Rock Star Romance Ultimate Volume 2

by Mankin, Michelle

  I frown up at him. “What are you talking about?”

  He smirks and his dimple deepens. “Oh, I see.” He takes a step closer to me.

  “You do?” I honestly have no idea what he’s talking about.

  “Are you lost, little girl?” His tone is campy and a little creepy as he moves into my personal space.

  I take a step back.

  “Oh, and she is shy.” He groans in a sexy way, and I immediately feel my face burst into flames.

  “Memphis, I don’t understand. Why are you here?”

  “Oh, I’m sure you just stumbled across my address on the Internet.” He doesn’t seem to understand what I’m asking.

  “Memphis,” I try again. “You know me. I’m—”

  “Shhh. No names tonight.” His arm snakes around my waist, then pulls me hard against his body. “No names, you sexy, lost, little thing. I’m going to make this little game worth your effort, though. I promise you that.”

  His right hand slides up the back of my pajama top, and then he gently takes the back of my head in his other hand, leaning in close.

  I should step away; I know that. I should, but I don’t. And when I try to speak up, my voice just isn’t there.

  As his lips finally make contact, he slides them across mine without pressing too hard; instead, it’s soft and gentle, the way I always imagined my first kiss, and I feel my body begin to tingle. My eyes close on their own as he kisses my cheek, running his nose along my jaw and down my neck, taking a deep breath as he goes.

  “Damn, lost, little one, you smell so sweet.”

  I find myself moving my head to the side, giving him more room to take in my fragrance.

  I have never felt anything so amazing. I have never felt more special, never thought in my wildest, most secret dreams that Memphis Black would be my first kiss. I can’t believe my childhood dream actually came true.

  “Fuck,” he says right before turning his head to throw up not once, but three times. The third time, he manages to get vomit all over my bare feet. When he’s finally done, he straightens up shakily. “I need to go in and lie down.”

  I can’t think of anything else to do but help him. Somehow, I manage to get him across the road and prop him against his house. Then I dig around the flowerpot for the Black family’s hidden key before I unlock the door and push it open.

  “Memphis.” I shake him awake because he’s sliding again. “Memphis, you’re home.”

  He slurs something at me then, some inaudible gibberish. I grab his arm and throw it over my shoulder as I half walk, half drag him inside. We make our way to the couch, and I try to help him sit on it.

  His eyes roll back in his head when he tries to look up at me. “You’ll sleep here?”

  “I really have to go.”

  “I like the way you smell,” he mumbles. “I want you to sleep …” His eyes close, and he starts falling to one side.

  I help him lie down, then pull his boots off, lifting his feet and placing them on the couch. I watch him for longer than I should, but he is just so beautiful I can’t help myself.

  Finally, regretfully, I turn and walk out the door, making sure it locks behind me. Then I put the key back and run across the street, hoping my parents never noticed I was gone.

  CHAPTER THREE

  * * *

  FINAL SET AS AN OPENING ACT...

  Memphis

  I look in the mirror one last time. I have on a black hat, white tank, black jeans, and boots. With no time for a fucking haircut as the crazy-ass opening act for the Burning Souls tour, the hat is a must.

  It’s been like this for a year. Roll out of bed and over whatever piece of ass I snatched to bring back to the bus or hotel room the night before. Roll my ass to the gym because—let’s face it—I need to look good naked. Even though there is a no cell phone or camera rule after one of the bitches posted my morning wood on social media, shit could still happen. Thank the stars my dick is impressive, and that mighty oak held that sheet up like a boss. Next, we roll to wherever we’re rehearsing, roll to sound checks, roll to an interview or two, roll back to the stage and rock and roll for an hour. There’s not nearly enough time to play everything we have.

  “Hello, New Jersey!” I hold the mic out for the crowd’s roar, and hell yes, they give me exactly what I want. “I am Memphis Black, lead singer and guitarist extraordinaire for Steel Total Destruction!”

