Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series)

by Samantha Christy

  “Damn, this is good,” he says. “Now the chorus. Something about days.” He writes down some notes. “How about this: Not a day goes by without thoughts of you.”

  I stare at the side of his head. “Without tears of you.”

  He looks up at me. “Without fears of you.”

  “I look at you and want the future, but all I get’s your past.”

  “Yes.” He closes his eyes tightly, thinking. “Day after day I wonder if we were meant to last.”

  He writes the whole thing in its entirety. “Shit, Bria, this may be the fastest song we’ve ever written.”

  “I think you’re forgetting about the one we wrote on the paper towel.”

  He laughs. “Right. Dang, woman, we’re good at this.”

  We bang out the rest in record time, then spend the next few hours getting a head start on a melody for Liam.

  “Should we call and tell everyone?” I ask.

  “Nah. Make them sweat it out.”

  “So we’re finished for today?”

  “We should celebrate. Dinner?”

  “I can’t. It’s Wednesday.”

  “I think we’ve already established that.”

  “Every Wednesday I have a standing date with Brett if he’s not on shift.”

  “You do?” he says sadly.

  “Come with us. I’m sure he can get you in.”

  “In?”

  “We’re going to a Nighthawks game. In a suite. Brett has connections. They’re playing Kansas City tonight.”

  “You like baseball?”

  “You don’t think I’m a jock?” I tease.

  He laughs. “Bria, you had to ask what a three-pointer was when we had you sing ‘On and Off the Court’.”

  “That’s different. That’s basketball. Nobody watches basketball.”

  He grips his chest like he’s having a heart attack. “Oh, you did not just say that.” He kisses his fingers and puts them in the air. “LeBron, she’s kidding. We love you, man.”

  I roll my eyes. “Do you want to go or not?”

  “Hell yeah, I do.”

  ~ ~ ~

  “Having fun?” I say, sneaking up behind Crew after I went to the bathroom.

  “Are you kidding?” he asks, staring out at the game in the ninth inning. “This has been the best day. Thanks for this.”

  “Oh, you thought this was it?”

  “There’s more?”

  “How would you like to go to Sawyer Mills’ place afterward?”

  He looks down at the field in shock. “Sawyer Mills, as in the Kansas City shortstop that used to play for the Nighthawks?”

  “That’s the one. He still has a townhouse here.” I nod to Denver Andrews, a firefighter Brett works with. “He’s Denver’s brother-in-law. Caden Kessler and Brady Taylor from the Nighthawks will probably be there, too.”

  “Shit, Bria. I’ve died and gone to heaven.”

  He really is happy. Is it the game or me? Can I make him happy? I’ve asked myself that a hundred times. Crew is not exactly the kind of guy who’s naturally upbeat. He likes to have fun, and when he’s onstage, he’s completely in his element, but happy? It’s not the adjective I’d use to describe him. Morose maybe. Content at best.

  Yet somehow I’m drawn to him. His intensity. His dedication. I’ve never seen a man get so immersed in a song. Not even Adam Stuart. I’m pretty sure Adam didn’t even do it for the music anymore. I can’t imagine that ever happening to someone as passionate as Crew.

  “What?” he asks, catching me staring.

  Heat flushes my cheeks. “I was wondering if you were ever going to kiss me again.”

  “That’s why you’ve been watching me all night?”

  “We finished the songs. We said we’d wait on everything else until then. So here we are. Done. So, what’s next?”

  His gaze darts around the room. “I’m not going to kiss you, Bria. Brett is standing right there. Besides, it wouldn’t be spontaneous now that you brought it up.”

  My insides tingle. So he is going to kiss me.

  “Am I interrupting?” Brett says.

  “Nope,” I say. “There’s nothing going on over here.”

  Crew smiles.

  “I’m heading out,” Brett says. “You’re coming to Sawyer’s place, right?”

  “We’ll be there.”

  “Emma called to say parent-teacher conferences are finished. I’ll swing by to get her and tuck Leo into bed. We’ll meet you at Sawyer’s.”

