“Dude, listen,” I yell over the music. “I’m Chris Rewey, the singer for Reckless Alibi. I was up on that stage an hour ago.”
He finally looks at me. “I’ll give you points for originality, but fuck off.”
“I came out to watch their set and didn’t think about how I’d get backstage. My bad.”
He ignores me.
“Jesus, at least look me up on your phone. If it’s not me, I’ll fuck off.”
He looks irritated, but he gets out his phone. He raises his brows at me. “Well?”
“Look up Reckless Alibi,” I tell him. “I’m the lead singer.”
He taps on the phone, then holds it next to my head, presumably to compare me to the online picture. He tucks his phone back into his pocket and opens the door. “Don’t forget your credentials next time.”
“Thanks, and just so you know, my three bandmates are still out there. They’ll try to get through this door later.”
“Wonderful,” he says, heavy on the sarcasm.
“I wouldn’t mind in the least if you messed with them.”
He laughs. “Name’s Hulk.”
I try not to react, because this guy could pummel me with two fingers. “People call me Crew.” I extend a hand. “Nice to meet you.”
He shakes and nods at the hallway. “Get out of here.”
Not many people are behind the stage. Everyone is in the wings. I stop in the doorway of White Poison’s dressing room. Someone is setting up a bar. He looks up, and I keep walking, knowing I shouldn’t be here.
I step on something and lean against the wall to examine the bottom of my shoe. Fucking wad of gum. I pick up a piece of paper off the floor and try to get it off my shoe when I hear voices around the corner.
“God, Aimee, you’re so lucky,” a woman says.
“I know, right? I’ve waited so long for this, and it’s finally going to happen. He texted me earlier and told me to meet him at midnight. He said I could stay for half an hour and if I told anyone, he’d never shag me again. Oh, my God. I’m going to shag Adam Stuart!”
The other woman squeals. “Exactly what did it say?”
“Here, look.”
A second later, they’re both squealing.
I roll my eyes. Why do women lose all sense of worth and decency when it comes to rock stars? Hell, even in the small venues we’ve played, girls came out of the woodwork. They offered to sleep with anyone in the band or even just give us a blow job, and we’re nobodies.
I’m not much better than Adam Stuart, however. I’ve occasionally taken advantage of those situations, welcoming women into my bed. I’ve never gone so far as to give them a time limit, but they all know it’s a one-time thing. It could never be anything but.
I clear my throat before turning the corner. The women look at me from head to toe. Then they look at each other and smile. I wonder which of them is Aimee.
One takes a step forward. “You’re the singer for the opening band,” she says with fuck-me eyes, leaning forward so I can see her impressive cleavage. “I’m Aimee.”
I snort. “Of course you are.”
I half expect to hear a ‘fuck you’ behind me as I dismissively walk away, but I don’t. I guess they’re used to cocky rock stars. I duck into the dressing room, upset with myself for the nasty comment, and vow never to become a stereotype, no matter how famous we get.
I’m collecting my things when I hear the backup singer’s voice again through the speakers in the room. She’s singing with Adam, then she sings a short solo. It’s so powerful it makes me stop what I’m doing.
What the hell is happening to me?
I turn off the sound, grab my shit, and call for an Uber.
Chapter Three
Bria
Exhausted from the concert, and let’s face it, almost three months of being on the road, I lie in bed, listening to Reckless Alibi. They’ve opened for White Poison twice, and their music touches me in a way I can’t explain. It’s so personal. It’s like their singer, Chris Rewey, is singing to someone every time. Lucky girl.
My phone pings with a text.
Adam: How about a little shag before we retire? I won’t keep you up late, luv. I promise.
Me: I’m so tired.
Adam: Too tired for me already, are you?
I sigh and let my head fall back against the pillow. I know all too well the position I’m in. He can have anyone he wants, and he chose me. But I’m not a fool. I know thousands of women are waiting in the wings. It’s why I try so hard not to rock the boat. Our relationship is still new. I admonish myself even before I send the text. I let him win too much. On the other hand, I knew going into this he was the one in control.
Me: Give me an hour.
Adam: That’s what I like to hear, poppet.
I throw my phone on the bed because that’s exactly what I am—his puppet. It’s a term of endearment, but it’s hardly endearing. He pulls my strings to get me to do what he wants.
A few weeks ago, when we were in Chicago, I wanted him to take me shopping to a few places I’d heard of but had never been to. Instead of accompanying me, he hired a car. In New Orleans, when I wanted to check out a famous nightclub, he got one of the male roadies to take me. He doesn’t realize I want to do those things with him. As a couple.
Now that I think about it, what have we really done together? We never go out unless his entourage is with him. The only time we have romantic dinners is when he has them catered in his suite.
As I freshen up, I stare at myself in the mirror. “It’s the tour. It’s stressful for everyone. Things will change in a few weeks when it’s over.”
I smile. Convinced I’m one hundred percent right.
I check my watch. I got ready a lot faster than I thought, but I head up anyway.
As I enter the elevator to go up to the private floor the band has booked for themselves, I wonder where Reckless Alibi is staying. I know they aren’t here. I’ve never seen any of the opening acts at the same hotel, and it has me wondering if White Poison wants it that way. Then again, we stay in hotels most people can’t afford.
