Sex God

by Katie McCoy

  “So.” Penny faced me. “What happened that constitutes a two-dozen donut emergency?”

  I let out a sigh and flopped back against the cushions.

  “Austin James,” I told her.

  Out of everyone, Penny knew the most about my ill-fated crush on Austin. She knew about the kiss, but I had to explain to her how he had unexpectedly returned to my life.

  “So he wanted you to interview him?” she asked, eyes wide.

  “Apparently.” I threw up my hands. “But he won’t let me. Every answer is a joke or an evasion.”

  Penny frowned. “That’s not very nice of him.”

  “He’s a rock star,” Cassie noted. “I don’t think they’re really known for their niceness. Their talented fingers, on the other hand—”

  I shot her a look, but she just gave me a wink.

  “You know you’ve been thinking about it,” she said.

  Of course I had been thinking about it. That was the most annoying part. That even though Austin was being a royal pain in the ass, he was still too damn hot. A fact that seemed to have my body on permanent high alert.

  It was just one of the many reasons I didn’t want to spend another minute with him. It only reminded me that I was attracted to him—when I didn’t want to be. Hadn’t I learned my lesson eight years ago?

  I was just Luke’s nerdy little sister. Not his type.

  “Maybe there’s something there,” Grace mused out loud. “Maybe the way to get what you want from him is to seduce him.”

  “No!” I said quickly. Too quickly.

  Three pairs of eyes focused on me.

  “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much,” Cassie said.

  Damn right I protest too much. Because if I didn’t, I would end up as just another notch in Austin James’s bedpost. And the worst part was that a certain part of me—certain body parts in particular—didn’t really think that would be so bad.

  But my brain knew it was a terrible idea. I had let Austin fool me into thinking he was a decent guy—I wasn’t going to let him do that again. He was a player, through and through. I mean, what other kind of guy invited a bunch of strange women over to play strip poker in his apartment? Or got strange women off in the bathroom at parties?

  Not a guy I wanted to get involved with. In any way.

  Only Penny gave me a sympathetic look.

  “There has to be another way,” she said.

  Immediately everyone was brainstorming potential ways for me to get a decent interview out of Austin.

  “You could blackmail him,” Grace suggested.

  “Grace!” I admonished her, shocked that she would suggest something like that.

  “What?” She blushed, but gave me a little smile. “You want that interview, don’t you?”

  “Sure, but I’m not resorting to blackmail,” I said. “Besides, I don’t have anything to blackmail him with.”

  She nodded. “Good point.”

  “There has to be another way,” Cassie mused.

  I shook my head. “I think I just need to stick it out and hope that I can wrangle something half-decent out of him.”

  Just then, my phone buzzed. I fished it out from underneath me and checked the screen. It was from Austin, and had a time and an address. The time was four hours from now, the location was Boston.

  “Be there,” the message said.

  “Goddammit,” I swore, leaping off the couch, and nearly disturbing three glasses of wine.

  “What happened?” Penny asked, holding her wine above her head as if I might make some more sudden movements.

  I showed the girls the text message.

  “See what I’m dealing with?” I asked.

  “He wants you to go to Boston?” Penny wanted to know. “Now?”

  “Apparently so.” I scrolled through my contacts until I found the number I was looking for.

  “Hello?” a sleepy voice answered.

  Perfect. If my older brother had been fully awake, there would be no chance that I could convince him to let me drive his beloved car all the way to Boston tonight.

  “Luke? I need Ruthie.”

  7

  Mia

  I was going to get to Boston if it killed me.

  Leaving the girls and the wine (but packing some donuts for the road) I managed to get Ruthie out of storage, and in no time, I was driving her out of the city, music blasting on the stereo.

  I drove like a bat out of hell—fueled by sugar, Bowie, and a newfound motivation. This article was going to be good—I was going to make sure of it. And it was going to be so good that Richard was going to give me an opportunity to write more profiles. No more Top 10 Enemas for an Inner Glow assignments for me.

