Love Resolution

At the arena, Avery scooted out and waved to Ray as he pulled away. Inside, she followed the directional signs which made it easier to navigate the confusing corridors of the unfamiliar building. Passing through security, she reached the backstage area. Tempest was beginning to warm up. Aimlessly, she meandered around, examining the lighting and sound equipment, killing time while waiting for them to get started. Her gaze fell on the cache of instruments lined up for the show. Intrigued, she moved to get a closer look.

In the dim glow of the backstage lighting, she slowly perused the collection, totally engrossed. She smiled when she spotted her acoustic and Marcus’ side by side. She ran a fingertip across them before noticing a gorgeous maple topped custom Les Paul in a stand beside theirs. She bent over to get a better look.

Suddenly, the sound of a woman’s high pitched giggle rang out behind her. Turning, she spotted a couple tangled together in the shadowed corner several feet away from her. Oops. She hadn’t realized anyone else was there.

A tall, lean figure leaned back casually against the wall. Giggle Girl stood with her arms entwined around the man’s neck, facing away from Avery. The man seemed to be staring in her direction. White teeth flashed in his shadowed face.

“I can stick around after the show, Bullet.” Giggle Girl purred, rubbing her lower body against him. “If you give me a key, I’ll wait for you in your room.”

“No thanks, Holly,” Bullet’s deep male voice intoned. “You know how I roll. I’m a no strings kinda guy.” He paused. “Unless we’re playing rough.”

Holly’s answering giggle was muffled into his chest and her hands no longer visible. Where they’d moved to Avery couldn’t tell and did not want to know.

The end of a cigarette glowed as Bullet took a drag. It illuminated a pair of light colored eyes gleaming beneath a slash of dark brows. His eyes met hers and he raised one brow. She swiveled away, cheeks burning, embarrassed to have been drawn into their little tableau.

“Bullet,” an irritated male voice shouted from the stage. “Come on, man. Put your dick back in your pants and get on out here.”

“I’m coming,” Bullet replied wryly.

Avery heard the unmistakable sound of wet kissing behind her, followed by Holly moaning. Shit. Could this possibly be any more awkward? She began to plot her escape.

“Hey,” Bullet’s low voice suddenly came from right behind her.

She pivoted around, catching a glimpse of Holly scooting out the door behind him.

His gaze traveled the length of her several times as he blatantly checked her out. The light there allowed Avery her first detailed view of him.

Whoa. Bullet was an extremely good looking guy. Scale of one to ten, too high to rank. Light brown hair in a faux hawk over darker brown brows with just the right amount of thickness and arch to highlight an arresting pair of greyish green eyes.

Silence stretched out between them. She watched the cigarette move from his mouth to his hand and then his lips slowly turn up into a sardonic smile. “See anything you like?”

“Not really,” she remarked casually.

“I’m thinking that’s not true,” he said, taking a step closer.

She took a reflexive step back.

He closed the distance, his eyes boring intently into hers.

Her stomach fluttered.

Abruptly, he leaned in.

Her breath caught, a trail of cigarette smoke rising to sting her eyes.

“Excuse me.” He straightened holding the maple top she’d been eyeing earlier. His brow lifted, the cigarette clinging to the side of his mouth as he spoke. “Need my guitar.” He studied her face again. “I noticed you checking this out when I was with Holly. You play?”

She laughed. “A little.”

He offered her the guitar.

She took it running her hands reverentially over the finely made instrument. “It’s a custom, isn’t it?”

“It actually belonged to Slash. It’s the one he used at the Guns ‘n Roses concert they did at the Ritz in eighty-eight.”

“Holy crap!” She handed it back very carefully.

“It was a gift.”

“Sweet gift.” She smiled.

Bullet stared at her mouth.

She broke into a cold sweat.

“You look kinda familiar, Red.” He took a moment to clip on the guitar with the strap that had been dangling over one shoulder. “I wouldn’t forget hair like yours,” he observed, reaching out brazenly and rubbing a strand of it between two fingers.

Avery’s mouth went dry. She swallowed nervously.

“You one of BS’s guitar techs?”

She raised a brow. “Not exactly.”

“Hey, Bryan.” A slender guy with long caramel hued hair suddenly appeared. He had a black scarf tied around his forehead. His dark eyes flicked to her. “F*ck me if it ain’t Avery Jones. They told us Brutal Strength was still in Vancouver.”

“Nope.” She shook her head, feeling Bryan’s speculative gaze resting on her. “We got in a couple of hours ago.”

“Cool.” He stuck out his hand. “Warren Jinkins, lead singer of Tempest. Everyone calls me War, though.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Avery noticed Bryan’s lips moving as he mimicked Warren’s introduction. She shook Warren’s hand. “Nice to meet you…War.” She glanced back at Bryan. “Don’t let me hold you guys up. I just stopped by hoping to catch your sound check.”

