Rock Star Romance Ultimate Volume 2

by Mankin, Michelle

  I chuckle. “You’d cream yourself if she ever gave you the time of day.” Taelyn Steel is hot, red-haired, tall, thin, and totally in love with her husband, exactly like he is with her. We just allow River this little, indulgent fantasy. It’s not hurting a damn thing… and it pisses X-man off, which is always funny.

  “I would have brought her on board, let her feel my beat.” River cringes. “But she has a kid now.”

  Whatever. Fucker loves that woman. I know damn well he would hit it and try to keep it.

  “They’re kids,” Nick is saying. It sounds like he’s trying to calm the X-man down.

  “That’s just stupid shit, Nick!” X sounds pissed, more pissed than I have ever heard him and I’ve heard him pissed. “Between you and Rico, neither of you thought I should know? How many thousands were spent on these fucking shirts and hats and—”

  “Slow the fuck down, X. One damn question at a time.” Nick’s laugh is awkwardly placed. “First, you are the one who said the name needed more.”

  “More, yes. But this shit?”

  “Rico’s design is sick, man.” Nick’s tone is calm now. “And you got my text and said ‘sounds good,’ so your stamp of approval is on this shit, too. No time to change it. This starts tomorrow if they agree.”

  “They’d better fucking agree. They’d better also realize that the way this company works is shit gets paid back before the royalties start getting doled out. Assuming they get a huge cut, they just completely fucked us all with this stunt.”

  “I disagree.” I walk in, wearing my business face.

  “What the hell is he talking about?” River follows me in and grabs one of the T-shirts off the table. “This is sick.”

  He holds it up against himself as Finn and I sit, turning our attention to River like he’s working the center pole at a strip club. He takes the black tee with the grey, crackled circle enclosing the different shades of reds and oranges spelling out our band’s name as he dry humps the air and rubs it down his front.

  “Sick is right!” Xavier doesn’t look or sound impressed. “You tell me, River, how well do you think you’re gonna do at the after parties with the ladies sporting one of those T-shirts?”

  “I always do well with the ladies.” River drops the shirt and plops down next to Finn.

  “Are you high?” Xavier scowls at him.

  “Just a few hits this morning.” He shrugs. “Just pot, though. Not the other stuff.”

  This is good considering River was shooting up when Xavier found him and then he had a coke habit for a while after that.

  Exasperated, Xavier throws his hands up. “Nick, we aren’t ready for this shit in three days.” He points at the three of us. “You guys want this about as much as anyone wants”—he holds up the shirt—“a fucking STD.”

  “People love rock, X.” River picks up the shirt again and looks at it, paying attention to the details for the first time, and his smile disappears. “That shit’s not funny, Memphis.”

  “So, there we have it.” X scowls. “The fucking ‘normal’ one is behind the name?”

  Finn pushes his sleeves up, exposing the ink that covers his arms before he folds his arms over his chest. “All three of us decided on it. It’s actually quite genius.”

  “Nothing funny about a goddamned STD,” River growls, adjusting himself under the table.

  “River obviously had no idea.” Xavier looks between Finn and me, like he’s trying to decide which one of us is gonna be sent to stand in the corner.

  “River knew,” Finn says. “He was just too fucked up to—”

  “Bullshit,” River sputters. “I haven’t smoked in three days… until this morning.”

  Xavier is now pacing and sputtering under his breath.

  “We promote safe sex,” I speak up, trying to put a spin on it.

  “Yeah, that’ll go over like River at an NA meeting,” Xavier huffs.

  “I should take offense to that,” River says, clearly not offended. “And I would if the last one I attended didn’t go so, so horribly wrong.”

  “You know those T-shirt cannons they use at sporting events?” Xavier looks at me like I’m crazy, so I clarify. “I sent a message to a friend last night, and he’s building us a condom cannon—”

  “Fucking genius.” Finn reaches out his fist for me to bump.

  “We just need to get some condoms with this logo on it, and we’re golden. Every bitch in the world is gonna want Steel Total Destruction, the only STD that makes their panties as wet as the Jersey Shore.” I smirk, feeling proud.

