Dirty Rock: A Rock Star Romance

by James, Vicki

  My face fell with hers, a slight hint of something that tasted like truth sliding down my throat. “Why… are… you… here?” I repeated.

  Julia held her phone up between us. “That thing you talked to me about while you were high as shit last week…”

  My jaw ticked with tension, and I flared my nostrils, feeling every ounce of the high I’d ever been on drifting away until there was nothing but a cold chill running down my spine.

  “I found him, Rhett,” she said quietly.

  “Don’t say it—”

  “I found your biological father.”

  “Fuck.”

  Julia’s eyes filled with sadness. She was nothing but a woman who worked for the band. She was nothing but a thorn in our sides. A misery—a taskmaster. A perennial cockblocker. Yet she looked at me like she cared, and it felt somewhat warm inside to know there was someone out there who did.

  “Is he still… around?” I dared myself to ask.

  She swallowed quietly, responding only with a silence I’d come to understand spoke volumes when she looked at me that way.

  “Shit,” I sighed. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”

  “I’m so sorry, Rhett.”

  I stared at her, a million years away from the buzz of the blow job I’d just received. A decade apart from the performance on stage in Miami. A century down the road from the warmth of the alcohol that had been weaving through my bloodstream.

  “If it makes you feel any better, I understand how you’re feeling—I do. You have my sympathy, and I always have a shoulder for you to cry on—”

  “Don’t need it,” I croaked. “I’m good.”

  “I looked into it all over and over again to be certain.”

  “I get it.”

  “I had a friend who helped. And when the report came back…”

  “Doesn’t matter.” I shook my head.

  “I double, triple checked. I did everything I could to try and dig deeper to get a different answer for you. But it always came back the same.”

  “Dead is dead,” I said quietly. “You can’t change it.”

  “You don’t have to be brave now. It’s okay to be upset.”

  “Nah. Nah, Jules. I said no worries. Dead is better. Dead is good. Dead is…”

  “It’s shit.”

  “It’s easier.”

  “I’m sorry,” she repeated.

  “Stop saying that.” I straightened up, ran my hand over my stubbled jaw, and I took a step back. “Don’t be sorry. Not for me. Not ever.”

  “Rhett, come on. This is a big deal. I’m here for you. I’m your friend.”

  “Catch ya later, Jules, yeah?”

  “Let me stay.”

  “Just go.”

  “I’m not leaving you like this.”

  “Get the fuck outta here, for Christ’s sake!”

  Before she could respond, I walked away, slamming the bathroom door shut behind me, and I found myself leaning over the counter by the sink, staring into the bloodshot eyes of the famous man I’d somehow become—the one with a life full of adventure that a million other men would give their left testicle to live for a day.

  Everything I’d ever wanted, I now had. All those days chasing the dream, and there it was in my hands. There it was staring back at me.

  But my real father was dead. A man I’d never met, and he’d left me as a baby without looking back. He was half of me, and I had no idea what that half consisted of. I wondered if I looked like him. Did I have his eyes, and did his brows furrow together the way mine did whenever I concentrated? Was his hair dark, and did it grow too fast at the sides? Had he covered his skin in tattoos along the way before he died? Had he been successful with the women, played an instrument, or struggled to sleep at night? Had he drunk too much and dabbled in things he shouldn’t have? Had he been a reckless fuck up, too, like me?

  He was dead.

  I didn’t even know him…

  I was alive, and I had to concentrate on living the way I always had.

  Selfishly.

  Without regret.

  “I fucking love my life,” I whispered roughly to my reflection. “I love my life. I love my life. I love my life.”

  Chapter Three

  Three days later, the news came in.

  “She said yes!” Julia cried out to the room, which instantly erupted into cheers and applause. “Tessa said yes to Presley’s proposal!”

  Julia’s eyes were alive with excitement as she looked down at the floor and pressed her phone back to her ear. Anyone would have thought she was the one Presley had just popped the question to.

