Текст книги "So I Married a Rockstar: A Bad Boy Romance"

Автор книги: Marina Maddix

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

I arrive at the amphitheater about a half-hour before the sound check is supposed to start. Roadies are putting the finishing touches on the stage and equipment, and everything seems to be going smoothly. All the hustle and bustle helps keep my mind off the fact that every minute brings me closer to seeing Drax again.

My heart starts thudding like crazy knowing he'll be here soon. I wonder how he'll react when he sees me again. Will he sweep me up in his arms or will he brush me off? I'm hoping for the former but the ugly whispers in my head are betting on the latter. He's got a reputation to maintain, they say, and getting gushy for some frumpy promoter isn't going to help it any.

Then I remember the way his eyes smoldered when he looked at me and the whispers go quiet. They can't argue with that. Bitches.

I know I shouldn't read too much into what happened earlier. It's not like either of us expect this to last beyond tonight. He's leaving town tomorrow morning for Las Vegas, if I remember his schedule correctly, and I'm going to stay here and hope Harry will take me on permanently.

So why is a fine layer of perspiration coating my skin? Why do I keep checking my makeup with the mirror app on my phone? Jeez, I'm acting like a lovestruck groupie...or Papi.

Shoving my phone in my pocket with a grunt of disgust, I head backstage toward the green room. I'll probably have a heart attack if Drax is there – partly from seeing him again so soon after we practically humped in my dads' store, but also because I have a sneaking suspicion he's perpetually late.

Yet another reason why nothing meaningful could ever develop between us. I have a pathological need to be early to everything. We're just too different. Maybe if I keep telling myself that, I'll eventually believe it and forget about the way his lips felt against mine, or how my mouth still burns from his rough whiskers, or how his hands caressed my butt like it was the most precious treasure he'd had the pleasure to touch.

Stop it!

I reach for the green room's door handle and pause. I had wondered what I would do if he was in there with the other members of Roadkill, but now I'm terrified that he's in there without them. By the surge of adrenaline that pumps into my system, I know I won't be able to resist him if he makes a move. Maybe it would be better to not take the chance. The last thing I need is for the rest of the band to walk in on us in a compromising position. Word would get around and eventually Harry would put my head on the chopping block.

Then I hear a noise from inside, and several voices laugh. I relax and poke my head in the room.

"Hi guys, I'm Lauren Raines from Harry Stephens Productions," I say brightly, quickly scanning the room for Drax. I pretend I'm not disappointed he hasn't shown up yet. "All good back here?"

"Sure thing, darlin'," says a stocky young guy in a black Metallica t-shirt that looks like its sleeves were chopped off with a chainsaw. I mentally scroll back through my research on the band and recognize him as Frank Swat, Roadkill's drummer.

There's nothing that irritates me more than a guy I don't know calling me 'sweetie', 'honey' or 'darling'. I smile sweetly but there's an edge to my voice.

 "Sorry, you must have misheard me. My name's Lauren, not darlin'. Where's Drax?"

I catch myself holding my breath as they all look at each other.

"Last time I saw him," says a younger guy whose hair is gelled up in crazy red-tipped black spikes, "he was talking to some hot little groupie outside the bus."

Huh. Whaddaya know. There apparently is something that irritates me more. Pure white jealousy flares through me at his words. My gut twists into knots, my nostrils flare and my fists clench. I try to tell myself it's no big deal, that Drax never promised me anything but I'm clearly trying to reason with an idiot.

"You're Jake Ward, right?" I ask. The lead guitarist. He grunts agreement. "Any idea where he might have gone?"

He shrugs and diddles on his unplugged guitar, twanging the strings aggressively. "I know where I'd take a tasty morsel like that. Nearest bar."

Did I mention I hate rockstars?

The bassist, Savory Fines – what a name, am I right? – is scrutinizing me pretty hard. His kohl-outlined eyes seem to be looking into me, where his bandmates are looking through me. "Why you looking for him, Lauren?"

He knows. I don't know how I know but I do. My heart beats a little faster but I smile brightly again to mask my anxiety. I need to get out of here, and fast.

"Just want to be sure he makes it in time for the sound check, is all. Thanks, guys! Break a leg!"

