Not Just Another Rock Star Romance

by Lisa Suzanne

  Five weeks? That can’t possibly be enough time to fall in love with someone, not that it matters. “Where?”

  “LA.”

  “I’ll have to drive back and forth to Los Angeles twice a week?”

  “It’s only two and a half hours from San Diego,” she says. “Less with the way you drive, and I’m sure they’ll arrange a driver for you.”

  “Still, ten hours per week wasted in the car seems stupid. And what about the band? We’ve got tour prep.”

  “You would have certain required hours to be in the house for filming, but the producers know that they have to work around your schedule since you’re the celebrity,” she explains. “I’m sure the guys would be on board when they see what this could do for MFB.”

  She’s giving me the hard sell, and I have to admit, it’s working. She seems to have an answer for everything, and it’s starting to make a whole lot of sense to actually go on this show.

  Not to find love, but for all the other benefits.

  “You mentioned they’re looking for male celebrities,” I say. “One small problem, Kylie. I’m not a celebrity.”

  “Brody’s dad disagrees, and the show’s producers think you’re perfect.” She pauses meaningfully, and suddenly she has my full attention. “Dax, not only will they pay you to appear on the show, but they’ve agreed to promote the tour if you’re selected as one of the final two men.”

  Fuck.

  She isn’t giving me much of a choice. I need to jump at any possibility of gaining additional fans before we leave for the tour. We all do, and since Kylie reminds us about a hundred times a day, we’re all well aware of it.

  But going on a debut dating reality show?

  “How much will they pay me?” I ask.

  She clears her throat. “Ten thousand per episode.”

  My jaw drops even though she can’t see me. Holy shit. “A hundred grand for five weeks?”

  “And there’s more,” she says, her tone filled with excitement.

  “More?”

  “Are you sitting down?” she asks.

  I chuckle.

  “The final winner gets fifty grand plus an additional fifty grand allocated to promotions paid for by the network.”

  “Promotions?” I ask.

  “For whatever you want. The tour. Your t-shirt line. They were pretty vague and it sounds like it’s wide open.”

  Holy shit.

  We do pretty well financially with our regular gigs at Emerson’s and other places around town. We’ve developed a decent following in San Diego and we’ve had opportunities to open for some bigger names, not the least of which includes our upcoming tour with Vail.

  But a hundred grand just for appearing plus another hundred grand if I win is a good chunk of change—something I can’t possibly pass up. Despite that, though, I say, “Let me talk to the guys. You know I can’t make any decisions without them.”

  “I know. But make it quick.” She clears her throat. “Production begins soon.”

  “Get that goddamn excitement out of your voice.”

  She giggles, a sound that I almost never hear her make, and I return her laughter with a manly giggle of my own. She tends to be all business with us, but when she has a good idea and gets us on board with it, she’s not great at hiding her excitement.

  “Talk to you later.” I hang up the phone and stare at the screen for a minute, wrestling with my thoughts.

  This is either a great idea or the stupidest idea ever.

  An hour later, I stand in front of the television while my best friends, my brothers from some other mothers, my bandmates sit on various couches and chairs staring at me after I called a band meeting.

  I wring my hands. God, I hate feeling like this. I’m never nervous, not even when I take the stage in front of tens or hundreds or thousands of fans. But as four sets of eyes stare at me, waiting for me to talk, anxiety filters through me. I glance at the pile of cell phones in the middle of the coffee table. That’s our one rule—any time we have a band meeting, phones go to the pile so we can talk without distraction.

  “Kylie presented me with an opportunity.”

  “Just you?” Rascal interrupts, clearly jumping first to the incorrect conclusion that I’d ever leave the guys in my band behind.

  I shoot him a look that clearly tells him to shut the fuck up. “It’s not band-related, but it could be good for the band.”

  “Is this that bullshit she and my dad have been working on?” Brody asks.

  I nod, and he rolls his eyes.