  “The one that makes them scream out in pleasure,” River adds while typing a note in his phone.

  “The burn that doesn’t need medicated ointment.” Finn reaches out his fist again. This time he gets no bump.

  “Nah, man.” Nick cringes. ”That’s just sick.”

  Knowing Nick’s officially in, I smile to myself. Fucking perfect. Come on, X-man, I silently plead.

  “If you fail, this is on you.” Xavier’s eyes narrow as they meet mine.

  I shrug. “Ain’t gonna happen. You knew what we were when you handpicked us, so don’t start doubting us now.”

  We all look up at the door when X’s wife Taelyn walks in, holding their baby. She looks up and pushes her long, auburn locks over her shoulder.

  “Good morning!” She greets as she sways gently with the baby in her arms. Did I mention she’s hot? Yeah she is, and fucking smart, and I knew she would be on our side.

  “Good morning, Taelyn.” River makes a beeline for her and the kid. “Hello, baby Patrick.”

  Taelyn smiles. “He’s sleeping.”

  “Perfect,” River says with a shit-eating smile. “Then may I hold him?”

  “Taelyn,” Xavier growls, clearly annoyed.

  “Xavier,” she mocks back at him, echoing his tone.

  We all laugh except Xavier, of course.

  “You sober?” she asks River. We all know that’s her deal with him. He’s sober, or its hands off the kid. As much as River adores older women, he adores kids even more.

  I can’t help noticing the way River looks at her, like she’s the damn Mona Lisa. I expect him to bullshit her, but he doesn’t. He has mad respect for her.

  He shakes his head, looking guilty, and shrugs. “Maybe next time.”

  Taelyn gives him a sad look. “Okay.”

  She goes over to Xavier and hands their son over. She kisses the baby’s cheek, then his.

  “So, STD, huh?” After seeing the T-shirt, her eyes immediately go to me.

  Xavier laughs at my shocked expression. “Seriously, Memphis, you’re like one of our kids.”

  “Except for the fact that you would have been, like, two when you had him,” River interjects. “Hot, toddler loving.”

  “You’d better watch it, drummer boy,” Xavier hisses while Taelyn nudges him with her elbow.

  “I guess it could work.” She holds the shirt up to her chest, smirking. “If anyone can make a venereal disease sound cool, it’s the three of you.”

  “Four,” I remind her. “Billy boy could rock an STD shirt like nobody’s business.”

  “He could, right?” She laughs. “He’ll be back in a week, very excited.”

  “Wait, about what?” I ask.

  “You’re opening up for the Brody Hines band’s Burning Souls reunion show, you stupid shit.” Xavier speaks in a stern, yet soft I-don’t-want-to-wake-the-baby, voice.

  River looks like someone just slapped him. “You’re fucking joking, right?”

  “Nope.” Xavier smiles. “So, let me ask you a question.”

  “Shoot, man.” I try to look calm, but shit. Fuck, fuckity, fucking shit!

  “You ready to spread ‘your kind of rock’ around like an infectious disease?” The look on his face tells me everything I need to know—X is finally on board.

  My laugh is evil and deep. “Hell yes, we are. Hell. Fucking. Yes.”

  I feel tingly all over. What a fucking rush
this business is. What a motherfucking rush.

  CHAPTER TWO

  * * *

  JULLIARD

  Tallia

  I sit at the kitchen table with my head hung low, waiting for the shiz storm to commence. I know I have crossed some lines—well, not just crossed, more like pirouetted across, moonwalked across while flipping the double bird. Then, when no one was looking, I ran back like the dog I was, tail between my legs, in the middle of the night.

  I used the proverbial line like a jump rope, hopping back and forth between who I am and who I never dreamed I could become. Never in a million years did I think I would be called to audition. Never in a billion years did I think I would have the guts to spend an entire day, while my parents thought I was on a trip to the city with Madison’s family, actually auditioning in front of the most talented and highest esteemed judges at The Julliard School of Performing Arts.

