Heartstrings: A Dirty Affliction Novel

by Regina Frame

  "It ought to be. I think you packed everything you own. Don't get me wrong, I love shoes, but how many pairs do you really need?" She laughed.

  I loved my best friend. Our parents had been friends. We'd been born one month apart, played together, went to school together, and had pretty much been inseparable every since, up until now. I was going to miss her so much.

  "Please, bitch!" I rolled my eyes at my friend. "This from the girl that has twenty Coach bags," I teased, and she flipped me the bird. She definitely had a handbag addiction—far worse than mine for shoes.

  "Coach bags become collector items. They only get better with time."

  "Sure they do."

  "I'm so happy for you. Who would've thought three years ago when we saw them in concert that you'd be playing on stage with them one day. You're the luckiest bitch I know." She giggled and flopped back down on the bed. "Your parents would be so proud of you. I hope you know that."

  My stomach knotted while thinking about my parents. I wished so much that they could experience that moment with me. But I knew in my heart they were with me in spirit.

  Music had been such a big part of my dad's life, and I knew the one dream that he had for me was to do what I loved—play guitar. He started teaching me to play when I was just big enough to hold one, and as I got older, he'd take me to the studio with him where I'd hang out and play with some of the most famous and talented stars in music history. It broke my heart that he'd never get to see me perform in front of a sold out crowd, because that was what I was about to do.

  Dirty Affliction had been selling out venues across the nation for the last couple of years, and I was going to get to experience it, if only for a short period of time.

  "Yeah. I know. I miss them so much," I admitted.

  "I know you do, sweetie." She gave me a tearful smile and gave my hand a reassuring squeeze. I was definitely going to miss her. "I have an idea!" I groaned and rolled my eyes, because anytime Harmony said she had an idea, it usually involved alcohol and us making a fool out of ourselves. "Let's go to Johnny Walkers and celebrate your new adventure." She jumped up from the bed and ran to my closet and started tossing my clothes onto the floor.

  Johnny Walkers was a local club where people got drunk and danced on the tables if they were still able to stand. I may have actually done that a few times.

  "Why are you throwing my clothes on the floor?" I bent over and started picking up items of clothing. "Harmony?" I scolded with my hands on my hips.

  "We've got to find the perfect outfit." She chewed on her lip, deep in thought, right before she thrust a white tee shirt and a pair of black shorts in my face. "Pair that with your cute black wedges and it'll be perfect!"

  I stared down at the shirt that said ‘Two Words, One Finger’ across the chest. It was what I called my PMS shirt. If it was that time of the month and I was feeling extra bitchy, I wore that, and it pretty much warded off any unwanted attention from the opposite sex. On second thought, maybe it was the perfect shirt for tonight.

  ***

  Two hours later, I was dressed, makeup done to perfection, and hair styled and hanging in loose curls around my shoulders.

  "Honor, let's go!" Harmony shouted.

  I rolled my eyes at my reflection in the mirror and gave myself one last glance before going in search of my friend. I found her standing by the door, Coach bag on her shoulder, with a look of impatience on her adorable face.

  She tossed her bag on to the little table beside the door and walked over and stopped in front of me. "May I?"

  I had no idea what she was asking permission for. I just nodded my head, thinking she was probably going to pick a piece of lint off my clothes. So when she palmed my boobs and pushed them up almost into my throat, I shrieked.

  "What the hell?" I all but shouted. She knew no boundaries, that one. "You see this?" I waved my arms out in front of me. "This is my bubble. Step away from the bubble."

  She snort laughed.

  "I'm just lifting them a little. We're probably going to have to stand in line to get in. I'm thinking it would probably help if the ‘girls’ were up there a bit."

  "Here's a piece of advice, Harmony. You worry about yours, and I'll worry about mine," I scolded, and pulled my shirt back in to place.

  She stared down at her own and gave them a little bounce. She had always had a problem with the size of her chest. I was a D-cup and she was probably a large B or small C.

  "I'm thinking of getting a boob job," she said, palming her small breasts again.

