Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set

by Jade C. Jamison

  I started sliding discs out, considering which one I’d want to hear. The third one I pulled out, though, was a writable CD. Someone had written in a black Sharpie marker the words Pain and Agony Demo on one line and then For Casey on the next. I smiled. “Seriously?”

  He shot a glance at the CD before switching lanes. “Yeah. That’s the CD we played the other night, the one you missed.”

  “This is for me?” He nodded. “Thanks.” Well, I didn’t want to hear anything else if I had the opportunity. “Can we listen to this right now?”

  “Sure.” He pointed to the CD player, so I popped out the Hatebreed disc, sliding in the one in my hand. The first track was one I’d never heard before. And then I realized that if this really were a demo CD, all the music would probably be original. What a sweet surprise.

  I leaned my head back and closed my eyes, just absorbing the music while Scott drove wherever it was we were going. A few minutes later, he parked his truck on Main Street. I knew there were some restaurants there, but I didn’t know exactly where we were going. He got out first. Ordinarily, I would have hopped out of his truck myself, but I knew I’d need his help getting out again. So I opened the door and swung my legs to the side but waited for him to come to my side. “Hey…thanks for the CD.”

  He looked almost bashful when he shrugged. “Sure. I wanted you to have a copy. But there’s a catch.” His placed his hands on my waist to help me slide out of the truck.

  “What’s that?”

  “You need to tell me what you think after you’ve listened to it.”

  “I can already tell you I love it.”

  He smiled, lifting me off the seat down onto the pavement in front of him before pulling me close and giving me a warm, sensual kiss. Oooh…not a good idea. I wouldn’t want to go on an actual date if he kept that up. “Hope you like pizza.”

  I really didn’t care what we ate. “Love it.”

  So we walked down the sidewalk a bit and turned into Napoli Pizzeria. Oh, my God. I hadn’t been there since high school. We walked inside and were assaulted by the smell of garlic. I was glad to see the place hadn’t changed a bit. A waitress came to seat us, and Scott asked for a quiet booth near the back. While I was glancing at the menu, Scott asked, “Would you be okay with a pepperoni pizza and a pitcher of beer?”

  “Of course—and we can split the tab if you want.”

  “Nope. I got this.”

  A waitress came to our table and asked, “Are you ready to order?” After a second, she asked, “Oh, hey, Scott. How’ve you been?”

  “Great. How’s it going, Nicki?”

  “Actually, pretty good. I just started as an intern with the newspaper.”

  “Yeah? That’s pretty cool.”

  “What about you? Still with Pain and Agony?”

  “Yeah.”

  “We keep waiting for you guys to break big.”

  “Don’t hold your breath. Uh, Nicki Sosebee, this is Casey Williams.”

  About time. “Hi, nice to meet you.”

  “You, too.” At least the waitress’ smile was warm and genuine. “So what can I get you guys?”

  After Scott gave her our order and she promised to bring back the pitcher of beer, I asked, “How do you know her?”

  Was I jealous? Maybe a little. Having to worry about psycho Wendy was more than enough.

  “We went to high school together. Hung out with the same crowd.”

  Which made me wonder… “What year did you guys graduate?” When Scott told me, I understood. “Oh. You guys were four years ahead of me. No wonder I didn’t remember you from school.”

  “Shit.” Scott’s eyes grew large.

  “What?”

  “I’m robbing the cradle, Casey. I’m afraid we’ll have to stop seeing each other.”

  I decided to tease back. “I like older men. How old are your grandkids?”

  He wrinkled his brow. “You know what? That shit would be possible.”

  “What?”

  “Grandkids. I mean, let’s just say I knocked up a girl as a kid. Like if I could have had sex the first time I really wanted to. I’m talking like twelve or thirteen. Even if I’d been with someone older, if I’d gotten someone pregnant when I was that young, and then my kid had done the same thing, I really could be a grandfather.”

  I started laughing. “I don’t know if I should be horrified or impressed that you went to the trouble of figuring that out right now.” Scott’s friend delivered the pitcher of beer then and I asked, “So how old are you?”

