Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “They have a lot of potential. Then again, if something sounds too good to be true, it usually is.” I glance around the dressing room. “Case in point.”

  “This wasn’t one of those times. You went on tour with White Poison. You’ll have that on your résumé until the day you die. It’s going to be a pivotal point in your life. Everything happens for a reason. Even if this didn’t exactly turn out the way you expected. Even if your heart and your pride got damaged.” She pulls me in for a hug. “You’re going to do great things, I just know it.”

  I laugh. “I think my big brother has rubbed off on you.”

  “You might be right.”

  “Do you think I should audition for Reckless Alibi?”

  Her mouth falls open. “Reckless Alibi? Interesting name. Tell me about Chris Rewey.”

  I give her a sideways look.

  “Oh, come on. It’s always the holdouts who have the best stories.”

  I couldn’t agree with her more. I know he’s got one, but the last thing I should do is get close to another lead singer. His story will have to remain just that—his.

  Evie bursts through the door and shoves a T-shirt in my face. “Look! All four of them signed it. Can you believe it? I actually met them. Oh my God, I think there is even some sweat on it.” She turns the shirt over and points to a tiny wet spot. “See? Adam Stuart dripped sweat right here. I will never, ever, ever wash this as long as I live.” She hugs me. “Thank you so much, Bria. You’re the best.”

  I smile at the feisty girl who’s about to become my niece, then get up, throw on some clothes, and quickly pack what little I have. “Come on, I need to go home and sleep for a week.”

  “Yup,” Emma says. “Because you’ve got big things waiting for you.”

  “What big things?” Brett asks.

  “It’s a long story,” she says, giving me a wink.

  Chapter Eight

  Crew

  She enters our rehearsal studio, which is Liam’s uncle’s barn. Our eyes meet. She knows I don’t want this. She quickly looks away and greets the others.

  “Thanks for coming,” Liam says. “You won’t regret it.”

  She gives me a quick glance. “We’ll see.”

  She appraises Garrett’s full sleeve of tattoos. She’s no stranger to tattooed musicians, but this is the first chance she’s had to study us. Her attention moves to Brad, perusing his arms for nonexistent ink, and then to Liam and me. She focuses on my right bicep, where I have my one and only tattoo. I lift my left hand to cover it, as if I’m somehow protecting it from her. She quickly averts her eyes.

  “We listened to your album,” Garrett says. “Thanks for sending it over. It’s phenomenal.”

  “Tell that to the thirty record labels and agents I sent it to.”

  “Screw them,” he says. “They don’t know shit. In this business, it’s become less about talent and more about who you know.” He nods at Liam. “We’re lucky to know someone with connections.”

  “But you are talented,” she says.

  “And so are you. Maybe more than we are. You got the White Poison gig on your own. We got it because of Liam’s uncle. I’m happy to report that in the past few weeks, we’ve gotten some calls.”

  “Calls?”

  “You know, from agents and managers.”

  “Don’t you already have those?”

  Liam shakes his head. “We’ve been managing ourselves, but based on the influx of interest, it may be time to bring someone else on.”

  “Two someones,” Garrett adds, giving me the side-eye.

  Liam shows her our stage. “You may have hit the jackpot, getting in with us on the way up.”

  “A bit cocky, are we?” she says with a rise of her brow.

  I look away. I don’t like the way she does that. She has this confidence about her, yet an innocence all the same. How she got tangled up with Adam Stuart is beyond me. Maybe she thought he would better her career. I laugh quietly. Quite the opposite. He dropped her like a hot potato as soon as she got onto him. He’s probably on a beach in Fiji right now on top of Amanda or Amy or whatever the hell her name is.

  I remain on the couch. “Can we get this over with?”

  Bria says, “Listen, if you aren’t all okay with this, it will never work.”

  “Shut up, Crew,” Garrett says.

  Liam hands her a mic. “This is just for fun. We’re not deciding anything today. Let’s just jam.”

  The guys take their places.

  Bria sees that I don’t move from my seat on the couch. “Uh … aren’t you going to sing?” she asks.

