Blood and Guitars Page 14

  “I … I can’t believe you made this.” She looked up at me in amazement. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”

  I smiled, happy with her reaction. “There’s this restaurant in Shanghai,” I began. “O’Shea and I had the most amazing Asian Princess Chicken there one night on our last tour. When the chef found out he had a famous American band in his restaurant he came out to say hello and make sure we were enjoying the meal. When I saw that he spoke pretty good English, I expressed my wish to learn how to make it myself sometime. He promised that if I came back to the restaurant sometime, he would give me his recipe. He was enjoying the press he’d get because we were there, but I knew we wouldn’t be going back to China on tour again for maybe a couple of years depending on our schedule so I made O’Shea go back with me again before we left town. To make a long story short, he hadn’t actually expected me to ever come back, let alone show up the next day. He was so amused by the fact that I was back that he wrote out the recipe himself and brought it out to me. I’ve been making it ever since.”

  “You’re serious?”

  “I swear.” I set down my fork and held my hands up innocently. “O’Shea still requests it every so often. He doesn’t cook at all so he calls me up and places an order. It’s kind of annoying, actually. I’d teach him how to make it himself but he’d never get it right. Poor guy.” Aurora just shook her head at me in mild disbelief. “Cooking is something I picked up from my Mom. It was always just the two of us since I can remember. She’s a great cook.”

  “Well, it’s amazing. I’ll never be satisfied with Chinese take out again, so thanks for ruining that for me.”

  I chuckled and she smiled up at me between bites. Cowboy sauntered over to stand by my feet for a moment before wandering off in search another issue of Rolling Stone to destroy.

  “Can I ask you something?” I said after chewing a bite of egg roll.

  “Sure.”

  “Would you ever consider doing artwork for a record?”

  Her eyes grew wide and she stared up at me appraisingly. “I guess that would depend on who’s asking.”

  I smiled and said, “I mean it. I’ve seen your work and it’s different from anything else out there.”

  She put down her chopsticks and considered me for a moment. “You’re hot. Why not just get some famous celebrity photographer to take a picture of you?” she said, but she was grinning. And did she really just call me hot? I mentally high-fived myself and then cleared my throat to answer her.

  “It’s been done to death,” I said.

  “You’re serious, aren’t you?” I nodded at her. “I … I don’t know, Trey. I’ve never done that kind of work before.”

  “All I’m asking is that you do some sketches or something to show the rest of the guys what you could do and we’ll go from there.” She still didn’t look convinced so I continued. “Come out to the studio again with me and you can bring a sketchpad and do your thing while we work. Or bring your entire easel and your paints for that matter. What have you got to lose?”

  She studied me silently, biting her bottom lip in thought. “It’s not that simple.”

  “Sure it is,” I added. “If everything goes as planned your work will be displayed on the front of an album that will be in the hands of a million teenagers and young adults within a few months.” I knocked on the wooden table and raised an eyebrow at her, awaiting her response.

  “You’re right,” she said. “I’d be crazy to pass up a chance to do something like that. It’s just so unexpected.”

  “Your work is incredible, and we need something incredible. It was bound to come to this, don’t you think?” She bit her lip and I knew I had her. “So you’ll do it?” I asked.

  She nodded. “I’ll do it. Just remember, your band mates might hate my work.”

  “Doubtful.” I grinned victoriously and took another bite of egg roll.

  When we’d finished eating, Aurora asked if we could walk out by the pool. I took her hand and happily led the way. When we neared the water, Aurora slipped off her shoes and rolled up her pant legs, sitting down to dangle her feet in the cool water.

  “It’s saltwater,” I explained as I opened some of the glass doors surrounding us to let in the warm night air and then joined her, putting my feet in the water next to hers.

  “That explains it,” she said matter-of-factly.

  I raised an eyebrow at her. “Explains what?”

  “Why you smell like the beach.” I looked away, not sure how to take her comment. “That’s a good thing,” she added, noticing my hesitation. “I love the smell of a salty ocean breeze.”

  I chuckled, feeling self-conscious. “Good to know.”