I try not to slam the door but fail miserably as I nearly run down the hall toward the back entrance. I stop a hard-looking roadie who's rushing by on some important mission or another. If anyone knows the answer to my question, he will.

"Where's the nearest bar?"

The Squid and the Ink is located a few blocks from the amphitheater. It pretends to be an old-fashioned British-style pub but it's really just a dive bar for concert-goers and college students. I vaguely recall coming here once with friends during college, but I never returned.

And I don't want to now, but something compels me forward. 'Something', that's rich. It's jealousy, pure and simple. I have to know if he's with another woman.

I have no claim on him, I know that, but if he is with someone else, especially so soon after rocking my world with a freaking kiss, I'll know he's really just another two-timing, man-whore rockstar. I almost hope that's the case.

No, you don't, says a little voice inside my head that sounds suspiciously like Pepper. That's a lie. You want to marry him and have a thousand of his beautiful babies.

NO!

I really am pathetic. Taking a deep breath, I steel my nerves and push my way through the heavy wood door. It's dark inside so I pause to let my eyes adjust. The entryway smells of stale beer, piss and decades-old cigarette smoke. Doesn't matter that smoking in bars was banned nearly twenty years ago, that stink won't come out unless the owners tear the place down to the studs.

The alcove I'm in is somewhat hidden from the rest of the bar by a big, ugly ficus that's seen better days, so I take the opportunity to scan the place from relative obscurity. I can't see all the booths, but I have a full view of the bar itself, which is in the shape of a giant U.

It's pretty crowded for being so early in the afternoon, but Drax is easy to pick out in a crowd. He's slumped over an empty highball glass on the far side of the bar, facing me but oblivious to my presence. Breath whooshes out of me in relief as I realize he's sitting alone.

I'm suddenly aware I'm chewing on my thumbnail like it's Thanksgiving dinner. Shoving my hands behind my back, I stay hidden and watch. It's kind of creepy, I admit, but I can't quite bring myself to walk up to him yet.

I have to wonder what he's thinking about so hard. He's staring into his glass like the answers to all the world's questions can be found there. He's also swaying slightly, like maybe that wasn't his first drink. Oh, man, the last thing I need is for Drax to show up to the concert drunk. Maybe if I get him out of here now, we can pour enough water and Red Bull down his gullet to get him through the night.

I'm about to round the ficus and collect him when he lifts his eyes and looks right at me. I freeze, unable to move a muscle. Does he see me? I have no idea. The look on his face is blank but he keeps staring this way. I have no choice but to stare back.

Even at this distance, I can see sadness in his eyes. Something must really be troubling him if he's here getting drunk the day of a show. My heart lurches and I have this sudden and ridiculous urge to cradle his head to my chest and rock him like an injured child.

Then another thought occurs to me. He could very well be sitting there trying to figure out a kind way to let me down. He is leaving for the rest of his tour tomorrow, after all. A sweet fog of sorrow settles on me. It was inevitable, I suppose, but I was hoping to have one night with him. I'm torn between going to him and letting him think in peace.

My decision comes in the form of a skin-tight pink Band Aid – I mean, dress – that sidles up next to him and drops a kiss on his cheek. His gaze drifts in her direction, then drops back to his empty glass. The Barbie-wannabe from the bookstore leans in and whispers something, to which he nods. Well, it's not so much a nod as a bob. He's definitely drunk.

And I'm definitely angry. Irate, even. A big, pissed-off part of me wants to storm over there and give him a piece of my mind – and maybe a little of my knee, to boot. But if making out with a client isn't actually against the rules at Harry Stephens Productions, I'm guessing beating the living shit out of one is.

I'm literally choking on rage and humiliation but I finally listen to the pragmatic side of my brain and run out of the bar. I won't cry, I won't!

Hatefire burns in my chest as I try to catch my breath around the corner, which I'm finding hard to do. I'm not sobbing – yet – but I can tell I'm on the edge of hyperventilating. Dad was always able to calm me down when I got overly upset as a kid and I think back to his words.

"Shhh, honeybear," he'd coo, rubbing big, soothing circles on my back. "You'll get through this. You're stronger than you know. Now let's take a breath and see how long we can hold it, okay?"

We would do that a few times and I would eventually relax, so I try it now. Just like when I was young, it takes a few breaths but I finally calm down enough to think straight.

