ROCKSTAR
Page 1
Table of Contents
RockStar, Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Rowe
Books by Lauren Rowe
Part I
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Part II
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Part III
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Author Biography
Additional Books by Lauren Rowe
RockStar, Copyright © 2019 by Lauren Rowe
Published by SoCoRo Publishing
Layout by www.formatting4U.com
Cover Model: Dylan Hocking
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
Cover Design: Letitia Hasser of RBA Designs
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by reviewers who may quote brief excerpts in connection with a review.
Books by Lauren Rowe
The Club Series (to be read in order)
The Club
The Reclamation
The Redemption
The Culmination
The Infatuation
The Revelation
The Consummation
The Morgan Brothers (a series of related standalones):
Hero
Captain
Ball Peen Hammer
Mister Bodyguard
Rock Star (coming 2019)
The Misadventures Series (a series of unrelated standalones):
Misadventures on the Night Shift
Misadventures of a College Girl
Misadventures on the Rebound
Standalone Psychological Thriller/(Very) Dark Comedy
Countdown to Killing Kurtis
To Cuz and Baby Cuz. The rockstars in my life, literally and figuratively. I love you both more than paltry words could possibly say.
Part I
The Before
Chapter 1
Dax
You want to engage in the best people-watching of your life? Then attend a party at Reed Rivers’ sprawling bachelor pad in the Hollywood Hills celebrating the kickoff of Aloha Carmichael’s world tour. Dude, this place is lit. Filled to bursting with celebrities and wannabe celebrities from both the music and entertainment industries. Which makes sense, given that Aloha Carmichael is a former child star turned pop queen and Reed Rivers is the current prom king of LA. Not only is Reed the owner of the world’s hottest independent record label, he’s also a baller in the movie industry, thanks to an indie flick he bankrolled last year that wound up crushing it at the box office.
At the moment, I’m standing in line for drinks with my two bandmates in 22 Goats, Colin and Fish. As we inch toward the bartender, Colin is flirting like a boss with one of Aloha’s backup dancers, Fish is flirting like a minimum-wage worker with a woman with resting bitch face in front of us, and I’m staring off into space, thinking about what Reed said to me earlier in his kitchen.
“Don’t expect ‘People Like Us’ to take off immediately,” Reed said, referring to my band’s first single that’s dropping in three days. “It always takes a minute for a new band’s debut to gain traction. But once the world sees you in that scorching-hot music video on Sunday, the song is going to start rocketing up the charts. And once that happens, hold onto your nuts, Golden Boy. You three goats—but especially you—won’t be able to walk down the street in any city of the tour without getting mobbed.”
I knew Reed said all that stuff to pump me up about what’s to come. And, for the most part, it worked. I’m super stoked. But some of what Reed said also made me want to get on my motorcycle and disappear. Why would I want to get mobbed walking down the street? If Reed thinks that sounds appealing to an artist like me, not to mention an introvert, he doesn’t know me at all. I’m all about the music, man. Not fame or fortune or easy women. And certainly not about getting mobbed.
And another thing. Did Reed really have to set the bar so damned high? If “People Like Us” doesn’t “rocket” up the charts like he’s predicting, but, instead, slowly creeps up them—or maybe doesn’t chart at all—will Reed yank 22 Goats from the Red Card Riot world tour? Or maybe even drop us from his label altogether? I shudder at the thought.
“What’s your favorite thing about modeling?” Fish asks the bitchy-looking woman standing in front of us, drawing me out of my thoughts.
Blah, blah, blah, she replies, revealing herself to be as vapid and boring as she is physically gorgeous. “Plus, I love getting to hang out with interesting people,” she says, shooting me a suggestive smile.
What the fuck? Why is she flirting with me, when I haven’t said a word? The fact that she’s treating Fish, the only guy who’s said a word to her, like he’s invisible only confirms my bad impression of her. Look, I get that Fish doesn’t look like an action hero. But so what? He’s the coolest, sweetest dude I know. Why don’t girls like this model ever look past Fish’s shaggy, lanky exterior and give him a shot?
Thankfully, before the model says another word, we reach the bartender and order our drinks. A few minutes later, Colin, Fish, and I are ambling into the heart of the party, our drinks in hand... and, goddammit, that model on my tip.
When the three of us goats, plus the model, come to a stop in the thick of the party, she leans into my shoulder and compliments my hair. “I’ve always had a thing for guys with long hair,” she says.
Rather than reply, I take a long sip of my vodka and pretend I didn’t hear her above the blaring music. God, I hate star-fuckers.
She taps my shoulder. “So, why are you guys here? I was in 2Real’s music video last year, but even then, I had to beg to get onto that list at the door.”
