28 Nights Until Double Time
28 more days until the fictional rock stars return. Have you ever noticed that I dedicate each of the Sinners on Tour books to a fallen rock star hero?
Backstage Pass was dedicated to Dimebag Darrell Abbot, the lead guitarist of Pantera who was tragically shot to death by a crazed “fan” during a live performance. So fucking senseless.
The man could play a guitar. Throw up your rock fist for Dimebag and Pantera!
Such an influential metal guitarist. Love you, Dime. *sniff*
Rock Hard was dedicated to Kurt Cobain of Nirvana, who we lost when he tragically committed suicide. I lived in Tacoma (south of Seattle) when Nirvana made it big. I always regret not seeing them play a live show.
An entire new genre of rock opened up under Cobain’s genius. Miss you, Kurt.
Double Time is dedicated to Randy Rhoads. He was Ozzy Osbourne’s guitarist for several years until he died in a plane crash. He’s the magic fingers behind the instantly recognizable intro, riff and solo of Crazy Train.
I sobbed for days when I heard the news about Randy’s passing.
There’s a bit of a shout-out to the man in Double Time when Trey and Reagan have their guitar duel.
A short excerpt from Double Time.
Reagan played one of Bait-n-Switch’s old riffs to keep herself occupied while she waited. A pair of bare feet entered her line of vision. Her head snapped up.
“Is that the riff you want to duel me with?” Trey asked. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“It’s a riff I wrote, but it isn’t any good.”
“I kind of like it. Do you want to use it in our duel?”
Trey snagged Dare’s guitar from its stand and lifted the strap over his head. The wide strip of studded leather rested at an angle across Trey’s well-defined bare chest. The body of Dare’s white guitar settled low in front of his pelvis. A no longer naked pelvis. Trey was still shirtless but he’d put on his jeans. Gnawing on her tongue, Reagan stared at his nipple ring for a long moment before remembering that he’d asked her a question.
“Naw. Too easy. You pick a riff.”
He lifted an eyebrow at her. “How about the intro to Crazy Train?”
She loved this man. He had excellent taste. Reagan tore into the intro of Crazy Train without waiting for a signal. Flying through the series of building notes with no problem, she paused and Trey echoed what she’d played. When he reached the end, she upped the tempo of the intro and played it again. He echoed her perfectly. She played it faster still, concentrating so intently on the notes that she didn’t notice he’d edged closer until his arm brushed hers. She stumbled over a series of notes, the strings feeling awkward under her trembling fingertips. He was left-handed and she was right-handed, so the necks of their guitars faced opposite directions. Scowling at her mistake, Reagan pressed on. Trey copied her, down to purposely making the same error she’d made. She glanced up at him and grinned. He grinned back and winked at her. The next few notes she played sounded like drowned cats choking on strangled chickens. Her heart thundered in her chest. She lowered her gaze to his mouth. A spasm gripped her pussy as she watched the tip of his tongue slide over his lip. God, she wanted him to kiss her.
I didn’t personally know any of the men I dedicate Sinners’ books to, but I listened to their music and it made me feel close to them somehow. There is something intensely personal about rock music. I think that’s one of the reason’s why I love it. I’m always devastated when we lose a rock god before his or her time. Have you ever mourned the passing of a rock star? Which one(s)?