I pull my hand back. “What?!”
He holds his serious expression for half a second before breaking into a smile. “Jesus, I’m kidding. I was going to take you into the green room for a drink. Don’t worry. Fucking is strictly prohibited in there.”
He goes to take my hand again, but I pull back. “I can’t. I’m sorry. I have to find Asha.”
“And Asha is ...?”
Oh, right. Even though Max knows Ash, Caleb doesn’t. I have to get used to this new reality. “She’s my little sister. I came with her and a friend, and they’ve disappeared.”
“What does she look like? Maybe I can help find her.”
“Five foot six. Red hair. Red lips. Gorgeous.”
“You’ve just described yourself. Is she a twin?”
I roll my eyes. He’s quick on the draw with those corny compliments. As I finish the thought, he hits me with a self-deprecating smile, and for some reason, ‘corny’ is instantly transformed into ‘charming’. How weird.
“Wait,” he says and snaps his fingers. “Was your sister with a blonde girl wearing an ugly eighties necklace?”
I nod. “You’ve seen them?”
He gestures for me to go with him. “I take it your sister is a fan of the Stoners?”
“Yes. She’s crushing on the bass player.”
“Yeah, I already guessed that part.”
He leads me into a big room filled with couches and lined with tables of food and drink. He points to the far corner where Asha is sucking face with a guy I’ve never seen before.
“That her?”
“Holy crap. Yes.”
My first response is total surprise that she’s acting like a regular horny twenty-three-year-old for a change, followed closely by the urge to chew her out for not letting me know where the hell she was. However, before I can open my mouth to yell at her, Max puts his hand on my arm.
“I don’t know your sister, but she seems to be enjoying herself. Maybe now’s not the best time to pull the big-sister card.”
“So that’s the bass player?”
“Bingo.” He points to the other corner, where I can see the back of Joanna’s head as she sits next to another band member on a giant couch. “And that’s the drummer.” He goes to the impressive table of alcohol and grabs some beers. “They’ll be going on for their set soon, so it won’t be long before your sister and friend are out of their clutches, but until then ... why don’t you come to my dressing room for a drink?”
I look over at the girls. “Are you sure there’s no weird stuff in here?”
“Positive. The security guys have cameras all over this place, and I’ve seen them swoop on a guy for adjusting himself too often. The girls will be safe.”
“And your dressing room? Is that safe?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “There are no cameras in there, but also no fucking. Just drinking. Maybe a little unrestrained adjusting if the mood hits me.”
His eyes actually sparkle as he says this, and against my better judgment, I smile. I suppose ‘Caleb’ is a required part of my research, and I could think of worse ways of spending my time than having a beer with him. “Sure. Why not?”
Max nods and leads me out of the green room to a nearby dressing room. Then he pushes open the door and holds it so I can step past him.
“Nice,” I say, taking in the surprisingly clean and stylish decor. “Forgive me for saying it, but this doesn’t seem very rock and roll.”
He uncaps the beers before handing one to me. “Really? Why not?”
I take a sip from the cold bottle and wander around the room. “Where’s the harem of groupies? The mountains of cocaine? Hell, there’s not even any broken furniture.”
He puts down his beer and packs the guitar lying across the couch into its case. “Well, the furniture in here is sturdier than it looks, so smashing it is more trouble than it’s worth; I’ve been off cocaine for four years now, so that’s out; and as for the whole groupie thing ...” He snaps the guitar case shut and stands. “It’s never been high on my list of life goals. I find it hard to keep any artistic integrity if I devolve into a horny teenager the minute I get some female attention.”
“So, wait ... you’re telling me you’re actually doing this for the music? What sort of maniac are you?”
He chuckles and packs the remainder of his belongings into a large duffle bag. “My band mates wonder the same thing. That’s why we don’t share a dressing room. I like my own space, and all of their cocaine, broken furniture, and groupies cramp my style.”
I laugh and sit on the white leather couch while Max finishes packing up. It’s amazing to me that he can be so different as Caleb. I don’t have any experience with role-playing, but I didn’t think it would be this believable. To be honest, I really like Caleb. He’s rough around the edges, has a great sense of humor, and the scruff coloring his jaw is hot as hell. Also, he’s more open than White-Bread Max, which isn’t a bad thing.
When everything’s packed away, Rocker Max joins me on the couch. Having him this close, I can get a better look at the ink on his arms. I have no idea how he suddenly has tatts everywhere, but it’s damn convincing.
I trace a dragon that snakes from his wrist to his bicep. “This looks amazing. What is it?”
I look up to see Max staring at me, his expression intense. “I was born in the year of the dragon, so ...”
“No,” I say, unable to look away from his eyes. “The ... uh ... ink. How did you get all of this onto your skin?” He had to have gotten them sometime between yesterday morning and tonight.
“A hulk named Brian strapped me into a chair and attacked me with a needle gun for hours on end.” Oh, yeah. His guidelines said if I ask him things out of character, he won’t take the bait. Very good.
“Did it hurt?” I raise knowing eyebrows, expecting another dig might provoke a flicker of irritation, but again, nothing.
He keeps looking me dead in the eye. “I don’t mind suffering every now and then. Pain reminds us we’re alive.”
“Is life something you forget about?”
He looks down at his beer and fiddles with the edge of the label. “I think that when we’re kids, we start out feeling everything. The whole world is amazing and magical. But as we grow up, we’re trained to believe everything is ordinary, and magic only exists in fairytales. That’s total bullshit, of course, but that’s how it goes.”
I lean back and study him. “You believe in magic?”