Rocking Hard: Volume 1 Read online

  She gave him such a wounded look out of her lantern yellow eyes that he might have felt sorry if she wasn't such a devil all the time. She was a full-fledged monster cat; her acting sweet for five minutes out of the day didn't make up for it.

  Sighing, he bent down and ran his hand down her back, smiling when she arched up under him to try and get the most out of his caress. She was one of the softest cats he had ever met in his life, which was one of the main reasons he had adopted her in the first place. She was also an incredibly moody bitch, which always made him laugh.

  "I'm going to have company over tonight, so you better not get in the way," he said.

  He could have sworn that she made a contemptuous sniffing sound before strutting away from him, heading back toward the kitchen. She liked to hang out in front of the stove, something he always tried to stop her from doing because he didn't want to end up with a cooked cat one day.

  He'd just walked over to the couch and sat down when the doorbell rang and he had to haul himself back to his feet to answer it.

  He jerked open the door and was dazzled by Jim's bright smile. "Candygram!" Jim sing-songed.

  Marty snorted and shook his head. "You're a giant dork, you know that? And you'll never be as completely bad ass as Methos."

  "Who could be?" Jim asked. "Now are you going to let me in?"

  "As long as you're not a vampire come to suck my blood." Marty stepped out of the way, holding the door open.

  He couldn't help running his eyes over his friend, trying to tell if there were any gigantic changes. There was nothing. "Seriously, just looking at you, I can't tell why you suddenly decided to settle down. I would have thought life as a rock god would be something you'd do well into your forties."

  Jim held his arms out from his sides, showing off his dark jeans and custard yellow shirt. Marty would have thought that at some point someone would have sat Jim down and told him what was and wasn't fashionable, but he still dressed like he was in high school. "I'm still a rock god. I'm just a rock god with a brand new house. You're going to come over and check it out, right?"

  "Sure," Marty said. He waved Jim toward the couch while walking toward the kitchen. "Do you want something to drink?"

  "What you got?" Jim asked.

  "Soda, beer, and juice."

  "I'll take a beer," Jim said.

  "All right, give me a second." Marty dug through the refrigerator, pulling out two bottled beers and the veggie tray he'd bought at Whole Foods. He carried them back into the living room, setting everything down on the coffee table. He nudged one of the beers closer to Jim. "I kind of went a little overboard when you said you were going to come."

  "What do you mean?" Jim asked. He scooped up the beer and popped the lid off with practiced ease.

  Marty shrugged. "I didn't want you to show up and all I had was macaroni and cheese and old take out."

  "I thought you loved to cook?"

  Marty sat down on the couch next to him and leaned forward long enough to pull the lid off the tray, the plastic trying to give him a hard time. He wasn't willing to show any mercy. "I do. I just don't do it very often." Marty slouched back with his own beer resting on his stomach. "There just never seems to be enough hours in the day for me to be spending all my time in the kitchen." He popped the cap off and tossed it toward the table.

  Jim made an appreciative sniffing sound. "But you're cooking for me, right?"

  "Yeah. I just threw a ham in the oven with some sweet potatoes. Nothing too crazy over the top."

  "Sweet potatoes? Yeah!"

  Marty shook his head. "You haven't changed at all from the last time I saw you." It had been two years since they'd been able to hang out; otherwise they'd stayed in contact with the Internet and phone calls.

  "Neither have you," Jim said.

  Then it was kind of awkward, and kind of not too, and they were trying to fit back into their friendship.

  "I've missed you." Marty picked at the edge of the label on his beer with his thumbnail. "I mean, I try to take Jane with me to all the crazy shit we used to go to together, but …" He shrugged. "She thinks a lot of stuff is dumb."

  "So she's not as nerdy as I am, is that what you're saying?" Jim laughed.

  "You're the one that called yourself a nerd, not me."

  There was the light jingle of bells and Vee jumped up on the couch between them, sniffing and nudging curiously against Jim.

  "Who's this?" Jim asked, holding a hand out for her to sniff, then gently rubbing her chin. She started up her motorboat purring and Marty watched her fondly.

