shredded to display her shoulder blades, and knee high vinyl boots completed her ensemble.
It wasn't the Lola I knew, but I could see myself liking this version just fine.
Her cheeks were on fire. Blue eyes sparkled, casting my way in another silent cry for help. She hates this already, I realized. Brenda guided her past us, our bodies brushing in the tight aisle. The sweet scent of Lola sank into my lungs.
Porter made room for the girls, then scowled as the umbrella light was pushed back into his face. “Hey! Come on, I don't want to break this, but I need some fucking coffee.”
“Chill,” Brenda said, grabbing a carton off of a table. Steaming, bitter smelling liquid was poured into a tall cup which she hastily thrust at Porter. Someone from the photo team had brought us fresh coffee.
Lola was handed over to the group. Two woman and one man quickly surrounded her like hungry wolves.
I could hardly see the girl. Anxiety jumped through me like grasshoppers on cocaine. It shouldn't have been so uncomfortable for me, she was just getting her makeup done. You know it's more than that. She's going to be showing herself to the world now.
I shook my head vigorously. Lola was going to be on stage tomorrow anyway. Hadn't I realized what that meant?
I didn't fucking think about it until now. Gripping the seat next to me, I listened to the group titter around Lola like little birds. She's going to be famous like the rest of us. That means fans, stalkers, obsessive people who will try to take pictures of her—with her.
Lola was going to become a star.
I wanted her to be mine, but she would belong to the world before that would happen.
Porter moved beside me, sipping his coffee. “They never put as much effort into my makeup for these shoots.”
My mood was too black for his humor. “She's going to look like a different person.”
“No more than the rest of us,” he snorted.
But Porter was wrong. Eventually the group cleared, another umbrella-light added into the aisle. Lola was a queen, her black hair winding down her shoulders in lazy, smooth curls of liquid-looking smoke. They'd turned her eyes into lands of coal, lashes so heavy I was amazed she could blink.
And her fucking lips... they'd made them plumper, shiny and crimson. It was a frown made of rubies begging to be kissed. Lola looked absolutely miserable.
My bassist whistled, low and private for us. Jerking my glare at him, I witnessed the stare of appreciation on his face. He was seeing Lola in a way he never had. It was a sliver compared to what I saw in her from the start. “Wow, she's kind of hot, isn't she?" he said. "Damn.”
Biting my tongue, I went back to watching the girl I hungered for. They were coaxing her into posing. Stiff as wood, Lola let them adjust her until she was draped in a seat. Cameras flashed, blinding her pretty blue eyes.
Though I didn't enjoy seeing her so uneasy at the hands of the photographers, I had to admit, she looked stunning. My jeans were crying out, begging me to give my cock more room. Scratching at my skull did little to chase the degenerate thoughts away.
Someone shoved Lola's guitar at her. She took it happily, transforming before my eyes. The instrument was a lifeline. It completed the picture, made her whole. Lola was lost without her music; it hurt me how similar we were.
Now the photos would make sense. They'd show a girl who was a masterpiece of talent, not a half-finished plastic replica.
My heart throbbed in empathy.
The shoot was over as fast as Brenda had promised. We'd driven a few miles with the van for the photographers following us. Tires squeaked, stopping the bus so the group could clamber off. They were efficient. I appreciated that.
“So!” Brenda whirled to face me, not stumbling on her spread feet when the bus took off violently again. “That went well, didn't it?”
“It went fast,” I said. Eyeing Lola, I noticed she wasn't looking at me. “You ready for a break?”
Peeking upwards through her rain-gutter of lashes, she hesitated. “Do we have time for that?”
She's worried about the show. I was, too, but no longer for the same reasons. Lola was ready to play. As long as I held back from aiming my carnal need-to-fuck-her-raw-energy right at her, she wouldn't mess up.
She'd be amazing. Everyone would know her, and they would love her.