Suspended: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance

by Zoey Oliver

  “To tell me what the hell I’m supposed to wear to this place. I’ve never even heard of it.”

  She groans and drops her face to her hands again. “You’re the most hopeless famous person I’ve ever met, you know that?”

  I shrug. “I’m okay with that, you know.”

  “Robiero’s is swanky. Have you got anything you might wear to an award show?”

  My heart clenches and I shake my head. “Not really.” I don’t want to embarrass Chelsea and Ian because I can’t show up in the right wardrobe, but there’s definitely not time to shop.

  “Well, if you run me by my place, I already know what I’m going to wear, and then I can come back to your place and help you pick something out?”

  “How do I know you’re not just trying to get into my apartment to take advantage of me?” I ask, a hand to my chest.

  She laughs. “Under normal circumstances, you’d be right, but if the alternative is hanging out with those two? Sorry, bud.”

  “Ouch.” I clutch at my chest and she laughs harder. It’s not long before I join her.

  By the time we get to the restaurant, I think Tori’s made me just as nervous as she is. I really didn’t have much to wear, but she found an old navy sports coat in the back of my closet, and together with a white shirt and dress slacks, I don’t look too bad.

  Tori on the other hand is a fucking knock-out. She’s wearing this white skin-tight dress that hugs her hips and hits her mid-thigh. It’s strapless, but there’s this corseted string system in the back that’s holding the dress up and basically offering her breasts up on a platter. She doesn’t need anything else. With the piercings glittering in her ears, her nose, her lip, the bright red-orange hair, and the wealth of art inking her skin, she doesn’t need accessories. Just a pair of strappy white heels she hops into on our way out of my place.

  True to form, she didn’t try to molest me in my apartment. I was a little disappointed, but I saw her eyes constantly darting to the clock and I knew we didn’t have much time.

  Ian and Chelsea are already at the table that the maître d’ guides us to. Chelsea’s got a glass of wine, but Ian’s stuck with water.

  “You made it!” he says brightly, as we both sit down. Tori was right. This place is swanky. There are windows everywhere, overlooking the water on one side, the mountains and city on the other. It opens onto a terrace full of palm trees and gently trickling fountains. Inside it’s dimly lit, candles flickering on the white-clothed tables. The place is arranged so that each table gets its own private little alcove and I can see why — almost every table has some famous person or another seated at it.

  “You didn’t valet, did you?” Chelsea asks, her face screwed up into a look of distaste. “The paparazzi are swarming the valet stand.”

  I shake my head. “Didn’t even think about it. Guess they don’t care about us plebs.”

  Ian rolls his eyes. “You’re only a pleb because you choose to be.”

  “Because we know what happens when I don’t,” I answer.

  “Could we not play the ‘dark and haunted past’ game tonight?” Chelsea says, nudging Ian with her elbow.

  He grins. “You’re right. It’s been forever since we’ve seen you, buddy. What have you been up to?”

  I shrug. “Same old, really. Just working at the center. The kids have got their big competition this weekend, thanks to you.”

  “They sound so good,” Tori says brightly. “I thought it was a little rough when I first came in, but they work so hard. I’m so glad they get to go to the competition.”

  “Happy to help,” Ian says.

  “So how’d you get into volunteering with Serge, Tori?” Chelsea asks, sipping her wine as the waiter brings out the first course. Apparently, this is a new level of swanky even for me. They’ve got a menu like other restaurants, but it doesn’t have choices. The menu’s just there to tell you what you’re getting.

  “Uh…” Tori stalls, reaching for some little tartelette or something on the platter in front of us. She looks from me, to Ian, to Chelsea, and back to me again while she’s chewing before she finally swallows and sighs.

  “I guess the story shouldn’t be strange to you at all. I got myself into a little bit of trouble… Got a DUI, court-ordered community service, all that.”

