Hawk and Dove (Rock Star Romance Novel) (9 page)

“Aha,” I say, “The truth comes out. Is that what you really
think of me?”

“Of course it is,” she says, “And that’s the way you want
it, right?”

“I...”

“That’s what you show the world, anyway,” she says, her eyes
trained on mine. “What I’m wondering...is whether or not that has anything to
do with who you really are.”

“And what do you think?” I ask her. My voice has dropped low
with something that feels like desire...only even more urgent.

“I...Can’t tell yet,” she says. There’s a tell tale blush
rising in her cheeks.

“Well,” I say, swallowing down my sudden lust, “I guess
you’ll just have to get to know me a little better, won’t you?”

“I guess I will,” she says, taking a step away from me.
“Look...I’d better go find Mitch. Just to make sure he’s OK and to figure out
logistics.”

“Sure,” I say, “I should get back to my band, too.”

“So long, Trent. Thank you,” she says, turning from me.

It takes every ounce of self control not to grab her by the
hips and push her up against the tour bus. But I know that can’t be the way it
happens. I realize something strange, something I’ve not felt in a long while.
It’s not just that I want this girl...I actually like her.

Since when is
that
allowed?

Chapter Five

It took me half the night to find Mitch among the throbbing
sea of people down the hill. When I finally stumbled upon my wayward band mate
last night, he was as drunk as I’d ever seen him, sitting on a tree stump with
a clown-like frown on his face.

It was quite the struggle, getting him back up to the tent
to sleep it off. Especially now that people have a vague notion of who we are.
Ever try smiling and nodding to excited almost-fans while hauling an entire
human being up a marked incline? Not exactly my idea of a good time.

I hardly slept, though Mitch passed out cold. Now, in the early
morning glow, I look over at my music partner and try to muster up the
compassion to forgive him. Mitch has always been temperamental, but yesterday
was out of control.

I don’t know what horrified me more—the kiss, or the
near-slap. Both were presumptuous, uncalled for, and abhorrent to me. I keep
trying to think of reasons why I should accept an apology and move on, but none
of those reasons stand up. Mitch’s behavior yesterday was inexcusable...but we
still have a show to play.

Leaving my slumbering partner to his boozy dreams, I creep
out into the gathering daylight. I peer earnestly at the tour bus beside our
meager little camp, but it doesn’t look like Trent is awake yet.

Thank god he was around last night. Not because I wouldn’t
have been able to handle Mitch on my own, but because he made me feel so much
better about the whole messed up situation. Somehow, I don’t have to explain
anything to Trent. He just understands what I’m going through, without any
coaching. It feels like he understands me. But how can that be possible when he
doesn’t even know me?

I fetch myself something to eat from the blessed food tent
and wait for Mitch to roll out of bed. Down the hill, the festival is waking up
for another day of music and fun. Even though it’s happening right there, I
feel like I’m a thousand miles away.

I wish I was just experiencing the festival as I always
have—as an audience member. I always had this crazy notion that getting to do
the thing I always wanted—playing music—would be some kind of special treat. My
mistake.

A loud groan from within the tent alerts me that Mitch has
finally awoken from his slumber. I peek into the tent and see my partner
staggering toward me, bleary-eyed.

“Ellie...” he croaks, pulling himself out of the tent.

“You look like hell,” I tell him, “How much did you drink
last night?”

“Not that much...” he says, squinting into the sunlight, “It
was more the weed that got me.”

“Excellent,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest.

“I don’t feel very well,” he mutters.

“Neither do I,” I say, “But not because I can’t handle my
booze. Mitch, everything that happened yesterday...It was unforgivable.”

“I know,” he whispers, looking miserable, “And I’m sorry,
Ellie.”

“Fine, but that’s really not enough,” I tell him, “How am I
supposed to play with you when I can’t even trust you?”

“You can trust me, Ellie,” he insists, grabbing onto me for
support.

“God,” I say, wrinkling my nose, “You’re a mess. Why don’t
you lie down in the back seat of the car and sober up a little? Take the day
off. It’s not like we’re playing tonight.”

“OK...” he says, staggering toward the car.

I help him inside the sedan, which is less likely to cook
him than the tent, and hurry to fetch him some water. Though I resent having to
take care of someone who’s been nothing but horrible to me for the last twelve
hours,
someone
has to make sure he doesn’t keel over and croak. I
suppose I owe him that much, at least—basic human decency.