  "Why in the world would you want to do that?" I had always wished mine were a little smaller, but I guess we always want the opposite of what we have.

  "You really have to ask? I mean, look at them and then look at yours. Mine are like small apples, and yours are like melons." She looked at mine again, and I took a step back. No way was she touching them again. We might have been best friends, but I drew the damn line at some things.

  "It's not all it's cracked up to be. It's hard to find pretty bras that fit, and my back aches from carrying them around," I admitted. Plus, all the unwanted attention that I got from the guys at school.

  "Guys love big boobs, though." She let her hands drop to her sides, and sighed heavily.

  I offered up a solution other than surgery. "So, just pad your bra."

  "That just feels like a lie," she said, shaking her head.

  "Girls like big dicks, too, but most guys lie about how big it is up until the package is revealed. And then you just feel cheated. You end up lying there in the moment, asking ‘Is it in yet?’." I shuddered while thinking about a guy I dated in high school. Tim Townsend, aka Tiny Tim. "Enough talk about boobs. I need a drink. As if on cue a horn blew, meaning our cab was waiting out front. It was only a short distance to the bar, but it was already beginning to sprinkle rain and we both had on white shirts. You know what that means. While Harmony might be okay with showing off her nipples to a bunch of strangers, I was not. No wet tee shirt contest for me! By the time the cab rolled to a stop in front of the bar, rain was coming down in buckets.

  We stepped through the door at Johnny Walkers twenty minutes later. The place was packed for a week night. The smell of alcohol and cigarette smoke hung heavy in the air. That was one of the things I hated the most about little dive bars. They still allowed people to smoke inside. At the end of the night, my hair would smell like a filthy ashtray.

  "Look: there's a couple of empty stools!" Harmony shouted over the music as she pulled me toward the bar, causing me to stumble in to a couple making their way to the dance floor.

  "Sorry," I mouthed, and I was pretty sure the woman called me a bitch.

  "What can I get you lovely ladies?" the guy behind the bar asked, flashing us a smile. He had dark brown hair, golden eyes, and enough scruff on his chin to make him lickable. Harmony leaned across the bar and whispered something in his ear, causing him to laugh. "Coming right up." He grinned and gave us a wink.

  "What did you say to him?" I asked, curious since she was now blushing.

  "Oh. Nothing." She brushed it off as if I hadn't even asked.

  "O-kay. What did you order us to drink?"

  "A slippery nipple." She giggled.

  I could only imagine what she said to him. If there was anything that she was not, it was shy. Her mouth had no filter, and she always said what she thought. She was who she was, and she didn’t try to impress anyone. That was why I loved her so much.

  We took our drinks and pushed our way through the crowd of people around the dance floor. Harmony squealed and said something that I couldn't quite make out over the loud music playing in the club. When I didn't respond to whatever she said, she grabbed me by the arm and led me to what looked like the only empty table in the place. Though I suspected it hadn’t been empty for long. Someone must have just left, because there were still water rings on the table.

  "Gross!" I frowned, as I grabbed a handful of napkins to wipe the water away.

&n
bsp; "Loosen up," she scolded.

  "I'm loose. See?" I stuck my tongue out at her and waved my arms in the air, causing her to laugh. I admit: I didn't really want to go out tonight, but I was glad I came. I hadn't realized just how tight I was strung over the last few months until now. That was what breaking up with the ex would do to you. I was ready to put that behind me and chalk it up to a bad experience all the way around.

  "Nu-uh." She shook her head and scowled at me.

  "What?"

  "I saw that look on your face. You've got to stop thinking about him. He's not worth it."

  "True," I admitted.

  I knew that, so why was I beating myself up over it? I really did need to get away for a while.

  "You have got to send me pictures every day. Do you hear me? Ev-ery day!” She slapped the top of table and leaned forward. "I'm telling you right now … I'd totally sleep with the drummer. He's hot as hell. Oh!" she gasped. "And Levi, too. My panties would melt right off. No. Wait a minute. I don't wear panties!" She laughed, and I noticed the guys at the table next to us were now staring.

  "You have no shame."

  "Nope. None."