  “Twenty-nine.”

  I relaxed then. Whether he had grandchildren or not, he wasn’t that much older than I was.

  Scott poured beer into one of the glasses and handed it to me. While he was pouring the second glass for himself, he said, “You know, Casey, you’re kind of a mystery woman.”

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Tell me something about yourself I don’t know.”

  “Like what?”

  He shrugged, lifting the glass to his lips. “I don’t know. Anything.”

  I wasn’t going to tell him about Barry. No way. Scott knew I was divorced, and that was all he really needed to know about my past. If our relationship progressed, he’d maybe start asking why Barry couldn’t leave me alone—and why I hadn’t blocked his number yet—but I didn’t know that I could understand that myself. Whatever the case, I wasn’t going to talk about it right now.

  “Let’s see.” I took a sip of the beer. My mom was right about one thing—I didn’t eat a lot, and I would never be known for having a healthy appetite, especially since I’d become a smoker. But the taste of the beer and the smell of garlic hanging in the air made me hungry for pizza, and I relished those sensations as I wracked my brain for safe information. “I went to college for two years.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. But it didn’t take me long to realize it was a waste of time.” I was lying to him, but that was because I’d told myself that lie for so long that I almost believed it. I’d been attending school on a healthy scholarship, but Barry had convinced me that we needed to get married when he graduated—and we moved to Denver and I hadn’t bothered transferring or anything.

  I’d been stupid and in love—and maybe I was making that same mistake again.

  “Why’s that?” Scott’s voice pulled me back out of my own brain.

  “I’m an artist.”

  “Yeah, I knew that. You had that thing at the gallery last month, right?”

  “You remembered.”

  “How could I forget that dress?” I grinned and stifled a giggle, instead drinking a little beer. “So tell me about your art. What exactly do you do?”

  “I paint, draw, sketch. God, if I could, I’d love to make a living that way.”

  “I’d love to see your work sometime.”

  “I want you to. I sold one right after the exhibition.”

  “Shit. Seriously?”

  “Yeah. And she put another one on display. I really need to get my shit together and paint some new ones. I’ve got a feel for what she likes now. I just…haven’t been inspired.” I loved that Scott was interested in me, but I didn’t want to be under the microscope anymore. “What about you, Scott? Do you have anything else going on besides your band?”

  “Does there need to be anything else?”

  “No, not really. I just wondered if you guys have any big plans.”

  “I’m just happy playing whenever we have the chance, but Lee and Andrew want more.” He took another swig of beer. “Thus, the demo CD.”

  I sensed a little hesitation. “Ahhh…but…are you okay if it winds up going somewhere?”

  He shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Why wouldn’t you be?”

  He gave a sigh and stared at the amber liquid inside his glass. “I don’t like all the fucking attention. It’s bad enough when we play somewhere. Like last fall—we played at Bad Boys.”

  “That’s the biker bar on the other end of Main,
right?”

  “Yeah. The place was fucking packed. And then the manager asked if we wanted to be the house band. I didn’t say shit, because the guys are already frustrated with me, but it didn’t work out anyway, ‘cause it’s hard for all of us to arrange a night to play. Our schedules are hard to coordinate. But it worked out for me.”

  “Don’t you think you could get used to it?”

  Scott shook his head slowly. “Did you like your art show?”

  “I loved it.”

  “I don’t like that kind of stuff.”

  Before I could even ask why, our pizza arrived. Scott was right about something—I loved being praised for my creativity and ingenuity, and I couldn’t quite fathom why someone else didn’t love the accolades that came from showing off what you did best.

  It made me want to dig deeper inside this man…even if it would be my ultimate undoing.

  Chapter Sixteen

  A while later, we were next door at Shooters, a sports bar. But we weren’t there for the widescreen TVs playing baseball and minor league football games.

  We were there for pool.

