Olivia Cunning - Rock Hard

I’ll get a ride, he wrote obediently.

She leaned across the car and kissed him. “I can’t wait until Friday. You better behave so I won’t have to cancel.”

He knew she was manipulating him, but when she slid her hand between his thighs, he didn’t much care. He couldn’t wait until Friday either.

When he entered the studio about thirty minutes later—he and Jessica had gotten a bit carried away in their good-bye kisses—Eric greeted him.

“I wasn’t sure you were going to show up.” He nodded at the dry erase board in Sed’s hand. “What’s that for?”

Talking, he wrote.

“You don’t need to talk to play violin.”

Eric picked up a case from the floor and opened it. A jet black electric violin sat nestled in its confines.

“I’m not—” Sed’s throat protested and he winced. He switched to writing again. I’m not playing violin, Eric. Forget it.

“You know it’s all the screaming you do that destroyed your throat.”

“So?” he croaked. Some lackey thrust a bottle of water into his hand. He opened it and took a soothing/painful swallow. He was really wishing he’d stayed in bed with a supply of Popsicles and his personal nurse beside him.

“We need something to replace it.”

Sed blinked twice—no.

“Temporarily, at least. Even if you can sing, you know you’re not going to be able to scream for a while. And I know you don’t want to be the reason we have to cancel a bunch more shows.”

Did everyone know how to manipulate him? First Jess. Now Eric.

Eric’s slim black brows arched over his piercing blue eyes. “Try it?”

Fine.

Sed lifted a hand to block the sparkling white gleam produced by Eric’s wide smile, the gloater.

“Here,” Eric said, thrusting a stack of music at Sed. “I was up all night finding the exact pitch for every scream in our set.”

Every scream? That must have taken him hours. Sed nodded in appreciation, looking over the pages of music and the new additions to their songs in red ink. Well, at least he had something to do while the rest of them recorded. He’d need a lot of practice to pull this off onstage in a week. He’d kind of forgotten to mention that his violin playing sounded like distorted saw blades wrenching through scrap metal.

Brian poked his head out of the recording booth and beckoned Sed over with a wave. When Eric tried to follow Sed into the booth, Brian shoved him out and closed the door.

“Trey and I got to talking last night and we think you should propose to Jessica this Saturday onstage in San Francisco. During the break, you can sing that song you wrote for her. Trey and I have some great acoustic guitar music worked out for it.”

Sed scratched his head in confusion. Why was Brian so insistent on him proposing to Jessica?

I do want to sing her the song, but why do I need to do it onstage?

Brian read the message and smiled. “She’ll love it. Remember how happy she was the first time you proposed publicly? And you didn’t even sing to her that time.”

“Come on, Sed,” Trey said, leaning against the door to keep Eric, who was banging into it repeatedly outside the booth.

I’ll think about it. The “slip the ring on her finger while she wasn’t looking” idea was still his favorite option.

“Well, don’t take too long to decide. We’ve only got a week to prepare.”

Yeah, okay, whatever.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, I’ll do it,” Sed rasped, his annoyance level increasing enough to prompt speech. Why had he refused pain meds again? It’s not like he’d fall into Trey’s pattern of addiction. And he could really use a reprieve from this agony.

“Don’t mention it to Eric,” Brian whispered. “You know he can’t keep a secret.”

Sed nodded. That was true.

“Will you just let me in?” Eric yelled.

Trey moved away from the door and Eric burst into the booth.

“Oh,” Trey said, “were you trying to get in?”

“What are you guys doing in here?” Eric asked suspiciously.

“Nothing that you need to worry about,” Brian said with a wicked smile.

Even though Sed’s doctor had given him the okay to talk normally and to sing at Sinners’ concert the next night, Jessica insisted he keep writing on his dry erase board to save his voice for the concert. His throat was perfectly fine. Mostly.

They were in the car on their way to her surprise destination and she was still threatening him with canceling their trip. He continued to obey her, but once they were there, all bets were off. He was tired of writing on this stupid fucking board.

Where are we going? Sed wrote on the board.

“It’s a surprise.”

Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the unfamiliar driveway of a vast estate. At the gate, she gave both their names. The gate swung open and she drove up the lane.

What are we doing here?

She was too busy finding her way to the airstrip behind the modern-styled mansion to read his message.

