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

Автор книги: Marina Maddix

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 9 (всего у книги 14 страниц)

Love On The Rocks

"Lola-mami, lemme help."

Papi fastens a long, flowing veil to my perfectly coiffed hair with a comb. I feel like a princess waiting to get a glimpse of her prince at the altar. Papi steps back for a better look, gasps and slaps his hands over his mouth. I'm so excited that I almost cry with him but I don't want to mess up my make-up.

"Mira," he says, turning me toward a full-length mirror so I can see for myself the splendor that is me in a wedding gown. I can't hold back any longer, make-up be damned.

I'm beautiful, radiant, absolutely glowing. I'm also seven years old and dressed in a wedding gown that was meant for one of those creepy life-size girl dolls. Doesn't matter; it's perfect.

Since then, I've always had a very specific vision for what my wedding would look like. A church full of loving family and friends all dressed to the nines, classical music played on a harp, me poured into a stunning gown...

A drunken, quickie Vegas wedding officiated by a third-rate Elvis? Not so much.

The moment Drax told me we'd been married, everything came flooding back. Drinking far too much at the club, him teasing me about never getting my answer to the proposal he scribbled on his headshot, and me laughingly saying 'Hell yeah'. Next thing I remember, we were all standing – swaying, really – in front of a really bad Elvis impersonator with some kind of eastern European accent.

I recall laughing really, really hard during the whole thing. Elvis would break out into song at the weirdest moments during the ceremony and throw himself into classic Elvis poses. At the time, it was hilarious. This morning? Yeah, no.

I'm outside the bus, bent over at the waist, trying not to faint from the heat or puke from my hangover, when the door opens. Drax's boots stomp into my eyeline.

"What the hell was that all about?" he grouses.

Really? He's gonna go there? Indignance trumps nausea, apparently, because I'm up and in his face before I even realize it.

"Are you kidding me right now? You have absolutely no idea what I could be upset about? Really?" Sarcasm is not a flattering color on me but I wear it like a champ anyway.

Drax doesn't back down, though. He pushes right back into my face.

"Honestly, I have no clue. We're on our fuckin' honeymoon here, and you're acting like I pissed in your Wheaties! Aren't brides supposed to be, oh I dunno, happy or something?"

"Most brides are aware that they actually got married!"

Drax shrugs and takes a step back. Does he have the grace to look sheepish? Heck no. He looks more smug than ever, which doesn't seem possible.

"Hey, you seemed pretty lucid when you suggested it."

Heat infuses my cheeks at his blatant lie. "Bullshit! I remember what happened now, so don't play games. You were bugging me to answer to your 'proposal'–" insert an eyeroll and air quotes "–and I jokingly said yes. Then you led me out of the club and, the next thing I know, I'm standing in a chapel singing 'Love Me Tender' with the worst Elvis I've ever seen."

"That's true, but you're forgetting the middle part. The part where you dragged me into that chapel in the first place."

My blood turns cold. Did I really? Nooooooo...it can't be. I think so hard my brain hurts – even worse than it already does – and it comes back to me. Nausea sweeps over me again and I nearly lose it.

"You were so cute in your tight little corset, I couldn't say no. 'Please, Drax. It'll be so fun, Drax.' What was I supposed to do?"

"What...? You could have refused! You could have said, 'No, we're too drunk to make such a major, life-changing decision.' I mean, you couldn't have really believed I'd marry you if I was in my right mind, could you? We aren't exactly compatible, first of all. Second of all, we've only known each other a couple days!"

His face grows dark, like a cloud is passing overhead. Only, this is Vegas. They don't know the meaning of the word 'cloud' here.

"So what are you saying, Lauren?" His lips press into a thin, hard line and a muscle twitches in his jaw.

I take a deep shuddering breath, tug the ginormous ring off my finger and hand it back to him. "It's obvious, isn't it? I want an annulment."

The ride home to San Francisco isn't nearly as enjoyable as the ride to Vegas was, what with all the lovin'. The tension in the tour bus is thicker than Pepper's famous clam chowder. Drax is sitting up with the driver, looking pissed as hell, and I'm trying to keep a low profile in the back bedroom.

It didn't help when Marco came to collect his money and hit on me yet again. Naturally, it made my skin crawl, but it just irritated Drax even more.

"Lauren?" Savory taps on the accordion door. "Can I come in?"

He's really the nicest guy, and I have to wonder how he got swept up in the rocker life. It doesn't seem to suit his laid-back, not to mention sober, personality.

