The Lonely Kings: Hard Rock Arrangement Part 13

Twelve songs about revenge, and one that's not, I thought. One's a surprise. A whole alb.u.m just for me.

I shook my head and backed out of the room, closing the door gently behind me. Kent's room was also closed, so I padded back to the kitchen and stuck the cereal in the refrigerator. It'd get soggy, but maybe he'd still want it later. Stifling another yawn, I shut the refrigerator door and turned.

Kent stood right behind me. He had a habit of doing that, it seemed.

"Oh, Jesus!" I jumped a foot in the air, but inside my body lit up at his proximity. He stared down at me as though he were trying to read my thoughts emblazoned across my forehead.

My breathing, already fast, picked up when he leaned forward and put both hands out, one on either side of my head, trapping me between his body and the refrigerator. I backed up until I couldn't move any further away. Then I locked my knees and tried to stare him down.

Might as well try to stare down a rattle snake.

"I hope you know what you're doing," he said suddenly. "I don't like to see Carter drinking."

I took a deep breath, and I noticed how his face tightened at the gesture, as though he were forcing himself to look me in the eye instead of gazing down at my chest.

"I don't," I said. "But your way wasn't working. So I'm trying something new now."

He sucked his lower lip into his mouth and worried it with his teeth, which made me melt a little bit, remembering how those lips and teeth felt on the tender flesh of my core.

I swallowed hard.

Kent stared down at me for another long, pregnant moment, then seemed to finally push himself away with great effort. "I hope that alb.u.m is good," he said. "For his sake."

"What I heard was amazing," I replied. "I don't know a lot about music, but it was beautiful."

"It needs to be a hit," he said.

"It will be."

He stared at me for another long moment. "I hope you're right."

He left the kitchen and it took me a long time to catch my breath.

Chapter Ten.

The next week things changed significantly in the Casa de Hudson. Carter spent all his waking hours working on the next alb.u.m, and Kent actually spent time at home. Sometimes they shut themselves up in Carter's bedroom, talking, plucking out notes on their instruments, jamming. I elected not to bother them, since I thought it was good that they were spending time together, even if it was just because they were both stressed to the eyeb.a.l.l.s about churning out another hit alb.u.m. I liked what I heard, anyway, and I was utterly dying to hear the lyrics to the haunting music filtering through the house. Carter, however, refused to even give me a hint. He just smiled enigmatically at me whenever I asked.

For four straight days, they didn't leave the house. Rehearsal was canceled. We ate take out that I picked up from down the street. I love Chinese food, but after the fourth straight day of cashew chicken I was starting to get a little sick of it and actually missed Carter's antics. At least his antics involved getting out of the house.

I spent the days idly cleaning the house, reading the books scattered around, and learning how to play football on the Playstation.

On the fifth day I woke up and found the house quiet.

It was a weird feeling. I hadn't been alone in a house for years. There had always been someone there, usually the rightful owner of the house. Actually, now that I thought about it, I was willing to bet that most of the people whose couches we were surfing on liked to stay home when I was home just to make sure I didn't steal their s.h.i.+t.

f.u.c.k.

So being left alone in Carter and Kent's house was refres.h.i.+ng. And, strangely, I didn't mind.

I wandered from room to room until I came to the kitchen, where a note was hung on the refrigerator.

In the recording studio. Take a day off. -K.

I had to smile at that. I'd been having a day off for the past four days. With Carter confined to the house as he celebrated his own genius, I was essentially home free. He hadn't even drunk one of those Pabsts, by the way. I'd had them all. It was a true gentleman who got a lady drunk, let her fall asleep in his bed, and did nothing about it.

But now I had a car, money, and a day off.

I had no idea what to do.

When was the last time I'd had a day off? I couldn't even remember. I'd worked myself like a dog to keep Jason afloat. I was such an idiot. And now I'd landed here, somehow. I sure as h.e.l.l didn't deserve it, but I was going to make the most of it anyway. I was grateful as f.u.c.k.

I took a long, leisurely shower, got dressed in a sundress, and left the house.

I drank coffee. I went to the library. I wandered down the boulevards. I looked at shoes in shop windows that I swear I might have been able to afford if I saved my money for a year or so. Without Carter, no one so much as looked at me. The day was sunny, and I felt so good it almost made me want to cry.

And then my phone rang.

