LOW: A Rockstar Romance

by Lux,Vivian

  LOW:

  A Rockstar Romance

  Vivian Lux

  Copyright 2016

  All Rights Reserved

  This book contains adult themes, explicit language and sexual situations. It is intended for mature audiences.

  COPYRIGHT INFORMATION

  Please respect the work of this author. No part of this book may be reproduced or copied without permission. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. Any similarities to events or situations are also coincidental.

  The publisher and author acknowledge the trademark status and trademark ownership of all trademarks and locations mentioned in this book. Trademarks and locations are not sponsored or endorsed by trademark owners.

  (C) 2016 by Vivian Lux and Velvetfire Press

  All Rights Reserved

  BOOKS BY VIVIAN LUX:

  Sons of Steel Motorcycle Club:

  Steel My Heart

  Steel Me Away

  Steel My Love

  Steel My Soul

  Rockstar Romance

  JAX: A Rockstar Stepbrother Romance

  RANE: A Rockstar Stepbrother Romance

  WILDER: A Rockstar Romance

  Sports Romance

  FORCE: A Bad Boy Sports Romance

  IMPACT: A Secret Baby Sports Romance

  I love to hear from my readers!

  Email me at mailto:velvetfirepress@gmail.com

  Friend me at facebook.com/vivianlux.romance

  Like me at facebook.com/vivianlux.author

  Amazon Author Page

  Get the latest in new releases and limited time promotions by signing up for

  my mailing list

  About this book:

  He's every girl's rock'n'roll fantasy. And he wants me?

  Zoe:

  Lowell Stowe is the drummer for Ruthless, the biggest rock band on the planet. And all of a sudden he's one of the hottest faces in town. A rock god turned model...and he's interested in me?

  This can't possibly be reality.

  His skilled musician fingers play my body like an instrument. His lips make me forget about the stress of my real life.

  It's fun to pretend that I'm someone else for a while.

  But it's going to all fall apart. I know this. I'm not stupid. Now I've got to figure out how to end this high-flying fantasy before it crashes down around me.

  Low:

  Loyalty to my band meant I had to step out from behind the drumkit for the first time in my life.

  Now my face is everywhere and there are paparazzi camped out in front of my building.

  Zoe is a distraction from all this weirdness. Her soft body fits in my hands like she was made for me and I can't get enough of the way she sounds when she cries out my name.

  But I've been down this road before. She can't possibly understand the ties that bind me.

  I'm going to hurt her. I'm going to break her heart. There is no denying this will end badly.

  So why can't I walk away?

  Dedication:

  To B., who knows more about romance tropes than any man alive, and is totally secure with that fact.

  To N. and E., guys, I honestly don't know WHO I'd be if I didn't get to be your mom.

  To Sienna Valentine, you're very distracting when I've hit crunch time. You're also very awesome and I don't know what I'd do if you weren't there to distract me.

  And of course, to caffeine. Thank you for keeping me alive.

  Prologue

  A note to my readers:

  The saying goes: if you meet one person with autism...you've met one person with autism. Autism is a spectrum disorder, with delays and abilities that are unique to each person.

  The character of Max has behaviors and traits that reflect my own personal experience with the people in my life who are autistic. He is not meant to be accurate for everyone's experience.

  Low

  "Not me," Keir grinned.

  Rane put his finger to his nose and shook his head emphatically.

  Balzac grunted something that sounded pretty fucking profane. When I raised my eyebrows at him, pleading silently, he only narrowed his eyes and glowered back.

  "Fuck you guys," I exhaled.

  "Looks like you gotta do it, Twitch!" Rane announced, sounding way more gleeful about this whole situation than he needed to.

  I looked wildly at my bandmates. "No way," I shook my head. "Not me. I'm the fucking drummer! This makes no sense, no one even knows what I look like." My foot jiggled up and down in a staccato rhythm that I didn't even notice until Keir looked up from his phone and pointedly stared at it. I reached out and stilled it with my hand. "This is a stupid fucking idea, guys. Why do you want me to do it?"

  Rane stood up from lounging on the couch and stretched like he had no fucks left to give about this whole sorry situation. "Because. He...," he pointed at his brother who was busy typing on his phone, "would rather die than look at any girl that isn't Scarlett. And he," he pointed to Balzac and cocked his head. "Wait, I missed it. Why won't you do it?"

  Balzac folded his arms across his massive chest. I was taller than the dude by a good four inches, but he outweighed me by a good hundred pounds. And even though I knew he was downright gentle when it came to things like tiny kittens and those special fragile tulip bulbs he liked to order all the way from the fucking France or Holland or some other foofy European country, that didn't mean he couldn't be as intimidating as fuck when he wanted to be.

  His bushy eyebrows slammed down. "Because," he growled. "I don't want to."

  "But I don't want to either!" I pointed out.

  Rane waved his hand. "But you will…"

  "Why?" I demanded.

  "Because I'm asking you for a favor."

  I glared at him, gripping the arms of my chair for a second.

  Fucker.

  He cocked his head at me and gave me that smile, just waiting.

  "God dammit," I seethed.

