So I Married a Rockstar (15 page)

No, it's better to let that little secret fester away until the dust settles. Maybe someday, many years from now, when everyone's telling their craziest stories, I'll pull it out of the vault to shock them all. After all, I always lose that game because I never do anything crazy. Well, almost never.

But his mention of Drax sends me reeling. It's not like he's been far from my thoughts, no matter how hard I try to push them away, but hearing his name -- even his real one -- threatens the tenuous grasp I have on my emotions. That prickly feeling starts up behind my eyes, remembering how tender he was the night of the concert.

The night of our wedding.

"Sweetie? Earth to Lola. You okay? You look sad."

I jerk at Dad's words, startled that I'm still in his office. Where else would I be? In Drax's arms? Stupid little girl!
 

"I've got something stronger than tea, if you need it, you know."

Normally his efforts to get me high are annoying, but I don't have the bandwidth to bother. I just sigh. "No, thanks."

"Okay," he says, kissing the top of my head. "I'll leave you alone."

Alone.
 

That's me. Alone. Always and forever, amen.

My phone buzzes next to my keyboard, telling me to hurry up and read this very important text message. I almost ignore it so I can continue wallowing in my pity party but I can see out of the corner of my eye that it's from Savory.

Band mtg @ 9 on boat. Y or N?

I hesitate. I want to ask if Drax will be there, if he's heard from him since the last time I asked, but that just sounds sad and desperate. Instead, I type back a simple 'Y'.
 

Why indeed.

The Marina District is a funky mix of drunk college kids, snobby rich people and troubled homeless folk. Going down there at night can either be a fun party or land you in jail, sometimes both. Not for me, of course, but I'm okay with that.

I'm grateful Savory gave me a key for the marina's gate because I wouldn't want to have to stand there and wait for him to come collect me in the dark. As it is, I make sure to pull the gate tight behind me so no one can follow me in.

The docks are kind of rickety but not dangerous. Smelly and wobbly, more than anything. It doesn't help that packs of sea lions regularly haul themselves onto the docks to sleep. A seven hundred-pound bull is bad enough for a floating dock; imagine the damage he and his harem of five females wreaks.
 

The scruffy setting doesn't seem like the right place for the dark-hulled beauty that Savory and Jake are staying on, but it's surrounded by other fancy yachts. I guess with real estate this prime, marina owners can get away with neglecting upkeep for a good long while.

My first trip down here taught me a valuable lesson in shoe selection -- no high heels, no black soles, and traction is a good thing. My trusty old Keds fit the bill perfectly.
 

I stop at
Sandra Jean
's slip and take a good look at the fifty-foot sailboat. It's perfect. The amber dock lights glitter off her dark-blue hull like yellow diamonds and, even in the dark, the glossy varnish on the exterior wood shines brightly. I don't know anything about boats, but even I can tell this one is something special. They're lucky guys to have a friend who will let them crash on this baby.

Climbing the dock steps, I call out, "Ahoy,
Sandra Jean
. Permission to come aboard?"

"Ay, matey, get yer ass down here!"
 

Jake's already started on the boat's seemingly infinite supply of booze. Wonder if he went with wine or found a stash of hard stuff. All I know is that the last time I was here, he was complaining loudly about the boat's lack of good old-fashioned beer.

I carefully turn around to climb down the ladder into the living quarters. No need to risk breaking my neck. There's no way EMTs could get a gurney down these docks, much less haul me out of this boat. Once both feet are safely planted on the floor, I spin around and nearly fall down from shock.

All four members of Roadkill are seated around the U-shaped dining area, looking at me. I can't help staring at Drax for a moment, before he averts his gaze. God, I've missed those eyes. I don't even realize how much until this moment. My heart clenches and I think we'll have to call those EMTs after all, but it finally starts beating again. Quite a bit faster than before, but I'll take it.

I slump onto the seat across from the table. I feel vulnerable and on display, like a criminal and they're the jury. My eyes want to return to Drax's somber face, but I force them to turn to Frank.

"Welcome back, Frank. How was your...time away?"