  “I’m going to sit this one out. They want to hear you, not me.”

  She nervously shuffles from foot to foot.

  “You do know the songs, right?” I ask sharply.

  “Of course. I learned all of them.”

  “Why don’t we start with something easy,” Liam says. “How about ‘Black Rose’?”

  They play, and she belts out the first few words, her voice shaky and not at all how I remember.

  “Sorry,” she says. “Mind if we start again? I’m a little nervous.”

  “Bria, you sang with White Poison,” Brad says. “You can sing with anyone.”

  She closes her eyes and nods as Garrett counts off the beat with his drumsticks.

  She starts again, this time with a clear and steady voice, much like the one we heard on her album. My heart races and my pulse pounds, sending me back seven years to a place I don’t want to remember. I jump up and go to our makeshift bar for a beer. When I return to the couch, she doesn’t look at me. She doesn’t look at me through the entire song. Or the one after that. I try to ignore her amazing voice.

  “You guys mind if we try that one again, and I sit at the keyboard?” she asks.

  The guys look at each other and shrug. “Fine by us,” Liam says without consulting me.

  I get that I’m against this whole thing, but they could at least have the decency to let me in on the goddamn decisions.

  I chug the rest of my beer, then go outside to take a piss. When I’m done, I hear her playing the keyboard. I lean against the side of the barn, freezing, and listen to the song. I swear to God, if she’d had any other voice; a soprano maybe—anything but that throaty, sultry, all-too-familiar voice—I’d jump up and down. Regardless, she’s taking what we’ve done and making it better. A whole lot better. But I’m not going to tell them that.

  I don’t want this.

  I go back inside when the song is over.

  “Holy shit, Crew, you have to hear this. Let’s play it again,” Liam says.

  I hold up my hand. “No need, I heard it.”

  “Then you know it’s fucking off-the-charts good.”

  I admit nothing.

  “Stop your whining, and get up here and sing already,” Garrett says. “We need to hear it with both of you.”

  All four of them stare at me.

  “Fine. One song.” I turn to her. “Do you know which parts are yours?”

  “It’s pretty evident,” she says. “I’m kind of surprised you’ve never had a female singer before.”

  The guys all look at me.

  “We’ve gotten along just fine without one.”

  Garrett counts us off. Bria stays at the keyboard. I consider telling her to move—the song was not written with keyboard—but she already played it once, and obviously the guys have no issue with it.

  She sings. I watch her, then turn away when it’s my part. When we hit the chorus, I don’t expect her to join in, but she does. Damn if she doesn’t hit just the right pitch to mix perfectly with me. Liam’s smile is a mile wide.

  When it’s Bria’s turn again, I try not to look at her, but every time I turn away, my heart pounds and I have to remind myself it’s Bria, not her.

  I don’t like this. I don’t like it one damn bit.

  The song ends, and the guys are salivating—even Brad, who rarely shows emotion. It’s clear I’m the
only voice of dissension.

  Everyone goes to the bar for a drink.

  “You have to sing with us this weekend,” Garrett says, handing Bria a cold beer.

  Liam nods. “I second that. It will be a trial. You know, to see how it goes at a real gig.”

  Everyone stares at me. Liam begs me with his eyes. Bria looks hopeful. I know her dreams got squashed when she found out Adam cheated on her, but what did she expect? Still, she’s biting her lip and looking at me like this is her last chance or something.

  “Fine. One gig.”

  Liam and Brad high-five. Garrett pumps his fist. Bria’s smile widens, showing off her perfect teeth.

  “Let’s get started then,” Liam says, handing her our playlist for this weekend. “We have four days to practice. Are mornings good for you?”

  “Don’t you have regular jobs?” she asks.

  “Crew and I work at my uncle’s car dealership. Brad does freelance IT work. And Garrett …” He turns to Garrett and scratches his head. “We still haven’t figured out what the hell Garrett does, other than sit around and wait to collect his trust fund.”

