Disrespectful Diva (DJ Series Book 2)

by Helen J. Barnes

  Minutes later the discomfort gets unbearable and I have nothing to busy myself with so I sit and observe Dom typing something out on the chatroom for the stations website. He must sense me looking at him because he glimpses over before doing a double take, realising I’m watching him. I look away and stand to go make myself a drink before we get started. In a vain attempt to bridge the distance, just to break the ice so to speak, I make a polite offer.

  “I’m gonna grab myself a coffee, can I get you anything from the canteen while I’m in there?”

  He literally blinks in surprise and raises his eyebrows. “Why, Dis-Diva, is this you being friendly?”

  I roll my eyes but smirk. “It’s not for your sake. I’m trying here, but only for Pops. I still think you’re a grade A divvy. I am, however, willing to cut you some slack. I may have been a bit of a bitch since you arrived, but you have been a tosser as well.”

  “A divvy and a tosser in one sentence, and this is you trying to be friendly?” Dom chuckles and I nod.

  “Yep, it’s the best I can manage right now.”

  “Well, I’ll try and look at it this way, you have given me a private show of that sexy little ass of yours dancing around the studio and offered me a drink. I’m more than happy, believe me.” He winks and I can’t help but giggle.

  “Oh, for that comment, Dominic, you can make your own coffee,” I laugh before walking through to the canteen but I’m soon joined by him. He sees me filling two mugs, obviously one for him, and the corner of his mouth twitches up.

  “Just for the record, if you’ll pardon the pun, I appreciate you trying, even if it is for Pops’ sake. I think it will stand us all in good stead if we wipe the slate clean and start again. I’m going to try not to take your diva tendencies into account and try not to judge you on your reputation, I’m sorry for not doing that from the start, Tara.” His voice wavers and he seems genuinely sorry.

  I nod and tuck my hair behind my ear. “Thank you, Dom. I promise to try and do the same.”

  I turn my back on him to finish our drinks, filling the mugs with water from the boiled kettle and stirring in milk. I don’t feel him come up so close behind me until I’m turning and I manage to throw his coffee all down his T-shirt.

  “Oh, shit! Shit! That’s hot!” He rips his shirt and T-shirt off in the blink of an eye and I turn on the cold tap, drenching a tea towel. I don’t even think about what I say next.

  “I don’t make coffee from the cold tap,” I mumble. Then it hits me how sarcastic that sounds and I’ve just scolded the poor guy. I groan at my stupidity. “Dom, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were stood so close.”

  I press the soaking tea towel to his burning abdominals which are turning a nasty shade of red. When I risk a glimpse up at him there is amusement dancing in his jade green eyes and I realise he is trying not to laugh. “You really can’t help your sarcasm, can you?”

  I bite my lip and shake my head. “No. Sorry.” His eyes seem to burn into mine. That same ping of electricity pulsates in the quiet of the room and I can’t look away when his muscles quiver beneath my hand.

  “It’s okay. I’ve got this,” he says quietly, taking the cloth from my hands and gently peeling it from his skin. Damn, it looks sore as hell and I feel terrible. He winces, inspecting the damage and it’s only then I realise how fucking hot his abs are, and not in the sense of temperature. His body is totally take-your-breath sexy. Christ, his chest is a smooth expanse of solid muscle and his eight pack comes down into an Adonis’ V that would make even a UFC fighter envious. I step back to put some space between me and the most fucktastic body I have ever laid eyes on.

  He tosses the towel onto the countertop and I almost salivate at the flex in his bunched, rounded shoulders and the mounds of muscles on his arms that some may call biceps - personally I would call these weapons, they’re that big and toned. I decide to name his left bicep Tyson and the other Ali. He catches me ogling his upper half and I blush profusely, mumbling another apology.

  “Tara, it’s okay. I think I got my top off quick enough to limit the heat on my skin. I’ll be fine.” He tries to make me feel better but a glimpse back at his abs makes me feel bad, they’re covered in angry red marks. “I am, however, screwed for something else to wear.”

  Oh, god, I’m never going to be able mix with that hot mountain of muscle distracting me. I rack my mind for a solution but come up blank. Damn! “Speaking of which, shouldn’t we be starting about now?”

