Dirty Like Jude: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 5)

by Jaine Diamond

The running clock in my head was an old habit, too. At any given moment of any given day, I knew I could be questioned about where I was—or where Lex or Flynn or Shady or any of my guys were—when X, Y or Z happened.

  Questioned by my brother. Questioned by my best-friend-slash-employer. Questioned by Maggie, who signed off on payroll for my security crew.

  Questioned by the police.

  And since I rarely wrote shit down, that meant I carried it all in my head.

  I was just getting back in my car with the coffee when I heard my phone vibrate. I really shouldn’t have looked at it.

  I looked.

  V.

  This time, that was all Lex’s text said. Which meant he had eyes on her. He’d seen Roni.

  She’d left her place.

  It was seven fifty-five in the morning. Earlier than she usually left her condo. Roni Webber wasn’t really a morning person, and on Saturdays she wasn’t due at work until ten. I knew that.

  I knew a ton of shit I probably shouldn’t know.

  I knew Lex would follow her and fill me in along the way, on everything she did today.

  I deleted the text.

  Not knowing where Roni was or what she was doing—or who she was doing—had now been officially replaced with knowing every-fucking-thing she did.

  I still couldn’t decide which was worse.

  Chapter Three

  Roni

  I picked up a coffee and some breakfast at Nudge to eat on the drive, with tea and scones for Jessa, and headed over to her place. It meant a drive into downtown, over the Lions Gate Bridge and into North Vancouver, in rush hour, then all the way back, also in rush hour, to get to work on time. It would give me only a half hour or so at her place, but I didn’t mind.

  Right now, I’d take pretty much any chance to hang with Jessa that I could get.

  We’d become closer this year, ever since she’d moved back. As close as we’d been as teenagers; maybe more so. But with a newborn baby literally sucking her energy, I expected to fall down her priority list.

  “Please, come in,” she gushed when she answered her front door. “I’m starved for adult conversation.” She was cradling baby Nicholas in her arms, and he was feeding. As usual.

  This would’ve been Jessa’s permanent social media status these days, if she were on social media: Boob in baby’s mouth.

  “Baby Nick’s not much of a talker, huh?”

  “Unfortunately, no.”

  She gave me an awkward hug as we tried not to squish the baby. He wriggled and made a slurping sound, and I told her for the millionth time how adorable he was. I didn’t even have to exaggerate; Jessa and Brody’s son really was the dictionary definition of adorable.

  I followed her through the living room, the one at the front of the house that was rarely used, and into the dining room, where Jessa settled onto the antique couch that had come from Brody’s grandparents and was her favorite spot to sit and nurse Nick. It put her kinda central in the house, where she could see both into the kitchen and out into the backyard. She had a bunch of pillows propped up to support her arms on either side of her while she cradled the baby, like a breastfeeding throne.

  I put the tea and scones on the edge of the table, within her reach, and she thanked me profusely.

  “Do you want some breakfast?”

  God love her, she actually asked me that, right while she was smack in the middle of doing what she was doing.

  “No worries, babe. I already ate. Let me get you a plate.”

  I started into the adjoining kitchen… and stopped in my tracks.

  I was not a kitchen girl. Jessa Mayes totally was.

  She had the fancy electric mixer, the knife block, the industrial blender, the giant food processor, all gleaming and lined up just waiting to be used, her pretty tea cozies and matching tea towels usually all clean and ready, so that she could whip up hearty, healthy, low-cal meals at a moment’s notice, for herself, for her man, for whoever dropped by. That was just Jessa. Didn’t hurt that Brody had hired on a part-time housekeeper to help keep everything spotless.

  Not today.

  The entire surface area of the kitchen was strewn with dishes, some clean, some not, and baby gear—clean bottles lined up to dry, nipples, milk collection bags and pacifiers and random toys. I even glimpsed what had to be Brody’s underwear mixed in with the clean towels and baby linens that had been dumped on one counter, waiting to be folded.

  “Holy shit. The orphanage called. They want their kitchen back.”