  “Do you write songs out here?” she asked, gazing into the water.

  “Nah.”

  “Why not? I’d paint out here all the time,” she observed. “It’s so calming.”

  “I’m too clumsy,” I admitted. I’d end up dropping my guitar in the water or something. Just ask any of the guys.” She laughed along with me. “Besides, a nice calm, serene atmosphere doesn’t always make for the best songwriting. Teenage angst sells better.” She laughed again and turned to look at me. I couldn’t see past her green eyes for all their intensity. “You know, green just so happens to be my favorite color,” I whispered.

  “I might have guessed that judging by your favorite guitar and your bedding,” she said softly, smiling.

  I leaned toward her. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation. My heart was doing double-time when our lips met. Her hand was on my knee and I prayed that I could keep my balance. Falling in the pool in the middle of the kiss would be all too typical of me. The smell of her perfume filled my senses and I breathed it in, making a mental note to find out what it was and buy her a lifetime supply. We pulled apart reluctantly and Aurora gazed up at me, looking a little dazed. Could it be that I was having the same affect on her that she did me? I seriously doubted that. But it was hard to deny the possibility when she scooted closer to me and leaned her head against my shoulder with a sigh of content.

  Chapter 26

  Even without Trey, finding the recording studio again was easy. I pulled straight through the side driveway that led around Ken Morris’s house and to the back where the studio was located. When I parked, it was next to a car I remembered being here the last time, although I didn’t yet know who it belonged to. I cut the engine, and with a sigh I wondered briefly why I had come. On the surface, the answer was simple: Trey had asked me to. But below the surface were many complicated layers, each filled with reasons I should just put the car in reverse and back out of here, leaving Trey to his fairly uncomplicated rock star life.

  Then the door to the studio opened, and out stepped Trey. He was wearing grey stonewashed jeans with a brown leather belt and a black t-shirt with a faded design. His gaze fell on me and that lazy half-smile tugged at his lips. And that was it. I couldn’t resist.

  So I did the only logical thing left to do. I opened the door and climbed out. Trey was by my side immediately, his lips brushing my cheek in greeting.

  “I still can’t believe you managed to find this place without directions” He smiled at me.

  “Well, I have been here before,” I reminded him.

  “Must be that photographic memory of yours,” he conceded as I pulled out my large sketchpad and a case of charcoals. He took my supplies from me and gestured for me to lead the way up the walk to the studio. Inside I was greeted by O’Shea and Ken who were hanging out in the sound room.

  “What are you working on today?” I wondered out loud.

  “New song,” Trey said simply.

  “Already?” I didn’t try to conceal the surprise in my tone.

  “Trey is on a roll,” O’Shea said matter-of-factly.

  “We’re laying down some guitar parts for it,” Trey clarified for my benefit. “Chase and Jonas left a little while ago because they were done for the day.”

  “Going to do a l
ittle drawing while you’re here?” O’Shea asked, eying my sketch pad as Trey set it on the sofa for me.

  I shrugged and said, “We’ll have to see if you guys can inspire me.”

  O’Shea raised an eyebrow and then slugged Trey on the shoulder in the strange way that human guys do. “I believe we can rise to that challenge.”

  Trey smiled at me and told me to get comfortable and make myself at home. I settled down on the sofa and Trey brought me a bottle of water and then followed O’Shea into the sound booth. I pulled out my charcoals and opened my sketchpad to a clean sheet while they plugged in their instruments and donned their headphones. Ken and I made small talk until the sound of electric guitars was pouring into the room via the speakers mounted on the walls.

  “You guys ready to roll tape?” Ken asked.

  “Let’s do it,” O’Shea called out, his voice coming through the microphone set up in the corner.

  “I’ve got the drum track for you,” Ken said. “Rolling.”