  “Shit! Yes! Come on, grab your drink and let’s get live.”

  I do as I’m told and follow Dom into the studio where he goes straight to his desk and pulls on the headphones. He hits a few buttons and does what he needs to, putting us live on air.

  Although his body is full of tension and he is obviously flummoxed from being scolded and running late, it isn’t portrayed in his voice at all when his northern accent takes to the air waves and he welcomes listeners to the Frantic Friday show with himself and me, Tara Powers. His eyes look over to me as he describes me as the ‘legendary, Tara Powers’ and rather than bask in the compliment his eyes urge me to get my first track playing.

  I swing into action, starting the set that I’m going to have to continuously mix for the next two hours. I load my first and second track and check my mixer settings, I’m good to go. The sound proofed studio fills with the 142 beats per minute, a steady set starter track for me, because in full swing by the end of this set I will hit a minimum of 155bpm, maybe even 160.

  Dom slides his headphones onto the back of his neck and swivels his seat to face me with an excited look in his eyes. Safe in the knowledge that we can’t be heard on air he laughs. “It would seem, Dis-Diva, that every time we try to start afresh you still end up hurting and insulting me within the first hour.” His chuckle is endearing. “And I still didn’t get a coffee for the trouble.”

  “More importantly, you’re doing the show half naked,” I laugh and he looks down at his taunt stomac. I follow his gaze and once again he catches me checking him out. The sparkle in his eye tells me it amuses him and I turn away, cueing up my next track. I start to settle into my mix and I can’t help the gentle sway to my hips or the tip of my chin in time to the beat. By the fourth track my drink is cold and I’m well into my work, practically dancing and enjoying myself. Dominic will randomly speak over the mic to listeners but he never drowns out a mix with chatter and is getting a great reception from listeners. Shout out requests are coming in thick and fast so Dom offers me a mic. I shake my head. I’m only too happy to mix but, in all honesty, I’ve always been a little shy on the mic.

  “I’m taking requests for shout outs directly from Xtreem’s very own resident, DJ Dis-Diva, so hit me with your messages folks, you know the number and we are live in Xtreem chat right now so don’t be shy, drop in and say hi,” Dom says over the air waves and my eyes bulge. I did just refuse the mic, right? What the hell is his game?

  He clicks the mic off and turns to me with a cocky grin. “That will get them all excited. Best get ready, Tara, I think we are gonna be swamped with shout out requests in the next twenty minutes.”

  “Dom! You saw me say no to speaking on air. I can’t do it, I sound ridiculous,” I practically whine and it’s greeted with a chuckle.

  “Tara, you’ve been speaking since you were a kid. What makes you think speaking into a mic makes you sound ridiculous?”

  “I stutter and jabber. I get too nervous,” I admit whilst loading my next track but I’m suddenly thrown right out of my comfort zone.

  “Are you seriously trying to tell me that you can stand in front of a crowd of thousands at a festival or an underground rave and mix with confidence but you cannot speak to a faceless crowd of listeners?”

  “When you say it like that it does sound ridiculous but mixing is different. I’m mixing music on equipment and I know the decks won’t mess up on me. My voice is.., well, me. My nerves mess me up.”

  “Your nerves can mess up a mix and
you know it. I can’t believe you have a confidence problem. DJ Dis-Diva, the woman who has rocked the masses for the last five years and has an ego the size of an air balloon is scared to speak on a mic,” he chuckles but sounds genuinely bemused.

  My embarrassment gets the better of me and I snap. “Fuck you, Dom,” I bite out before putting my headphones on and mixing in the next track. The basslines blend faultlessly and I drop the gain on the tune I’m mixing out. When the offbeat is out I eject the CD.

  When I turn Dominic is stood behind me, again too close to my back, and I jump, whipping the headphones off and I frown, readying myself for an argument but when I look up into his jade green eyes they’re full of apology. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot like that, Tara, I’m sorry.”

  I sigh and reach around him to grab my CD wallet, the inside of my wrist glides over the soft skin over his ribs. Oh.my.shit. He feels like silk against my skin.

