My Night with a Rockstar

by Mankin, Michelle

  “Never.” Fear gripped my throat, but I wrenched the words free. “I’ll never forget you.” A tear slipped from my eye, trailing the only warmth I could feel. The rest of me was cold.

  “I hope you take my advice and talk to your father.” He gave me a firm look. “He needs you, and you need him.”

  “I will,” I said, and some of Storm’s tension seemed to loosen. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “I believe you. You have a good heart. You’re a great daughter, a good sister to Cork. And very talented. I expect that you’ll do great things with your poetry someday. I’m sorry I’ll miss all that. I’ll miss you.”

  His eyes soft, Storm stepped closer. I held my breath as he framed my face and swept his thumbs over my cheeks. Warmth blazed in my skin where he touched me, but chill bumps bloomed everywhere else.

  “Good-bye,” he whispered, then withdrew his hands.

  Colder than before, I stared at him. More tears fell as I watched him walk away, one long stride after another, each increment of separation between us prying away another piece of my soul.

  I continued to stare until nothing remained but me.

  Lotus

  “Excuse me,” I said to the large guy standing in front of me.

  “Excuse what?” Turning around, he gave me the once-over.

  “I need to get to my bestie.” I gestured to her with my chin since I was carrying plastic cups filled to the brim with draft beer in both hands. “The girl up there by the stage wearing the Dirt Dogs’ T-shirt.”

  “Oh, her.” He winced. “She’s pretty like you, but obnoxious. Guarding her territory up there like a hungry dog with a juicy steak.”

  My lips twitched. His analogy was spot-on. My best friend was territorial once she located and claimed the best viewing spot for a concert.

  “Enjoy the show.” Shifting sideways, he sucked in his gut, giving me about three inches to shimmy between him and the guy beside him.

  “Rock on,” I said to smooth the feathers my bestie had apparently ruffled.

  I was a people pleaser, wanting everyone to like and keep liking me. I knew this about myself, knew the origin for it came from being abandoned, rejected by my mother when I was young. My loud, opinionated, and beautiful best friend, Sophia Benito, had difficult stuff in her childhood too, but she tended to overreact at a high decibel level to situations, whereas I usually chose to suffer in silence.

  When I reached Sophia, I scooted into the spot she’d saved for me and handed her a beer.

  “What took you so long?” She gave me a searching glance with her hazel eyes. “Anyone’s ass I need to kick for hitting on you?”

  “No one hit on me.” I frowned. “I can handle myself.”

  “Yes, you can when you’re bartending at the Deck Bar. Behind your counter slinging drinks, you rule, but without that barrier between you and assholes, and I’m currently imagining one asshole in particular who forgot your birthday today, you’re far too nice.”

  “I wasn’t gone longer than ten minutes,” I muttered, not bothering to argue about the being-too-nice part, or about the asshole who forgot my birthday. One was true. The other was true too, but it hurt too much to think about it.

  “Felt like longer.” Sophia slipped an arm around my waist and pulled me into her side.

  Accustomed to her spontaneous displays of affection—and loving her for them—I was prepared and didn’t spill a drop of my beer. Part of that experience came from bartending, the other from going to concerts. Sophia and I had been in lots of standing-room-only pits in front of plenty of stages. The objectives were a lot like bartending—find and hold your position, and never spill alcohol on someone else.

  “How’s your beer?” I asked, watching her take a sip.

  “It’s good.” She licked her lips.

  “It’s a local IPA.”

  “Nice. Very hoppy.” She took another sip, her gaze drifting over me. “You were gone so long, I was afraid you sneaked off to call Saber. Withdrew your ultimatum and made up with him. Again.” She made a face.

  “Not doing that anymore. It’s over this time for real.” Knowing her opinion regarding my on-again-off-again boyfriend, I repeated it. “I can’t keep letting Saber put me off and string me along every time something comes up with the band.”

  “He always has some lame excuse.” Her black brows inched together.