  "That's the spirit!" He turned away from me and spoke into his phone. "Okay, Keith. Twitch will be there for the shoot tomorrow morning at seven AM."

  "Seven A.M.? In the morning?" I looked at all four of my bandmates, my sister included. "I really hate all of you, you know."

  Pepper lifted the corner of her mouth in what I think she thought was a smile.

  "You don't," Keir said dismissively. "You should. But you don't."

  "And besides, models, Twitch!" Rane clapped like a kindergarten teacher trying to get her class enthused about a bad idea. "There will be models!" He waggled his hands in a curvy, feminine shape and made like he was throwing it at me. "All over you!"

  I leaned forward and cradled my head in my hands. "I can not fucking believe we have a fucking perfume fucking named for us anyfuckingway."

  When I get upset, I tend to forget how to speak without swearing.

  "It's not a perfume," Rane corrected formally. "It's a signature scent. A 'Ruthless Experience.'" I could hear the air quotes firmly placed around each word.

  Keir laughed. "I agree with Twitch, though. It's completely, and utterly terrible." His eyes softened a little. "But I'm fucking tired of touring. We all are. I don't know about you guys, but I need to take a year off and just stare at a wall for a while."

  "And bone your girl," Rane corrected.

  "My soon-to-be wife, yes," Keir said. "Watch your fucking mouth."

  I was still stuck on the seven AM part. "And you support this?" I asked my sister. "Et tu Brute? Judas?"

  She gave me the finger and a sly smile.

  "Look," Rane barreled on. He was getting to me and he knew it. "I've got a girl. Keir's
got a girl. And both of them would tear off our cocks and shove them down our throats if we dared to appear in a photo shoot draped in half naked women. So we're out. And Balzac won't do it...."

  "Hell no I won't," Balzac grumbled. "Not unless you motherfuckers wanna die."

  "So," Rane continued, ignoring the threat. "It's either you or Pepper. If you're not going to do it then, I don't know, Pepper?" He turned to my twin sister and waggled his eyebrows. "How you feel about being draped in male models?"

  My sister didn't answer. Of course she didn't. But she widened her eyes, just a fraction. No one would see it but me, but I knew that look. That look of terror about being in the spotlight. Or worse, being around men she didn't know. Pepper around male models? Having to touch them, having them touch her? Without me there to keep an eye on her?

  That thought terrified her.

  And it terrified me too.

  "Yeah, no," I sighed heavily. "It's gotta be me then, huh?"

  Pepper didn't look at me. But I felt the wave of gratitude rise off her skin all the same. It was that twin connection. She didn't need to speak. Not with me.

  "It's you, Twitch!" Rane crowed, clapping me on the back. "The new face of Ruthless!"

  "My face?" I paused, looked over at the mirror that hung over Rane's sofa. My reflection stared back at me.

  He looked confused. And slightly crazed. Not at all like a cover model or whatever the fuck I had just signed on to be.

  "Oh, we're all fucked," I muttered.

  Chapter 1

  Zoe

  I stood up and moved to the couch. Picked up a book, scanned two lines and flung it down. Clicked refresh on my inbox for the millionth time this hour.

  Still nothing.

  I stood back up again, filled with the need to do something, but completely oblivious of what that something was. Went back to the loveseat. Stepped out onto the back patio. Wandered into the kitchen.

  I was saved from a slow descent into insanity by the sound of Jason's ring tone on my cell.

  "Hooker!" I exhaled, in abject relief.

  "Hey bitch," Jason said affectionately. "You picked up quickly."

  "If I didn't answer right then, I was going to start chewing off my all my cuticles out of sheer boredom."

  "Over my dead body," Jason growled. "You are not mutilating yourself on my watch." Then his fierce tone softened. "So, um, I take it the job search is going well?"

  "That's sarcasm, right?"

  "Do I speak any other language?"

  I flopped onto the couch, which seemed to already be molded to my body. "Well, last week I found some new places to ineffectually fling my resume at and subsequently have them ignore. So that's good." I sighed, hating how bitter I sounded. "But today has yielded a fat wad of nothing, Jase. It's three in the afternoon on a Tuesday, my hair is unwashed, and I'm about ready to watch daytime television.”

  "Oh honey," Jason murmured sympathetically. "We have got to get you out of that house."

  "I'm too broke to get out of this house, Jase," I complained. "I went to a coffee place yesterday just to feel human again, and now I'm flat fucking broke." My voice was rising. "I've gotta save my money for a fucking interview outfit just in case I ever get a fucking interview anywhere, and oh! Maybe also save a few leftover pennies to help my parents as they continue to support my unemployed ass well into my mid-twenties." I sighed heavily. "Maybe something will come up today?"

  Jason tutted. "Don't just take anything," he warned.

  "Yes, honey, you've told me this before," I reminded him gently.

  After we had both been laid off from our positions as music writers for the now-defunct Grip magazine, Jason - whose shitty parents had kicked him out five years ago for being gay - was forced to take the first thing that came along. He now had a job at a vanity press, with a terrible, maniacal boss who expected him to both write articles and take her small, yippy rat dog to the groomers.

