Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2)

by Cari Quinn

  I’d hoped she and my parents would disappear after the ceremony. They were only here because it was proper. And they’d leave an equally proper card in the large white wrapped box at the bride and groom table.

  Hope Driscoll sailed across the sea of people, her fingers loosely linked with my brother-in-law’s. She was wearing a slim rose-colored dress that emphasized her bump just enough to ensure people knew she was expecting prodigy number two, and not carrying baby weight from el numero uno.

  Hope reached me and pressed an air kiss to my cheek. “You look beautiful, Faith.” She clutched my fingers quickly before backing up to stand beside the hubs.

  Andrew nodded at me. “Hey, sis.”

  “Aren’t you two all glowy?”

  Hope twisted her fingers with Andrew’s and looked up at him with adoring eyes. “We’re having another girl.”

  A small twinge hit me low. I wasn’t even close to ready for the baby train my sister was on, but again—someone in my life with stars in their eyes for a man. It seemed so foreign to me.

  Would Hunter and Kenny be just like them this time next year?

  Perish the thought.

  “Mom and Dad were looking for you as well.”

  “They’re still here?”

  “Yes. Dad ran into a few clients, so they decided to stay for the reception.”

  Fabulous.

  Noah came up beside me, and I practically snatched the glass out of his fingers. He gave me that Noah arched brow he’d perfected when I downed it and relieved him of his own. Today was going to require far more alcohol than I’d first thought.

  Hope eyed Noah before slanting a look at me. “Who’s your friend?”

  Oh, no. I could see the matchmaker gleam in my sister’s eye. She wanted me as blissfully attached as she was.

  My family didn’t understand any part of my lifestyle. From the full ride at Berkeley that I’d turned down to go on tour with Hammered, to the trust fund I’d created with my fame. None of it made any sense to my high-powered, very rich family.

  I may have grown up with a silver spoon—literally—in my mouth, but I’d never really cared about the huge house and labels, unless I counted my Chucks. There were no other shoes that would do as far as I was concerned. Probably why I had a good twenty-seven pairs at last count. Nor did I like the list of acceptable men that my father seemed to have for his girls.

  Hope had fallen in line quickly, but then again, she liked the Santa Barbara country club set. She’d grown up playing tennis and “doing lunch” with my mother. I’d been too busy sneaking into bars. Not to drink—okay, well, not only to drink. I loved music. I learned how to play the blues and hard rock on the Strip. Any kind of music I wanted to experience, it was there.

  Consequently, I’d never really been all that close to my mother or sister. Didn’t stop them from trying to get me to turn my life around—their words, definitely not mine.

  “This is Noah Jordan, Hunter’s brother.”

  Hope’s eyes sparkled as she held out a very dainty hand with its perfect sheen of pearl polish to accentuate the platinum and diamonds she wore. “What is it that you do, Mr. Jordan?”

  “I’m in a security firm.”

  “Oh.” Hope’s blue eyes widened. “What exactly does that mean?”

  I slurped down the last of Noah’s drink. “It means he carries a gun and shoots people.”

  “Faith,” Hope gasped.

  I shrugged.

  Noah slid his hand along my lower back and thwacked my zipper. I just smiled wider and plucked out an ice cube and crunched loudly.

  “I handle some bodyguard duty, but mostly just a lot of babysitting. Kind of like what your sister needs on occasion.”

  I squinted my eyes at our personal bodyguard. “I have Patrick.” I craned my neck and pointed at the hulking redhead with his arms folded in perpetual pissed off-ness. His hair was buzzed tight to his head and he wore aviators so people didn’t know he was constantly skimming the room for trouble.

  Whether it was from the band members, or outside trouble, was always a crapshoot.

  “He takes care of us on tour. Makes sure the handful of crazy fans stay at a distance.”

  Hope frowned. “What do you mean, ‘crazy’?”

