Guitar Freak (Rock Stars on Tour Book 1)

by Candy J. Starr

  “How about this place?” she said, pointing out a cafe across the street.

  It seemed more a coffee and cake kind of place, and I wasn’t sure I was ready to sit down just yet. Walking beside her seemed so nice.

  “I was thinking something a bit more substantial.”

  We kept walking. A soft breeze blew down the street, and the sun had come out. It’d been cold the whole time we’d been here, so the warmth made everything seem better.

  We stopped to look at another place.

  “Too touristy,” she said.

  “Yeah, totally.”

  “That place down there looks good.”

  She grabbed my hand and pulled me down the street, and the softness of her hand in mine sent ripples through my body. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d walked hand-in-hand with a girl. Not for a long, long time. Maybe Elijah was right—I spent too much time with my guitars. Guitars never squeezed my hand lightly like Polly was doing.

  “What do you think?” she asked.

  “It’s a possibility,” I said. I didn’t want to admit it, but I’d rather keep walking with her like this than eat.

  “Yeah, we can’t be too hasty,” she said. “No point going for the first option.”

  She brought her mouth so close to my ear when she said that, her breath tickled through my hair.

  We kept wandering through the streets. I put my arm around her shoulder and pulled her close to me. These feelings were so fresh, but she seemed as comfortable as I did.

  Eventually, we had to stop to eat. As we waited for our food, Polly got out her phone.

  “What the hell?”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  She held her phone up to show me. A photo of the two of us walking together. It’d been posted about an hour ago.

  “Bastards. What sort of person does that?”

  “It happens.” I shrugged it off, trying to ignore the irritation I felt. Couldn’t I just once do something without it hitting social media?

  “Not to me. I’ve never once in my life had something like this happen. Look at the caption. ‘Are Polly and Damo a couple?’ Damn them. Stop speculating on our love life.”

  Even though the photo annoyed me, I couldn’t help but grin at her saying “our love life.” That was just too cute, the word “our” being used with “love life.”

  “Ignore it. People will forget about it pretty soon. Without any official confirmation, there’s not much to go on. Hell, you can’t even tell we’re holding hands. It’s a blurry photo. We’re just two people on tour out shopping.”

  As far as gossip photos went, it was pretty weak.

  She huffed. “I guess, but I feel betrayed. People love me. They don’t gossip about me. I mean, when I broke up with Miles, that was a bit too public for my liking, but I expected talk.”

  I sat back, looking at her. She’d struck me as someone who didn’t care what anyone said or thought about her, living her life out in the open, but this photo had really thrown her. I didn’t like my life being in the public eye, but I wasn’t shocked like she was. I guessed I’d accepted it as a necessary evil.

  “Does this happen to you all the time?” she asked.

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. It used to happen. Once.

  “Well, not like this,” I said. I don’t... err... I haven’t dated in a long time.”

  “Really? But you aren’t exactly a monk.”

  She put her head to the side, studying me. I hoped I hadn’t put her off.

  “It’s just been a while. I’ve been busy.”

  She grinned at me, really grinned.

  “What?” I asked. “It’s true. I don’t have time in my life for that kind of thing. It’s not that I don’t want to date, it’s just finding the time.”

  As I watched Polly’s face, I knew I’d find time for her, that time had been invented so it could be spent with her.

  “That’s probably the most sensible way to look at things, but sometimes life’s not about being sensible.”

  As she spoke, she tapped something into her phone.

  “You’re not replying to that, are you?”

  She nodded. “I want to clear things up.”

  Clear it up how? I really needed to know how she’d reply, but more than that, I had to stop her actually replying.

  “You can’t!”

  “Why not? I want to tell them to give us some privacy.”

  I tried to snatch the phone from her, but she held it away from me.

  “You can’t, because no matter what you say, it’ll be misinterpreted. If you say that you want privacy, people will think we’re really dating. If you deny it, they’ll think you’re lying. In a situation like this, the only thing to do is ignore it. Pretend you never saw the message at all.”