  “Fuck you.” Garrett pulls a drumstick from his back pocket and throws it at him. “I practice, you douchebag. Ten hours a day, unlike you amateurs. Why do you think we’re so goddamn good?”

  “Yeah, ’cause clearly the rest of us suck,” Brad says, picking up his bass and playing it as if it’s the first time.

  Bria laughs at the antics.

  I cringe. I don’t like her laugh.

  “Do you have a day job?” Liam asks her.

  “Not at the moment.”

  “What about the drive? It’s more than an hour from the city.”

  She shrugs. “You do what you have to do.”

  “Looks like we’re in luck then,” he says. “We’ll put in a few more hours tonight, then meet again from nine to noon the rest of the week. Sound good?”

  She looks at me. I’m not sure if she’s waiting for my approval or for me to walk out and slam the barn door. I don’t move.

  “What are we waiting for?” she asks, picking up the mic.

  My head falls back and I look at the rafters. Fuck.

  Chapter Nine

  Bria

  Sweat trickles down my back and is absorbed by the waistband of my skirt. I twirl around, my flowy skirt getting some altitude but not enough to show off my ass like that other band I sang for. At least these guys let me pick my own clothes.

  I feel high. Higher than when I sang with White Poison—and about a million times less nervous—even though I’m out in front this time.

  There is a good crowd in the bar, maybe a hundred people. I don’t miss that most of them at one time or another have stopped talking to pay attention to us.

  I didn’t know what to expect from Crew, but in my wildest dreams, it wasn’t this. After the first song, we fell into an unbelievable synchrony. It’s like we’ve been singing together all our lives. Every so often one of us will go rogue and sing an octave too high or low, and it’s amazing that when it happens, the other one doesn’t miss a beat. Our voices go together like peanut butter and jelly. Or maybe Jack and Coke if you ask one of the guys.

  Crew locks eyes with me during the chorus. It’s kind of a sappy song, and the audience probably expects us to do it, but still. He’s different: animated, passionate.

  The next song is almost like a fight between us. I was told they rarely sang this one because it most definitely required a second singer. He leans into me during his part, and I lean toward him during mine. We sang this in rehearsal, but we never did what we’re doing now—not even close. At the end, when we “make up,” he runs and slides over on his knees, begging me with his lyrics. I forgive him with mine, and he climbs up my body so we sing the final chorus together into the same microphone.

  The crowd goes wild, begging for more when we walk offstage. Liam, Brad, and Garrett look ready to run back out for an encore. Crew hesitates.

  “Come on, brother,” Liam says. “They fucking love us. When have we ever played an encore? Let’s give ’em what they want.”

  Crew looks indecisive. “‘Revolving Door’,” he says.

  I don’t sing on that one. It’s all Crew. I pretend I’m cool with it. “Fine by me.”

  Everyone, including me, goes back onstage. Instead of getting a tambourine and perching on a stool, I sit at the keyboard. Crew doesn’t see me, since he’s busy with the mic. Garrett counts us off. When Liam and Brad start to play, I join in. Crew spins toward me and blows out a long breath. We hadn’t practiced this song, and he wasn’t aware I’d learned it. But not only did I learn it, I adapted it for the keyboard.

  I shoot him a snarky grin. Thought you were gonna do this one without me?

  Liam smiles at me. I’m not sure why he likes that I challenge Crew, but he seems to get off on it.

  I’m a little weirded out, though. The whole time we were singing, Crew and I had a connection. I’ve never felt this with anyone I’ve worked with before. But the minute we stopped, he turned into a different person. It’s like he remembered he’s no longer the sole lead singer of Reckless Alibi. Not that I’ve been offered a job yet, but with how well things are going tonight, I can’t imagine any other outcome.

  The encore ends, and we leave the stage. The owner of the bar greets us with a tray of drinks. “I want you back here every Friday night for a month—maybe longer. Can you do that?”

  Liam, the unofficial manager of the group, steps forward. “We might be able to accommodate you, but based on this crowd, I’d be doing our band a disservice if we didn’t ask for fifty percent more.”