  Still can’t explain the buzz I catch off the roar from the crowd. It’s like a spiritual erection, a transcendent orgy to my soul, a divine intervention within every cell of my body.

  “You ready for some STD? You ready to get rocked so hard you can’t walk straight for a week?”

  There’s that noise again: the screams, the shouts, the lust for our music … and for us.

  “I like the way you sound.” I look off stage to see Xavier pointing and scowling. Aw, for fuck’s sake, I growl inside. “Get ready, ladies—”

  “Prepare yourselves,” Finn interrupts, and then the fucking condom cannons jizz all over the crowd.

  As they scramble around, screaming and grabbing the fucking condoms like little crack whores, River spanks the drums. The crack and pop of the snare proceeds Finn’s finger banging the G and L Tribute, and I begin singing our first hit song, “Going Down.”

  The crowd screams, and the girls in the front row dance, trying to gain my attention. I see a blonde with a nice rack, and I wink. She freaks and points to herself, so I wink again as I continue singing. Then I turn my attention elsewhere; she needs to work for it, and by work for it, I mean show me some damn titties or I’m gonna look elsewhere.

  An hour later, I am sweating balls, quarter chubbed, and we are heading off stage.

  “No shit.” I hear a smile in Finn’s voice, must be Christmas. I look up as he says, “Maddox fucking Hines.”

  “No shit,” I say, just as shocked.

  “Which one? Big tits at two o’clock or tiny titties, big ass at four, or the others? ” our road manager asks, nodding to the group of girls lined up like a dessert buffet.

  “Thanks, Sleazy D, but I think I’m gonna hang out and watch the show. Maddox never plays with his Dad’s band anymore. I wanna see if he’s as good as his old man.”

  “Are you serious?” he gasps.

  Finn pats him on the back and points. “A fucking legend has returned to stage; do you think he’s kidding?”

  “Great set, gentleman,” T, the drummer for Burning Souls, says as he pats my back while walking by. “Let’s hit this shit, Hines,” he yells back.

  “That his wife?” River asks as we all stand, watching Maddox pull a blonde chick hard against him.

  “Yeah, fucking hot, too.” I shake my head. “But why the hell get bogged down at the beginning of your career, then walk away?”

  “Everyone has a story, man,” Finn says. “Google it. Unreal.”

  River snickers. “I’d bang her like a fucking bass.”

  Maddox Hines’s head snaps right, and he steps back, but his wife catches his hand and shakes her head.

  “Sweetness,” he growls.

  “Get out there and show me you haven’t lost it.” She blushes.

  He smirks. “You know I haven’t.”

  Then she whispers something in his ear, and his eyebrows shoot up.

  “It’s on.” He pulls back and then walks at us. “Say one thing about her, and I’ll hear it, even on that stage. I will—”

  “Maddox.” His wife is next to him instantly.

  “Mine,” he growls at us before kissing her, then walking on stage.

  “Hello, New Jersey!” Maddox yells to the screaming crowd. “This is one hell of a crowd to end the Burning Souls US tour. Thanks for coming out tonight! Feels like déjà vu. It was only three years ago I stood here on this very stage at Bader Field, doing the same damn thing: ending one hell of a tour!”

  The crowd screams. They love it.

  “Did you miss me? Of course you did. I missed you, t
oo!”

  “Sorry about that.” His wife smiles at us, then quickly walks to a stool that is obviously purposely set just off stage and sits.

  A dark-haired chick almost skips past us to her side, and they hug then begin singing.

  I notice Maddox look at her, and apparently, he likes that her friend is present. I kind of like it, too. She has a nice, round ass.

  “Squats.” I nod.

  “Definitely.” Finn, River, Billy, and Sleazy laugh.

  Being backstage, watching the Burning Souls, is different than being on stage myself. There is electricity, a current surging invisibly in the air, connecting everyone together, including us. I felt that same electricity when I went to my first concert as a kid. Hell, I was only, like, ten. Pearl Jam.

  The crowd didn’t come to see us; they came to see them. They got us as a little added bonus.

