by Sadie Grubor
Hidden in the Stars
(a Falling Stars novel)
Sadie Grubor
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Copyright 2015 Sadie Grubor
Cover Art by VST
This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any existing means without written permission from the publisher. Contact Author at [email protected].
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or actual events are purely coincidental. The characters are products of the author's imagination and used fictitiously. The locations, businesses are also fiction, and those that do exist are utilized in a purely fictitious manner. The music mentioned is owned by the original artist and employed in a purely fictitious method. No infringement or malice/ill will is intended by the author or publisher.
Dedication:
In remembrance of Dahlias, buckwheat pancakes, and Christmas.
- FOR G-Ma
Acknowledgements:
Mister Grubor – Thank you for kicking my brain into gear when I can't think of the word I'm thinking of. Nothing but love for you, baby!
Family – Thanks for supporting me and my crazy efforts.
Monica– You totally get where I'm going and trying to say, and that's not easy when half the time I don't know what the heck I'm doing.
The BETA Babes – If it weren't for you ladies, I wouldn't have the motivation to kick out word counts, chapters, and new ideas for upcoming books. I appreciate your willingness to chat and guide me so much.
Grubor Groupies – You all are amazing supports and great fun! Thank you.
iTunes and YouTube – Again, thank you for the never ending source of music to inspire my moods and ease my soul.
Blurb
When you're Jackson Shaw, guitarist of The Forgotten, and your heart’s been broken, shattered by the deception of a woman you thought was the one. When you can't hide from cameras and millions of fans hanging on every dirty detail printed and posted…
When you swear off love and dull the ache with gorgeous women who look nothing like the girl who tore you apart—a supermodel girlfriend and sexplicit escapades splashed across the tabloids is the ultimate revenge. It's also the perfect way to hide your pain in the media. But when the ache turns to a hollow pit and there isn't enough sex, drugs, or alcohol to fill the emptiness, what do you do?
You cut your losses and head to L.A. to mentor the latest reality talent show. You follow an old friend into a world where the art of the bump and grind was perfected. Where the sound of her voice calls to every primal instinct buried within your body and makes the demand for your attention.
Jackson's an addict and just one taste puts him back in the precarious position of falling in love with a woman who's mastered the art of ensnaring and teasing.
The End of Us
Jackson
It's everywhere. The TV, internet…the fucking tabloids. My fucking girl going into a hotel at three in the fucking morning with a random fucking dude. And just to make it more painful, they plastered fucking GIF images all over the internet. Groping, Kissing, Laney giving just as good as she was getting from the asshole who ended it all.
The fact that she called to confess before the media ran with the story means shit to me. I offered the cheating bitch my heart on a goddamn platinum tray and what did she do? She shit all over it.
All around me, my brothers are getting married, having fucking kids, and starting a new phase in their life. A phase I cannot think about without wanting to vomit. And it's all thanks to a heartless, selfish slut.
She didn't even want to work things out. Just confess and walk away, as if I'm just some guy off the fucking street, not the man she's been practically living with and talked about starting a life together.
Well, fuck her and every douchebag she spreads her legs for. I didn't want some white picket fence fantasy and I sure as fuck don't want to be in love with someone who cares so little.
A jerk of my arm and a flick of my wrist sends my cell crashing into the flat screen TV on the wall. Snorting a humorless laugh, I put the bottle of Captain to my mouth and drain the last of the 1.75 liters.
Slamming the bottle onto the tabloid covered table, I stare at the picture of Laney in dark sunglasses, holding a hand out to cover her face. A blurry male face just over her shoulder makes me wonder if this is her new man—my replacement.
Fuck you, Laney. I can move on from you just as quickly as you have from me.
Chapter One
Jackson Shaw
The Forgotten sitting in a studio working on our next single and upcoming CD feels like fucking déjà vu. Elliott drumming his sticks on the soundboard. Jimmy strumming on his bass in a corner, ignoring the way our lead singer and my step-brother, Christopher, tears into Elliott.
Chris threatens to shove the drumsticks up Elliott's ass, and he responds with a grin, saying, "You know just the way I like it, baby."
Slipping my guitar from my lap, I grab Elliott's sticks out of his hands and set them on the table in front of me.
Pouting, Elliott grabs the iPad from a nearby table and plops down into one of the chairs. Chris rubs his face, releases an annoyance filled sigh, and returns his attention to the soundboard.
It's been fucking months since we've been together like this, which is a goddamn shame. Because the walls surrounding each of us never used to be like this. We used to be together each day and night; working and playing. But life gets in the way and things—people—have a way of destroying the things you once loved most.
"Dude, this guy sucks." Elliott sits with his iPad resting against his legs, his feet now kicked up on the sound table.
"Get your fucking feet down," Chris growls, a scowl marring his face.
"I'm just saying, I could sing better than this douchebag." He brings his feet down, but keeps up the conversation. "Have you listened to these yet?" he asks, looking up from his lap.
I shrug. "Most of them."
"I still can't believe you agreed to this," Jimmy scoffs from his lounged position on the leather couch. "I hate those fucking reality shows."
I shrug again.
