ROCKSTAR

by Lauren Rowe

  But I’ve got to stop obsessing about him now. He’s going to be on tour for the next eight months, during which time he’s undoubtedly going to become a mega rock star. There’s no other possible outcome when a guy who looks like Dax embarks on an eight-month world tour with freaking Red Card Riot. Surely, Dax, as I know him, won’t even exist by the time he gets back to L.A. Indeed, the odds are high, like Miranda said, he won’t even remember my name.

  Passengers around me begin standing and opening overhead bins. I peek out the window of the plane and realize we’re parked at our gate.

  With a lump in my throat, and without replying to Mr. Big Shot’s text, I stuff my phone into my purse and begin pulling my stuff together. Frankly, I’m not sure what I want from that baller dude who invited me on a date, if anything. All I know in this moment is three things: one, Mr. Big Shot is undeniably charismatic and sexy, two, I’m hella flattered he’s pursuing me when he could have anyone, literally, and, three, if I don’t stop thinking about Dax on a running loop, I’m going to lose my freaking mind... and, almost certainly, wind up with a broken heart.

  Chapter 14

  Violet

  I wheel my carry-on suitcase into my tiny apartment and find my favorite roommate, Trevor, splayed out on the couch, watching a cooking show. I live with three roommates in this loft apartment near campus—two guys and a girl. The girl being the only one of us who doesn’t have sex with dudes.

  “Hey, baby,” Trevor says from the couch. “Welcome home. Come tell me all the things.”

  I plop myself next to him and tell him about my trip. I begin with a description of the Aloha Carmichael concert and then move on to the raging after-party where I met Dax... which, of course, leads to me to telling Trevor about my big news: This weekend, I had my first-ever one-night stand.

  “What?” Trevor shouts, sitting up. “Our sweet little Violet is finally a trollop like the rest of us?”

  “I am. And it was the best night of my life.”

  Trevor high-fives me and we laugh together.

  “Unfortunately, the story ends with a shocking twist,” I say. “On Friday morning, I found out Dax’s band was leaving today on an eight-month world tour. They’re the opener for guess what band?”

  Trevor shrugs.

  “Trevor. Guess.”

  Trevor gasps. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “Holy shit! Did you tell Dax?”

  “No.” I tell Trevor what I told Dax before leaving our hotel room, and he agrees I handled the situation the right way, for Dax’s sake and mine. I begin to tell Trevor about the rest of the weekend, not that any of it compares to my amazing night with Dax, but my story is interrupted by a text from Miranda.

  Have you watched the video yet? CALL ME AFTER YOU WATCH IT.

  “Oh, crap,” I say to Trevor. “Miranda sent me a video while I was on the plane. I think Dax is in it. She said it’s ‘not safe for work.’”

  “Sounds like my kind of video,” Trevor says. “Cue it up.”

  With Trevor looking on, I click onto Miranda’s link... and instantly freak out as the music video for 22 Goats’ debut single, “People Like Us,” unfolds before my wide eyes:

  As the first guitar riff of the song rings out, we’re on an airplane packed with bored passengers. As Dax’s vocals begin, we see Dax, followed by his two bandmates—all three of them decked out in patterned, tailored, hipster suits—boarding the airplane in slow motion like models walking down a runway in Milan. Dax, in particular, looks scrumptious in the slow-motion shot. His long hair is tied back, showcasing his chiseled features, which are perfectly lit. The cut of his suit shows off his taut, lean frame. His eyes are crazy-blue. In short, he looks like a hundred billion bucks.

  Dax takes an aisle seat, and his bandmates take the aisle seats immediately behind him. Across the aisle from Dax, a sexy, buttoned-up young woman in a tight suit and glasses, her hair in a bun, is clacking away on a laptop.

  As Dax gets settled, she glances up from her work... and does a double take worthy of a Bugs Bunny cartoon. She reaches across the aisle and touches Dax’s arm. He looks at her, smirks, and winks.