  “This time it seemed legit.” An ultimatum from Ash. I rephrased Saber’s words and attempted to mimic his lead-singer voice. “Sorry, baby, I can’t come with you to LA. Boss-man made your birthday the deadline to turn in our single.” My stomach tensed as I remembered how him giving me that excuse had made me feel. “Ash is pressuring him about band personnel too. He told Saber the group chemistry is wrong.”

  “Everyone has work stress. Saber should have put you first. Sucks deluxe that he didn’t.” She frowned. “Makes me mad the way he throws all his stress on you, but shuts you down whenever you bring up your own.”

  “I have a lot more stress than him.” I bit down on my lip. “I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

  “You’re making my point.” She shook her head, and her shoulder-length straight black hair swished over her slender shoulders. “He should have helped you more. Couples work out problems together, Lotus.”

  My parents hadn’t. They’d lived separate lives in the same household, and then my mother had taken off. I knew I had to handle things differently, break the cycle. With Saber, I’d tried, but apparently I didn’t know how.

  “If it wasn’t the band, then it was something else that put me in second place.”

  I lifted my chin, holding my ground like Sophia and I were doing front-row center in front of the stage. Maybe I hadn’t broken the cycle with Saber, but I could learn from my mistake and do better going forward.

  “It’s not a good relationship, a healthy one worth keeping if a guy doesn’t put me first.”

  “Now you’re talking truth, sister.” Nodding approvingly, Sophia held up her free hand for a fist bump, which I readily gave her. But instead of an explosion after, we both did the peace symbol.

  “Peace out,” I said.

  “Peace received,” she said, giving me her usual response.

  “Roadies set up fast while I was at the bar.” I gestured at the stage with my plastic cup.

  “No road crew. The band did their own setting up.”

  “Ah, I should have guessed.”

  The opening band was usually local, undiscovered, and on a budget too tight to afford roadies. OB Hardy, Saber’s band, had done their own setting up until they signed a deal with Ashland Keys’s label, Outside.

  “The lead singer is hot.” Sophia fanned her face.

  “How’d you know which one was the lead singer?” I raised a brow. “Did he wear a name tag,” I teased, my mood already lightening because of her.

  “Just about.” She smiled. “He put his guitar in a stand next to the center mic. And I said to him, ‘Hey, you’re hot. Are you the lead singer?’”

  “How did he respond?” I asked, shaking my head at her play-by-play that I suspected she exaggerated to get my mind off my breakup with Saber.

  “‘Yeah, darlin’, I sure as fuck am.’” She waved a long piece of paper in front of me that looked like a bar receipt and sported a masculine scrawl. “He gave me his cell number.”

  “Hmm. I see. That’s interesting.”

  And impressive, but not an-out-of-the-ordinary-occurrence for my best friend.

  Sophia was beautiful, exotic-looking with her ebony hair, hazel-green eyes, and coffee-with-cream skin. She was also taller than me, confident, and moved seductively like she danced, which tended to catch a guy’s attention and keep it.

  I took a sip of my beer. It was cold, heavy on the hops, and refreshing. Noting the lead singer’s guitar, a gleaming denim-blue Martin hollow body, I grinned as excitement thrummed in my veins.

  I loved music, the whole atmosphere at a concert, the hush of anticipation
before the first band took the stage. Sometimes music was the only thing that got my mind off everything else. Our love for music was a passion Sophia and I shared. A passion I’d once shared a long time ago with my only best friend before her.

  “Ask me about the rest of them.” Sophia’s eyes danced, doing a little salsa within her thick lashes. She loved concerts and ogling the sexy guys with their guitars like I did. What girl wouldn’t?

  “Okay, I said, playing along. “Tell me about them.” Her company and her enthusiasm were a buoy, keeping me afloat on a night when I otherwise would have been floundering in sadness and self-pity.

  “The drummer is small, but cute like that actor from La La Land. The bassist is lanky but doable. Think Christian Bale from his performance in The Dark Knight. But the guitarist?” She fanned her face.

  “Hot, huh?” I shook my head at her. She loved movies and often compared guys to actors.

  “Hotter. Tallest of the bunch. Too good-looking to compare to any actor I’ve seen.”