  “I see,” Chelsea says, almost sounding deflated. Maybe she was hoping for another good influence in this little group. Hate to break it to her, but I think Tori might give us a run for our money. Definitely these days, but maybe back even in our partying days. I know that should make me hesitate to be with her. I know that someone living the kind of lifestyle Tori does is bad news for someone in recovery like me. But she’s on parole right now. She can’t drink, can’t go to bars. Maybe she’ll learn that life can be just as fun without that before the judge takes the leash off.

  It’s a crazy thing to hope for. I know it is. But I see something in her. Something familiar.

  “But it’s actually been a ton of fun working with the kids. I think I might like to keep doing it after my hours are up.”

  I whip my head around. “Really?” That’s the first I’d heard of it.

  She shrugs. “Yeah, I think it could be fun. Maybe have someone that can actually teach them to play instruments that you can’t just whack repeatedly.”

  “There’s more to playing drums than just whacking them repeatedly,” I snap back, light and teasing.

  She smirks. “Is there, though?”

  “She’s got you there,” Chelsea laughs.

  I grumble under my breath and everyone laughs. It’s all in good fun.

  It’s actually remarkable how well Tori fits in with them. The conversation moves to other topics, to tours, to traveling, to the best hotel chains and the worst hangovers. It’s easy, the four of us hanging out together. I was worried when Ian got with Chelsea that she would screw up our whole dynamic, but she didn’t. She fit in with us and made our friendship stronger, being there when something came between us and stepping back so we could still have our one-on-one time.

  And Tori’s fitting in just as well. I wouldn’t go so far as to say we’re dating, but this is the first time I’ve ever introduced a girl to Ian like this. Where we’re all sober and I know her name and plan on seeing her again.

  I see her eyeing the sommelier every time he walks by with a bottle of wine and I know the struggle she’s dealing with. I know how hard it is to overcome. I just don’t know if it’s something I’m willing to stick around for.

  But I’m getting ahead of myself and I know that too.

  I just like her. I see a lot of myself in her. Back when I was still bright-eyed and hopeful. Back when I was just starting out with big dreams, telling myself I wouldn’t let the stress get to me. Trying my best to balance the pressure while self-medicating with whatever I could find. I see it in her. And I know it’s just drinking now, but it might not always be. Maybe there will be a day when Tori decides she needs more to deal with the stress than a stiff drink. And if I can be the cautionary tale to keep her away from that, then I want to be.

  I’ll talk to her about it. Later. When I’m sure she’s not going to get defensive about it again. That’s always the trouble with these things. No one ever wants to admit they have a problem. They tell you in rehab that you can never tell someone else they have a problem. They have to see it for themselves. They have to hit rock bottom. If you help them up before they hit the very bottom, they won’t realize how bad it can get and they’ll just fall back in.

  And the worst part is that everyone’s rock bottom is different. The things that would seem like rock bottom to me, that would guarantee I clean up my act and get my shit together, might just be a normal day for someone else. It might not be anything to them.

  Addiction is a tricky beast. Especially when it’s someone else’s addiction. But I’m not going to let my worries about Tori and her problems ruin this nice night. I’m not going to let it interfere with the laughter of my best
friend and his wife or the promising friendship that seems to be blossoming. I’m just going to enjoy this time and I’ll make sure I talk to her about it later.

  The dinner is mostly amazing. Everything is obviously crafted by a top-tier chef, but some of it is too weird for even me to try. Tori doesn’t turn her nose up at any of it. Not even the weird duck egg that came complete with a baby duck skeleton inside of it.

  “I never thought I’d have a prayer of getting into this place. Your manager must be amazing,” Tori says as the meal comes to a close.

  Chelsea laughs. “Rosa and Merrill have their… charms.”

  “I think this one was all Rosa,” Ian says.

  “Sounds right,” answers Chelsea. “Merrill’s much more likely to get us into an exclusive gallery opening or something.”

  “My manager got me to the front of the line on a roller coaster once,” Tori says, her nose wrinkling. “Someone in front of me didn’t empty their loose change out of their pocket before the ride and I thought it started hailing half-way through.”

