Rising (Blue Phoenix, #4)(7)

She smiles. I smile back.

Awesome.

Bryn’s halfway into the crowd, partly blended in although his height sets him head and shoulders above the others. Nobody notices. A lot of the guys are fixated on the vision of sexual fantasies incarnated in the girl who’d eat them alive. I can’t equate this girl with the ballsy voice and the meek girl held against the wall by her dickhead boyfriend or whatever he is. I can only hope she uses some of that strength to kick his backside, and soon.

“You’re Jem Jones, aren’t you?” calls the girl over the music, as I approach her.

“I guess I don’t need a lame chat-up line for you then.”

“Try one if you like.”

“No, sweetheart, I don’t need to.”

She licks her bottom lip slowly, and trains her eyes on me. “I came here tonight because I heard you’d be here.”

Aha. I move closer and lean against the wooden bar next to her. “Oh? And why would that be?”

“I have fantasies about sex with rock stars.”

“You don’t mess around do you?” I say with a laugh.

“Why play games? I bet you don’t.”

“Oh, I do, interesting games…”

The music fades as the band pauses, set finished and the encore cheered for.

The girl sips from her glass. Seriously, did this chick come here tonight to f-uck Jem Jones? Girls as forward as this set off my ‘media alarm’. Will our night be a double-page spread in the daily newspaper? Night? Huh. She’ll be lucky. I consider all this as I weigh up whether I’ll indulge her fantasies.

Groupies come in several categories, some less pleasant than others, but this kind I enjoy. Wide-eyed and breathless, she introduces herself as Sara and tells me stories of her relationship with Blue Phoenix - you know, first heard us, first gig, blah, blah, and apparently tried to get backstage a few times, but never succeeded. I apologise and slide my hand underneath her dress. This kind of girl is my favourite type, pretends to be brazen, but melts into star-struck the moment I touch them.

“I see you made a friend, Jem.” Nice timing, Bryn.

“Sara.” I gesture between the pair by way of introduction.

Her star-struck look grows. “Hey, Bryn.”

Bryn picks up my coke from the bar and drinks. I bristle. “It’s f-ucking coke!”

“Yeah, okay.” He sets the glass back down.

“Don’t big brother me!”

Before our exchange cools any further, I’m alerted by a familiar sound. The opening bars of “Rising”, Blue Phoenix’s first hit. I look over to the stage and Ruby is staring straight at me, one hand gripping the mic, the other on the stand. I count the beats before the lyrics start and every single one pushes another person around us out of my awareness.

Usually when I hear a cover version of “Rising,” I cringe at how badly the lead guitarist fails to reach my expectation. This time I’ve no idea whether this guitarist does or not, because I’m waiting. Waiting to hear Ruby’s vocals, how she interprets the song I wrote with Dylan about getting through the fire and coming out the other side burnt but alive. Nobody ever sang the words with the same understanding Dylan has.

Ruby? She’s almost there but she should stick to her own songs. Harsh? Yeah, but these tracks are my babies. This is a song you need to sing like you mean it and not pretend you do. This isn’t a song you can perform to the crowd and hope they get sucked in.

Realisation rips through me. Ruby-who-isn’t-really-Ruby is playing a role and her whole self isn’t in the performance. She’s still in the fire and until she pushes through the other side, she won’t sing this convincingly.

Bryn nudges me and gives the thumbs up. Seems the cover is good enough for him, but the band killed the mood for me the moment they covered one of my songs. Ruby Riot is phenomenal and don’t need to play other people’s work.

I turn back to the girl with the long dark hair. The band is halfway through the set and I’ve heard enough for now. Bryn can stay and let me know what he thinks.



****



The door opens and I snap my eyes open to see Bryn’s tall figure fill the doorway.

“f-uck, Jem…” He pulls a face and turns, blocking the way for the people behind him.

The girl with her mouth around my dick pulls away. Nice f-ucking timing, Bryn. Again.

Worse than that, I catch a glimpse of a girl with bright red hair next to Bryn. Our gazes lock briefly and she pulls a look of disgust and turns away. Guess I chose the wrong room, the bags dumped around must be Ruby Riot’s stuff.

The door closes and I sigh. Well, it’s not the first time I’ve been caught with my dick out. Kneeling on the floor in front of me, Sara evidently isn’t used to the situation because she has her head in her hands.

“Oh, my God, who was it?” she asks the floor.

I stand and shuffle my jeans back up. “Bryn.” I zip them. “He’s seen it all before, don’t stress.”

“Don’t want to finish then?” She looks up at me and giggles, pushing her dark hair out of her face. She’s drunk, of course. Sober girls in my experience don’t go down on random guys. Occasionally me, but that’s because of who I am, perk of the job.

“Kinda killed the mood, getting spectators.” And seeing Ruby. Why the f-uck does that matter though?