Chapter 19
RIO
Ithrust open the studio door and see the guys jamming hard.
Keith’s working up such a sweat, his drenched T-shirt clings to his chest like a second skin.
“So the dark prince arrives,” Keith says, looking up from his drums with a sneer. “Out playing with your princess while your mates are trying to save your band?”
“Hey, Keith, chill,” Steve says, stepping in before I can snap back. “Don’t mind him. Keith’s just jealous he missed his beauty treatment in the spa.”
Keith ignores him, twirling a drumstick. “Do tell. We all want to hear. How are things with the schoolmarm?” he taunts. “You two looked pretty cute in this tabloid.”
He tosses a magazine at me. I catch it one-handed before it hits the floor.
There we are. Splashed across a full two-page spread. Me, Maddie, and Snorty wedged between us at dinner.
My mouth goes dry.
Antoine's photographer Marco caught me gazing at Maddie like some lovesick fool. It’s raw. Exposed. A part of me I didn’t know was visible. Now printed in ink for millions to see.
And her.
Maddie’s gazing at me with eyes that seem like they're looking into my soul. It's like looking at a real time photo of a couple head over heels in love.
Not faking it for the cameras.
Maddie was meant to control the narrative. Not become part of it.
“Right,” I force myself to say, tossing the magazine onto an amplifier. “You gotta admit, I’m a great actor. Now let’s get on with the set.”
"No, man, you're late. And we need a break," Steven says, putting his guitar on a chair. "Keith, want to join me? Think we can find an In-N-Out Burger in this joint?"
Once my band mates leave, I sit back and think about the conversation I had with Maddie over dinner.
It's not quite clear when I stopped thinking of her as Steven's kid sister. And she became a desirable woman in her own right.
Alone in the room, I strum my guitar, working out a rhythm.
As my fingers move to give the melody shape, an image comes to mind. It's Maddie, but in a way words can't describe.
More than anything else, the tone of the melody reflects the way Maddie makes me feel when I'm with her.
Not the usual thoughts men have about women, about their touch. Their kiss.
More like that feeling when you encounter a person who somehow completes you.
Two halves of one whole.
That's the emotion that consumes me when Maddie is near.
"Hey Rockstar," says Prince Michael, sauntering into the rehearsal studio. "What are you singing?"
I shrug. "Just a song."
"It's good. Different from your usual compositions. Mind playing it from the top?"
"Yes, I mind," I say, moving my guitar to the side. "It's nothing. Just something that came into my head, is all."
"Keith, Steven," says Prince Michael, when my band mates come back to the room after their break. "Rio just wrote a song that has 'hit' all over it. Play it for them, Rio."
"Let's hear it, Rio," says Steven. "We need a hit in our repertoire."
Reluctantly, I start to play the song from the chair I'm sitting on.
"No, no, no," says Prince Michael. "Up on the stage."
I take my usual place on stage. Keith and Steven take their positions.
"Okay," I tell them. "Follow my lead."
I close my eyes for a second before I sing.
The words tumble out of me, raw and real.
Nobody could tell the song was inspired by Maddie. They'll just hear the catchy melody.
And the lyrics could be about any man's ideal girl.
But I know different.
"I like it," says Steven, giving me a high five. "You clean up well. I see my sister had the desired effect on you."
"What!?" I say. How the hell did Steven figure Maddie inspired the song?
"Relax man," Steven says. "Why are you so jumpy all of a sudden?"
With that, I realize it was just Steve's coincidental turn of phrase.
My new obsession with everything Maddie is secret.
At least for now.
“Alright, let’s call it a night,” Steven says, putting his guitar in its case.
I leave the studio, ears still ringing. I take the elevator up to the VIP floor, rubbing a hand over the tense back of my neck.
An irrational urge to tell Maddie I've written a song about her quickens my step. But it's late. She's probably asleep.
And telling a girl you wrote a song about her must be the worst thing a man could do.
Once a girl knows you're under her thumb, that's the end.
I know I'll tell her eventually. But if, and when, remains far in the future.