  “Whoa.” My eyes rounded. If she was at a loss, I was certainly very eager to see this paragon among men.

  “Six foot one, maybe even six-two. Shoulder-length light brown hair with a lot of wave to it. Full mustache and beard. Chiseled body like a Greek statue. Tatted arms and neck. The works.”

  “Sounds dreamy.” And sounded like she’d done a thorough investigation. “You sure you don’t want to call dibs on that one?”

  Before my dad had passed three years ago, I might have called dibs myself. In the days when my heart had been mostly intact and my time had been freer, one of my favorite things to do with Sophia was going out to see as many bands as we could in one night.

  On those nights, which we’d dubbed Sophia’s and Lotus’s Musical Adventures, we chose the cutest guys in the best bands and flirted with them from the pit, and sometimes even went out with them. On one of those adventures, I met Saber. Well, I’d known who he was before that because he was Storm’s older brother. But we’d only started dating this past year.

  Storm.

  Just thinking his name collapsed my lungs. Even though it had been nine years since we’d parted ways and I had Sophia now, I still missed him. The closeness I’d had with him had never been duplicated with anyone else.

  But that was over. It was in the past. Even his own family hadn’t heard from him in years. I needed to learn to let hurt go like Storm had told me to. I needed to let him go, needed to let the music heal me.

  “No, he’s all yours,” Sophia said, and it took me a moment to remember who we were talking about.

  Oh yeah, the paragon of men, the guitarist.

  “Thanks, but I’m a little too busted up tonight to go for it—go for him. So I think I’ll pass.”

  “C’mon, Lotus.” She pursed her lips. “It’s been too long since you let loose.”

  It had been since my father died, and I had become the sole guardian of my brother, Cork.

  “I can’t let loose anymore.” I gave her a firm look.

  The steadying influence of Saber was one of the big reasons he held such appeal. He was the opposite of Sophia. With him, it was easier to bury the desire to be anyone but the responsible version of myself.

  “You can let your hair down for one night.” Her brow furrowed as she took in my long, efficient work braid. “Fanny has Cork at Ash’s penthouse. He’s in a safe, protected environment. Probably safer there with all their security than your apartment. We’re miles away from home. No one knows us here. LA can be our Vegas. What happens in LA, stays in LA. You deserve an adventure. C’mon.”

  She bumped my shoulder like Storm did when he was being playful. “We both deserve a little fun.”

  “I just broke up with my boyfriend.” I experienced a heart spasm again just saying the words out loud. It made the situation seem a lot more permanent.

  “No better time to have some harmless fun.” She waggled her dark brows.

  “I have work tonight.” My protest sounded weak, even to my own ears.

  “You don’t have to work all night.”

  Considering, I took another sip of my beer, staring straight ahead at the stage rather than at her. I didn’t want her to see how much the breakup with Saber hurt, or how tempted I was to give in, to be carefree. It would be nice not to think about responsibilities and consequences, even if it was only for a night.

  “You know I can’t,” I said, knowing it would be too hard to return to being responsible again. Gardening and my poems were the only outlet I allowed myself anymore, and even those weren’t strictly for fun.

  “Okay, honey.” Sophia’s expression softened. “I just wish more for you. You know I do. So, this opening band,” she said overbrightly. “What did Ash tell you about them?”

  Ashland Keys wasn’t only the co-owner of Outside. He was also the drummer for the world-famous Dirt Dogs. Semi-retired from his band, he worked full time at the label he’d cofounded with his cousin, Lincoln Savage, the lead singer of the Dirt Dogs. Incidentally, Ash was also my boss. Well, he was for tonight, and any other time he needed a special-event bartender.

  “Ash says they’re my speed,” I said. “Loud and heavy on the metal like Tempest, and they have double guitarists.”

  “That sounds cool.” She nodded reflectively. “Nice of him to give you a break at the beginning of the evening to catch some of the lineup.”

  “Not here for the concert. Here to work. He pays me well to bartend for these special events outside of Ocean Beach.”

  “Sí, mi flor.” Yes, my flower. “But it’s your birthday,” she said with a frown. “He should pay you triple, considering that.”

