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

by Diamond, Jaine

  In the past, I would have.

  But I didn’t.

  “I haven’t really talked to many people about it,” I told her. “So far, it’s just me and Summer Sorenson. She’s a DJ, and she plays keys, sings and writes.”

  She blinked at me. “DJ Summer?”

  “You know her?”

  “I know of her. I’ve been to some of her shows. My girlfriends and I love her.”

  “Cool. I’ll let her know.”

  “Oh. Um… But only if you don’t make me sound like a dorky fangirl, right?”

  “I’ll be sure to specify you’re not a dork.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Thanks.”

  “I’ll tell her you’re gorgeous, stylish, and incredibly cool. That work?”

  “Don’t oversell it.” She smiled a little. “I don’t want to see the disappointment on her face if she ever meets me.”

  I looked her over, letting my gaze linger deliberately on her tits, then her mouth. “You don’t disappoint, Danica Vola.”

  Our crab cakes arrived, saving her from responding to that. I put one on her plate and one on mine. “Thank you,” she said. “So, tell me—”

  “So who do you fuck,” I cut her off, “if you won’t fuck clients?”

  She coughed a little and took a sip of her cider. “You’re very direct, you know?”

  “Thanks. It’s something I’m working on.”

  An adorable, hesitant smile crossed her lips. “Well, congratulations, then. You’re very good at it. But I’m not sure my sex life is your business…”

  “Hey, we’re friends, right?”

  She gave me a skeptical look.

  “You gonna sit there and tell me your friends don’t know who you’re fucking?”

  “I’m not fucking anyone. Obviously.” She gestured at her crab cake and the table in general. “I’m in a restaurant eating dinner. But I do date.”

  “Who do you date?”

  “Men.”

  “What kind of men?”

  She didn’t answer that right away. Instead she started eating her crab cake. “The wrong ones?”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Well… If they were the right ones, they’d be sitting here with me right now, wouldn’t they?”

  “Yet here you are with me.”

  She sipped her drink and said nothing to that.

  “Okay, friend,” I offered, “if you don’t want to go there, I’ll go first. You know about my last relationship. The three-way thing. Got my heart broken, twice over. Already mentioned that to you. Before that, I was with a woman for a while. We had a casual friends-with-benefits thing that didn’t end so well, for me, but we’re still friends. Before that—”

  “What do you mean, it didn’t end well?”

  “Well, I started to fall for her, and then she dumped me and hooked up with someone else.”

  “Oh.”

  “Before that I was pretty much a free agent for a few years. Had another exclusive three-way for a little while, couple of casual relationships, lot of casual non-relationships. Before that, I was with Summer.”

  Danica seemed to digest all that as she sipped her drink, but she didn’t look surprised. So maybe she’d read about that, too. “And how did that end?”

  “Same way they usually do. Ugly breakup. She broke my heart, actually.”

  “I see.”

  “Don’t worry. That was years ago. I’m over it now.”

  “I’m not worried,” she said, too quickly.

  “You look worried.”

  She relaxed a bit and smoothed her hair. “Do I?”

  I laughed.

  She sighed and finished her crab cake.

  “So,” I said, “I basically just told you my life story. Or did you want me to go back more than five years in my dating history?”

  “If you want to,” she said vaguely.

  “Or you could tell me a little about yours in return.”

  Instead of doing that, Danica looked around for our waiter. It was like every time the conversation turned back to her, she started running down the clock so she could get the fuck out of here.

  I decided to take it as a good sign.

  Any chick who brought me an antique ring, tried not to let me hire her, admitted she was trying not to flirt with me, looked at me the way she did, and wanted to get away from me this badly… really wanted to stay.

  “Or, if that’s too personal, you could just tell me what you think of everything I just told you,” I suggested.

  “I mean, it’s your life,” she said. “It’s really none of my business, Ashley.”

  “But you have an opinion.”

  “On your life? Not really.”

  “Bullshit.”

  “Honestly.”

  “Nope. As my ‘friend,’ you have an opinion. Tell me what you think.”

  Danica cleared her throat and looked around again, but our waiter was nowhere to be seen. “The appetizers were incredible. I hope the entrees come soon. I’m hungry.”

  Sure she was. I was already feeling halfway full myself. The portions were hardy. “Tell me what you think, Danica Vola.”

  She looked at me, and I could sense the exact moment when she gave in. “Okay,” she said. “It sounds like you keep falling in love with the wrong people? Like, people who don’t love you back. And then you expect it to work. But that won’t ever work.”

  “Wise.” And a little too accurate.

  “You seem to think you’re broken, that these people broke you? Something like that? You mention it over and over, having your heart broken.”

  “Do I?”

  “But maybe you’re not really broken, Ashley.” Her eyes locked with mine. “There’s nothing to fix. You’re perfect just the way you are.” Her eyes went wide. “I—I mean, you’re good. You’re fine. You’re fine just the way you are.”

  “Glad you think so. And if that’s the case, I’m still not clear on why we can’t fuck.”

  Her cheeks were turning pink again. “Because you’re my client.”

  “That mean you’ll take the job?”

