On the Road: (Vagabonds Book 2) (New Adult Rock Star Romance) (10 page)

She wormed her way through the tight space.  Barbie yelled, “Liz!” trying to get her to come back to our group, but Liz was done.  I could tell that just by the look on her face.  I knew Liz had a point, but I also knew that talking about the actual subject didn’t sell tabloids, any more than talking about just our music might sell an interview segment on the radio.  Russ had asked a lot of questions about the music, touring, and even our audience before the commercial break and, even though his last query wasn’t a question that was on the list I’d glanced at earlier, he was asking something he thought his audience would find interesting.  On top of that, though, Vicki’s face had grown pale and I saw a thin film of sweat on her brow.

Fortunately, Barbie was getting all the attention she craved, and she answered most of the remaining questions, whether they had to do with sex or not.  When Russ took questions from the audience, though, that was when I knew we had definitely made it.  The fans didn’t give a fuck about our sexual orientation or sex lives—no, they wanted to know about the music…and it was a damn shame Liz had missed that part, because she should have relished it just like I did.

Chapter Fifteen

CHRISTMAS MEANT A week off, and it couldn’t have come at a better time.  We girls had all started bickering—and about stupid stuff.  Vicki was scaring the shit out of me too, and I was hoping her mom could whip her back into shape during the few days she had with her.

We left California so early in the morning that it was dark, and Peter actually drove for the first few hours until we stopped in Phoenix for a late breakfast/ early lunch.  We would be back in this area of the country sometime in January; I remembered that much from the tattered itinerary I kept in my luggage.

I slept a good chunk of the morning, but after breakfast I was wide awake.  My legs were feeling stiff, and when we pulled over a few hours later to use a restroom and refill our drinks, I walked around the convenience store a few times just to stretch my legs and get a little exercise.  The weather was still temperate, but I knew it would be cold when we got to Colorado, so I was enjoying being outside without a jacket a little while longer.

I wished I hadn’t rounded the corner the third time, because Vicki was back there, leaning against the dumpster, smoking some shit that wasn’t a cigarette and wasn’t weed.  Whatever the hell she was smoking, it was out of a glass pipe.  Yeah, I know
now
that she was doing meth, but back then, I had no idea.  I only knew it was bad.  It couldn’t be good if she was hiding from us to do it.

Part of me considered walking by, pretending I hadn’t seen her, acting like she appeared to be some homeless person just doing something weird.  But I couldn’t.  She was my friend, and I was worried about her.

I wasn’t going to start by lecturing her.  We’d already done that, and it hadn’t worked.  In fact, I was pretty sure she trusted me even less nowadays, mainly because she knew I wasn’t supportive of her habit—or
habits
.

So I sat down on the pavement next to her.  There were pebbles, tiny bits of broken glass, and cigarette butts littering the ground, but it wasn’t any dirtier than any other parking lot.  My main concern was not breathing in the smoke.  I knew meth was toxic and super addictive, so I wanted to limit my exposure to whatever it was she was smoking, but I needed to communicate with my friend in the least aggressive way possible that I cared.  I wanted to send a message to her that I knew what she was doing but I wasn’t judging, and I was there if she wanted to talk.

Unfortunately, she was fucking blitzed out of her gourd and she blew out the white smoke before holding out the pipe to me.  “Here.  Take a hit.”

I let out a breath.  I wasn’t even smoking cigarettes now.  I wanted to be completely clean when I went home.  “No, thanks.”

“You sure?  This shit’s amazing.”

“I’m sure it is.”

She closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the stucco wall.  “You have no fuckin’ idea, Kyle.”

She was right.  I had no idea how awesome meth (or whatever she was inhaling) was—but I didn’t plan to find out.  See, Vicki didn’t take chemistry class with me our sophomore year in high school.  Our teacher had taken a little time in class not to tell us how to create our own drugs but to tell us that many synthetic drugs were merely chemical—and dangerous.  “If you’re ingesting formaldehyde, ammonia, and antifreeze on a daily basis, what do you think that’ll do to you?  And yet these ingredients exist in things like cigarettes and meth and other artificial substances meant to make you
feel good
.  Don’t be stupid, kids.  If you feel the need to get high, there are other things you can do that are far less dangerous.”  Well, needless to say, even though she went on to impress upon all of us the risks of artificial chemical substances (and even made enough of an impression on me to ensure I’d avoid that shit), she still got called on the carpet for talking about how drug cooks manufacture their crap (she didn’t, but parents were somehow under that impression), and she didn’t make it any easier on herself when she clarified what she’d meant by “other less dangerous ways of getting high,” because those methods included running, having sex, eating dark chocolate, and smoking weed (which was still illegal in Colorado back then).