  I arrived in downtown Boston with less than ten minutes to spare. The location that Austin had sent me to ended up being a small club, but there was already a large crowd out front. I valeted Ruthie, making sure to pocket the receipt. I was going to make sure that all of this was going to be paid for by ChatBuzz.

  At first, I couldn’t figure out why Austin had sent me here. The name on the marquee was a musician I didn’t recognize—was he performing under an alias now? Then, I heard snippets of conversations as I headed towards the bouncer at the front of the line.

  “He’s totally here,” someone was saying.

  “It could just be a rumor,” their friend responded. “After all, you read about it on Twitter.”

  “No, Austin James is definitely here,” the first person said confidently. “I heard from my friend Becky who heard it from her boyfriend’s second cousin that he’s going to be playing a set tonight.”

  “His new stuff?” the friend asked, sounding excited.

  It was met with a shrug. “Who knows?” the first person responded. “No one’s heard anything. I bet it doesn’t even exist.”

  I pushed forward towards the bouncer, checking my purse and pockets for my ChatBuzz badge. Of course, it was nowhere to be seen. Dammit.

  “I’m here with the band,” I told the bouncer but he just frowned at me.

  “You and everyone else,” he responded.

  “No, but I was invited by Austin,” I argued.

  “Are you on the list?” he pulled out a clipboard.

  I gave him my name but of course, it wasn’t on there.

  “Sorry,” he said, crossing his enormous arms. “I can’t let you through.”

  “Excuse me,” a voice came from behind him and the bouncer moved aside to reveal a petite young woman with multi-colored hair wearing a badass pair of boots. She looked like she didn’t take shit from anyone. I liked her immediately.

  “Are you Mia?” she asked me.

  I nodded, and she stuck out her hand. “Great,” she said. “I’m Zoey—Austin’s manager.” She gave the bouncer a gentle nudge. “She’s with me, Phil.”

  “Nice to meet you in person,” I said as I was let into the club.

  “Likewise,” she told me, as we headed towards the back. “Though, I have to apologize.”

  “For what?”

  She gave me a look. “For how Austin has been acting,” she said. “I heard that he’s not being very cooperative with the interview. He can be such an ass sometimes.”

  I hadn’t thought it was possible to love a stranger, but I was pretty much halfway in love with Zoey.

  “He can totally be an ass,” I agreed. “But it’s fine. I’ve cracked tougher nuts than him.”

  We headed backstage, passing by roadies and fans, heading deeper and deeper into the building. Finally we reached Austin’s dressing room, aka an empty closet furnished with a couple of chairs and a case of beer. It was a swarm of people, but all of them seemed to be waiting on Austin. He didn’t even look up when Zoey and I entered.

  “Sorry,” she said to me. “We have to deal with some business stuff first.”

  She pushed through the crowd to get to his side. When she did, he gave her a smile. It was one of his genuine smiles, and I felt a tiny stab of jealousy, m
ainly because so far I had only been gifted with his “I’m a badass rock star” smile, which showed off his straight, perfect teeth, but was the same smile that he gave his millions of anonymous fans.

  He returned his attention to the papers in his hands, both which seemed to be artwork for his album or something else related to it.

  “Which do you like better?” he asked Zoey.

  She looked for a moment and pointed at the left image. Austin nodded and handed it to one of the people hovering around him. Slowly and carefully, he went through the line of people waiting for him, giving each of their tasks the proper time and attention they deserved.

  Even though the room was crowded, and Austin was acting like his charming rock star self, there was a sense of seriousness to what he was doing. He cared about the work. He cared about his image. Not that it surprised me that much. I knew that he was serious about his music—it had just been a while since I had seen it firsthand. It was annoyingly sexy.

  I resisted pulling out my notebook and taking notes.

  Just then, Austin glanced up and saw me.

  I walked over to him, feeling pretty smug that I had managed to get here on time.