  I glanced down at my short bronze nails and dozen rings stacked on my long fingers. It wasn’t exactly my favorite conversation. For the most part, being a musician was amazing. The tours could be grueling, but the fans were awe-inspiring. Mostly. “Not a big deal. Just some fans get a little overzealous in their love.”

  “Like men?” Hope whispered.

  I glanced up. “Sometimes.”

  “Women?” she squeaked.

  I grinned. “Sometimes.”

  “Wow.” Hope’s eyes were the definition of owlish. A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows, then she chewed on her bottom lip.

  If she actually asked the question brewing in that good-girl brain of hers, I’d eat my favorite pair of Dr. Who Chucks.

  I hadn’t been with a guy in a while, and I resisted any and all fix-ups from her and our mother. She glanced at Noah, then back at me, then finally made a “hmm” sound.

  “Patrick keeps me safe. Not to worry.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the smile. Hope was just too easy to tease.

  She opened her mouth as if to say more, but snapped it shut when our parents waved and made their way over.

  On second thought, maybe I could bribe Noah into playing my boyfriend for the night. It was better to get a disapproving look from my father than to endure the list of eligible bachelors my mother probably had in her iPhone.

  My mother was wearing a baby-blue dress with a slim black belt that was a throwback to Jackie O’s style. Her hair was a perfect champagne blonde and swung in a knife-blade sweep of straight hair just above her shoulders. My father wore a sand-colored suit with a matching blue tie.

  Prom.

  How sweet.

  I beat down the snark with my internal bat. It was always at the ready.

  My parents weren’t bad people. Actually they were the nicest people on the planet, as far as I was concerned. The problem wasn’t them. It was me. I didn’t belong in their country-club lifestyle.

  I was dark-washed denim and a rude T-shirt to my mom’s silk and pearls.

  I was seedy bars with a battered upright piano jammed in the corner screaming my name. They were a baby grand on glossy marble floors with Beethoven’s 5th playing in the background at a party.

  I was rock and roll, and they were classical.

  Noah must have read my mind, because his pinkie brushed mine. He’d play the boyfriend if I really wanted him to. We’d done a similar role play at a party in Hollywood. Noah might be the quiet brother, but he was far more intuitive than people gave him credit for.

  I lifted both glasses. “Refill?” I asked him.

  His dimples flashed. “Sure.”

  “Thanks.”

  I let my mother envelop me into her Dior signature scent. She didn’t give air kisses like Hope. She squeezed and didn’t worry about wrinkles. She tucked a few strands of my hair around my ear. “So nice to see it back to blonde.”

  “Mom.”

  She sighed. “Hair isn’t meant to be blue.”

  The only reason mine was back to my natural color was because everyone and their dog had rainbow hair these days. Going back to my pale blonde was actually being rebellious.

  She cupped my cheeks. “You’re beautiful. I’m so glad this was a traditional wedding.”

  I rolled my eyes.

  If I ever got married, I’d have to come down the aisle in tartan plaid with Converse sneakers just to freak her out. Maybe black lace with a red bodice.

  Hmm.

  That could work. Might be cute, actually. I blinked back into the conversation as she rattled off names of the people she knew at the party. When she mentioned Donovan Lewis, my ears perked up.

  “How do you know Donovan?”

  “He’s
on the board at the Children’s Hospital with your father.”

  My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

  She nodded. “Why do you think we were so thrilled when you signed with his little company?”

  Little?

  I frowned. A multi-billion-dollar company wasn’t chump change, but I refrained from commenting on that one. Ripper Records might be a smaller subsidiary of the Lewis fortune, but there was nothing little about the label.

  In fact, his name was another reason we were climbing back up the charts. Ripper Records was synonymous with incredible talent. We’d been languishing on a larger New York City label, and when our contract had come up, Lila had pounced on us to sign with them.

  Best decision ever.

  Between their marketing, and Hunter’s crazy Rolling Stone cover, we were climbing higher than ever. The tour was amazing, the videos were stacking up, and the merchandise was overflowing.