The hatefire is still there, burning as hot as a bonfire, but now I'm not sure who it's directed at. The leggy blonde – who is very clearly a big Drax fan now, if she wasn't earlier today – can't be blamed. How could she have known about our little 'behind the scenes' makeout session?

Drax himself is an asshat, that's a given. Just another typical rockstar, out to seduce every woman he can find. I've been around musicians enough to know this, though. He never promised me anything – in fact, we barely said two words to each other. The 'proposal' on his headshot was just a joke. Kinda cruel, really, but still just a joke.

My stomach clenches around a grapefruit-sized ball of reality. The only person to blame in this scenario is me. I had a visceral physical attraction to Drax that was so overwhelming it left me believing there was more to 'us' than there ever could be. That's on me. I should have known better, but I let my heart to get wrapped up in the schoolgirl fantasy of falling for a rockstar. Or rather, him falling for me.

Silly, Lauren.

That's okay, I decide. We're all allowed to have at least one unrequited crush, and I guess this is mine. It was fun for a few hours and now it's over, no big deal, no hard feelings. He's off doing his thing and I have a job to do. Which means going back in there and dragging his fine, firm ass to the theater, whether he likes it or not. No way am I going to mess up this job because my precious fee-fees were hurt.

And if it results in cock-blocking him, that's just a bonus.

Squaring my shoulders and taking a deep, soul-steeling breath, I round the corner. I'm just in time to see Barbie pouring Drax into the passenger seat of her – I kid you not – bubblegum-pink Beetle, then prancing around to the driver's side, her stilettos sparkling in the sun.

Before my brain can process what I'm seeing, the Beetle chirrs to life and speeds away. The last glimpse I have of Drax is of him dropping his head onto the woman's shoulder. The sweet little peck she gives his forehead brings up my lunch, right there on the sidewalk in front of the Squid and the Ink.

Wonderful.

"Where the fuck is that asshole?"

No, that's not me, believe it or not. It's Roadkill's manager but, of course, I'm wondering the exact same thing.

Marvin Harmony has quite the reputation in the industry. Even a lowly assistant knows that he's volatile, rude and downright brilliant. He's also a big man with crazy, grey, mad-scientist hair who won't hesitate to use his wild appearance to intimidate others. In other words, the complete antithesis of his ridiculous name.

If it wasn't for him, Roadkill would still be playing at abandoned warehouses and random raves. Now they're selling out large venues and only gaining in popularity, and most of that's due to Marvin's savvy management. Bands across the country would kill for the chance to have him represent them, and they would probably wet themselves in ecstasy to know that he's thiiiiiis close to dumping Roadkill, creating a coveted vacancy in his client roster.

"Boys, I swear to God above and Satan below that, if he is so much as a minute late, you're all history. We've been together a long time, but I won't hesitate to cut you out. "

By my watch, Drax is a good six hours late already, but I know what he means. Roadkill is slated to start playing at ten, and the opening band has just started. That gives him less than two hours to make it here or his career – the band's career – is over.

My career, too. If Harry finds out I not only let Drax get drunk before the show, but also watched him run off with a groupie for some afternoon delight, I'll be shitcanned faster than I can say 'shitcan'. Which is, of course, why I'm really chowing down on all my fingernails. I don't even care. My stress level is in the stratosphere and it's only going up.

"Marvin, relax," says Savory, trying to calm the raging beast. Over the last few hours, I've come to appreciate his level-headedness. Nothing seems to rattle him. Can't say the same for ol' Marv.

"Relax?! Save, I've taken just about all the shit from that little bastard that I can take."

"C'mon, you have to admit he hasn't been much trouble at all the last couple years. I can't remember the last time he was late, really late."

Marvin isn't having any of it. One eyebrow pops up, then his gaze slides over to me. I try to melt into the wall but he pins me with his glare.

"Hey, you. What time did that prick finally show up to that thing this morning?"

My face burns so red that I don't need to answer.

"See?" Marvin spits, his arms flailing around madly. For a brief second, I'm grateful I took CPR because he looks like he's about to either have a heart attack or kill someone. Then Frank, the surly drummer, opens his big, fat mouth.

"It was only a stupid signing. He's never been late for anything important."

"Excuse me?!" I gasp.