  “Maybe.” Letting her richly accented voice and her indignation on my behalf wash over me, I set my troubles aside and gave her a smile.

  At that moment, the recorded background music stopped. I shifted all my attention to the stage. The house lights lowered, and the stage lights came on.

  Ash came out. Strutting confidently across the stage, all blond and blue-eyed with his golden tan, he looked like a typical SoCal surfer. But in his all-season wool slacks and button-down shirt, he was dressed like a business exec.

  “You guys having a good time?” Ash asked the audience, his mouth to the center mic.

  I clapped enthusiastically like everyone around me. His gaze finding me, Ash smiled. He was awesome. I didn’t tell Sophia, but I would find a way to do these events for him, even if he didn’t pay me as well as he did.

  “On behalf of the Dirt Dogs and Outside, I just want to say we’re really glad to have you here tonight. As you know, all the proceeds from ticket sales are being donated to HIV research. But enough of that. We’re here to party and rock hard. And our first band, Black Skulls, will help us get started right.”

  He stepped back and moved away as the band filed onto the stage.

  The lead singer was hot with his inky black hair and piercing blue eyes. He went to center stage to claim his denim guitar. The Ryan Gosling lookalike drummer hopped onto his drum riser. The colossus that had a guitar strapped to his mammoth shoulder strode stage right. The Dark Knight bassist swooped left.

  The drummer took his seat, thrust his sticks into the air, clacked them three times, then brought them down. The lead singer stalled his blue gaze on my bestie. His fingers hovered above the frets of his Martin.

  But it was the guitarist beside him who strummed the scintillating opening chord. My gaze moved to him and my heart stopped. His hotter-than-hot brown eyes met mine, melting me into a puddle where I stood.

  Everything but him and the heat within his incredible eyes burned away.

  Lotus­

  “A Crown and Coke, easy on the Coke, if you know what I mean.” The Ryan Gosling lookalike bassist from the Black Skulls placed a twenty-dollar bill on the bar in front of me.

  “Got it.” From behind the counter, I refrained from rolling my eyes as I poured a double shot of Crown Royal in a plastic cup and added a splash of Coke for color.
>
  “Here you go. But you can keep your money.” I set his drink on the counter and picked up his cash, trying to return it. “Drinks are complimentary.”

  “It’s a tip, darlin’. You’re cute, and we’re having a private party with your friend. You should come.”

  “I’m working.” It had taken effort, but I’d managed to scrape my gooey body off the floor after having it melted by the guitarist in his band.

  “I can see that, but it’s winding down.” He gestured to the large space, like a convention hall, and he was right. What had once been packed by several hundred VIPs had whittled down to about thirty. Most were executive types, closing deals. No one had stepped up to the bar in a while.

  “You’re right,” I said. “But—”

  “Babe. C’mon. The band needs drinks. We’re VIPs. Bring us a couple of bottles of Cuervo. We’re in dressing room A.” He shoved my hand with his twenty back at me.

  I frowned. The drummer might be cute in an I look like a famous actor kind of way, but his manners needed work.

  “Sure,” I said sweetly. “Just let me get permission from my boss to make a delivery.”

  “Your boss is out in the corridor talking to Journey.” He took a step back with his drink in his hand.

  “Who?” Puzzled, I frowned at him.

  “The guitarist in my band.” He shook his head. “The one you stared at the whole time we were performing.”

  My heart pounded fast as I remembered the colossus who’d taken the stage and destroyed my equilibrium.

  Journey, huh? So that’s his name. Wonder if that’s his real name or just a nickname.

  The fascination lingered . . . I hadn’t been able to put him out of my mind. He was the best-looking guy I’d ever seen, but there was something else, something almost familiar about him. It wasn’t only the audience Journey had captivated with his guitar.

  “They seem to be having a serious conversation.” The rude Ryan Gosling lookalike snapped his fingers at me, not appreciating my inattention. “But I’m sure they wouldn’t mind an interruption from a cute thing like you. Tequila.” He snapped again like I was his servant or a pet. “Now.”