  “Oh, good. I can’t wait to see her.” I turn to Crew. “In case you’re wondering, Leo is my nephew. He’s three and completely adorable.”

  “But you’re not biased at all.” Brett laughs. “See you soon. Glad you could make it, Crew.”

  Crew lifts his chin. “Thanks for including me.”

  “He likes you,” I say after Brett leaves.

  “How can you tell?”

  “Because you’re still here. You wouldn’t be if he didn’t like you. My brother has scared away more than one guy because they looked at me the wrong way.”

  “Shit, really?” He drops his voice. “Did you tell him how I walked out on you last week?”

  “I might have.”

  He takes a step back. “I’m toast.”

  “Like I said, he likes you. He thinks you’re a lot like his fiancée.”

  “In what way?”

  “She was, um … reluctant.”

  “How so?”

  “She didn’t want to date him.”

  “That’s nothing like me. I want to date you, Bria.”

  My mouth curves indulgently. “You do?”

  “Yeah.” He looks at the floor. “I’m just not sure how good I’ll be at it.”

  How could he not be good at dating? “When’s the last time you had a girlfriend?”

  He sighs. “Been a while.”

  “How long?”

  “Long.”

  “You’re kind of cryptic sometimes. Most of the time, actually.”

  I’m a fucked-up mess, I hear him say in my head.

  “Sorry. You ready to go?”

  “Sure.”

  We get caught in a herd of people waiting for the elevator.

  “Hey, you’re that girl,” a man shouts, giving me the once-over.

  Is he talking to me?

  “You’re that girl,” he says again, coming closer. “I saw you onstage with White Poison.”

  It’s hard not to smile. After all these months, someone finally recognized me.

  “What’s your name?” he asks. “Who are you singing with now?”

  Crew steps in front of me. “It’s not important.”

  The man tries to catch my eye. “It’s you, right? I’d remember those legs anywhere.”

  “Back off,” Crew says.

  “Crew, it’s fine.”

  “It’s not fine,” he growls and turns. “I said back off.”

  “Who are you, her bodyguard?”

  “Yeah,” Crew says, his posture stiff and muscles rigid. “That’s exactly what I am. Now back the hell up before I make you back up.”

  The man holds up his hands in a gesture of innocence and backs away. “Jeez, it’s not like she’s famous or anything. I mean, she’s only a backup singer.”

  The elevator opens, and I step in. Crew waits at the doors, making sure my fan doesn’t come in behind him. We ride down in silence, him brooding, me watching him brood.

  “You mind explaining to me what happened up there?” I say after we exit.

  He guides me into an empty hallway and traps me against the wall, the intensity of his dark gaze hinting at a soul full of secrets. He swipes the hair off my face, then his finger caresses my bottom lip with unexpected tenderness. Heat, frustration, and hunger drive through me. He knows how he’s affecting me. His lips curve into a dangerous smile right before he kisses me. I let him, because having his lips on mine again is everything I’ve fantasized about.

  I’ve stopped fighting it. I’
ve stopped trying to rationalize it. The bottom line is—I want him. I want him more than I’ve ever wanted anyone. So I give in.

  I weave my hands through his hair, clutching his neck so he can’t pull away. He tugs me closer. His hands snake around my back to hold me tightly. We kiss until we run out of breath, then he presses his forehead to mine.

  “I kind of like jealous Crew,” I say. “I feel like Jane to your Tarzan.”

  “Jealous? I’m not jealous.” He averts his eyes. “Whatever.”

  I shimmy into him. “I kind of like spontaneous Crew, too.”

  “You do, do you?”

  He watches my tongue as I lick my lips. He kisses me again. He kisses me until a ballpark employee tells us to get out of the hall.

  Holding hands, we run out to the curb.

  “I can’t believe I’m about to meet Sawyer Mills. He was one of my idols growing up.” He tucks in his shirt. “Do I look okay?”

  “Are you nervous about meeting baseball players?”

  “Hell yes, I am.”

