The Rock Star (Hollywood Heartthrobs Book 2)

by Tabitha Bree

  He does the first verse and I wait for the tequila to reach my blood stream. How is this even real life? This is the kind of stupid shit that happens in my dreams.

  Even though Xavier is messing around, doing the squeaky demon voice and everything, you can tell he’s a natural performer. The crowd below cheers, and I get a little tiny taste of what it might be like to be him up on the stage. When the chorus approaches, I think to hell with it, and join in on the vocals, doing the higher part.

  “Look into my eyes and it’s easy to see, one and one make two, two and one make three…”

  We grin at each other while we sing and I grab hold of the microphone the same way he has his. And it’s at this point that I realize Xavier was right.

  This is so fricking fun.

  We take turns on the lines of the next verse, and this time I do the creepy demon voice. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t rehearsed this together, we seem to know what the other is thinking. And when the guitar solo comes up, we jump around the stage, thrashing our heads in the air. I can’t remember the last time I’ve lost my shit like this, just acted silly. I feel like a kid again.

  When the song finishes, we stand and bow triumphantly and the whole place is cheering. We both crack up laughing, and without even thinking, I jump into his chest as he wraps his arms around me.

  22

  Xavier

  We spill out of the bar, still laughing at our on-stage antics. As I predicted, once the crowd realized I was there, there wasn’t much alone time for us. We returned to our booth after our ‘Tribute’ cover and sang along with the others on stage, but every few minutes someone would interrupt, wanting a photo or an autograph. I’m not one of those asshole types who are rude to fans, so I always obliged. But it got old quickly.

  I could tell Dee was uncomfortable with the attention, so I suggested we bail. She seemed relieved to get away from prying eyes.

  As we walk along the street reminiscing about our duet, I look at her with side eyes.

  “You know, you’ve got quite a voice on you. How did I not know you could sing like that?”

  “Come on,” she says, nudging me in the side.

  “I’m serious! You can hold a note.”

  “I don’t know.” She shakes her head. “Singing is fun, but I could never do what you do, in front of a crowd.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “And what do you call what we just did?”

  “We were just being stupid, joking around,” she laughs. “But singing like, for real, in front of an audience?” She does a visible shiver. “That shit sends my blood cold. I have terrible stage freight.”

  “A smart ass like you? Scared of anything?”

  She nudges me again.

  “That explains why you’re behind the camera and not in front of it,” I continue.

  “Yeah, that and I fucking love my job. I can’t wait to direct my own films someday.” She looks at me, smiling on the side of her face. “That’s if Hollywood’s most notorious play boy doesn’t make me look bad in front of Katherine.”

  “Hey! I think I’ve been pretty good lately, don’t you?”

  She nods. “Yes, it’s shocking.”

  We both laugh, and eventually we’re away from the nightlife, walking through residential streets. Dee hugs her arms over her chest, cradling her elbows.

  “Here.” I take off my sweatshirt and hand it to her. She inspects it like she’s waiting for something to jump out at her. “It’s not a trick, I promise,” I say, laughing.

  She smiles and slides it over her head, pulling her arms through. The vision of her wearing my clothes does something weird to my lower regions, and I have to look away.

  We keep walking in silence, and I’ve never wished more to have mind-reading skills. I wanted to show her a good time, that she could trust me. But seeing her walking along in the moonlight, all I want to do is wrap her in my arms. I’m still coming down from the feeling of her hugging me after our song, the sound of her laughing in my ear. It was better than any drug—and I’ve tried a few to know what I’m talking about. Dee was the best high I’ve ever had. And I never want her to wear off.

  “You looked happy up there tonight, on stage,” she says, breaking through the silence.

  “If you can call that a stage.” I snort.

  “Oh sor-ry Mr. I Only Count Arenas With Thousands Of Screaming Fans A Stage,” she says, rolling her eyes. I laugh. I can’t get enough of her sass. I want to bottle it up and wear it around my neck.

