Dangerous Hearts: Rock Star Romance, 1 (Lyric & Wolf)

by Mia McAdams

  The company always books the crew in the same hotel, which is maybe a thirty-minute walk if I keep a steady pace. I’m in no rush tonight. Time to myself like this is a rare occurrence I cherish when I get it, just not for too long. I can only handle this kind of silence in short sprints.

  “Cameras aimed at you at two o’clock, sir.”

  Shit. There goes my leisurely walk.

  It’s not like I’m doing anything exciting, but they don’t care. Tomorrow morning my leisurely stroll in the park will turn into some fabricated headline news story. WOLF SPOTTED ON DRUG RUN or WOLF CAUGHT HAVING MELTDOWN IN THE PARK. I let out a laugh. The media is good. I’ll give them that. I’m hardly as exciting as they write in their articles.

  I can see the flashing camera lights now. We pick up the pace. Our strides longer, steps are quicker. Until we’re only a few blocks from the hotel.

  “They’re closing in,” Rex says, his tone carrying a warning. He’s right next to me now.

  We start jogging. So do they. I caught one glimpse before we turned a corner. There must be at least five of them. Not bad. But now they’re close enough to start asking questions.

  “Wolf, can we have an interview?”

  No.

  “Happy Birthday, Wolf!”

  It’s not my birthday. At least they didn’t bring a fucking cake this time.

  “Wolf, can we just get one picture?”

  I throw them a smile over my shoulder. Every now and then I do what it takes to play nice. But it’s not enough for the vultures. Always on the lookout for their next meal.

  “Wolf, your fans are getting bored of the same songs. Got anything new planned for the tour?”

  Heat starts in my chest and radiates outward. They want to wind me up, so I’ll give them something to write about. Not going to happen.

  Rex is in front of me now, letting me move through the hotel entrance before him. He stands back, blocking the reporters from coming any closer.

  There are several people milling around the entrance, all of whom turn to stare at me: The panting big dude wearing a hoodie and sunglasses. I must look like a creep. I remove the disguise and head straight for the elevator.

  Just as the sliding doors are closing, I reach into the divide to stop them. They retract. I let out a sigh of relief before rushing in. Straight into Lyric. She’s resting against the back mirrored wall, her face priceless when she registers it’s me.

  “Well, hello again,” I say, unable to hold back my smirk. Maybe I should have fallen onto her chest. Payback and all.

  My breaths are coming out quickly, still recovering from my unexpected workout. I catch a glimpse in the mirror of Rex stepping into the elevator behind me, but my focus is on Lyric. I watch amused as she straightens her shoulders and looks around me as if I’m not standing right in front of her. If I had a dime for every person who pretended to be unaffected by my presence, I’d be filthy rich—more than I already am. I chuckle.

  Her eyes draw tight, narrowing at me. “Are you following me?” Her voice is filled with exasperation.

  Still amused, I turn so that I’m no longer facing her. We’re shoulder to shoulder now and I’m about to respond, but when a gaggle of teen girls shoves their way inside at the last second, I change my mind.

  “Girls, I’m going to have to ask you to step out,” Rex says. He’s not a mean guy, but his deep voice is always alarming to those who aren’t used to it.

  The girls look at him wide eyed. One looks back at me like she might cry.

  “No, Rex. Let them ride. It’s okay.” I smile, effectively causing them to swoon.

  Doors close and they immediately start with the squeals. Shit.

  “It is you. Wolf. Oh my God. I love you so much. Can we take a picture with you?”

  It’s an elevator selfie ride all the way to the twelfth floor, where the girls get off. I step out with Lyric on the nineteenth floor, thankful when Rex doesn’t follow us down the hall. Still, he watches us, and I know he will until I’m safely in my room.

  “Are you following me?” she asks again.

  This time I roll my eyes at her. “What makes you think I’m into you?”

  Her eyes bulge. “You stared at me all through dinner. You followed me into the elevator . . .” She trails off when she realizes that’s all she’s got.