  “Yes,” she said, but before I could even enjoy it, she added, “Madeleine will be happy.” Like she was just doing this for her aunt or something.

  “Great.” I dug the set of keys I’d brought for her from my pocket and put them on the table, right next to the ring, which was still sitting there. “Keys to my place. You can let yourself in.”

  She looked almost comically alarmed, like I’d just put a loaded gun on the table or something. “That’s not necessary, Ashley. I don’t need my own keys.”

  “Like I said, I’m flying out to Europe. I leave the day after tomorrow, for a week.”

  “Oh. Well, then… If you don’t mind.”

  “I insist.”

  She took the keys, handling them like they were precious diamonds, and tucked them in her purse. “I’ll try to get the painters in while you’re away.”

  “Great.”

  “Did you pick any colors for the walls yet?”

  “The white one.”

  She tried really hard not to roll her eyes. Didn’t quite make it. “They’re all white, Ashley.”

  “Then whichever one you choose will be perfect.”

  * * *

  After dinner, as we stood up to leave, Danica looked down at the ring, still sitting there on the table where I’d left it.

  “Well,” she said, but she didn’t follow it up with anything. Then she made an awkward move to pick up the ring.

  I scooped it up first, just like I’d scooped up the bill when she tried to pay. I put it in the little bag, then tucked it in my pocket.

  “I’ll hold onto it,” I told her. “For now. You’re right… It’s way too cool for the average guy.”

  She gazed up at me. Those pretty blue eyes of hers… so gorgeous.

  “Wouldn’t want it to fall into the wrong hands,” I said.

  “Keep it as long as you want,” she said softly.
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  “I’m getting it appraised,” I informed her.

  She sighed. “You really shouldn’t bother. It’s not worth anything.”

  Right.

  “I think you may be a little nuts, Danica Vola.”

  She cracked a small smile. “You wouldn’t be the first.”

  * * *

  I put Danica in a cab, since she seemed determined to head straight home. Then I got in with her and escorted her there. One, I wanted to see where she lived. Two, I wanted to make sure she got there safe.

  Three, I wanted our little “meeting” to not be over yet.

  When we got to her place, I asked the cab driver to wait while I walked her to her door. Pretty sure I wasn’t getting invited inside, but I’d be a gentleman about it either way.

  Turned out she lived in a six-story apartment building, which stood in-between a similar apartment building and a new concrete condo building, the kind that had live/work co-op spaces for artists. I would’ve rather she lived in there. Wasn’t on a better street, but at least it looked secure.

  Hers looked like I could kick the door right in.

  It wasn’t a dive, but it was pretty old.

  Based on what I knew of Danica Vola so far, I was gonna assume the apartments inside were a lot nicer than the outside.

  “Good night,” she said in a brisk, professional voice while she busied herself pulling out her keys and avoiding my eyes. “And thank you for dinner. You really didn’t have to pay.”

  “Well, you got me a ring, so I figured I could spring for your meal.”

  “Cute,” she said mildly. Her eyes flicked up to mine.

  Then I leaned in to kiss her before she could dodge. I went in low, touching my lips to the side of her neck, softly.

  I could pretty much feel the shiver roll through her. I inhaled her soft, kinda flowery scent, and she sucked in a little breath.

  When I straightened back up, she was staring at me with big, gorgeous eyes. They were all blue and gray and silvery in the dusk light. I was pretty sure she wasn’t breathing.

  “Thank you,” she whispered—and stumbled back into the door. She actually walked right into it, backwards.

  I grinned.

  Then she turned and fumbled around with her keys. Eventually she got the right key in the lock. I helped her open the door, then she jetted inside.

  Yeah. She wanted me.

  That was the second time she’d walked into a door in my presence.

  So… maybe she was worth just a little more effort.

  Yeah. My dick definitely approved of that idea.

  If I made her this nervous… wouldn’t take long to make her come around.

  Or make her come.

  All I did was kiss her neck.

  Imagine what would happen if I kissed something else.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Ash

  Two days later, I was on a flight to the UK with Summer and Dirty’s manager, Brody.

  I hadn’t seen Brody Mason since the night of my breakup party, across the poker table. He’d gone home to his fiancée, Jessa, and their baby after playing a few hands, instead of staying out all night and the next day like the rest of us.

  Brody had always been solid like that.

  The man behind the band.

  DreamWarp festival was one of the few European shows on Dirty’s Hell & Back tour that he was attending, and I was glad we were flying out together.

  Gave Summer and me a chance to talk to him, in person, and casually drop the news about the supergroup we were putting together.

  He seemed to like the idea. He didn’t say much, but he did say, “Keep me posted.”

  Which we would.

  Brody was an incredible manager who’d done a lot of amazing shit with Dirty and for Dirty over the years. He’d definitely been instrumental in helping to make them what they were—which was one of the hottest rock bands in the world.

  If he wanted to hear anything we had to say about our new band, we’d be telling him.

  And if he offered any advice in return, we’d gladly take it.

  * * *

  The next day I was in Manchester, having lunch with Dylan. And then, of all things, shopping with Amber for some new lens she needed for her camera, while Dylan did some interviews with the rest of Dirty.