“Jess?” he grabbed her arm.

“Relax, sweetheart. Flying will get us there faster.”

“Flying?”

“Shh. Dare said we could borrow his jet. And his pilot. Good thing. I don’t know how to fly. Do you?”

“His jet?”

“Well, it actually belongs to Exodus End, but they park it on Dare’s airstrip. Since they’re touring by bus this month, it’s not getting much airtime. He said we could use it.”

“Since when does Dare have an airstrip?”

“I dunno. Jace suggested it.”

“Jace?” Had Jessica ever even spoken to Jace?

“Yes, Jace. Apparently, Jace and Dare are pretty close friends. And your band mates have some kind of bet going. I’m not sure where Dare fits into their scheme.”

Sed’s brow furrowed. Bet? “What bet?”

She grinned. “Like I’d tell you that. I wouldn’t want Brian and Trey to win.” She winked at him and parked the car near the hangar. A black jet with Exodus End’s band logo painted on the side awaited their arrival. What in the hell was his woman up to?

Jessica sat in the beige leather airplane seat and stowed her purse under her feet. She knew she was gawking, but couldn’t help it. The six luxurious seats in the cabin were arranged so that each pair faced its partner. There was a sofa. A wide screen TV. Was that a wet bar? Her gaze darted from one extravagance to the next.

Sed took the seat across from her and fastened his seat belt. The pilot, dressed in ripped black jeans and an Exodus End T-shirt, looked less like a pilot and more like a roadie. Or a fan. He wandered through the cabin to speak to them. “It’s a short flight. We should be there in less than an hour and a half. The rest-room is aft.” He grinned at their clueless expressions. “Meaning to the back.”

Jessica spotted a door in a gleaming wood panel at the back of the plane.

“The galley is only partially stocked,” the pilot continued, “but there’s beer in the fridge. Maybe some pretzels and nuts in the cabinet. I dunno.”

“Ice?” Sed asked hoarsely.

Jessica scowled. She still didn’t think his voice was up to doing an entire live show. He should be in bed. Resting. Not gallivanting around San Francisco so she could surprise him with some over-the-top marriage proposal.

“Yeah, there’s crushed ice in the freezer. Dude, I heard about what happened to you onstage last week. Is your voice okay?”

Sed nodded resolutely.

“I’ll get you some ice.” Jessica stood and moved to the galley area near the front of the jet. It had marble countertops, for crying out loud. Apparently, Exodus End was doing very well. Jessica dispensed some ice chips into a clear plastic cup, which had their band logo on the side (for crying out loud), and returned to Sed’s side.

He smiled in gratitude when she handed him the cup, and then he shook some ice into his mouth. His eyes drifted closed in bliss.

Poor baby.

“…so they decided if they’re going to tour the world next year, they might as well buy a jet. Plus Dare is dating some chick in Hawaii. Like there aren’t enough gorgeous women in California for him to bone. So we’re in the air whenever he stops by home and Max keeps getting pissed off ’cause Dare’s using the jet for his personal entertainment,” the roadie/pilot jabbered. “I never thought I’d be flying a jet for Exodus End. And now for the Sed Lionheart. Fuckin’ sweet!”

“Is Max going to be pissed that Dare let us borrow the band’s jet?” Jessica asked. It felt kind of strange talking about the lead singer of Exodus End like she knew him. She didn’t. Like most people on the planet she knew of Maximilian Richardson, but that wasn’t the same thing.

“Dare won’t give a shit. It’s Dare.” The pilot spread his arms wide as if that explained everything. He burst into laughter, which eventually ended in a snort. “Besides, vocalists and lead guitarists always butt heads. It’s some unspoken rule. I think it has something to do with their enormous egos.” The guy’s eyes widened and he glanced down at Sed. “I didn’t mean you and Sinclair.”

Sed shrugged and shook more ice into his mouth. “We butt heads on occasion.”

The dude checked his watch. “Time to hit the road, or the sky, I suppose,” he said. “Where the fuck is Jordan? You can’t fly a plane without a pilot.”

“I thought you were our pilot,” Jessica said.

“Copilot. I don’t have enough flight hours. No worries. Jordan is awesome. She used to fly a Harrier in the Royal Navy.”

She used to fly a Harrier?