Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1)

by Diamond, Jaine

  I rubbed my face. Why’d she have to bring Dylan into this?

  Oh, wait. I brought Dylan into this.

  “I don’t know who’s in the band except you and me,” Summer said, pulling me back to reality. “But, hear me out. I think we should get Matt.”

  “Matt who? Matty Brohmer? Dirty’s bassist?”

  “Dirty’s temporary bassist,” she said. “I’ve been thinking about this a lot, and I really think Matt would be a great fit. He’s super talented, he’s a babe, he’s got fans of his own, he’s a nice dude, and besides all that, from what I hear, he’s in the market for a new band.”

  She was right about all of that.

  Especially the babe part.

  “And he’s on the road with Dirty for like the next year,” I said.

  “Yeah, and after that, they take some time off, then they regroup with Elle and they start writing their next album. They’re cutting Matt loose after the tour, as soon as Elle comes back. Everyone knows it. He knows it. It’s in his contract.”

  “You’ve been talking to Elle, I take it?”

  “Obviously I’ve been talking to Elle. It was pretty much her idea. The second I told her I was looking to put together a band with you, she suggested Matt—”

  “You told Elle… what? Before you even talked to me about it…?”

  “Elle fucking loves Matt,” Summer went on. “She raves about him, says the guys rave about him, too. She already put a bug in Brody’s ear about it.”

  “She did what?” I scowled at Summer. I definitely didn’t love that Brody, Dirty’s manager, knew about this before I did.

  “Just a tiny little bug,” Summer said. “Elle says that Brody says we can go ahead and snatch Matt up at the end of the Dirty tour.”

  I blinked at her. “You did all this before you even ran it by me?”

  “I wanted to have something decent to pitch to you.”

  “Okay. So you’re pitching me a supergroup, with Matt Brohmer?”

  “And me!”

  “Right. And what if this gets back to Matt, before we have a chance to discuss it, and we decide we don’t want him. Gonna make us look like pricks.”

  “We’re discussing it now. And why wouldn’t we want him?”

  I shrugged. “He’s solid. I’ve played with him a handful of times, over the years—”

  “See? I knew—”

  “Just don’t get ahead of yourself. Let me think about it. When I’m not fucking stoned.”

  “Fine,” she relented.

  “Brody’s not gonna say anything to him?”

  “No. Elle just floated it by Brody like it was her idea.”

  “And what about Elle?”

  “She won’t say anything, Ash. Look, they all understand it’s an opportunity for Matt. He’s been looking for something permanent. And why would they want to get him interested if it doesn’t end up happening?”

  “Okay. Just let me process this.”

  “Sure. Of course.” She went silent. For three seconds. “We’re going with him, though, right?”

  “I don’t know, Summer. I’m all high and blissed out on Angel Dust and Mike Patton’s voice.”

  She grinned.

  “And I haven’t even totally scraped my head around you and your supergroup idea yet.”

  She dropped into her chair with a sigh. “Then just sit back… and let the music work it out for you.”

  I did that. “Easy” was playing, and it made it easy to understand why she liked Mike Patton’s voice.

  Summer had style and she had talent. She had classical music training and I knew she wanted to collaborate with as many other stars as possible. Launching a supergroup and expanding her musical repertoire, if it went well, would be a great next step for her.

  She wanted it all, and she was going after it.

  I’d be smart to align myself with her. Hitch our stars together, so to speak.

  And she did rock.

  I’d known her long enough to know that. I’d seen her command a stage, a crowd, an entire venue—alone. No backing band. Just her and her deck and her music.

  More than I could pull off, maybe.

  She didn’t have to prove herself to me.

  As for what kind of music we’d make together? I had no clue.

  “I can’t believe you talked to Elle about this before you talked to me,” I muttered.

  Summer sighed. “You know she’s like my sister, she’s dead honest with me and she’s musically brilliant. Not to mention she’s a fucking megastar. So any advice she throws my way, I’m gonna take it.”