"Sure. What's up?"

"I was about to ask you the same thing," he says, sitting down next to me on the bed. "Doesn't seem like your wedding day is going so well."

Good grief. I roll my eyes at him. "Save, it doesn't really count if you can't remember it."

I can't tell if his grimace means he agrees with me or not. I choose to believe it does.

"Drax doesn't seem to think so."

"Please," I chuff. "He's just pouting because his precious fee-fees are hurt. He's not used to being the rejectee. It's not like he really wants to be married to me or anything. We made a drunken mistake."

He's about to say something when Jake pokes his head in the room. "You guys gotta see this!"

We make our way to the table where Frank is on the laptop. Drax is still playing the martyr up front. I don't even care. Seriously.

"Check it out," Frank says, pointing to the screen.

It's one of the snarkiest gossip sites on the web and right there at the top, in full color and high resolution, is an image of Drax and me stumbling out of the wedding chapel at oh-dark-thirty this morning.

I've never looked less like myself than in that photo – and I don't mean that in a good way. My hair is a ratted mess and the black eyeliner that Drax applied before the show has smudged halfway down my cheeks. I'm braying like a donkey, clearly smashed, and to top it all off, my boobs are on the verge of slopping out of my corset...again. Drax, on the other hand, looks as delicious as ever grinning down at me.

The headline reads, "What the Hell Happens in Vegas?!" I'm afraid to look at the photo caption but I can't help myself. I'm like a moth to a flame – or in this case, the fiery inferno of hell.

Dark rocker Drax with his new mystery bride. What was he thinking...or drinking?

But it doesn't stop there. The blogger has drawn a speech bubble over Drax's head that says, Accepting drinks laced with roofies? YOLO!

I try to hide my horror but Savory is sensitive enough to see it immediately, unlike the other two dolts, who are chortling away.

"Why don't you sit down?" he says, guiding me to the couch. He looks up to the front of the bus. "Drax. You need to see this."

Drax swivels, sees me, and quickly averts his gaze. It's painfully clear he doesn't want to breathe the same air as me, and I'd go back to the bedroom if my limbs would just obey my brain. But they're paralyzed with humiliation.

"What?" he grumbles as he approaches.

His bandmates are reading the story so he leans over them to see what's so important. I can't peel my gaze away from his face. At first, there's confusion, similar to what I felt. Then, as it all sinks in, anger. He flicks a glance my way, and a small, squeaky part of my brain wonders what he sees. The gross girl in the photo or the woman he made love to last night. I know the image on the screen is burned into my memory forever.

Doesn't matter. This just confirms what I already knew: We don't belong together. An ugly tingle forms behind my eyes and I don't even try to stop the tears. I certainly can't look any worse than the photo they're all staring at.

"What's the article say?" I whisper from the couch, not really wanting to find out.

"Nothing," Drax blurts out. "It says nothing. Just a bunch of bullshit guesswork. Fuckin' asshole! If I ever meet that douchebag, I'll kill him."

He slams the laptop shut and storms back to the bedroom. I'm trembling all over and tears stream down my cheeks unchecked, more proof than I ever needed that being in the spotlight isn't for me. Neither is Drax.

I expected to be fired as Roadkill's manager the minute we got back to the Bay Area but Savory informed me that they voted to keep the status quo...for the moment. He didn't mention if the vote was unanimous.

Naturally, I immediately sent out a press release denying the unfounded rumors, blah blah blah, knowing Drax was getting his lawyer to process the annulment. By the time anyone has a chance to figure it out, it'll be like the so-called wedding never took place. In the meantime, the media frenzy has died down to a dull roar over the past couple weeks and no one's the wiser that I'm the mystery girl in the photo.

So I'm doing what I can for the band, which is precious little, from the tiny back office in my dads' record store. Every day I push farther and farther out from California, contacting all the normal venues and promotion companies, but no one will touch Roadkill with a ten-foot pole. It seems Marvin Harmony managed to make good on his threat and the band has been blackballed.

I suspected as much but my old coworker Michelle confirmed it when she had to pass on a show. "Sorry, Lo, but I'm still new here. Now's not the time to put my neck on the line. Marvin's a spiteful old fuck. Don't hate me!"

I could never hate her but I'm frustrated as hell. We're dead in the water until I can figure out something, and it doesn't help that the drummer is off in a pricey gambling recovery center and that the lead singer has been MIA ever since the bus rolled into town a couple weeks ago. I can't very well book any shows that do come our way when I don't know if we'll have a full band.