  “But really, you just look so natural when you’re performing on stage.”

  “Is this your way of saying I should quit acting now?”

  “No.” She laughs. “You’re actually not too bad at that either.”

  “Is that so?” I bunch my forehead up, and she points a finger to my face.

  “Don’t let it go to your head.”

  We both laugh and fall into another silence. As we get closer to her apartment building, I replay my conversation with Vik on the plane. I have to show her I’m interested without seeming too interested. Like I expect something. But the closer we get, the more I feel like I’m going to fuck it up. I don’t want to friend-zone myself, but I don’t want to come on to her either.

  Why is this so fucking hard?

  And why the fuck are my hands sweating?

  We walk our last few steps and I’m standing exactly where I met her a couple of hours ago. It wasn’t the longest date in history. Actually, I don’t even know if it was a date.

  “Thanks for meeting me tonight,” I say, turning to face her. “I wasn’t ready for the vacation fun to end just yet.”

  “It was good,” she says, nodding. “Oh, before I forget.” She whips my sweatshirt off before I can tell her to keep it. Before I can tell her it looks better on her than it ever did on me.

  “Thanks,” I say as she hands it to me.

  We both stand there, not knowing what to do. I don’t know if she’s expecting me to try to come up, or if she’s just waiting for me to go, but feels too awkward to say anything.

  What the fuck am I doing?

  I have no idea how to play this, but I have to do something quick before I look like more of a dickhead.

  “Well, goodnight.”

  Before she can respond, I lean in, pressing my lips to hers. I don’t touch her with my hands, just my mouth. And when I pull away, she’s frowning at me, like I’ve just said something in a foreign language she doesn’t understand.

  “Err… yeah, night,” she says.

  And before I can make it weirder, I turn and leave.

  I pass Jack a beer, clinking the neck of my bottle to hers before bringing it to my lips.

  “Thank God you’re done with those bullshit water shooters,” she says, lying back on my sun lounger.

  “I knew you would never show up unless there was the promise of a proper drink.”

  I’ve had enough of people in general, so we spend Sunday afternoon by my pool, making use of the sun loungers and outdoor bar. I look across to the other, smaller sun bed and get that same sinking feeling in my stomach.

  “How long are you going to keep that there?” Jack asks, following my eyes.

  “I don’t know. Tossing it seems so… final.”

  “I think Willow telling you she’s keeping Benson forever was the final part.”

  I grimace, swigging from my bottle. “I know.”

  Benson used to love sitting in his little bed on a sunny day. Which was most days. The bed was suspended slightly above the ground, so it was like a little hammock. And not too hot on the days when the ground was scorched by the sun. Many summers have been spent by this pool together, swimming, playing…

  “So you were up to the part where you went skinny dipping,” Jack says, pulling me back to my story. I was filling her in on Dee, and how things had changed dramatically since I saw Jack last.

  “You totally boned in the ocean, didn’t you? I always thought that was kind of difficult.”

&nb
sp; “We didn’t seem to have an issue with it.”

  Jack is the only person I have told about Dee, and that’s because I tell her everything. She is like a vault. And it’s important to have close friends who are vaults as a celebrity, because you never know when a reporter will come snooping for the next good bit of gossip. But I can trust Jack with anything.

  “You know she caught me singing that song I wrote in senior year, that one I thought would make me famous?” I laugh.

  Jack sniggers and nods her head. “I remember it well. You sang it nonstop for like two fucking months straight.” She sips her beer. “It wasn’t bad though, from what I can remember.”

  “Do you want me to refresh your memory?”

  “Please, God, no. I’d rather a water shooter.”

  Jack supports me and my career, but she isn’t a fangirl about my music. And she’s certainly never watched me the same way Dee did that night around the campfire in Hawaii…

  “I’m thinking about giving it another shot though, music.”

  “Yeah?”

  I shrug. “It felt kind of nice… singing in front of people again in Hawaii, and at karaoke last night. It made me realize I miss it.”