  As Burning Souls play their asses off, I’m having fun, even singing along. I know their sets just like I know my own. Don’t get me wrong, Steel Total Destruction is better. Well, okay, maybe different is a better choice of words.

  “I wanna end tonight with a song that changed my life, a song I hope will change yours, too. When you find that one person who can make you want to spend the rest of your life with them, hold on to them. When you feel that pull, that force that is greater than you, embrace it, follow it. Life changing events can happen when you finally let someone in.”

  “Fucking pussy whipped,” I mumble.

  “Did you see his wife? I’d let that pussy whip me.” River grabs his dick. “Any fucking day. Her and that little piece next to her.”

  “To each their own man,” Finn says as Maddox Hines begins to sing “Stained.”

  Waves crash like thunder.

  I run.

  Inside my mind,

  I run.

  The sea’s grand reflection opens the warmth,

  Undone, undone,

  Reflecting the love, my soul.

  Burning inside my soul,

  The sea whispers softly, no longer hide.

  Don’t hide, don’t hide, don’t hide, don’t hide.

  Washed away by the sea’s calm,

  Nurtured by the wind, the sound of her song.

  The breeze gently holds me high.

  The weight’s lifted up to the sky

  Elevated, raised, floating up high.

  What remains is a stain, just a stain, a stain.

  Lips touching softly on mine, hidden desperations,

  An island of questions, my pride.

  My pride, my pride, my pride.

  The phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out to see it’s my sister Madison, so I push ignore. Hell, I wish I had that ability growing up.

  Twenty seconds later, it goes off again.

  - 911, call me now

  I walk away to call her back, expecting the worst.

  “Memphis,” she whispers.

  “Mads, what’s going on? Mom and Dad—”

  “They’re fine. It’s Tally.”

  “Did they get the flowers I sent to the service?”

  “Her dad died, like, two months ago.”

  “So what’s the problem, Mads?”

  “I want to bring her with me to—”

  “Oh, hell no.” I laugh. “Can you even imagine her hanging out with the band?”

  “She needs to get away. If she can’t come, then I’m not coming, either,” she huffs the threat.

  “All right then. See you next—”

  “Memphis!” she screams in the phone.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake, Mads, fine. Whatever. Just don’t expect me to hang out with her.” She starts to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. “I’m at my last show, Mads. Chat in a couple days.”

  I shove my phone back in my pocket just in time to hear the last chorus.

  ***

  Last night, we actually crashed at our place for the first time in as long as I can remember. It was actually nice to dive into my bed—alone—and sleep.

  Sleep? Hell, is it possible? A one year tour has ended, a year of traveling across country, spreading STD everywhere. It was a fucking dream come true. Record sales were good, and we were getting airtime on local radio shows and satellite radio.

  We rode coattails. It’s never been my style, but the opportunity to do so was sick. So, last night, as I lay in my king size bed, butt-ass naked with the fan blowing across my freshly showered body, I couldn’t stop the shit-ass grin from spreading across my face.

  I cannot believe it. I’m a fucking rock star, bitches!

  Now, we sit back at headquarters, Forever Four, and wait for Xavier and Nickie D. For once, we’re on time, and they are late.

  “I can’t wait to get away. Need some inspiration,” Finn says as he links his hands behind his head.

  “And a razor.” River smirks.

  “Fuck that,” Finn grumbles, running his hands over his beard.

  “Lumber-sexual,” Billy says, and we all look at him like he’s lost it. “Read it somewhere.”

  The door opens, and X-man walks in with Nickie D behind him.

  “You’re late,” I say smugly.

  “We were on an important call,” Xavier says as he sits down with a shit-eating grin on his face. “You ready to do this without Burning Souls?”

  “Fuck yes—”

  “After a vacation, I hope,” Billy interrupts. Again, we look at him like he has three fucking heads. “Never wanted in to start.”

  “You like it, and you know it, Billy-boy. Stop acting like this isn’t the greatest fucking thing you’ve ever done in your life.” I laugh, and he looks at me. “Come on, man, tickling the ivory then whatever piece of ass you want after.”