I gesture to Fish, like, Take it away. My assumption is that Fish will tell the model the unsexy truth: our good buddy, Zander, Aloha Carmichael’s new bodyguard, put us on the list. But, nope. Fish says the thing that’s most likely to get him laid. Or, so he hopes.
“We’re in a band that’s signed to River Records,” he says. “It’s the same label as Aloha.”
Oh, for the love of fuck. I realize Fish hasn’t had much luck with the ladies since the three of us moved to LA to write and record our debut album. Not the way Colin and I have. But come on. If a guy feels like he needs to brag to get laid, then he should seriously reconsider the kinds of girls he’s hitting on.
I glance at Colin and he rolls his eyes, telling me he’s as annoyed
as I am. Although Fish’s comment to the model was technically true—22 Goats is, indeed, signed to River Records—that’s not what got us through the door tonight and Fish knows it. Indeed, when Reed first saw us walking into his house tonight, he bellowed, “I didn’t know my favorite goats were coming to the party!”
The model asks Fish, “Does your band have any songs I might know?”
“Not yet,” Fish replies... and then he proceeds to babble about our forthcoming album and single and the fact that we’re about to open for Red Card Riot on a world tour.
Of course, at Fish’s mention of Red Card Riot, the woman loses her shit. Unfortunately for Fish, however, the woman loses it all over me.
As the model grabs my arm and freaks out, my immediate reaction is to glare at Fish for bringing this plague of locusts upon my house. But when I see the look of abject humiliation on Fish’s face, my irritation with him evaporates. Why does he always swing for this particular kind of fence? If he finally got a taste of this kind of creature, I’m confident he’d be instantly sated for life, the way I am. Like I keep telling Fish, these days, I’d rather go home to my guitar and Netflix than hook up with a girl like this one. But I guess there’s only one way for Fish to reach a similar state of disinterest in star-fuckers and clout-chasers—and it ain’t me telling him to reach it.
“Hey, sorry, I can’t get too flirty with you,” I say, peeling the model’s grip off my arm. “My girlfriend is around here somewhere, and she’s the jealous type.”
It’s my usual lie—the one I always pull out when I’m not feeling it, but don’t want to flat-out reject someone—and it works on the model like a charm. She releases me and turns toward Colin. But before she’s said a word, Colin—a dude who suffers fools even less gladly than I do—cuts her off. “I’ve actually got a boyfriend around here somewhere,” he says. “And he’s the jealous type, too.”
Well, that’s a new one. I look down to hide my smile.
Colin says, “But, hey, Fish Taco here is straight and single and, so I’ve heard, hung like a horse. Plus, he’s best friends with all the RCR guys, so he’s the one to ask all your RCR questions.”
I can’t keep from chuckling at Colin’s pack of lies. It’s all ridiculous, other than Fish being straight and single.
But Fish isn’t chuckling with me. He looks irritated. “Don’t lie to the girl,” he says, his voice edged with annoyance. He turns to the model. “Sorry. Colin’s yanking your chain. The jealous boyfriend he’s referring to is me. Sometimes, my boyfriend and I like to flirt with women at parties in front of each other, just to make each other jealous. Sorry if we wasted your time.” With that, my awesome best friend strides away with his head held high and a little extra swagger in his fish tail—making me love the dude all the more, which is something I didn’t know was possible.
***
“Don’t give that model a second thought,” Colin says to Fish once we’ve caught up to him. “She’s nothing but a clout chaser, man.”
“Fuck it, shit happens,” Fish says.
It’s what Matthew “Fish” Fishberger always says at times like this—when a woman he’s flirted with has stiff-armed him. It’s the catchphrase Fish coined in middle school, when even teachers had stopped calling him Matthew, that turned his nickname into an acronym and his troubles into a self-deprecating joke.
Fish stops walking at the edge of the dance floor, so Colin and I follow suit.
Colin says, “Look, Fish Head, I know you’re jonesing to have your first Star-Fucker Experience. But this party isn’t the time or place. There are too many dudes here with actual fame to even try to attract a fame vampire tonight.”
Fish looks unconvinced.
I say, “If you’re bound and determined to get laid by a star-fucker, then at least be efficient about it and wait for the tour. When groupies see you sharing a stage with Red Card Riot, you’ll have your pick—and you won’t have to brag like a douchebag to get their attention.”
Fish rolls his eyes.
“Either way,” I say, “just do me a favor and don’t brag to anyone else here, okay? Every woman here had to be on that list at the door, which means there’s a fifty-fifty chance anyone you hit on will have some connection to Reed—personal, professional, or both. A woman you hit on could turn out to be someone Reed’s fucked or wants to fuck. He’s got our dreams in the palm of his hand, man. Let’s not do anything to unwittingly piss him off tonight. Not when we’re mere days away from everything finally happening.”
