TWENTY SIX

An hour later they were under the dryer. Some sort of treatment on the both of them to protect it from the beatings they both put their hair through with daily washes and drying and hairspray. Ruby hadn't let Jamie see in the mirror since she'd told her to go with a surprise. It was amusing to watch her best friend fidget. Pride wouldn't let her beg to see the end product, but she'd been staring at the clumps of hair hitting her lap and bouncing her foot more and more.


She had a feeling Jamie would be happy with the results. It was Joan Jett meets sexy siren with a side of something just a little bit softer. It made her look younger, less hard around the edges. Ruby simply was a miracle worker.

Just as she was dozing off again under the warm stream of air, the dome came up and she blinked at the bright fluorescent lights. Steph stretched and slid her fingers into her hair. When she'd said cornsilk Ruby had taken her at her word.

Their new favorite stylist led her over to the magic chair and settled her in. More blow drying and the monotonous brushing of her hair followed by a flat iron had her so relaxed she could have easily slid into a puddle on the floor. "You could make a million dollars by just doing this."

Ruby laughed. "It's like foreplay if you do it right."

"Damn straight." She looked over her shoulder with a lazy smirk. "You're killing Jamie you know."

"I know, but it's so fun when they see it for the first time. I think she'll really like it. Just like I think I nailed yours." She turned her around to the mirror and Steph just gasped. Her usual honey brown hair was now framed with super light blonde around her face. It was even longer now that it was straight and fell over her shoulder like silk. Her bangs were mostly blonde and the entire underside of her hair was a rich brown. For that rockstar element, there was a swatch of purple peeking from the blonde. "Oh, Ruby."

Ruby pulled out the little hank of purple. "Here, hold onto these." She dropped a ribbon with little charms dangling off of it in the palm of her hand. "I'm going to braid some of these into it. You've got the sexy slick and then this playful little bit of fun that just seems to suit you."

It really did. She dug under the underside and tied an intricate knot at the roots and all those pretty music notes flowed down an intricate back braid ending in a gem studded trio of crossees and a G-clef. She jumped out of her chair and hugged her. "Every time I'm out this way I'm coming to see you."

"Wow." Ruby sniffed and hugged her tight. "I'm just so stoked that I could take care of you guys." She looked down at her toes and then back up. "Do you think I could have a picture for my wall? To show off your design and of course that you were in my shop?"

"Sure, sure." Steph looped an arm around her waist as Ruby led her to the back. She mugged for the polaroid and then signed it.

"Want me to do your makeup too?"

Steph looked at the hard edge of black liner and wild magenta and purple swirls and hesitated.

"Oh no, not everyone can go with this." Ruby waved to her own face. "Just trust me."

The flat heel of Jamie's boot practically pounded out a setlist's worth of a beat by the time Ruby had her face done. "Don't look. Let this one be a surprise."

Steph growled. "Man, how am I supposed to wait?"

"Like I did, goddammit. Get me out of this hood!"

Steph and Ruby laughed at Jamie's impatient growl. "Help me cover her eyes," Ruby asked as they both went over to the dryer. "Okay, Jamie. I've still got to do one more thing before you can look."

"Are you freakin' kidding me?"

Steph slapped a hand over her eyes as soon as the dryer dome lifted. "C'mon, be a sport."

"I've never been, nor will I ever be...a fucking sport."

That was damn true. Jamie tried to siddle away, feigned left and then right, but Steph managed to keep her hand over her eyes. "The surprise is worth it." Jamie's normally rich brown hair was a few shades darker. More of a molten dark chocolate that showcased her sun-kissed complexion with a feathering style of bangs and layers that flowed into ends tipped in cobalt blue. It was pure metal-chick and so Jamie that Ruby had to be a mind reader. She caught the back of Jamie's hair in the mirror and grinned. It was razor cut so that it fell into a layered point just below her shoulder blades, the ends in the same dipped blue.

They definitely needed to go shopping now. They both looked totally different.

And totally kickass.

"Don't look at your face!" Ruby cried and Steph slammed her eyes shut.

"I was too busy looking at Jamie's hair."

"Jamie wants to look at Jamie's hair!"

She pushed her into the chair. "Be patient."

"Like that's my strong point," Jamie groused.

Steph hopped back onto the other chair and turned her chair so she wasn't tempted to look in the mirror. Ruby gave Jamie the same treatment, but since her hair was nearly pin straight to start with, it only took a few swipes of the flat iron to smooth out the last of the kinks.

"Damn, wait until you see."

Jamie sent her a sideways glance and her eyebrows rose. "Damn, Lolly. Look at you all slick and polished. Richie's going to be afraid to muss you up."

"He better not be." She fluffed her bangs. "You think it looks okay?"

"You're a fucking babe. And those lips? Do we get to take home that lipstick? Because every guy is going to want her lips around their cock with lips looking like that."

"I already have a bag for each of you," Ruby answered.

"Gee thanks, Jamie."

Jamie shrugged. "I only speak the truth. You already have hot lips, now they're just pure sex. You're going to kill my brother."

"Brother?" Ruby's eyes widened as she tugged Jamie's head just a touch too hard in excitement and looked at Steph.

"Hey!"

"Sorry, sorry." Ruby eased up on Jamie's hair with the flat iron. "You're hooking up with Richie Sambora? Unless Jamie has another brother? I don't think so though, right? Just the two of you?"

Jamie nodded. "Priest quiet on this one Ruby. No one knows they are circling each other like hungry wolves."

Steph flushed. "I wish I could deny it, but God I just want to take a bite out of him." Her body hummed at the thought of killing him tonight. She needed something to wear after the show that would make him sit up and take notice. They had a night free so that they could get into Vancouver and through customs. They'd be on the flight together this time.

And she planned on dragging him into the dark back and showing him just what she could do to him and this time she wasn't letting him run away or make an excuse.

Ruby lined Jamie's eyes with dark blue then slashed on a little mascara. "Okay you two." She turned them both around at the same time and clapped when they both gasped.