Why am I getting in the middle of this? I have no idea, but apparently my pride won't let that little snub slide on by.

"Girl, please," Frank snorts. "Are you really comparing a fucking autograph signing to a concert?"

"Of course not, but don't act like it's nothing, or worse than nothing." I stand a little taller to prove I'm no pushover. "Do you have any idea how much work goes into a 'stupid signing'?"

I use air quotes, to which Frank huffs and drops into the nearest chair, resigning himself to the fact that a lecture is on its way. Boy, is it ever!

"Let's pretend everything goes smoothly, that the record store you booked months earlier doesn't cancel at the last minute, forcing you to scramble to find another venue. Let's say you don't have to call in favors and promise to name your firstborn after the owner, regardless of the kid's gender. And never mind about rerouting shipments of head shots to the new place. Forget all that."

I take a breath and see that every member of Roadkill is actually paying attention to me. Marvin is, too, but he's got a knowing smirk plastered on his round face. The man may be a hotheaded snake, but he knows his business.

I soldier on, ticking off on my fingers as many duties as I can remember off the top of my head. "You've got contracts that need signing, supplies to order, furniture to rent, signage to have made, advertising to buy, and a shitload of cranky fans to deal with as they wait around for their tardy hero. Some of those losers you call fans actually camped out on the sidewalk last night just to get the chance to meet Drax, if you can believe it. So don't go around acting like an autograph signing is nothing. I'll agree it's peanuts compared to organizing an actual concert, but it's still a helluva lot of work."

I'd love to say that you can hear a pin drop when I finish my little speech, but it would be a lie, what with the opening act pounding out something that sounds only vaguely like music. Pretend that awful band isn't trying to break everyone's eardrums and the cliche holds true.

"Huh," grunts Jake, shaking his spiky-haired head. "I'm exhausted just hearing about it. You, darlin', deserve a beer."

Before I can object, or gripe that he called me 'darlin' again, he pulls two bottles of fancy microbrews from the bucket of ice sitting next to the hospitality buffet and tosses one to me. Cracking open the other, he grins. "Can't let a lady drink alone."

"Um, no, thanks."

He shrugs when I set the bottle down and continues to chug the beer. Savory grabs a couple bottles of water from the same tub of slushy ice. I can't help noticing his sly glance at the wall clock – 8:19 and counting.

"You're right, Lauren. I'm sure Frank didn't mean to insult you. We all know how hard you worked today, and your ass is on the line here, too."

That's a little better, but it would have been more appropriate for Frank to say those words. Close enough. Only when he passes me one of the waters do I realize how dehydrated I am. Ranting is thirsty work, apparently.

"Guys," Savory continues, "I won't believe Drax got trashed this afternoon. I'm telling you, something's not right here."

How many times do I have to explain to these guys what I saw at the bar?

"And I'm telling you, Savory, I know drunk when I see it, and Drax was almost falling down. If he hadn't had Little Miss New Boobs to hold onto, he would have."

I don't even try to hide the bitterness in my voice. I spot the look of pity in his eyes but no one else notices. He's still the only one who knows about my little...whatever it was with Drax. I flush, but not as much as I would have earlier in the day. I'm too stressed out and pissed off.

"Try his cell again," Marvin snaps at Savory.

"Dude, I've called him fifty times already."

As if on cue, my phone chirps and I nearly jump right out of my skin-tight dress. Four sets of male eyes turn to me as I dig around in my cleavage to retrieve it. Not many other places to tuck it in this outfit.

Up until the moment I look at the screen, I think I can't get any more freaked out than I already am. But then I look at the screen.

Harry Stephens.

My heart's about to crawl out of my throat and drag the contents of my stomach with it as I scurry out of the green room. Stupid me. It's ten times louder out here, but I couldn't face having this conversation with everyone listening. Besides, maybe it'll be so loud Harry will hang up. I'm not betting on it, though.

"Hi, Harry!" I say cheerfully, as if the world as I know it isn't about to end. He says something in response but I can't hear him. Plugging one ear, I duck my head – as if it would really help with all this racket. My eardrums are going to start bleeding any second.

"What?!"

"I said, how's it going?" he screams into the phone.

