The Devil's Metal by Karina Halle Page B

seriously anyway. I was the odd one out and I plunked
myself down on a single chair, a cup full of potato chips in one
hand, and tried hard to look like I was busy.
    “Rusty,” Chip called out a few lonely
minutes later, appearing behind me with a bottle of Jameson in one
hand and another paper cup in the other.
    I turned in my seat and looked up at him
appreciatively.
    “Hey, Chip. Good job with the show and all
that.” I know, I sounded like a total dork.
    He shrugged and began to pour the whiskey
into the cup, straight-up. “Went better than expected. Better than
soundcheck anyway. Though I’m fucking glad we aren’t doing any more
of these unplugged shit shows. I’m not big on this experimental
stuff. Stick with what you know, you know?”
    He took a sip of the whiskey and handed the
cup to me. I took it gingerly and looked at him for assurance.
    He nodded at it, his eyes twinkling. “Pour
vous.”
    “Oooh la la,” I replied and took a tiny bit
of it into my mouth. It burned the good burn and I tried hard to
swallow it with ease. “I thought you guys were going to go into
more of the experimental stuff though. I mean, Molten Universe
really pushed some of the boundaries of your sound, you know. In a
good way,” I added.
    He laughed, making himself look younger. He
tipped the bottle at me. “You sound like a music critic,
Rusty.”
    “I am a music critic, believe it or
not.”
    He eyed the journalists. “You’re not with
your friends.”
    I shrugged, trying to play it cool. “I
prefer to do my own thing.”
    “And you’re not with the groupies
either.”
    “Like I said.”
    “Do I hear a hint of jealousy in your
voice?”
    I looked at Chip as if he had two heads.
“Me, jealous? Of groupies?”
    Oh, I wish that hadn’t made me so
defensive.
    “They make no apologies for lusting over the
rock stars.”
    Chip looked oddly serious when he said that
and I had to wonder if he was taking a swipe at me. I wasn’t
jealous of the groupies and I wasn’t lusting over any rock star. I
mean, yeah I was obviously star struck—they were one of my favorite
bands for crying out loud—and of course my eyes were drawn to Sage
anytime I was near him, but that was different. That wasn’t about
lust, or thinking about Sage unbuttoning the rest of his shirt and
undoing those heavy pants, that was…where was I? Yes. My feelings
toward Sage were purely the admiration of his talent sort of
thing.
    Chip smiled at my inner argument and
switched the subject. “So you like the experimental side of
Hybrid?”
    I took another gulp of the whiskey and
handed the cup back to him. “I do. And it’s organic, you know? It
fits. No one is doing anything because it’s a fad. No one is afraid
they’ll be branded hype by the corporate rock machine. You can tell
that everyone is just branching out a little.”
    He snorted caustically. “If by everyone, you
mean Sage. The waltz-like numbers and those horns and the steel
guitar and Mexican bullshit, it’s all him. If it were up to us,
we’d stick with what made us big. We’re loud and heavy. End of
story. Sage pushed a little too much on this album and fuck if I
know why. That is, of course, just my opinion and don’t you dare
quote me on that. Remember, I’m loyal, Rusty. I’m just the sound
tech.”
    He took a drink, filled up the cup and
handed it back to me. “Now if you don’t mind, I’m going to go make
the rounds, see what kind of trouble I can scrounge up.”
    He gave me a quick pat on the back and then
took off toward the washrooms with the bottle of Irish Whiskey. He
winked at the groupies as he passed them by and one of them
responded by grabbing his ass.
    I rolled my eyes. Why on earth would I be
jealous of them ?
    And then the door to the dressing room
opened and Robbie popped his head out. He did a quick scan of the
room, glossing over me, then flashed his adorable smile at the
groupies and quickly ushered them into the room. The door shut
behind