Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(34)

“You okay?” I ask.

Ruby opens an eye. “I’m too tired to deal with people. The guys are really going for it tonight and I want to sleep.”

I laugh at her. “It’s ten p.m.”

“Two weeks of this and I’m f*cked. No idea how you guys tour for months on end and don’t burn out.”

“The current state of Blue Phoenix answers that question.” I slide the keycard and push open the door. “I’ll get you a drink and you can hide out here for a few hours.”

“Thanks.” Ruby stands.

I hold the door like the gentleman I’m not and catch her fresh-showered scent as she passes, rewinding me to our days alone in my house.

“Shit, if I’d know your rooms were this big I’d have asked to stay before,” she remarks as she crosses the penthouse to look over the skyline. “This is an apartment, not a hotel room!”

Stay?

“I like my space,” I say as Ruby sits on one of the sofas opposite the bedroom.

“Yeah, I noticed.”

Was that a loaded comment? “Did you want a beer?”

She looks at me curiously. “No, I don’t like drinking around you. Hadn’t you noticed?”

I hadn’t but now she mentions it, this explains why she avoids me after most gigs. I convinced myself she avoided me for other reasons.

“Yeah. Okay. Coke?”

She nods and I return with a can from the fridge to where Ruby’s stretched out on the cream cushioned sofa, legs crossed at the ankles. Resting her head on one arm, Ruby’s scarlet hair flows behind almost touching the floor as she gazes at the ceiling.

“It’s been a while since we talked,” I say.

“I see you every day.”

“I mean, since we chatted, me and you.”

Ruby twists her head toward me. “I guess not. Maybe because you’re hiding behind Jem Jones again?” she suggests.

“And you’re Ruby again.”

“There’s our answer.” She looks back to the ceiling.

“You look healthier even if you do feel burnt out,” I tell her.

She twists her head toward me. “Healthier?”

“Not as skinny.”

She pushes to sit. “How much attention do you pay to my body?” she asks in a low voice.

“It was just a comment. Don’t get so defensive!”

“I’m not! I’m just saying, don’t make me worry that you’re perving on me.” She adjusts her top, pulling further toward her neck.

“Jesus, okay, I was saying you look better after all the shit from a few weeks ago.”

She pulls a sour face. “Again, don’t.”

When we disagree, there’s a weird thing that happens, a clashing of wills as we stare at each other waiting to see who’ll back down or get the last word in. I’ve given up trying. Apparently satisfied she’s reprimanded me enough with her stern look; Ruby shifts her gaze to the open door behind where I’m standing.

“Oh! Your guitar!” Ruby points at the acoustic leaning against the end of the bed. “Is that a classic Martin?”

Thank f-uck for that. I thought we were going down the route to things that shouldn’t be said.

“Yeah.”

“Wow, I bet it’s a rare if you own it.” How many people could identify a guitar from a distance?

“OM-18,” I say with a small smile. I have a collection; this one isn’t exactly my most expensive, but I love the sound. I may not be in the band, but my music comes with me.

“Serious? Can I try?” She looks at the acoustic with an amusing awe.

“Sure.”

Ruby heads to where the guitar rests against the wall in the bedroom. Picking it up as if this is a precious heirloom, she perches on the edge of the king-sized bed and hauls the strap across her shoulder, then balances the guitar on her lap. “You got a pick?”

I toss her one from my pocket. I have never been in a room with a chick who’s more impressed and excited by the sight of my guitar than being with Jem Jones. But she’s no ordinary girl. This is Ruby, the mind-blowing woman with her amazing voice, talent, and a body that dances into my dreams on a too frequent basis. The twinge in my chest grows, as she strums the opening chords of a Ruby Riot track, “Shellshock”. I could push the hair from where it falls across Ruby’s face, brush her skin with my fingers, kiss her. Crap, Jem.

“Who writes your lyrics?” I ask and cross to sit next to her on the other edge of the king-sized bed.

“Me and Jax, mostly him.” Her focus remains on the guitar but she stops playing. “Huh. I don’t often play acoustic. One day I’m going to get myself a really rare Gibson. I bet you have a crap load of guitars. I know that’s what I’m spending my money on if I get cashed up.”

“One or two, and I’m sure one day you’ll have a collection of your own.” I smile and lie back on the bed, tucking my hands behind my head. “Play me a song, Ruby Tuesday.”

“Why did you call me that?”

“It’s who you are, isn’t it? Play me something.” Ruby taps the edge of the guitar. “Go on. Then I’ll play something for you.”

She purses her lips. “Okay, but only because I want to play this awesome guitar.”