Ruby had done something with her eyes. A smokey liner and mascara and something shimmery on her lids that made her eyes pop. China blue and glowing, but it was her mouth that drew attention. Slick, dark red with this sheen to it that did indeed beg for sex. "Holy crap, Ruby!" Steph slid off her chair and pushed at her hair, but no matter what she did it slithered over her shoulder and the almost white blonde of it framed her face and breasts making her look fresh and different and...older. Not so baby faced. It made her cheekbones look higher and classier.

Her smile spread slow and wide. She was going to kill him.

Jamie was still staring at herself in the mirror. The cobalt blue fluttered around her shoulders and arrowed down her slim back drawing the eye down to her amazing butt and legs.

"Damn, Ruby. You know your job, girlfriend!" Jamie whipped around and took a look at the back of herself. "Holy shit!" Then she looked at Steph. "Holy shit!"

"I know!" Steph couldn't help the bubbling laugh and spun the hairdresser into a tight, jumping hug. "You made us look totally kick ass!"

Ruby held up one long finger then clomped to the back of her shop, back with two cameras. One real one with film, and her Polaroid again. "Okay, just a few more pictures. God, you guys looks so amazing. I'm amazing!"

Jamie threw her arm around Jamie and hauled her in until they were cheek to cheek. The flash and whirl of the instant camera had her blinking, but it was nothing against the slim, pink camera's flash. She should be used to it by now with backstage, but it never ceased to put dots in her vision.

They paid her and gave a generous tip, then waved their way out of the salon and they headed to the food court.

"I need fuel."

"Yeah, me too," she answered and she let Jamie drag her into the lunch rush. It was mid-week so the rush wasn't too bad, but the people that were there made up the housewife and senior set and they weren't subtle about the stares.

"So, are they staring because we're hot, or because we're freaks?"

Steph laughed. "A little bit of both, I think." She spotted Todd in the middle of the food court with a slack jawed face. "That one just thinks we're hot."

"Well then, let's kill him."

They both threw a swing in their step and Steph could feel eyes turning their way. Feminine power was very much like a drug and she stored it up to use later. Heads turned, women sneered, and Todd dropped a bag full of tapes on the floor before he dropped to pick everything up. If that did say how hot they were, nothing did. She bent to pick up one of the tapes, seeing the smoky heart and scrawl of their band's name. She grinned up at him and handed him the tape. "Good taste."

"Can you sign it for me?"

She laughed and reached into her bag. She always had a Sharpie at hand. It just made everything easier with their new found fan base. She paiently waited for him to fumble the wrapping open and take out the sleeve. Steph scrawled her name on the inside over her picture and handed over the marker for Jamie to do the same. She patted his cheek. "Ready for some lunch, Todd?"

He bobbed his head, his eyes glassy. She wasn't sure if he was more impressed with them as artists or just that they were famous. She wasn't even sure if there was a difference anymore. She tucked a twenty into his hand. "Why don't you go get us a couple of salads and add grilled chicken to them and whatever you want. A couple of Pepsi's too."

"Salad?" Jamie asked and dumped herself into a chair, her long legs crossed insolently and a cigarette already at her lips.

"We need something that isn't fast food or room service."

"Speak for yourself."

Steph plucked the cigarette out of her hand and took a long drag before blowing it out into the cavernous ceiling. The quick shot of nicotine went to her head immediately in a nice little buzz before dissipating. "So, what's going on with you?"

Jamie shoved her sunglasses on and crossed her arms. "What do you mean?"

"Doesn't take a psychologist to see you just shut down on me, girl. What's going on?"

Jamie pinched the bridge of her nose and shoved her sunglasses higher on her nose. "Just tired, babes. I need this week off for the holiday."

She'd known Jamie for what felt like forever. Something was off with her. Beyond the drinking and the partying, that she understood and could party with the best of them. In fact her brain felt two sizes too big for her skull with what they'd put down the night before. Not that she'd let on about it to Jamie. "Are you sure that's all it is?"

"Yeah, what else would it be?"

But before she could interrogate her any more Todd came back with their lunch. They spent the next twently minutes torturing Todd with questions before they dragged him into the heart of the shopping center. Eight stores that catered to women's clothing lined that half of the mall.

"Come to mama," Steph whispered.

Todd dutifully followed them around like a puppy. Held coats and clothes that they'd set aside to buy. By the third store his puppy dog smile had dimmed to a glazed look that she understood. Many a boyfriend had the same look when they made the mistake of going out shopping with them.

At the fourth shop Steph stopped at the entrance and sighed. Racks and racks of clothes that suited the party circuit and seemed to be made for the stage were as far as the eye could see.

"Oh, man," she heard Jamie sigh.

She snapped hangers aside and grabbed jeans, belts, skirts, shirts, and bras until her arms were overflowing, then stopped before a mannequin at the center of the store and absently shoved everything at Todd. She climbed onto the dais and found her size, walking immediately to the dressing room and stripping off her clothes.

Five minutes later she arranged the shirt until it lay just right. She jumped at a heavy thunk on her dressing room door. She turned around and laughed. "Where did you find those?"

"C'mon, you know it was made for that outfit."

She grasped the black leather boots and tugged them on. They had some sort of stretchy material so that they gripped her calves and up to her knees and over hovering an inch over her knees. The heel was stilletto thin and at least four inches. She opened the door and Jamie swore.

"Oh yeah," Steph smiled at her reflection. "He's a dead man."

TWENTY FOUR

Heart and Soul

 

Foxy Lady

She was pretty sure that both Samboras were trying to drive her insane. It was a toss up which one of them was going to get punched first. Stephanie dragged her hands through her hair, messing up all the work she'd done to perfect her look. She tapped a nail on her slim black skirt where the zipper dangled at the top of her thigh.

It was three minutes until they hit the stage and Jamie was still MIA. The last week had been a lesson in patience. It so wasn't her strong suit. "Where the fuck is Jamie!?"

Ash twirled a drumstick, the tip of wood was a neon green to match the ends of her spikey hair. "Probably boffing some stud."

"I'll kill her," Steph growled. Maybe Jamie getting laid would improve her fucking mood. However, she'd prefer if she waited until after the show to open her thighs. She heard the stomp of boots without a heel and the skid and slap of a hand on the corner of the wall as Jamie flipped her long hair out of her face and made it with ninety seconds to spare. "Nice of you to join us."