  “What bullshit?” Adam asks.

  “Kylie wants me to go on a reality dating show. She says it’s a good opportunity to get our name out there.”

  “And you’re going to do it?” Brody asks.

  “I’m thinking about it. I wanted to talk to the four of you first.”

  “How does it benefit the band if you’re off filming some show?” Rascal asks.

  I clear my throat. “Financially, for one thing.”

  “They’ll pay you?” Brody asks.

  I nod. “Ten grand an episode and a bonus if I win.”

  I watch as the guys I know so well react to that. Wide eyes dart around and turn from pessimistic to excited as they think of the possibilities.

  “But what about practice?” Adam asks. “We’ve got the tour coming up. Isn’t it bad timing?”

  “It’s only two days a week. Kylie will schedule us so I won’t miss practice or any upcoming gigs.”

  “Is this something you want to do?” Kane is always the most level-headed and the most concerned about each of us individually.

  I shrug. “Kylie says that the show agreed to promote the tour.”

  Adam, the one guy aside from me who most looks out for the good of the band, perks up at that. “Holy shit, dude. That could be huge for us.”

  “But do you want to do it?” Kane presses.

  “I don’t know.” I glance up at the ceiling. “The things she was saying…I just don’t think I could say no.”

  “I can’t take you seriously in that shirt,” Rascal says.

  “What’s wrong with my shirt?” I ask, looking down. It has a drawing of a pen and it says, “PEN IS HUGE.” The “is” is mashed a little closer to the “pen” than necessary, and the “huge” is on the next line. And there’s an arrow that points down toward my pants.

  Kane rolls his eyes at Rascal. “Dax, you do you. If you don’t want to do this show, don’t.”

  “But think about the band,” Adam says. Kane shoots him a look, and Adam holds up his hands in surrender. “Fine. You do you. But remember, we’re a team. We all do the band, and this could be huge for us.”

  “It could be, but we can’t go on the show as a team. Let’s not pressure him into some reality television show.” Kane and Adam are talking like the rest of us aren’t even there, and Brody is unusually silent.

  Oh shit. What if the producers want to interview my friends?

  It seems like for every reason I think I should just go ahead and do it, ten more pop up as to why I shouldn’t.

  Surely Kylie will coach the guys on etiquette for interviews. I have to hope so, because I can just imagine Rascal f-bombing his way through torrid stories of my behavior over the past ten months.

  To say I’ve gone on a bit of a bender since my last break-up is an understatement.

  But maybe Kylie is right. As much as I love my life, maybe just before we leave for tour with Vail is a good time to calm my shit a bit.

  It can be a lonely existence knowing that women are only in my bed because of my name rather than because of who I actually am. They yell from the audience how much they love me, but they can’t possibly love me when they know nothing about me.

  And if we take our band to the next level, that’ll only get worse. As I think about our upcoming tour and the possibilities ahead, though, I don’t want to calm my shit. At all. I’m not ready to settle down by any means, not even if the right girl comes along. I’m
good with women telling me they love me and screaming my name while I make them come. The last thing I want or need is a serious relationship.

  But we can’t pay for the type of publicity this opportunity could give us. I’d be on television screens across America—and, thanks to on-demand and streaming devices, across the world. Provided I don’t make a complete ass of myself, it could be the chance of a lifetime to get the name of our band out to a bigger audience.

  And so, even though I have a feeling that this is going to be a total and complete shit show, I finally answer the question Kane asked earlier. “I think I want to do this.”

  Each of the guys has a different reaction, and each reaction so perfectly sums up who these men are. Mostly. Adam’s wide grin tells me he approves of my decision. Kane’s furrowed brows tells me he’s trying to read past my words. Rascal’s rolled eyes tell me he’s just being Rascal.

  Brody sits silently. Of these four men, Brody is my best friend, and he’ll come talk to me about whatever’s up his ass when he’s ready to.

