Rock Me Slower (Licks of Leather #3) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,52
wandered out behind him. I didn’t see Tori or Ava. I hoped they were inside somewhere and not in Chicago and Oklahoma. When the limo stopped, two men I’d never seen joined the welcoming committee.
One was tall, handsome, and broad shouldered with coal-black hair and dark eyes. The other was shorter, even more handsome, with blond hair and bright blue eyes, and built like a fucking linebacker. He had muscles bulging everywhere. I had a feeling they were my new drummer and keyboard players.
As Ozzy and I exited the vehicle, Quinn and Sofia smiled and waved while the Licks of Leather guys surrounded Ozzy, clapping him on the back and talking a mile a minute. The two men I didn’t know remained on the porch, silently watching our arrival.
“Don’t go getting all butt-hurt, but Sofia and I stole your room,” Burk announced.
Ozzy scowled in disapproval. “What the hell did you do that for?”
“To…stargaze,” the lead singer replied, waggling his brows.
“Stargaze, my ass, you just want to bang Sofia on the private porch.”
“I definitely wouldn’t turn it down,” Burk barked with a wide grin. “Don’t worry. We saved the two rooms Sofia and I claimed last time.”
“The ones with the pass-through bathroom,” Syd added, with a dramatic open-mouthed wink.
Based on the knowing grins everyone but Ross was sending Ozzy, I was the only one not in on this joke. I only hoped the gag wasn’t at my expense.
“We’re sharing a bathroom?” I asked.
“Looks like it,” Ozzy replied. “Don’t worry. I’ll knock before entering.”
With a mischievous grin, Sophia leaned in close to my ear. “Seriously, you’ll love the rooms. They’re…convenient.”
“For what?”
She shot me a fake look of innocence and smiled. “Oh, anything that might…arise.”
“Okay.” I was completely confused by what she was trying to insinuate, but before I could press her for an explanation, Quinn draped an arm over my shoulder and nodded toward the porch.
“Come. Let me introduce you to your new crew. The talented men who’ll accompany you on stage soon.”
“Wait for me,” Ozzy called out, hustling to join us. “I’d like to meet them, too.”
I couldn’t miss his possessive tone if I’d been deaf since birth, or the way he jutted out his chin and lifted his chest… all caveman-like.
Oh, lord.
I’d spent the last two weeks kicking myself in the ass for spilling the horrific details about Carl to him. I didn’t want or need his pity, or to think I’d deserved such abuse for going behind his back. It would help my peace of mind if I knew where I stood with Ozzy, but I didn’t.
But by the way he moved in alongside me, all bowed up like a dark-haired version of Thor, and blatantly sizing up the new men on the porch, I knew Ozzy assumed I needed a fucking bodyguard.
Wonderful.
When the muscle-bound blond, wearing a star-struck gaze in his eyes, extended his hand to Ozzy first, I knew he was my keyboard player.
“Duke Winter,” he announced, furiously shaking Ozzy’s hand. “It’s truly an honor to meet you, Mr. Page.”
“Whoa, man,” he chuckled nervously. “It’s all good. I’m just Ozzy.”
“The Ozzy,” Duke scoffed. “The most gifted pianist on the planet.”
“Oh, fuck,” Ross groused. “He’s hard enough to live with as it is. Don’t go inflating his fucking ego…please.”
A look of embarrassment crawled across Duke’s face as he quickly released Ozzy’s hand. Undaunted, Oz snatched it back up and shook it some more as he turned and flashed a playful sneer at Ross. “Shut up, fucker. He can inflate it all he wants.”
“Hi, I’m Phoenix, but call me by my given name, Mia.” I smiled, peeling Ozzy’s hand off Duke’s and claiming it to properly introduce myself.
“Wow, you’re even prettier in person,” Duke whispered.
“Thank you, but seriously, there’s no need to be awed. I’m sure you’re a gifted musician yourself, or you wouldn’t be here.”
“We’ll soon find out,” Duke quipped with a wide grin.
Mercy, he was pretty. He was going to melt the panties off my female fans.
The dark-haired man left the porch and sauntered over, studying Ozzy before turning his dissecting stare on me.
“By process of elimination, you must be my drummer, correct?” I quipped.
A shadow of a smile tugged the corners of his serious mouth. “I’ll be playing the drums for you, yes. Name’s Mick Allen.”
A diva. Great.
Compared to Duke’s nonexistent ego, Mick’s was seemingly bigger than the entire state of Texas. Oh, well, he wasn’t the first egomaniac I’d ever worked with, and probably not the last.