I knew the ringtone. I'd been hearing it for years. It was just reflex to hop to and try to answer it. Not even thinking, I pulled it out of my purse, suddenly scared, and looked at the name on the screen, hoping it was all a mistake.

But it wasn't. It was the only name that could have destroyed my beautiful day.

Jason.

I hit ignore faster than a snake striking at a mouse. I stared at the screen, waiting for it to ring again. Instead, I got the ding of a message.

My guts turned cold. Should I listen?

I shouldn't. I knew I shouldn't. So I didn't.

But I didn't erase it either.

Shoving my phone back in my purse, I turned around and walked back to where I'd parked the car. I got in it and drove home. For the rest of the day I played video game football, trying to distract myself.

My phone rang twice more while I played. Two more messages.

Kent and Carter didn't come home that night, and I crawled into bed at midnight, closed my eyes, and tried to sleep away the fear.

Just because Carter had written a new song didn't mean that the video was getting put off. It was still on, and the sudden phone calls from Jason did not make the knowledge that we were heading for San Diego any easier. I threw myself into cleaning the house, making sure everything was perfect and in place so that we would come home to a nice house instead of a mess.

But even with the cleaning binge, when I opened my eyes the morning of our departure I was filled with trepidation. Returning to my old stomping grounds was not going to be fun, not matter how I sliced it. San Diego was big, so it was unlikely anyone would know I would be there, but just seeing the old streets, smelling the old air, going down to the ocean, feeling it lap at my feet... I didn't know what I would do.

I didn't even know if I missed San Diego as a place, but as a time of my life...I was afraid of it. And the sudden calls from Jason were not helping.

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I stared at the ceiling, watching the fan swirl around and around, and almost missed the sound of Kent's alarm going off. It was easy to miss sometimes because Kent would practically punch the poor thing before it let out barely a peep, but luckily I heard the smack of his hand on it.

My whole body lit up, and I strained to hear what was happening in the next room over the sudden pounding of my heart.

Now this was something I'd been missing the past week. Kent hadn't been sleeping on the same schedule as me, so I'd always been up before he woke for the day. Now he was back in bed, right where I liked to hear him.

If there was any way to forget my stupid Jason troubles, this was it.

In my head, I saw it happening, just like it did my first night in this house. Kent sprawled out in his messy sheets. Kent's dark hair spread out over his pillow. Kent reaching into his pj bottoms, pulling out his c.o.c.k, thick and heavy with his morning wood. Just the thought of it made me lick my lips. My body woke up, my blood zipping through my veins and pooling between my legs as I let my hand wander down, down.

A grunt came through the wall and I had to stifle a moan as I began to stroke my c.l.i.t with flattened fingers. I was already wet and slick, and my hand became a blur as Kent's grunts grew louder and louder.

My hips thrust into my hand, my arm a blur as the bed in the next room squeaked-his hips and mine danced alone, but in perfect time-and my body was coiling, wound tight and begging for release.

I closed my eyes and imagined Kent's hands on me, his shaft deep inside me, plumbing my depths, a swift in and out, his strokes hard and fast. He'd f.u.c.k the way he played the ba.s.s-relentless and driving, his rhythm taking over everything, pulling me under, until I sang just like an instrument in his hands.

In the next room, the headboard slammed into the wall, and in my mind's eye I saw spurts of white c.u.m leaping out of his c.o.c.k. In an ideal world, he'd be pumping it into me, hard and hot, filling me up until it overflowed- My own release came swiftly, an explosion of sensation cascading over my body, and I had to turn my face into my pillow to stifle my scream.

I knew he heard me, though. Just as I was certain he knew I could hear him.

I only had a moment to recover before the bed springs squeaked in the next room, the sound of someone's weight rolling off the bed.

Kent was up. Our morning ritual was almost complete. The last one before we went to San Diego this afternoon for shooting.

Standing up, I fluffed my hair out and opened my door the very moment he opened his. In unison, we stepped into the hallway and turned toward each other.

Ostensibly, Kent was going to the kitchen for breakfast, and I was heading to the bathroom for a shower. That's what an outsider would think.

Our eyes met.

A jolt rocketed through me, dragging a gasp to my lips that I barely repressed. In the dimness of the hallway his blue-green eyes were gray-blue, like the sea under the clouds, and it took all my willpower not to suck my lower lip between my teeth. Kent wore the same expression he always did, a glower so black I always wanted to ask him who died, but I was too afraid to do so just in case he said, "You."