  We make our practice schedule for the rest of the week, confirm our gigs, and go our separate ways. I go up to my bedroom to call Kylie with the news, but a knock at the door stops me before I have a chance to pull up her number.

  “Yeah?” I call, and Brody walks in. I sit on my bed, fiddling with my phone.

  He sighs and looks around my room—everywhere but at me. “Are you sure about this?”

  I toss my phone aside. “Why not?”

  “Dude, it’s a love show. You don’t want to fall in love.” He paces back and forth in front of me.

  I laugh. He’s not wrong. “I know I don’t. That’s not what this is about.”

  “It’s just about the band?”

  I nod.

  “Then I don’t think you should do it.” He says it softly, like if he says it too loud the others might hear, and they definitely won’t like it.

  My brow furrows as I stare at my best friend. I can’t possibly imagine why he would think that.

  “I didn’t want to say it before because the other guys were so excited for you to do this. But it’s a dating show.” He continues pacing in front of me. “Your dating life has been a series of one woman after the next for a long time now. This isn’t you.”

  I hold up my hands in defense. “I know. But think of the reach we could have.”

  “You’re not doing it for the right reasons.” He finally stops pacing and faces me. “Those girls will be there to fall in love with you, and they’ll think you’re there to fall in love with them, too.”

  “What’s this really about, Brody? Because I know it’s not about you caring about the women. Is it because of your dad?”

  He looks away from me, and suddenly I know.

  “Wait a minute,” I say. “You don’t want me to do this because I can’t be your wingman while I’m filming. That’s it, isn’t it?”

  He laughs, but I sense that I hit a nerve. “No.”

  “Then what?”

  He stares at a spot on the floor. He’s acting weird even for Brody.

  “Just say whatever you’re thinking, dude. It’s me.”

  After a long silence, he finally mutters, “What if you find someone?”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “No. We’re Brody and Dax, man. Jensen and Hunter. B-Jen and D-Hunt. Chode-y and D-Cunt. We go out together, we find women. We have fun. What if you find someone? Then it’s all over. It’s just me and…Rascal?”

  I chuckle at all his nicknames for us, but the laughter ends quickly as I realize he’s showing a vulnerable side he isn’t used to showing. Neither of us is, and I’m already seeing that this reality show has the potential to bring out emotions that I’m not used to feeling, let alone showcasing for the world to see.

  “I won’t find someone.” I’m confident this whole reality show is all bullshit. “But someday I will, and so will you. As much fun as this is, we won’t live like this forever.” The words are out of my mouth before I really think them through. It’s the first time I’ve admitted that someday down the line, I might want a meaningful relationship with someone.

  He nods. “Sucks, but you’re right.”

  “But we can have a hell of a lot of fun while it lasts. And besides, what if you find someone first?”

  He laughs. “Yeah, right. I’m even less ready for relationship drama than you.”

  “We’ll see.”

  He points in my direction. “You agreeing to do this show tells me you’re ready for it. Have you ever watched one of those dating shows? Bitches be crazy.”

  Bitches be crazy. Words to live by.

  3

  “Oh my God, I never thought you’d agree to do this!” Kylie claps her hands and bounces up and down on the balls of her feet.

  At least one of us is excited about it.

  “What’s the next step?” I ask, remaining calm as I pick up my bottle of beer.

  Kylie pulls a folder from her bag. “Read through this paperwork and sign off that you understand everything.” Somehow she went from excited to business in two seconds flat. “You’ll need to complete the surveys about your preferences when it comes to women and dating. Then we meet with producers. They’ll interview you, and if they decide you’re right, they’ll issue you a contract.”

  “Wait a minute. If they decide I’m right?”

  “Yeah.” She clears her throat nervously. “This isn’t a done deal. Yet. But you have nothing to worry about. I’ve talked to Mr. Jensen a hundred times, and he thinks you’re a great fit. So does Shayna, one of the producers. We’ve got this in the bag.”