"Any luck, honeybear?" Dad, wearing an ancient 'Frankie Says Relax' T-shirt,  sets a steaming cup of Sleepytime tea in front of me. Normally, that's the strongest thing I'll take to relax, and as much as I appreciate the thought, it's not going to come close to doing the trick.

"Nope."

"Well, you'll figure out something. You always do."

I snort. "Oh, really? Dad, I suck. I'm a complete and utter failure at this band management thing. I mean, I didn't really think I could do it in the first place, so I don't know why I'm surprised, but it just really bums me out."

"Lauren, I so wish you could see what I and everyone around you sees. You're a smart, beautiful, capable woman. You stepped into an impossible position with that band and you saved their asses. Twice. Who else could have done that? Who else would have bothered even trying?"

I shrug, still feeling a little sorry for myself but my father's praise is like a salve. He's always known just what to say to make me feel better. And if he didn't, Papi did.

"It's too bad that Draymond fellow didn't want to pursue things. He seemed...nice."

Um, yeah. I maybe didn't tell anyone about my little elopement. My dads would have been over the moon thrilled – mostly at the idea of getting me out of the house, I think – and Pepper would have flipped her shit on me. She may be smaller than me, but I'm pretty sure she could kick my ass two ways to Sunday. Thank God they don't read the gossip blogs.

No, it's better to let that little secret fester away until the dust settles. Maybe someday, many years from now, when everyone's telling their craziest stories, I'll pull it out of the vault to shock them all. After all, I always lose that game because I never do anything crazy. Well, almost never.

But his mention of Drax sends me reeling. It's not like he's been far from my thoughts, no matter how hard I try to push them away, but hearing his name – even his real one – threatens the tenuous grasp I have on my emotions. That prickly feeling starts up behind my eyes, remembering how tender he was the night of the concert.

The night of our wedding.

"Sweetie? Earth to Lola. You okay? You look sad."

I jerk at Dad's words, startled that I'm still in his office. Where else would I be? In Drax's arms? Stupid little girl!

"I've got something stronger than tea, if you need it, you know."

Normally his efforts to get me high are annoying, but I don't have the bandwidth to bother. I just sigh. "No, thanks."

"Okay," he says, kissing the top of my head. "I'll leave you alone."

Alone.

That's me. Alone. Always and forever, amen.

My phone buzzes next to my keyboard, telling me to hurry up and read this very important text message. I almost ignore it so I can continue wallowing in my pity party but I can see out of the corner of my eye that it's from Savory.

Band mtg @ 9 on boat. Y or N?

I hesitate. I want to ask if Drax will be there, if he's heard from him since the last time I asked, but that just sounds sad and desperate. Instead, I type back a simple 'Y'.

Why indeed.

The Marina District is a funky mix of drunk college kids, snobby rich people and troubled homeless folk. Going down there at night can either be a fun party or land you in jail, sometimes both. Not for me, of course, but I'm okay with that.

I'm grateful Savory gave me a key for the marina's gate because I wouldn't want to have to stand there and wait for him to come collect me in the dark. As it is, I make sure to pull the gate tight behind me so no one can follow me in.

The docks are kind of rickety but not dangerous. Smelly and wobbly, more than anything. It doesn't help that packs of sea lions regularly haul themselves onto the docks to sleep. A seven hundred-pound bull is bad enough for a floating dock; imagine the damage he and his harem of five females wreaks.

The scruffy setting doesn't seem like the right place for the dark-hulled beauty that Savory and Jake are staying on, but it's surrounded by other fancy yachts. I guess with real estate this prime, marina owners can get away with neglecting upkeep for a good long while.

My first trip down here taught me a valuable lesson in shoe selection – no high heels, no black soles, and traction is a good thing. My trusty old Keds fit the bill perfectly.

I stop at Sandra Jean's slip and take a good look at the fifty-foot sailboat. It's perfect. The amber dock lights glitter off her dark-blue hull like yellow diamonds and, even in the dark, the glossy varnish on the exterior wood shines brightly. I don't know anything about boats, but even I can tell this one is something special. They're lucky guys to have a friend who will let them crash on this baby.

Climbing the dock steps, I call out, "Ahoy, Sandra Jean. Permission to come aboard?"

"Ay, matey, get yer ass down here!"

Jake's already started on the boat's seemingly infinite supply of booze. Wonder if he went with wine or found a stash of hard stuff. All I know is that the last time I was here, he was complaining loudly about the boat's lack of good old-fashioned beer.