Kent started forward. He was so tall, he loomed in the narrow hallway like a black tidal wave, moving inexorably toward me, and I had no choice but to forge ahead to meet him, my eyes still riveted to his.

Normally we would play a little game of s.e.xual-tension chicken, but today he stopped in the middle of the hall, blocking my way.

"Are you ready to go to San Diego?" he asked me suddenly.

I stared up at him, surprised. "What?" I said. "Of course. I'm all packed and ready to go."

"That's not what I meant," he said.

Oh.

Had Carter told him about Jason? I hoped not. I didn't want anyone else to know what an idiot I was. With Carter it was okay, because he was a master at embarra.s.sing himself in public, so I didn't feel bad letting him in on my embarra.s.sing secrets. Kent was different. I wanted him to think well of me. No one would think well of me if they knew I let myself be cheated on and lied to and stolen from for years. I didn't want to be seen as a victim.

So maybe I could have been forgiven for what fell out of my mouth next, without my consent.

"I'll be fine," I said, listening to my own voice with horror. "I'll even take you guys to my old stomping grounds if you want."

What? What? Did I just say that? Am I an idiot?

Well, yes. But I'd hoped not that much of an idiot.

It took all my willpower to not suddenly clap my hands over my mouth as if I'd just blurted the secret location of the lost city of gold. Instead I smiled, though I'm pretty sure it looked like a grimace.

Kent stared down at me for a moment longer, and then turned aside, allowing me to pa.s.s.

"I'm sure that will be fun," he said as I squeezed past him and ran into the bathroom.

Yeah. Tons of fun.

Oh well. That was for future Rebecca to deal with. She could fake a stomach ache or something.

An hour later and I was sitting in the living room, my body a bundle of nerves, my foot jiggling like crazy on my knee, and looking out the window when the van pulled up.

Van? I thought as the driver leaned on the horn and honked long and loud.

Leaning over, I picked up my duffel bag-actually Carter's duffel bag, "from back when I did kung fu!"-and swung it over my shoulder. It was a little embarra.s.sing to have Master Wu's Lotus Kung Fu Academy on my luggage, but beggars can't be choosers. I peeked down the hall, wondering where Kent and Carter were, but then I heard Kent in Carter's room, admonis.h.i.+ng him for making everyone late and I sighed. I'd just leave that to him, then.

"I'm getting in the van!" I yelled down the hall then hoofed it out of the house to the still-honking van.

When I opened the back door of the van to get inside, two things. .h.i.t me: one was a cloud of pot smoke, and the other was the fact that Sonya was driving.

I'd thought Sonya was too much of a princess to drive the band around, so I was surprised to see her sitting in the driver's seat, chewing angrily on a wad of gum and pounding away at the horn like it was wired to her c.l.i.t. She shot me her customary glare when I hesitated just outside the door. "Well?" she said. "Get in."

"They're coming," I told her.

"Good," she said. She didn't let up on the horn.

Taking a deep breath, I reached out and climbed into the van.

I was again shocked. Instead of seats, the van had what looked like a couch going down the pa.s.senger's side and wrapping around the back. Manny was already there smoking a joint. The atmosphere inside the van was thick with smoke. I coughed as I threw my bag down and tried to figure out how to sit properly on the couch. Did it have seat belts? It had to have seat belts. Should I wear one? Or was that dorky?

Ugh, I thought. How did I come to a point in my life where I have to worry about looking dorky in my mid-twenties?

That point was probably only reachable through the point where I thought it would be a good idea to team up with a rock band, I guess.

"Hey Rebecca," Manny said as I tried to surrept.i.tiously check for seat restraints. "You want a hit?"

I looked up and frowned at him to see if he were joking, and then remembered that he didn't know I wasn't Carter's real girlfriend. Carter's real girlfriend would take a hit, because surely Carter would take a hit. s.h.i.+t, all this stuff was so confusing. Should I? I knew I shouldn't. I should be a good example. On the other hand I was already hotboxing just by getting into the car, so maybe I should just relax a bit.

"Um, sure," I said. Manny grinned at me and held out the joint. I took it, pinching it between thumb and forefinger and took a hit.