  Room 1924 comes into view, so I stop and face her. “You, sweets, need to get over yourself. I haven’t hit on you once today. If I did, you wouldn’t be fighting it.”

  She crosses her arms and glares. “Is that right?”

  In a power move, I step forward, and her eyes are directly below mine. This one doesn’t weaken beneath my gaze. She stands taller. I’m not sure if I like that or not. It’s refreshing and infuriating in one tiny, sexy, package. “Lyric.” Her name is so fucking sexy as it rolls off my tongue; I could make out with it. “If I wanted to, I’d have you inside my room and naked in seconds. Don’t get me wrong, you’re a pretty girl, but looking at you during dinner and walking you to your room is hardly flirting.”

  She steps backward until her back hits the door to my room, and I have a vision of her naked flesh pressed up against it with me deep inside her. Fuck. I know what I’ll be getting off to tonight. Her eyes are searching mine inquisitively as the fog lifts from my fantasy. “So I’m really not your type?”

  “Not at all,” I lie.

  A breath escapes her, and although it sounds like a sigh, there seems to be a hitch in there, too. “Okay, then. That’s settled. Nothing to worry about.” She pushes off the wall and slips past me.

  “Not at all.” I focus on sliding my keycard into the slot.

  “That should make this upcoming tour much easier on both of us, then,” she says, her voice fading the further away she gets.

  My smile never wavers as her footsteps cease, and her door opens then closes. I let out a rush of air at the realization that Lyric Cassidy, after only a few hours, had officially managed to creep under my skin.

  Lyric

  My songbook keeps me company wherever I go—an important lesson I learned years ago after inspiration struck and I realized I'd left it at home. It’s like a spontaneous orgasm. An idea can come at any time, and my songbook is my condom, catching my word babies as they fall. I’ve had this particular book for only a few months now, but that’s because I fill them quickly. I have stacks of them in my storage unit back in Seattle.

  As my feet soak in the warm pool water and my songbook rests beside me, I’m overcome with inspiration. I knew I would be. San Diego is a beautiful place, filled with beautiful people, and stories are everywhere; I’m aching to write them. It’s been a few days since I’ve gone there. To that place in the deep, dark part of my brain where emotions and words collide, sparking honesty and vulnerability. My songbook is my private place—my only place—to unleash these emotions. Because of that, it’s safe to say this is my addiction. My obsession.

  A shriek and giggle—a shriggle—fills the air, turning my attention to the couple at the other end of the pool. There he is. My new boss, the rock god himself, threatening to toss a cute, and entirely too willing, victim into the deep end of the pool. My stomach rolls. I don't want to watch, but I'm unable to take my eyes from the scene. Such noncommittal happiness. It’s not like they’re doing anything inappropriate. He’s not even groping her yet, but it’s a painful reminder of what I left in Seattle. Tony and Joanna. Assholes. Despite their betrayal, I can admit that they happen to be perfect together. It’s the circumstances that were unfortunate.

  Joanna had been my best friend since grade school. I asked her to go on the tour with me and even found her a job on the road so she had a good excuse to take a break from college. As it turns out, I am shit at choosing friends and seeing through the lies. Joanna didn’t wait a second to jump into an affair with my boyfriend, and I didn’t realize Tony was capable of cheating on me. Bad boy rocker and all, but I thought our connection was mutual. We’re both cut from the same cloth. Born in
to the industry. Emotionally detached, but not in ways that make us cold. We’re just able to separate emotion from all the other bullshit going on. At times, our relationship felt more like a business transaction than anything else, but the sex was good. I’m not the easily stimulated type, but he could still get me to climax most of the time. Not that I counted.

  Whatever. In the end, he followed his heart—or dick—even though it meant damaging mine. Heart, that is.

  I stare across the pool and shake my head as Wolf wraps his arms around the girl’s slick body. At least I’m not the only one with issues. That bad boy might just be worse off than I am. At least I’ve made the decision to abstain from sex until I figure my shit out. Wolf doesn’t date. At all. And it sounds like he’s perfectly content hopping from one girl to the next. His heart is destructive. Dangerous. The last thing I need. Like Tony. Like Joanna. Fuck all of them.

