by Lisa Suzanne
NOT JUST ANOTHER ROCK STAR ROMANCE
© 2018 Lisa Suzanne
All rights reserved. In accordance with the US Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher or author constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law and except for excerpts used in reviews. If you would like to use any words from this book other than for review purposes, prior written permission must be obtained from the publisher.
Published in the United States of America by Books by LS, LLC.
This book is a work of fiction. Any similarities to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All characters and events in this work are figments of the author’s imagination.
Content Editing by It’s Your Story Content Editing
Proofreading by Proofreading by Katie
Cover Design by CT Cover Creations
Cover Photograph by Neil Danvers
Cover Model: Devin Paisley
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books by Lisa Suzanne
NOT JUST ANOTHER ROMANCE NOVEL
A LITTLE LIKE DESTINY SERIES
A LITTLE LIKE DESTINY (Book One)
ONLY EVER YOU (Book Two)
CLEAN BREAK (Book Three)
THE UNBREAKABLE THREAD DUET
THE POWER TO BREAK (Book One)
THE INVISIBLE THREAD (Book Two)
THE TRUTH AND LIES DUET
IT STARTED WITH A LIE (Book One)
IT ENDED WITH THE TRUTH (Book Two)
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dedication
To my two favorite rock stars, M&M.
table of contents
author links
dedication
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
Epilogue
acknowledgments
about the author
A LITTLE LIKE DESTINY: PREVIEW
1
“It’s not even a contest.” Brody looks over at me, and I laugh and shake my head.
“There’s no way your tolerance is higher than mine.” Rascal is badgering him into some new pissing match, but we all know how this is going to end...likely with Rascal tossing his cookies into some bushes behind the bar.
Brody just gives him a look of sarcasm that basically says yeah, okay, but Rascal won’t back down. He never does, which is one of the things I both love and hate about the guy.
“Prove it.” Rascal’s red curls are flying all over the place, and it’s actually fairly symbolic of who he is: fiery and out of control. I’m just glad he’s challenging Brody to this particular dick waving contest and not myself since I’ll be singing in front of the crowd gathering at this very bar in less than an hour.
“After the show,” Brody says.
“No, man. If you’re such hot shit, prove it to me now.” Rascal signals to Dinah, Emerson’s bar manager.
“I don’t owe you jack shit,” Brody says, narrowing his eyes at Rascal. I know him well enough to know for damn sure that as soon as his manhood is called into question, he’ll take the bet hands down. “But bring it the fuck on. You in, Dax?”
I shake my head. “You two fuckers enjoy. I’m out.”
“Pussy,” Rascal mutters under his breath.
I don’t get drunk before I take the stage anymore. I vividly remember the last time I did, and it was just after Kylie, our manager, started working for us a little over eight months ago. In my horribly hungover state the next morning, I clearly remember her throwing open my bedroom door, eyeing the woman in bed beside me with disdain in her eyes, and snarling at me about how unprofessional I’d been. She’d slammed my door, and when I finally got up the nerve to slink down to the kitchen, she was there, ready to lay into me.
She’d also brought me pancakes that morning, so I couldn’t be too upset...but as the coffee and syrup worked to cure my hangover, Kylie worked to build a fount of guilt inside me. She wasn’t doing it on purpose, but the things she said resonated with me: “You had a job to do last night, and instead of taking it seriously, you got wasted and you sounded like shit. Is that how you expect me to get MFB to the next level? You’re the leader, Dax, and I need you to act like it. You let the guys and me down.”
Those words replay in my mind every single time I think about having more than a few drinks before a performance. She’s right—the guys in MFB look up to me as a leader, and in a lot of ways, I am the leader. The other instruments are equally important, but if someone fucks a riff or misses a beat, it’s easily covered. If I miss my lyrics, apart from acting like it’s because I want the crowd to sing along, it’s pretty obvious.
But I’m not going to tell them what they can or can’t do. I tend to be more of a lead by example type of guy, so after my second Miller Lite, I tell Dinah to switch me to water and I watch as the two douchenozzles across from me order shots of tequila—the single quickest route to Drunksville.
Before their shots arrive, I casually ask, “How will you determine the winner?”
Rascal looks at Brody for a second and then back at me. “Whoever pukes first loses.”
I shrug and hold up both hands in surrender. “Your bet, dude.”
Just as Dinah brings over a tray with two tequila shots plus my water, Kylie slides into the booth beside me. The smell of coconuts immediately wafts to my nose, and I fight the urge to breathe it in more deeply.
“What the hell is that?” she asks, looking at the two shot glasses on Dinah’s tray.
“Tequila!” Dinah shouts gleefully in tune with the old song by the Champs as she sets the tray on the edge of our table.