  She looked up at me. “Okay, I’ll delete it. But I was going to say you were the hottest bit of ass I’ve ever met.”

  Oh, that grin was so cheeky.

  “No way. You can’t say that.” Well, she couldn’t say it in public, anyway. Saying it to me in private was totally fine.

  “Don’t worry. I’m not actually saying that. I’m following your advice and not doing anything. Although it’s hard for me not to say something when it’s in my head.”

  What would she say if she was asked about our relationship, anyway? But then, what would I say? Were we dating? I really wanted to answer yes to that, no matter the consequences.

  Chapter 22: Polly

  When we got back to the hotel, things got awkward again. Did he want me to go to his room or not? I understood taking things slowly, but how slowly? And I could hardly invite him to my room, since we’d practically be sitting on top of each other. Although that might not be a bad thing.

  “Want to watch a movie or something?” he asked when we were in the lobby.

  “That ‘or something’ sounds good,” I replied.

  I wondered if that was pushing too hard, but he gave me a sly grin. That just made the buzzing inside me increase.

  After we got into the elevator, I grabbed his hand again. With his hand in mine, I felt safe. We had a special connection that nothing—not stupid fans with their social media photos, or anyone else—could penetrate.

  But then the doors opened again and Elijah and Crow jumped in. Damn it. I should’ve made sure to press that “close” button.

  “Hey, you have a good day?” Elijah said. “I saw the photo. Holding hands, how cute.”

  “Enough,” Damo said, but he let go of my hand.

  A cold chill went through me.

  “I mean it,” Elijah said. “You two make a cute couple.”

  Damo and I both glared at him, but he kept that loppy grin on his face. Crow wasn’t much better. The two of them nudged each other, and their mouths twitched like they’d laugh about this later.

  “It’s not always ‘just about the music’,” Crow said to Damo in a mock-serious voice.

  Jerks. They were like a pair of schoolboys. I glared back.

  “So, I heard the two of you struck out last night?” I said.

  “Happens to the best of us,” Elijah said, scratching his head. “But don’t worry, the mojo’s still there. I spent the day with a cute waitress.”

  I looked at Crow. He kept his private life very quiet. The guys stirred Damo up about his personal life but, somehow, Crow escaped that. Maybe because he had that damaged look in his eyes. It made you want to keep things on the surface, not delve too deeply into his life or open doors you didn’t want opened. There was a darkness in him. I guessed that was how he’d gotten his nickname.

  We got out of the elevator, and I followed Damo to his room. The closeness between us seemed to have seeped away. I wasn’t sure how to get it back, and, honestly, if he was so easily swayed by those two guys, I wasn’t sure I wanted to. I hated playing games. We were grown-ups, here.

  “Any particular movie you want to watch?” Damo asked.

  He got a bottle of wine out of the fridge.
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  “You sure you want to open that?” I asked, remembering what he’d said about mini-bar prices.

  “Sure, why not? Live on the edge and let tomorrow take care of itself.”

  That lightened the mood a little, but if we were going to be together, the first thing was for the bands to know about it. Officially. Once they did, it wouldn’t be a joking matter but rather accepted fact.

  I laughed. “You say that now, but when you get that mini-bar bill, you’ll regret it.”

  “Too late. I’ve opened it now. Hell, let’s go totally crazy and eat the peanuts too.”

  He handed me the glass of wine and sat down beside me.

  “Decided on a movie?” he asked.

  “Actually, I think we should talk.”

  I didn’t actually want to talk, but it seemed we needed to. It seemed a ridiculous thing after only one night together, but we were on tour. We were together every day. If we didn’t get things straight from the get-go, this would not go well.