  Jessa sighed, a sound of sleep-deprived surrender.

  “How many babies do you have again?”

  “One,” she said, unamused. “And until you have one, I kindly request that you do not judge.”

  “Not judging. Just… startled.” I found a clean plate for her and tossed a scone on it, then pulled out my phone and texted my boss that I was going to be late. He wouldn’t care. Sadly, he had a thing for me, so there was that. And since I didn’t care enough to make a fuss if he threatened to fire me, we both knew he wouldn’t. To be sure, I made it sound like a somewhat-family emergency.

  Helping my sick friend with her baby. Be in just a tad late. So sorry.

  Then I got to work tying on one of Jessa’s cutesy aprons and searching for the surface of her countertop under the layers of whatnot, despite her half-assed protests. “I’m going in. If I’m not out by Monday, call in reinforcements.”

  Jessa sighed in surrender again, this time gratefully. “Thank you. Just a bit, okay?”

  “Where’s your housekeeper lady?”

  “She’s not in until Monday. She does Monday, Wednesday and Saturday now.”

  “Today’s Saturday, babe.”

  “Yeah. This week she switched it to Friday.”

  “She was here yesterday?” I opened the dishwasher and found it empty. I started filling it with dirty dishes, rinsing as I went.

  “I thought you weren’t judging,” she said, through a mouthful of scone.

  “I’m not. I’m not judging you. But Brody can’t clean a kitchen?”

  “He hasn’t had time.”

  “Where is he?”

  “He had some stops to make this morning before some meeting.”

  “Yeah? How’s the album going?”

  I assumed it was going amazing, like every other time I’d asked. Brody managed Dirty, and they were an amazing band, pretty much end of story. Really, it was a courtesy ask, because I knew how important this album was to her and to Brody. Because this was the first time Jessa had co-written songs with Dirty since their first album a decade ago.

  “Incredible,” she said. “Everything I’ve heard is incredible. I wish I could be more excited about it, but honestly, I’m just so drained.” She nodded at the baby on her boob for emphasis.

  “Literally,” I quipped.

  She grunted, like laughing was just too much work. “How’s Taze?”

  I couldn’t even help rolling my eyes. “The usual. He’s decent in bed, usually, but honestly I’m not even thinking about him when we're together anyway.” Yes, I went straight to sex, which I assumed she was asking about, because where Taze and I were concerned there really wasn’t much else to discuss. “Do you ever do that? Think about someone else…?”

  “Someone other than Brody?” she said, like she had literally no idea what I was talking about.

  “Of course not. You’re in bed with the man of your dreams.” I was in bed with the man of my dreams too, but only in my head. Because in reality, the man of my dreams was kind of a nightmare. “And this is why I hate you. Because you probably actually fantasize about Brody fucking you while Brody’s fucking you.”

  “I do,” Jessa admitted. “But it wasn't always that way. I didn’t always have the man I wanted. I used to think about Brody when I was with other people. I know how that feels. It’s painful, not being in love with the one you’re with.”

  It was nice of her to say; she knew I wasn’t in love with Taze. But r
eally, when had I ever been in love?

  I could count the time. On one finger.

  One incredibly stupid finger.

  I shrugged. “Usually, it’s reality.”

  She glanced at me, but her attention was split, still stuck on the baby on her boob. “Who would you be in bed with if you could?”

  “How would I know? I haven’t found anyone worth replacing Taze for yet. When I meet him, I’ll let you know.”

  It was true enough, though it was kind of sidestepping the question.

  I watched her for a minute, trying to eat her scone without dropping crumbs on Nick, fussing over his blankie, tucking in his little hands. The dishwasher was full, and I hip-checked it shut.

  “And this is why I love you,” I told her. “You’re in the middle of literally keeping another human being alive with your life-fluid, and you still make the effort to follow up my casual inquiry about your man with the requisite casual inquiry about my man. As if Brody and Taze are in any way equal.”

  Jessa just smiled, but she was still looking at Nick. “If you care about Taze, you can consider them equal.”