Kylie glares over at me, and I hold my hands up defensively before I reach past her and grab my water. “This is my order.”
Kylie sighs and turns to me. “Some stupid pissing match, I assume?”
I shrug and lift my water in a toast. “It’s between them.”
She leans in a little closer to me, and my body immediately responds to her proximity. “You have the power to stop it. You know that.” Her voice is a liquid whisper in my ear and I push away the image of her talking to me in that same tone as we both lie naked in my bed.
“I knew you’d be here any minute to stop it for me.”
No Bang Oath.
I repeat those words in my head until my dick calms down a little. I hate taking the stage with a boner, hence the skinny black jeans I always wear on stage, those magic pants that do their best to hide what’s going on down below. It’s every rock star’s secret sauce.
Brody and Rascal throw back their shots much to Kylie's utter dismay. She looks over at me again and whe
n our eyes meet, a surge of heat passes between us. She looks away first. “That’ll be the last one until after the show.”
“You’re not my mom,” Racal shoots back at her.
I finally step in. “She’s right. We have to be on our best behavior between now and the tour to prove to Ashmark we’re worthy of a recording contract.” We’re scheduled as the first opening act for the hugely popular band Vail on their next US tour, and if we’re successful, it could mean a possible record deal with the lead singer’s record label.
Brody nods and glances over at Rascal. “It’s so fucking on as soon as we’re off stage.”
I roll my eyes at them, but at least I appeased Kylie...for now. When I glance over at her, I find her staring at me with something akin to appreciation.
“Thank you,” she mouths. I nod and press my lips together before I look away.
She scoots out of the booth because it’s nearly showtime. We head back behind the bar, where we find the other two members of our band, Kane and Adam. Brody’s drums are already set up, as is Rascal’s keyboard. Kane grabs his bass while Adam and I grab our guitars. We run through our playlist and have a quick huddle, and then we take the stage.
I fist the microphone in one hand and stroke the stand with the other just like I always do. I glance around the crowded room as I fill the room with the lyrics I know by heart. I look at people dancing or singing along with me, but I don’t really see a single person. I’ve learned to block out everything except the music. My gaze settles on a blonde who mouths the words along with me. She’s wearing one of my signature t-shirts proclaiming she’ll be having breakfast at my place. She grabs her friend’s arm and squeals something about how I made eye contact with her, and I shift my gaze.
This time I spot a brunette who isn’t singing, and she looks bored as she focuses on something behind me. For a split second my mind wanders to what she’d be like in bed. Probably the same—no sounds out of her mouth, a bored look on her face.
Though the women in my bed rarely look bored, if you catch my drift.
When we get to the last song of our set, an upbeat one that usually gets the crowd on their feet and fists pumping in the air, I spot Kylie against the bar. Her brows are furrowed with conflict as she studies me, yet her gaze brings an unfamiliar feeling of comfort deep in my chest.
I know what she’s thinking.
She’s been badgering me all day with what she thinks is a great idea, but I think it’s stupid.
I just have to figure out how to tell her no, because when she looks at me with her big brown eyes, I’ll do pretty much whatever she asks.
* * *
“Holy fuck, that wasn’t even close,” Adam says, and we all laugh as we watch Rascal revisit those tequila shots over the bushes behind Emerson’s. I step away to carefully load my guitar into my classic white Camaro. My guitar and my car: the two loves of my life, the two things I depend on most in this world to take me away from the places where I don’t want to be.
I gaze longingly at my guitar. I wish I had more opportunities to play it, but Adam’s our lead guitarist and I’m just back-up so I can focus on vocals. It’s a fair trade, and I love singing, too, but guitar is my first love when it comes to music.
“Where’s everybody else?” I ask Rascal, who’s sitting on the curb looking ready for another round.
“Adam’s getting me water, Brody is looking for someone to take home tonight, and Kane left with Sierra.”
“Still think it was a good idea to challenge Brody to tequila shots?” I ask.
Rascal shrugs. “He’s still drunk and I’m ready to rally.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m heading home.”
The back door opens and a breathless Kylie rushes out. “Can I grab a ride with you?” she asks me. “I don’t want to walk and I left my car at your place.” She points toward the tall heels she’s wearing. I nod and motion her over to my car even though I know I’ll regret it because I know she’s going to get right back on my case with her new idea.
And she does the very second she slams the door shut—before I’ve even had a chance to put the car in reverse to head toward the house I share with the other guys in my band. “Have you given my proposal any more thought, Dax?”
“I don’t need to think about it,” I say. “It’s a no.”