  “And the drama that came with it?”

  I raise an eyebrow. “To be fair, most of that came from one manager, not the whole industry.”

  “Yeah, a manager who’s blacklisted you against every other label in LA. How are you going to give it another shot with no representation?”

  Jack is protective of me, I get that. She had a front-row seat to me getting bullied in high school and saw it on a much larger scale when I got dragged for the scandal with Willow, and the punching-Mike-in-the-face drama.

  “I understand why you don’t think it’s the best idea. But maybe I should front up to the other labels, instead of hiding away and letting Mike ruin my career? Maybe I should fight?”

  Jack smirks. “Seems like someone’s had an impact on you?”

  I know exactly who she’s talking about, and I can’t deny it. That feeling I had when I sung in front of Dee and sung with Dee. I want to feel like that every day for the rest of my life. She restored something in me… reminded me how it feels when you’re good at something, but also have a good time doing it. Music has been such a drainer ever since the drama with Willow started… ever since the media started targeting me. But after my time with Dee, I remembered what it originally felt like.

  “She’s inspiring,” I say after a pause. “Dee’s an ambitious woman, and it reminded me I used to be that way too, and it felt good.”

  “It sounds like she reminded you of other feelings you’ve had, too.”

  I frown. “Meaning?”

  “Feelings you had with Willow? Before she turned into a conniving skank?”

  “Thanks for bringing that up.”

  Jack laughs, knocking the rest of her beer back. “I’m just saying, for a while there you were happy in that relationship… and it sounds like Dee has reminded you of what it feels like to…”

  “To what?”

  Jack shrugs, like she’s not going to say it. She’s going to wait for me to figure it out for myself. And then it hits me.

  “Oh geez. I’m in love with her.”

  “No shit,” Jack snorts.

  I throw my bottle cap at her. “I didn’t want to know that. It’s already hard enough being around her and knowing how to act after we’ve already slept together, twice. For all I know I could tell her how I feel and she would laugh in my face.”

  Jack stands up. “Well that’s the trouble with being Xavier Black. Your reputation proceeds you. First, people have to separate the real you from the celebrity you. And then they have to decide how they actually feel. That girl is probably still figuring out who you are.”

  “So what am I meant to do?”

  Jack pulls a face. “Who do I look like, Doctor Phil?” She tosses her empty bottle into the trash can. “These beers suck. I’m going inside to get the good stuff.”

  23

  Dee

  I wake up to my phone buzzing on the bedside table. I grab it and squint at the screen, disoriented when I can’t see the snooze option. Because it’s not my alarm going off, it’s a message from Evie.

  Evie: Eek! So is this a thing now??

  The text includes a link to an article. My disoriented brain can’t make out the people in the picture, but the headline reads ‘On to The Next’.

  Dee: Jesus woman, it’s 5:30am. Why are you even awake?

  Evie: The early bird catches the worm ;)

  God, she is such a dork. I yawn, propping some pillows against my headboard so I can sit up. Evie is just lucky I have to get up soon. I open the article she sent, and as the photo loads in full size, I gasp. It’s me and Xavier. Arms wrapped around each other. On stage, from our Saturday night karaoke.

  On to The Next: bad boy sets his sights on mystery woman, only weeks after breaking Willow’s heart.

  “Fuck me,” I mutter to myself. Now I’m in the tabloids? I can only imagine what the headline would read if they’d got a snap of us on the beach in Hawaii.

  The article goes on to describe the women Xavier has been tied to in the past, like a trail of destruction. There are casual relationships, and then, of course, the women he cheated on Willow with. My stomach churns; it’s a good thing I haven’t eaten breakfast yet. Not that any of this is news to me. I knew Xavier’s reputation before I ever laid eyes on him in real life. But there’s something about seeing my picture there, laid out next to the many others. I don’t want to be part of this collage. I don’t want to be one of hundreds.