  He doesn’t flinch or move away, his eyes just continue to bore into mine and I feel my libido ignite. I want to touch him so badly, just a squeeze of Tyson or Ali, just a graze of his abs. Christ, I’ve got to stop this because I swear he can hear my thoughts and his eyes scream at me to do it. First mental slap of many, Tara, are we working here or not?!

  “It’s okay, Dom. Look, if you tell me exactly what you want me to say I’ll try it, okay?”

  I turn my back on him and I load my next track into the CDJ. I’m just about to lift my headphones onto my head when I feel his mouth at my ear and I freeze, every hair on my body jumping to attention. “Thank you, Tara,” Dom whispers right into my ear and I close my eyes. My heart is hammering in time to the pounding bass line and my senses are in overload. When I feel him move away I dare to open my eyes and I search out the clock. Almost an hour done already. Half way there, Tara, don’t lose it now.

  I mix another two tracks before Dominic announces over the mic I’ll be doing a few shout outs shortly. I glance over at him as he clicks the mic off and he offers me a sheet of paper. I take it and his eyes thank me. I quickly speed read through the requests.

  “You ready?” Dom asks and I take a deep breath before nodding. He points at the microphone descended from the ceiling above the decks to say the shows all mine.

  Oh, god, I feel sick. I get frustrated with myself. Dom is right. I’ve stood on stage, alone, in front of literally thousands of clubbers. I’ve had my face on humungous screens, zoomed in while I’m mixing. Yet saying a few words on the radio has me quaking in my timberland boots. Sort your shit out, Tara.

  I glance to Dominic who is urging me on with his eyes and he mouths ‘You’ll be fine’ to me. I breathe out through my mouth again and nod before taking a breath and closing my eyes to the mic. “Evening Frantic Friday fans. Thanks for joining me, DJ Dis-Diva, and your host, Dominic Clayton. You’ve been sending in your shout outs thick and fast so I’ll try and get through as many as I can in the next hour. Let’s start with a message from Gemma Stone. Dave, this lady loves you, babe. It’s time you proposed,” I say from memory then check the next shout out request. I know my voice doesn’t sound like my own but from the corner of my eye I see Dom give me the thumbs up and he has a satisfied smile on his face. I grin back, amused, and slightly turned on by the sight of him in his studio, surrounded by electrical equipment in just his jeans.

  I battle my way through a few more requests before I have to stop to mix in the next track, one of Dayton Scott’s newest tracks and Dom does a track ID, sending Dayton a personal shout out from me. I smile gratefully at Dom and load up another track.

  By the time my set is at its hardest and fastest we are ready for wrapping up and I find myself freely chatting over the mic, even joking with Dominic on air when he teases saying I’ve got him half stripped because the studio is so hot tonight. Mixing in my last track is bittersweet because I’ve found I really am enjoying myself and the banter online has been a lot of fun.

  Once my last track is in and playing the set out I motion to Dom that I’m done. He starts to wish the listeners good night, specifically listeners who he has been chatting to for the whole two hour show. I unplug my headphones and put my CDs away as he winds down the hour. When my last track finishes and fades to silence he plays a pre-recorded jingle advertising Xtreem’s birthday bash then signs us off air. He swivels in his seat and laces his fingers behind his head.

  Holy, sweet mother of Jesus, his biceps flex as he stretches out and I feel my blood heat and my nipples harden just taking in the smooth, browned expanse of his body. He is divine. I get a mental flash of my nails racking over those muscles in the throws of an orgasm and feel my body heat further still. I drag my gaze away, sure he can see the affect he is having on me.

  “I want to thank you, Tara. Tonight has been an epic show and it’s all down to you. Listeners were up by over 25% and you did amazingly on the mic to say you were so nervous. Well done.”

  I blush at his compliment. Get me, blushing!

  “It was my pleasure, Dom. Once I got into it I really enjoyed it. It’s always fun to mix in the studio but I enjoyed tonight more than usual.”

  “That wouldn’t have anything to do with the fact I’m half naked then?” His eyes tease and I roll my eyes and turn away from him to pack my stuff into my bag.

  “Do you need a lift home?” I try to change the subject.

  “No, I’m good, thanks. I’m gonna go grab my top. Will you be ready to set the alarm once I’m dressed?” he asks on the threshold and I nod.