  And... cut to the cramped bathroom of the airplane, where Dax is fucking the living hell out of the woman as his voice serenades the action with the same raw intensity he’s displaying in the scene. Holy hell. Maybe I should feel jealous to see Dax kissing and screwing this woman—whoever she is. But I don’t. I’m nothing but turned on. He’s absolutely glorious on that screen. Pure sex. Passion. Need. The same way he was with me when it was for real. Oh, God, my ovaries hurt.

  We see a brief glimpse of a flight attendant bent over one of Dax’s bandmates. She’s offering him a drink with a sexy wink, while a third bandmate, the lanky guy with shaggy hair and a beard I noticed sitting next to Dax at the party, flirts with a blonde bombshell sitting next to him. The shaggy guy looks out the window and we see an endless aquamarine ocean below.

  Suddenly, we’re back to Dax and his woman, settling into their seats. Dax’s tie is untied. His shirt half unbuttoned. His hair is coming loose. His gorgeous fuck buddy looks even more disheveled—and extremely satisfied. But just as the pair buckles their seatbelts, the plane jolts and the oxygen masks come down...

  In a flash, we jump-cut to 22 Goats rocking out, performing their song on a stage with an aquamarine ocean behind them. The guys aren’t dressed in suits in this scene, but, rather, in dark, ripped jeans and T-shirts. Dax, in particular, looks like a rock god. He sings, “People like us. We hurt and need and bleed. People like us. Got more than mouths—our souls—to feed.”

  We cut away from the performance to find Dax and his woman safely lounging on a yellow life raft, just the two of them. They’re drifting away from an armada of yellow life rafts in the distance carrying the rest of the plane’s passengers. We get a quick glimpse of Dax’s two bandmates on their respective rafts, and see them cuddling with the women they flirted with on the plane.

  And now we’re back to Dax and the boys, clad in jeans and T-shirts, performing their song. Dax sings, “All my life, been looking low and high. Aching to find the ones to call my tribe. But now I know, people like us, baby, there’s no group. People like us. There’s only two. We’re a tribe of two, baby. It’s just me and you.”

  Cut to the beach of a deserted island. Dax and his fuck buddy have landed ashore and crawled out of their life raft, and now they’re taking in the jungle paradise before them. They turn to each other and smile, clearly excited they’ve landed here together.

  Without hesitation, the pair starts peeling off their wet clothes, and the next thing you know, they’re having sex on the beach. Like, oh my God, that’s some sexy fucking. You can’t really see anything too clearly... except, wait, scratch that. That was definitely Dax’s ass. Holy hell. That’s a fine ass. But, otherwise, the scene is a blur of skin and limbs. Lips. Eyes. Sand. Water. Sun. Dax’s long, golden hair is free and glorious now. His blue eyes are smoldering. His cheekbones are unreal. And the way he’s touching this woman, kissing her, grinding with her... I’m losing my freaking mind.

  “This is literally the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Trevor declares next to me. “It’s better than porn. And just to be clear, by that I mean ‘it’s better than gay porn.’ My highest compliment.” He chuckles. “Was this what it was like to be with him for real?”

  “Better than this. It was like being in a movie, only I could feel him.”

  “Oh, for the love of fuck.”

  “Hush now,” I say, my eyes riveted to the screen. “Please. I want to pretend you’re not here, T. No offense.”

  There’s another quick flash of the band’s performance. And then Dax and his woman are shown in a montage. They’re sleeping together in a makeshift hut, their limbs intertwined. They feed each other fruit in the jungle. They kiss in a waterfall. And through it all, Dax is the star of this thing, not the woman. She’s absolutely stunning. Brown skin. Long, black hair. Full, pouty lip
s. She’s utterly spectacular, actually. But she’s clearly a prop designed to show off Dax’s muscles, tattoos, skin, eyes, lips, and hair. My God, I’ve got to hand it to this woman. She’s doing her job fabulously well, because Dax Morgan looks literally like a golden god.

  After another performance scene, Dax and his woman are sitting on a beach. He’s singing the song to his woman while caressing her face lovingly—the same way he caressed my face lovingly when he made love to me. He’s singing to her that she’s his tribe of two... just as a ship comes into view in the distance. A close-up of the ship deck reveals a bunch of people partying. Closer still, and we see it’s all the people from the airplane, including Dax’s two bandmates and their women. But, of course, Dax and his woman look at each other and exchange a look that conveys they’re not tempted to signal to the ship. Indeed, they’re blissfully happy right where they are.