  The owner smacks his lips together as he thinks about it. The crowd is triple what it was when we started playing ninety minutes ago. No one has left. “Twenty-five percent more, and I’ll give you five percent of the profits during your set.”

  “Make that from an hour before we play to thirty minutes after, and we’ve got a deal,” Liam says.

  “Deal. You kids really got something.”

  “Thanks,” Liam says. “We’ll see you next week.”

  The owner walks away.

  “That was amazing, man,” Brad says. “Looks like we don’t need a manager. You handled that great.”

  “This is a bar,” Liam says. “It’s going to be a whole lot different when we play bigger venues and go on the road.” He turns to Bria. “Shit. I didn’t even think to ask—are you good with this? His offer was for the band he heard tonight. That includes you.”

  Crew is brooding, and I feel bad. What’s going on with him?

  “We might as well make it official,” Garrett says, lifting one of the drinks off the tray. “What do you say? Did Reckless Alibi just become a party of five?”

  “We’re not even going to talk about this?” Crew asks.

  “What’s there to talk about?” Liam says. “You two were phenomenal. With both of you, we’ll pull in male and female fans. You should have seen yourselves. Mark my words, we’re about to take the world by storm.”

  Crew backs against the wall and slumps.

  “Give us a minute,” Liam says.

  The three of us find a table as the two of them talk.

  “What’s with him?” I ask. “I mean other than not being the only one in the spotlight anymore?”

  “You were pretty hot up there,” Brad says. “And the two of you together were on fire. Maybe that makes him uncomfortable.”

  “Why?”

  He shrugs. “Maybe he thinks you’ll want to date him, like you did Adam Stuart.”

  “That’s crap,” I say. “He had a stick up his butt long before now. And who says I want to date him? I mean, I learned my lesson with Adam. But what would it matter if I did? I’m sure plenty of women do. That’s not a reason to hate me.”

  “He doesn’t hate you,” Garrett says. “He also doesn’t date women.”

  “Oh.” I look over to see Liam and Crew having an intense conversation. “Is he ga
y?”

  Garrett and Brad almost fall out of their chairs laughing.

  Liam and Crew join us. “What’s so funny?” Crew asks.

  “Bria was asking if you’re gay,” Brad says.

  Liam is doubled over, guffawing. Crew and I are the only ones not laughing.

  “I’m not gay,” he says sternly. “What the hell made you think I was?”

  “They said you don’t date women.”

  “He doesn’t date them,” Garrett says. “He fucks them.”

  Crew hits him on the back of his head. “I’m standing right here, douchebag.”

  I twist my lips. “So you’re no better than Adam Stuart.”

  “That’s bullshit,” he says. “I don’t string them along. They all know the score. And quit looking at me like I’m some kind of man-whore. It’s not like I take a girl home every night. Just because I get more action than these cocksuckers doesn’t mean I’m a player.” He tosses back his drink. “I’m not like him.”

  “Sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that, but you’re standoffish with me.” I motion to the stage. “Except when we’re up there.”

  “Everyone has to play their part.”

  I narrow my eyes. “Well you do it very well.”

  Liam nudges Crew. “Go on. Tell her.”

  “You do it,” he says.

  “She won’t believe it if it comes from me.”

  Crew absentmindedly rubs his tattoo. He does that a lot. I’ve never asked him about the knife piercing flowers. Like his notebook, I get the feeling it’s super personal.

  He sticks his hands in his pockets. “I guess … welcome to Reckless Alibi.”

  I bite my bottom lip to suppress my girly squeal. “Really? You mean it?”

  “Yeah,” he says dryly, then mumbles something about déjà vu. “Listen, I’m going home. I’ll catch an Uber.”

  “You don’t want to stay and celebrate?” Brad asks.

  “Headache.”

  “Let him go,” Liam says. “The rest of us can stay.”

  Before he leaves, he turns back to the stage and gazes at where we were singing moments ago. Then he catches me staring. He runs a hand through his hair and walks out the door.