"Listen to this one!" Elliott's already chuckling when he turns up the sound.
"Christ, who picked these people?" Chris shakes his head and stands from his chair, walking over to Elliott.
"A board of music professionals chose the hundred online contestants," Elliott says, pointing to the list of names alphabetically displayed.
"Why didn't you get to help choose?" Chris asks, looking over at me for answers.
"I didn't want to."
"Why the hell not?" Chris moves back to his seat.
"I agreed to coach and mentor for ten long ass weeks. I’m sure as fuck not doing anything else with these fame hungry assholes," I answer, wishing this conversation would end. The ring of a cell phone grants my request.
"Hey, baby, what's up?" Elliott grins. "What time?" He nods.
"She can't see you, dipshit," Jimmy says, chuckling.
Elliott scowls and flips his thick middle finger up at him.
"Okay, babe, I'll pick it up on the way home...I love you, too." He ends the call.
"So, back to this contest—”
"No," I growl.
It's bad enough I agreed to do this, hearing about it all the time is beyond annoying. Between my parents, the band, the girls, and the hype this damn show is already getting, I’m over it.
The click of the studio door brings a welcome distraction.
"Mia," Chris croons.
As soon as Mia's within reach, he grabs her hips, pulling her onto his lap.
"Hey, guys," Mia greets
, allowing Chris to situate her.
"Hey, guys?" he scoffs. "I'm the important one."
Turning her head, she places her lips on his before pulling back just a bit. Foreheads pressed together, a breath away from each other, she smiles. "Hi."
"That's better." With a large grin on his face and a hand on her thigh, Chris settles back into his chair. "Well, assholes, don't be rude. She said hello."
We all greet Mia in unison, heeding to Chris’ demand. I don't have to look around to know I'm not the only one shaking my head. Hush Mentality toured with us almost two years ago during our Soul Abandonment Tour. Mia, their lead singer, had flipped a switch inside of Christopher. She'd brought him to life after years of living in the darkest hells of his own memories. And I swear, the minute he got the engagement ring on her finger, he became more obsessed…no, arrogant…no... wait, what's the word? Cocky, obsessed, arrogant bastard—that's it.
With talk of the show over, we go back to working on some new tracks. Mia offers her input, Elliott argues with Jimmy about bass, and Chris keeps correcting the knobs when I move them.
In my peripheral, I see everything Chris does to Mia. Palming Mia's breast, slipping a finger into the back of her jeans, kissing the side of her neck, and pulling her down harder onto his lap are just some of the things I wish I hadn't seen. She slaps him away, but he isn't easily deterred.
Maybe ten weeks away from this group wouldn't be so bad. Seeing Mia and Chris only intensifies the hollowness I carry inside. And, hell, seeing Mia makes me think about Laney.
Hushed Mentality hadn't only brought Mia into our fold, but the entire all-girl band. Serena: drummer, older sister to Mia, and now wife to Elliott. Kat, their bassist and all around free spirit in the group. And Laney, Hush's lead rhythm guitarist.
Fucking Laney!
As much as I don't want to admit it, Laney's betrayal still crushes me. The first month after she cheated, I drowned myself in booze. After that, I spent about five months buried balls deep in multiple women, trying to fuck her out of my system. Booze, sex, and the revolving door of female company didn't erase her. Nothing seemed to worked. Whenever I feel like I'm finally over her, the bitch manages to bring me back to my knees.
Like when she started dating the actor used in the last Hush video. It shouldn't have bothered me, but the hurt tore through me like dull razors.
"Hey, Jack, I saw Kristyna's Gucci ad. She looks fantastic." Mia smiles, but she isn't good at hiding how she feels. Her eyes reflect sadness. She always tries to talk to me about my "womanizing and partying" ways, telling me it's not who I am.
"You aren't this guy, Jack. This guy isn't the same one I spent months discussing classic rock and pop songs with," was how Mia ended our last conversation about my life.
It wasn't as bad as she, Chris, and my parents thought. I was just having a good time with fun people.
"On TV or the billboard?" I ask.
"TV." She pulls Chris' hand from between her legs.
"That one is so hot," Elliott purrs. "I just have two questions. How can you stand some other dude having his hands on her tits? And how the fuck do I get that kind of job?"
Mia leans to the side and narrows her eyes on Elliott.
"What?" he shrugs. "I love your sister, but we are talking about a job where you hold boobs."
Mia shakes her head, laughing.
My cell vibrates against my thigh and I lean back, slipping it from my pocket.
"Speaking of Miss Please Hold My Boobs…" Elliott leans over my shoulder as Kristyna's picture flashes on the screen.
When none of my efforts to forget Laney were working, I decided to cut out the multiple women and settle on one who likes to have fun and can handle the crowds. Kristyna Molvic, the fashion world supermodel, is used to publicity, rumors, likes a good party, and welcomes the media attention following our every move. The celebrity bad boy and fashion's sweetheart—our media coverage is frequent and sexplicit. Kristy still has a way of coming across as the sweet girl being corrupted, though. If only they knew the fucking truth.
