Deep Rocked by Clara Bayard Page B

We’ll be off soon.”
    “More blah, blah, blah bullshit. Why-”
    He was interrupted by Dex, who’d abandoned his game to stand between us. I could barely see Rick around his broad shoulders. “What’s your bloody problem with Becca?” he asked, voice hard and low.
    “Mind your business, man,” Rick spat back.
    Dex stepped forward, crowding the other man against the plush seat. “Your shitty attitude is my business.”
    I rushed over and out my hand on his arm, though his instinctive defense of me was surprising and sent a warm thrill through my body. “Dex, stop. It’s fine. I’m fine.” His skin was hot under my fingers and his muscles tense.
    He barely glanced at me before returning his attention to the surly drummer. “You want to be a right bastard to us? Fine. We can deal. But Becca’s just doing her job. Leave her out of it.”
    Now Rick stood, and for the first time, I realized just how huge he was. Dex was well over six feet tall, but Rick towered over him. “What the fuck? Who do you think you are? Some boy scout too, now? I’ll say whatever the fuck I want to whoever I want. And you’re not going to do shit about it.”
    The two men were close enough to be slow-dancing, but the scene was anything but romantic. A wave of panic started to rise in me. I had to find a way to diffuse the situation, somehow.
    “Guys, come on. Can we just all settle down?”
    They ignored me, jaws locked with anger. It became clear to me that this confrontation had been a long time coming, and had nothing to do with Dex taking offense to the way Rick spoke to me.
    Every muscle in Dex’s back clenched visibly under his tight t-shirt. Normally it would have been an alluring view, but all I could think about was how much trouble we’d all be in if there was a fight.
    From growing up around musicians, I knew bands were notoriously mercurial. Between artistic temperaments, egos, lack of sleep, hard partying and spending too much time together, most bands were constantly teetering on disaster. Now, with Dream Defiled reaching a new level of fame and success, everyone was on edge, working on getting used to all the changes. And one argument could mean the end of everything.
    But more than my concern about the band was my worry about Dex. Rick had a reputation for being a brawler. Brutal and quick, his boxing background and massive size made him a dangerous adversary. And I couldn’t even begin to handle the idea of Dex getting hurt.
    With all of that swirling in my brain, even though I was still mad at him, I gripped both of his arms and turned him around to face me. At first it was like trying to move a solid marble statue. But as his face turned towards me, he softened. Whether it was the look of panic on my face or just a lowering of the testosterone level, he came around willingly.
    “Dex. Don’t do this. Don’t let him bait you.”
    He nodded and took a deep breath. His hands circled my elbows so we were holding each other, literally, at arm’s length. It was intensely intimate in a way I couldn’t quite understand.
    “Sorry, love. Bad day is all. I’m fine.”
    Rick made some kind of derisive noise, but I didn’t pay him any attention. My eyes and my thoughts were only on Dex. But our moment was interrupted by Matthew. He came over and put his hand on Dex’s shoulder.
    “Why don’t we go outside and stretch our legs?” he asked quietly, calmly. Even after spending almost every waking moment with the guys, it still startled me to hear his voice. Shy to the point of being reclusive, I still hadn’t figured out why Matthew was in a rock band. Every moment in public seemed like torture for him. In fact, the only time he seemed comfortable was on stage. Tucked away by equipment in a corner, he played with his eyes shut, like the crowd didn’t exist.
    Whatever his motivations, he was able to get Dex to hear him, too. The tension in his strong arms slowly eased until his hands left my skin. I nodded slightly