I panic. I can't very well tell him the lead singer of the headlining band isn't here yet. What could he do about it anyway? He's all the way over in the city, and if the members of Roadkill can't find Drax, Harry certainly can't. But I hate lying. Obfuscation seems like the best option.

"Oh, um, yeah!"

"No," he shouts. "I asked how it's going over there."

"You bet!"

"No, Lauren. How...are...things?" He screams the words slowly, as if talking to a hearing-impaired child.

"Okay, you too! Gotta run!"

I click off before he can say anything else and slump back against the wall for support. I jump when the door slams open and Marvin stalks out. Savory follows him but stops when he sees me. Taking a swig from his water, he leans back next to me. We stand there in silence for a few moments, thinking and waiting.

"He told me about you, you know."

He's staring straight ahead, speaking barely loud enough for me to hear. My phone chirps and I silence it. I can't talk to Harry again, not right now.

"Oh yeah?"

I pretend not to care but an insane form of joy flares in my heart. Most of me is mad as hell, but somewhere buried deep inside is a little girl jumping around and clapping her hands because the cutest boy in school told his best friend he likes her. I wag my finger at the little girl and remind her that the boy went off to bang some stripper-wannabe. Boy, that shuts her up!

"Oh yeah," Savory is saying. "No details, of course – Drax is nothing if not a gentleman."

I snort in response. "Yeah, some gentleman."

He concedes my point with a shrug. "Well, I can't argue. But I have to tell you, Lauren, he never talks about girls. Last time he opened up about someone, they dated for three years."

I glance up at him and he looks earnest enough. Why would he be feeding me a line of shit, anyway? Drax wasn't just screwing with my job, he was leaving his bandmates and about 8,000 fans in the lurch. At this moment in time, Savory owed him nothing.

I shake my head. "Doesn't matter. He made his choice. I'm fine with it. Really."

Savory frowns, then nods. "Fair enough. But I'm not lying, Lauren. This isn't like him, I swear. In the ten years we've been playing together, he's never once missed a gig. Even at his worst."

I give him a dark look, pretending that I'm not curious about the last comment.

"Okay, he's been late a few times, but he's never just blown off a concert. Not ever. His parents may not have expected him to go into this line of work, but they drilled a rock-solid work ethic into that boy. He'll be here."

"And if he doesn't show? What then? Besides me losing any hope of actually having a career in the music industry, and you losing one of the country's best managers, of course."

Savory takes another swig of water and shakes his head. "No idea. I honestly hope it doesn't come to that, but if it does, we'll figure it out."

My mind boggles at how Zen he is about this impending disaster. I'm practically crawling out of my own skin. "How can you be so calm?"

He smiles wistfully into the rafters overhead. "Guess I've just been through so much shit in my life that a canceled concert doesn't even register on the Shit Richter Scale. This too shall pass, and all that happy crap. But I'm probably not as laid back as you think."

"Really?"

A knot inexplicably forms in my stomach at his somber nod.

"If his bike wasn't locked up in the bus, I'd be worried he got in a wreck or something."

My body reacts reflexively to the mere suggestion of Drax being hurt...or worse. Goose bumps break out on top of goose bumps and all worries about losing my job evaporate. Was it possible?

"You're sure? About the bike being locked up?"

"Yup, double-checked it again about twenty minutes ago. Just before Marvin went postal."

I shake away the worry befuddling my brain. The asshole is off getting laid and I'm standing here in a cold sweat, concerned about his safety. Fuck that! I temper my response, though. No sense insulting Savory's friend. He seems genuinely concerned.

"I'm sure he's just off having some fun and lost track of time," I say, the words like glass in my mouth. All damn day, I'd imagined that I would be the one he was off having fun with. What a fool.

Savory sniffs a little laugh and shakes his head.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing. It's just..." He looks over at me. "What you just said? About him being off having fun? I was going to say 'I hope so' but I honestly don't."

"Why?" I'm so completely confused right now. I thought Savory and Drax were best buds. I thought a cancelled concert was no big thing for him.

A sad smile plays at the corner of his mouth. "Because if that's what he's doing, he really fucked up."

"Yeah, the press is really going to eat this up."

"Psh," he chuffs, shaking his head as if I just don't get it. "That's not what I meant."

I'm as clueless as ever and losing what little patience I have left. "What are you talking about then?"

"You, Lauren. I'm talking about you."