  A tingle races up my spine as an idea strikes. My hands fly to my songbook and the words splatter onto the page. I can barely write fast enough to keep up with the lyrics racing through my mind.

  Two wrongs don’t mend hearts like ours

  Two wrongs can never break our fall

  I give, you take, it’s no mistake

  We’re in too deep, losing sleep

  Trying to forget what started it all

  Angry eyes and a brick wall armor

  Lessons learned, paths paved

  Shield unyielding, it’s a heavy weight

  One you’ll never penetrate

  It’s hopeless, no use trying to be saved

  Stay away with your dangerous heart

  You ruined us from the start

  Your soul is black, your heart is dark

  Crushed up broken petals, like it’s an art

  Can’t rely on second chances

  Since the first one ripped my heart apart

  You’re not welcome here anymore

  Cause there’s no going back to the start

  By the time I’m done, my heart is racing and my palms are sweating. That was probably the most therapeutic thing I’ve done since the breakup. It feels damn good. I’ve never written a complete song that fast in my life—not that it’s perfect. What first draft is? In my opinion, final drafts aren’t even final, either. How can they be when every moment of every day we’re learning new things and partaking in new adventures? Stories change, just as we do.

  Whatever the words that just came out of me are, no matter how healing they may have been, I’m not sure they’re words I want to hold on to. That song may have been sparked by the ex asshole in my life, but it’s not a darkness I want to remember. Not every written piece is meant to be saved.

  Without thinking about it again, I tear the page from my songbook and walk it over to the nearest trash can. It seems to already be exploding with waste. Without another thought, I add my lyrics to the pile, convinced that whatever heartache I felt over Tony is just that—waste.

  I didn’t realize Wolf and his lady friend took off at some point during my writing spell, but the shriggles are gone and I’m alone by the pool. Daylight is fading and my stomach is going crazy with hunger, so I pack my things and head inside. Without bothering to change, I sit at the hotel bar and order dinner and a glass of wine.

  When the bartender slides my glass in front of me, I reach for it eagerly.

  “A pretty girl should never eat or drink alone. I’d offer you company but I wouldn’t want your head to grow larger than it already is.”

  The teasing voice should be grating, but it’s familiar and warm and it is nice to not be alone for a moment. His warm body slips onto the stool beside me.

  “Ha, ha.” I face him with a smirk. My eyes have a mind of their own as they flicker between his face and over his shoulder. The speed at which Wolf moves through women is impressive and disturbing. “You can join me if you’d like,” I say despite my better judgment. “I promise I won’t assume you’re crossing an arbitrary line.”

  He settles in without hesitation and steals my menu. “Sounds good.”

  A deep breath later, I force myself to apologize. “I’m sorry for getting the wrong idea the other day. I recently got out of something, and it messed with my head a bit.” I don’t want to give him more than that. He probably doesn’t want to hear it anyway, and it’s not an easy conversation to have, especially with someone who reminds me of the problem.

  He doesn’t respond. I’m sure I just made things way too awkward. “Weren’t you with someone earlier?” I ask. Because that’s not awkward.

  He peers up at me with a smirk. “If you’re referring to my sister, she had dinner plans with her husband.”

  “You amaze me,” I say before taking a sip of my wine.

  This gets his attention. He turns his body toward me. “Please continue.”

  I chuckle. “You’re a big, bad rocker with girls who follow you into elevators and trample you after every concert, yet you’re here alone, you declined an offer to party the other night, and, according to you, you haven’t hit on me once. Either I’m losing my touch, or you are.”

  He throws back his head and laughs. He has a nice, throaty laugh that makes me wish I could take back my frustrations toward the male population and shove my tongue down his throat. “First of all, I’m only restraining from flirting with you because you laid down the law the moment we met. But don’t let your head inflate. My natural instinct is to flirt. It’s what I do, whether you’re my type or not. Second, I’m not alone. I’m with you. Which means you’re not alone, either.”