  Coops was sitting beside me on the sofa in our hotel suite, while Big D cheered proudly and barked something about opening a bottle of champagne. Hawk smiled like a dumb ass, and Dicky Bennett—our perpetually grumpy manager who always wore blue jeans and a white shirt—flopped back on the sofa with a sigh.

  “There go a million fans,” he grumbled.

  “Ah, come on, Dick. Not all the chicks are with us just for Elvis. Some might be here for me and the other three ugly fuckers, too.” I laughed, throwing my beer down my neck before I dropped the bottle back into my lap and glanced at Julia. “But why’s she so pumped about the lovebirds getting married?” I chucked my chin in her direction.

  Coops looked her way. “It’s a woman thing. Women love this stuff. You know, romance, happy endings, the guy getting the girl and all that.”

  “You think Jules wants what Tessa has? The romance shit?”

  “I hope not. The last thing we need is her settling down and leaving the band. We’d be screwed without that woman in our lives.”

  “Why does everyone think we’d be screwed if one person fucked off and left us? We’re Youth Gone Wild. The name alone is strong enough. Everyone’s replaceable. Except the frontman, obviously.” I smirked.

  Coops rolled his eyes and shook his head. “You know I don’t usually say a lot, man, but you’ve been different these last few days. Everything okay?”

  My smile faded, and I scowled at him. Coops didn’t say a lot, that much was true, but I had no fucking idea what he was talking about. I’d been putting on the performance of a lifetime to make sure the guys didn’t suspect shit. The news I’d learnt about the stranger I called my biological father had been swallowed down and forgotten about the second I closed my eyes that night.

  “Perfect,” I lied. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Good.” He nodded, studying me and taking me in. “But if you feel like telling me the truth at any point, you know where I am… before you do something stupid.”

  Without further explanation, Coops pushed himself to stand and walked over to Julia before he leaned into the phone and shouted his congratulations to Presley and Tessa.

  I drained my beer bottle, feeling the need for escape creeping in. We were in another fucking city in another fucking state, while Tessa and Presley were living out their little Playboy fantasies on some beach somewhere, getting each other off with promises of forever, eternities, and sex on tap.

  It pissed me off that I was stuck here with these dipshits, caged up like a damn circus animal.

  When my beer was empty, I dropped it to the floor and ran my palm over my forehead, closing my eyes. Tiredness wasn’t something I coped well with. It seemed almost lazy for me to sleep. Like I was missing out on the dream and not taking it in.

  “You doing okay, Rhett?” Dicky asked, perched on the edge of his sofa, eyeing me.

  “Yup.”

  “What are your thoughts on Tess and Presley getting hitched?”

  I dropped my hand on the arm of the sofa. “My thoughts are that I wish everyone would shut the fuck up going on about Tessa and Presley getting hitched.”

  Dicky smirked, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

  “Ah, this is going to be so beautiful,” Julia sang, dropping in to place beside me, her hands landing in her lap as she clutched her phone.

  “Jules, this, here, is
the quiet sofa. The ‘we’re not here to discuss veils and tiaras’ sofa. The ‘fuck right off over there where the happy people sit because we want to stay miserable’ sofa.”

  “Look at my face, Rhett. What do you see?” She leaned closer.

  “I see pride. I see power. I see a badass motherfucker who don’t take no crap offa nobody,” I recited in my best Cool Runnings voice.

  “Hilarious. Now look at my hand. Tell me what you see.” Julia raised her hand slowly, her middle finger standing proud as she brought it in between our faces.

  “I see an instrument that could be used to tickle my balls if its owner was willing.”

  “The only orifice this would go is up your nostril to poke some sense into your brain.”

  “I might like that.”

  “None of your kinks would surprise me.” She flopped back, kicking her feet up on the coffee table between both sofas. “I’m so happy for our friends,” she said with a feminine dreamy sigh. Jules closed her eyes with a dopey smile on her face, and I was about to say something sarcastic when she rolled her head my way and looked up at me. “Do you know what I love the most about them? I love how Presley always gets so nervous before Tess walks into a room.”