  She giggled and tossed a wave to our new stalkers.

  A waitress wearing tight jeans and a club tee shirt walked over and sat a couple of shots on the table in front of us. I looked at her, confused, because we had not ordered them. She tilted her head in the direction of the guys sitting next to us. When I looked in their direction, they each raised their glasses in return.

  "Fireball. I love Fireball," Harmony said in a sing song voice, and downed the shot before blowing the guys a kiss. She'd had two drinks, and was well on her way to being toast.

  "You're such a light weight. Can't take you anywhere." I downed my shot, and coughed as it burned my throat on the way down.

  Harmony pulled her phone out of her purse, and I watched as her fingers flew across the screen at lightning speed. Her hand flew to her mouth as a loud gasp escaped her lips.

  "What?" Her eyes moved across the screen, but her mouth never closed. Until, finally, she lifted her eyes to mine with such excitement.

  "Just doing a little research on your guys," she announced.

  "They're not my guys, Harmony," I declared.

  She ignored me and kept talking.

  "This says that Chance Roberts, lead guitarist for Dirty Affliction was photographed having sex with a casino waitress in Billings." She continued to read, and scrunched up her nose as if she'd smelled something nasty. "It also says here that he was seen later that week coming out of a hotel with a hooker. That's some sick shit if you ask me. I mean, he could have anyone he wanted and he chooses to sleep with a nasty as hell hooker? Damn. I hope he wraps that thing." She had a look of disgust on her face when she opened up her purse and tossed her phone back inside.

  "You don't know that any of that is true, Harmony. You know those gossip hounds make some of that stuff up to sell magazines. I'm not saying some of it's not true. I know celebrities get away with a lot of crap. But imagine that poor girl with him. What if she was a sister, or maybe a Sunday School teacher?" I was trying to get my point across that you can't judge someone just by the stories that are printed about them. I was all for giving someone the benefit of doubt.

  "Yeah. You're probably right. I'm sure she was just a librarian, and he was returning a book." Her lips pulled into a thin line. She pulled her phone from her purse, swiped her finger across the screen, and then turned it around so that I could see what she was talking about.

  "Oh."

  There, on the screen, was Chance Roberts wearing a pair of faded jeans, a black tee shirt stretched tight across his chest, and black boots, looking hot as hell, while the woman on his arm wore a skirt so short her butt cheeks showed, and I was pretty sure she wasn't wearing a bra. If that didn't scream hooker then the six inch red heels she was wearing did. The hashtag #for500dollaI'llmakeyouholla didn't help my argument. Damn.

  ***

  The next day, I was supposed to meet up with the guys in Vegas, but my flight was cancelled due to an electrical problem with the plane, and the next scheduled flight wasn't until the following morning. That would mean I'd miss the show. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't a little bit relieved. I was hung over from all the Fireball shots Harmony kept forcing down me, and on top of that, I hated to fly. I hated it with a passion and avoided it whenever possible. The few times I'd flown before, I was prescribed Xanax to ward off a panic attack. I'd rather drive cross country any day if it meant not having to fly.

  I had sent Jinx a text to let him know that I wasn't going to make it. He was very understanding, and said that it was probably for the best, because they'd run into some type of issue they were having to deal with. Then he asked for me to meet them at the recording studio in a few days.

  ***

  Three days later, I loaded my suitcase and guitars onto the backseat of my Mustang and made the six hour drive to Los Angeles to meet the guys at Colby Records. By the time I reached the studio, I was a ball of nerves and so worked up that my neck and chest were broken out in big red splotches. Damn nerves.

  I walked down the long hallway of the Colby recording studio, glancing at the numbers on each door. When I came to the door with the words 'Recording Room 3', unsure if I should just walk in or knock, I chose to knock lightly rather than risk interrupting a closed set.

  When the door swung open, I recognized him immediately. Chance Roberts stood before me, bigger than life. His ever changing Mohawk was blue, his bright green eyes sparkled, and he was inked from the neck down. He was wearing a faded green tee shirt with a picture of Albert Einstein on the front. He was beautiful; just the way I remembered him. Sexy as hell.

