Born Wrong(30)
“Dax? The drummer?” she asks, but I can already tell she knows exactly who he is. Sunlight streams through the window and cuts across the rumpled sheets, shining off the glass of the bottle and sending flickering lights across the walls. Isn't it amazing how a bit of sunshine can turn the ugly, pretty? “He seems like an okay bloke, I guess.”
“Anything special I should know about dating drummers?” I ask her, but only as a joke. I don't see this going anywhere. Why should it? Why am I even thinking about that? My God. And it's only been maybe a week since I last got laid, so it's not like I'm totally desperate, but wow. Just wow. The downstairs really wants Dax to move in and set up some furniture. Or at least just stop by for a visit. I cross my legs and pretend I don't see the slight smirk on Lola's lips.
“Be prepared for intensity,” she says, snatching a cigarette from the bedside table and lighting up. I like the way the cherry illuminates the apples of her cheeks. It'd make a nice photograph. Or so I think. My only real talent with pictures lies in picking the right filter on my phone. I lean back and wish for a martini. It just seems like an appropriate moment to have one.
“Is this coming from Lola, the drummer? Or from Lola, dating Ronnie, the drummer?” I ask as I push myself to my feet. I'm satisfied that at least for the moment, I've stopped Lola from descending into whatever black hole's been haunting her. She shrugs and holds her cigarette out to the side, clutched between two fingers.
“Does it matter?” she asks, but I can tell she knows it does. “If you're dippin' your feet into that lake, be prepared to take a swim.” She holds up her finger and waggles it at me. I know right then that we're going to be friends. It's sort of a given. “Remember though, drummers spend all day handling sticks, so they know how to use them. They bang and pound for a living, and they know their rhythm.” She swings her feet over the side of the bed, smashes her cigarette out in an ashtray and stands up. “That there's a bit of advice from Ronnie's … girlfriend.” She chokes the word out like it's poisonous and squinches up her face. “Don't ask Lola, the drummer. She'll tell you to steer clear of the fuckers. Nothin' but trouble to be found there.” I laugh as she slips on a pair of white shorts and a set of fuzzy orange stilettos.
“No worries there,” I tell her as she abandons the vodka bottle and joins me in the hallway. I'm not sure where she's going, but admittedly, even with the tangled hair and the lack of bra, she still looks pretty hot. See what I said about rocker chicks? It's universal. I, on the other hand, don't leave my fucking room without a push up bra and several layers of makeup. “I'm not looking for anything, not even a fling. Dax is cute, but I've got other things on my mind.”
Lola pulls a pair of shades from her pocket and slips them up her nose.
“Okay there, twatwaffles, you keep tellin' yourself that.”
“Hi, Dax,” I say, startling him as he moves out of the bright sunshine and into the gray dimness of the foyer. People shuffle past him, crew members, security guards, Turner who actually has the audacity to flip me off. I ignore him and push off the wall, keeping my hands tucked into the pockets on the front of my dress.
“Hi, Sydney,” he responds, slowing down and then pausing in front of me. Brayden Ryker flashes me a wink as he saunters pass, leaving one of his plain clothes guys behind to hang out with us. We've got our own private entrance into the hotel, one that's usually reserved for visiting dignitaries and movie stars, but that doesn't mean it's completely safe. Nowhere is safe at this point. I've been doing my research this afternoon. I followed Lola up to the rooftop restaurant and managed to snag that martini I was craving. Our little chat proved to be quite interesting. I've finally got some meat to sink my teeth into. But first, I want to deal with this.
“I wanted to catch you before you headed up to your room,” I tell him, trying my best to keep my gaze from landing on his lips. Something about the way the bottom one is shaped, the way it sticks out just this much more than the top. It's mesmerizing. I don't tell Dax that the main reason I wanted to see him before he got upstairs was because I was afraid to be near a bed when I approached him. It's that bad. Pussy McLips is so in control right now. I make sure to keep a safe distance between us. “I just wanted to apologize for what I did earlier. Jumping into your arms with that reporter sitting right there. It wasn't what I intended, and I didn't mean to take it so far. I just couldn't stand the look on her face or the way she was talking to you.” I shrug, search around my pockets for a cigarette and come up empty-handed. I smoked them all chatting upstairs with Lola. I wonder if I'm allowed to head out and grab some more or if I'm a part of this whole circus act now? Would I have to take a bodyguard? Trey or Turner would probably try and make me.