Page 85 of Rock Out Together
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synopsis
A decade of touring together as America’s number one heavy metal band left most of the members of Blind Fury with egos too big to fit in the same room. As bass player and the only female member of the band, Lizzy Stone had to fight to earn her well-deserved recognition in the male-dominated genre, but her lead singer and guitarist never gave her the respect she deserved. Drummer Dillon Rivers is the only one she still considers a friend, even though they clash on a daily basis.
Dillon knows that a relationship with the feisty bass player isn't a good idea, that’s why he’s kept his feelings for Lizzy to himself all these years. Now, with the dissolution of the band only a day away and faced with the reality that he may never see her again, he cautiously makes his move. Things heat up between the two, even though Lizzy swears she wants nothing to do with him, but the sparks from the pyrotechnics display aren't the only thing lighting up the stage on the last show of The Farewell Tour.
one
. . .
Lizzy
Lizzy Stonejust slept with the enemy.
Dillon Rivers was faced down on her bed, totally naked and sleeping off a hangover. His long, dark hair was tangled and strewn across the pillow while one arm hung over the side of the mattress. With the ball of her foot in his bare ass, Lizzy nudged him hard enough to shake the bed. “Dillon, wake the fuck up. You gotta get outta here.”
He grumbled, slid his arm under the pillow, and slipped back into unconsciousness.
She let out a frustrated sigh, unable to deal with this shit right now. The thick saliva and pasty taste in her mouth made her queasy, but it was nothing compared to the pounding in her head. As she rubbed her temples, she tried to figure out what to do with the six-foot tall, tattooed drummer passed out in her bed. It was still early enough for him to sneak down the hall to his hotel room withoutanyone noticing, except Blind Fury’s security team. She cringed at the thought of them knowing she hooked up with Dillon, but there was a strict NDA in place specifically for times like this, and she wanted Dillon out of there. As innow.
She gave him several more jabs with her foot, but he didn’t budge. Her nostrils flared as she took in his lifeless body. If she didn’t dislike him so much, she might appreciate his exquisite form, but even with his face buried in the pillow, she couldn’t swallow the animosity rising in her throat faster than the remnants of last night’s alcohol. “Get up!” she barked.
No response.
“Fine. You have exactly 15 minutes before I drag your comatose ass out of my room and leave you in the hallway.” Realizing she was standing there in only her underwear and a cut-up band tee, she slipped into a pair of jeans and zipped a hoodie up to her neck.
Coffee. She needed coffee. While she waited for the pot to brew, she swallowed two aspirins but didn’t think it would help. She considered throwing a generous splash of bourbon in her coffee cup, but Mr. Jack Daniels was responsible for the mess sprawled across her bed, so she opted for black with no sugar. The coffee was steaming hot and strong and brought immediate relief. She took it with her to the bedroom, hoping the smell of fresh coffee would jolt Dillon awake. She had the feeling that as soon as he opened his eyes wide enough to see where he spent the night, he’d sober up in about two seconds.
How could she be so fucking stupid? She could barelytolerate being in the same room with him, and last night she slept with him? It could be worse, she realized. It could be Sid, the band’s pompous, jerkoff lead singer. Thankfully, there wasn’t enough alcohol in the world to cloud her judgment enough to let that egotistical bastard touch her.
She took another gulp of the coffee, relishing the strong taste and caffeine as it washed over her tastebuds, and stared down at Dillon. He had moved to the center of the disheveled bed, as if settling in to get more comfortable. As she watched him sleep, her gaze went to his tattooed back and arms and the muscles that gave them mountainous curves. She hated to admit it, but he was fucking hot. If it weren’t for their turbulent past, the bitter rivalry in the band, and the constant conflicts going on every other second, they might have hooked up before. But that ship had crashed, burned, and sunk to the deepest depth of the ocean a long, long time ago.
The only solace about the mess in front of her and her train wreck of a band is that, after tonight, it would all be over, and she wouldn’t have to see any of them ever again. After twelve years, Blind Fury’s reign as the nation’s top heavy metal band would come to an end. It was the last show of The Farewell Tour.
As she stared down at Dillon’s lifeless, rock-hard body, she wondered what the hell had been going on in his head last night. And hers. She couldn’t remember how Dillon ended up in her bed. The details were still fuzzy, thanks to the generous amount of alcohol she had consumed at the VIP reception.
She gulped more coffee to clear her head, and a brief vision of Dillon fumbling outside her door last night crossed her mind. They didn’t leave the VIP reception together—that much she knew. More memories surfaced. She had been sitting on the couch and heard noise outside her door. It was Dillon fussing with his card key trying to unlock the door to her suite. She had to let him inside in order to convince him that he had the wrong room. More Jack Daniels had made the rest of the night a complete blur.
It re-appeared in foggy bits and pieces. She remembered that they had been arguing near the credenza. Then an image of them in bed together flashed in her head like a bolt of lightning. His touch was the most prevalent thing in her memory. She still felt it on her skin. His strong hand down her arm gave her goose bumps. His warm lips on her neck made her skin tingle. His mouth on her lady parts made her suck in a deep breath, and a shudder made her quake, but she wasn’t sure if it was from reliving the memory or from shock at her reaction. She needed to lean into the dresser to steady herself and regain control of her senses.
This is bullshit. The last thing she needed was to mess up her life with Dillon Rivers. She wanted him out of her room and out of her life. “Dillon, get up.”
He didn’t move.
“I warned you. Have fun sleeping it off in the hallway.” She put her coffee cup down and tugged at his arm. After several attempts, she was able to move his body a few inches closer to the edge of the bed, but then he pulled his arm free, wrapped it around his torso and rolled over. “Get up!” Shetried to grab his arm again, but it remained tucked underneath him.
She took a deep, infuriated breath and ran her fingers through the roots of her thick hair. If he wasn’t going to wake up and leave her hotel room, she was getting the hell out of there. Let him think whatever he wanted about last night. As far as she was concerned, it never happened. She would clear out of there before he woke up and hoped he was too drunk to remember that they had slept together. If he asked, she’d say that he had shown up drunk and passed out. Rather than spend the night in the same room with him, she split and booked another room. It was the perfect alibi.
She chugged her coffee, pulled on her boots and grabbed her handbag. Quietly making her way to the door, her heart began to beat faster as freedom was seconds away. She reached for the handle, but Dillon’s voice made her freeze in place.
“Where do you think you’re running off to?”
two
. . .
Dillon