  But before I could act on that smugness, Austin gave me a slow once-over.

  “Nice outfit,” he said.

  Dammit.

  I had completely forgotten to change after work, and therefore was wearing my very nice, work-appropriate clothes—a pair of jeans, flats and a nice blouse. All of which looked totally ridiculous—and very uncool—in our current setting. No wonder the bouncer hadn’t wanted to let me in.

  “Someone didn’t give me much warning,” I snapped at him.

  Why did I always feel like I was on the defensive with him?

  “You look great,” he said, with a teasing note in his voice. “Very librarian-chic.”

  I glared at him.

  Before we could get into it, though, a tall lanky dude ambled over to us. He looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. He also looked as much of a badass as Zoey did, which made my unintentional normcore outfit seem all the more out of place. He wore a sleeveless shirt—somehow managing to make it look cool and effortless, a feat that was probably due to the gorgeous and intricate tattoos snaking up and down both of his arms. The rest of his outfit was all black—black jeans, black boots, black belt. His hair was long and shaggy, lazily pulled back into a bun, while his hands were occupied by a pair of drumsticks, which he was casually drumming against his leg.

  When I saw them, I realized where I knew him from—he was the drummer from Austin’s old band. Unlike Austin, who had been thrust into the center of attention just by being the lead singer and guitarist, and Danny, the bassist, who had grabbed the spotlight whenever he had a chance, their drummer had remained fairly unnoticed by the press. In fact, I couldn’t remember seeing a single story about him during my research today.

  “Dude,” he said, drumming gently on Austin’s shoulder before glancing up at me. “Hey.” He gave me the standard cool-guy head nod as a greeting.

  “Royce, this is Mia,” Austin made the introductions. “Mia, this is Royce, our—”

  “Drummer,” I finished for him, reaching out and shaking Royce’s hand. “Nice to meet you. Big fan of your work. The beat in ‘Juniper Drive’ is one of my favorites.”

  Royce’s eyebrows went up, and I could see the quick, silent exchange that occurred between him and Austin.

  “She’s a music nerd,” Austin said as an explanation.

  “Rad,” Royce responded before turning back to Austin. “Sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got some questions about the line-up.”

  “Sure,” Austin said, glancing over at me. “Here.” He dug something out of his bag and tossed it to me.

  It was a pass to watch the show backstage. I took it, even though I knew I was going to watch from the audience. In my opinion, it was the only way to experience a show. I wanted to get the crowd’s reaction and fully immerse myself.

  It was clear that Austin and Royce had work to do, so I bowed out of the conversation gracefully and headed to the other side of the room where Zoey was talking to one of the roadies. If she was his manager, she was a perfect source for some background stories, details for my profile.

  “So,” I started, trying to sound casual. “How do you like working for Austin?”

  She looked at me and laughed. “He told me you were relentless,” she said.

  “He would,” I sighed.

  “He meant it in a good way,” Zoey added quickly. “I think.” She glanced over at Austin. “He appreciates ambition. At least, that’s the impression I got when he hired me.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, wanting so badly to take out my phone, but I knew that it was better to get people to warm up to me before I pulled out my recorder.

  “Well, I was just an assistant with Method of Madness,” Zoey told me. “Which made sense—I was just out of college and just wanted to work where the music was. Still, Austin gave me a chance there, and then when he decided to go solo, he offered me the opportunity to manage him.”

  “And you like it?”

  Zoey laughed. “I love it. Being a woman in the industry, when you find someone who has your back, you stick with them,” she added. “Austin doesn’t take any crap on his tours—for him or anyone else.”

  I was surprised. I always knew that Austin was ambitious himself—that he was focused and talented and driven—but it was a nice surprise to know that he encouraged and rewarded that in others.

  Zoey checked her watch.

  “Show should be starting soon,” she said. “If you want to head to the stage with me.”

  “I’m going to watch from the audience,” I told her. “Get a feel for the scene.”

  “See you later then.”