  “Jessa. Your man is devoted, successful, wealthy, and, you know, a grownup. Mine is a man-baby with a Star Wars poster over his bed—”

  “What?” Jessa started laughing and Nick squirmed in her arms. “Like, Darth Vader or Princess Leia in the gold bikini? Please don’t tell me it’s Ewoks or something.”

  “It’s Han Solo and what’s-his-name. Chewbacca?”

  “You’re kidding me.”

  “I’m totally fucking serious. Do not even get me started on the centerfolds.”

  Jessa wrinkled her nose. “Cliche, much?”

  “Very much. Which is why we never do it as his place. I could stand looking at young Harrison Ford while I’m in bed, but the rest of it is untenable. And he ditched me halfway to orgasm this morning.”

  "Halfway?"

  “Three-quarters of the way. He had to leave. I’m three-quarters considering never speaking to him again.”

  Jessa made a sympathetic sound, though I wasn’t sure if it was for me or baby Nick. “He probably feels bad for having to leave. I’m sure all he really wants to do is please you, Roni.”

  “Where on Earth would you get that from?”

  Jessa looked up. I was folding her laundry and she looked me over, pointedly. For the first time, I really noticed the faint purplish circles under her big brown eyes. Jessa was gorgeous—literally, lingerie-model gorgeous—but right now, she looked like a wilted flower someone had forgotten to water.

  “You’re seriously asking me that,” she said, “while I’m wearing a nursing bra with milk-absorbing pads and I stink of spit-up and I haven’t had a proper shower in three days? Take a look in the mirror. You’re twenty-seven and a total babe. You have all that glossy black hair and epic cleavage and a manicure, and your own condo. He’s twenty-three. He lives in some nasty room in his biker clubhouse, right? With centerfolds on the walls? He probably worships the ground you walk on.”

  I stared at her. “Why aren’t you showering? What about your nanny person? What’s-her-name?”

  “She got sick and had to bail a few days this week and I didn’t want some stranger coming over, so it’s been a bit around the clock. And Brody’s been so busy with the album, the upcoming tour…”

  “Fuck that. Hand me that baby and go have yourself a fucking shower.”

  “Okay. I will.” I could see the relief in her body, the total gratitude, as her shoulders softened. But Nick was still firmly attached.

  I made a mental note to tell Brody to hire on some more help for her, or something. It wasn’t like he couldn’t afford it. And knowing Jessa, she hadn’t actually told him how tired she was. He probably didn’t realize how much help she actually could’ve used while he was working. It wasn’t like she had a mom or a sister who could come around and watch the baby for an hour here or there so she could have a bath. Jessa was on her own, had always been on her own in some ways, and I knew she wasn’t used to asking for help.

  I also made a mental note to make myself more available. Check on her, even when she didn’t ask.

  “Babe. I hope you know you don’t have to feign interest in my bullshit with Taze just so you can get a shower. I’m capable of holding a baby for thirty minutes for you.”

  “It’s not that.” She looked at me, kinda hopefully. “I wanted to talk to you about Dirty.”

  “Dirty?”

  “Yeah. Here’s the thing.” She sat up a little straighter, like this was important… which was odd, since Dirty really had nothing to do with me, and vice versa. “They’ll be finished recording the album next week, and then they start up promotion for it right away. They leave on tour in January. But Brody says they’re getting restless and kinda driving him up the wall about it. It’s been so long since they’ve played a full show live, and apparently they really want to do a show before the tour starts, just something fun, and they’ve been asking Brody to put something together. He says it has to be over the holidays, here in Vancouver, since that’s the only time they’ll all be available and they’ll all be home for the holidays.”

  “Cool. Put me down for a handful of tickets. You really didn’t need to invite me in person,” I teased. “I know I’m pretty essential at a party, but…”

  “Brody thinks it should be intimate,” she went on, “but still kinda big. Someplace more special than the Back Door, a higher capacity venue, since they’ll be playing some of the songs from the new album for the first time…”

  “Sounds about right.”