From the moment Kristyna and I were introduced through a mutual friend, she demanded my attention. Our first night out together, she incorporated other women: bringing other hot girls to grind against me, encouraging sexy socialites to lick different substances from my body…things only she could convince these paparazzi princesses to do. I was a bit put off the first time I watched her snort coke off a girl’s bare tit, but Kristyna is ever the seductress with skills rivaling mythological sirens.
The first time cocaine entered my system was in the back of a limo on the way to an award ceremony. I was in a funk knowing I would run into Hush and Laney.
Always needing to be the center of the universe, Kristyna straddled me in the back of a car—designer evening gown pulled to her waist, sans underwear. When her mouth crashed against mine, bitterness invaded. I pushed her back. The shit tasted horrible. She only grinned.
"Trust me, baby. You will feel as fantastic as I do right now." Taking a vial out of her purse, she sprinkled the white powder into her cleavage and leaned forward. "Don't you want to feel good?"
I hesitated still.
"You won't believe how amazing it is to fuck when you're high." She slipped the straps of her thin dress from her shoulders, the material catching on strapless lace cradling her tits. Cupping her breasts, she pushed closer and ground herself against me.
My cock stirred to life in a rush of heat and need. Grabbing her ass firmly, I pulled her against me harder, leaned forward, and buried my nose in her cleavage.
Kristyna's hand grabbed the back of my head, pulling me away to look into my eyes.
"Give me your tongue." She tightened the grip on my hair and my cock pulsed with the mixture of pleasure and pain.
I offered my tongue as a sacrifice to this goddess. Guiding me by my head, she ran my tongue between her breasts to clean the rest of the powder from her soft skin. When she pulled my mouth away, she crushed her lips to mine and sucked my tongue, giving me a preview of what she would do with my dick.
The moment she released my tongue, my head fell back against the seat. The incredible sensations running through my body made me feel like I could rule the world. Nothing else mattered. Only us. When she undid my pants, pulled my aching cock from its confines, and fucked me till we arrived at the award show, I knew I'd found one fucking hot piece of distraction. A distraction Christopher hated more than anyone else.
Hearing it’s Kristyna calling, Christopher mumbles something. Knowing how he feels about her, I really don't want to start the same old argument again. He could tell me how I only put up with her because she was the complete opposite of Laney and enables my “out of control behavior” some other time. What a fucking hypocrite.
"What's up?" I answer.
"Hey there, sexy," she hums. "Are we still on for tonight?"
"Of course." I settle back into my chair. "Nine o'clock, right?"
"Yep. Pick me up at my townhouse."
"Will do."
"Bye," she says, making a kissing noise through the phone.
"Later."
"I can't believe you're with that—”
"Christopher," Mia warns.
"What? I can't!" Moving Mia from his lap, he leans toward me. "Why are you fucking around with some dimwitted bitch?"
"Fuck you, Chris." Stuffing my cell back into my pocket, I push away from the sound table and stand. "You don't have to like her, I do."
"You mean a nice fuck buddy, who likes to get as wasted as you," Elliott chimes in.
"You, too?" I round on Elliott and then turn to Jimmy. "What about you? You have something to add?"
Jimmy shakes his head. "Fuck no. At least you're dipping your stick in a hot piece of ass."
Mia's groan pulls my attention toward her.
"I know you don't approve either, so don't act like you're interested in my relationship,” I snap, taking out my anger on Mia.
"Hold up, fucker." Chris stan
ds, putting himself between Mia and me. "Don't talk to her like that!"
"Chris." Mia slides a hand over his arm, gently pulling him back toward her.
"Christ!" I push my fingers through my overgrown hair. "Just back the fuck off. I'm having a good time. There's nothing wrong with that, especially after the shit Lane…she put me through."
With quick, heavy steps, I make it to the door, ready to leave. Pausing quickly, I turn back to Mia. Her eyes, sadness swimming in them, meet mine.
"I'm sorry, Mia."
She nods, offering a small smile.
"Kristy, you ready to go?" I ask. She's finally brought her high ass back to our VIP area.
"Why?" she asks, breathless from dancing. She sticks out her bottom lip and slips onto the red couch. "Aren't you having a good time?"
"I'd rather go back to your place and have a better time." Tossing a wink at her, I lift the glass to my mouth.
She makes a purring noise and slides across two of her friend's laps, laying her head on my thighs. Her long, thick, blonde hair fans over my legs as she nuzzles my crotch. I drop my head back onto the couch and close my eyes as arousal heats my thighs. Hands caress my chest and damp lips press against my neck.
At first, I don't think about the fact that Kristy's face is still nuzzling, so it can't be her kissing me. When the lips press against my mouth, my eyes shoot open. Instead of Kristy's dark brown, I'm looking into summer-sky blue.
This wouldn't be the first time a third joined us—hell, a fourth—but my arousal instantly flees. I shove the girl away and she squeaks in protest.
"What's wrong?" Kristy asks, popping out of my lap.
"I'm not in the mood." Bringing my tumbler glass back to my lips, I drain the last of my watered-down drink.
"Not in the mood?" Kristy straightens, eyeing me suspiciously. "Since when, are you not in the mood to be fucked by two women?"