The elevator doors open, and I show the credentials hanging on the lanyard around my neck.
“Is Mr. Stuart expecting you?” one of his goonies asks.
You’d think after almost three months, his security team would get that I’m his girlfriend, but they ask anyway. “He asked me to come up,” I say a little too harshly.
Freddie, their manager, sees me and runs down the hall. “Piss off, Cole.” He pulls me into the sitting room. “Darling, Bria. Let me pour you a drink.”
“But Adam is expecting me.”
“He’ll only be a moment. He’s finishing up with a meeting.”
“At this hour?”
He pulls out his phone and taps on it. “Fame and fortune never sleep, my dear.”
I take a glass from him and stare into the brown liquor. “Freddie, will it ever change? When we’re not on tour, I assume things won’t be as difficult or complicated.”
He sits down next to me. “Being on tour is the hardest and most rewarding part of doing what we do. It won’t be as difficult once this is all over.” He gives me a sympathetic look. “Complicated—that’s a whole other ballgame.”
“What do you mean?”
“Adam is a complicated creature.”
Someone races past the doorway. I look at Freddie for an explanation. He rolls his eyes. “Kurt must be at it again.”
I laugh, but it’s not genuine.
A moment later, Adam appears, stretching against the doorframe. The tag in his shirt is in front. I walk over and finger it. “Are you sure you want me here? Seems like you’re burning the candle at both ends. You can’t even dress yourself properly. Maybe you need to get some sleep.”
“I’ll sleep when I’m dead.” He pulls me to him and I smell his minty-fresh breath. “Right now all I want is you.”
He leads me down the hall, past his room and into Collin’
s.
“Why are we here?”
“He’s out for the night, and my place is a sight. Dirty clothes everywhere. I zonked out and didn’t have a chance to tidy up.” He starts removing my clothing even before the door is shut.
“Is it true? That all you want is me?”
“What kind of question is that?”
I shrug as he removes my pants. “Sometimes I wonder.”
He pulls down my panties and puts his mouth on me. Hard. Then he withdraws for a second. “Maybe this will make you forget.”
Forget what? That I wonder about such things, or that I’m not really all he wants?
“Something wrong, luv?”
I smile and shake my head and then pretend to have the most awesome orgasm he’s ever given me. I even make sure to squeeze his fingers inside me to make it believable. I know how upset he gets when I don’t come. As if I’m broken if he can’t get me off.
Ten minutes after I’ve pleasured him, and he’s fucked me just how he likes it, I’m lying beside him. “What’s going to happen in two weeks when the tour ends?”
“I’m going to take a bloody holiday, that’s what. Lie on some beach where no fans can find me and drink my way to oblivion every night.”
“That sounds kind of nice. Am I invited?”
He stiffens. “Uh, it’s a tradition after our tours that my mates and I go alone.”
I try not to let him see my disappointment. “Maybe we could do something after? Like go out to dinner in a real restaurant?”
He kisses my temple, then gets out of bed and quickly throws his shirt back on—the same way he did before, with the tag in front.
I eye it suspiciously.
“I think that can be arranged. I’ll have Freddie clear my calendar the week we get back from Fiji. Sound good?”
I nod.
He hands me my clothes. That’s my cue to leave.
I’m still exhausted when I get back to my room, but not so much that I can’t listen to Reckless Alibi’s full album.
Chapter Four
Crew
I stand in the empty arena, watching the backup singer for White Poison do a sound check. She starts by talking into a mic, then she hums a tune. Then she sings part of one of their songs.
It still pisses me off that we don’t get to do a sound check. Do they want us to sound like crap when we get onstage? Our first two nights were great, we killed it. But maybe that was just luck. If the amps aren’t calibrated perfectly, Brad’s bass can overtake Liam’s guitar. My mic could be set to the wrong volume, and Garrett’s voice might be the only one the crowd hears.
I get it. White Poison is who everyone comes to see, but you’d think we’d at least get to make sure we’re heard properly. Don’t even get me started on the other things we’re not allowed to do, like look at the band. It actually says that in our contract. “As the opening act, you are not to make eye contact with the headliners unless headliners engage in conversation. The opening act will yield to headliners in all ways, allowing them to pass in the hallways without interference and have sole use of elevators and green-room facilities.”
I contemplate eating the unappealing sandwich I was given half an hour ago after everyone from the White Poison setup crew had first pick at the buffet.
Suddenly I’m no longer hungry and my eyes become glued to the woman onstage, stunned at what she’s singing.
Liam appears beside me. “Holy shit.”
We stare at her. Garrett and Brad join us. I’m pretty sure our jaws are touching the floor as she belts out one of our songs.
“What the hell was that?” Garrett says when it’s over.
Liam grins and lets out a long, low whistle. “That is exactly what we’ve been missing.”
“Bullshit,” I say.
Liam shakes his head. “You mean to tell me you don’t think she nailed it?”
Garrett elbows him and laughs. “Crew doesn’t want to lose his job.”
