Over the Hills and Far Away (NOLA's Own #1) (40 page)

Lili picked up her chopsticks and mixed up some wasabi and soy sauce. “I’m really happy for you, Kenna. You know that, right?”

I did. More than anyone, Lili had held the torch for Phil and me getting together.

The opening song came on for
Metal Madness Hour
while and Lili and I started to hum along with it. The three of us had watched this show since we were teenagers. Every Thursday at eight, we could be found right here, watching the interviews and videos of our favorite bands.

The camera focused on the host, Lance Kross, and he smiled. “Hey, guys! Thanks for joining us this week for the
Metal Madness Hour
! We’ve got some killer videos coming your way, but even better than that, we’ve got a band fresh from their second world tour in the studio with us. They’re a personal favorite of mine—NOLA’s Junk!”

The three of us started clapping and wolf-whistling as the camera panned out and showed Phil, Jason, X, and Flipper sitting to the right of Lance the Tool.

He so is like a heavy metal Ryan Seacrest
.

Phil sat closest to Lance, dwarfing the poor host to the point where it was comical. Phil looked so hot in a pair of dark brown Dickies and a black plain T-shirt beneath a blue-white-and-brown plaid flannel with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He had on his black shitkicker boots and a black skully covering his hair.

Lili’s little hand whipped out and grabbed my thigh while she pointed the other at the television. “Dude, that’s your boyfriend!”

It really hit me. “Holy shit! That’s my fucking boyfriend!”

Like a bunch of preteens, the three of us busted out in hysterics, squealing and bouncing on the couch.

“That huge-ass metal god is my fucking boyfriend!” I cried. “Holy shit, I’m dating Phil fucking Deveraux!”

“Shh!” said Alys. “Let’s watch!”

“…back from South America. You guys have a bit of a different vibe going on nowadays. What’s inspired that?”

“Well, it’s not so much of a new sound. We’re just sort of returning to our roots,” said Phil in his hot-chocolate voice. “We started out as a Southern rock band with a love for thrash, and the thrash sort of took over.”

“Returning home has mellowed us.” Jason laughed. “We’ve missed our home so much, and we just wanted to chill out for a while.”

“We love the heavy stuff, but we all would like to branch out more, flex our talent, and see what we come up with,” said Flipper.

“Fans seem to really be diggin’ on ‘Louisiana Baby.’ It does have a mellower feel to it than what we’ve come to expect from NOLA’s Junk. Some are saying it’s too mellow though and that you guys are selling out of the thrash scene.”

Phil just shrugged. “Let ’em bitch. People are gonna say what they want, and that’s fine.”

“Can’t please everyone,” said Jason. “We’re making music that we love, and that’s what’s important. We’d like the fans to be open-minded, but we can’t force ’em.”

Lance the Tool was bobbing his head in agreement. “I love this new sound you guys are making. Phil, with ‘Louisiana Baby,’ you push the vocals to a new level, and you show the world that you can actually sing, that your voice is more than just for your signature screams and growls.”

“Uh, thanks.”

“Is that a reason for you to want to go for a different sound?”

Phil looked genuinely surprised. “No. I think as a
band
,” he stressed “we just want to grow. Making the same sound, album after album, gets old. There’s more to us than just thrash, and we want to show that.”

“That sounds good, guys. All right! We’ve got some videos to show you all, and we’ll be right back with more NOLA’s Junk after these…”

Alys turned down the volume and looked over at me. “Okay, Kenna, it’s official. You’ve got the hottest man on the planet.”

“He does ooze sex, doesn’t he?”

“The other guys aren’t too bad either,” said Lili.

“I’d totally nail X,” sighed Alys.

Lili shot me a sardonic look and rolled her eyes. It was a bit obvious to us that X would totally nail Alys, too.

“Jason would be hot if we didn’t know he was such a douche,” Lili stated. “He’s got the whole golden Adonis thing going on.”

I had told them about Jason’s shitty attitude toward me.

“Flipper’s a little hottie, too. I guess I just prefer them dark,” I said.