He smiles warmly at my awkwardness. "Really good, Lauren. I'm still working with someone as an out-patient, but we both feel I'm over the hump. I really can't thank you enough for the encouragement to get my shit together."

"I'm so glad, Frank." I finally allow my eyes the gift of glancing at Drax and my breath catches in my throat. "Good to see you, Drax," I squeak.

He still won't look at me, just grimaces and gives me a curt nod.

"Lauren," Savory says, drawing my attention, "we're at a crossroads."

"Yeah, and not the one with the Karate Kid," Jake says, without a trace of humor. That's when I know something big is on their minds.

"We've been talking for the last couple days--"
 

My mind stops listening to Savory. Drax has been back for two days? And he never called or texted or came by the record store? Two whole days?!
 

I don't know why my feelings are hurt by this revelation. I was the one who insisted on the annulment. I mean, someone had to be the responsible adult, right? Why can't he understand that? It's not like we were in love. So why is he acting like I broke his heart or something?
 

"--so unless you have some news, we think that's what we'll have to do."

They're all staring at me, waiting for an answer but I have no clue what I'm responding to. "I'm sorry, what?"
 

"Break up," Drax snaps. "We're going to break up and go our separate ways."

I feel as if he's not only talking about Roadkill. "Oh."

"Marvin really fucked us," Jake grouses, slamming an empty glass to the table. It's a water tumbler but Jake doesn't drink water. The ice is a dead giveaway: He sniffed out the high-octane stuff.

"You guys, I've been busting my butt to find some gigs, but it's hard when two members of the band are MIA. No offense, Frank."

I shoot a glare Drax's way. No need to let on that no one would hire them right now anyway. After the torment he's put me through, I think he deserves a glare or two. Of course, he shoots one right back at me.

Savory sighs. "Stop it, you two. What's done is done, can we just move on?"

"I can if he can," I blurt out before I can stop myself. I can't believe I really just said that. What am I, a ten-year-old?

"Good," Savory says, ignoring my infantile comment. "So, do you have any news to report?"

"I...I..." The truth was, I didn't. I fielded five more rejections today from big venues from as far away as Omaha. Marvin had tentacles everywhere, apparently. But I didn't want to tell them that. Artists' egos can be fragile and it's the job of the manager to keep them pumped up and feeling positive.

"Listen, guys. I understand how you're feeling--" I ignore Drax's chuff "--but you shouldn't make a hasty decision. Now that everyone's back, let me do my job. No need to rush it. Besides, it's not like you're living out of your van..." I look around the luxurious wood-trimmed cabin pointedly.

All eyes turn to Drax. He's staring at me, hard. Shivers trill up my spine and I'm instantly aware that my panties are wet. Good grief, I can't even be mad at him without also being drawn to him. His lips part to speak and I get a glimpse of his tongue. The tongue that did so many wonderful, unforgettable things to my body. All I want to do is suck on it. I wonder if he would mind...

"You have one week."

One week
keeps bouncing around in my brain as the boys discuss other matters, such as who likes which cabin on the boat the best and how many bottles of wine Jake has already gone through. I'm just biding my time, hoping for a brilliant idea -- and maybe a little alone time with Drax. We clearly need to talk.

He finally makes his move to leave and I let him, but not without noticing that he doesn't actually say goodbye to me. I give him enough time to get a little way down the dock before rushing after him. I don't want the guys to overhear, but I don't want him to get away completely.

"Drax," I call out, running down the wobbly dock. He glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. Nope, can't get rid of me that easy, buddy.

I catch up to him at a trot, and am slowing down when I stumble over a nail jutting out of the dock. I spin around like a clumsy ballerina and, once again, fall right into Drax. Only this time, he's not prepared.
 

Arms clad in a black leather motorcycle jacket pinwheel, much as I imagine mine did on the loading dock the night I got fired from my job, but it does him about as much good as it did me. In the blink of an eye, he vanishes into the inky depths of San Francisco Bay.

"Drax!" I shout again, reaching out toward where he fell in. "Drax!"

When he surfaces, he's sputtering and cursing a blue streak. "Dammit, Lauren! Fuck! Shit! Dammit!"