  “I am a pianist,” he states blankly, “not a rock star.”

  We all look up as Taelyn Steel slides in and shuts the door behind her. “You love it, and you know it, Billy.”

  “Okay, bottom line”—Xavier stands up—“opening for Burning Souls was an amazing opportunity for Steel Total Destruction.” He tries to look annoyed whenever he says the band’s name, but I know better—hell, we all do. X-man is amused as hell by the band’s name. “But headlining your own tour is insane. It’s the difference between twenty-five K a show, which you get eighty percent of, split between four of you after expenses: gas, bus rental, crew, hotels, meals, and whatever incidentals you have. You each probably made seventy K for the year—”

  “That’s a shit load of money.” River rubs his hands together, and all I can think is, how much of that shit will you spend on candy?

  “It’s really good.” Xavier nods. “But do you want more?”

  “Who doesn’t want more? Hell, show me the dough, bro.” I laugh.

  Instantly, everyone is in hell-yes-we-do mode.

  “Irish,”-Xavier’s nickname for Taelyn-. “Nickie, and I have lined up a fifteen city tour. The lowest paying gig is two hundred K; highest is two hundred fifty K. That means three million dollars. A million will—”

  “What the hell did you just say?” River gasps.

  “Fifteen city tour,” Xavier says, looking at him.

  Finn looks at him suspiciously. “No, man, after that. The money.”

  “Three mil.” Nickie D smirks. “That’s saying no one backs out. Contracts are on their way as we speak.”

  “Fifteen percent stays here,” Xavier interjects. “Expect twenty percent to be used for expenses. Merchandise will be split fifty-fifty after expenses. My guess is you’ll each make about five hundred K after all is said and done.”

  “Holy fuck! Holy motherfucking fuck!” River says what we are all thinking.

  “If that gets you excited, man, understand that isn’t shit compared to what record sales can be if you get your asses writing.” Xavier looks at River. “And stay fucking sober.”

  “Like you did for Burning Souls tour,” Taelyn interjects, making a point to her husband about River’s ability to keep his shit together for the tour.


  “I know you’re all heading down to vacay in Miami for a while, but you need to be writing music, too, not just getting laid. You catch me?” Nicki D says sternly. “The more we have out, the better sales are, and the better sales—”

  “More money, baby.” I high-five Nickie.

  “More money.” He grins.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  * * *

  NO MORE

  Tallia

  My father passed away from a heart attack four month ago. In that time, I have watched Mom, the grieving minister’s wife, go from singing his praises in front of the congregation he led for more than fifteen years before the Lord Jesus Christ took him home, to a sobbing mess who is trying to figure out what to do next when she thinks I am asleep.

  After his death, I spent spring break helping her pack up the parsonage, where we had lived my entire youth. His church family adored him and whenever there was talk about moving us to another church, they fought to keep him here.

  “No, honey, that belongs to the church,” she would say as she took pots and pans out of the boxes I was packing them in. Then the same was said for the knives, the plates, the forks, even the furniture.

  “This is all you have?” I asked, as I looked at the seven boxes that contained fifteen years of personal property collected between her and my father.

  She smiles. “That’s more than I’ll need.”

  Once in the tiny, furnished apartment, we put away those seven boxes, and she was right. In a five hundred square-foot apartment, she would not be able to fit much more.

  Today, I look around my side of the empty, shared dorm room. One year under my belt at Julliard was much more than I had ever dreamed or prayed for. One year of instruction in classical ballet, I think as I open the dresser drawers one more time to make sure I haven’t left anything more behind.

  I won’t be coming back.

  I feel tears prick my eyes, and I push them back. I don’t want my mother to see that this is bothersome to me. She has already offered to pay next year’s tuition with the money from my father’s very small life insurance policy he had from working at the church. However, I refused because that is all she has. That and a social security check that would just barely pay for the rented one bedroom apartment she just moved into and her health insurance premium.