When Vicki put out the pipe and stuck it in the pocket of her jean jacket, I hugged her.  I wasn’t going to judge her because I knew she was struggling.  I wasn’t going to tell her that she smelled awful, but I wondered how long she’d gone without showering.  I wasn’t going to tell her she was killing herself, because I wanted and needed her trust and inwardly prayed that her mother would see what she was doing and encourage her to straighten herself out.

It didn’t surprise me when she began crying, and she continued to weep until Andrew found us and told us we were leaving and had to get in the van.  But I squeezed her hand as we followed him back, letting her know I was there when she needed a friend—because I suspected she would before this was all over.

* * *

One of the last things Peter said to us before dropping us all off in the Southgate Shopping Center (where our families were going to pick us up) was that he was going to give us all a couple hundred bucks.  Barbie asked, “When the hell are we going to get
all
we’re earning?  I’ve seen where our album is on the Billboard charts.”

“Royalties are paid quarterly, Ms. Bennett, and we have travel expenses I have to cover first.  You will be paid in full when the tour is over.”

I didn’t care.  I was living the dream.  The money could wait, so long as I could continue performing in front of a live audience.  Nothing else was quite as amazing.

I’d texted my family when we left the city limits of Pueblo, Colorado, to let them know we were close to the Springs, so they could meet me, and then I texted CJ. 
Hey.  I’ll be home tonight.  You there yet?

I didn’t get the return text until we pulled off I-25 onto Nevada Avenue. 
Yep.  Been here for a couple of days.  Want to get together after Xmas?

Of course.  Call me when ur ready?

Consider it done.

My heart swelled.  As much as I was looking forward to spending time with my mom and dad, I wanted to see CJ even more.

I hugged both my parents when they met me in the parking lot, and we didn’t waste any time getting back home.  The dark clouds covering the stars in the sky were beginning to dust the road with snow, and we wanted to get home before it got bad.  I hugged my friends goodbye, frankly ready to be away from them for a little bit, and slept in the back of my parents’ car till we got home.

It wasn’t until I walked in the house that it dawned on me that mom and dad were officially and fully reunited—completely.  They’d acted as though they’d never broken up, but part of me was afraid I was imagining it.  Seeing the Christmas tree up and decorated in a corner of the room made me believe it was because mom and dad were official…and, being right with each other made them think about me again.  They knew I’d grown to love the holidays since we’d moved into a real house and had made it magical for me even now.  As dad brought in my few pieces of luggage, I forced myself awake and sat in the kitchen with mom while she made hot cocoa.

They asked me about the road and what my newfound fame was like.  We stayed up till almost two in the morning while I regaled them with tales of life on the road.  I told them everything I felt comfortable sharing, but I skipped all the parts about the sex, the drugs, the lack of supervision, the fact that we weren’t being schooled as promised, and anything and everything I thought they might not like.  I wasn’t eighteen yet.  They could easily tell me, in spite of their permissive nature, that they were pulling the plug, that—even though this had been the experience of a lifetime—they weren’t going to let me return.

No way in hell would I ever let that happen.  This was my life, and I was gonna live it to the fullest, no matter the cost.

Chapter Sixteen

JUST A FEW days before I had to go back on the road, I called CJ.  “How was your Christmas?”

“Excellent.  My mom always spoils the shit out of me, making me my favorite meals, letting me sleep late, doing my laundry—”

“Your mom was doing your laundry?”

“She
wanted
to.  She doesn’t think I can do a good enough job on the road.”

I laughed.  “And you’re a guy.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means your mom doesn’t expect out of you the same things she’d expect out of a girl.”

“Well, I have no way of knowing that, considering my mom doesn’t have any girls.”

That made me realize how little I knew about CJ.  “Brothers?”

“One.  He’s younger.  In the army.  He won’t let mom do his laundry.”

I laughed again.  “He does it better?”

“Probably.”

“So…we’re back on the road on Monday.  Did you still want to hang?”

He was quiet for a few seconds, and I started to feel irritated, like he had been leading me on, but then he said, “Yeah, sure.  You want me to come to Winchester?”

I smiled.  “Yeah, if you want.  How about tomorrow night?”

“Maybe we could do something silly, like pizza and bowling or something.”

“Yeah…unless you’re afraid you’ll be recognized by all the preteen girls in my town.”

It was his turn to laugh.  “Well, I guess you’ll have to get used to people asking for my autograph sometime.”

“You ass.”  I gave him my address and general directions before he told me he’d find me just fine using his GPS.