  Damo scraped his nails along the thigh of his jeans. Any other time, I’d want to get those jeans off so fast that I’d skip the talking part altogether, but I needed some indication of how this was going. A one-night stand—I could deal with that. A budding romance—hell, yeah. But an undefined thing? I wasn’t going there. I didn’t want to be a secret fling or someone he was ashamed of.

  “I’m not so good at this talking thing,” he said.

  “No one is,” I replied. “It’s tough, putting your feelings out there, but we need some ground rules, I think.”

  He turned his body to me, his face losing that “about to face a firing squad” look.

  “Ground rules, yes. Ground rules are good.”

  I guessed ground rules were a lot more solid than talking about actual feelings. I didn’t know my own feelings well enough to discuss them, anyway.

  “Firstly, I think we should tell our bandmates that there’s something going on here. And tell them to back off.”

  Even though I was saying that, telling Miles would be hell. And there was no way he’d back off. But telling him myself would beat the hell out of him finding out any other way. He’d already seen me this morning, so it wouldn’t be a total shock to him.

  Damo nodded. “Bandmates, but no one outside the bands. No crew or anyone.”

  “Well, except Fartstard, since he saw me. And a couple of the other guys. And I bet a few of them have seen the photo online. Wow, this is turning complicated.”

  “I want to be with you,” Damo blurted out.

  I reeled a little, the shock that he’d say something like that throwing me. A wave of warm flowed through me, starting at my toes and ending at the tips of my hair.

  “I want to be with you, too,” I said. “I like spending time with you.”

  “The thing that worries me is, what happens on this tour if we break up? That’s where it gets messy. We should keep things light. I mean, sex is okay. And spending time together is fine. But the emotional thing...”

  I had no idea how you could separate those things out. Having sex and dating without any emotional attachment seemed impossible to me, but I agreed. Maybe I’d regret that, but I wanted this to work, and if that meant agreeing to something that seemed impossible, I’d go with that.

  To be talking of a breakup this soon into things didn’t bode well, though.

  Damo smiled and slid along the sofa to close the distance between us.

  “Movie?” he asked.

  “How about the ‘something else’?”

  “That’s also possible.”

  He pulled me to him. This would just be sex. All those emotions flooding through me—I could forget them.

  The moment he kissed me, though, I knew he was kidding himself. That kiss sang of emotional attachment.

  “Are you sure you want to remain unattached?” I asked him.

  “I’m not sure of anything right now,” he said.

  Then his lips trailed down my neck with light kisses taking away any words I wanted to say. The sensation of his lips against my skin, those light butterfly kisses, drained me of any will to talk.

  This was something we’d need to deal with, but not now. Not with his hand moving up my thigh, edging so close to the heat inside me. Not with his body so close, the scent of him filling me with need. Not with his cock so hard.

  We had plenty of time for serious issues. Right now, my impulse was to get on my knees and unzip those jeans of his. He’d had way too much control last night—and I’d loved every minute of it—but it was time for me to pay him back.

  As I wrapped my mouth around his cock, the sigh he made let me know he wouldn’t argue on that score.

  Chapter 23: Polly

  I had to talk to Miles before we went onstage the next day, although I’d much prefer to wrestle a crocodile or make friends with a pit of vipers. At least with those options, I had a chance of coming out alive. With Miles, I wasn’t so sure. He wouldn’t take this well. Even though he no longer cared about me, he sure wouldn’t want me dating someone else. He thought of me as his property.

  “Got a moment?” I asked him, leaning against the fridge in our dressing room.

  “Not really. We’re onstage soon.”

  “This is important. Jax, you listen in too.”

  “Hell, yeah, I’m listening. I want to know this. It’s about you and Damo, right? Tell us all the details. Don’t skip a thing.”

  I looked around for something to throw at him. There was no way I’d give him the kind of details he wanted. Dirty bastard. Also, that didn’t make things any easier with Miles. On the other hand, it made it much easier than tackling this cold.

  “Damo and I are seeing each other,” I said. “It’s no big deal. I just wanted you guys to know.”