“Why?” Kylie challenges, and I can’t help but think once again how hot she would be if she wasn’t so intimidating. I guess she sort of needs to a bitch not only to put up with my band and me, but also to get us ahead in the demanding business of music.
The five band members of MFB made a No Bang Oath before we offered her the position as manager. We knew we wanted to take our band from a local San Diego success story to something bigger.
But she has these legs that go on for miles, and when she’s wearing heels like the ones she’s wearing tonight, I owe it to myself to allow my eyes to take in the beauty.
She’s too good at what she does for us to put our professional relationship in jeopardy. She keeps us in line and so far has worked hard to provide us with opportunities that we otherwise would have missed. I force the thought of her legs from my mind.
“Because it’s stupid,” I say.
She folds her arms across her chest, but the insult bounces right off her armor. “It’s not stupid. Brody’s dad came to me with this idea.”
Brody’s dad is a bigwig Hollywood casting director, and I can’t help but think this is his way of trying to show support for his son’s band—something my own father would never show to me. “So it’s basically a dating reality show?” I ask on a resigned sigh.
Kylie lets out a little squeal that I’m actually asking a question about the show rather than shooting down her idea. “Yes. It’s a reality show on a major network, and it would be fantastic publicity for MFB. Maybe you’ll even meet a nice girl.”
“Nice girls don’t go on reality television shows,” I mutter. “I don’t want to meet a nice girl, anyway.” I finally put the car in reverse and flash her a wicked smile as I turn to check behind me.
“I’m not taking no for an answer, at least not until you sleep on it.” She narrows her brown eyes at me, and I pretend I don’t feel their penetration as I keep my gaze focused on the road.
Once she gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her, and I’m sure that’s true this time, too. “Why do I get the feeling that you already said yes on my behalf?” I ask.
She giggles. “Trust your intuition. I haven’t been working so hard with Brody’s dad to get you this opportunity for nothing.”
I heave out another sigh. I can’t help but think that this is a really stupid idea. People don’t find love on reality shows.
So why am I thinking about it as I lay in bed, trying to fall asleep after I had one or two…okay, five too many beers?
Why are all the opportunities a television show could give my band running through my mind after I forced myself to forget the idea the second Kylie left?
Why am I wondering whether Brody’s dad suggested this for us as a way to get the band some screen time?
What if I said yes? So I wouldn’t be doing it for the right reasons. I wouldn’t be doing it to fall in love. But Kylie might be right—this could be a huge opportunity for the band, and I can’t be the one to waste it.
I know none of the other guys in the band would do it. Brody and I have been best friends since middle school, and he wants to find love even less than I do. Adam and Kane both have girlfriends, and Rascal, or William Rascowicz as he’s known only to his mother, doesn’t have the right look—or personality—for a reality show.
So if we want to give the band the chance to be seen in front of the millions of people who comprise a viewing audience for a reality television show, I’m our only hope.
And that’s my last thought before I fall asleep. Or pass out. Same thing.
2
“Explain the concept to me one more time,” I say over the phone early the next m
orning. I yawn while I await Kylie’s answer.
I glance at the clock with exhaustion. Shit—it’s eleven o’clock. It’s not “early” anymore, but I didn’t sleep much after I passed out the night before. The first hour was good, and then I tossed and turned while I thought about Kylie’s proposal. And then that morphed into thinking about Kylie’s hot legs, which led me to think about banging her, which led me to the No Bang Oath, and then I reverted back to her idea again.
Oath or no oath, it doesn’t matter. She doesn’t want to bang me if she’s trying to get me onto a dating show.
Take My Heart is one of those cheesy reality shows that everyone’s mom and sister watches. It’s so stupid, yet I can’t stop thinking about the possibility.
“It starts with four male celebrities and ten women,” she explains. “The women vote on which two men stay in the first episode. Then the two of you date the women and narrow down the pool until there’s one woman left in the end, and she chooses between you and the other guy in the finale.”
I snort. “The one I fall in love with, right?”
Kylie reminds me about successful relationships born from well-known reality shows, but I tune her out while I work on a melody for a new song in my head. I tend to do that—pretend I’m listening when really I’m devising new music.
Maybe that makes me a douchebag, but I like to think my last two relationships are actually what turned me into a douchebag.
First Vickie cheated on me nearly two years ago. Then Piper decided she had stronger feelings for someone else a little under a year ago. Going on a reality show where I’ll be competing against another man for a woman’s attention sounds like a pretty bad idea for someone who’s been burned the way I have.
“Are you listening to me?” Kylie asks.
“Yeah,” I lie. “How many episodes?”
She pauses before she answers like she’s gathering her patience for something she’s already said. “Ten episodes. You film two episodes a week for five weeks.”