Instead of a snarl, Jamie just mumbled an apology. Definitely not like her. Her eyes were rimmed in red under the heavy handed kohl liner and mascara. She couldn't tell if it was exhaustion or if she was drunk. Fortunately for them, Jamie played better drunk than sober sometimes. Four hands, nails in varying lengths and colors, piled up between them. Jamie's shredded lace wrapped hand on top.

"Play with heart," Ronnie started.

"Beat with lust," Ashley laughed.

"Sing with passion," Steph affirmed.

"Play with soul," Jamie said in a rusty voice.

The ritual evened her out, even as Jamie hurried ahead of her. The darkened stage beckoned, the restless chatter of the crowd died as they headed for their spots on stage and the acapella opener of Kiss Me Deadly ripped into the night. Shimmering purple lights pulsed and flashed to pure white as the band kicked it into high gear. She smiled and hung off the front of the stage to reach for outstretched fingers. It never ceased to amaze her how much the crowd supported them now. She undulated against her mic stand just and played up the lyrics, laughing as Ronnie came out to lean into her mic with her. She leaned back on Jamie as her girl shredded her way through a solo.

Even rough around the edges, Jamie became the music when she got on the stage. So like her brother in that aspect. But no matter what she tried, she couldn't coax the smiles out of her best friend tonight. The aching wail of her guitar wouldn't be denied and her solo drew out until the intricate notes blended until the crowd stomped and screamed their approval. Instead of fighting it, she signaled a change in the setlist. Introspection and passion could be exploited when Jamie was like this. Heart and Soul was on the album, but they rarely played it.

The song was slower, moodier, and allowed her to get behind the synth that she didn't allow herself to play enough. It played with a driving beat and challenged her vocally to hone in on lyrics that cut close. Even written a year ago, the words were like a prophecy. Jamie belted out the middle. Her rougher, smokey voice put the grit into the song and layered on her words. They melded and merged organically. Harmonies had always been their strong suit. Even when Jamie was miles away as soon as the songs started they were one on stage.

The constant, almost flat vocals that she maintained only enhanced the words that welled up inside her so that when Jamie soared up above the sorrow of the words and belted out the hope and the strength of coming out the other side of a love that just wasn't strong enough. And there she could show just how hard it was to breathe with Richie's confusing reactions and her own want crashing inside her.

She'd been in love before, but nothing could come up against the overwhelming feelings that Richie pulled out of her. It was bigger than herself, bigger than

Tired eyes, tears that dried

(living in a fantasy)

On the bed, on the pillow, where you told your lies

(there's never any room to breathe)

A turn of the key, my blood runs cold

(hoping every waking hour)

Don't look back to hurt me more

(you'll turn around and say that we can start)

Everything you did just said it all

Can't you try to

(oh won't you even try to)

Give a little bit of heart and soul

(give a little bit of heart and soul)

Give a little bit of love to grow

Give a little bit of heart and soul

(give a little bit of heart and soul)

And don't you make me beg for more

(must I beg you)

Give a sign, I need to know

A little bit of heart and soul

She caught Jamie leaning out with her mic stand, her guitar around her back, the tails of her scarves swishing back and forth over her indecently ripped jeans that showed more flesh than could or would be covered in denim. Jamie arched back and cried out all the savage emotions that were been boiling inside her.

Somehow, I lost my way

Looking to see something in your eyes

But love will never compromise

Now this is the politics of life, yeah!

Instead of picking up the pace she allowed the longing for something more to bleed into Addicted and prowled the stage. The fix, the addiction of the almost there emotions and limbo she'd been living in crawled out of her skin. She knew it was the exhaustion, the need for a break from the stage, from Richie, from the confusion, all of it was coalescing until she felt like she was drowning. The tears came out of nowhere and added a richness and thickness to the lyrics.

Their lighting guy framed her out in the unforgiving white of spotlights and she collapsed to her knees. Her chest heaved as the lights went out.

She got herself back together and climbed back to her feet. "So, tell me Portland, are you..." she drew it out, flipping her hair back and leaning hard on her mic stand and shading her eyes against the glaring lights as she saw the entire arena on their feet. Afraid that she'd lost them to the low key songs, she immediately got pumped that they simply went on the ride with them. "Tell me, are you ready to rock?!"

The rest of the show was a blur of high octane songs, Jamie was on fire. The sweat slicked down her back and she stripped down to a torn tank off her shoulder and the micro mini. She ran the length of the stage, dragging Ronnie up to the front with her, laughing when the joy of singing kicked in out of the emotional morass that started the show. Even Jamie was laughing by the end of the show.

"I just wanted to let you know that Portland completely rocks!" The crowd went ape shit and she laughed. "Well, hot damn, that's what I'm talkin' about!" Surprised at the strength of the reaction, she pumped her fist. "This is our last song--"

he shredding blues and a side of manipulated feedback pole axed her into stillness. The riff was undeniable, the style unmistakable. She whipped around to see Richie in full leather regalia. Black on black in tight leathers and tank, silver crosses and a pick in his mouth as he waved to the crowd and adjusted his guitar to give it another round.

He leaned against his sister, but his eyes were focused on hers and the riff blasted out one more time. He stalked toward her, the riff extended and he pummeled his wammy bar until he was sidled up to her mic stand.

Foxy, Foxy

You know you are a cute little heart breaker

Foxy yeah

And you know you are a sweet little love maker

Foxy

I wanna take you home, yeah

I won't do you no harm

You've got to be all mine, all mine

ooh Foxy Lady

Foxy, Foxy

Richie's voice had been made for Hendrix. His rawness and powerhouse treatment of the lyrics ratcheted up the lust factor until she was pretty sure sweat wasn't the only reason she was dripping wet. She played up the fun factor of the song and swayed her hips to the gypsy soul of the song. Her smile was all fox when she molded herself to his back for a moment, undulating against the curve of his spankable ass, then back around to whisper, "foxy," into the mic.

Surprised at his boldness on her stage with this song, she decided that he'd pay for each riff, note, and reverberation of his guitar. She slithered around his back, sliding her hand between the guitar and his belt, instantly satisfied when his guitar twanged and he stiffened at her touch.

"Here I come baby, I'm comin' to get you," he sang as if on cue.