  We were in our element, but as far as my mother was concerned, I was going to grow out of the music phase. It was her job to worry about me on a constant basis, but she had nothing on my father.

  Isaac Keystone might be a stone cold-businessman when he was in the office, but when he was around me, he was Mr. Overprotective.

  “Move over, Meredith.”

  The comforting scent of Aramis surrounded me as my father drew me up off my toes. “You were beautiful, sweetheart.”

  I patted his shoulders. “Okay, down boy.”

  “Right.” My dad put me down. “You haven’t been around much, Faith.”

  “I know. Touring has been insane.”

  Noah came back with a waitress and a tray of wine, bourbon, and a single glass of seltzer with lime. The man was beyond detail orientated. And a savior.

  “Faith, I wanted to introduce you to Derek Burlington.” My dad held out his arm to a guy in his early thirties with shellacked blond hair and a suit that definitely was not off the rack.

  I stole Noah’s glass again.

  I definitely needed more bourbon to get through this conversation.

  3

  Keys

  I deserve all of the awards—especially Academy ones—for my portrayal of the indulgent daughter. Maybe it was the bourbon talking, but I was a friggin’ saint for listening to Dick—or was it Derek? Hmm.

  No real difference.

  The dude was full of himself and kept twitching his hips forward. So much so that even Noah gave him a steady stare that said, “step back, son”.

  Of course my mother and father were blissfully unaware. They kept pumping him for information on his partnership in some law firm. Probably why his hips were twitching.

  I giggled.

  Noah arched a brow at me.

  The soft tones of an acoustic guitar saved me. We all turned to see Hunter drawing a decidedly flushed Kennedy into the center of the dance floor.

  The reception crowd spread out to get a good view of them. I kissed my mother’s cheek. “That’s my cue to split.”

  “Oh, Faith.”

  “The band is doing their first dance song.”

  “Oh.” She looked crestfallen. “All right, but don’t disappear afterward.”

  I swallowed a sigh, but nodded. I slipped through the crowd and climbed onto the dais where my band was settling in. Bats had his jacket off, Wyatt did not, and Zach and Owen were already down to band T-shirts that had been under their tuxedo shirts.

  I grinned.

  These were my people.

  I rushed around the keyboards from the band Hunter had hired. Definitely not my setup, but I could pretty much play anything. I resisted the urge to move things and change settings. Instead, I familiarized my fingers with the worn keys.

  The intro was mine. The song Hunter had written for her was embedded into my brain. We’d been practicing it daily for a month.

  Owen stepped forward from his usual station in the back. His Irish flowed sweet and soft into the microphone. It was a mashup to start. Peter Gabriel’s “In Your Eyes” made Kennedy throw her arms around Hunter and laugh.

  Her eyes were only for him, a sheen of tears bright and sparkling as they finally settled into a slow sway. Bats gently eased into Hunter’s song.

  The acoustic sweep was everything my band could be when the artifice and lights were stripped away. This was my favorite sound for Hammered. I loved the anthems, adored the hard-hitting beats that Wyatt poured into an arena, and lived for the growls that Hunter brought to songs—but this?

  This was the heart of us.

  Owen stayed at the microphone, his bass switched out for a worn Taylor acoustic that sweetened Zach’s and Bats’s dueling twelve-strings.

  Wyatt used the padded sticks to soften the beat, and the words carried.

  A stolen kiss

  A broken man

  A heart that was lost

  A man who’s been longing to be found

  In your eyes I found the light

  With your love

  I found the courage to change

  In your eyes I saw the reason to fight

  With your hand in mine

  I found pleasure beyond the pain

  They twirled and laughed, they slowed and swayed. His forehead to hers, Hunter whispered the words in her ear. A lump grew in my throat as I watched them press cheek to cheek.

  I’d resigned myself to being too busy for love for a long time. And mostly I was okay with that. Until these moments, when the kick to belong to someone—with someone—was too hard to ignore.