  “Nervous?” I frowned.

  “Yeah. You know. He’s always been this super confident guy. Nothing ever got under his skin. Not until she came back into his life, and then all of a sudden, there he was, getting nervous every time she walked away and every time she let herself get close. He got weaker and she grew stronger. It was incredible to see the way love changed them both. I guess that’s when you know.”

  “Know what?”

  Jules looked away from me and stared off into a daydream before she whispered, “That you’ve found the one. It’s when the butterflies never take a day to rest.”

  “I have no idea what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  “You wouldn’t,” she muttered quietly.

  Within seconds, Julia had turned her attention to the other members of the band who all seemed happy to talk to her about love, romance, and all that other dating crap I couldn’t get onboard with.

  I looked around at every one of them. At ordinary, boy next door Coops. At tall, dark and hairy, rugged Big D. At bald as fuck Hawk with his tattoos on his head, and at Dicky, our manager. They were all half asleep, smiling dopily as Jules went on and on about how this wedding was going to be so good for the band’s image. Blah, blah, blah.

  I couldn’t care less.

  Internally, I was the pacing lion in that circus cage, and the rest were docile monkeys and elephants, unaware they were still able to create enough noise to protest about this capture we’d found ourselves in. The bars we were kept behind were hotel room walls. The spectators dying to prod us in our bellies and make us roar were camped up outside this building, waiting for us to attack. We were being watched around the clock and fed when management told us it was time to be fed. And now they were trying to throw us all in tuxedos and make us smile for the camera while Tessa pranced around in a white gown and veil.

  Fuck that.

  “Christ, when did you all become such pussies?” I snapped, looking at each and every one of them as Jules fell silent. “I don’t care if Presley’s getting married. I couldn’t give a rat’s arse about Tess saying yes. I’m not remotely interested in the big white wedding. You know why?” I paused and rose to stand, holding the tension in the room like I held the crowd at a gig. “Because I’m still on the train I was on three years ago. I’m focused on the band, on the music, and on making history. If it isn’t about lyrics, beats, or the tour, I don’t care for it. It’d be awesome if some of you fuckers could get back on board with me and get your shit together.”

  “We’re here, man. All of us. But there’s more to life than—” Big D started.

  “No,” I cut him off. “Don’t you dare feed me that line. There isn’t more to life, and that’s the problem. Nothing matters but this band. Nothing matters but the success and what we put out there. That’s what we all agreed to. Those were the promises we made. Love and rock don’t go hand in hand. That’s why every single decent rock song is about heartbreak and being fucking angry. Get on board with me again, won’t you?”

  “Rhett, stop it,” Julia whispered. “This isn’t about them. Let’s go talk.”

  “I’m out of here.” I didn’t look at her. I didn’t look at any of them as I threw my hands in the air and stormed out into the corridor of the hotel.

  When the door slammed shut behind me, I reached into my back pocket to pull out my phone and check the time. It was easy to forget where the hell we were when we were jetting all over the world, never mind what the local time was, but the numbers staring back at me on the screen told me it was 10:23 p.m. in New Orleans.

  Well, fuck. Who knew?

  Glancing to the right, I saw two of our usual security team manning the lifts, and I began to walk towards them.

  “Rhett!”

  Rolling my eyes, I ignored Julia’s call behind me and refused to look around.

  “Don’t do anything stupid,” she said anyway. “I need to talk to you about—”

  Whatever, Jules, I thought. Blocking her out, I stepped towards the men in suits standing there as though they were waiting for John Wick to smash through the walls to kill us off.

  “Gents,” I said with a tip of my head.

  “Hey, Mr Ryan,” they said together.

  “You know it’s Rhett. I hate that Mr Ryan shit.”

  The bigger dude with the shiny bald head smirked at me, while the smaller guy shuffled on his feet, trying to make himself seem taller as he pushed his shoulders back. It was crystal clear which one was going to be my partner in crime, and which one was firmly camped in Julia’s back pocket.