  I let his words settle in before changing the subject and remember his sightseeing offer. “Were you born in San Diego?”

  “Born, bred, and raised.”

  “And you’re staying in a hotel?”

  His response is a shrug. That’s strange. “Where are you from?”

  “All over. Most recently, Seattle.”

  He sets the menu down and orders a whiskey water from our bartender before continuing. “My second favorite place in the US. Seattle kicks ass.”

  “Agreed.”

  “So then why are you touring? There are plenty of music jobs where you’re from.”

  Coming from a musician, his question isn’t that odd. Life on the road is a necessity for him. I have a choice. “I don’t want to stay in one place. That’s what I was doing when—Anyway, I want to travel. The road is where it’s at for me. Visiting a new city every couple days. Always a new adventure.”

  “So was I wrong about you?”

  He doesn’t have to elaborate. I know exactly what he’s referring to. “Life moves fast while we’re on the road. Isn’t that how it is for you? Watching life pass you by while you sit behind the glass of a tour bus? We’re just passengers on the road. We’re life’s bitch. I rarely take detours. Never stop to smell the roses. Life isn’t stopping for me, so I just keep moving through it. Isn’t that what people call drive? Music is the one good thing. It carries me and then it catches me when I fall.” I stare into my plate, refusing to meet his eyes. That got a little deep.

  “That’s so . . . sad.”

  “Says the lonely rock star.”

  “I’m not lonely. Just because I turn in early one night doesn’t mean I’m lonely. I’m surrounded by people. Constantly. How can you possibly call that lonely?”

  I give him a look that asks if he’s joking. He’s either got a great poker face or he's in denial. “Wolf—is that really what people call you?”

  “That’s my name.”

  “Okay, then, Wolf. Being a musician—writing, traveling—it’s the loneliest job ever. It doesn’t matter that you’re surrounded by fifty thousand people a day. Who knows you? Beyond the music. Who really gets you? Who can you trust and talk to every day? Who spends their days giving back to you what you give to the world? Besides all that, you’ve got to be in your head most of the time and you miss out on everything else. Don’t tell me you’re not lonely. Without someone to share your stories with, to bounce lyrics
off, to go sightseeing with you, to just get away for a while.”

  “I remember asking a certain someone to go sightseeing with me and she rejected me. If I really am lonely, it’s not my fault.”

  I laugh, relieved the tone of the conversation has lightened. “It’s my fault you’re lonely?”

  “Well, yeah. I guess so.”

  “Huh. I see. Well, then, I’m sorry.”

  He’s smirking into his glass. He thinks he’s won. And I’m finding myself relaxing around him a little more than I’m comfortable with, so maybe he has. Damn it.

  We order, and it’s quiet while we eat and watch the sports channel above the bar. Even through the silence, my thoughts are loud and so is my pounding heart. Wolf is a charmer and he’s not even trying. He’s just minding his own business while I’m a flurry over his presence. I took this job to get away from trouble. Not to run into more of it. I swallow my last bite and reach for my purse.

  “I should get to bed,” I say after throwing cash on the bar.

  His eyes move to my half-empty plate and then to me. He hands me back my money. “I got this, Lyric. I love your name, by the way.”

  I refuse the money, and his eyes, with a wave of my hand. “Keep it for the tip.”

  “Good night, Lyric.”

  “Good night, Wolf.”

  Wolf

  After dinner I take my drink to the pool and slip my bare feet into the water. Am I lonely? Lyric asked the question and I keep coming up with excuses as to why I’m not. I’m busy constantly. These past few weeks, I've had more downtime than I’ve had in years. Usually, not even a holiday passes without some type of obligation. I’ve gotten good at going with the flow and not asking for time off, because what would I do? Where would I go? I’m seeing the world on tour. I have my fans. My bandmates. My crew. The latter two groups are more than employees. I consider them my best friends. Lyric’s assumption that I’m lonely is way off. I just happen to love this life and take nothing for granted. Vacation isn’t something I want or need.