  “You know what I think? Someday they’ll be telling people about the time they met Chris Rewey, the lead singer of that famous band.”

  He squeezes my hand. “Co-lead singer.”

  I squeeze back. “Right.”

  “We were on fire today, weren’t we?” he says.

  I cock my head. “Are we talking about the song or the kiss?”

  He draws me to him and gazes into my eyes. “Both. Definitely both.”

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Crew

  It’s been two weeks since we wrote that last song. Two weeks since I’ve had a reason to come to the city every day. Two weeks of making up excuses not to be alone with her.

  I like Bria a lot, and I don’t want to hurt her, but part of me knows I’ll end up hurting her anyway. Girls want a relationship with a future, and I’m not sure I can offer that to anyone. I made a promise.

  I hear Mom’s voice in my head. You need to write a song about it. You have to let her go.

  Every time I write more than a few words, the past comes rushing back. I can’t think about it. If I do, I won’t be able to sing. I won’t be able to write. I won’t be able to breathe. Mom has my best interests at heart, but she has no idea what writing a song like that would do to me.

  Today we played a gig in the city, a Sunday afternoon charity event put on by FDNY that Brett brought to our attention. Jeremy and Ronni thought it was a good idea for exposure and image. Funny that a lot of their good ideas result in money flying out of our pockets instead of in.

  We’re packing up the gear in Liam’s uncle’s van when Jeremy finds us. “Great set. With a little polishing, you’ll be ready to record in a few weeks, eh?”

  I know he means well, but every compliment he doles out is a passive-aggressive dig.

  “Does he have to come to every gig?” Bria whispers as she tosses something in the back.

  “Wait until we go on the road. We’ll practically be living with him.”

  Her eyes widen. “You don’t think Ronni will go, too, do you?”

  It’s almost comical how much Bria hates Ronni. I get it though. Ronni rubs her the wrong way, and she’s everything Bria’s not: businesslike, polished, elegant. I consider it a good thing that Bria’s not like that. She’s real. I’ll take the girl next door over a sophisticated floozy any day.

  “I don’t think so,” I say. “But even if she did, no way would she stay in the kind of hotel we can afford. She’d stay in Porsche hotels. We’ll be in—”

  “Honda?” she says, laughing.

  “I’d love to stay in a Honda hotel. I was going to say Gremlin. Do you remember those cars? My buddy in high school had one. It must’ve been thirty years old. A real piece of shit.”

  She cringes. “Do you really think we’ll be in flea-bag motels?”

  I shut the back door of the van. “It probably won’t be that bad, but nothing like what you got used to with White Poison.”

  “Did I ever tell you about Adam’s list of riders? The hotel had to make his bed with thousand-count sheets that had never been used before. Same with the towels—they had to be brand new, and not just once. Every time he used one, it had to be new. He threw used towels in the trash.”

  Everyone has been listening in. I turn to them. “Please kill me if I ever become like that.”

  Liam snorts. “If we ever turn into that, we’ll have more money than God.”

  “Don’t laugh too hard,” Jeremy says. “You’d be surprised what happens to a band when they find fame.”

  I shake my head. “It’s not going to happen to us. Right?”

  “No way. Not us,” Brad says.

  “Are you saying I can’t hire a roadie to wipe my ass?” Garrett says. “Damn, I was really looking forward to that.”

  Bria punches him playfully while the rest of us crack up.

  “Okay,” he says. “I’ll have to settle for a harem bathing me.”

  “As if you need any of that,” Liam says. “You’ll be wiping your ass with hundred-dollar bills as soon as you turn twenty-five.”

  “Fuck off, Campbell.” Garrett is pissed. He looks disgusted, like he’s unhappy about having a trust fund—a trust fund he never talks about. Right along with the family he never mentions.

  “We can’t let that shit happen to us,” Brad says. “Let’s make a pact. In fact, Jeremy, maybe you should write up another addendum that says if any band member becomes a diva, we can kick him out.”

  “You don’t want to do that,” he says.

  “Why not?”