She laughed and slipped away from him to let Jamie in so they could duel it out with the solo. Back to back, long lean guitarist, to long lean guitarist, they wailed on their guitars. She took the opportunity to work the crowd even as they roared their approval of tonight's special guest to their set. Revved on lust and the unexpected punch of excitement, she taunted the crowd for more.

And as the song came to a close, it was the three of them at the mic, more laughter than grace at this point. And he stayed and helped out with their hit single, Since You Been Gone, surprisingly adept at the melody. He played rhythm guitar with ease, letting his sister shine. The crowd screamed her own words back to her and her life felt pretty fucking good. These were the shows that she lived for.

This is what she longed for, coveted, and searched for every night. And when Richie snuck away just before bows, she couldn't have loved him more. Damn that man. He let them soak in all the praise and the unabashedly vocal love from the crowd. Her sisters crowded in on her as they hugged each other, bowed, then howled with laughter as Ashley handspringed her way across the stage to do a tucked back flip then bounced off stage.

Steph did her final wave then rushed backstage. She snagged one of the roadies. "Where's Richie?" The kid just shrugged and rushed off to do whatever job he was supposed to be doing. Like ants, the techs and roadies covered the stage wearing black shirts and dark jeans. They broke Devotions's equipment down and pulled the cover off of Teek's drumkit. All of this was under the cover of low lights. The crowd was still rowdy from their set, the noise level high as it was time for bathroom and beer runs.

She pushed her way to the dressing rooms, smiling when she should, glad handing and kissing cheeks when she couldn't get out of the personal touch. What had he been thinking coming on that stage with her? Confused by his absense for the last few days, and then he just shows up to rile her up and leave her in the dust.

Again.

Dammit.

She caught a teased red tail and sparkles on a tailed jacket and pounced. "David!"

He turned with a smile. "Man, you were hot tonight!" He dragged her in and hugged her tight enough that she went up on her toes at his exhuberation.

"Well, then," she laughed and hugged him back. And he didn't let go. "Thanks, now put me down."

"Oh, right. Sorry, the boobage got me distracted."

She rolled her eyes. "Pig." He just rolled one sparkly shoulder. "Where's Richie?" Again he shrugged. "You are not helpful."

"I can be very helpful," he said with a leer.

"Not with what I want, man-whore. Go play with the handful of girls that are staring at us."

He sighed. "You don't know what you're missing, Lolly."

"Ugh," she said in disgust. Jon's nickname for her had caught on and now everyone called her that. Well, except for Richie. The remembered, Baby, of a few days ago fluttered in her chest like an echo. She'd never liked a guy to call her that before. But something about the gravelly way it rolled off his tongue made her go soft as caramel.

She wandered to all the spots that he could possibly hide, backstage, the showers, the changing room, the wardrobes...nothing.

Paul started clapping and shouting and she caught the sparkle of leather and fringe and a dimple flash as he waved at her and hit the stage. "Goddammit!" He'd known she was looking for him. What the hell game was he playing? She stalked off to the showers and drowned her buzzing head under a cool blast of water. Jamie was in the stall beside her.

"Can you fucking believe that show?"

Steph let the water pour over her neck for another minute then surfaced. "No, I can't. How the hell are we going to top that for tomorrow night?"

"Maybe a cover song meddley? You know, rip out some oldies? The Skids are going to be here. We can always convince Snake to come on stage with us."

Steph thought about it for a minute. Not that they would be able to outshine what was done tonight, but they could give it a good try. "Doc's not really in love with me right now to ask for extra time."

Jamie chugged the beer she'd brought with her into the shower. "I can get the slick bastard to give us time."

"If you can get the okay, we'll do it. Right now, I don't want to rock the boat."

"That's all right, I'm sure Jonny would let us."

Steph's eyebrow rose as she peered around the corner. "Oh really?" It wasn't the first time that Jamie had made a comment like that. "Just why would you be sure of that?"

"No reason." Jamie ducked back under her spray and suddenly her water shut off.

"What's going on with you?"

Jamie slammed back the last of the can and shot it into the garbage can littered with quite a few cans already. All Jamie's? Steph shook that thought off. Her best friend was more likely to down a pint of Jack than a six pack of beer. She wasn't sure what was more dangerous.

"Nothing's going on, I'm just restless. You know how I get," she shrugged. "I just need some exercise, or to get off the bus or something. Maybe I'll mog around tomorrow at one of the shopping centers. Akron sure knows how to get their shop on."

Itchy to get out off the bus and hotel merry-go-round she shut off her own shower and tugged a towel around her boobs. "I could go for a shop-a-thon if you want me to go with you."

"Yeah?" The first bloom of a real smile hit her best friend's face.

It made her realize that they really hadn't done anything like girlfriends in a good long time. The bus, the schedule, the hotels, the stolen time gave them little time to just hang out. She was either doing interviews, or they were being herded into photoshoots by Doc. She spent the majority of her time at radio stations or avoiding and alternately chasing Richie for the last few weeks.

"Yeah, why don't we go have a girl's day."

"No, Ashley!"

Steph laughed. "No, I could do without Taz for an afternoon too. We'll sick her on Ronnie. Or better yet, a boy at the afterparty."

"Deal."

Jamie padded off into the closet-sized room that all the girls had to share as a dressing room. She followed, picking out a pair of jeans from the overflowing wardrobe case. Halfway up her thighs, she realized they were Jamie's and kicked them off. "Are you trying to bunk space in my case, brat?"

"That's where they went!" Jamie snatched the jeans out of her hand. "I've been looking for these." She hopped into them, the flash of black lace bikini's and her best friend's prime ass wiggled into the jeans.

"I really hate you."

Jamie zipped them up and frowned at the missing button, then shrugged and left it open that little bit. The mini-cups that she called a bra dangled from her elbows as she reached for the catch and snapped the strap into place. "What'd I do?"

"You're all skinny and shit." She flipped out a pair of jeans from her case, this time they were definitely hers. At least two sizes bigger than Jamie's goddammit.

"Hey, I'd trade my stick insect body for your cuves in a hot second, pal." She nodded to Steph's pink bra. "Especially the boobs. It's just not right that you got the curves and the boobs."

"You've got the legs," she pouted.