  Yeah. I knew that.

  “Anyway. You know we can’t get Dylan,” she added softly, “but we will need a kick-ass drummer and a killer bassist. I think Matt fills the bassist bill. I don’t happen to know any shit-hot drummers looking for a gig right now, so if you happen to have any in your back pocket, let me know.”

  “Will do.”

  I did happen to know one kick-ass drummer who would easily fit the bill, actually.

  Fucking Xander.

  The dude had talent, style to the max, and plenty of adoring fans. And right now, he had a band. He was back out on the road with Steel Trap as we spoke, though I’d heard he wasn’t all that happy with them.

  What he didn’t have was any trust in me, probably. Which meant I wouldn’t even bother mentioning it to Summer. I’d already kinda screwed him out of a position in a band once (oops), and he’d never really let it go.

  We were still friends, more or less, but he still made digs about it almost every time I saw him.

  “And maybe another guitarist?” Summer added. “But I’ll leave that up to you.”

  “Jesus, you’re pushy. I’ll think about it.”

  “And we need an incredible producer,” she pushed. “Like we need to go big on this or go home. I’m not ready for that yet, and I know it. But we could approach Woo when we have a demo.”

  “Maybe.” I really wasn’t sure if Dirty’s longtime record producer would take us on.

  Hard to know when you’d never exactly asked.

  “Or Cary Clarke.” She looked at me sidelong.

  “Christ, you’re ballsy.”

  “Why? He’s local. He’s fucking huge. He’s a legend. We’re gonna be legends, too. Why wouldn’t he work with us?”

  Man, she was confident.

  Had to admire that about her.

  “I dunno, Summer. Is there anyone in the music biz in Vancouver you feel you couldn’t call up right now?”

  “Not hardly, sweetheart.”

  “Yeah?” I challenged. “You think you can get Cary Clarke on the phone?”

  She frowned at me. I couldn’t get Cary Clarke on the phone, either.

  Xander could, undoubtedly. I knew he was still tight with Cary, was one of the few people who still had access to the guy. They’d been in a band together, years ago.

  Before Cary went nuts.

  But, we probably couldn’t get Xander, so… moot point.

  “People say Cary Clarke’s fucking crazy,” I told her.

  “I’m sure some people say that about you and me, too,” she pointed out.

  Fair enough.

  I really wasn’t sure if any of what she was talking about could be done. My confidence on the matter was shaken. But I had to admit, I was inspired and caught a little off-guard by her confidence in me.

  In us.

  She was right. We’d always had chemistry.

  Could I play in a band with her? Maybe.

  Wouldn’t know until I tried.

  But one thing I knew. I could trust Summer. I told her pretty much everything that mattered, and she’d never betrayed me. In any way.

  I told her about the people I dated.

  I told her about the problems in my band.

  Recently, I even told her about Dylan. Like, pretty much every single detail about what happened between me and Dylan this past year.

  I could’ve told her about Danica, right now
. Seen what she thought of the whole thing. The truth about the Danny 4Ever tattoo.

  The twins.

  The unnecessary redecorating of my condo.

  I could’ve… but for some reason, I didn’t.

  “Let’s talk to Matt when we head to DreamWarp next week,” I said instead.

  Summer stared at me. “You mean… that’s a yes? We’re doing this? Together?”

  Now that she’d gotten what she wanted, more or less, she seemed a little stunned.

  Maybe she was expecting more of a fight.

  “I dunno, Summer. I’m high as fuck. Hand me that guitar and let’s see how the vocal training’s been going. You know the words to ‘Knockin’ On Heaven’s Door’?” It was the first song that came to mind, easy to jam on.

  “Uh, no. Are you auditioning me? Right now?” She reached slowly for the guitar on the floor and handed it to me. It was an acoustic I’d left here a few weeks ago.

  “Something like that.”