Unfortunately, my mom acted a little hurt that I was spending my second-to-last night out of the house, but I heard my dad talking with her later when I was in my room, explaining that I’d spent all my time with them and would still have one more day.

Official or not, having a date with CJ made me almost more excited than my first night on stage. 
Almost.
  Nothing could quite compare to the draw of a live audience...but a hot guy sure came close.

When he showed up Saturday night, he was the epitome of politeness with my parents.  I noticed one thing—no,
two
things that were different about him.  First, his hair was a little longer.  Maybe he felt like he could let it grow now that he was an “official” rock star.  Second, he seemed a little more filled out.  Oh, my God, I’m sure you can imagine how the way he looked ramped up my fantasies.  Holy shit.

But mom and dad had him sit for a little bit, and he talked some about his band and being on the road, and his version was as sanitized as mine.  I’d have to ask him for some real stories once we were out and about.  CJ wrapped it up by telling them we were going out for pizza and then bowling and asked, “When do you want me to have her home?”

I had no idea what to expect from my parents, but if they’d said anything lame like “ten o’clock,” I probably would have come unglued, considering I’d been out on my own for months.  Again, though, I’d have to be careful with the way I handled it, because my parents didn’t
know
I wasn’t monitored, chaperoned, and told to go to bed at a decent hour.  I’d be giving myself away if they figured out I’d been the one responsible for making sure I was tucked in before sunrise—or not.

But dad said, “By midnight.”  I could live with that.

We stepped out the door, I now wearing a winter coat, but CJ had a black leather jacket on.  Yeah, he was fuckin’ cool.  We got to his car, a sweet, sleek black thing that I could partially make out in the light emanating from the porch and down the block.  “Nice.  What is it?”

“Ferrari.”

Wow.  “I didn’t know they still made them anymore.”

“You kidding?”  He opened the passenger door for me.  Okay…so this was beginning to feel like a
real
date and I was starting to question if maybe I should have worn something nicer than a rock t-shirt and jeans.

But I
had
shaved my legs.

I got in the car and he closed the door behind me before walking around the front to his side.  Damn, the guy was hot.  It didn’t hurt that he was an amazing writer and sexy rock star.  There was something about him that made me warm and tingly all over, more than any other guy I’d ever known.  Yeah, I’d just experienced my sexual awakening earlier in the year, but I believed that I would have undergone that transformation at the age of ten had I met CJ then.

He
was
all that to me.

“Where’s the best pizza in Winchester?” he asked me after turning the ignition. 
Wow
again.  I could feel the power of the car through the purr of the engine.  This guy just couldn’t stop getting hotter.

“There’s a cool place on Main Street.”

“Let’s do it.”  He shifted the car in gear and then I heard the song that was pouring through the speakers.  It was “Dream World.”  I looked at the console to see what radio station he was tuned to, and that was when I saw it wasn’t the radio; it was a CD.

I had to acknowledge it, because he’d obviously done that for me.  “I knew you had great taste in music.”

“You know it.”  We were sitting at a stop sign and then, when he accelerated again, I could feel the power of the engine.  God—I could get used to this, especially after sitting in a cramped van for months.  He reached over and turned up the volume.  “My favorite part is the solo.”

Knowing that fans loved our music was one thing but to have CJ, an amazing writer in his own right who also had a beloved band that was heating up the charts, a guy who’d helped me make this song even better, say that he had a favorite part in one of our tracks was something else entirely.

It was less than ten minutes and three songs later that we found a place to park.  As we walked toward the restaurant, I realized it was packed.  Maybe that spoke to how good the food was.  I had only eaten there once, but I knew the pizza was amazing.  A hostess greeted us at the door.  “Hi.  There’s a half an hour wait for a table, but—if you like—we do have places at the bar and we can seat you there immediately.”

CJ looked at me, raising his eyebrows in question, and I nodded.  “Yeah, that’s okay with me if it’s okay with you.”

He turned to the hostess.  “Lead the way, madame.”

I grinned as he stuck out his elbow so I could wrap my arm around his.  He smiled back, his dimples appearing in his cheeks, looking cuter than ever.  In less than a minute, we were seated at the bar, menus in front of us.  The bartender explained that she would also be our waitress and asked if we wanted to hear the specials.  CJ again looked at me.  “We wanna just split a pizza?”

I nodded.  “Yeah, that would be fine.”

He looked back at the bartender and she said, “Okay.  What do you want to drink?”

I ordered a Diet Coke and CJ asked for a beer.  Damn him.  I was still too young to drink in public.  I scowled at him and, after the bartender had moved down the bar to get our drinks, he said, “What?”

“I can’t drink beer yet.”

