One Kiss from the King of Rock (The One 2)

The Grumpy Fiddler was a time warp. When they walked in through the delivery bay into the back of house area it was like they’d stepped into a time-traveling Tardis that broke down in 1980.

“Do you think they’ve ever vacuumed?” Jay ran the tip of his boot over the carpet in the dressing room. It was an indescribable color. It might once have been green, or maybe that was mold.

Abel wiped a finger to the wall and it came up black. “What?” He rubbed it on his jeans, “And spoil the ambience created from the desperation of hundreds of bands who’ve come to play here, not knowing if they’ll win or lose, earn respect or—”

“Get out alive,” said Isaac.

“Or have their gear stolen out of their shitty broken-down van,” said Oscar, in what was the longest sentence he’d spoken in Jay’s hearing.

“Sucks,” Isaac said. “Evie is the worst for suggesting this.”

Evie was an evil genius and a sexual temptress and Jay could hardly wait to see her. “I love it. This is where we decided we wanted this life. And where we proved we had the right stuff to go for it.” That last comment was a risk. It could easily return some dig about how far Jay had gone alone.

Abel nodded. “I’m glad we’re here. I’m glad you’re back. Fucked if I understand why you quit on us.”

And that was about as deep as it was going to get. It was forgiveness and it’d come because foul carpet and nostalgia were powerful incentives and Jay would lay money down on Evie knowing that. He’d lay at her feet if she’d let him kiss her lips and get in her pants tonight.

Ah hell, he’d lay at her feet just to have her be mean to him. Who knew nostalgia and the idea of checking her for other tattoos and piercings would be such a turn on?

They were all on the same page when they hit the stage—pumped, until Abel did the intro and hit a wall of who the fuck cares. It was like being dumped into an ice bath. It stung the crap out of them. It ripped their egos into bits, all the pretense. It rocked them right back to their beginning in a way that not even shitty ambience could achieve. This time they had the skill to take that indifference and convert it into wild applause.

They were lit.

They set the place to stomping.

And all the time they were on stage, Evie was there recording them. Jay sang for her as much as for the pub patrons. Telling her how much he wanted her in the best way he knew how, hoping she was listening to everything between the chords and notes.

They played the set, two encores, and with the whole pub singing along, raised the roof, coming off stage hungry, elated and family again.

Into mayhem.

There were record company execs to glad-hand. There was mention of drinks, getting merrily wasted. Errol had organized transport back to the city for the Lost Property team and Jay had Hassan waiting. There was security everywhere, and barricades holding back fans who’d worked out where they were and packed the street. The cops looked pissed about the traffic snarl. Grip was signing some woman’s boobs. Abel was taking selfies and doing it carefully. There was a lot of shouting. There was no sign of Evie.

Jay sent Mum off with Hassan, telling her he’d catch a ride with the boys and then shook hands and high fived and grinned at held-high phone screens until fatigue started to fray his edges.

That’s when Evie found him. A tap to his shoulder and two seconds later they were in a dark corner, away from the crowd, and she was holding a key in front of his face.

“Here?” he said, surprise trouncing delight for a second.

“No one is going to be looking for you here,” she said.

Yeah, it was perfect. He wasn’t tired anymore, he was highly motivated to fuck. It meant crowding her into a rough brick wall was allowed. Cupping her face and kissing her cheekbone, her temple and when she angled her neck, sucking on that spot behind her ear that made her groan. Everything he’d fantasized doing to her, with her, it was all allowed except for the things he wanted most.

Her mouth on his. His cock inside her.

Evie back in his life.

That was only a dream but he clung to it anyway as he palmed her pierced breast and wedged his knee between her legs, giving her something to grind on, while he nibbled along her jaw. They’d had sex in places like this where they could get noisy but the threat of discovery was still real. They’d had sex in cars and on picnic tables in parks and once in the sea at a crowded beach, but that was when they were sure of each other and there was nothing sure about this. Also she’d worn skirts then, not pants so slicked to her skin they might be fused on.

“We should talk,” he said, lips at her throat.

Her hands were claws on his shoulders; she rolled her pelvis. “You guys were amazing tonight.”

He pulled back. “I meant about us.”

“There is no us.”

He should be smarter about this. Like all dreams, they were different to reality. Smarter would require not having just come off stage and being hyped on his own invincibility and clearing his head of Evie’s caramel scent and the thrill of her riding his thigh. Not going to happen. “All right then. Let’s go wreck each other.”