  “How about ‘Lay Lady Lay’?” she said. “It’s the only Bob Dylan song I know.”

  “Yup.” I started tuning the guitar. When I glanced up, I caught the excited but uncertain look on her face. She hadn’t expected this. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m stoned. I’ll be easy to impress.”

  Chapter Ten

  Danica

  When Ashley opened his door to me on Wednesday afternoon, I said, “It’s two-seventeen. May I come in?”

  He didn’t even crack a smile. But he did let me in.

  “More bribes?” he asked, eyeing the bag in my hand.

  “Of course.” I kicked off my shoes; this time I’d come prepared. Easy, slip-off shoes. And a gift bag, from which I pulled out his gift.

  “Don’t tell me you made that in one of your workshops,” he said, when he saw the candle.

  “Sure did.”

  “I thought that was bullshit.”

  “My candle making workshop? Why would it be bullshit?”

  “Because who goes to a candle making workshop?”

  “Me,” I said as I set his new candle on his kitchen counter. “It’s scented, but the scent is fresh and clean, not girly at all, I promise. It’s basil-lime. Made with soy wax and essential oils. No chemicals.”

  Ashley looked from the candle to me. I was expecting some wisecrack, but all he said was, “You didn’t have to do that.”

  And damn. That brief glimpse of softness in his eyes?

  Heart. Flutters.

  “I make them for all my clients. It’s not a big deal.” I busied myself rearranging the candle on the counter, turning it unnecessarily, like I was looking for the best side to display.

  It looks the same on every damn side. Just look him in the eye.

  I didn’t look him in the eye.

  “I’m not your client yet,” he reminded me.

  I forced myself to look at him. He was still standing in the entryway, his arms crossed over his chest, just like the first time I’d entered his home. He still had his guard up.

  Maybe he had his guard up around a lot of people, being famous and all.

  And maybe he was still wary about me because of how my sister had treated him. If so… I’d decided that I really couldn’t blame him. My face did look a hell of a lot like hers.

  But I wasn’t her.

  And I wasn’t here because of her.

  I’d come here today with a renewed sense of purpose, actually. He was a potential client, and I was a professional. I wanted this job.

  Simple.

  So… why did it feel so damn complicated when he looked at me like that?

  “Let’s get started?” I pulled out my tablet. “I have a lot of pictures to show you, and some general ideas to run by you. We can start with the living room.” I took a few steps into the room and he followed, hanging back a bit. “What you’ve done with your furniture is pretty typical. Most people will, by default, push the couch and other large furniture up against the walls. It would actually work a lot better in this space, though, if we pulled it all together over here, around the coffee table.” I pointed at his sad little old crate.

  “I don’t have a coffee table.”

  “Yet. I suggest angling it all this way instead of that, so that you don’t have the TV in front of the windows and block so much of the view. You get such great northern exposure here, so much light you’re missing out on.”

  “I usually just keep the curtains closed because it’s hard to watch the TV.”

  “Why did you buy this place?” I asked him. “You could’ve bought a condo anywhere in Vancouver. Why did you buy this one in particular?”

  He shrugged. “It’s close to the marina. Quick access to the island. And the view, I guess.”

  “And yet you’re not utilizing the view.”

  As I said that, his gaze wandered down to my nipples. Not that he could see my nipples through my dress and pushup bra; I was sure of that. But yeah, that was exactly where he looked.

  A full-body shiver of arousal ran through me.

  Holy hell.

  I just hoped he couldn’t see the way my body reacted to him. I was kinda terrified, actually, of what I might do if he seriously came on to me or something. He’d flirted with me over text, for sure. He’d basically told me he wanted to fuck me. In response, I’d told him I wanted to keep things professional.

  But how did I know he’d adhere to that?

  How did I know I’d adhere to that?

  “So,” I went on, clearing my throat, “if we move the TV over there, we can mount it on the wall, clear up more floor space and open the curtains.” I opened the curtains to demonstrate. When I turned back to him, I definitely caught him checking out my ass.