I carefully turn around to climb down the ladder into the living quarters. No need to risk breaking my neck. There's no way EMTs could get a gurney down these docks, much less haul me out of this boat. Once both feet are safely planted on the floor, I spin around and nearly fall down from shock.

All four members of Roadkill are seated around the U-shaped dining area, looking at me. I can't help staring at Drax for a moment, before he averts his gaze. God, I've missed those eyes. I don't even realize how much until this moment. My heart clenches and I think we'll have to call those EMTs after all, but it finally starts beating again. Quite a bit faster than before, but I'll take it.

I slump onto the seat across from the table. I feel vulnerable and on display, like a criminal and they're the jury. My eyes want to return to Drax's somber face, but I force them to turn to Frank.

"Welcome back, Frank. How was your...time away?"

He smiles warmly at my awkwardness. "Really good, Lauren. I'm still working with someone as an out-patient, but we both feel I'm over the hump. I really can't thank you enough for the encouragement to get my shit together."

"I'm so glad, Frank." I finally allow my eyes the gift of glancing at Drax and my breath catches in my throat. "Good to see you, Drax," I squeak.

He still won't look at me, just grimaces and gives me a curt nod.

"Lauren," Savory says, drawing my attention, "we're at a crossroads."

"Yeah, and not the one with the Karate Kid," Jake says, without a trace of humor. That's when I know something big is on their minds.

"We've been talking for the last couple days–"

My mind stops listening to Savory. Drax has been back for two days? And he never called or texted or came by the record store? Two whole days?!

I don't know why my feelings are hurt by this revelation. I was the one who insisted on the annulment. I mean, someone had to be the responsible adult, right? Why can't he understand that? It's not like we were in love. So why is he acting like I broke his heart or something?

"–so unless you have some news, we think that's what we'll have to do."

They're all staring at me, waiting for an answer but I have no clue what I'm responding to. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Break up," Drax snaps. "We're going to break up and go our separate ways."

I feel as if he's not only talking about Roadkill. "Oh."

"Marvin really fucked us," Jake grouses, slamming an empty glass to the table. It's a water tumbler but Jake doesn't drink water. The ice is a dead giveaway: He sniffed out the high-octane stuff.

"You guys, I've been busting my butt to find some gigs, but it's hard when two members of the band are MIA. No offense, Frank."

I shoot a glare Drax's way. No need to let on that no one would hire them right now anyway. After the torment he's put me through, I think he deserves a glare or two. Of course, he shoots one right back at me.

Savory sighs. "Stop it, you two. What's done is done, can we just move on?"

"I can if he can," I blurt out before I can stop myself. I can't believe I really just said that. What am I, a ten-year-old?

"Good," Savory says, ignoring my infantile comment. "So, do you have any news to report?"

"I...I..." The truth was, I didn't. I fielded five more rejections today from big venues from as far away as Omaha. Marvin had tentacles everywhere, apparently. But I didn't want to tell them that. Artists' egos can be fragile and it's the job of the manager to keep them pumped up and feeling positive.

"Listen, guys. I understand how you're feeling–" I ignore Drax's chuff "–but you shouldn't make a hasty decision. Now that everyone's back, let me do my job. No need to rush it. Besides, it's not like you're living out of your van..." I look around the luxurious wood-trimmed cabin pointedly.

All eyes turn to Drax. He's staring at me, hard. Shivers trill up my spine and I'm instantly aware that my panties are wet. Good grief, I can't even be mad at him without also being drawn to him. His lips part to speak and I get a glimpse of his tongue. The tongue that did so many wonderful, unforgettable things to my body. All I want to do is suck on it. I wonder if he would mind...

"You have one week."

One week keeps bouncing around in my brain as the boys discuss other matters, such as who likes which cabin on the boat the best and how many bottles of wine Jake has already gone through. I'm just biding my time, hoping for a brilliant idea – and maybe a little alone time with Drax. We clearly need to talk.

He finally makes his move to leave and I let him, but not without noticing that he doesn't actually say goodbye to me. I give him enough time to get a little way down the dock before rushing after him. I don't want the guys to overhear, but I don't want him to get away completely.

"Drax," I call out, running down the wobbly dock. He glances over his shoulder and shakes his head. Nope, can't get rid of me that easy, buddy.

I catch up to him at a trot, and am slowing down when I stumble over a nail jutting out of the dock. I spin around like a clumsy ballerina and, once again, fall right into Drax. Only this time, he's not prepared.

