#Kissing (Rock and Romance #1) (8 page)

Chapter 19

Kat crawls onto the bed, holding a sweating bottle of pink wine. Her eyes wing between angel and devil. A white bikini top resists her giant boobs as she lies down on her stomach next to me. I get the full cleavage show as I get up to find my top.

She gently pushes me back down onto the bed. "I'm European. We have nude beaches. I've seen boobs before. I've always admired girls who keep them natural." She doesn't say this to flatter me. "You guys were getting hot and heavy, huh?" she asks in accented English.

I swallow. Although I don't make an effort to hide the volume, frequency, or location of our sexy times, I don't talk about it. What Niko and I do is between us.

She traces a finger across my bare stomach. "Being on tour is hard. Being with Niko is harder."

Except when he can't get hard, but that's another story. I don't like hearing her talking about being with Niko. There's no cherubic smile on her lips. It's decided, when it comes to Kat, there's no halo.

I clasp my bra. She shakes her head. "Josie, we're both girls here. You don't have to get dressed just yet." She lifts onto her knees, pushing me toward the top of the bed. "I know what Niko likes, and if he likes you, I want to find out what the big deal is. I never knew him to want a good girl."

A good girl? I consider myself anything but a good girl, at least these days.

"You are like a unicorn, undamaged, untouched."

"I'm plenty damaged," I retort. "And touched. There's a lot of touching."

She shakes her head, trailing her fingers from my shoulder, along my arm, and to my wrist, before bringing my hand to her boob.

"Niko likes tits like these. And a puss—" Before she finishes her sentence, I snatch my hand back. "Come on, I'm playing nice, Josie," she says.

She has horns for sure. I'd rather be stuck in an elevator with Jill.

"I thought you and I could get to know each other better. When we danced, it made me so hot." She moans like a porn star.

I glare like a dagger and not because I'm offended by a woman making advances, but because it's Kat.

She clicks her tongue. "Josie, don't fool yourself; I've fucked Niko. I've lost count the number of times, but if you think the two of you do it a lot, I could show you some home movies we made." Her face lights up. "Niko likes to fuck and I think, deep down, you're a making love kind of girl. I don't think you'll keep him happy much longer. There's a soft part of you, the real you, that you hide under that sneer. I want to know what it's like to be that good."

My stomach turns. I'm not jealous like Niko or insecure like her, hidden under so much fake, but she's driving me closer to the kind of nervous that makes my arms and legs gummy. He and I made a video once. I hope it's under lock and key or erased.

She shakes her head. "I like to fuck—" Her smile makes my laughter ugly because I don't want to hear anything else that she has to say. "And Kenji—he's all kinds of kinky. I can't convince Mitty; he's probably saving it for someone special. Good 'ole farm boy from Norway or whatever. Jill and I hooked up once." She lifts an eyebrow. "And Slade of course—"

"What are you getting at, Kat?"

She tilts her head, eyeing me like prey. "Well, it's just that I've been wondering why Niko's more devoted to you than the band."

That's not true, but I don't know why it matters to her. Or why she's even here. Who is she anyway? My default setting is who cares, at least lately. "Who cares, Kat?" The words fall between us with a blunt thud.

She doesn't answer.

My laughter goes past dislike as I raise my eyebrows for an answer. She just watches me dress. "Then I guess you'll have to keep wondering why," I say, brushing past her.

Her laughter mimics mine.

Chapter 20

Outside, glow sticks flash as crowds move along the concert grounds. There's a wall of sound: human voices, laughter, yelling, hooting, and music from all directions.

A wave of silence presses upon my back. I hope Kat got the point.

In the distance, something burns tiger and tangerine, steepling toward the sky. In the other direction, a steel wool fire beams and whirls in a wide radius of sparking light. The effect is mesmerizing, dizzying, and I wander toward it.

I'm also dizzy and tired and abusing myself. I need to go back to the bus to take my insulin, and I should probably sleep. But the Halos are going on soon and I don't want to miss them. I'm tugged and torn between what I need and what I want.

I wipe sweat from my forehead, gather my dignity, and stomp back onto the bus.

Kat reclines on a lounger, smoking. "I knew you'd come back."

"That's not why I'm here." I grab a cold beer from the fridge and pull my bag from a cabinet.

"You don't have to hide in the bathroom, Josie." She says as I slam the door. In the small space, there's no escaping her voice. "I've seen it all. Boobs, dicks, blow, smack. You pull off heroin chic like a pro. Does he know?"

I toss her a glare and slam the door.

I rinse my face and fix my eye makeup before adjusting my bra straps, visible from under my trashy tank. Twisting to see how the shorts fit, I get an eyeful of ass. I'm sure Niko would approve, but I don't dress for him. It's hot out and if anything, I'm exercising my right not to wear pressed slacks and a flattering blouse—my mother's uniform for respectable girls. But nor is it a rebellion against her. No, I dress because this outfit makes me feel like I could kick ass. If Kat doesn't shut up, I might.

