But fuck it. I had reasons for making him sweat.
I knew I wanted to join his band, in theory, but was I really gonna trust him?
When I got home and got in the shower, I turned on the massage spray and stood there for a long while thinking it over.
Because maybe this was a problem I could solve in a day?
All I had to do was make the fucking decision.
I got why Ash didn’t exactly chase me to join a band with him when we first met. I met Ash when I was seventeen, at a show. He was a year older than me, already finished school, already playing in a bar band and already way fucking cooler than me. That kid was fucking born cool.
I so fucking wasn’t.
I’d gotten into playing drums at fourteen, and by the time I was seventeen, I was pretty fucking good. Not great, but good, and I was starting to play in garage bands around town. At that point, I would’ve killed to be in a band with Ashley Player.
But as the years passed, the opportunity just never presented. Ash was always in some other band, always hanging down in L.A.. He’d always seemed so determined to make it big.
We had that in common. But what did he need with some geek like me?
Fortunately for me, I didn’t stay a geek.
I got better on drums.
I got better looking, too.
Inevitable, maybe. I grew up. Became a man, and a solid musician.
When I was twenty, a local bassist and a friend of mine, Andy Cooper, told me he was putting together a band with a guitarist named Eric Janner, and I auditioned for them.
The audition went well, and they told me I was in the band.
Sweet, right?
Not for long…
Because then they discovered Ash. I mean, they already knew who he was, but I made the mistake of introducing them to him when we ran into him at a party. We needed a lead singer, and I figured if we could recruit Ash to our band, we’d have it made.
And once they’d checked Ash out, Coop and Janner definitely wanted him.
For a moment in time, I actually thought I was finally gonna get to be in a band with Ashley Player.
But then Ash told Coop and Janner that he had a drummer. This guy named Pepper, down in L.A.. They were in another band together, but they were both willing to jump ship to join our thing.
As long as I wasn’t part of it.
It wasn’t that Ash didn’t like me. I was pretty sure he did. And not that I wasn’t a good enough drummer by then, but Pepper was one of his best friends. And as Coop and Janner explained to me when they sat me down and basically let me go, Ash and Pepper were a package deal. Ash had made that much clear to them. No Pepper, no Ash.
And by that point, they had to have Ash.
Therefore, I was out. On my ass.
Pepper was in.
And the worst part about it all, for me, wasn’t the rejection. Although that fucking sucked. The worst part was, once I’d heard him play, I knew I was a better drummer than Pepper was. And I was pretty fucking sure they all knew it, too.
They still chose him over me.
The four of them formed the Penny Pushers, and they went on to cut three albums over almost a decade together as a band. They toured heavily—and a lot of that touring, they opened for Dirty. They got pretty big, thanks to Dirty kinda taking them under their wing and bringing them on tour.
After the Pushers passed me over, I went on to play in another local band. And in the long run, it turned out for the best. Because after that, things really took off for me.
Maybe it was the burn of being tossed aside like that, missing that chance. But it just drove me to be better, push harder.
Over the next few years, I got crazy fucking good on the drums. For the first time in my life, I had other bands coming to me, trying to poach me from my band, telling me You’re too good for these guys, come play with us.
I also got seriously into working out. I got into tattoos.
And I got plenty of fangirls.
But I was twenty-three when my life really fucking changed. When I hooked up with Cary Clarke and Gabe Romanko.
The two of them were best friends, had an incredible vibe between them. We hit it off, and they hired me. At the same time, they brought in Dean Slater as our lead singer. And the four of us formed a band that would finally make my career as a drummer explode out of the local music scene.
Alive.
We cut one album; one very successful album. We toured the fucking world and back, starting out by opening shows for bigger bands, and by the end of the tour, we were headlining our own. Things went crazy well for us… until the end.
I still didn’t like to think about that end.
Really, there was a part of me that understood why Cary had gotten so stuck there… and just never recovered.
And, there was a part of me that wished I didn’t have to deal with it anymore.
Any of it.
I wanted to be here, be close to him, do whatever I could to make sure he was gonna be okay.
But I also wanted to roll the fuck on with my life. Pursue every dream I had as a drummer.
Not ever get stuck where he was.
I wanted to join Ashley Player’s band.
If you asked me, Ash was the hottest vocalist to come out of Vancouver since Dirty’s lead singer, Zane Traynor. Which was saying a fuck of a lot.
I’d never really known Zane, personally, until recently. Steel Trap had toured with Dirty, last winter, for the very first time. We’d filled in on the North American leg of their current world tour when the Penny Pushers pulled out. Apparently, Ash’s band was having serious problems. And even though shit was such a mess with my own band, that tour was the most fun I’d had since playing and touring with Alive.
Dirty was huge, and that tour gave me the chance to play in front of some of the biggest audiences I’d ever played for. It gave me another taste of the good life. And it just highlighted for me why I needed to break loose from Steel Trap and find another band.
It was time to go big or go home.