  There were so many things I wanted to ask her—mainly regarding what had happened between Danny and Austin. There were plenty of rumors to go around—both of them being divas, both of them wanting the spotlight, both of them feeling underappreciated. There were stories about how they’d slept with each other’s girlfriends or groupies or whatever. I found it hard to believe most of the rumors, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to know the truth.

  Before I left the VIP room, I cast one last look in Austin’s direction. He was still working with Royce, both of their heads bent over the set list. He looked completely focused, completely lost in the work. Annoyingly, my body responded, getting hot and tingly. Austin was hot—a focused, driven Austin was even hotter.

  But he had always been that way. And it had been one of the things I had admired about him.

  I headed out into the club and found a spot up front in the pit. It was a lot of dudes, but there was one young woman about my age up near the stage. I moved towards her, unable to take my eyes off of the beautiful leather jacket she was wearing. It was old and worn and definitely had seen quite a few rock shows.

  “Nice jacket,” I told her.

  She turned and smiled at me. “Thanks,” she said, her green eyes sparkling.

  She was pretty and petite—even shorter than I was—her red hair pulled back in a loose braid, and her eyes done up in a wicked good cat-eye with some sort of glittery eyeliner. Underneath the jacket, she was wearing a flowy red dress that gave her a Stevie Nicks vibe. She didn’t look like most of the crowd—everyone else seemed to be wearing black—but she definitely looked like she belonged.

  “I like your shoes,” she told me.

  “Thanks,” I said. “But I’m pretty sure this whole outfit is making everyone here think I’m a narc or something.”

  She laughed, and then shrugged off her jacket, and handed it to me.

  “Here,” she said. “I think you look great, but I know what you mean about standing out. Sometimes it’s not that much fun.”

  I looked at the beautiful jacket she was holding out. “Are you sure?” I asked. “I promise I won’t steal it.”

  “Sure,” she said, pushing it at me. “
It will look great on you.”

  I shrugged it on. It was soft as butter. I sighed happily.

  “Thank you,” I said, reaching out a hand. “I’m Mia.”

  “Molly,” she responded. “Always nice to see another girl in the pit,” she told me.

  If I hadn’t liked her already, that would have done it.

  “Totally,” I said. “Female solidarity and all that.”

  “Exactly,” she grinned.

  Before I could ask her if she was here for Austin or for the other musician, the lights dimmed and the crowd cheered. Molly included. Cupping her hands over her mouth, she let out a loud whoop, the volume surprising for such a small person.

  Then, without any introduction, Austin and Royce rocked out on stage. The audience went wild. Molly put her fingers in her mouth and let out a piercing whistle. Immediately, Austin’s eyes went to the spot where we were, and he grinned.

  Guess I didn’t need to ask who Molly was there to see.

  I felt a twinge of jealousy, and I hated it. In the five minutes that I had known Molly, she had already proven herself to be a quality person, and it was stupid of me to feel jealous towards her—especially in the case of Austin, someone I didn’t want to be thinking about at all. So I pushed those jealous feelings aside, and turned my attention to the stage. To the job I had been sent here to do.

  Austin settled himself on a stool at the center of the stage, his acoustic guitar resting on his knee. Royce took his seat behind his drum set, looking completely unphased by the crowd that was cheering and chanting Austin’s name.

  “Good evening, Boston,” Austin said, his voice low and calm. “I know a lot of you are here to see the talented musician I’m opening for—”

  “No we’re not!” someone shouted from the audience.

  “Well, you should stick around,” Austin told them. “Because they’re going to blow your mind.” He took out a pick and strummed his guitar. “But either way, I hope you’ll indulge me a few minutes of stage time.”

  “Take all the time you want!” someone else shouted.

  Austin smiled and my stomach did an annoying little leap. Dammit, why did he have to be so cute and charming? Not to mention talented, as was made abundantly clear when he launched into a slow, acoustic version of one of Method of Madness’ first singles: “Sara, Sara.”