"Both of you are gorgeous, so can you stop?" Ronnie called over as she zipped skinny jeans into a magenta pair of knee high boots. "We've got a room full of hot boys backstage ready to party and you're wasting time."

Steph slapped her hips and turned to the tiny mirror as she tugged down an oversized white tanktop that let her bra bleed through. She definitely needed new clothes. Shopping was definitely in order. "Okay, I'm ready."

"Finally," Ronnie said with an exasperated sigh.

"What are you worried about, you're with Mike." Steph fluffed her hair and cinched a heavy buckle at her hip.

"I'm not dead!"

She laughed and slicked on some gloss. She wasn't going to wait for Richie tonight. She was going to have fun and flirt her face off. "No, I'm not either." She hooked her arm throught Ronnie's and Jamie's. "We look hot, let's go kick ass."

"That's what I'm talkin' about!" Ronnie said and swung open the door.

TWENTY

Stephanie dropped the fifteen pound dumbbell she’d been using tone up her arms. Christ, she hated the gym more than life, but not more than flabby grandma arms. She lifted it again and did another set, focusing on her triceps.


She’d thought sweating out some frustration while Richie and Jamie had gone off to enjoy their day off would have made her feel better. For God’s sake, Jamie had stolen out of the hotel like a thief. What, was she afraid she’d want to go out with Jamie and her precious brother for the day? Well she didn’t want to drive out to some stupid guitar shop when they’d driven for what felt like days the night before.

Stupid plane out for repairs again. Stupid tour with the stupid budget that Doc was spending on executives and suits instead of important things like equipment and transportation. They were selling out every single venue, how could they be short on cash? She wiped her brow with the bottom of her shirt and flipped the tape in the cassette deck before she climbed onto the stationary bike.

The sexy kick of Michael Hutchence’s voice filled the makeshift gym at their hotel. She liked the poppy beat and it helped her pound out three miles in half the time that it would normally take.

Ashley ran through the room, a security guard hot on her heels. Her wild laugh and shriek as the guy got closer told her that cuffs would definitely be used for a far different reason when Taz got done with him. And of course, she was busting her ass in the gym and Ash would burn calories simply breathing or fucking.

And man, she tried not to hate her for it, but sometimes she wished she could be that carefree. She wanted to run around the hotel and just play all damn day, but no, she’d been up at six am to do the early-early morning show interview for radio. Like anyone had been listening, but promotion was promotion. She’d gotten a call from the record company pressuring for a date on a second album. They wanted to capitalize on the tour, but writing on the road was one thing, recording was something completely different.

She and Jamie had written a handful of songs over the last few months, but she had no idea if any of them were any good. The minute she focused on anything but getting through the next day, she froze up. One song was haunting her, and she’d seen 3AM before it let her go last night. Add in some eye crossing frustration named Richie Sambora and she was a damn mess.

The last stretch of her third mile ticked on the meter, frustration and anger throbbed in her thighs and calves until her heart rate pounded in her temples and her breath wheezed out. She climbed off the bike, bending at the waist to catch her breath.

Stupid man.

Taking the stairs she went to her room and took a shower, dragging on comfortable cutoffs and a pink tanktop. As per usual, she and Ronnie had a crap room where the a/c belched and rattled more than gave out cold air. She propped the door open so she could at least get some air in the room. The suicide windows didn’t allow for anything like real air.

Of course, if you were staying in a dump like the hotel they were, suicide was a factor. Her roommate was MIA, again, not unusual. Ronnie and Mike were getting more acquainted as the tour went on and they’d probably snuck off somewhere together. Disgusted with her options for the day, she snatched her room key and purse on her way out, slamming the door just because she could.

The snap of her flip-flops gave her away, and Al peeked out from his room. “Hey, baby, where you headed?”

Fighting the urge to tell him to shove his baby where the sun didn’t shine, she forced a smile. “Hey, Alec.” When his eyes raked down her legs, she gave up all pretense of polite. “Anywhere away from here.”

He didn’t catch the hint, instead he followed behind her like the Chihuahua he resembled. And his eyes were on her ass. Great. Resisting the urge to pull her t-shirt down to her knees—as if it was an option—she ignored him.

“I’m not doing anything.”

“Surprise, surprise.”

His smile became more brittle but didn’t fade. “C’mon, what’s it gonna hurt if we hang for a bit? I guarantee people will notice.”

Steph bit back a sneer. Yeah, the press would think she was seeing Alec. Then she’d have to break one of the suicide windows and take care of business. “Look, Al. I’m trying to go off and be incognito. If you go with me, people will recognize you,” she said in her best I-can-flatter-your-male-ego voice.

His eyes shifted, then settled. He cracked his knuckles and smiled at her, the Muppets quality of his laugh grated. The boy was getting twitchier every day. “Yeah, you’re right.”

She nodded, patting his shoulder. “You understand, right?”

He bobbed his head on his scrawny neck and held back, stuffing his hands in his pockets. Making her escape, she fled around the corner and down the stairs, too impatient for the elevator.

“Steph!”

God, had he changed his mind? With shoulders hunched, she kept going.

“Lolly!”

Her head whipped around. Definitely not Alec. “Where the hell did you come from?”

Jon hurried down the stairs after her. “My room.”

She squinted at him. “You’re such an ass.”

He laughed. “I heard you in the hall. Boy do you know how to work Alec.”

She stroked his shoulder like a patient parent. “Every boy needs his ego stroked a time or two,” she said and continued down the stairs.

His bark of laughter fed hers and they ended up racing down the stairs. At the bottom, he shook his head. “And the purpose of that?”

She pushed her hair out of her eyes, enjoying this easier, less stressed Jon. He still had too many shadows under his pretty blue eyes, and the hair that had once been a source of pin up drooling, was overgrown and on its way to fried, jammed under a trucker hat. “No purpose, I just like to leave you in my dust every once in awhile, Mr. Famous.”

“I’d kill not to be famous for just an afternoon.”

She looked him over, flipped the hat off and spun him around.

“Hey!” He looked over his shoulder. “What are you—“

“Be quiet and face forward, pain in the butt.” She gathered his hair into a tail, surprised when it was actually soft. She scraped it back, unrolling the black hair tie she habitually wore on her wrist until she could get most of his hair into the band.