  Miles shrugged. “Whatever. You can date who you like. It’s not like it’s my business.”

  That was way too easy.

  “Keep it quiet,” I said. “We’re not going public with this right now. Maybe when the tour’s over, we’ll have a bit more space, but for now, it’s not official.”

  Jax grinned. “That’s not nearly enough detail.”

  I rolled my eyes. “If you’re so curious about Damo, date him yourself.”

  “If only I could,” Jax said. The frown on his face proved he wasn’t joking.

  “Jax, buddy, I always thought you were straight.”

  He glanced up. “What led you to make that assumption?”

  Now that I thought about it, I’d never seen him with a woman. But I’d never seen him with a man, either. I knew he dated, but I’d just assumed it was with women. And, yeah, now that he’d mentioned it, I had no reason to think that. Jax and I were friends, but in a bandmates’ way. We drank together after gigs and we hung out when we were playing, but it wasn’t like we visited each other at home or any of that.

  “Sorry, Jax,” I said.

  “I’ll totally forgive you if you give me the dirt.”

  “Damn. I’ll have to stay unforgiven, then.”

  We went up to the stage. Almost time for us to go on. The nerves fluttered in my belly. Not as bad as the first night, but not gone altogether, either.

  Tonight’s crowd seemed less rowdy. I guessed because it was a weeknight. They didn’t have that weekend buzz. It might take a song or two to warm them up, but I could deal with that. A day’s break had been nice, but that stage was where I belonged.

  We walked out to a few cheers. Totally underwhelming. I slung my bass on, ready to rock.

  I grinned at Jax, and we started. From the first beat, I knew Miles was going to be difficult. He worked against us the entire time. Jax and I struggled to stay with him. He’d speed up the song, then, when we’d gotten the swing of it, he’d slow down again. As the song progressed, rage welled up inside me. This wasn’t the place for his little tantrum. We sounded like shit. All of us. Him included. Was he really prepared to throw himself under the bus to get back at me?

  I moved closer to him and
glared, hoping that would settle him. Not likely.

  “Stop being a dick,” I hissed at him, hoping the microphone wouldn’t pick that up.

  A few punters at the front of the crowd moved to the bar. We were losing them. No wonder, with a sound like this. People going to the bar or the bathroom or anywhere else was the kiss of death for your set, especially at a big show like this. Every time I saw someone move, I wanted to call them back. I wanted to reassure them that I would play better than this, we would play better. But they’d already been lost.

  I moved back to my side of stage as we finished up the song.

  “We’re Wreckage!” I screamed into the mic. “Stick around and see what we have to offer.”

  Even as I said it, I knew what we had to offer was a front man with a personal vendetta and no sense of loyalty.

  The next few songs were just as bad. We couldn’t play like this. People would want their money back. To make it worse, I saw Damo just offstage. We might be sleeping together, but I knew that was no free pass if the band didn’t measure up. He’d never put his personal feelings over his music.

  “Stop acting like a brat,” I said to Miles. “We’re dying, here.”

  Unfortunately, that time it was picked up on the mic. Loud and clear. That comment got more cheers from the crowd than anything else we’d done.

  “Stop being a brat!” someone yelled out.

  “Brat, brat, brat,” the crowd began to chant.

  My stomach sank. That made things worse, not better.

  Miles scowled. He hated me, and he focused all that hate into glaring at me. I wasn’t sure what he’d expected to achieve from this. I loathed him. We’d never get back together, but I didn’t think he even wanted that. All he wanted was to cause me a lot of pain and suffering.

  We moved into the next song, but that chanting was still ringing out. I wasn’t sure what I was doing. It sounded like Miles wasn’t even in the same place we were. He went on with his own thing, screwing us around.

  We finished the song, and the chanting still hadn’t stopped. Maybe people had decided the chanting sounded better than our playing. Maybe they hated Miles, or maybe they just thought it was fun.