  He had been bitten four different times over the course of his six-month employment.

  "You have the luxury of a free place to live," Jason reminded me.

  "I know," I said. "Believe me, I am acutely aware of how lucky I am. But, really. I'm twenty-four years old. I've never not lived at home. My parents have been supporting my ass continually for all of this time, and they've got other shit on their plate right now. There's that, plus the very small and insignificant matter of my own self-respect."

  Just then, I heard my mother's van pull up in the driveway. "Hey, I've gotta go. Mom just got home with Max."

  "How's he doing?" Jason asked.

  "Two steps forward, two steps back," I said grimly, hauling myself off of the couch and raking my fingers through my hair in an effort to make it look like I had bothered to brush it today. "He seems to like his new occupational therapist, and she's been doing some really interesting stuff with like, I don't know, brushing his skin or something."

  "Oh, the Wilbarger brushing protocol?" Ever since Max's diagnosis, Jason had taken it upon himself to read every autism article on the Internet.

  "Yeah, that sounds right. Let me let you go, honey. Thank you for calling and keeping me company."

  "That's what I'm here for," Jason said. "Love you, bitch."

  "Love you, hooker," I smiled, and ended the call, just as Max burst through the door.

  "Hey buddy!" I exclaimed, opening my arms wide to fold my little brother into an embrace.

  But he blew past me, arms flapping, and catapulted himself into the couch where he buried his head.

  I guess he had had a bad day at school.

  I knew what to do when he smashed himself into the furniture like this. I grabbed a cushion from the back of the loveseat and laid it on top of him, leaning over on top of that to give him the deep pressure he craved.

  Over my shoulder, I saw my mother walk slowly through the door, looking shell-shocked.

  "Bad day?" I mouthed to her.

  She shrugged, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. "Well? Not completely. I mean, it started out okay," she sighed.

  I waved at her to go. "I'll sit with him a bit," I said.

  She looked relieved. "Thanks, Zo."

  I smiled at her. My mother had me when she was only twenty years old, and we moved through the world together as a mother-daughter team. That didn't change when she married my stepdad, Greg, it didn't change when he legally adopted me, and it certainly hadn't changed when she had my little brother Max at nearly forty years old.

  I loved being such a big sister. It was like being a mom without the guilt. When he was born, he was my buddy, my little doll to dress up and dote on. I had so many plans for what we'd do together, what I'd teach him....

  Right up until things started going sideways.

  Now he was five, and the recent diagnosis was really just all formality at this point. We had known for years that something was different about Max. Now that we knew, it was almost a relief to give it a name. Autism. It felt shitty as hell to label him like that, but that label had opened up so many doors for him. A special-ed classroom with his own aide. A host of new therapies to try. He'd made so much progress in the past year.

  But some days...well they just sucked.

  "Drink wine!" I called to my mother as she opened the refrigerator.

  "Yes, doctor!" she called back to me.

  My phone rang again. I looked over at Max, who had his head still buried in the couch. He seemed to have calmed down a bit.

  "Hey, buddy," I said, poking him gently in the ribs. "Want the tablet?"

  His head popped out of the pillow, and he reached out his hand. "Use your words," I reminded him.

  "Want the tablet," he repeated.

  "Good enough," I sighed. Reluctantly, I pulled the iPad down from the high shelf where it was hidden out of sight and out of reach. I always felt guilty doing this, fobbing him off on electronic devices instead of actually interacting with him, but on days like today, it was the only way I could get a phone call in.


  I answered seconds before my voicemail picked up. "Scarlett!" I exclaimed. Max folded himself into the space between the cushions and the back of the couch. The noise of his game started up.

  "Hey, baby, how you holding up?" she asked by way of greeting.

  I slumped back on the couch. "That's the question for today, isn't it?"

  "Oh shit, did I hit a sore spot?"

  "It's been sore for so long I don't even remember what normal feels like," I sighed dramatically. "Tell me something good."

  "Well… I might actually have a few chapters for you coming up." Scarlett's memoir of her relationship with Keir Wilder - the lead singer of the rock-band Ruthless - had spent several weeks on the bestseller lists. Now she ran a brisk business ghostwriting rockstar memoirs. She had been throwing some ghostwriting my way out of friendship rather than pity. At least I hoped there was no pity.

  "Really?" I sat forward eagerly. "That'd be great."

  "I'm under a really tight deadline for this one right now," she mused. "But I'm doing background research on one for Jaxson Blue…"

  "Oh my God, I absolutely love him," I announced. "You can think me uncool all you want, Missus Rock Goddess. I love that pop shit."

  "Jaxson Blue is actually really nice," Scarlett said diplomatically. "And his wife is a total sweetheart, and so tiny and round from being pregnant that she looks like a beach ball."

  I giggled. "Of course you've met them," I shook my head.

  "I can send you some outlines next week," Scarlett said. "But that's actually not why I called."

  "Oh yeah?"

  "Yeah, actually I was wondering what you were doing Friday night," she said.

  "Are you asking me out on a date? I didn't know you swung that way. Does Keir know?"