  Looking at the bigger dude, I pulled out my pack of cigarettes and took one out to perch it between my lips.

  “You fancy taking me outside for a smoke?” I asked him.

  He glanced at the smaller dude, waiting for his approval.

  “Is Mr Bennett aware that you’re leaving?” Small Fry asked.

  “Do you see him following me, arguing the toss?”

  With a sigh, Small Fry looked up at the bigger dude, and he gave him a nod to escort me outside.

  It didn’t take us long to get in the lift, leaving Small Fry behind. We were halfway down to the foyer when I looked up at my escort and offered him a sly smile.

  “Do you think your mate will be pissed off if I decide to have my smoke in a strip club?”

  Chapter Four

  Apparently, the woman currently performing an impressive figure of eight with her arse was called Candy.

  Either she was lying, or her parents wanted her to be beaten in the playground.

  I was going with my first guess.

  ‘Candy’ was smooth as shit, her thighs golden and sparkling with whatever lotion she’d used to make her glow. The only hair on her entire body was that on her head or her brows. Everywhere else looked like silk. I had her down for being in her mid-thirties but trying to look as though she was a decade younger. Her jet-black hair was a similar colour to my own, and she had sharp cheekbones that cradled her wicked eyes.

  In short, she was totally fuckable, and I loved a woman with experience no matter how tainted they were when I got inside them.

  Her G-string was hidden in the cheeks of her arse, until she paused, spread her legs and used her thumbs to seductively tease the material out. The first few beats of the song Dirty Cash poured out into the private booth I was locked in, and a subtle rhythm took over my body, making my head shake from side to side as I bit down on my bottom lip and tried desperately not to stick my finger in Candy’s chocolate starfish.

  “Like this song, doll?” she asked as she bent over, grabbed her ankles tightly, and sashayed her arse in front of my face.

  “Not really,” I breathed out, feeling myself growing hard. I rasped out the first few lines of lyrics in time with the female v
ocalist on Stevie V’s track anyway.

  Candy spun gracefully, making her body glide around until she was in front of me, her legs straddling mine as she ran her hands through her hair.

  “You think money talks?” she asked, her voice like oil over my dick.

  “I think money can get you anything you want in life if you have enough of it.”

  “Anything? What about me?”

  “Especially you.”

  Candy ran her tongue over her bottom lip, her arse dropping lower now so her cheeks grazed my thighs. “How much do you think someone like me would cost you?”

  “Well… your head wants me to tell you you’re worth a million. Your heart says you’d let me fuck you for free.”

  For the first time since I entered the booth, she faltered. It was barely a split second of her eyes freezing and her hands stilling in her hair before she corrected herself, but I saw it. I saw the way my words sliced through her confidence. Truths like that hurt people who thought they kept their shit well hidden.

  “How old are you?” I asked, my smirk firmly in place as she carried on working me up by letting her lips hover over mine.

  “How old do you want me to be?”

  “I don’t care as long as you’re legal and available.”

  Candy’s face slipped again, and she looked behind me at the screen before she strapped on her bright smile and let her eyes fall to mine. “Definitely legal.”

  “But not available.” I gave her a half-smile, a lazy acknowledgement of the predicament she was in.

  Candy wanted to fuck me because I was Rhett Ryan. I was her ticket out of the strip life. One sale of a story and she could cover her firm little titties, send a kid off to school, and maybe sign up for night school herself.

  Suited me.

  She stepped away and performed a little strut across the small space. When she was far enough away, she cracked on with her routine, her hands on every part of her body while her eyes fucked me from a distance. It was a skill, to be able to make a man hard with nothing more than a well-timed narrowed eye and a lick of the lips. Candy had that skill. She owned that experience. The subtle looks she flashed towards the screen behind me didn’t go unnoticed, and I was getting off on this being forbidden more than I was getting off on actually wanting her.