  He’s solemn. “Listen, I’ve seen bands go from zero to sixty, and I’ve seen them fade into nothing, but they all have one thing in common—fans. When people worship you, it gets in your head. Some people get a god complex. A lot turn to drugs and alcohol. Sometimes bands break up before they have a chance to hit the top because of disagreements between members. You never know what’s going to happen, and you don’t want a contract dictating who gets to stay and who goes. You’re going to have a hard enough time navigating the waters if everything goes right.”

  “Fine. No addendum,” I say. “But I’m telling everyone right now, I will personally kick your ass if you insist on a new fucking towel every time you wash your hands. Now bring it in.” We form a circle and stack hands in the middle. “On three: one, two, three.”

  “Let’s get reckless!” we shout.

  It’s something we started doing for luck before each show, and it’s become our way of bonding. It’s like a pinky promise. It makes us blood brothers—and sister.

  Brad checks his watch. “Can we get going? I have a date with Katie.”

  Liam elbows him. “That’s the third time this week. You getting serious about her?”

  “I might be. You guys should try it.”

  “What, having a girlfriend?” Garrett grabs his junk and motions to some fangirling teens on the other side of the fence. “And give up all that available poontang?”

  Liam pushes him to the van. “Easy, Casanova. They’re jailbait.”

  “Casanova?” Garrett says, glancing at me. “But that’s Crew’s handle. You giving up your title, man?”

  Liam’s eyes dart to Bria and back. “Of course he is, you tool.” Liam punches him in the arm.

  “Will you guys quit punching me?” he whines. “I play drums, you know.”

  “Pussy,” Liam says.

  “So can we go?” Brad asks.

  “Can we drop you off, Bria?”

  “Sure. Thanks.” She hops in and slides over on the bench seat.

  On the way to her place, my phone vibrates with a text.

  Bria: Want to come over for dinner?

  I look at her and she raises her brows. I text her back.

  Me: My car is in Stamford.

  Bria: So stay at your mom’s tonight, and I’ll drive you back tomorrow for rehearsal.

  I hesitate. Out of the corner of my eye, I see her smile fall. I feel like a di
ck, having avoided her for two weeks. And other than the car thing, I can’t think of a good reason not to go. The truth is, I want to.

  Me: Sounds like a plan. I have to make a stop first.

  Her smile reappears, then she bites her lip. Dammit if my dick doesn’t start to swell in the middle of a bunch of sweaty men.

  “Liam, can you drop us at my mom’s?”

  He looks at me in the rearview mirror. “You stayin’ the night?”

  “I think so. She just texted me.”

  I’m not sure why I lie to him or why I text Bria instead of having a conversation everyone can hear.

  Fifteen minutes later, we’re stepping out on the sidewalk in front of Mom’s place. “Later,” I say to the guys before I shut the van door. Bria stares at me as we walk into the building.

  “What?”

  “Taking me to meet the parental units? That’s a big step, Christopher Rewey.”

  I stop. “Why did you call me that? It’s the second time you’ve done it.”

  She looks surprised. “Isn’t that your legal name?”

  “It is, but nobody uses it. I’d prefer you didn’t.”

  “Sorry,” she says, taken aback.

  “It’s okay, but if you don’t want to call me Crew, use Chris.”

  “Fine, Chris. But it’s funny your name is what you objected to in that sentence.”

  “What are you talking about? You’ve met my mom. She’s been to a few gigs.”

  “Met her, yes. Sat and talked to her while you take a shower—no.”

  She’s right. This will be the first girl I’ve brought home since … Maybe I didn’t think this through.

  I lean against the wall.

  She sees my face and turns around. “Why don’t I just wait in the lobby? You’ll be quick, right?”

  Pushing the gnawing in my stomach aside, I take her hand and guide her to the elevator. “You’re not waiting downstairs, and for the record, it’s not a big deal. We work together. We’re having dinner. I have to change clothes. End of story.”

  She knows I’m full of crap. We more than work together and everyone knows it—including my mother. If I say it out loud, will that make it more real? Will it nullify the past?