As I’m hurrying back again from the food tent, I see a
figure stepping down from the tour bus next door. Trent’s long, perfectly
balanced form straightens up as he waves to me. I smile back, and meet him half
way.

He’s wearing dark jeans that hug his muscular legs just
enough and a plain white v neck. How in the world can he be so effortlessly
handsome? I don’t even bother glancing down at the ratty shorts and tee shirt
ensemble I threw on before bed last night. He probably thinks I look like a ten
year old at her best friend’s slumber party...though he’s nice enough not to
show it. In fact, the only thing I can see in his face is a hint of concern,
and a fair bit of interest.

“How’s it going?” he asks, glancing toward the pair of feet
hanging from the open door of the car.

“Well, I found him,” I sigh.

“That’s not what I asked,” Trent says.

“We’ll be OK,” I say, more to try and convince myself than
anything, “He just needs to sober up.”

“What he needs is a swift kick in the ass,” Trent grumbles.

“Maybe that, too,” I admit.

“You’re not going to play nurse all day, are you?” Trent
asks.

“Hell no,” I say, “He gets provisions now, then he’s on his
own.”

“Good,” Trent smiles. I notice the subtle little dimples in
his cheeks that appear when he smiles at me. My knees actually start to tremble
a little—I thought that only happened in movies.

“I’d better...” I say, a bit breathless.

“Sure,” Trent says, “Go ahead. But when you’re done wiping
up Mitch’s spittle, get ready and come on over to the bus. I’d love to hang out
with you today, now that you’re down a companion.”

“OK,” I grin, “Sure. I’ll just...I’ll be right there.”

We part ways for the moment, and my heart starts hurling
itself against my ribcage. Am I nervous...or am I excited? Or am I about to be
sick...no time to ponder the question.

I hurry back into the tent and rummage through my suitcase.
I’ve got all my performance outfits folded neatly, but can I really wear a
vintage romper onto a tour bus? I’m afraid I might be tossed out if I do. Why
didn’t I pack any normal clothes, like a sane person would do?

The best I can manage is a flowing, Carole King style top
and a thick leather belt. It’s still retro as hell, but maybe the rock and roll
guys won’t give me too much trouble about it.

As I step back out into the sunshine, I hear a low groan
emanating from the sedan. With a sigh, I turn and see Mitch struggling to sit
up. He’s bleary eyed and red in the face, a look he’s not wearing very well.
Feeling anxious to start the day off right with Trent, I bustle back over to
Mitch with more than a little bit of annoyance in my tone.

“Are you OK?” I ask, “If you’re going to be sick, do it in
the grass, not the car.”

“I’m OK...” Mitch moans, “But I’m...Where are you going?”

“Just...down to the festival,” I say shortly.

“What for?” Mitch asks.

“What do you mean what for?” I laugh, “What else does one do
at a music festival but go to the music festival?”

“You’re not going to stay with me?” Mitch says miserably.

That’s it. I’m done. I plant my hands on my hips and level a
sharp glare at my partner.

“Mitch,” I begin, “It’s not my fault that you got plastered
last night and don’t know how to take care of yourself. I’m your songwriter,
not your mother. And even if I was your mother, I would have disowned you after
the way you treated me last night. So go back to bed and try to grow a sense of
decency during your beauty sleep.”

He stares at me blankly as I turn and stride away from him.
I round the tour bus, feeling more empowered than I have in years. This is
exactly what Mitch and I need in our professional relationship.

Since we started playing together, he’s always been in the
seat of power. But from now on, I’m not going to take his shit. We’re going to
be equals in all things. And why not? After all, he needs me as much as I need
him.

He’s got all the instrumental talent, sure, but I’ve got the
voice. Without me, he’s just another gangly kid with a ukulele. And without
him, I’m just another untraditionally cute songstress with too many vintage
dresses. We’ve got a great act together, and I certainly don’t want to
jeopardize that, but Mitch has to start meeting me halfway.

Maybe now that he’s got his stupid profession of love out of
the way, we can start working together as partners. As adults, god willing.

