Joy Ride Desiree Holt (ebook reader 8 inch .TXT) 📖

new Emma—after Andrew—wanted to kick her old existence to the curb and dig down for the courage to taste life. And courage was what it had taken to give her hair the new look—her blonde hair, now with more silver had an outrageous purple streak. Nothing she could wash out, either. Every time she looked in the mirror, she shocked herself all over again.

And the new clothes. God, Annie had been a pit bull, stashing her in a dressing room and bringing her items to try on—tight jeans, some with designs and tank tops and pretty tees to go with them. Vivid colors so unlike anything else in her closet. A new wrapping for a new person.

So by nine o’clock, deliberately blanking out her misgivings, she was in the shower, soaping herself, washing her hair, and mentally reviewing her wardrobe for something to wear.

I’ll never be able to make it through work tomorrow if I don’t get some sleep.

But at ten-thirty, she was dressed in new white jeans and a royal blue tank top with a blue and white print blouse thrown over it. She slipped on new white sandals she’d been saving for…something.

As she dressed she got the strangest feeling, almost as if with her new clothes, she was putting on a different personality. Emma was in the closet with her dull colors and sensible clothes. She looked in the mirror and saw Music Lady, a woman with silvery hair and a distinctive purple streak. A woman whose skin glowed and whose eyes shone with anticipation. Who had a confidence lacking in Emma. In her mind she could almost hear the familiar sound of Lightnin’ and her hips swayed a little.

She was Music Lady!

Enough! Get moving.

In minutes, she was in her car heading toward Aftershock.

Something was missing when she walked in the door and she frowned when she saw the empty stage.

“Band’s on a break,” the bouncer told her, taking her money and stamping her hand.

Annie had told her that’s what they were called. Bouncers. Not doormen. “It’s not an upscale condo building, sweetie.” Her friend had chuckled at her.

“W-When do they start again?” Emma asked.

“In a couple of minutes. Time enough to get a drink.”

The crowd was a little thinner tonight, making her journey to the bar a little easier. She got her usual bottle of beer, a drink she was actually beginning to acquire a taste for, and glanced around to see if she could locate Marc. The first thing she saw was Lacey, the over-the-top redhead from the other night wearing jeans that looked painted on and a halter top that was barely decent. She had her hand on Marc’s arm and was leaning toward him, a predatory smile on her lips. Emma might have been annoyed if she hadn’t seen the flash of irritation on Marc’s face and watched him jerk his arm away as he leaped up onto the stage. He obviously didn’t like what she was saying because he shook his head and turned away to pick up his bass. He moved to the side to speak to the drummer and plucked a few low notes on the bass. The drummer nodded to him, and Marc stepped back to his usual place.

When the redhead tossed her hair and moved away, Emma worked her way to the front of the stage just as the band kicked into the opening number of the set. Something bluesy with hard rock overtones. Gritty was the word that came to mind. Marc was entirely focused on the music, not noticing her at all, but she just stayed in place, swaying to the melody.

Tonight she tried to listen to the words, to understand what the song was about. It seemed to be about a man searching for love but every woman gave him the same old, tired routine. She thought the title might be She Did It To Me Again since that was the chorus, repeated over and over again, with Marc and the drummer laying down the low, heavy sounds she was fast becoming addicted to. It vibrated through her body, just like the other nights, shimmering in waves from her breasts to her very wet sex.

For the first time, she managed to pay attention to the other band members, recalling their faces from the picture she’d found on their website. The drummer Garrett, almost frenetic in his movements. Rick, the lead guitarist, making his fingers dance at a dizzying pace over the strings. And Danny, the lead singer, with a voice as smooth as aged whiskey and a register that spanned three octaves. Even when he hit the high notes, the music was compelling rather than abrasive.

And when they all brought their voices together in four-part harmony, Emma thought angels couldn’t have sung better. That was, if angels sang rock and roll.

Her hips bumped and wriggled, and she tossed her head back, but not so far she lost sight of Marc, wild on the stage as the power of the song built and built. When he joined in on the lyrics of the last repetition of the chorus, Emma felt as if she had been pulled on stage into the magic they were creating. When Marc screamed, “She did it to me” she had the eerie feeling he might have been singing to her.

He’s singing to Music Lady. And that’s who I am when I walked in here. A totally different person.

And then the song was over, the last notes lingering in the air like sparks of electricity. Still hugging his bass, Marc let his gaze roam over the room. The moment he spotted Emma, his eyes locked with hers and she was surprised there was a stream of fire sizzling between the two of them. After a moment, one corner of his mouth lifted in a slow grin and Emma was afraid she’d melt down right on the spot.

Then they were into the next song, and Marc was again immersed in the music.

She stood in the