"You already said that one." I know the Bay's waters are frigid and a body can go hypothermic in less than a minute, but it's all I can do to not crack up. I've never seen him taken so off-guard. He stops splashing around for a second, then bursts out laughing.

"Watch yourself, Lola, or you might be joining me. Now help me out."

As neglectful as the marina owners seem to be about upkeep, they at least had the foresight to install drop-down ladders every twenty feet down the dock for just such an emergency. Drax is heavy in his dripping riding gear but together we manage to haul him up onto the dock, where he rolls on his back, breathless and chuckling.

I kneel next to him and brush his mop of dark hair out of his eyes. "You okay? You must be freezing."

He clasps my hand to his clammy cheek and closes his eyes, and my heart hurts that I can no longer see them. "For some reason, whenever I'm around you, my blood runs hot."

A warm balloon rises up in my chest, overwhelming me with emotion. My fingers tremble against his cheek. "Maybe...maybe you need some...mouth to mouth?"

His eyes open and capture mine. A storm is brewing in them, tugging him one way, then the other. I can see the moment he lands and gains his balance, and I'm saddened. I know the answer even before he smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"It's late."
Too
late, he means. "I need to get rolling."

"Okay," is all I can manage as I watch him get up. The least he could do is have the common decency to look like a wet rat or something, but nooooo...he has to look like a glistening god.

Holding out a hand, he helps me up. "You on your way home?"

"Yeah." I swear, even after everything, he leaves me breathless. And, really, he made the right decision a moment ago. Any hanky-panky would just muddy the waters. At least he's talking to me again.

"Did you drive?"

"Parking's atrocious down here. I took the bus."

He stops in his tracks. "At this hour? Uh uh. Nope. I'll give you a ride."

"On your bike?" The very idea of getting on the back of his motorcycle petrifies me. Worse than speaking in front of a crowd. "Um, the bus is fine, really. I don't want to put you out."

A second ago I was ready to jump his bones on a rickety dock, but the mere mention of riding on a motorcycle has me running. He smiles -- oh God, that smile -- and shakes his head, drips of seawater glittering like raindrops in the dim moonlight.
 

"No way. I can't allow our manager to put herself in harm's way. Who knows, maybe you'll figure out a way to keep the band together. Can't risk losing out on a miracle like that, can I?"

"But...you should go back to the boat and dry off or something. You'll turn into an icicle riding a bike soaking wet like that."

"Nice try. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Boy, do I like the sound of that.
Stop it
, I chide myself. I'm the one who nuked any chance we had as a couple, so I just need to leave it be. But...his butt in those leathers...
Stop!

I tear my gaze away just as a light-colored Beetle goes chirring past. It's dark and the street isn't that close, but I swear it's bubble-gum pink. It couldn't possibly be the woman who roofied Drax, could it? There has to be more than one pink Beetle in the City. Then the car is lost from sight, going in the opposite direction we'll be riding.
 

Riding. All thoughts of Barbie are chased away by images of my bloody, mangled body wrapped around light poles or street cars. But Drax is determined to get me on the back of his bike, and I can't deny that the idea of pressing up against him -- in a perfectly acceptable way -- is overriding the warning signals blaring in my brain.

"Put this on." He shoves a helmet at me when we get to the bike, which is as black and intimidating as I remember it being. I'm anxious but I'm helpless to do anything but obey. My body is crying out for contact with his and this is the only way to slake its need.

"Don't you have one?" I ask.

He nods at the helmet I'm slipping on. "That's it."

"Oh! In that case, I'll just take the bus."

He gives me a 'don't go there' look and jumpstarts the bike. It rumbles to life and he motions me on. Thank goodness I wore jeans tonight or it might have been a bit embarrassing when I swung my leg over the saddle. It's big -- big enough to handle Drax's bulk and my plump ass, but only if I'm snuggled up tight against him with my arms wrapped around his waist.
 

Sigh...

If my fate is to die in fiery crash tonight, at least I'll die happy.

My lustful thoughts are interrupted by sheer terror as the bike lurches forward. My hands clamp down and a shrill scream fills my ears. Only when I pause to take a breath do I realize it's my own voice.