He stepped forward, pushing at her hands in his hair. “Ow!”

She batted his hands back. “Don't be such a baby.” She plunked the hat on, and turned him to face her. She pushed the shorter pieces from up front into the hat. “Jesus, you’re way to pretty to be a guy.”

Jon crossed his eyes. “Gee, thanks.”

She lightly tapped his cheek and grinned up at him. “Welcome.” His cheekbones were definitely one of those features that screamed Jon, but then again, he usually had his hair hiding most of his face, so he actually looked like a totally different person. “Take off your jacket,” she said and gave him the gimme fingers.

He shrugged off the leather fringe jacket. “And why am I letting you order me around, again?”

She looked over his battered and holey jeans and well-worn grey t-shirt. He looked like any other guy on the street if you didn’t look too close. ““Because you want a normal afternoon.” She flicked the brim of his hat. “And I’m going to give it to you.”

She dragged him out the door, sliding her arm around his hip until he caught on and slung his arm around her shoulder in an easy familiarity. His voice was low in her ear. “If this turns into a clusterfuck of screaming women I’ll have David hold you down while I shave your head.”

Batting her eyelashes, she pulled all her acting skills out of her butt long enough to get them out of the hotel lobby. It was early enough in the day that the fans hadn’t found out where they were staying, so it was smooth sailing until they hit the parking lot. “Richie would kick your ass if you cut my hair.”

“That’s why it would be David,” he said sweetly.

She shook her head and looked around the parking lot.

“So, I’m thinking transportation wasn’t part of your plan?”

“Shut up and let me think.” God, that man brought out her bitch. A black Porsche Boxter, a Suburban, and shuttle bus were parked right near the building.

Jon sauntered to the sleek black car like he owned it and tried the handle. He smiled over his shoulder and slid in. He shrunk down in the seat and twisted a few wires and the car roared to life.

“Holy crap!” Steph ran around the passenger side. “What are you doing?”

“Get in.” He gunned the engine, waggling his eyebrows as he jammed sunglasses on his face.

“We can’t steal a car!” Her eyes darted around the parking lot for a bellhop, but this hotel wasn’t exactly bellhop material. “Jon!”

“Get in! Live a little.”

Her heart slammed in her chest. “Me and jail would not get along,” she whispered furiously. He inched forward and she swore. She threw her bag to the floor. “If you get me arrested, I’ll kill you,” she warned one last time and hopped into the car.

He fishtailed out as he punched the accelerator and the car reved, the short shifter easy in his hand. She shrunk down in her seat, staring at him.

“What?”

“Do I want to know how you know how to boost a car?”

The corner of his lip quirked. “Misspent youth,” but his words were heavy on the Jersey accent and youth sounded more like yute.

She looked over her shoulder nervously, then back at him, into the side mirror and then faced forward.

“If you keep looking nervous people will think we stole the car.”

“We did steal it!” She shrunk down even lower, her fingernails digging into the super-fine leather as he merged onto the highway. California highways were like NASCAR and she slammed her eyes shut in reaction to him weaving in and out of traffic, finally settling into the fast lane.

His fingers curled and uncurled on the steering wheel, the glee apparent on his face. The little jerk was enjoying being a criminal. “So, where are we headed?”

She slowly sat up, the initial shock wearing off under the sun searing through the windows and the a/c keeping them cool. The radio was up, Belinda Carlisle sung about heaven and just then and there she believed the song. “Shopping and the beach, driver.”

Jon grinned and downshifted as he slid over a lane at the Newport Beach exit sign. A Ferrari roared in front of them and over four lanes of traffic, brake lights lit up like fire all around them. She clicked her seat belt and Jon laughed. “I’m not going to kill you.”

“Considering you’re trying to break the sound barrier, I’ll go with the seat belt, thanks.”

Jon downshifted and his speed dropped from Mach1 to city driving as he pulled off the exit. Immediately the ambiance changed. It felt like home. It felt like the shore. Sand encroached on pavement, bikinis and board shorts were the uniform of choice. She lowered the window and Jon followed suit. The air smelled of brine and grilled onions, and Mexican food from the vendors hocking their wares.

She missed home. It was galling to admit it since this was the dream, but she needed to see her friends, her parents, her cousins and aunts and uncles. She needed the noise of the comforting Loran clan and even her obnoxious brother. She needed her own bed, her mother’s cooking, and her swimming pool. She needed a piece of her old life to feel real again.

He picked a shady spot at the edge of an outdoor shopping center. “Don’t lock it,” he reminded her.

She crossed her arms and followed him to the central hub where a fountain gurgled swimming pool blue water, bored teenagers milled around, and the grating sound of skateboards on pavement vyed with a boombox blasting out Metallica. It was mid-week, but they were in high summer and the beach butted up to the shops with California’s version of a boardwalk. They ducked into a kitchy tourist trap and found flip flops, a beach bag and cheap bathing suits along with a cover up, sunblock and two straw hats.

Jon dug for his wallet and pulled out plastic, but she grabbed his arm. “Do you want the world to know that you-know-who is in Newport Beach?”

He looked at his credit card, then at her. “I don’t have enough cash for all this stuff.”

Steph rolled her eyes and pulled out her card. “You have fake names for everything but credit cards, huh?”

His eyebrows lifted into the shade of the brim of his hat. “That’s a great idea. I should totally do that.”

“John McBubbleButt.”

Jon snickered as she paid. No one gave them a second look. Of course he kept his shades on even in the store and played pack mule without complaint. “Can we use the dressing room to change?”

The bored teen behind the counter nodded, blowing a purple bubble before going back to his comic book. Jon grinned and steered her to the back. She slipped into the pink bikini, a little more conservative than she would normally buy in deference to their incognito status. With the white mesh cover-up and straw hat, Jackie O shades, she looked like every other twenty year old on the beach.

She met Jon outside the dressing room and laughed. Lime green shorts brushed his knees with his hairy monkey legs and furry chest on display. He had a white, lightweight cotton shirt open for comfort, but not showing off his body. His hair was out on his shoulders again and she pushed him back behind into the changing room.

“It doesn’t fit under the hat.”

“Where’s that rubber band?” He shrugged, and she rolled her eyes. She turned him around in the mirror. “Those shorts are seriously hot.”