His face broke out into a huge grin.  “Like that’s stopped you.”

I started laughing.  “Fair enough.”

Our drinks were placed in front of us on small white cocktail napkins.  “Need a few more minutes?”

“Yeah.”  CJ looked up at me.  “Okay—three ingredients on a pizza you can’t live without.”

Put on the spot.  “Shit.  I love pizza no matter what.  Cheese, sauce, and pepperoni.  How’s that?”

He raised one eyebrow.  “Woman, I think you are a keeper.”

Suddenly, I felt like it was hard to breathe.  He was assessing our compatibility based on my choice of pizza ingredients—and it seemed fair.  I needed to keep my cool, so I grinned again and said, “What about you?”

“That’s tough.  I’m a meat-loving guy.”  I raised my own eyebrows that time, the silly grin still on my face.  “Funny.  But there’s no meat on a pizza I don’t like—hamburger, sausage, Canadian bacon, you name it.  I love it.”

“What about anchovies?”

“Okay, yeah, if you count fish as a meat.”

“And why wouldn’t you?”

“Some people don’t.”

“Yeah, well, those people are dumb asses.”

“So what are we going to put on our pizza, Miss Guitarist?”

“We can do pepperoni if you want, Mr. Bassist…or we can add other stuff.”

“I’m good with plain ol’ pepperoni.  But then I see they have different crust options.  Shit.  I just wanna pizza.”  The bartender arrived again and we told her we wanted a small pepperoni pizza.  Then CJ said, “And we don’t give a shit about the crust, as long as it’s good.  You choose, okay?”

“You okay with gluten?”

CJ nodded.  “What’s a pizza without gluten?”

“My thoughts exactly.  Okay, I’ll have that to you in about fifteen minutes.  You want any appetizers or salad or…?”

CJ again deferred to me and I shook my head.  Half a pizza would be more than enough for me.  Since picking up shitty habits like smoking, my appetite wasn’t what it used to be.  No way would I want to eat other extras.

After the bartender skedaddled and CJ took a sip of his beer, I asked, “So tell me about
your
experiences on the road.”

“I imagine they’re similar to yours.”

“I highly doubt it.  You have a tour bus?”  He nodded.  “Yeah…we
don’t
.  We have a van.  At least if it was like the Scooby Doo van, it’d be okay, but it’s not.  It’s a soccer mom minivan and we’re all squished in there.”

“You shitting me?”

“Nope.”

He chuckled.  “Peter’s a cheap-ass motherfucker.”

“That he is.”  I took a sip of my soda.  “But it’s fun.  I can’t think of anything else I’d rather be doing.”  He nodded and I set my glass down, purposely moving my eyes to his lips and letting my gaze linger there for a few seconds before adding, “Well, there are a couple of other things I can think of.”

He grinned and cleared his throat, grabbing his beer and downing a swig.  He was either giving himself a little time to think up a good comeback or he was hoping to change the subject and the pause in conversation would make that change less obvious and less awkward.

I found it funny that I was making my dream guy sweat a little and then realized that I might send him running if I came on too strong.  He knew how I felt about him.  Pressing the issue would only make me seem desperate.  So I decided that
I
would change the subject before he did.  “So…I know you’ve done some writing on the road.  How many songs so far?”

His dark eyes lit up.  “More than enough for our next album.”

“Wow.  Already?  That’s amazing.”

“Eh.  I’m not happy with all of them, but the guys are devouring the ones I’ve shared with them, adapting them and making them theirs.  We plan to play one of them on the next leg of the tour, and we’re going to start recording as soon as we’re back home.  After a week or two vacation first.”

“Holy shit.  You plan to release your next album next fall?”

“Give or take—that’s the plan.  The label’s okay with it.”

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

He shrugged.  “Because they’re controlling dicks.  They like to call the shots—to the detriment of the fans, the band.  It all comes down to money, and they have a weird formula about how and when to release music.  Oh, and they have to make sure you won’t compete against any other bands in the same genre that they represent.  They don’t get it.  The fans love music and they don’t think of competition.  Instead, they think, ‘I have this awesome song I heard on the radio stuck in my head, and
I must own it
.’  I go to the music store and buy ten CDs at a time.  Usually, I plan to buy one or two specific ones and see a bunch of others I want to hear.  I’m the same way with electronic music—I get those suggestions, you know?  ‘If you like this band, we think you’ll love these guys’.”

I nodded.  I’d forgotten how much I loved being around CJ, and not just because he got my juices flowing.  He made me smile.  He made me think.  He made me laugh.

So much so, that even when I saw Decker walking through the restaurant with his new bimbo, it didn’t bother me a bit.