She exhales loudly, her throat catching a cough.

It doesn't matter that she and Niko hooked up a lot, though that would have been nice to hear from him. Or maybe not—I've never been curious about his previous conquests and from the unsolicited stories I've heard, there have been many. He and I are a couple; I like to think I was the one who he changed for. It's a powerful feeling, but right now, tenuous. As for Kat, she sleeps with people as if it's her job. It might be. Maybe that's why they keep her around.

I close my eyes and slide the needle under my skin. Just as I pull it out, the door opens. Kat's phone flashes. I blink away stars and my hand disappears behind me. "What the fuck?" My teeth grind together. I grab for her phone, but she holds it away.

"I told you, you don't have to hide," she says with a laugh.

"Why'd you do that?" I snap.

"Collateral."

"Do you even know what that means? That would imply I have something you want."

"Oh, you do." Her glare would cut me if it were a weapon.

"He chose me," I spit.

"No, Josie. It's not that, not exactly anyway. Let's just say, if I don't get what I want this innocent little picture will find its way off my private camera roll."

I turn into flint. I could tell her that I have diabetes, but that reveals a weakness, a part of my life I want to keep hidden beneath the cool indifference I nurture. "What do you want?"

She doesn't hesitate. "I want your power."

Laughter gallops out of me. "My power?" I shake my head, not deluded enough to think that's true at all. She just wants the same thing I do: to be cared for, adored, to be that special someone. Taking a bottle of beer from the fridge, I go outside, stepping into a stream of people heading toward the stages and leaving her without the reaction she was hoping for.

A guy hollers to me, "Show me your tits."

"Sorry, man. Only when Niko asks."

He smiles as if he knows what I'm talking about.

I spot the Halos banner; the letter
O
, an angelic ring with a pair of devil horns. I didn't get a backstage pass even though tonight, I'd like to be in the wings, on side of the stage, closer to Niko. In fact, I want the security of his arms, his voice whispering lyrics into my ear that I wish he'd write about me for his next album.

I sip the beer, letting the carbonation buoy me, forming a raft of escape before setting out into the sea of sound. The drums beat doubt out of me. The guitars turn my thoughts fuzzy. The bass is like a beating heart and Niko's voice a dream. I lose myself again and again, song after song, until the only thing left is my awed, stuttering, resistant breath, screaming along to every word that's not about me.

Chapter 21

After the concert, it takes me half of an half hour to find my way to a clearing. Add to that three times getting my toes stepping on, four times being knocked into, five guys asking me to show them my tits—I use the same line each time—, six times me telling people to fuck off, and seven offers for drugs I'm not interested in .

I take a photo of a glowing sculpture of oozing slime. A girl stands underneath it and glows too. Is it performance art, a bucket list item, or toxic waste disposal?

I text Niko the photo and add
Where am I?

He replies
Not where I am.

That's where I want to be.

He doesn't answer and a delicate part of me, hidden behind the not giving a shit wilts a little.

I trace a loop around the festival grounds, finally reaching the tour busses guzzling nonrenewable resources, except a bright green one for a hippie crossover band advertising that it's environmentally friendly. I twist the bracelet from the palm reader around my wrist.

Fate and destiny and the thin string between the two. Just then, a drop of rain kisses my cheek. Then another and another. The cool water dissolves the heat on my skin, and the tension I've carried since
when
? Since my run in with Kat? Niko and I being interrupted? Me not being able to have  an orgasm? Since Iowa? Since last month? The last few years? Since Bubbie? No, that particular tension is still there, as tight and vice-like as ever. I'm trying to outrun it. I will; it won't get the better of me.

Rain drops in buckets as I wind between busses, unable to locate the black one amongst the other black ones against the black backdrop of night.

A couple rolls in the mud. A girl throws off her top and drinks the sky. Mud slings overhead. People slip and slide. I wander to the center and spin and spin until I'm dizzy and caked with earth.

Two girls sling their arms in mine and we circle around and around until flopping back. Sheets of water wash us clean and dancers make us muddy again.

The storm leaves me in mist as I sulk back toward the tour busses. Someone calls the Japanese word for
hello
, drawing me away from a black bus with New York plates.

"Kenji?" I call. "
Kon'ichiwa
."

Laughter follows. I reach the end of another bus and he stands there, bathed in dim light pouring from the entry, clean and dry, surrounded by his girls as usual. He says something I don't catch.

"You're so dirty," one of the girls says.

I plant a muddy kiss on her cheek. "Now you are too."

"No, no. She was dirty before," another says. They all giggle.

I step onto the bus, the sight of me, covered in mud, suspending the laughter at the climax of a story. Niko, seated in the center, like the royal he is, closes his mouth and then wipes his nose. His coke-fueled tales border on legend at this point. I'm not the only one who likes the sound of his voice—record sales and scores of fans prove that.