  I hadn't stopped thinking about him since that concert three years ago, and I had every issue of magazine, newspaper, or tabloid that he had ever been in or on. To say that I had a crush on him would be putting it mildly. I knew all his stats. He didn't learn to play guitar until he was in his teens. He was 5'11". His real hair color was brown, and he had bright green eyes the color of emeralds. And those eyes were taking me in. I guess some people might have called me a stalker, but I was going to go with fan. Yes. That's it. I was a huge fan, and I stood before him, staring like a star struck fool. The colorful ink on his neck and arms had me hypnotized, and I couldn't look away. Damn. He smelled delicious. I even caught myself leaning in to get a better look, but he cleared his throat and broke the trance that I was in. My face heated with embarrassment.

  "You must be Honor."

  His eyes moved over my body, and his lip curled up on one side. His voice was smooth as silk and sent shivers up my spine. He was known for being the jokester of the group, but the tabloids painted him to be an even bigger man whore than their bass player, Linc.

  "Nope," I said, popping the p and arching my brow. "I'm your neighborhood Avon lady."

  He let out a low whistle as his appreciative gaze traveled over my body once more. The heat of his stare caused the butterflies in my stomach to take flight.

  "You're prettier than any Avon lady I remember."

  That caused me to grin.

  His heavily tattooed arms stretched above his head as he grabbed on to the door frame, causing the tee shirt he was wearing to ride up, exposing the tattooed skin beneath. I caught a glimpse of music notes that scrolled from beneath his shirt and disappeared into the waistband of his low slung jeans. I couldn't take my eyes off that tattoo.

  A tall, dark haired guy stepped up beside him and introduced himself as Jinx Raines. He was the drummer, and also the manager of the group. He was the guy Harmony was so crazy for, and I could understand why. His pictures didn't do him justice. He had dark hair that was styled in a faux hawk, and his eyes were a dark blue, like sapphires. He had a little scruff on his chin, and only a few visible tattoos.

  "Can I come in, or should I audition in the hallway?" I asked, lifting my chin in that direction.

  "Don't mind him. We normally don't le
t him out of his cage except on Monday and Thursday, but today we had to make an exception," Jinx joked, and elbowed Chance in the ribs.

  "You think you're funny, little drummer boy." Chance smirked, but stepped aside so that I could enter.

  I followed them inside the large studio as I heard Chance mumble to himself. I was sure he didn't mean for me to hear him, but I did.

  "Happy Birthday to me," he mumbled.

  "Today's your birthday?" I asked.

  "No. But, I'd be happy to show you my birthday suit." And I bet every wish I'd ever made would come true when I blew out the candle."

  "Smart ass," I shot back, but smiled.

  "You have no idea," Jinx said from across the room. "She's been here a total of five minutes, and she's already got your number, dude," he razzed, and Chance flipped him off.

  "You'll grow to love me, Sparkles. Just you wait and see."

  "You seem pretty sure of yourself."

  "Just stating the facts."

  He shrugged, and a cocky grin appeared on his handsome face. My eyes were drawn to his sexy lips as he flicked the piercing with his tongue. His lips curled up, and I realized he'd caught me staring again. Embarrassed that I'd been busted, I felt my face flush with warmth, and I was pretty sure my face said it all.

  Someone cleared their throat from across the room, breaking through the uncomfortable awkwardness. Thank God.

  I grabbed my guitar case and walked across the room to join Jinx and a tall, good looking guy, who was introduced to me as Levi, the lead singer. He had sandy blond hair and blue eyes. He looked more like a Ken doll than a rock star.

  Damn. All these guys are hot as hell. My ovaries just might explode before the three months were up.

  I took a seat at the table where they had sheet music spread out before them. Jinx went over the layout of the stage and the list of songs that we'd be playing. He discussed several promotional appearances, including a photo shoot for Stix and Strings magazine in a few weeks. The magazine was dedicated to some of the most talented guitar players and drummers in the nation. I hoped to have the honor of gracing those pages, because it would be a dream come true.