  “Oh no!” Chelsea says, giggling into her mostly empty wine glass.

  “It’s fine,” Tori says, laughing with her. “I only had a George Washington-shaped spot on my forehead for a few hours.”

  Chelsea’s giggles fade off into a yawn and she winds up leaning against Ian’s shoulder. He wraps an arm around her and pulls her close, kissing the top of her head. I’ve got the sudden urge to do the same to Tori, but I know our relationship isn’t quite like that. At least not yet. And as much as I love Ian and Chelsea, I really don’t want rumors about me and Tori floating around more than they already are. At least not until I’ve figured out what’s happening between us.

  “I think it’s about time we go,” Ian says, rubbing Chelsea’s arm absently. She nods with another yawn.

  “It was lovely to meet you, Tori. I hope we’ll be seeing more of you?” she asks, her brows lifted as she looks at me.

  “Maybe,” I say, smiling and standing from the table. We exchange our goodbyes and hugs once more, and then Tori and I are back in my car and she’s shivering before I can flip the air conditioner off.

  “That was fun,” she says with a happy sigh.

  I nod. “It was.” I’m still impressed with how well she got along with my friends. And I know now’s my chance to talk to her, to bring up the things I was thinking earlier, but instead, I say, “Wanna head back to my place?”

  “I thought you’d never ask,” she answers, grinning back.

  We never do have that talk.

  Chapter 8

  Tori

  There’s only a few more days until the competition and apparently the word’s spreading fast. It’s Wednesday morning when Garret, my rep from the label, calls bright and early.

  “Hello?” I answer, a little raspy. I actually spent last night in my own bed, unfortunately. Or maybe fortunately, I don’t know. Hanging out with Ian and Chelsea made me want a life I know I can’t have. They all seem so put-together and grown-up and I still feel like the rebellious teenager that doesn’t know what she’s doing in life. I can’t imagine why they’d want to invite the mess of my life into the tidiness of theirs.

  “Tori! I’m so happy to have caught you,” Garret says, his voice dripping with enthusiasm I don’t quite buy. That’s the thing with the record types and agents and stuff, you never know when they’re being genuine or sincere because it’s literally their job to keep you happy.

  “What’s up?” I say, rubbing sleep from my eyes. The last I heard from the label, they were keeping me on indefinite suspension until I get my act together. But Garret calling should be good news. He wouldn’t sound so chipper if he was calling to let me know the record’s dropping me.

  …Right?

  Right. Garret and I have never been super close, but he’s always seemed to look out for me and that’s about all I can ask in this industry.

  “A little birdie told me you have plans this weekend,” he says, brighter than ever.

  I turn away from the windows, squeezing my eyes shut against the too-bright sunlight. “The Sound Hole show? I don’t know, I think we’re going to have to cancel it, my drummer’s—”

  “What? No, not that. You’re doing shows at that scummy place?” I can hear the distaste in his tone, but I don’t care whether he likes it or not. While the record company’s not backing me, we’re free to do whatever we want. And since they’re not booking shows for us, that leaves it up to me. We still have fans that want to see us. And to be honest, our residuals aren’t really enough that we can just stop working because I made a bad decision. So however Garret feels about The Sound Hole and the shows we do there, he can just shove it.

  “What are you talking about then?” I ask, not wanting to get into it.

  “The competition! With the kids?”

  “Oh, right,” I say. How could I have forgotten? I guess I’ve been so wrapped up in Serge himself that everything else just kind of disappeared into the background. “Yeah, I’m doing that.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” he gushes. “This is fantastic.”

  I’m a little surprised that he’s so enthusiastic about it. I don’t know what his angle is, but then I remember the whole reason I’m on suspension isn’t because of the DUI, it’s because of how the public perceives the DUI. As long as I’m back in the good graces of the public and they stop writing to the label about what a terrible influence I am, there’s no reason for me to be on suspension.

  I guess helping disadvantaged kids go to a singing competition is probably pretty good for cleaning up my image.

