Page 39 of Hard Rock Fling
I gave up and slid inside.
The interior was pristine, all black leather and sparkling clean. Even though I didn't know anything about cars I knew this one had to be expensive. I didn't want to touch anything for fear of leaving smudged fingerprints. I kept my feet tucked together and my hands in my lap.
Ian got in on the driver's side and peeled away from the curb with a squeal. "You ever been in a Hennessey Venom GT Spyder before?" he asked.
I clung onto the seat, afraid for my life. "I assume that's a type of expensive car?"
Ian laughed. "So that's a no. You're not a car person?"
"No. I'm not an obnoxiously rich person, either."
"Does it bother you?"
"That you guys get paid a billion dollars while we interns work for free? Gee, of course not. I'm perfectly happy with that level of income disparity. I love living off ramen noodles."
Ian gave me a small smile. "Sorry. Should have known what the answer would be."
"It's weird. Living vicariously through you guys, with all your fancy cars and enormous mansions and raging parties. It's almost like I'm a rock star myself. I'm not used to it."
"I'm still not used to it either. I—" Ian glanced at me. "I didn't have this kind of money growing up."
"No normal person has your kind of money."
His mouth downturned at the corner. "Point taken."
I felt bad for mouthing off when he was clearly trying to share something with me.
"So you've played guitar for a long time?" I asked, bringing us back around to a less sensitive subject.
His eyes lit up. "Damon and I bought used guitars from this garage sale when we were twelve. We practiced every day until we finally sounded halfway decent. Started this stupid garage band with our friends when we were thirteen. We never looked back."
"You got any demos from that band I can listen to?" I joked.
"Yeah, but we were shit," he laughed. "We recorded ourselves through the crappy speakers on our computers. It was awful. We felt so proud though."
"You should feel proud. Starting a band as a teenager, recording songs, that's impressive."
"We mostly just fooled around. We only played together for two years. But it was a hell of a lot of fun. The music helped distract us from the shitshow that was—" he stopped abruptly, with a snort. "Nevermind. Let's not even get into that."
I waited for a moment but he didn't continue.
"How did the music help you?" I asked softly.
He was silent for a moment, as if contemplating what to say. "I don't want to be a downer," he murmured at last.
My interest was piqued. "My life hasn't exactly been a joyride, either. I—" I bit my lip before continuing on. "I want to know more about you."
He flicked his eyes to me briefly before turning back to the road. "Damon and I always knew we wanted to pursue music. Our parents didn't agree. We… left home."
I heard the slight pause in his voice. "Left home, or were forced to leave home?"
He quirked a sad smile. "Always so perceptive." He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel in a nervous pattern. "Our home life wasn't the greatest. Our dad had a temper. Sometimes—" he cut himself off, face going blank. He gripped the steering wheel tight, the leather squeaking. After several silent, awkward moments, he relaxed his grip and gave an easy shrug. "Anyway. We were better on our own."
"How old were you?"
"Fifteen."
"Did you have someplace to go?"