  My pulse was already going haywire as I tried to ignore what my body couldn’t seem to deny. He’s totally checking me out.

  “You can sit there,” I went on, “and enjoy the view and watch TV at the same time, and you won’t get glare on the TV screen because of the angle.”

  He said nothing, but his gaze had at least returned to my face.

  “Now, about the couch. If you’re open to a change, I’m proposing white leather. It may not surprise you to hear that I see these overstuffed, oversized black leather coaches in almost every single dude’s home I enter. However, you’re not every single dude, are you? You’re Ashley Player. You have style.”

  He cocked his sexy eyebrow at me, and my knees almost buckled. I’d always had a weak spot for a hot dude with a pierced eyebrow. I’d never actually been with one before, though.

  Definite bucket list item.

  Shit. Ashley Player ticked off so many items on my very dirtiest bucket list, it was ridiculous. I didn’t even want to think about it.

  At least, right now I didn’t.

  I’d think about it later, alone, in the shower or something.

  “So… um, you go with white leather,” I said, moving to show him my tablet and trying not to stare at all his sexiness. “But in this more minimalist, modern style.”

  I showed him the couch I’d found for him. I used Pinterest at the consultation stage because it was so easy, even though it made Madeleine cringe. She said it was “unprofessional,” but I found my clients usually liked it; we could share boards and so easily share ideas and reference images.

  “Metal legs lift it up off the floor,” I explained. “It’s more sleek and light. You can move it around if you need to, plus the back folds right down. You still get your leather, but it takes up less floor space and even accommodates more butts in seats if you’re having a party. I’d recommend this one, with one matching chair and two ottomans that provide extra seating and storage inside, and again, can be moved around the coffee table as needed.”

  “See, when you keep saying coffee table,” he said, his voice all low and too close to my ear, “I think of grandmas and those doily things.”

  “How about this instead?” I scrolled to the image of the somewhat industrial-looking metal table I’d found, which would b
e perfect for his space—and angled the screen toward him, even as I subtly shifted myself farther away from him. “I’d pair it with these metal barstools along the bar.” I showed him the barstools, from a local designer I loved. “For the dining table I recommend glass, to keep the light flowing through from the low windows. An oval design would fit best in the space. For the base we can go with metal or wood. I’ve got several for you to choose from, but something really chunky with some weight to it would be great.” I scrolled to the chairs next; upholstered dining chairs in gunmetal gray. “And these chairs in a few different styles, that we can mix and match for some textural interest.”

  Okay, I was impressing him. I could feel it. He’d gone from looking at my boobs to actually listening to what I was saying.

  Though he was still standing too close to me.

  Way too close.

  I moved to set the tablet on the kitchen bar, then went over to the single piece of art on his wall, the framed band poster above the couch. “We haven’t talked about this. ‘Random Attack’?” I quirked an eyebrow at the cheesy, violent name. “I did a quick search for them online, but couldn’t find anything. Who are they?”

  “They were my first real band. Term used loosely. And you won’t find them online. That was a promo poster we did.”

  I studied it, but I really couldn’t recognize the lead singer. It could’ve been Ashley. He was screaming into a mic, and the band was obviously onstage, but the image was purposefully, artfully blurry and kind of abstract.

  “I took a photo of it when I was here,” I told him, “and when I went through all the notes I’d made and all the photos I’d taken, I just kept coming back to this. It’s the only thing you have up on the wall, and you spent a good deal of money on the framing. Why is that?”

  He shrugged. “I always liked the poster.”

  “But you’ve been in other bands since then. Was this band really good?”

  “Fuck, no. I don’t even know why we bothered with the posters.” He uncrossed his arms for the first time since I’d arrived. “We were just keen as shit and didn’t really know what we were doing. Spent money on all the wrong things, made the usual mistakes you make when you want to make it big but don’t have the first clue how to do it.”