  I chug the rest of the bottle and set it down on the table. Then I start picking at the label.

  Kylie watches me. “You know, I read somewhere once that people who play with labels on bottles are sexually frustrated.”

  I glance sideways at her. “Fucking No Bang Oath,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I stop peeling the label. “Just for the record, I’m not sexually frustrated.” I had sex just two days ago. I refrain from telling Kylie that part.

  Kylie chuckles as I scan the paperwork. It seems easy enough. I know what I’m getting myself into, and I’m ready for the next step.

  If they even choose me, that is.

  ***

  “I wish I wasn’t wearing this shirt,” I whine to Kylie a week later. She volunteered to drive me to the interview in Los Angeles so I could read through the contract in the passenger seat, and she made me wear nice clothes. I tug at the collar and pull at the knot in my tie.

  “This will take less than an hour. In sixty minutes, you can change into whatever you want. Even your Orgasm Donor shirt.”

  I flip through the radio stations, needing music to calm my usually steady nerves. I’m not looking forward to the firing squad hurling interview questions my way.

  “What are you wearing under that nice, black shirt?” she asks.

  I chuckle, and she rolls her eyes.

  “That’s what I thought. What does it say?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar.” She giggles.

  “It’s got a picture of a cat and it says, ‘I’d Like to Pet Your Pussy.’”

  She rolls her eyes as she turns into the parking lot. “You’re disgusting.”

  I shrug. It’s not the first time she called me that. “’I’ve been called worse. Loosen up. It’s funny.”

  She mutters something under her breath that sounds like, “I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Maybe there’s hope for her after all if she would just relax and have some fun.

  The receptionist directs us to a waiting area, and then I hear, “Dax?”

  Kylie and I stand. “Hey, Shayna,” Kylie says.

  Shayna’s wide smile tells me they’ve met before. “Hey! Good to see you!” The two of them hug, and my pants tighten a little as I watch two sexy women embrace.

  Okay, maybe I’m a little sexually frustrated.

  I
need to get my mind out of the gutter. It’ll do me no favors to walk into the interview with a tent in my pants.

  Shayna turns toward me and looks me up and down. “Yum,” she says to Kylie. “You were right.”

  Excuse me?

  Right about what, exactly?

  “Right this way,” Shayna says, and Kylie and I follow her. “Just Dax for now. Sorry.” She shoots Kylie an apologetic look just as I shoot Kylie a look of panic as my chest tightens with nerves. I didn’t realize I needed her there until she wasn’t allowed to be there.

  “You’ll be fine,” she assures me with a smile. “Just keep that black shirt on.”

  She winks, and I chuckle as my chest relaxes again. I take a deep breath and follow Shayna to the interview room.

  I sit at a large conference table across from eight people. They all introduce themselves, but I don’t remember a single name—except two. One is Shayna, and she has huge tits and a nice ass, so somehow her name sticks with me. Or it could’ve been because she knows Kylie. The other one is the show host, popular daytime television actress Melanie Werther. The rest of the interviewers are a mix of show creators and producers.

  “Dax, we’re going to ask you questions round robin style. We’ll be taking notes as you respond, and we’re also recording this interview in case we need to go back and reference any of your responses and for potential show footage. Do you have any questions before we get started?” Shayna asks.

  “Actually, yes. When will the show air?” I ask. I’ve heard that some shows wrap two or three months before they air, and it would be pointless for me to try to promote a tour that’ll be halfway over by the time viewers get to see it.

  “We’ll film Tuesdays and Wednesdays, and the show will air Thursdays and Mondays.”

  I raise my brows in surprise. “So I’ll actually be able to see what’s going on with the women before I see them again the next week?”

  She nods. “We encourage you to watch so you can get a sort of behind the scenes view. Obviously the women won’t have the same access. They’ll be in the house with no access to cellular devices or the internet, so they won’t see what you’re saying in your confessional. Any other questions?”