  “Glad you’re on board,” I say, testing the waters. I don’t know exactly why Garret called and I don’t think it’s just to catch up about what I’m doing with my weekend.

  “Oh, I am. This is a great move for you. Very clever,” he says, and I bristle a bit. I’m not just doing this to be clever. I’m doing it because I care about helping the kids and Serge. Because he’s convinced me that they deserve something more out of life.

  “Thanks,” I mutter. “Does this mean the label’s lifting my suspension?”

  Garret chuckles to himself. “Soon. If you cooperate, I don’t see why that wouldn’t happen.”

  Cooperate. I love how he makes my rehabilitation sound like a hostage situation. I guess in a way it is. They’re holding my career hostage until I give them back the perfect public image they want.

  “Yeah, of course. Whatever you guys want,” I say, gritting my teeth as I do. It’s this whole aspect of the business that makes me question whether I even want to be a part of it anymore.

  “That’s my girl,” Garret says brightly before hanging up, which makes me wince. I don’t know why, but I always feel a little dirty after negotiating with a record label. Whenever they wanted me to dress a certain way or endorse a product or say just the right thing, just the way they scripted it, I’m always left feeling a little dirty and wrong. Like the person the world thinks I am isn’t who I am.

  But at this point, I don’t even know who I am. It’s nine o’clock in the morning and already I want a drink to forget about this. To stop worrying about who they’re going to make me be. I want the life of fame and fortune, so this is the price I have to pay.

  But now that I’m up, there’s something more important I need to deal with. Because Garret’s right, this weekend is important. I need to be with the kids and Serge and I can’t just abandon them after their performance to come back to my own. Especially not without Serge. So I make a call.

  Bobby McIntyre is the owner and operator of the Sound Hole and he looks like he used to be a roadie for the Stones. He’s gotta be pushing seventy, but he doesn’t let that stop him from dressing like a twenty year old, complete with leather pants and chains. The guy’s kind of like a grandpa to a lot of us in the local scene, but he’s a foul-mouthed grandpa that isn’t afraid to let you fall on your ass to learn a lesson.

  “You have any idea what fuckin’ time it
is,” Bobby answers, his voice low and gravelly.

  I chuckle to myself. “Bob, it’s Tori Winters. I’ve got a problem and it can’t wait.”

  “Of fucking course you do,” he says, his words rounded by a cigarette between his lips. I hear the lighter flick a couple of times and then Bobby exhales. “What is it now, Tori?”

  “The show on Saturday? Can’t do it.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” he groans. “It’s Wednesday, what the fuck am I supposed to do now?”

  I nibble my lip, still grinning. I know he’s pissed, but I also know Bobby will basically let me get away with murder because I pack his shitty little club to the gills whenever I play.

  “Who do you have on tomorrow night?”

  “Uh…” There’s the creak of a mattress — and I’m pretty sure I even hear a feminine murmur from his bed, the old stud — and then the shuffling of papers. “Some garage band called Twisted Fisters.”

  I snort. “Charming.”

  “Thursday’s not exactly a big draw,” he says, and I can just see him shrugging in my head.

  “Well, I think you’re going to make Twisted Fisters’ life and give them the headlining spot on Saturday.”

  “Why the fuck would I do that?”

  “Because I’m taking their spot tomorrow,” I say, grinning.

  There’s glass rattling and I can just picture him stamping out his cigarette butt before I hear the lighter flick again. “You’re going to ruin me, you know that?”

  “Bullshit. Get that cute little hostess to put it up on social media for you as some secret spontaneous show — oh! And make sure you mention Serge Davenport will be playing with us.”

  “No shit? You got him to agree to that again?”

  “I have my charms,” I say and he just laughs.

  “No doubt about that. All right. Fine. Just don’t do this shit to me again, okay?”

  “Promise.”

  He scoffs. “Like that’s worth anything.”

  I grin. “See you tomorrow, Bobby.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” he mutters before disconnecting the call.