  "This is Mr. Vincenzo Emilio Estevez, though I just call her Vee," Marty said.

  Jim furrowed his brows. "'Her?'"

  "Yeah, she's pretty gender fluid," Marty grinned.

  "God, you're so weird."

  "Yeah, I know." Marty rolled his head toward Jim. "It's going to be cool having you around more."

  "I know." Jim stuck his tongue out at Marty's look and went back to stroking Vee when she made a demanding sound. "This is one pretty cat."

  "Yeah, and she knows it." Marty chewed on his lip. "So how have things been with you?"

  "It's all good. You?"

  "'Centrifical' was put into syndication all around the world. That's kind of cool. They're watching my show in like Kazakhstan and stuff." Marty raised his beer to his lips and took a quick slug. "My agent may have gotten me a part in an upcoming blockbuster movie."

  Jim made an impressed face. "That's awesome."

  "Yeah. It's not one of the lead roles or anything, but I'm pretty excited." Marty tried to sound like it was awesome but really no big deal, though he couldn't help the giant grin that overtook his face.

  Jim slapped him on the shoulder. "Wow, you're really getting in the big time. Are you going to invite me to your premiere?"

  "You're rich enough. You can buy your own ticket." Marty ducked away from the playful swipe Jim made at his head. "Just kidding. Of course I'll get you into the premiere."

  "That's right." Jim leaned over to speak right into Vee's twitching ears, his eyes on Marty's face. "Did you hear that, kitty? Your man wasn't going to invite me to his premiere. Can you believe that? Yeah, me neither."

  "Don't try to turn her to your side," Marty said. "She's my girl and always will be."

  "Speaking of girls, you seeing anyone right now?" Jim asked.

  "Nope, I'm super lonely and alone." Marty grabbed a handful of baby carrots off the vegetable tray, sticking one whole into his mouth. "You're not going to give me a hard time, are you?"

  "That'd be kind of hypocritical, wouldn't it?" Jim took a carrot out of Marty's hand. "So we're both single, wild and crazy guys."

  Marty made a loud buzzing sound. "That one's older than both of us together."

  Jim had the grace to look a little embarrassed. "Sorry. But you know my mom was into everything Steve Martin when I was a kid. She just thought he was absolutely hilarious; it was kind of embarrassing." Then he perked up. "Wait a minute. You caught the reference, no problem. So how can you be putting me on blast?"

  Marty held a serious face for a long moment, and then laughed. "All right, you caught me." He stood up, putting his beer down on the coffee table. "Come on, the food should just about—" there was an insistent tone from his pocket and he reached in to switch off his phone, "—be done." He walked toward the kitchen, his sneakers sinking into the plush, off-white carpet.

  He'd loved his condo the minute he'd seen it. His realtor took him around to a couple of places that he just couldn't see himself in, then they'd come here and he'd just known. It was the kind of place he'd dreamed of as a kid when his family had been so poor, and he'd made it look as much like his fantasy as possible.

  Everything in his place was kept clean. He wasn't over the top with his need for cleanliness, but he was careful to keep things tidy. He just liked coming home to a place that didn't stink of other people, where the stain of cigarettes wasn’t infused into the walls and not even new paint cou
ld get rid of it. Just thinking of the filthy environment he had grown up in made him shiver.

  He'd spent years getting himself a nice place. He'd helped his family into a new house and he was glad everything was different. He dreaded the thought that something might happen where he would lose everything and he would find himself back in the house he'd grown up in.

  Marty shook his head to clear his thoughts—it sometimes seemed as though the bad memories reached for him from the past, but he would never give them a chance to take root. Because his life was good now and he didn't have to worry that everything was going to be taken away from him.

  He stepped into his large, bright kitchen and went to the fridge for the large bowl of pasta salad he'd made earlier. He held it out toward Jim. "Can you put this on the table over there?"

  "Yeah, sure." Their fingers brushed when Jim took the chilly bowl and Marty shivered a little at the feel of warm skin. "I'll take whatever you want to the table."