“And gigantic,” retorted Lili. “You certainly don’t have the hots for Flipper.”

“Well, compared to your pygmy ass, I suppose Phil
is
a giant,” I said dryly.

“And you’re just as much of a gigantore as he is! It’s no wonder you two are so in love. You’ve found another one of your own species.”

Alys and I cracked up.

After a few videos and cut to commercial, the interview came back on, and Phil had his dimples out in all their glory, his beautiful white smile blazing.

All three of us sighed.

“How were you able to hold off from hitting that shit?” asked Lili, a note of awe tingeing her voice.

With a noncommittal shrug, I replied, “We wanted to do it properly and not before he had to leave for a week.”

“By properly, you mean
improperly
, right?” Alys chuckled.

“I fucking hope so,” I replied.

“I’m here in the studio today with NOLA’s Junk, one of heavy metal’s most notable bands. They’ve been on the scene now for the last five years, selling out concerts worldwide. Tell us, guys. What are your biggest influences? What inspires you?”

“Uh, well…” started X with his microphone-o-phobia. “There’s Black Sabbath and Pink Floyd—”

“Led Zeppelin.” Phil smiled.

Like a reflex, the other three all shouted, “All hail Zeppelin!”

“Judas Priest, Iron Maiden,” said Jason.

“Tool, Pantera, Faith No More,” Flipper offered.

“Oh, good ones!” Phil laughed. “There are so many.”

“And for inspiration?” asked Lance. “A lot of your music can be considered violent, political, and not to mention, sexually explicit.”

“Who doesn’t enjoy a bit of sexually explicit?” joked Jason.

The guys all laughed at that, and so did we.

“Just everyday, run-of-the-mill BS,” said Phil. “The endless greed, war, and the assholes behind it. And yeah, sex.”

“What inspired ‘Louisiana Baby’ then? It’s seems the closest thing you guys have to a love song.”

Our Boys went quiet.

Alys and Lili each grabbed one of my thighs.

Phil didn’t bat an eye. “The lyrics are about my Baby Girl. She’s my ‘Louisiana Baby.’”

Flipper’s and X’s faces stretched into huge grins. Jason’s face remained passive.

“Is this the same Baby Girl you mention in ‘A Madman’s Love Letter’?”

“It is.” Phil’s tone held a warning ring, like he wasn’t willing to talk more about the subject.

“She’s a strong inspiration for you then?”

“Yeah, for me, she is,” he replied. His face held no expression.

Lance seemed to finally grasp that Phil was not happy with elaborating about his Baby Girl like this.

“Cool, man. Right. We’ve got some more videos coming your way, and of course, more with NOLA’s Junk!”

The camera focused on The Tool and then cut to commercial.

Alys muted the TV. “Shh! Do you hear that?” she whispered.

Lili and I both froze, listening hard.

“What?” I whispered back.

“It sounds like,” she said quietly, “hundreds of thousands of females—and possibly Jimi—wailing in heartbreak over the fact that Phil fucking Deveraux has just told the world he’s in a relationship!”

We all stared at each other for a few seconds. Once more, we exploded on the couch like a bunch of squealing preteens.

“Holy shit, this is actually real!” I crowed.

“Bitch, this is real!” cried Alys.

“Bitch, this is
real
, real!” shouted Lili.

The rest of the show went quite smoothly. The guys talked about their world tours, their three albums, and about going back into the studio after the New Year. They wrapped up the show with the clip of their performance of “Louisiana Baby”
in New Orleans.

Afterward, my best friends hugged me. They were so happy that I was so happy. After everything, perhaps I was a bit overdue for this level of happiness.

Lili pulled a huge yawn while Alys and I headed back into the kitchen to make pico de gallo and guacamole.

“Don’t even think about it, missy!” snapped Alys. “You’re on cheese-shredding duty.”

“Aw, man!”

“Now, princess!”

Lili stomped into the kitchen, grumbling about me not buying already shredded cheese.