  If the men I’ve dated heard me say this, they would probably think I am the biggest hypocrite in the world. I am Miss Noncommittal. Miss If You Try To Spoon Me, You Might Lose An Arm.

  So why do I feel so weird now?

  Things have been fine since karaoke on the weekend. Xavier is always ready to be picked up in the mornings. He rehearses his lines in the car, and we go about our days. In fact, it’s weirdly fine. Like he’s trying to get a golden star for his good behavior. I keep expecting him to pull me into his trailer for a quickie, but he hasn’t made a move on me since Hawaii. I can barely count that weird kiss he planted on me after he walked me home. It wasn’t him at all. It was sweet… like he was auditioning for the part of ‘cute awkward guy next door’.

  Not that I’m complaining. I’m glad he’s not being trouble for me. The further we get into the film, the closer Katherine gets to choosing her team for her next big project with all the A-listers, and I’m desperate to be on it. If she can see that I’ve wrangled the bad boy, bonus points for me.

  But I keep thinking about it… the way Xavier tentatively leaned forward at my doorstep… the feeling of his arms around me on stage. Seeing it in a gossip column made me feel icky. Like I’d been played somehow.

  I don’t mention it when I pick him up. It’s not until we’re on set preparing for our first scene that Sadie sidles up to us.

  “Here they are, the latest hot topic,” she says, cradling her phone between her fingers.

  Xavier frowns. “What are you on about?”

  Sadie clears her throat, reading from the screen. “It appears LA’s favorite bad boy has a new flavor of the month. Xavier Black was seen in the arms of a mysterious woman at Cover Me Karaoke bar, where they sang a duet to,” she looks up at us and bunches her eyebrows. “Tribute?”

  Xavier and I both smile at the memory before he grabs Sadie’s phone. He continues reading in silence, looking up at me cautiously, like he’s waiting for me to throw a tantrum.

  “What were you guys doing there together?” She eyes me suspiciously.

  I still haven’t told anyone on the crew about Xavier, only Adam and Evie. If it got out, it would cause a huge drama. I don’t even want to think about what Katherine would say about it. My palms sweat as I think of an excuse at warp speed, but my mind is coming up blank.

  “She got wind that I was going
there with some buddies and came to keep an eye on me. Takes her job seriously, this one,” Xavier says, nudging my arm. “I told her that if she didn’t sing a duet with me, I would go to the strip club and tip off the paparazzi beforehand.”

  Sadie’s mouth drops open. “Xavier! That’s terrible!” She turns to me. “I don’t know how you do it, Dee. I hope Katherine is grateful for you.”

  She glares at Xavier and shoves him as she walks by, grabbing her phone from his hands.

  What the hell just happened?

  “You didn’t have to do that,” I say to Xavier. “Throw yourself under the bus for me.”

  He shrugs. “I’m used to people talking shit about me, no use dragging you into it as well.” He half smiles and then leaves for the set.

  It’s the moment we’ve all been waiting for, the star of the movie arriving.

  Harold walks onto the set, a dignified gentleman. Even with four legs and a golden bushy tail, he looks like he would be better behaved than most adult men at a dinner party.

  The cast and crew have been instructed not to pet him, as he’s under strict training and needs to keep his focus just like any other actor. But as he sits in his position, I can tell more than a few people are struggling with that.

  “Oh my God, he’s so precious,” Sadie says, bunching her fists up around her mouth. “I just want to scoop him up and take him home.”

  “He is pretty damn cute,” I concede, watching Harold sit in place like the good boy he is. Everyone has been excited to shoot the scenes with our canine pal, but the only person who gets to touch him is the trainer, and Xavier, who is just walking on set now. As soon as he spots Harold, his eyes light up, a couple of Christmas lights in his skull.

  “Xavier, this is Harold,” I say, running introductions. “He’s playing the part of your dog on the ship.”

  Xavier takes a couple of tentative steps towards him, like he’s holding onto his composure by a fraying rope.