Hating the Rich Bastard

by Hamel, B. B.

  The kiss stretches on, out through my whole life. I’ll never forget that kiss, no matter what. Ben’s all I need, everything to me. He’s going to take care of me, and I’ll take care of him.

  I love him so much, and my heart’s so full, it almost hurts.

  I know I’m home, finally.

  22

  Alice

  One Year Later

  Luke wriggles in my arms. I hug him tight, laughing, before handing him over to his father.

  Ben takes the baby and cuddles him close. “You’re a little monster, you know that?” he says, making Luke smile.

  I get up on my tiptoes and kiss Ben. “I love you, you know that?”

  “I know.” He grins at me. I kiss him again before the announcer says my name and I walk out onto stage.

  I sit down at the piano, looking at the crowd. There must be a hundred people watching me, by far the most people I’ve ever played in front of, although intimate by Ben’s standards. I know this music, know it like the back of my hand, and I know I can do anything.

  I’m a mom, a wife, a musician. I got this.

  I start to play. I start with the “Tune” melody, letting it roll from my hands. After I finish, I move on, playing other music from our album and patches of things I’ve played before. There’s no singing, no accompaniment, just me and my piano, playing in front of this group of people.

  I never thought I’d be here. Two years ago, I would’ve laughed if you told me that I’d have a six-month-old baby and a rich husband that loves me more than anything. I would’ve told you there’s no way. I was going to be a piano tuner forever.

  But here I am, playing piano for a rapt audience. Most of them are here because of Slowly, the album Ben released right around the time Luke was born. He skipped a tour to stay at home with me and the baby, which is the greatest gift he ever could’ve given me.

  “Don’t worry,” he said at the time. “I’m still rich, remember?”

  Slowly did amazing. Markus was even impressed by the numbers, solid sales all around. Best of all though, at least according to Ben, the critics loved it and people seemed to love it, too. Ben was pretty much glowing as positive review after positive review rolled in.

  We got married two months ago. One morning, Ben came downstairs as I was playing the piano to put Luke to sleep. He sat down next to me and put a ring on my finger. “Let’s make it real,” he said softly, kissed me, and went to make us both something to eat.

  The ceremony was small and intimate. Nana was there, beaming like the proudest woman in the world.

  I continue to play my piano. I can hear it singing as my memories come whirling through my mind. Luke being born, Ben kissing me after, the tears in his eyes as he held his baby for the first time. Moving into our new house, just two blocks away from the studio. Our album being released, everyone loving it, Ben’s smile for days afterward.

  It all flows out of me. This is our first public performance, and Ben insisted that I open it. We’re playing in front of a small crowd, at least at first. Ben says that by the time our short little tour is over, we’ll play some seriously big shows.

  It doesn’t matter to me. I finally finish my medley and the crowd erupts into applause. I look off the stage at Ben and he’s beaming. He hands Luke to the woman we hired to help watch him during the tour and walks out onto stage with Caleb and Tony in tow.

  The crowd goes insane. I grin at him as he slings his guitar over his shoulder, gestures at me, and stands at the mic.

  Tony counts down, and we start playing.

  The first show is a blur. I don’t think I was really there, not exactly. I was playing music and totally lost in the moment. Everything flowed out of me, rolling out into the performance.

  It was so thrilling, I can barely stand it. Adrenaline rushed through me, addictive and intense.

  Afterward, we meet backstage. I kiss Ben and find Luke, holding him tight in my arms.

  “You were amazing,” Ben says. “Seriously, that was perfect. We should open with that every night.”

  “No way,” I say, laughing. “I can’t handle it.”

  “Sure you can. And next album, we’ll feature you more often. Maybe even let you sing.”

  “You’re already talking about a second album?”

  “Of course I am.” He kisses me then kisses Luke. “I can’t slow down, not when there’s so much more good stuff ahead.”

  I laugh and kiss him, floating on air. Everything is perfect, everything is joy.

  We’re on tour for our album, finally getting out there in front of the fans. It’s so strange to have a critically acclaimed album out, even though it’s not just mine. It’s somehow even better that it’s a collaboration between my husband and I, proof that what we have is so real.

  Luke squirms and I pass him to his daddy. I kiss Ben and nuzzle close to him. People mill around us, someone says my name, but I don’t hear any of it.

  I just have my family, my love. Things are so good and I know they’ll get better. I already have a new melody rolling around in my brain. I can’t wait to get back home with Ben and get back in the studio. I can’t wait to let him fuck me on the piano before and after we make beautiful music together.

  If there’s anything better in life, I can’t imagine it. This is my perfection, my heaven on earth, here with this man and this baby in my arms.

  I’ll never looks back and wonder, I’ll only look forward, a smile on my face, my family by my side.

  THE END

  * * *

  THANK YOU!

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  If you loved this book, you’ll love some bad boy rock star action! Marrying the Rock Star follows Chase, the bassist for the band Slide. You might remember Ben worked with them on their first album!

  Want more sexy love to hate? Hating My New Boss is over the top, exciting, crazy, steamy, and fun!

