CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Gizmo
“H e’s late,” Vince says when I walk into the studio.
“Giz is never late,” Rocket says and looks at me. “You’re the most on time fucker of all of us and yet you’re late.”
“I got a haircut.”
Laughter rings out. “You’re so full of shit you stink, Giz. You have swagger,” Hawkin chimes in as he shifts behind the soundboard.
“You’re swaggering.” Rocket snickers.
“Yep. No doubt. Someone definitely got fucking laid last night,” Hawkin says.
“What the hell are you talking about?” I throw up a middle finger with one hand as I throw my keys and wallet on the console beside the drum set and go to the fridge. A glance at my watch says it’s eleven, which only spurs on the debate whether I should decide on the beer or water.
It’s a hard fucking choice.
Write drunk, play it back sober.
But we’re going to be here long enough that I opt for water.
And when I do the guys throw up their hands and cheer. “Again... what the fuck?”
“You’re hydrating. That means it was great sex,” Vince says.
“Phenomenal sex that you need to recoup,” Rocket adds.
“You sure you don’t need Gatorade to replenish those electrolytes you lost?” Hawkin completes the trio.
I shake my head and laugh. “You guys are assholes.”
“He’s not denying it,” Vince says. “There’s that.”
“I’m not confirming it either,” I say.
“Which is confirmation in and of itself if I’ve ever heard one,” Hawkin says.
“So... let’s hear it,” Rocket says, propping his boots up on the table like he owns the place. “Are you fucking her yet or what? If you’re gonna play house then why not reap the benefits of it, right?”
I take a sip from my water and now, really wish it were beer. The four of us share just about everything so my hesitation is strange. Hendrix isn’t some band groupie I’m going to never see again—or that they won’t either.
It’s weird. I want them to respect her. To not think about her like they do all the other women we’ve met, had, and been done with over the years.
She’s different. The situation is different. That’s all.
“You guys are being dicks,” I mutter and move toward the back of the studio where my hand-scribbled notes are laid out.
“We’re being dicks?” Hawkin scoffs. “From the head dick himself when it comes to giving us shit about women.”
“Dude, whatever. It’s not like that. She’s not like that. I told you, she’s doing me a favor here—”
“A lot of favors apparently,” Vince mutters as he takes a sip. He was smart and went for something stronger than water. They all bark out laughs.
“Fuck you all,” I mutter and question my own want to protect her from this kind of shit. And this is just good-natured fun from the people I know.
“No need to get defensive about it,” Rocket says through his smirk.
“I’m not. Can we put this time to good use and get started please?” I ask.
“Let’s just hope you had more rhythm with your hips than you’ve had in here the past few sessions,” Hawkin teases.
Vince’s chuckle pulls my eyes over to his. While Hawkin might be the leader of this band, Vince is the silent force behind it. Or rather, has become over the years. “You are being defensive,” he finally says from where he’s leaned against the wall, watching me like he’s already picked apart every one of my tells.
No doubt he has.
“Word’s going to be out soon enough—now that the pic of you with her at your pool has surfaced—so what’s the big deal?” Hawkin asks.
I focus on rubbing the condensation off my bottle. “Because she’s not just one of... whatever, can we start please?”
“Why? You have some hot piece of ass to get back home to when we’re done?” Rocket jokes, but it’s Rocket and rather than be mad, the comment tugs at the corners of my lips and has me shaking my head. “Because you have to actually see her the morning after, the month after, two months after, and so now you have to know her as a person and don’t like the idea of us wondering how good she is in bed?”
“Dude.” I scrub a hand through my hair. “Hawke and Vince are both married. I doubt they’re looking because their wives are awesome. So that would mean we’re talking about you, and she wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot pole.” It’s my turn to grin. “Ugly fuckers aren’t her type.”
“We all look the same in the dark. Some of us are just a little more blessed than others,” he says and we all laugh.
“When do the wedding photos leak?” Vince interjects, clearly seeing Rocket needs a distraction or he’ll keep going and when he keeps going, sometimes some shoving occurs.
“Please tell me you guys took some cheesy-ass photos with Elvis or blue suede shoes or something,” Hawke says.
“ Please . I need this bullshit to be commemorated so we can blow up pictures of it in future years and harass the fuck out of you for it,” Rocket says.
No doubt the fucker would too.
“Apparently any day. You know how it goes. Shop for the right price. Have an influencer post they have some big inside scoop. Create some buzz, and then people clamor for the pic when it’s ‘leaked,’” I say.
“So the charity benefit will be a fucking madhouse then,” Hawkin says.
“No shit,” Vince murmurs.
And I should be worried about it. About Hendrix and how she’s going to take the onslaught of attention I’ve grown accustomed to. Those should be my concerns but my mind is on last night. To her on my lap, her body flush against mine, the drumsticks in her hand. Then her on her bed, thighs spread wide and the part of her lips and gasp when I pushed into her.
Jesus fucking Christ.
I take another sip of my water, ignoring the way Vince is still staring at me like he already knows what’s in my head.
“It’s probably the best place for us to be after. The media will be a madhouse but there are so many celebrities slated to be there that security will be tight and the media will be managed. The last thing I want to do is feed her to the dogs right away because you two fuckers both know how brutal they can be.”
Vince and Hawkin give knowing nods. They might be razzing the fuck out of me, but their wives were once the ones the media were desperate to sell pictures of and write shitty things about, so they get it. They know what I’m trying to protect Hendrix from.
“True,” Vince says. “What other events is she coming to?”
“Lucky for us, our calendar is pretty clear so that’s a blessing in disguise,” I say
“The lockdown, the stay home order before a tour,” Hawkin murmurs. And he’s right. This is our MO. Before a tour, we are at home as much as possible since our own beds will be a distant memory for some time. It allows us to stay on schedule—write new material, rehearse for the tour, and ground ourselves before the chaos and wear and tear commences.
“Yeah. It’s great timing if there’s such a thing.”
“So?” Rocket prompts as he plops down on the leather couch on the far end of the studio. “We need details. Is she any good?”
I nearly choke on my water. “Excuse me?”
Rocket grins. “At playing the drums.” He pauses just long enough for the innuendo to sink in. “ Obviously .”
I glare at him. “You’re an asshole.”
“Yeah, yeah.” He waves a hand. “You avoiding the question?”
I lean back, smirking. “What do you think?”
Hawke whistles low, shaking his head. “I think if you were fucking her, you’d be way less fun to mess with right now.”
“Or way more fun.” Rocket grins. “I bet he’s already in deep. He’s not used to respectable women. She got you whipped yet, Giz?”
I scoff. “Not even close.”
Vince finally speaks again, voice calm. Too calm. “You lying?”
I don’t flinch. Don’t waver. Just smirk and tip my bottle toward him. “What do you think?”
They all laugh, and I let them, playing along. Because the truth?
That’s a whole different beast I don’t think I’m ready to mess with yet.
It was just sex.
Just a little twist in the sheets between willing participants.
Just a little fun while we’re stuck in this together. But one thing’s for sure.
Her ex was a fucking idiot.