  We head briefly back to Dax and the band, rocking out, and then return to the island story. As the song reaches its last chords, we see Dax opening his woman’s legs and kissing her thighs, clearly heading straight for her bull’s-eye... The End.

  “Holy fuck,” Trevor says. He looks at me. “I can’t believe you fucked him.”

  I don’t reply. I’m too overwhelmed by memories of what Dax said to me about this song to speak. When we were sitting in that bathtub together, Dax stroked my inner thigh under the warm water and said he felt like he wrote his favorite song—“People Like Us”—about me. And now that I’ve heard the song, I know what he meant. He felt like we were a tribe of two, exactly the way I did. I stand up. “I’m gonna head to my room for a bit. I was up early to catch my flight.”

  “Yeah, I think I’m gonna head to my room, too,” Trevor says. “To watch that video on a running loop.”

  When I get to my room, I do exactly what I’m sure Trevor is doing in his room: I watch Dax and touch myself. It doesn’t take long to reach orgasm. When I’m done, I take a hot shower and masturbate again, which isn’t at all normal for me.

  After I’m done giving myself an orgasm in the shower, I press my forehead against the tile wall and stuff down tears. You can’t have him, Violet. He’s off-limits. Forget him.

  Resolve washing over me, I get out of the shower, wrap myself in a towel, and head to my phone. My hair still dripping and my heart pounding, I call Miranda.

  “I watched the video.”

  “And?”

  “I’m never going to watch it again, or else I’m going to have a nervous breakdown.”

  “I get it. I haven’t even fucked Dax and I can barely watch that thing without falling in love with him.”

  My heart squeezes. “Tell me again I did the right thing by sending him off without giving him my number.”

  “You did the right thing. You really did. At least for now, it’s best to leave him alone.”

  I sigh. “I’ve got to go. It’s been a really long travel day.”

  “Love you, Vi. Thanks for a great weekend.”

  “It was the best weekend of my life.”

  I’m telling the truth. Although, truth be told, my statement has a whole lot more to do with Dax than Miranda.

  After Miranda and I say our goodbyes and end our call, I stare at the text from Mr. Big Shot for a long time, and finally tap out a reply:

  Great to hear from you. I’d love to have dinner with you. I’m game for Providence or NYC. But if you decide to bring me to NYC for our date, please know I’ll need a separate hotel room, if I stay overnight. Looking forward to it.

  I stare at my screen for a moment, trying to decide if I should press send. He’ll probably think I’m playing coy regarding that separate hotel room thing, but I’m not. Just because I had my first one-night stand with Dax doesn’t mean I’m planning to do it again any time soon. Especially not with this guy, whose reputation as a fuck machine precedes him. Yeah, dude, I know about you. Miranda told me the gossip she’s heard.

  My heart thudding in my chest, I finally press send on my text. And then, just because I’m weak and prone to self-flagellation, I watch Dax’s music video again, despite what I said to Miranda about never watching it again. And that makes me touch myself again, which is so unlike me, I’m beginning to think maybe I should worry.

  Finally, I close my eyes and pull my covers over me and try my best to stop obsessing about Dax—the boy my brain knows I can’t have, but my heart wants desperately, in a way it’s never wanted anyone before.

  Chapter 15

  Dax

  It’s the goats’ first day off in London after four straight days of hard-core rehearsals and all kinds of promo and interviews. Fish and Colin are too hung over from last night’s pub-crawl to leave their rooms this morning, so I head down to breakfast in the hotel restaurant.

  As I walk through the main doors, I notice C-Bomb sitting in a corner, eating breakfast at a small table by himself. He sees me and motions for me to sit. We talk easily. Make each other laugh. I tell him about Fish and Colin being in the fetal position upstairs and he tells me some wicked fetal-position stories about his own band.

  “So, what are you gonna do with your free day?” he asks.