  And don’t miss the Miracle Baby series! Sexy and fun, these standalone novels involve surprise secret babies and more sexy scenes than anyone has a right to enjoy! Start with His Miracle Baby and try His Perfect Baby next!

  Finally, treat yourself to something really naughty: Summer Loving, a dark and dirty exciting romp through the Jersey Shore’s underworld.

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  Marrying the Rock Star Preview

  1

  Chase

  Tijuana is a blur.

  I know we got there early. Joss was on the phone the whole time with Grace, talking about some married couple stuff, I don’t know, and Nathan was his usual sullen self. Landon invited me for a round of Mezcal, which was probably where everything went wrong.

  That stuff is brutal. It’s basically tequila, but worse.

  Landon took me to some little dive not far from the venue. I don’t remember the name, but it was full of locals that barely glanced up when we entered.

  After that, it was elbows on the bar, drinking until showtime.

  Everything else is hazy. I remember the show. It was in this little bar called Moustache, way too small for us, but Karl wanted some kind of special intimate thing. We recorded the show and I think it went pretty well, but who knows.

  Then the after party, with a big group of people. Joss disappeared early, probably to call Grace again. Landon and Nathan were hanging, groupies were everywhere.

  Then there’s Ashley. She’s a blur too, but I do remember some things.

  Pretty. Big blue eyes. Very excited smile. Huge, gorgeous tits.

  She’s an American girl that came across the border just to see us play, and as soon as she approached us I just
knew she was going to let me fuck her.

  I’m pretty sure we did something, but it couldn’t have been much. There was another party in the tour bus, and Joss complained we were being too loud, and I remember taking her back toward my bed but everything after that is a blur.

  She was gone early the next morning. Karl kicked everyone out, and I was left with a throbbing hangover as the bus sped off toward our next gig in Arizona.

  It’s a story as old as time, and it should’ve ended there. I’m normally nice to the girls I sleep with, I’m up front about what I want from them, that nothing’s going to happen past that one single night, that I won’t ever call.

  It’s maybe mean, I don’t know. But I prefer honesty.

  Of course, nothing’s ever that simple.

  “Did you see it?”

  We’re on the road somewhere between California and Phoenix, Arizona.

  “See what?” It’s nearly noon and I’ve been awake for a couple hours, nursing an epic hangover. I groan and sit up. “I’m getting too old for this shi—”

  “Dude, you gotta get online.” Joss stares at me, a mixture of horror and pity.

  I frown. That’s not a look I’m used to getting from him. Landon, yeah, he sees that shit all the time. Joss is basically always trying to keep Landon in line.

  But I’ve never had to feel his wrath before. I keep my shit together. Sure, maybe I got a little too loose yesterday in Mexico, but it was Mexico.

  When it’s in another country, it doesn’t count.

  I pull out my phone and as soon as I turn on the screen, I’m greeted by a million messages and emails, even more than usual.

  “What the hell?” I say, starting to scroll through them.

  “Dude, what was that girl’s name from last night?”

  “Uh,” I grunt, wracking my brain. “Ashley something.”

  “Blonde, right? Kinda young?”

  “Young?” I say, scrunching up my face. “She was in her twenties, at least. I think I asked for her ID at one point.”

  Joss shakes his head at that, but whatever. It’s a good practice. Better safe than sorry.

  “Well, she’s been writing some shit on social media,” Joss continues. “Some really… fuck, man, some really heinous shit.”

  I start to feel my panic rising. “What kind of shit?”

  He takes a breath and gives me that look again. “You’d better read it yourself.”

  It’s all over TMI. I don’t know how this happened so fast, since she was kicked off our bus barely a few hours ago, but they already have an interview with her.

  And it’s not good. It’s very, very not good.

  Chase Lewis, bass player for super band Slide, allegedly had some very interesting sexual desires according, to a young fan who met him after the Slide show in Tijuana, Mexico.

  TMI broke the story . . . Ashley Kelty, twenty-two, contacted TMZ with the story.

  Ashley claims she met Chase after their show, and he was kind, at first. However, allegedly he brought her to a nearby hotel and proceeded to take her through a series of lewd and unusual sexual scenarios.

  “I didn’t know what to do,” Ashley told TMZ. “I didn’t say no, it’s not like he assaulted or raped me or something. I actually kind of liked it.”

  When pressed for more details, Ashley continues. “It started with feet. He was into my feet . . . smelling, licking, you know . . . Then he asked me to spank him, told me to call him my ‘big baby boy’ or something weird. I don’t know, it was kind of fun, just really bizarre.”

  Chase Lewis, twenty-five, is a founding member of the rock band Slide. They are currently touring in support of their critically acclaimed third album, Love Is Real, a new sonic direction for the band.

  Now, however, Chase Lewis may be taking the band down a much darker path, according to Ashley.

  “He said he wanted to watch me urinate,” she claimed “We did normal stuff too, and that was pretty fun. But mostly he wanted to kiss my feet, get spanked, and watch me pee. I was like, gross, but okay.”

  I stare down at the article. It continues on like that, with Ashley making more detailed and more suggestive accusations. I have to put my phone down and stare at the floor to keep myself from puking.