  Once he re-joins me with his stained T-shirt back in place I pick up my bag and turn off the studio light. Dom locks the door and follows me out to reception where I let him out first and set the security system for the night, making sure the place is locked up like fort knox. “You know, anytime you fancy playing another show just let me know. I think Pops is going to be happy with the stats tonight and I’ve never had so much fun with my clothes on. Well, some of my clothes.” Dom smiles as I follow him to the car park. His Nissan is parked next to my Audi.

  “I did, too. Who would have thought it? Me and you actually having fun together, Shaz is gonna freak.”

  “I know. Can you imagine the fun we could have without our clothes on?” Dom flashes me a roguish grin and I look away to hide my smirk. “I knew you could be a lot of fun.”

  “Oh, yeah? How?”

  “I don’t know. I just had this feeling about you. Something told me that this bad girl image you carry is all a façade. Really you’re a rather shy person who puts up barriers to keep people at arms length. I just haven’t figured out why yet. I think the real you is a lot of fun, your humour is just a bit dry, hence the sarcasm diarrhoea.” He grins with a cocky look on his face again.

  “So you think you have me all figured out then? You have no idea how wrong you are.” I giggle but it sounds fake, even to my finely tuned ears, because secretly I’m shocked with how accurately he seems to know me. It would seem he has spent plenty of time thinking about this- about me.

  “I’ll let you prove me wrong then, sweetheart,” he says quietly and in the peace of the night around us I hear my heart beating in my ears at his endearment. When I look up into his eyes they’re shining and I get the urge to reach up and touch him, pull his gorgeous face to mine and kiss him thoroughly.

  “Don’t worry, I will,” I practically whispers back.

  Without warning he swoops down and kisses me chastely on the cheek. I don’t even get the chance to savour the feel of his lips on my skin. “Good night, Tara, drive carefully.” He quickly circles his car before sliding into the driver’s seat. I move into action and do the same, both of us buckling up simultaneously. He lets me reverse and pull out first. I beep the horn once and drive away, my thoughts racing and my head still pounding. I don’t know if it’s the two hour set I’ve just mixed or my heart, which broke into a gallop at his teasing, or his too quick kiss, but whatever it was, I’m happily buzzing.

  C hapter 6

  Saturdays gig is a fairly
local one, compared to some I’m booked at anyway. So I’m relieved to say it has been a pretty easy weekend and I do manage to get some down time. Sunday I don’t even bother getting dressed; I wake, shower and put on fresh pyjamas. My most comfortable fleece Minnie Mouse pyjamas with matching slippers. My wet locks gets put into low hanging plaited pigtails and I prepare for a day of comfort foods, napping on the corner sofa and rom-coms. Shaz is only too happy to join me and provides the huge bags of toffee popcorn, champagne magnum ice creams and Dr Pepper by the gallon. We kick off the slush fest with Bridget Jones’ Diary and settle in to watch and eat until we are nauseous.

  Shaz has been filled in on the events of the Frantic Friday and I don’t skim the details on just how OTT sexy Dom’s body is. She seems disinterested in these details and didn’t seem incredibly happy that Dom and I seem to have bridged the gap a little. I suppose I should have anticipated this, after all, she still thinks he’s a cocky swine and so do I, to a certain extent. I just think he’s a swine encased in a hot ass body now, too. I wouldn’t mind seeing Tyson and Ali again sometime soon.

  “Oh, I can’t believe I forgot to tell you. I have received a message that I’m pretty sure is a hint that I’ll be asked to be on a Serious Soundz track soon.” Shaz bounces on the sofa to face me and I pause, my fistful of popcorn midway to my mouth.

  “Really? Do spill.” I encourage and with a little too much excitement in her eyes she settles back on the sofa to fill me in.

  “Well, you know you’re my bitch and I’d never do anything that upset you, right? But I got a message from Paul over in camp Serious and apparently I’ve been the topic of conversation over there.” I see she is flattered but trying to downplay it. “Lucy Hart has been singing my praise and wants me to record a track with her.”

  “Oh, yeah? Are you gonna do it? You know Pops would encourage you to get your vocals on as many tracks and labels as possible.” I feel the stab of disappointed in my tummy but it’s not enough to stop me scoffing the addictive popcorn.