  The day after that, I was standing on one of the biggest stages I’d ever played, singing my lungs out for one of the biggest crowds I’d ever played for, at one of the hottest festivals I’d ever attended. Over thirty of the top rock, alternative and electronic acts playing on five stages over three days. Sheer musical madness.

  DreamWarp festival.

  It was tradition, ever since I’d met Dirty at this festival seven years back, that every time Dirty played here, wherever I was in the world, I got my ass on a plane and joined them onstage for a few songs.

  Usually, some of the other Pushers came with me.

  This time, it was just me.

  Dirty had both Jesse and Paulie—a guitarist who was filling in for Seth while he was home with Elle and the baby—on guitar, so they didn’t need my guitar. I covered vocals, trading off with Zane, on three songs.

  We played Rose Tattoo’s “Nice Boys,” which we covered every time we played DreamWarp, and Queen’s “Tie Your Mother Down.” Then we did a crazy-hot version of one of Dirty’s greatest hits, “Love Struck,” with Summer joining us on synth and layering in some sick electronic vibes as the sun went down.

  After I left the stage, Summer stayed on for two more songs, both from the latest Dirty album, To Hell & Back, which she’d played on as a guest musician.

  Then everyone came offstage, sweaty and happy, as the crowd exploded.

  Summer and I had a beer backstage and hung with Zane’s wife, Maggie, and Jesse’s pregnant wife, Katie, while the band went back out and did a three-song encore. Then the show was done, and Zane was hugging me and telling me how great it was to have me here.

  It was all over so fucking fast.

  And Christ, I needed more.

  I needed to be back out on tour again.

  “Honored to be here,” I told him, then dumped a cup of water over his head. He shook it off, then smoothed back his wet blond hair and scooped up his wife for a kiss—and a fuck, by the look of it. Once he had Maggie off her feet, he just kept walking, disappearing somewhere backstage with her.

  Dylan hugged me next. “Great show.”

  “I know,” I said, like he had nothing to do with it. Then I violently mussed his hair, sending his auburn waves flying all over the place.

  He just laughed and drank his beer.

  Then everyone else piled in for hugs and kisses, and more water and beers were dumped over heads.

  And shit… I hadn’t been this happy in a long, long time. The whole night was amazing. The fucking energy of it all.

  The music.

  The love.

  Being surrounded by friends. Friends who understood what this music-passion thing was all about.

  Being up there onstage doing what I was meant to do.

  It made me so fucking hungry to get back out on the road with my band.

  My new band.

  When Summer hugged me, she said, “We’ll be here again. With our band.”

  “Fucking right.” I gave her a squeeze and released her.

  Dylan was still standing by, with his arm slung around Amber. She smiled at me. “You were amazing out there,” she informed me. “You and Zane singing ‘Nice Boys’? Hot. But you know that, right?”

  “Yup.” I smirked and drank my beer.

  “You’re coming with us, right?” Dylan asked, like he was sincerely worried I might bail on the afterparty.

  But what was I gonna do, go sit in my hotel room alone?

  “Obviously.”

  He clapped me on the shoulder. “Summer!” he called over to her. “We’re going to a little afterparty later. You’re coming, right?”

  “Of course,” she said, like the mere s
uggestion of her missing any party in existence was ridiculous. “Is Matt coming?” She glanced over at Matt, who was out of earshot, talking to some chicks I didn’t know.

  “Can’t see why not. I mean, Zane would fire him if he didn’t.” Dylan smirked at me.

  “Perfect,” Summer said. She threw me a look like, Go ahead and fire him, we’ll take him, then turned away.

  Dylan raised an eyebrow at me. “Summer have a thing for Matt now?”

  “Don’t think so,” I said. Then I got busy drinking my beer, so he wouldn’t notice the guilty look on my face.

  It wasn’t like we were here to poach his bassist.

  So we wanted Matt in our band. His contract with Dirty ended next June. After that, he was a free agent.

  We just wanted to lock him down before someone else did.

  As soon as I knew there was a chance we were actually gonna do that, I’d tell Dylan the news.

  * * *

  As it turned out, the “little afterparty” was at a castle.

  Not, like, a large castle-like house. An actual castle.

  Centuries old, with turrets and acres upon acres of gardens surrounding it. Giant circular drive with a massive fountain, lineup of luxury cars parked out front, lineup of polished servants waiting to greet us, and more rooms and echoing halls inside than any human being could ever need. There were two humans who lived here, some billionaire guy and his billionaire wife, and all I was told on the way over was “Brody knows a guy.”

  Apparently, Brody didn’t actually know the people who lived in the castle, but the promoter did. And they were huge Dirty fans. They’d invited a carefully selected group of VIP friends to join the party, and they didn’t overdo it, either. There were maybe twenty guests plus the band and entourage.

  By castle party standards, I assumed, the place was pretty empty, but we were well taken care of. A ridiculous amount of liquor was offered around, plus food and cigars.

  And as it turned out, these weren’t snooty rich people. Most of them were tech geeks, from what I gathered. The billionaire and billionairess had made their money in software design and some other shit to do with aerospace I couldn’t even follow.