Arms clad in a black leather motorcycle jacket pinwheel, much as I imagine mine did on the loading dock the night I got fired from my job, but it does him about as much good as it did me. In the blink of an eye, he vanishes into the inky depths of San Francisco Bay.

"Drax!" I shout again, reaching out toward where he fell in. "Drax!"

When he surfaces, he's sputtering and cursing a blue streak. "Dammit, Lauren! Fuck! Shit! Dammit!"

"You already said that one." I know the Bay's waters are frigid and a body can go hypothermic in less than a minute, but it's all I can do to not crack up. I've never seen him taken so off-guard. He stops splashing around for a second, then bursts out laughing.

"Watch yourself, Lola, or you might be joining me. Now help me out."

As neglectful as the marina owners seem to be about upkeep, they at least had the foresight to install drop-down ladders every twenty feet down the dock for just such an emergency. Drax is heavy in his dripping riding gear but together we manage to haul him up onto the dock, where he rolls on his back, breathless and chuckling.

I kneel next to him and brush his mop of dark hair out of his eyes. "You okay? You must be freezing."

He clasps my hand to his clammy cheek and closes his eyes, and my heart hurts that I can no longer see them. "For some reason, whenever I'm around you, my blood runs hot."

A warm balloon rises up in my chest, overwhelming me with emotion. My fingers tremble against his cheek. "Maybe...maybe you need some...mouth to mouth?"

His eyes open and capture mine. A storm is brewing in them, tugging him one way, then the other. I can see the moment he lands and gains his balance, and I'm saddened. I know the answer even before he smiles sadly and shakes his head.

"It's late." Too late, he means. "I need to get rolling."

"Okay," is all I can manage as I watch him get up. The least he could do is have the common decency to look like a wet rat or something, but nooooo...he has to look like a glistening god.

Holding out a hand, he helps me up. "You on your way home?"

"Yeah." I swear, even after everything, he leaves me breathless. And, really, he made the right decision a moment ago. Any hanky-panky would just muddy the waters. At least he's talking to me again.

"Did you drive?"

"Parking's atrocious down here. I took the bus."

He stops in his tracks. "At this hour? Uh uh. Nope. I'll give you a ride."

"On your bike?" The very idea of getting on the back of his motorcycle petrifies me. Worse than speaking in front of a crowd. "Um, the bus is fine, really. I don't want to put you out."

A second ago I was ready to jump his bones on a rickety dock, but the mere mention of riding on a motorcycle has me running. He smiles – oh God, that smile – and shakes his head, drips of seawater glittering like raindrops in the dim moonlight.

"No way. I can't allow our manager to put herself in harm's way. Who knows, maybe you'll figure out a way to keep the band together. Can't risk losing out on a miracle like that, can I?"

"But...you should go back to the boat and dry off or something. You'll turn into an icicle riding a bike soaking wet like that."

"Nice try. Don't worry, I won't let anything happen to you."

Boy, do I like the sound of that. Stop it, I chide myself. I'm the one who nuked any chance we had as a couple, so I just need to leave it be. But...his butt in those leathers...Stop!

I tear my gaze away just as a light-colored Beetle goes chirring past. It's dark and the street isn't that close, but I swear it's bubble-gum pink. It couldn't possibly be the woman who roofied Drax, could it? There has to be more than one pink Beetle in the City. Then the car is lost from sight, going in the opposite direction we'll be riding.

Riding. All thoughts of Barbie are chased away by images of my bloody, mangled body wrapped around light poles or street cars. But Drax is determined to get me on the back of his bike, and I can't deny that the idea of pressing up against him – in a perfectly acceptable way – is overriding the warning signals blaring in my brain.

"Put this on." He shoves a helmet at me when we get to the bike, which is as black and intimidating as I remember it being. I'm anxious but I'm helpless to do anything but obey. My body is crying out for contact with his and this is the only way to slake its need.

"Don't you have one?" I ask.

He nods at the helmet I'm slipping on. "That's it."

"Oh! In that case, I'll just take the bus."

He gives me a 'don't go there' look and jumpstarts the bike. It rumbles to life and he motions me on. Thank goodness I wore jeans tonight or it might have been a bit embarrassing when I swung my leg over the saddle. It's big – big enough to handle Drax's bulk and my plump ass, but only if I'm snuggled up tight against him with my arms wrapped around his waist.

Sigh...

If my fate is to die in fiery crash tonight, at least I'll die happy.