By a stroke of luck—and a healthy dose of termites—the clinic had been shut down, starting today. I had totally forgotten about it until yesterday. Lucy had reminded me that Rita had people coming in to pack up everything for the tenting process to begin, and we wouldn’t be up and running again until the Monday after next .

I get a whole week with Phil fucking Deveraux!

So, instead of going to work, I was able to go have my hair cut and styled by my dear friend, Tricia Enzo. After the prep work for dinner, I’d called her and begged her to squeeze me into her schedule, and she’d managed to do so. She and I had been friends since middle school. After high school, she’d met a man, and they’d run off and gotten married. I’d gone into medical studies, so we hadn’t seen each other in a while.

But she was a bitchin’ hairstylist, and she turned my dirty hippie hairdo into a straightened rockin’ style with layers and sideswept bangs that framed my face. She also dyed my eyelashes black, so I wouldn’t have to wear mascara.

Awesome.

After my hair appointment, I rushed home to shit, shower, and shave
everything
while being extremely careful not to get my hair wet. I picked out my tight boot-cut jeans, a sheer camisole to wear under my tight dark green ribbed tank top—no bra—brown flip-flops, and silver wristbands.

I had to admit, with the hairstyle and tight jeans, I looked pretty worthy of being seen on Phil’s arm. I certainly hoped he would agree.

So, that was how I found myself waiting at the airport, outside baggage claim. I was nervous as all hell. My armpits and hands were once again sweating profusely, my heart rate was a little higher than normal, and the creatures of riverdance were making an exuberant appearance.

Why am I so fucking nervous? I really shouldn’t be. I’m just some chick who is picking up her man at the airport.

The Arrivals screen showed that their plane had arrived on time, and as far as I knew, he’d only taken that one bag. I was guessing they’d flown first class, so they should be some of the first people off the plane.

Anxiously, I looked around, noticing not many people were waiting, and I was pretty sure none of them were paparazzi types. No one had a camera out. As popular as NOLA’s Junk was, they really weren’t the type of celebrities whose every move was stalked. Phil seemed more than comfortable being out in public—well, as far as LaPlace went. I’d only ever seen their pictures in metal and rock magazines, not in
People
or
US Weekly
.

Oh!

People were coming through the gate—men in suits, other business-looking people, Flipper, X…and Phil. My heart tripped a little at the sight of his giant self. Behind him followed Jason, checking his cell phone. They all convened at the conveyor belt, and after a few minutes, Phil bent down and retrieved an acoustic guitar hard case. He raised his head, and his eyes scanned the meager crowd before zeroing in on me.

Phil smiled, and the world surged with the colors and brightness only he could bring. His dimples punched deep, and that grin was infectious. I gave him a little wave, feeling like a dork.

After clapping Flipper and then Jason on their backs before ruffling X’s flaming hair, Phil made his way over to me, and I noticed how utterly manly his walk was. His shoulders swayed in that sort of swagger that made women need to cross their legs.

Without so much as a how-do-you-do greeting, he swept me up in one arm, bringing me against his chest, and he kissed me as though we were the only friggin’ people in the place. I heard X and Flipper catcalling from baggage claim.

“Fuck, I missed you,” he said softly.

“I missed you, too,” I replied, smiling like a lovesick fool.

I waved to the guys, and then Phil and I turned and headed to the parking lot. Phil smacked my ass and pushed me in front of him.

“Baby Girl!” he half-shouted.

“What?”

“You cut off all your damn hair!”

Startled, I craned my neck and looked back at him, glaring a little. “I most certainly did not.”

Tricia had taken about five inches off, which left the length to the middle of my back.

“You most certainly did, too!” He was giving me crazy eyes.

“Well, I like it. I was sick of looking like a dirty hippie.”

His eyes roamed me over from head to toe, and he had a stubborn set to his jaw. “If I go away again, are you gonna shave your head in protest?”

“My hair looks
fabulous
, Phil!” I snapped hotly.

His lips flattened, but then he said, “It does look sexy as all hell.” He ran a hand through it, and I knew it felt all soft and silky. “I like it.”