  But I did. I crossed that line. I crossed it good. And now I have to pay the price.

  After another fifteen minutes, my parents—also known as Pastor Theodore and Andrea Priest—finally come out of my father’s office, and I don’t dare look up.

  “Thou shalt not covet. Thou shalt honor your father and mother and remember the Sabbath and keep it holy.” My father’s fist strikes the table in front of me, and I jump. “You said dance was a hobby! You lied to your mother and me. And on a Sunday, Tally!”

  “Theodore,” my mother scolds him weakly.

  “Andrea, if you cannot stand beside me in this, then see your way into the next room.”

  My mom and I both gasp at his retort. My father never speaks to her that way, ever.

  As he looks at her, his face softens, but only for a moment. “Love is not always sweet, Andrea. This occasion calls for tough love.”

  “We should at least hear her out.” My mom’s voice gets a little stronger as she dares to argue. His outburst must have made her mad. “She is nearly eighteen.”

  I’m so ashamed, I want to hide underneath the table. I can’t believe I made them fight. I can practically hear the shredding of my acceptance letter already. My father has always believed the man rules the house while the wife keeps it pretty, and children are better seen than heard and always obedient. He’s a good man, of course, but he can be seriously judgmental.

  “I never thought I would get in,” I whisper, looking down at my hands. “I just wanted to—I don’t know—try.”

  “Try?” My father shakes his head, raising his voice again. “You’ve already applied to Stanford and NYU. You have already spent more than enough time and money trying—”

  “But I haven’t been accepted yet.” I look up at him, wiping my tears away in frustration.

  His eyes widen, like that fact doesn’t matter in the slightest. I can see his face getting redder, probably because his circulatory system is working overtime. He’s never had to deal with a daughter who talks back before. It can’t be good for his blood pressure.

  After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he points to the stairway. “Go. Go now before I say something I cannot take back!”

  I leave the little church parish kitchen as quickly as I can without running. Once I’m alone in my room, I grab the door to slam it, but then I don’t. I merely shut it gently and then dramatically throw myself on my bed where I cry, also dramatically.

  When a sudden vibration in my pocket makes me jump, I pull out my phone, staring dejectedly at the screen. It’s Madison.

  “Hey,” I whisper into the receiver.

  “Hey,” she says just as quietly. “Why are we whispering?”

  “Madison.” I sigh, sniffling. “I have a joy and a concern to share with you.”

  “Wow. Okay, both in the same conversation? I don’t know if I can handle it.”

  The sound of her laughter makes me want to cry all over again.

  “It’s not funny, Mad. It’s not something to—”

  “Ugh, just spill it!”

  “Well”—I lick my lips—“my dad got the mail today.”

  “Wait, which news is this? The joyous or the concerning?”

  “Both,” I say. “I told you they were both—”

  “Right, right. Go ahead.”

  “My dad got the mail today,” I continue, “and there was a letter from Julliard.”

  “No fucking way!”

  I cover my mouth out of habit. Curse words always tickle my ears, no matter the content or occasion. “Yes, fluffing way.”

  “Oooo, is he, like, really pissed?”

  “Of course.” I stifle a giggle, not because of how mad he is, but because of the ‘P-word.’ “There’s no way he’d ever let me go.”

  “I don’t think he has the right to tell you what to do, Tally.” Madison sounds angry on my behalf. “You’re gonna be eighteen in three days.”

  Of course she doesn’t understand. Her parents are nothing like mine. “I don’t want to disappoint them, though. I don’t—”

  “Well, I don’t want you to disappoint you, Tally.” As usual, she bowls right over me. “This is a dream come true. An opportunity of a lifetime, a fucking…”

  Suddenly, I hear a soft knock on my door.

  “Gotta go.”

  I hang up the phone and try to act natural just as Mom walks in.

  “You okay?”

  I sit up, trying to remember Madison’s words of encouragement. Maybe I just need to try harder.

  “I feel awful, Mom, but I don’t want to lie to you. That letter, that acceptance … it makes me happy. So, so happy.”