  It wasn’t a game I was good at—not that I cared. I was there for the company. Luckily for us, the bar wasn’t even half full. That didn’t surprise me, considering it was a weeknight. Scott took my hand, sending a shiver up my spine, but he wasn’t leading me toward the pool table.

  Instead, we were heading toward the jukebox.

  “We need some music first.” While he was fishing change out of his pocket, I noticed the tattoo with writing peeking out from under his sleeve. I lifted it so I could read the plain black script: Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.

  “Is that how that quote goes?”

  “Yeah. The guy’s name was George something. A philosopher.”

  “So why’d you have it inked on your arm?”

  He dropped a couple of quarters into the machine, grinning. “‘Cause I’m one of those fucking idiots who forget and repeat the past. So it’s kind of like a string around the finger, only a lot more permanent.”

  “Not a bad idea, though.” I hadn’t removed my hand from his arm. His skin was smooth but firm beneath my fingers, and the letters alone were art. Inspired, I silently assured myself I could try my hand at coming up with some tattoo art. How cool would that be to have someone like Scott wearing my art permanently? God, that idea made me hot.

  “I need all the help I can get.” He plunked a few more quarters in the slot.

  When I finally let his sleeve drop and looked up at him, I could tell it was pretty evident where my mind was going. His lips were parted, his eyes dark, but he was still caught up in whatever he’d been thinking about from his past—and I wondered what his words meant. Before I could ask, he said, “This song right here is one of my new favorites.” And then he winked.

  It was bait and I bit, looking down to see he’d chosen Lamb of God’s “Set to Fail,” a song I’d last heard on the brink of orgasm. I felt a foolish grin threaten to cover my face. Was I blushing—or just feeling warm?

  “Your turn. You pick.”

  I chose another Lamb of God song, “In Your Words,” another one we’d listened to that night. And when he picked Slipknot’s “Psychosocial,” I chose “Duality.” When he punched in a number for an Ozzy tune, I picked Avenged Sevenfold. Him? Old school Asking Alexandria. Me? New school Bullet for My Valentine.

  And so on until we’d used up the money.

  As we turned to survey the pool tables, Scott said, “Definitely hope for you yet, Casey.” There were two guys in the corner playing pool, but the other tables were free, so we wound up taking the one we were closest to.

  “I might have some quarters in my purse if you want me to—”

  “I told you I have this, Casey. I wouldn’t have asked you out if I couldn’t afford it.”

  I nodded, smiling, knowing I’d misstepped yet again. What the fuck was wrong with me? Was I wanting to ruin this? “Okay. Sorry.”

  Soon Scott was plunking more quarters into the table. While the balls dropped, Scott put the triangle on the table and began racking them up. “You know…we could make this interesting.”

  Ooooh… “Yeah?”

  “Yeah. We could make a bet.”

  “A bet? Like what?”

  “Not money—that’s too easy.”

  I thought about it while he pulled the triangle off the balls. “Okay. How about this? If you win, I’ll do a sketch of you and sign it.” With the most serious look I could muster, I added, “You know it’ll be worth a lot someday.”

  “You’ve got the idea. I love that. Okay…so if you win, how about I give you a couple of drum lessons. Would that be something worth playing for?”

  Whoa…I wouldn’t have asked for that, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t something I’d like. I imagined making music was a lot like art. It was creating something out of nothing. Actually, it wasn’t nothing. It was making something out of pain or love or other emotions. So, yeah, I figured I’d enjoy that. Besides, I thought having Scott as a drum teacher might be…erotic somehow. I could get into that. From his expression, I could tell he already knew my answer.

  But then those green eyes of his did so much more—they caressed me, probed my soul. If we could connect and make love—even fuck like animals—with our eyes, well…I was experiencing foreplay at the moment. I swallowed a deep breath. “Yeah, that’d be awesome.”

  Taking my hand and pulling me close, he whispered, “And I’ll sleep with you.”

  I slapped his arm playfully. “You don’t want to seem easy, do you?”