  “No media. Just fans. And he wants it on New Year’s Eve.”

  “Oh. Well, I can come late, after my thing.” I had an event at a pub I was working that night already, so hopefully I could make it work. “What time do you think they’ll play until?”

  “I don’t know. The thing is… the nightclub Brody was hoping to get, the one where they held auditions for the documentary series and filmed the big reveal show with Seth, is already booked.”

  “The Ruby.” I knew the place. I knew the owner, actually. “I’m not surprised. Every decent place in town and then some will already be booked. Brody must know that.”

  “Right. And that’s the thing… His plate’s kinda already overflowing, overseeing all the promotion around the album launch, planning the tour, and now the baby… Maggie’s just as busy. So they’ll need a promoter to put this show together. Brody was saying he’s gonna bring one on next week.”

  The wheels were starting to turn in my head. I could pass her a few names, for sure. But Brody definitely had better connections than I did in the rock ’n’ roll world.

  “So.” Jessa blinked her big brown eyes at me. “Here’s where you come in.”

  I stared at her, suddenly getting her meaning. “Me?”

  “Why not you?” she said. “No one throws a party like you, Roni.”

  I really could not argue with that.

  I’d been doing the party promotion thing, part-time, for the last three years. Ever since I realized it was a thing. That I could actually get paid doing what I loved to do anyway.

  I’d always been a party girl. And I’d always thrown fantastic ones.

  My milkshake brought all the boys and girls to the yard. It had just always been that way.

  So, becoming a promoter was a no-brainer.

  But I’d never worked with Dirty. I didn’t work with bands. I promoted nightclub events. Theme nights with bubbles and pajama parties and college kids on E. I hosted a regular night at a local club, did special events at other bars around town, and worked mostly with small to mid-list local DJs, and sometimes visiting talent.

  Small-time shit compared to Dirty.

  I had no particular aspirations to work in rock concert promotion. My loftiest aspiration, these days, ever since meeting DJ Summer at Jessa’s baby shower last month, was to work with her. It hadn’t happened yet, but it would.

  I’d definitely
worked my ass off to get to where I was already, and I was pretty bent on making my way to the forefront of the local party scene—so I could one day promote talent of DJ Summer’s calibre… and beyond. But it wasn’t that easy. It took time to do it right.

  It took time to meet the right people, foster the right relationships, and build a name for yourself in a competitive, challenging, and often weirdly cutthroat environment.

  An environment where, admittedly, you didn’t get offers like this—like Dirty, one of the hottest rock bands in the world—dropped into your lap.

  But.

  “It’s November,” I said carefully. “You want me to find a location for this New Year’s Eve event—in November? Every place in town is booked solid by now. Including the bar where I’m already promoting a New Year’s Eve party.”

  “So you hand that off to someone else,” Jessa said. “I know you’ve been wanting to give up the day job forever. Promote bigger parties. I also know the money in real estate is good, and you have a mortgage to pay. That you need something big to make that leap financially.”

  All true.

  My day job for the last six years had been doing temp work in the real estate industry. Currently I worked at the display suite office for a real estate developer. I ran the welcome desk and pretty much worked alone; it was so slow they didn’t even keep an actual sales rep on staff, so I was it. It was stunning how few people actually came through the fancy office, which had a full-sized display suite in it. Most of the clientele were overseas buyers who never set foot in the display office, who bought the condos sight unseen and didn’t give a fuck whether the one they chose had the black-and-gray color scheme or the sand-and-cream one, because they were never going to live in it. They were buying the condos as investments, as rental properties.

  Which meant that the majority of my day was spent on my laptop, on social media, working on my true love: party promotion.

  Did I actually want to work in real estate? Fuuuck no.

  But…

  “It’s not just about the money,” I told her. “It’s also about my reputation and making the right moves. Leaving the steady paycheck behind would be pretty much a go-big-or-go-home situation, in all respects. I’m not sure I’m ready for that anyway.”