  "Thanks." Shaking away the unfamiliar sensation, Marty turned, grabbed the oven mitts, and took the ham out of the oven. He set it down on the stove top, shook off the mitts, and carefully drew back the tinfoil, ducking his face back from the hot steam. He couldn't help smiling at the aroma of ham and sweet potato quarters infused with pineapple and ham juice.

  "Oh wow, that looks really good."

  Marty found Jim standing nearby rubbing his stomach and licking his lips as he looked at the ham. "Settle down and grab the plates and silverware. And don't forget a big spoon for the pasta."

  Jim jerked a nod. "On it." He bustled over to the other side of the kitchen. It only took him two drawers before he'd figured out Marty's system and found what he was looking for.

  Marty turned back to the ham and set about grabbing a platter for the ham and a large bowl for the sweet potatoes. He could hear Jim moving around behind him. After a moment, there was the gentle sound of him singing along with the stereo.

  Marty couldn't help grinning as he sliced the ham. "Rock god" Jim Sheppard was singing along with some horribly embarrassing pop song that Marty really wished he hadn't put on his playlist. Except now it was totally worth it. He wished he had a camera and a free hand.

  "You need me to take anything else?" Jim asked, appearing behind him.

  "Can you grab the potatoes?" Marty asked, stabbing a large slotted spoon into the mound of sweet potatoes. He crossed to the sink and quickly washed his hands. It was a huge restaurant-style sink that went with the rest of his top-of-the-line kitchen. He'd thought he was going to cook more, but his schedule had gotten too busy and his interests had drifted. He still had a beautiful kitchen, though.

  He carefully carried the platter of ham into the dining area. Vee was near the door, trying to use her psychic powers to make him drop it. She'd gotten lucky one time when he'd dropped his baked salmon. Ever since then she'd been waiting for something good to come her way.

  He set the platter on the table and grinned when he found Jim had already dug in and was filling a plate. "Geez dude, you couldn't even wait two minutes?" Marty grabbed a plate and held it toward the bowl of pasta Jim was scooping up. "Gimme some."

  They moved around each other easily as they got their food. No words had to be shared for them to carry their dinner into the living room where Marty put on a movie. They proceeded to talk over it the same way they ignored the music.

  *~*~*

  It was weird, the kinds of things a guy could forget from one day to the next.

  He'd known that being able to hang around with Marty again would be great, but he hadn't quite realized just how pleased he would be. He had stepped through the front door and there was music playing and Marty was teasing him, and it felt like coming home.

  Marty was completely casual about the food too, not trying to put on any airs or impress anyone. He treated Jim exactly the same as when they were in high school together. He didn't even once act as though they weren't on the same level, and that wasn't something Jim had experienced since he'd won his first Grammy.

  "This is good," he said, swallowing.

  Marty lowered his eyes to the plate in his lap. "Thanks."

  He'd never been great with receiving praise, Jim remembered that. Marty had always done his best in everything, but had never made a big deal about it. He seemed to get embarrassed when the things he did were acknowledged. People came to accept that as Marty being Marty.

  That didn't mean he didn't deserve praise. "Seriously, this is probably the best thing I've eaten in a long time. You start missing home cooked when you're on the road all the time."

  The corners of Marty's lips quirked up and he flashed Jim a sharp, brown-eyed glance. "What's that, you got tired of eating your dinner out of a vending machine? I thought it was 'Thug life forever?'"

  Jim kicked him lightly on the leg. "Shut up." He huffed a laugh. "You've totally ruined me for giving interviews, do you know that? It's because of you that I know all this crazy obscure pop culture stuff, but I'm not very smooth talking it. I have to play the strong silent type in the band because of you."

  "Sorry." Marty didn't sound sorry at all and he was still giving his devil-smirk. It made Jim roll his eyes and sigh, but it came with a good feeling.

  "Remember when you made me go to Rocky Horror Picture Show night?" Jim suddenly asked. The image had just popped in his mind of Marty dressed as Frank N. Furter while Jim had been an incredibly awkward Columbia. They'd been seventeen at the time and Jim had been a lot more open to being talked into stuff. Or maybe that was just Marty's power.

