Page 39 of Beyond the Stix
“Connor, are you coming?” Danny’s question pulls me out of my thoughts. He and the rest of the group begin to spread out.
“Wait up?” I turn and see Dante striding through the door before Pen and Dom close it.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, surprised to see them dressed in a black jogger and converse sneakers.
“Plans changed,” Dante says as they reach my side. “Ron told me to stick to you guys like glue.” They huff. “I don’t know why, but he wants me with y’all. I told him I’m not a babysitter, but Ron assures me that you are,notthatkind,of a group.”
“I don’t know why you’re referring to us asthat kind of a group, but we don’t do chaos.” Rafe sticks his finger up before Dante can counter. “Occasional drinking, but we’re not dumb asses, if that’s what you’re talking about.”
“And what’s with ‘y’all’?” Bobby chimes in, mimicking Dante’s slight drawl that wasn’t present at the recording studio.
“Don’t you worry about it, Robert Hicks. My business is my business.” Their single, sharp red fingernail is pointed at our keyboardist like a honed talon.
“That’s Bobby—not Robert.” Bobby sneers and stalks off.
Then Dante turns their attention to Rafe. “And it’s good to hear that you aren’t ‘crazy asses.’” They do air quotes, then frown.
Rafe chuckles, a devil’s smirk on his face. Oh, I know that look. Dante’s in for a battle of wits, and that idea has me rumble out in laughter.
And so does the rest of the band.
Dante’s eyes widen, but then narrow into slits, focusing on each of us. As much as I want to see our new manager get into it with Rafe, I have a feeling my friend is going to get his ass handed to him by this feisty brunette.
Not long after, each of us finds a space of our own. I grab my bag that has all the items I need and head down to the studio to see if Dante’s right about the sound proofing.
The space is split into three sections. I enter the lounge, which has a small bar at the back wall, a blood red love seat with a matching chair, and a dark wood coffee table anchored in the middle. The control room is separated from the lounge by a door and a wall that is covered in images of different rock bands.And then finally there’s the live room, where the instruments are located. The area is dimly lit, but the soft spot light over the drums is a beacon to me.
This type of drum set isn’t my preferred brand of choice, but it will do. My fingers twitch to play, and after adjusting the leather stool, I slip on my headset, open a playlist on my phone, and crank up the sound.
I fall into the music. The beats drown out the noises in my head, and I just play until there’s nothing but notes, the riffs of guitars playing in the headset, and the melodic voices of singers.
Not sure how long I sit here playing, but sweat is dripping from my hair, trickling down my face. The t-shirt I’m wearing is drenched. And for the first time since I got the call about my father, I’m able to breathe a little easier. Feel more like myself. And for a while all the texts from my uncle evaporated from my thoughts.
As I stand and stretch, I find John in the doorway, watching me. “How long have you been standing there?” I ask, while putting my sticks back in the bag.
“Not long.” He shrugs his broad shoulders.
“What time is it?” I yawn.
“It’s hitting three in the morning.” He glances down at his Casio watch, and a tic begins in his right cheek. It’s John’s usual tell when he’s frustrated.
Christ, I’ve been playing for almost three hours straight. No wonder I’m stiff.
“Bedtime.” I try to move past him, but John doesn’t budge from the doorway.
“Who have you been texting?” His low timbre sends a rivulet of lust through my veins. Ever since I met him last year, even through Danny’s chaos, his voice has enticed me to whip out my dick and stroke until my balls are empty.
“No one.” The lie comes out so clean, that I almost believe it. Yet, I don’t know why I lied to John. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to argue with my bodyguard about why I should block my uncle. On the other hand, I’m a glutton, and I know that if we fight about it, that will lead into something else. Like John bending me over and fucking me hard and fast until we both empty our nutsacks.
Just tell him the truth, because John bending you over doesn’t sound like a bad idea.
I inwardly groan. Sometimes I want to stab my subconscious.
John steps further into the room and closes the door, snapping me out of my head. “Tell me, damn it,” he growls.
As he gets in my space I automatically step back. “There’s noth?—”
“Stop lying.” His chest bumps against mine, but I don’t move. “What are you hiding from me, Connor?”