“It was either lime green or pink.”

She stood on tiptoes and met his eyes in the mirror. “You’d look sexy in pink.”

“Fuck off.”

Laughing, Steph quickly plaited his hair into a french braid.

He jerked away from her. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m braiding your hair.”

“That’s for girls!” He batted her hands away yet again.

Amused by his Italian sensibilities coming out loud and proud, she tried not to laugh. “No one’s going to see it under your hat, stud.” And sure enough the little braided tail was easy to tuck up under the hat. Again, he was all cheekbones and sunglasses, his skin already tanning up with the few days off that they’d had while in the midwest states.

She tugged him out of the dressing room and out to the food court. “I’m starving.” They ate hot dogs that were supposed to be like Coney Island, and as far as she was concerned they were an epic failure. They walked their sham of a boardwalk and drifted in a companionable silence.

His shoulders relaxed the longer they were out and no one recognized him. They found a pier full of fisherman and the lulling hiss of water lapping. The tide was coming in and the crashing waves reminded her of August and the shore with the Samboras. She must have tagged along a dozen times through her childhood and the smell of bait and saltwater, even if it was the Pacific, unknotted some of the loneliness and frustration she’d been drowning in.

“Why do you do this?”

They both leaned on the weather beaten rail staring out into the horizon. His eyes were unreadable behind mirrored lenses, but she honestly had to know. Sometimes she wondered if Jon was even happy on tour anymore. He was quiet for a long moment then he took off his aviator glasses and turned to her. “I love it, Steph. I know you guys don’t think I do, but I honestly do. I can’t be anything, or anyone else than a songwriter. I need to get on that stage, I need to make music. I just wish I could do it without the other crap.”

He squinted at the fiery sun that sat in the middle of the sky. It wasn’t even noon and they had an entire day ahead of them. She propped herself on her elbows, looking down at the waves as they pounded at the legs of the pier. “Is it worth the other crap? You seem so on edge lately.”

He tipped his hat back and closed his eyes. “I ask myself that every morning that I do an interview—the same interview, over and over by the way—and pose for one more picture, sign one more tour program, pretend that I like some suit that’s only backstage because he wants the story to tell his buddies at work the next day. But then I get on that stage, and all of it goes away.

She understood that, and turned back to the sea, shoulder to shoulder they went quiet. There was no need for words or conversation right then. The forty minutes Devotion was allotted each night made it worth it for her too. Impatient to grow, to have more time on the stage she would steal another five minutes some nights, but Jon seemed to understand her hunger because he never said anything.

Kindred spirits, as hard as that was to believe, that’s what they were. She looked up at him, shading her eyes with her hand. “So, think we can kick the depressing shit and go lay on the beach and bake for a few hours?”

He smiled and his face transformed into the man that made women follow the band to the ends of the earth. It held its own power and she was very glad she was immune. This man would not be an easy man to love.

She hooked her arm in his. “We have to find something a little more private though. You go flashing that chest and we’ll be attacked.”

His shoulders went back and the preening peacock came out. “It’s an impressive chest.”

“Yeah, if you’re a sixteen year old boy.”

Laughing, he slung his arm around her neck and led her back down the pier. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re a ball buster?”

“Jamie taught me.”

His smile froze for just a moment before the laugh was back. “You learned from the best.”

Steph hiked the beach bag onto her shoulder, instantly suspicious. “Something I should know?”

“Nope.”

Why didn’t she believe him?

EIGHTEEN

podmatrixmyspace musicmyspace music

The crowd faded back, the screams were insulated from her monitors, not that she saw the faces anyway. Steph's fingers gripped her sweat streaked hair as she prowled the stage.

I'm hooked on you

I need a fix

I can't take it

Just one more hit

I promise I can deal with it

I'll handle it, quit it

Just one more time

Then that's it

Just a little bit more to get me through this

Her voice exploded out of her chest. Pounding against her soaked shirt she opened up, sucking every ounce of the frenzied crowd into her. Bending back the words ripped out of her, resonating to the back rafters.

I'm hooked on you

I need a fix

I can't take it

Just one more hit

I promise I can deal with it

I'll handle it, quit it

Just one more time

Then that's it

Just a little bit more to get me through this

Finally, heaving in a breath, she curled forward, falling to her knees. The words were her right now. She'd become them, letting herself bleed on the stage. Frustration had followed her for so long, she felt like she was really bleeding some days.

It's like I can't think

Without you interrupting me

In my thoughts

In my dreams

You've taken over me

It's like I'm not me

It's like I'm not me

Screams and cheers pulsed past the monitors in her ears. The spotlight burned along the back of her neck, then the stage went blessedly black. Pressing a shaking hand to the floor, she nearly slipped. Slick with sweat and her heart racing she threw her head back. She knew she should get up, but her legs were jelly. The soft blue glow that signaled the last song of their set was the first thing to pierce the buzzing in her brain.

She raised her fist to signal to Jamie that she needed a longer intro. Dragging that same fist into her belly she pressed down as if she could hold in the adrenaline firing through her. A flash of silver to her left caught her attention. She knew that strap. She hoped Richie saw every bit of that last song. He'd been avoiding her for days now and it was eating her alive. She wished she could move on. If he made a convincing argument as to why he held back, she just might be able to, but not for his stupid reasons.

Anger burned and she hopped off her knees, racing back to the front to stage. The guitar heavy opener pushed her into a growly rendition of the single that was putting them on the map. She used every trick that she knew to yank every last person out of their chairs until the arena screamed every lyric with her. She threw her arm around Jamie's shoulder, she was just as slick and wrecked as she was. Holding the mic between them the chorus rocked and the end of the show was one of the best they'd ever had.

During the bows, she was already backstage in her head. Already bursting with purpose. She wasn't waiting anymore, dammit. She was going to show him just how much she was willing to do to get what she wanted.

Richie took a swig from Jon's bottle of JD. His frontman was sitting in the corner, blank and grouchy after the show. Jon had been off all damn night and now he was going to drown himself. He'd been watching for signals all night, and the minute they were out of synch he'd tried to correct, but the fuck-ups had turned into a clusterfuck by the end of the first hour. The crowd didn't notice the timing issues, but Jon did. And he sure as shit did. He'd even had to carry him on songs that Jon could normally sing with a high grade fever and congestion for Christ's sake. He handed Jon back the bottle, a grunt was his reward. Ahh well, at least he was a quiet drunk. Letting Jon brood through his mad was much better than ducking a flying fist.

