I wasn’t a home-wrecker.

Not yet, anyway.

I watched helplessly as she disappeared behind the door. Rather than wait there like a pathetic dog looking for scraps, I decided to go back out onto the stage to pack up my gear. The feature act that night was a man who sang and played guitar, so I was free for the night once I put my instruments away. I didn’t figure anyone would pay the guy on the darkened stage much attention, but a couple of girls had parked by the stage, their glasses of half-empty margaritas right beside them where they waited.

“There he is,” one said to the other.

“Hey, Jonah,” the other said, trying to call me over to where they stood. “You were really good tonight.”

“Thanks,” I said, adding the “darlin’,” for effect. It did its job and made her giggle.

Her friend wanted in on that action. “You gonna be playing here tomorrow?”

“Yep,” I said. Finally I walked over to where they stood. I knelt down. “You gonna come see me?”

She blushed, giggled and looked away. “I’ll sing you a song,” I promised before I gave her a wink. They both shuffled away, leaning close, giggling together. I had to smile to myself as I stepped off the stage.

The door to the dressing room was open and Lacy was nowhere to be seen. I sighed as I shut the door behind me and pulled off my shirt. If only it had been that easy to turn her head. My heart raced when I heard the knock at the door, but it opened to Jacinda, not Lacy. She offered a beer. “From your new fans,” she said with a smirk as she glanced down my naked torso. She pushed her way in and shut the door behind her. “Although I call dibs as president of your fan club.”

I laughed. “You’re not a subtle gal, are you?”

She stepped closer. “When I know what I want, I go after it.” She touched my chest, and I didn’t stop her.

The door opened again and Lacy raced in to fetch her forgotten backpack. She stared at me where I stood half-naked in the middle of the room, her eyes darting to Jacinda in surprise. “Sorry,” she said as she ducked her head and grabbed her bag.

She was gone before I could do anything about it. “Me, too,” I muttered before I slipped into another shirt, much to Jacinda’s disappointment.

“Still trying to melt the ice princess, cowboy?”