  She sits down on the bed and pulls me into her shoulder. “Give him a couple of days, sweetheart. Just let him think, stew, and vent to me for a while. Then, I think he’ll get over the betrayal.”

  Only my mom could make the word ‘betrayal’ sound so biblical.

  “Mom, that’s not what I was trying to do. I never dreamed I would get a letter telling me my audition tape was accepted, that they wanted me to come to the auditions, or that I would be chosen to move from ballet to modern dance to …” I trail off when she starts to cry. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. I’m being selfish. My baby girl is growing up. I always knew you had talent. You shine up there on stage. Year after year, I have watched you at recitals—”

  “That Dad hates.” I look down, already dreading where this is going.

  “No, Tally, he loved watching you dance. He just didn’t like the team uniform,” she says, pushing my hair away from my face. “Every recital, he sat and watched you, and he was in awe of you. He said you looked like he imagined an angel would.”

  “I never thought this would happen, but now that it has … I’m so afraid he’ll say no.”

  She smiles faintly. “I know you are nervous, but it’s going to be all right.” She kisses my forehead. “Get some rest, baby girl. Things always look brighter in the morning light.”

  I nod, feeling better for the first time, hopeful even. “Okay, but first I’m gonna shower. I haven’t had a chance since I got home from the studio.”

  “Of course.”

  After my shower, I towel off my hair and throw on my favorite pink pajamas. It’s been unusually warm lately, so I open the window and lean out to breathe in the fresh spring air. Then I hear a noise on the street and lean out farther to see what it is.

  “Oh, my word!” I freeze when I see him standing under the streetlight.

  My breath catches in my throat, but I’m not afraid. I would know him anywhere. Not just because he stands a perfect six-foot-three, but also because of the way he walks—with his head held high, broad shoulders squared—and because of his messy black hair, so effortless and cool. If I could see his eyes in the dark, I would see they are a brilliant blue, like the ocean on a hot day. His jeans hang almost obscenely low. Of course, he’s also wearing his signature white tank top, black boots, and that worn, leather jacket.

  I must have leaned a little too far, though, because my phone slips out of my hand to clatter
loudly across the porch roof and then over the edge to thud dully on the ground below.

  Oh, no! I cringe. Please let that indestructible black case truly be indestructible.

  After a few seconds of standing frozen, waiting for all chaos to break loose, I open the window wider, quietly lowering myself onto the roof. I’m not afraid of getting hurt, because I have done it before. We have practiced fire safety drills twice a year in my house for as long as I can remember.

  Keeping my center of gravity low, I slide down on my bottom and roll onto my stomach, scooting down until my body is hanging over the edge, my feet blindly searching for the railing. It takes a few tries, but I figure it out. A few seconds later, I’m bent over, rummaging through the bushes, praying I don’t get sprayed by a skunk or bitten by some other inhabitant of the underbrush world. I reach in blindly, poking around until my hand makes contact with something hard and plastic. Then I get out of there as soon as the phone is in my hand.

  Once up off the ground, I frisk myself, hoping to remove any dirt or bugs that may have hitched a ride on my pajamas. Confident that I’m not a carrier, I turn around … and scream as a huge hand comes up to cover my mouth.

  “If I let go, do you promise not to scream?” The voice is deep and slurred, though undoubtedly Memphis Black’s.

  I relax a little, nodding against his hand.

  “That’s a good girl.”

  He lets go and steps back, eyeballing me suspiciously.

  “You don’t have a gun, do you?”

  “No,” I whisper, smiling stupidly.

  He crosses his muscled arms and leans back against the corner of the porch. After a few seconds, he starts to slide.

  “Memphis.” I grab for his arm, trying to keep him upright.

  “Shh.” He holds his finger to my lips. “If we wake my parents up, I won’t have any time to spend with you. Not that engaging in a midnight surprise meet and greet with a fan is normal or deserving of my time, but I will say I am intrigued by your choice of attire. Were you going for the ‘little virgin’ look? Because ‘naughty school girl’ is more up my alley.”