He wandered into the mix of executives, VIPs, and groupies. Some of the execs probably hadn't seen a pair of tits so fine since their college days. The room reeked of too much perfume and cologne with the underlying sweetness of pot. And seriously, if he wasn't smokin' it, he didn't want the tease. The himidity held all the smells over the air like a fine mist. He shrugged off his heavy leather jacket, trading out the cool factor for comfort. Music cranked out of the getto blaster someone had jury-rigged to an amp.

He glad handed and signed authographs, chit chatted with fans and enjoyed a semi-coherent conversation about guitars with one of the RCA reps that had finagled his way backstage thanks to Rich and his ever present notebook of names. All the while there was this spot between his shoulder blades that burned. He turned around to see if someone was staring at him, but he couldn't catch anything but come-on grins from the skads of women prowling the room. Normally, he'd have scooped up one to get rid of some of the adrenaline that never quite left his veins after a show. Smoke up, get laid, and relax had been the tone of his touring life until Steph had arrived.

Looking over his shoulder again, he thought he caught the bright blue of her eyes, but it was just another random girl in the sea of faces. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and headed to the bar. Restless, he looked around for something to capture his interest he finally zeroed in on an endless line of smooth, tanned back. The dip that curved into spine looked soft as satin. Hair was piled up, tiny little curls dripped down tangling in skimpy little strings that tied at her neck. The back was so low that he was expecting to see a shadow of cheek. His mouth watered. Finally, something to concentrate on that wasn't Stephanie.

He moved through the crowd, his attention focused. Smiling, waving when he had to, he followed the woman as she weaved through the crush of people. Just as he was about to get to her she slipped away. "Dammit," he muttered when one of the women he brushed by, hooked him by the arm. He really tried to be nice, but he had to find her again. He bussed the woman on the cheek, but ignored whatever she was saying. 

Another flash of the jet black dress, just a little more this time. Well, if you could call it more. It clung to her exceptional ass, and left more toned and tanned flesh to entice. Just enough of a thigh to pool spit into his mouth. Boots with little chained crosses down the back started right above her knee.

He'd let her leave the boots on when he got inside her.

She moved again, this time into the pulsing jumble of bodies that made up a make-shift dance floor. Girls tried to pull him in, grinding against his hip, his thigh, fingers grasping but he he still moved forward. She kept slipping out of range and it pissed him off. He liked the chase, but this was getting ridiculous. And suddenly she stopped, the fine line of jaw finally visable around all that fistable hair. The curve of a smile left a throbbing behind his zipper. She knew he was chasing her.

The woman turned and he swore. The grin was mischievous and the look in her eyes told him he was in deep shit. Stephanie Loran, up and coming rock star, fantasy woman, and bane of his existance slowly walked toward him. Her body was even more enticing from the front. The dress was made of some material that left everything moving and touchable yet covered every inch of the front of her. Knowing that her entire back was on display ate at something deep inside of him, kicking possessive instincts to life.

Fuck.

She didn't speak, just put her hands on him, backing him into the center of the dance floor where the music drowned out talking. A soft, sexy guitar wailed and David Coverdale became Stephanie's soundtrack. Her fingers trailed over his shoulder and down his arm, until their fingers laced. Unable to deny the fact that he wanted her close, he held her tight against his chest and he heard himself groan when her breasts pressed into his chest. And that was a definite yes...No bra.

Fuck me.

She transfered his fingers to her back and her glossy lips parted as his fingers splayed nearly the entire length of her back. They swayed together to the song, his thigh between hers, the silk of her skin burned under his palm. They shouldn't have fit together. He was nearly a foot taller than her, but she did. Every inch of her fit him like she'd been made just for him.

Her nose brushed his neck, the flick of her tongue at his Adam's apple was so soft and fleeting, he wasn't sure she'd even done it until he felt another at his collarbone. Her breath, hot and a little unsteady puffed against his chest. Her fingers slid down his chest, and down to the shirt tails that protected him from making a complete ass of himself. Her knuckle drew down the bulge there, and then back up and suddenly she was gone. Her touch trailed over his thigh and around the back of him as she slowly walked in a circle. Always touching, her heat there again and again, neverending. And when her palm cupped his ass he jumped.

Her low laugh purred in his ear as she came back around the front of him. This time, she'd slowly drew her fingertips up each knuckle, tracing over his palm, her nails biting lightly over his wrist and up his forearm until she reached his elbow. She scraped lightly then went feather soft at his bicep until she was back at his shoulder, and into his hair. Their eyes locked as they swayed to the sad wail of the guitar solo.

Wanting her was just something he dealt with, he'd been dealing with it since he'd been eighteen. The dancing, he couldn't deal with. The dancing was where the deepest and darkest fantasies were buried. Feeling her move under him, watching how her hips fit his was like walking sex. He traced his own fingers down the dip of her spine, over the curve of her ass and down to the satin flesh of her thigh. He wanted to be just as easy with her, just as fluid and open, but she made him feel stupid and clumsy.

He wasn't clumsy, not with this, dammit. He knew how to move, how to make a woman wild. His fingers dug into her thigh as she bumped against his cock one more time. Her breath thick on his neck, her arms loosely clasped around his neck. This was supposed to be easy. He bent slightly, his nose in her hair, her light scent curling around him like rain and sunshine. Nothing like the thick cloying room, everything that he wanted.

And the song ended, instead of holding onto him, she slipped away. She turned and walked away without a word or a backward glance. She grabbed beer from their tour manager with a sweet smile. As if she hadn't just blown him away with her body, with a dance, with her scent.

She laughed.

She danced.

She didn't act like the last five minutes had happened. And he stood there like an asshole. Hell with that. He stalked into the back, splashing a heavy handed cup full of vodka and ice--hold the soda. Screw it, he took the bottle.

Just shit.

He sat next to Jon. Downing the cup, he clinked his bottle with Jon's and refilled. They could both be fucking miserable.