Colin laughs. “Okay, Rock Star. I was with you until that last part. Are you saying every woman at this party is off-limits, simply because she might be on Reed’s past, present, or future To Do List? Because I’ma tell you right now, if I get a shot at that backup dancer from the bar line, I’ma take my shot.”
“The dancer would be fine because she’s vetted. We know for a fact she’s here because she’s on Aloha Carmichael’s tour, and not because Reed’s trying to get into her pants. But some bitchy model with zero personality who got cast in 2Real’s music video? Um, not vetted, son. We need more information.”
Fish pulls a snarky face. “And how do you propose we ‘vet’ someone? When we’re leaning in for that first kiss, should we stop and say, ‘Hang on, baby. Have you ever fucked Reed Rivers?’”
Colin chuckles, but before he’s said a word in reply to Fish, his hot backup dancer from earlier in the drink line emerges from the packed dance floor right in front of us.
The dancer’s face aglow, she smiles pointedly at Colin. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Colin doesn’t miss a beat. “And I’ve been looking for you. Are you down to find a quiet spot to talk?”
“You’ve read my mind.”
And off they go.
“Casanova strikes again,” Fish says. We watch the pair depart for a beat, but when they’re just out of earshot, Fish puts his hand to the side of his mouth and calls out—his voice swallowed by the thumping music in the room, “Don’t forget to ask her if she’s ever fucked Reed Rivers!”
Chapter 2
Dax
Fish and I plop ourselves down on either side of Zander on a large leather couch and immediately begin telling him about the bitchy model. But midway through my story, it’s obvious Zander’s not paying attention—that, in fact, something on the dance floor has attracted his full attention. Or, rather, someone. Because when I follow Zander’s intense gaze, I discover the source of his distraction: Aloha Carmichael grinding with one of her male backup dancers.
I lean into Zander’s broad shoulder. “Just concede defeat on the bet now, Z. You’re never gonna make it three months on tour without making a move on her.”
“Stay in your lane, Rock Star,” Zander says, his eyes still trained on Aloha. “I’m gathering intel about The Package. I’m her bodyguard, remember? And that means... Ho! The Package is on the move, baby doll. I gotta dip. Make good choices!” And off Zander goes without looking back.
Laughing, Fish puts his hand to the side of his mouth and calls out, “Make sure to ask her if she’s ever fucked Reed Rivers!” But, again, thank God, Fish’s voice gets swallowed by the loud music in the room.
I lean back into the couch. “And then there were two, Fish Taco.”
“The best two,” Fish replies. “The fish taco and the rock star.”
“Dude, you gotta stop calling me Rock Star. Anyone who hears you these days won’t know my family’s been calling me that since age two. They’ll think I’m some douchebag who snagged an opening slot with Red Card Riot and instantly decided he was the main event.”
“Dax, I’ve been calling you Rock Star since grade school. Lifetime habits are hard to break.”
“Try harder.”
“Luckily, I’ll only have to remember not to call you that for about a month. After that, ‘People Like Us’ will be such a megatron smash hit, the whole world will be calling you Rock Star. Not just your family and friends.”
“Can we please l
ower our expectations about the single blowing up? I feel like all the hype is setting us up for failure if the single does anything but hit number one.”
Fish launches into a pep talk about “People Like Us” being a “shoo-in” for global smashdom... but I tune him out when a striking young woman across the party catches my eye. Who is that? She’s in her early twenties, I’d guess. Same as me. And a head turner. But there are lots of head turners at this party, and not one of them has caught my eye like this. Even the woman standing next to her, a leggy strawberry blonde who checks all conventional boxes, is practically invisible to me right now.
My girl is something much hotter than hot. She’s intriguing. A study in contrasts. Lights and darks swirled together. Lines and curves living in harmony. She’s elegant yet accessible. Sexy but quirky. In short, she’s got my skin tingling.
Her dark hair is styled into a sharp, chin-length bob with box-bangs—the kind of chic hairstyle assassins wear in movies. And yet, the hair frames a Kewpie doll’s face: big eyes, small nose, lush lips. Actually, she’d make a perfect hitwoman because nobody would ever see her coming.
Her outfit is definitely not one a shrinking violet would choose. Hip-hugging white pants and a white, sleeveless suit-vest that’s giving me an eyeful of toned arms, smooth shoulders, and mouthwatering cleavage nestled between extra-wide lapels. Speaking of those extra-wide lapels, they’re covered in sparkles—a perfect disco complement to the wide flares at the bottoms of her hip-hugging pants. If it weren’t for those lapels and flares, I’d say this girl was trying to come off as a sexy femme fatale. But it’s awfully hard to ignore the disco energy those bling-y accents add to her otherwise elegant outfit. As it is, I don’t know if she came here tonight to commit murder-for-hire or break into singing “Dancing Queen.” Or maybe “Jailhouse Rock”?