Earlier this summer, while I was home on a tour break, Ash had asked me to join the new band he was forming. The Penny Pushers had officially broken up, and he was putting together something new with his DJ/keyboardist ex-girlfriend, Summer Sorenson.
It was a fucking tempting offer, from moment one.
I didn’t tell him that, though.
I wasn’t gonna make this that easy for him. Because unfortunately for me, he’d once chosen another drummer over me, and unfortunately for him, I had a long-ass memory.
Payback’s a bitch, right?
Anyway, making a decision like this was a big fucking deal.
I wanted to make the decision, but I was fucking gun-shy.
It was a major commitment, joining a band. Especially at this point in my career.
It sucked that I’d just been through another band breakup. Even if I didn’t want to be part of Steel Trap anymore, it felt like another failure.
How many times was I gonna put everything I had into a band, only to have it fall apart, through no real fault of my own?
If I joined a band with Ash and Summer, would it last?
Would we stay together, no matter what?
Because no doubt, shit would probably hit the fan again. Egos, drama, fucking tragedy… I’d been through all of it in bands.
Maybe I’d be through all of it again. And again.
That was life, wasn’t it?
And if so, would Ash and Summer stick it out with me, no matter what drama life tossed our way?
Or would I be right here again, another four years from now… disappointed, just that little bit more fucking jaded, and starting the fuck over again?
* * *
When I got back to Cary’s place late that night, Courteney’s car was in the driveway. The house was dark, so I figured it was safe to make a pass through the kitchen. I dropped off some beers I’d picked up to replenish a few I’d drank, plus some ext
ras.
When I headed through the foyer, toward the living room at the back of the house, the light from the TV screen was glowing off the walls.
I found Courteney curled up on the couch, watching some horror movie in the dark. I could never understand how she was always watching that shit. She’d been into horror movies since she was small. Used to watch them with Cary.
But doing it alone at night, with the lights off?
At least the volume was pretty low.
Maybe she was sleeping?
I slowed my pace, in case I was about to wake her up.
“Hey,” she croaked, lifting her head.
I stopped in my tracks.
She looked a mess. She was wrapped in a blanket, with a glass of water next to her and a wastebasket on the floor in front of the couch.
“Are you sick?”
“Kinda. More like… hungover.”
“At two in the morning?”
“It’s called day drinking. You should try it.”
I took a couple steps closer. “How much did you drink?”
“Uh… a lot? Sangria goes down way too easy.”
I went and sat down on the chair next to her, taking a good look at her face.
“Relax. It was a garden party, and it was chaperoned. Shayla’s dad was there.”
“You need anything? I can bring you some food.”
“Oh fuck, no. I can’t eat.”
Hmm. I stared at her for a minute while she pretty much avoided eye contact.
Was she for real?
Or was this just another ploy?
I got up. “Let me know if you need anything. I’ll be out back.”
I headed for the door, but stopped again when I heard her voice.
“Hey, Xander?”
I glanced back. She was sitting up now, looking at me kinda sheepishly or something.
“I want to apologize for how I acted the other day,” she said softly. “When I… you know. When we were out by the pool—”
“You mean when you shoved your tits in my face,” I said bluntly.
“Yeah. That. Sorry about that. It’s just, you know…” Her voice dropped to a mumble. “Peer pressure and stuff.”
Bullshit. I wasn’t even sure what she meant by that—peer pressure?—but it was bullshit.
“It’s fine,” I said, even though it wasn’t, really. I let her off the hook, though, like I believed her.
She looked at me then… with a soft, needy look that went straight to my cock.
Because apparently, she hated me that much.
She gazed at me like that, for a long moment, like she was waiting for something. Like she was looking to me to make it better.
To make what better, I couldn’t say.
But it was all an act anyway.
She’s fucking with you.
Don’t fall for it.
“Just… stay away from me, okay?” I said.
Then I turned and walked out the door.
How many times was I gonna have to tell her to stay the hell away from me?
When was she gonna actually listen?
And when was I gonna fucking cave and do something so wrong, I knew it would feel so fucking good… Until I woke up the next morning and regretted the shit out of it.
Fuck. I couldn’t do this.
I couldn’t keep avoiding her.
I’d fucking try. But I knew I was gonna fail.
At some point, sooner or later, I was gonna fucking fail.
And fail hard.
If Courteney’s plan was to keep putting herself in my path so I’d eventually break down and put my hands on her… we were both in a world of fucking trouble.
Chapter Nine
Xander
On Saturday night, I went out to the Pandora Ballroom, where DJ Summer was headlining a show. She’d invited me, so I was on her guest list, and I brought Lucas with me.
My buddy Lucas was also part of Trey’s crew, a regular at this MMA gym Trey co-owned in East Vancouver, where I sometimes worked out; one of many big, athletic dudes who played bodyguard for Trey, or for me, when I needed a little extra muscle to make sure the fangirls behaved themselves.
I really wasn’t in the mood to get swarmed tonight.