  I sort of lost track of the specifics of their conversation at that point. I was swept up in the act of capturing the scene on my paper. It didn’t take me long to decide exactly how to portray either of them in my drawing. I was perceptive as a human, and my vampire senses and intuition had only heightened my awareness. As Trey and O’Shea stood a few feet apart from each other in the booth, playing their guitars, it was clear that they had a long history together. Trey had mentioned that they’d been best friends since the eighth grade. That was evident, but so were the differences in their demeanor. While it was obvious Trey cared deeply about his music and his career, he was generally laid-back and easy going. O’Shea on the other hand was a workaholic, and a perfectionist. He carried himself differently, standing with his feet planted firmly while he ran through a lick on his guitar. Trey was relaxed and prone to move around more. For him, the entire experience seemed to be more about the emotion the music was evoking rather than the technical aspects. One more way Trey wore his heart on his sleeve. I could only imagine how this would translate to a crowd at a live show. No wonder fans went crazy over him.

  I worked with my charcoal pencils and an eraser to capture the scene before me. Trey was cracking jokes and casting glances at me in between takes, but he could switch on his serious side in an instant when they were ‘rolling tape’ as Ken kept saying. I worked for almost an hour, my sketch coming to life in front of me as I filled in the details of the guitars and the clothes the guys were wearing.

  I was pulled from my artistic trance when Ken announced that they had finished. Trey put his guitar away on a stand and came in to sit next to me.

  “How’s it going?” He leaned over to glance at my sketchpad. I tilted it toward him to give him a good view.

  “You tell me.” I waited for his response.

  His eyes scanned the drawing and a broad grin crossed his lips. “Why Aurora, I’m almost embarrassed. I had no idea you found me so irresistibly attractive.”

  I elbowed him in the ribs and laughed with him. Ken rolled his eyes at us from his chair, but I heard him chuckling as Trey and I bantered back and forth. O’Shea came in a few minutes later to ask if Trey was going to Jonas’s later for a GH battle.

  I blinked at them dumbly. “What on earth is a GH battle?”

  “Guitar Hero,” O’Shea stated.

  Trey grinned and said. “Jonas is obsessed, to put it mildly. We’ve been working hard so we’re all getting together later to mess around and play. I was kind of hoping you’d want to join us.”

  “I don’t know the first thing about guitars, or heroes for that matter.”

  “Who better to educate you? Come on, it’ll be fun,” O’Shea added. “And I’m supplying the food.”

  “We’re trying to talk her into coming,” Trey said to him. “Not make her turn the other direction and run.”

  “I’m not doing the actual cooking,” O’Shea clarified, turning to me. “Besides, Trey here will probably bail and go home if you don’t come along.”

  Trey shrugged and said, “No pressure or anything.”

  I studied him briefly and then surprised myself by saying, “Sure. I’m game.”

  Trey’s eyes lingered on me for a heartbeat and his smile broadened. Had I seriously just agreed to a video game version of playing musical instruments? Something was seriously wrong with me lately.

  “Great.” O’Shea said over his shoulder as he walked away. “Trey needs a ride anyway.”

  Trey and I were on the road in my car a few minutes later. Trey spotted my iPod and picked it up, circling his thumb over the wheel to shuffle through my music. I realized only a moment too late what he would find on it. He clicked the center button and looked up at me as the opening notes of “Filtered Ache” began to blare through the car speakers.

  “Tell me you pirated this.” He gave me that irresistible half-smile.

  I gave a little shrug and said, “I heard the lead singer is hot. Besides, it’s kind of catchy. Don’t you think?”

  He chuckled and said, “I’m flattered.”

  “Don’t let it go to your head,” I teased as he started to sing along with himself. I briefly wondered what he’d think if he knew about the latest addition to the décor in my bedroom. Just after waking tonight I’d found a long cylindrical package at my front door. I had opened it only to discover a giant poster of Trey and the rest of Catalyst posing in front of a rusty old pickup truck in what looked like the middle of a desert. Apparently my membership in the fan club had rendered such a gift. Feeling stupid and giddy like a teenage girl with a celebrity crush, I’d tacked it up near my closet and spent a few minutes staring at it before I’d realized it was time to go.

  Trey gestured for me to take the next left and I turned, following his instructions to a house down the road about a quarter mile. We pulled into the drive and parked. Trey turned off my iPod and climbed out of the car, coming around to take my hand and lead me up the walkway to Jonas’s front door.