  “I’m sorry,” Joss says quietly. “I know it’s not true.”

  I look up at him, shame and horror in my eyes. “We came back here,” I say. “We were never alone. I mean, I think she blew me back in my bed, or maybe we had sex, I don’t know. But Jesus fucking… a hotel? Those things?”

  “I know man, I know,” Joss says. “Listen, we’re going to get through this. Nathan and Landon and a bunch of other people were at the party. You guys were never alone. There are plenty of witnesses.”

  “But this sort of shit,” I say softly, shaking my head. “I don’t understand.”

  Joss sighs. “Look, it’s not hard to see how it happened. TMI probably approaches all our groupies, offers them big money for a scoop… and that poor girl took them up on it.”

  “She lied,” I say stupidly.

  “Yep, she did. Unfortunately, it doesn’t matter. TMI prints whatever bullshit they want to print.” He sighs and stretches. “Nobody’s going to believe it.”

  “Can’t we sue them all for defamation?” I ask, starting to feel my anger rise.

  “Probably,” he says, “but do you really want to go down that route?”

  I clench my jaw. Of course, I don’t want to get involved in that. Legal proceedings would be expensive, lengthy, and could even pull some private shit out into the light of day.

  I’m not into feet or peeing. I don’t have anything against people that are, it’s just not my thing. Still, I don’t want all my exes contacted, my whole sexual history laid bare…

  “Fuck,” I say, standing up. “I gotta lie down.”

  I stumble into the back of the bus, leaving Joss there alone. I climb into my bed, and just as I manage to crawl onto my pillow, I hear Landon stir.

  “Hey, piss boy.”

  I groan. “Fuck you.”

  “No thanks, my big baby boy.”

  “I’m going to hit you, I fucking swear.”

  His head pops up. We sleep on bunk beds, and Landon has the bottom one on this trip. “Come on, dude,” he says. “You gotta see how funny this is.”

  “Hard for me to find the humor in it right now,” I grumble. “She claimed some pretty ugly shit.”

  “Sure,” he agrees. “Nobody’s gonna believe it. I mean, TMI? It’s a rag.”

  “I’m gonna sue.” I roll onto my back, trying to stop myself from getting sick.

  “No, you’re not,” another voice says from across the aisle. Nathan pokes his head out. “That’ll be such a pain in the ass.”

  I glare at him. “You’re not accused of being into piss and feet, man. Easy for you to say.”

  He stares at me, face impassive. That’s actually an improvement on the old Nathan. Ever since he reconciled with Joss, the tension in the band really evaporated. I think the success of our third album is directly related to those two getting their shit together.

  Hard to think too much about that, though. Nathan sighs and rolls over again, disappearing into his bunk. “It’s not worth the struggle,” he says, his voice floating up over the sounds of the bus. “Just let it go.”

  Landon rolls his eyes, but smiles. “Nathan’s got a point.”

  “Fuck you both,” I say, pulling a sheet over me. “I’m going to sue the shit outta TMI and Ashley. Or something. I don’t know. I’m not taking this lying down.”

  “What, like she did?” Landon says.

  I swat at him but he’s already ducking back down to his bed.

  Fucking hell. I’ve never been in a situation like this before. Normally I’m good about picking the girls that I’m going to sleep with, but last night I was just so fucking wasted.

  And I doubt I would’ve seen the signs. I mean, how could I have known she’d go make up some bullshit story about
me being into weird sex stuff just to make a couple bucks?

  There’s nothing I can do about it from this bus. Maybe I should respond to some of the messages I’ve gotten denying it all, but I’m sure our manager, Karl, is already handling it.

  I groan a little. Fucking Karl. He’s going to rip me a new asshole when we get to Phoenix. I’m suddenly grateful that he doesn’t travel on the bus with us, so at least I can try and catch a nap before he rips into me.

  I close my eyes but sleep never comes. I just keep seeing that article floating in the air, and imagining the whole fucking country thinking I’m some asshole.

  * * *

  “How could you be so fucking careless?” Karl glares at me, his mostly-bald head reflecting the heavy Arizona sunlight.

  He’s shorter than me, around five foot ten to my six foot four, but he’s also older and heavier and he’s been in the business forever.

  We listen to Karl. As much as he annoys the hell out of us, he’s gotten the band this far, and we trust his opinion. I hate the thought that I fucked something up and made his life harder.

  Or, worse, that I fucked up things for the band.

  “Lay off him,” Joss says, glancing at me. “He’s been beating himself up all day.”

  “Good,” Karl snarls. “Do you guys have any idea how many emails and calls I’ve gotten in the last few hours?”

  “Probably less than I have,” I grumble.

  “Probably double,” he says. “And I’ve fucking taken them all, unlike you.”

  “I’m not up for it.”

  “Good,” he says, taking a breath to calm himself. “You not taking any calls was actually smart. I don’t want you saying something fucking stupid and making this satiation worse.”

  “How is this even a situation?” Landon asks him.

  We’re all sitting in the living area of the tour bus. Landon’s crouched in the back, tapping with his sticks, practicing for the show in a few hours. Nathan and Joss are both at the table and I’m sitting next to Karl on the main couch.