  As we finished the song and the happy couple drew people onto the dance floor, we jammed on stage with the hired band for a few songs. More bourbon was passed around, along with flutes of champagne as Noah and Wyatt took turns toasting and roasting Hunter.

  I escaped back into the crowd. The boys didn’t seem inclined to stop playing, but I needed a drink that wasn’t laced with alcohol, and to find my bag so I could get out of these stinking heels.

  Lilac Chucks, how I need you.

  A waitress ambushed me as I jumped off the stage.

  “Miss Keystone, can I offer you some water?”

  “Bless you, girlfriend.” I accepted the bottled water and drank greedily. When she didn’t move off, as most of the waitstaff usually did, I put on a polite smile.

  The help wasn’t supposed to come at us with the fame game, but I didn’t mind. In fact, I tilted my head. The young girl could have been my twin on a first look.

  She had the same purple streaks I usually wore. Hell, she even had the little trio of crystals on the apple of her left cheek like I wore for photo shoots.

  Definitely a fan.

  “Hi, what’s your name?”

  She blinked at me. “My name?”

  I nodded. “Yes, sweetie. I have to know the name of the girl who borrowed my look.”

  She touched her cheek. “Oh, gosh. I forgot to take these off before work. I was just so excited to get this job.” She frowned. “You changed your hair.”

  I took another swig from the bottle and nodded. The room swam a bit. Wow. Way too much bourbon. Damn those behemoth men and their ability to outdrink me.

  Five feet three and a buck seventeen was no match for the six-feet-and-over club with lots of muscles. Well, except for Owen. He was whip-lean, but could outdrink us all. Damn Irish blood.

  I really needed to go sit down in the shade for a bit.

  “Are you all right?”

  I blinked at the girl. My mouth didn’t seem to work, and my fingers were tingling. Were my lips numb?

  “I’m going to take good care of you. I promise.” The girl gathered me close, hooking her arm around my back.

  I frowned and pushed at her. At least I thought I did. I wasn’t sure my arms were working.

  My head fell to her shoulder. I looked up at her. Blue eyes like mine. I frowned. No—not like mine. Fake. All of her was fake.

  She wasn’t me.

  My ankles wobbled. I couldn’t walk in the heels like this. Actually, I couldn’t f
eel my feet.

  “Wow, you must have had more to drink than I thought,” the girl said.

  Why would she say that?

  “Guess I should have done a drop or two less in the bottle, huh?”

  I tried to pull away. The wrongness of the situation finally dented the hazy bubble I was in.

  “I’m going to make sure you have everything you need. No one cares about you like I do. We’re sisters.”

  I had a sister already.

  The skyline dimmed.

  It wasn’t sunset yet, was it?

  She led me around the back of the stage. The voices around me faded. My feet wouldn’t work, but the girl didn’t seem to notice. She was dragging me along.

  “Come on, Keys, help me out here.”

  Hell no, I wasn’t going to help her.

  I tried to speak. I tried to get someone to notice me.

  “She’s had a little too much to drink. Just going to get her…”

  Words didn’t work.

  Ears didn’t work.

  I shook my head as a few people laughed.

  No.

  Can’t you tell I’m not drunk?

  Was I?

  No.

  No, I wasn’t.

  “Hey.”

  I was getting dragged along faster.

  “Hey!”

  “No, no, no,” the girl said. “You ruined everything. Why did you have to drink so much?”

  I didn’t.

  It wasn’t my fault.

  Suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet me. I dropped like a rag doll. So many shoes around me. Heels, dress shoes, ballerina flats—Chucks.

  I frowned.

  Purple and pink Chucks.

  Just like mine.

  “Keys!”

  Someone shook me, then someone was lifting me.

  I struggled. “Just like mine,” I mumbled. “No.”

  No.

  “Keys.”

  The voice was male. Not her.

  I relaxed.

  Not her.

  Not her.

  Then the sun set on me. Where were the stars?

  Why weren’t there any stars?

  4

  Keys