Jill, perched on a table and leaning against the window, holding a bottle of whisky asks, "What the hell happened to you?"

Kat, her chest thrust out, simpers, sitting on a guy's lap. He has a fake tan and his dark hair slicks away from his bloated face.

I lock eyes with her, calling up our previous conversation. She may be the devil, but I'm not always the good girl. Shit, or mud as it were, happens.

Everyone stares at me, and then I say, "The secret, Kat, is to have fun." I smile and like a great, shaggy dog, shake from side to side, getting everyone and everything filthy.

I pick up abandoned bottles, half-full and proceed to spin, letting the liquid fly from my fingers. My laughter is glee and debauchery and soon the others join me.

Screw sleeping.

#LetsParty

Chapter 22

Niko and I fight. It turns out two days is too long for a couple to tolerate each other without sleep and so much temptation itching between us.

My exact last words were, "Fuck you," in response to us just arguing about arguing. Also, when I'd showered on the bus. Someone, ahem, Kat more than likely, or Jill, she perpetually looks guilty, stole my towel and clothes and the toilet paper. I walked out naked. The bus was crowded. I was pissed and flushed a bag of pills down the toilet. I thought they were Kat's. Whatever. It doesn't matter.

The sky slowly gives up on night as I pad across the trashed grounds of the festival. There's a yoga session on one of the stages. I climb to the catwalk where the techs mounted the lighting equipment. The morning air makes me yawn.

The sunrise, soft buttery peach, spills over the horizon, reminding me that heaven isn't that far away. Sometimes, I don't think Bubbie is either. I sense her close to me now.

I snap a photo, and hover over the
send
box in my dialog with Niko. I delete it. Instead, I file through my numbers. I find the
J
s. There he is—JQ as a little icon with blue eyes smiling back at me.

Without giving it another moment of thought, I add the image and press send.

I stay there until a security guard, appearing from a tent, orders me down. He adjusts his zipper.

"You're lucky you didn't get hurt."

"So are you," I mutter and give him a dirty look before stalking away.

The sunrise reminds me of all the people I've lost: Bubbie, JQ, and parts of myself—though I guess I gave those away willingly.

We all crash on the bus, the rhythm of rubber on the road keeping us quiet, everyone absorbed in their own worlds, mostly digital. Me, my racing thoughts. When the bus slows, as we pull into New York, I'm relieved to plant my feet on solid ground.

The Halos have a day off, then some press before a major show in a few days. It's a Halloween bash. Those already awake toss around costume ideas. Niko and I immediately go to our hotel room, our irritation with each other dissolving with the promise of privacy.

I bounce onto the bed, my eyes fluttering shut, having hardly slept on the bus. "I'm sorry," I whisper. "Let's not ever try to party for forty-eight hours again."

I'd love to go to sleep for forty-eight hours, but Niko unzips my pants, sliding his fingers into the soft place between my legs. His breath is stale when he kisses me. Then we fuck. We don't make love or even have sex. The thing we do is fast and hard and passionate, full of fire as though we're trying to burn the other. Then again, I wouldn't really know the difference.

Forty-five minutes later, he has a beer in his hand, and I learn that contempt has a metallic taste.

The thing about me is I do everything big. I'm not from Texas, but Rhode Island. So maybe the tiniest of states makes me crave what I am not—I'm also not particularly tall, but I like to think that my personality makes up for that.

I tip the top of a bottle of tequila against his bottle. We haven't even had breakfast. If this is how it's going to be, go big or go fucking home.

Or downtown. Apparently, he has a meeting. Swept into his world, I follow. I expect a car or SUV to be waiting outside the hotel, but he directs me to the nearest subway station.

The train is crowded, a local line, and again, I question his choice not to use a driver and my decision to have several shots of tequila. I hold onto the pole with one hand, and Niko with the other. He grips the rail overhead.

We jolt and jerk and my stomach objects with each stop. His lips intermittently meeting mine whenever we brush close enough. Commuters and exhausted workers shuffle on and off, eyeing us surreptitiously. I glance over Niko's shoulder at a familiar face with dirty blond hair. He only stands two heads away. Our eyes meet. His are blue. The perfect color blue. JQ.

My heart stutters. It's him. Neither of us says a word in greeting, but holds each other's gaze until he gets off at the next stop. I part my lips, but Niko leans in, planting his mouth on mine possessively as though threatened by the proximity of so many other bodies so close to mine.

Little does he know, the one who was the greatest threat, just walked away hardly acknowledging me. I don't close my eyes, afraid to lose him in the crowd, as the subway pulls away. Just before he disappears behind a tiled wall, he glances back, his expression, shattered into a thousand pieces.

I'm not sure I'll ever be able to let him go.