  “I’ve got no concrete plans. I was just gonna wander around London.”

  “You like the Beatles?”

  “‘Eleanor Rigby’ is one of the greatest songs ever written. Period.”

  “Come with me, Daxy boy.”

  An hour later, I’m standing in front of a display case at the British Museum filled with the most amazing thing I’ve ever seen in my life: an array of handwritten Beatles lyrics, including the sacred words of “Eleanor Rigby” on a sheet of lined paper. Of course, I freak the fuck out. I mean, Jesus Christ. I feel like I’m seeing the Holy Grail.

  C-Bomb laughs at my exuberant reaction. He says, “I remember Dean losing his mind the exact same way the first time he saw this. Somehow, I knew you’d react just like him. You remind me of him. You’ve got that same ‘disdain for fame’ vibe going on. I can tell you’re all about the music, same as him.”

  “You’re not?”

  “I’m here for the music, first and foremost, absolutely. But the rest of it, the perks... hey, those can be lots of fun, too, if you embrace them and don’t think too much.”

  I make a face that says, Easier said than done.

  “Yeah, I figured ‘not thinking too much’ would be a tall order for you. Same as Dean. That dude never stops thinking deep thoughts. It’s his greatest strength and biggest weakness, all in one.”

  “Yeah, that about sums it up.”

  C-Bomb claps my shoulder. “Here’s the deal, man. You can’t have massive success in this business without massive fame, unless you just wanna be a songwriter behind the scenes. But if you wanna be onstage playing music you created, if you want maximum ears to hear that music, then you’re gonna get batshit famous. It’s as simple as that. And if you’re batshit famous, people are gonna wanna suck your soul and your dick. It’s just the way it is. So you might as well embrace the good stuff and have fun with it while it lasts. Do that, and you’ll save yourself a whole lot of pain.”

  I don’t know how to reply to that, so I don’t.

  “Come on,” he says. “The rest of this place is pretty cool, too.”

  We wander around the sprawling museum together for the next few hours, interrupted only now and again by RCR fans who recognize C-Bomb, despite his low-slung baseball cap and sunglasses and the jacket covering his iconic tattoos. As we wander, we talk about music, fame, and the music industry. We talk about our musical influences. He tells me a few stories that make it clear he’s partied pretty hard at times—which isn’t something I’ve ever done. I’m strictly a booze and weed kind of guy, acid and molly on rare occasions—and I’ve got no desire to expand my repertoire.

  C-Bomb tells me a couple stories that make it seem like he’s a bit of a dickhead at times. Like, stupid shit easily pisses him off. Or, maybe, he just gets bored and likes to fight to amuse himself. Who knows? He a
lso tells me some shit that makes it clear he views sex with groupies with indifference. Sometimes, he’s in the mood for a little groupie bang, and he goes for it. Sometimes, he’s not interested at all, and he heads to his room by himself. To him, it’s all about his mood. Same as picking toppings for a pizza.

  “The bottom line is you’re not gonna fall in love on tour,” he says. “The schedule is too grueling, and people don’t connect with you like a real person. So you’ve either gotta bring your girlfriend with you on tour, or you’re gonna wind up having sex with fans, at least now and again.” He gestures to the next room of the museum. “Are you dying to go in there, or are you good?”

  “I’m good,” I say. “Thanks for taking me here. It’s been cool.”

  “I love museums,” C-Bomb says. “I never went to college. My band got signed when I was eighteen. Our first world tour happened when I was nineteen. So I’m always trying to learn when I can.”

  He pulls his baseball cap down even lower and we exit the museum. After a few blocks, we’re stopped by a group of men and women who recognize Caleb. He does the selfie thing with them and then shocks me by telling them they should get a selfie with me, even though they have no idea who I am. He says to them, “In about a month, you’ll be glad you have a photo with this dude. Trust me on that.”

  After our fan encounter, we walk a few blocks and duck into a nearby pub for some pints. Beer ordered, we sit at a table in the back and continue talking.

  “I’m surprised how infrequently you’ve been bothered by fans today,” I say. “I could see people recognizing you all around me, but they pretty much left you alone.”