  Touching my forehead with his, he gazed into my eyes, looking dreamy. Smitten even. It was almost overwhelming. “Oh, it’s okay if you think I’m easy, just as long as you know I’m not cheap.”

  What exactly did he mean by that? His words had an unexpected heaviness, one that made my inner rabbit freeze. He was trying to tell me I had some kind of responsibility, one I didn’t know I wanted—and I had no fucking idea what to say next.

  The easiest response was to kiss him, distracting us both from the moment. And it worked, feeling like I’d refreshed a webpage, causing us to return to our previous flirty, sexy date. “So…pool. Just so you know, I’m not very good at it. I haven’t played it a lot.”

  Turning to the wall, he examined the pool cues, pulling two down. After giving each a cursory glance, he handed one to me, and I couldn’t miss the devilish grin on his face. “Are you asking for a handicap?”

  I laughed as I felt a blush threaten to warm my cheeks. “No…the bets as we placed them still stand. I’m a big girl, Scott, and I can lose with grace.” My voice got quieter. “Besides, it’s kind of a win-win for me no matter what.”

  That grin he flashed back nearly melted my panties. “That’s kinda what I thought, too.”

  “Just don’t laugh at how shitty my playing is.”

  “Never.”

  “So how do we decide who goes first?”

  “That’s easy. Ladies first.”

  A middle-aged woman wearing a short black apron approached us. “Either of you need a drink?”

  “I’d love a Bud. What about you, Casey?”

  “Make that two.” I didn’t want to drink too much or anything too hard. I planned on having Scott claim his prize later and I needed to be at my best.

  Leaning over the table, I aimed at the top of the triangle of balls, and a solid one actually landed in the corner pocket. Whew. Now it didn’t matter how good a player Scott was. Whatever the case, I got one ball in. Anything else would be gravy, as far as I was concerned. Smiling, I then moved to the side of the table, aiming to get another solid in the side but failed. Scott, on the other hand, turned out to be an excellent player, sinking a majority of his striped balls on his first turn. He had to take a break in the middle to pay the waitress for our drinks.

  He missed the last striped ball he had to get in the pocket, turning the play back over to me. I frowned,
not that I was having a bad time. “Hmm. Looks like I’ll be digging out my pencils.”

  “Don’t give up so easily, Casey.”

  Easy for him to say. The ball I shot wound up bouncing off the back of the pocket instead of going down. Maybe I could improve with time, but I didn’t want to play long enough tonight to get good at it. “Your turn.” I nursed my beer while he sunk his last ball, following it up with the eight ball. So…he didn’t just win, he did it decisively. “I won’t give you cooties, you know.” He stood then, a question in his eyes, not catching my joke. “Sleeping with me if I would have won…I wouldn’t have given you cooties. Didn’t know you were so afraid to lose.”

  “Oh, shit. What the hell is wrong with me? I should’ve thrown the fuckin’ game.” Laying his cue on the table, he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me close. “But if I throw the next game now, you’ll know I’m doing it on purpose.” A quick kiss on my lips and then a wink before picking up his cue again. “Told you I wasn’t cheap.”

  Somehow I felt relief, letting myself believe that was all his comment had meant earlier. Still, I couldn’t help but wonder if he meant something else, like he wanted more…much, much more.

  Scott began dropping more quarters in the table when I thought I heard someone yelling our names across the room over the sounds of “To the Stage.” He looked up and I followed the path of his eyes to spy Jim and Julie.

  In seconds, they joined us. Julie and I said hi to each other while Jim slapped Scott on the shoulder. “What’s up, man?”

  Scott took a drink of his beer. “What the hell’s it look like?”

  “Yeah, and I’ll have you guys know I’m getting my ass thoroughly kicked.”

  “That was just the first game, babe. Now’s your chance to even the score.”

  Julie walked over to the bar while Jim looked over at me…and then did a quick scan of my legs. Seriously? What a fucking creep. Scott didn’t seem to notice, which made me question if I’d actually seen it.

  Scott said, “Ready, Case?”

  Jim said, “Hey—wanna play doubles?”