I stop in front of the tour bus door, suddenly feeling very
small. I stall for time, smoothing down my hippie top, tucking my tangled bob
back behind my ears. Why the hell am I so nervous? It’s not like I have
anything to prove to Trent or his band mates. Our sounds are on opposite sides
of the spectrum, not to mention our levels of fame and images. I can relax. I
need to relax.

With a cheerful (but not too cheerful) smile, I lift my hand
and rap solidly on the door. With a hydraulic hiss, it slides open.

My mouth falls open as the tall, stunning woman I’d seen
hanging around with Trent earlier steps into the doorway. She’s got an entire
foot on me, though her three-inch heels certainly give her an advantage. There
doesn’t seem to be an ounce of fat of her entire body, and what she lacks in
body fat she makes up for in voluminous blonde curls and a staggering bust.
She’s the quintessential center fold, right down to her skinny jeans and
low-cut pink tank top.
This
is the sort of woman that Trent’s used to
hanging around with? What the hell is he doing bothering with me?

“Oh,” the gorgeous woman says, crossing her arms over her
massive chest, “You’re that alternative girl.”

Her voice is low, sultry, and absolutely deadly. I wince at
her description of me—it takes a particular kind of bitch to turn the word
“alternative” into an insult, but she’s managed it just fine. I draw myself up
to my full height, trying to remind myself that “real women have curves”, or
whatever. It’s hard to gain any sort of ground in the presence of someone like
her, artificial confidence or not.

“Hi,” I say bravely, “I’m Ellie. I don’t think we’ve been
properly introduced.”

“I don’t see why we would have been,” she drawls. It doesn’t
appear that she’s in any hurry to let me inside.

“Sorry,” I venture, “I didn’t catch your name?”

“That’s because I didn’t offer it,” she sneers.

“Um...”

“I’m Kelly,” she finally allows, holding out a perfectly
manicured hand, “I’m Trent’s manager.”

“Oh!” I exclaim, shaking her hand vigorously as a wave of
relief washes over me, “His manager!”

“That’s what I said,” she sighs, snatching her fingers away.
“Is there something you needed help with? I don’t think that Trent is signing
autographs right now.”

“Uh, no,” I say, “I mean, I’m here to see Trent, but not
for...He invited me.”

“He...what?” she asks, her eyes flinty.

“He invited me over...to hang out, I guess?” I say.

“Why would he do that?” she demands.

“You should probably ask him,” I tell her. I’m just about
through playing the two card to her queen. All this status nonsense is giving
me a headache. “Is he here?”

“I don’t answer questions about Trent’s whereabouts,” she
sniffs.

“Look,” I say, planting a palm on the tour bus, “I don’t
know what you’ve got stuck up your—”

“Ellie!” Trent shouts from within the bus. I watch him bound
to where Kelly and I are locked in the staring contest from hell. He’s beaming
ear to ear, oblivious to the awkward standoff he’s just interrupted. “I see you
two have met?” he smiles.

“Oh, yes,” I say, grinning widely at the stony woman
blocking my way. “Kelly and I are very well acquainted, now.”

“Brilliant,” Trent says.

“You didn’t run any social obligations by me, Trent,” the
manager snaps, “What have I told you about adding items to your schedule
without consulting me?”

“Oh, calm down,” Trent says, waving away her concerns, “Can
we suspend the schedule bullshit while we’re here, please? We’re in the middle
of a field in Kansas, for god’s sake. I think we can afford to be a little more
causal than usual.”

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Kelly insists through
gritted teeth.

“Kelly,” Trent says, “Rodger’s got enough valium hidden
under the passenger seat to sedate a herd of bull elephants. Why don’t you make
with the popping?”

He reaches for my hand and helps me onto the bus, pulling me
past Kelly’s livid, quivering form. I get the sense that she’s the last person
in the world I should want to cross...but crossing her feels so damn good.

I look around in awe as we step into the main cabin of the
bus. It’s like a hotel suite on wheels! Big, comfy chairs stand against the
wide windows, bunks hang down the corridor on either side, and there are even
some more secluded rooms in the back. I can only imagine the insane parties
this little cockpit has been witness to...how many women have come and gone
from that back room.

But best not to dwell on the specifics.

“This place is amazing, Trent!” I exclaim.

“Yeah it is,” he agrees, heading to the fridge. He pulls out
a couple of ice cold beers and hands one to me.