“Awesome!” War exclaimed excitedly, flicking one of the tail ends of his scarf back over his shoulder. “I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.” He glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Looks like you and Bryan have already gotten acquainted. Why don’t you come on out and meet the rest of our motley crew.”

Avery turned to follow War, but Bryan stopped her with a hand on her arm. She fought back a shiver and gave him a questioning look.

“Play a little, do you?” he asked, eyes glittering provocatively.

She nodded, lips curving up.

“Damn.” He smiled back. “You’re even hotter in person.”

“Save the flattery for the groupies,” she snickered. “Bullet.”

His lips twitched. “Don’t mock it, Red. At least,” he leaned in and whispered in her ear, “not until after you’ve tried it.”

Avery took a seat in a folding chair on the front row of the arena. A few road crew members scurried on and off the stage moving equipment, but other than that the huge venue was silent.

The guys from Tempest seemed pretty cool. Except for Bryan, none of the others had tried to hit on her. They were all in their early twenties. Dizzy, the rhythm guitarist had short spiky white blond hair and lots of facial piercings. The bassist, Sager, was tall and lanky with a prominent nose and curly brown hair that peeked out from underneath his newsboy cap. King, the drummer had a body builder physique and long black hair. He seemed to be the only shy one in the bunch. He’d barely made eye contact with her when they’d been introduced.

She watched them finish their setup. Her gaze repeatedly found its way back to Bryan “the Bullet” Jackson. He was still watching her, too. He raised one of his brown brows in salute.

She rolled her eyes.

His lips twitched before he leaned over to adjust the pedal on his foot board.

“Their lead guitarist is easy on the eyes, isn’t he?” Sam commented as she took a seat next to Avery.

“I guess,” Avery replied noncommittally.

“Aw come on. He’s young, not JR or Marcus caliber yet, but he’s pretty sexy.” She fanned herself with her hand. “I bet he knows those tat sleeves of his look real good against that white t-shirt he’s wearing. They definitely play right into that bad boy rep he’s earned. My sister would label him ‘man candy handsome.’ Oh. My. Gosh.” Grey eyes wide, she flicked a glance at Avery. “He just winked at you, didn’t he?”

Avery’s exasperated sigh was drowned out by a sudden growl. Marcus, his hair still wet from the shower, was glaring back and forth between the two women and the stage. “Who’s winking at Avery?” he demanded to know.

“Bryan Jackson,” Sam replied offhandedly, looking down as her phone pinged. “Oops. I gotta go. I need to make sure the lighting board gets hooked up properly.” She stood. “I’ll see y’all later.”

“Ok,” Avery said distractedly.

Marcus crossed his arms and frowned up at the Tempest guitarist.

Avery stood and placed a restraining hand on his tense forearm just as the music started. Her attention shifted to the stage. King was laying down a hard beat. Sager kicked in with a chugging bass line.

Bryan layered in power chords, his eyes never moving from Avery’s face.

Her foot immediately started tapping. They were good. Wicked good.

Uh-oh. Without turning her head, Avery could feel Marcus staring at her, too. The back of her neck started heating up.

War stepped up to the mic. “Do what you gotta do,” he spat. “I told you… bitch, we’re through.” His voice was raw and angry. He let out a primal yell that made goose bumps break out on her arms. The scream must have been Bryan’s cue because he immediately launched into a solo, balancing the body of his guitar on his right knee. He deftly navigated the neck of the guitar, weaving a complex blend of hammer ons, slides, bends, and pull offs. Totally focused on his hands, Avery took a step toward him, her fingers twitching. She couldn’t wait to try to duplicate it herself.

Bryan’s guitar solo faded into a short dramatic pause. Then Bullet and Sager shifted into punk mode, completely transforming the tune.

“Cool,” Avery mumbled under her breath.

War pulled the lead mic out of the stand and crossed to Bryan.

“Time to go now. Time to go now,” War and Bryan chanted into the mic together while Bryan continued to play. When the punk break was over, War brought it back around to the opening lyrics and chorus, before Ty closed the song out with a flurry on his drums.

Immediately, Avery stuck her fingers in her mouth to produce a shrill whistle and clapped her hands enthusiastically.

“Thank you. Thank you,” War said into the mic with a dramatic bow, gesturing at her. “To our new number one fan, Avery Jones. Thank you.”

She grinned, eyes sparkling, totally caught up in the band’s engaging performance. When she turned to Marcus to ask what he thought, he was scowling. Not at her. At War and Bryan. She returned her attention to the stage. The Tempest front man and his guitarist were engaged in a low but obviously heated discussion.

“Stop it, man.” War gave Bryan a shove.

With heavy hooded eyes, Bryan peered down at her as if trying to communicate something. Then he swung back around in War’s direction. “F*ck off!” He threw his guitar pick at War and stalked off the stage.