“Fuck off,” I say.
Liam motions to the woman. “I’m serious, guys. Half our songs have parts that would sound better sung by a woman.”
He doesn’t look at me when he says it. He knows better. I can’t believe he’s bringing this shit up again, but he does every so often to test the waters.
“The songs are good as they are,” I say, walking away.
“Crew, just think about it,” he says. “We need a female singer. You know it, and I know it.”
I turn around. “I’m not having this conversation again.”
I go backstage and stomp down the hallway, only to bump into the woman who was just onstage.
“Oof!” she says when we collide. “Sorry.” It looks as if she recognizes me. She holds out a hand. “Chris, uh, Crew … sorry, I’m not sure what to call you. I’m Bria.”
We shake, but my bandmates appear before I can respond.
“That was some amazing shit you just sang,” Liam says.
Bria turns bright red. “Oh, gosh. You heard that?”
“We did,” he says. “And we’re damn flattered you know our music.”
“I didn’t,” she says. “Not until the other day when I heard you. I looked you up that night.” She looks at us one at a time. “Liam Campbell, lead guitarist. Garrett Young, drums. Brad Templeton, bassist who recently joined the band. And Chris Rewey, lead singer, sometime keyboardist, sometime backup guitarist. You’re really good. I’m Bria Cash.”
“He goes by Crew,” Garrett says, stepping in front of me. “I don’t need a bullshit nickname. You can call me Garrett.”
Garrett never met a girl he wasn’t interested in. I feel something unexpected in my gut, watching him chat her up. Nothing big, just a twinge. I don’t like the way he’s looking at her. Like maybe he’s going to make her his next conquest. And for a reason I can’t explain—that doesn’t sit well with me.
Liam and Brad talk to her too. They’re drooling over her—or her voice anyway. I give them a look. They ignore me.
“You want to join us for a bite to eat before the show?” Liam asks.
I kick him. She notices.
“No thanks. I’ve got plans with my boyfriend.”
“We’ll catch you later then,” I say and pull the guys to the door.
“You didn’t have to be so goddamn rude,” Garrett says. “We asked her to go to lunch, not have an orgy.”
“Let’s go. We need to be back in an hour before it starts getting crazy around here.”
We leave our gear and go out the back door of the arena to Liam’s van, or more precisely, Liam’s uncle’s van. He owns a car dealership in Stamford. He’s also the mayor and the reason we got this gig. He has a lot of political connections. He’ll be running for governor in the next election.
No way could we have landed this contract without him. Four shows—that’s almost unheard of. We owe him big time, much to Liam’s dismay.
Liam pats his jeans pockets. “Damn. Forgot the keys. Be back in a sec.”
When he returns, Bria Cash is with him. I raise my brows.
“She got stood up,” he says. “She’s coming with us.”
Bria’s eyes meet the ground. “I didn’t get stood up. He’s just busy, that’s all. He has to prepare for tonight.”
“You guys won’t believe who her boyfriend is,” Liam says. “Adam fucking Stuart.”
My eyes snap to hers. “You’re dating Adam Stuart?”
She nods.
“As in he’s your boyfriend, and you’re his girlfriend?”
Garrett elbows me. “What’s your problem, man?”
“Sorry. It’s just … nothing.”
She eyes me suspiciously. She probably wonders if I think he’s too good for her or something, but in the five seconds I’ve known her, I can tell it’s quite the opposite. I contemplate telling her what I heard those groupies saying the other night. Then again, she’d have no reason to believe anything I say.
We pile into the van and drive down the street.
“This place okay?” Liam asks when he sees a diner.
“As long as it’s less than ten bucks a plate, I’m in,” Brad says. “My bank account is running on fumes.”
“How about you, Bria?” Liam says. “You good with this?”
“It looks fine.” She glances at Brad. “Not that I’m complaining about the diner, but didn’t you guys just get your big break? Don’t you have money coming out of your ears?”
Garrett laughs as we get out of the van. “Don’t you know how this works?”
“How what works?”
We go inside and find a table.
“How long have you been singing professionally?” I ask.
“This is my first real gig, but I’ve been singing for a long time. I even cut an album. I spent every penny I had, hiring a band and a recording studio, but I couldn’t get my foot in the door. Nobody would listen to it.”
“Yeah, we know how that goes.”
“Do you? Seems to me you’re doing pretty well.” She smiles.
I shake my head. “We’ve been playing bars and county fairs for years. The only reason we’re here is because Liam’s uncle is a bigwig in Stamford. We barely get paid enough to cover our hotel and travel expenses.”
She looks appalled. “How is that even possible?”
“Being able to open for a major band like White Poison—that’s our payment,” Liam says. “The exposure we’re getting is worth more than money at this point. Hell, we’d have played for free. This could finally lead to something for us.”
“Still,” Bria says, “you should be getting paid what you’re worth. From what I’ve heard, you’re worth a lot.”
“Thanks,” Brad says. “That means a lot.”
A waitress puts down glasses of water in front of us and then pulls a pen from behind her ear. “Ready to order?”
One by one, we pick up the menus stuffed behind the napkin dispenser.
Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Page 2