We met Jordan just outside the Pandora. And as soon as she saw me, she could tell something was up. We talked pretty much every day in some form—text, FaceTime, whatever. And by now, she had to have noticed the way my mood had been trending since I’d come off tour.
“What’s up your butt?” she asked me as we approached. “It’s Saturday night.”
“Nothing. Just Steel Trap shit.” Handy excuse. Though not exactly true.
Jordan narrowed her eyes at me.
“You look nice,” I deflected.
She frowned. But she did look nice.
Jordan was cute, short and athletic. She always wore her hair in a neat, chestnut-brown bob with a razor sharp side part, and tonight she’d poured her petite bod into a little red dress.
I gave her a hug and tossed Lucas a dirty look.
Lucas smirked and kinda rolled his eyes. He thought I was banging her. A lot of people did, probably, and I let them think that. Less chance of my friends trying to make a move on my assistant if they thought I was dipping my fingers in that pie.
I didn’t particularly trust any of my friends around Jo, except maybe Lucas. And I always took the time to make sure she knew she was both appreciated and looked out for—by me and my security. Because my assistant was invaluable to me.
Not only did Jordan keep my life organized and take care of a ton of shit in the background so I didn’t have to, she went out of her way to have my back. She did thoughtful, helpful shit like sending my relatives birthday cards and reminding me to occasionally tell my parents where the fuck I was and replying to my fans on social media. She even signed me up for “celebrity” charity events.
Things I would never think to do if it wasn’t for her—and probably made people think I was way less of a selfish asshole than I was.
Plus, a lot of guys probably underestimated the value of having a platonic female friend to bounce shit off of. One who didn’t secretly crush on you, or vice versa, and who would give it to you straight. Jordan did that for me, and she never judged.
Or at least, if she did, she was smart enough to keep her mouth shut about it.
I had this theory, actually, that she was closet lesbian… though I didn’t exactly have any proof.
Really wasn’t any of my business.
“Thanks for inviting me,” she said. “I love DJ Summer.”
“No problem.”
I noticed she was wearing cute sneakers, which meant she probably planned to dance.
I planned to not.
Though a few hours of music and distraction would do me good.
I’d spent the day working out, drumming, did a little shopping, the usual. But even though I was spending my time doing what I wanted to, the routine of it was getting kind of… mind-numbing.
Because I didn’t really enjoy any of it.
There was just too much shit to think about.
I still hadn’t managed to make a fucking decision about the band thing.
And the rest of it…
I really didn’t want to think about it tonight, and the main reason I’d brought friends along with me was for accountability. I figured there was less chance I’d bail early and head back to Cary’s place to try to check up on what his little sister was doing with her Saturday night if I had people here that I’d invited out.
Lucas checked in with the bouncers and we slipped inside, past the lineup. The Pandora was an old ballroom, literally, that was now a club and live venue with a fantastic sound system and a huge dance floor, and tonight it would be packed.
When we walked in, the house DJ was getting the party rolling.
This was the first time I’d taken DJ Summer up on one of her invitations, though she’d been inviting me out almost as much a
s Ash had been lately. In my books, there was a place for electronic music, and there were definitely some incredible artists blending electronic and rock in ways that worked for me. I wasn’t really into the whole dance club scene, but I wanted to check out the music at Summer’s show, and the vibe.
Check her out.
If there was any chance I was gonna end up in a band with her, this was fucking imperative.
Tonight seemed like a great time to do it, anyway, because I knew Ash wouldn’t be here. When I’d messaged him to see if he was coming, he said he was down in Seattle tonight with his girlfriend, for a concert.
Just as well.
Gave me a chance to scope out what Summer Sorenson was all about on my own. I’d met her before, and I’d been to parties where she was doing the DJ thing, but I hadn’t been to any of her club shows.
I found her backstage. The girl was pretty hard to miss in any room. Long, dark hair. Great body. She wore a vibrant blue jumpsuit thing with a matching headband, and platform heels that put her almost at my height. She wasn’t tall, but the heels were.
She gave me a hug and a kiss and introduced me around as “this hot drummer” while she held my hand. The girl was a major flirt, but flirting, for her, seemed like a form of currency or something. A business transaction.
I didn’t think she was actually into women, but she flirted with everyone in the room just about the same.
I didn’t take it personally.
I hung out with her for a while, backstage, and then headed out to the VIP area with some of her posse—the girl had an extensive posse of cute chicks, I’d give her that—to get comfortable while she got ready to take the stage.
DJ Summer definitely knew how to treat a guy like a VIP.
While she was busy, she had one of her girls introducing me around to everyone I didn’t know, and bringing me drinks. I pretty much stuck to a gin and juice—or two—then switched to water. I was driving home later, and tonight was more of a business thing than a pleasure thing.
Another point to Summer’s credit: her guest list was shit-hot. Some pretty impressive VIPs from the local music scene—besides myself—had come out to the show. Including her good friend Elle Delacroix, Dirty’s bassist.
Filthy Beautiful: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #2) Page 13