  A girl who appeared to be in her early twenties opened the door and greeted us happily. Trey introduced her as Tara, Jonas’s younger sister. She gestured to the rest of the house with one big arm motion and said for us to make ourselves at home. Trey, who knew the way, thanked her and led me down a hallway and up a set of stairs. I could hear music blaring before we entered the home theater where the rest of Trey’s band mates were hanging out. Chase and O’Shea, who had plastic guitars with an assortment of stickers on them hanging from one shoulder, waved when we walked in. Jonas greeted us from across the room where he was manning a small version of a theater popcorn machine.

  “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said to me, throwing a piece of popcorn at Trey. Trey fumbled but caught it and popped it into his mouth.

  “About as humble as Trey’s house,” I said with a laugh.

  “Whoever heard of a humble rock star anyway?” Chase asked while he and O’Shea tried to play a ridiculously fast song on their plastic guitars. The screen in front of them was so big that the notes were almost the size of my fist as they raced from the bottom to the top in time with the music.

  Trey plopped down onto a big leather sofa and patted the cushion next to him. I sat down and snagged the bowl of popcorn that Jonas held out for him. Trey laughed and stuffed his hand into it, pulling out a fistful before unsuccessfully attempting to fit it all into his mouth.

  I giggled as pieces of it fell all over his shirt and lap. He picked them up one at a time and ate them like he’d done it intentionally, which made me giggle even more. Trey and I watched O’Shea and Chase finish out their song and I noticed Jonas dragging a little plastic drum set of sorts over in front of us.

  “Switch it up.” He handed Chase a wired microphone that was plugged in somewhere out of sight.

  “Can’t I play a guitar?” Chase whined.

  “Next time.” Jonas handed Trey a pair of drumsticks.

  “Prepare to laugh.” Trey nodded in agreement and got to his feet.

  “Wh
at? Now you’re a drummer?” I teased.

  “Nobody is allowed to play their regular instruments in a switch up,” he explained. “It keeps things interesting.”

  “I bet it does.”

  O’Shea was forced to play bass and Jonas tried his hand at lead guitar as they played through a song. I laughed at Trey when he fumbled and dropped a drumstick, but other than that he actually did pretty well considering he’s not a drummer. I studied the theory of the game as I watched them play, and decided it really couldn’t be that hard. When Jonas insisted that I give it a shot on the next song, I happily accepted a guitar from him and stepped up next to O’Shea. I explained that I’d never played before and the guys walked me through picking a musician and then Chase selected a song. I heard a clicking sound and a countdown appeared on the screen before notes began rolling up it. I matched the colors on the screen with the ones beneath my fingers and started playing. It really wasn’t bad at all. In fact, I was really getting into it when the song ended. That was when I laughed and turned to find all four of them staring at me in what appeared to be downright amazement.

  “What ever happened to I’ve never played before?” O’Shea asked, finger quoting in the air.

  “I … I haven’t,” I said. Then I wondered if I should have lied. I’d done very well on the song. Too well.

  “You just trashed O’Shea’s score on expert!” Chase proclaimed.

  Then I heard Trey laughing from behind me to the right. I turned to see him grin and give me a thumbs-up. “That’s my girl,” he said proudly.

  I smiled back and shrugged, hoping I appeared innocent. Then I moved to take the guitar strap off my shoulder when O’Shea’s words stopped me.

  “Oh no,” he declared. “We are so having a rematch. I can’t go out like that,” he said, but he was smiling.

  I looked to Trey and he gave me an encouraging nod. “Let him have it,” he said.

  “Okay,” I said, straightening my shoulders and facing the screen again. “You’re on.”

  As O’Shea navigated the menu to select another song I heard Jonas and Chase asking Trey if he knew I could play like that. Trey was insisting that he was just as surprised as they were, but I got a general sense that the others thought I was lying about my nonexistent experience with the game. Either way, they weren’t complaining. They seemed pretty happy just to see someone beating their lead guitarist, especially when that someone was a girl.