  Marty laughed, his eyes squinting shut. "Oh my God, I haven't thought of that in forever! You made a stupidly pretty Columbia."

  Jim snorted. "That pantyhose was the worst thing ever. If I'd known how itchy it was going to be, I would have just shaved my legs."

  "And what sexy legs they were," Marty teased. "I think I still have the pictures from that night somewhere."

  "Hey now, those better stay in the dark forever!"

  Marty's look was pure evil. "Maybe they will and maybe they won't. You'll just have to live the rest of your life in fear."

  Jim rolled his eyes and stuck a piece of ham in his mouth. He wasn't too worried about those pictures coming up all over the place, because he trusted Marty in a way he didn't trust anyone else. Marty had no problem giving back as good as he got in the teasing department, but there were just some lines he refused to ever cross. And Jim appreciated that, because he knew some assholes that just didn't know where the line was drawn and did whatever they wanted to whomever.

  He chewed the ham and let his eyes fall half shut. It really was very good and he could feel himself getting full but he was still tempted to go back for more.

  Just like with most everything else he tried, Marty was a great cook, though he subscribed to the Alton Brown school of thought. Jim was known to just throw whatever he wanted into a pot and pray that it came out okay, but Marty had always taken the scientific approach. So he was never going to be the guy that discovered some amazing new food flavor, but through methodical experimentation he could work a recipe until it made Jim want to cry at such delicious perfection, and he was able to reproduce that amazing taste every time.

  How a guy could take a spiral cut ham, pineapple, and sweet potatoes and create something so close to divine … Jim was willing to let the mystery remain as long as he got to keep eating Marty's cooking.

  He let himself be drawn into a conversation about the relative merits of a crossbow versus a flame thrower. It was one of those ridiculous topics he only ever seemed to get into with Marty, and he always had fun while listening to Marty babble.

  Watching a shitty movie while bringing up stories of the past cemented the idea in his head that he'd made a good choice deciding to buy a house near Marty. It was going to be fun hanging out with his best friend again. He'd really missed being able to enjoy his life.

  The first time he got to see Jim's house, it came with an invitation to a barbecue with the rest o
f Jim's band. It had him maybe freaking out a little, but he was able to hold it together enough to make it there an hour before anyone else.

  He'd invited himself over early so he could help Jim set the party up, and though he'd tried to hide it, Jim had been excited and relieved to accept Marty's offer of help.

  Jim had found a place in a nice neighborhood and when he parked in the driveway, Marty couldn't help silently whistling. It was a beautiful blue house with a nice white porch that made Marty grin because it looked just like the big one on Jim's Grandma Pam's house. He couldn't help noticing that it had a hanging porch swing too, just like the one they used to sit on while sipping sweet tea and looking through old Spider-Man comic books.

  It was funny to see the old-style house hidden in the neighborhood of a gated community. All of the other houses were modern monstrosities, so it was sort of a pleasant surprise to come across someplace normal.

  Walking up the steps and ringing the doorbell gave Marty the strange sense that he was going back in time. Here he was waiting for Jim to answer the door just the way he used to when they were a couple of kids. Even back then he'd had to wonder why Jim bothered to be his friend.

  The door opened and a harried looking Jim gave him such a look of "Thank God you're here" that Marty couldn't help laughing.

  "What's that look for?" he asked.

  Jim grabbed his arm and jerked him through the front door. "You have to help me. I have no idea what I'm doing and I think my blender is demon possessed."

  "Demon possessed, huh? And what gives you that idea?" Marty shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to Jim, who didn't even blink before tossing it over the back of a chair as he led the way through the house toward the kitchen.

  "You'll see," Jim promised and Marty couldn't help grinning at the horror-movie tone he used. It made him half-expect to see blood-spattered walls and loops of internal organs spread out all over the place instead of the relatively orderly kitchen he stepped into.

  "God, you're such a drama bitch." Marty shook his head and approached the stalled-out blender first, making sure it was off before unjamming the blades with a wooden spoon. "What exactly were you trying to make in here?"