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

by Diamond, Jaine

  Hanging out with Dylan and the rest of Dirty after an incredible show? Would’ve been awesome enough. But doing it in a gorgeous castle while we were all treated like rock royalty? It was just an incredible night. One of those nights I knew I’d remember all my life.

  This kind of night was just one of the many, many perks of hanging with Dirty. They knew everyone. Or more specifically, everyone knew them. Including insanely wealthy people who lived in castles.

  I found myself wishing, a few times, that I could show Danica one of the crazy gorgeous rooms in this place, and wondering what she’d think of it. I tried not to be a fucking knob about it, but I took a few discreet photos. Among the courtesies offered by the castle staff was a guest Wi-Fi password, so it was easy enough to add the photos to the Pinterest board Danica had shared with me.

  With captions like: Can we do this to my living room?

  She replied pretty quick, with comments like: Gorgeous!, JEALOUS! and Where is that??

  I commented back: I’m in a castle. You should be here.

  I almost didn’t type that last part, but then I manned up. She really should’ve been here, to see this. It was an interior decorator’s wet dream.

  She commented back: I wish I was. Please sit on that pink throne for me.

  So I did.

  The “pink throne” was some tall antique chair with ornately carved arms and legs and a pink velvet seat. It was in one of the two libraries. I sat in it and made Dylan take a pic of me in it, which got him curious, since it wasn’t exactly like me to pose for pics in pink chairs.

  “It’s for a friend,” I told him vaguely as I added the pic to the Pinterest board. “She’s into furniture and stuff.”

  “Uh-huh,” he said, and smirked at me.

  After we’d been shown around and served several rounds of cocktails, Brody managed to corral a few of us musicians into one of the “drawing rooms,” where we honored our gracious hosts as best we could by jamming on a few songs for them, at their request. Just acoustic, with me and Matt on guitar, and both of us singing along with Zane.

  We couldn’t even find Dylan or Jesse at that point.

  We took requests, so we played Dirty’s “Road Back Home,” The Eagles’ “Hotel California,” The Rolling Stones’ “Angie,” and Tom Petty’s “Mary Jane’s Last Dance,” which I butchered because I didn’t know it well enough and, by then, I was drunk.

  No one cared.

  Everyone was having too good a time.

  Soon after we finished our little jam, Led Zeppelin’s “Rock and Roll” started playing through some central sound system, which Brody said Summer was responsible for, but fuck if I knew where she was. I hadn’t seen her since we’d arrived. The party had gradually spread out through many different rooms, and people were hanging out in small clusters around fires and pool tables and bars.

  Summer and I had planned to talk to Matt sometime after tonight’s show. Pull him aside, put the feeler out, gauge how interested he might be in working with us.

  But the show had ended hours ago, and the first time I was semi-alone with Matt, he seemed about as drunk as I was.

  I joined him and Jesse where they were sitting in front of a giant fireplace in whatever drawing room—sitting room? Living room? There were about a hundred of them. We were all drinking scotch, some single malt that cost like three thousand dollars a glass or something. Matt was smoking a cigar, which was the only thing we were allowed to smoke inside the castle—rum flavored, by the sweet smell of it.

  Summer’s music wasn’t playing in this room, so Jesse and I had our acoustic guitars out. We played Bill Withers’ “Ain’t No Sunshine,” and Matt sang. Jesse didn’t sing, maybe because Matt had started first, and I didn’t sing because I wanted to listen to Matt’s voice. I’d never heard him sing alone and raw like this.

  Turned out he was a pretty great vocalist. Had a warm, kinda rough voice, very fucking sexy.

  Just another point in his favor.

  “You’ve got a great voice, man,” I told him when the song ended. I laid my hand over my guitar strings and lounged back in my chair. My head needed a break.

  “Thanks, Ash,” he said, his voice low and kinda quiet.

  When I glanced over at him, he was watching me. Our eyes met… and he definitely did that thing.

  That thing where he looked at me just a little too long.

  Jesse was twiddling on his guitar. I didn’t think he’d noticed.

  But I noticed.

  And all I could think in my tired, somewhat burnt-out and drunk head was… Ah, shit.

  I’d noticed it earlier tonight, too. Maybe half an hour ago, while we were jamming with Zane.

  Noticed him watching me.

  Sure, everyone was watching me. Watching us. Listening as we played.

  But this was different.

  And tonight wasn’t the first time I’d noticed him doing it, either.

  The first time I’d ever met Matt Brohmer was a couple of years ago, in L.A.. It was the day before I joined Zane’s supergroup side project band, Wet Blanket, onstage for the first time, at some charity event they were playing. Zane had invited me to join them on a cover of “Live and Let Die.” I’d dropped by their rehearsal, and that day, Matt had definitely looked at me.

  And the way he looked at me? Trouble if I ever saw it.

  Same as it was right now.

  I stashed my guitar in its case and tried not to give him the same look right back.

  Back then, seemed like a pretty bad idea to hook up with anyone in the band—even a band where I was just stepping in as a guest. Maybe it would ruffle feathers, things would go sideways, and I’d never be asked back.

  That was the way I saw it.

  Made it easy enough not to go there.

  Right now? Similar fucking problem.

  In my defense, I really didn’t know until right this minute that it might be a problem. Sure, I remembered Matt had given me the look the first time I met him. I kinda tended to remember when smoking-hot dudes looked at me like that.

  Did I just magically forget about it when Summer mentioned she wanted him in our band?

  No. I remembered.

  I just didn’t bring it up.

  Because what did it matter? I’d met Matt at least a dozen times since then, and yes, he’d given me the look pretty much every time. But we’d never exactly been alone together, and he’d never done more than look.

  Right now, even though it was just a look… it was stressing me the fuck out. I was way too drunk to handle this.

  Where the fuck was Summer when I needed her?

  “You want another one?”

  Jesse’s voice nudged into my thoughts. He was holding a bottle of scotch my way and I wasn’t answering him nearly fast enough.

  Shit, was I still looking at Matt?

  Yeah. I was. But at least I wasn’t giving him the look or anything.

  At least, I didn’t think I was…

  Kinda hard to tell when I was so damn drunk.

  I’d definitely checked him out, though. Knew that for sure, because even as I focused on Jesse’s face, I could remember exactly what Matt was wearing right now. Deep Purple Space Truckin’ T-shirt, faded black jeans, leather boots laced low with the tongues hanging out, his legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankles. And how his clothes fit his hard body—snugly.

  Couldn’t really help that. It was all the scotch and the late hour and the castle and the music.

  And Matt.

  Truth be told, I checked out guys all the time. Guys like Matty Brohmer, I checked out a little more thoroughly.

  Guys who were… you know.

  My type.

  “No, man,” I told Jesse. “I’m good.” I stumbled to my feet, a bit less steady than I was when I’d sat down a little while ago. “Gonna go find Summer…” And with that, I took off without looking back.

  I wasn’t sure what else to do. Technically, nothing had changed. Summer still wante
d Matt in our band, obviously, and so did I. Though maybe right now wasn’t the best time to discuss it? I was drunk, plus, no matter how long I stumbled around the castle, I couldn’t find Summer.

  And right now, I wasn’t sure I should go this alone.

  Sure, I’d known Matt for a couple of years, but I didn’t know him well. He’d always been cool to me, and I knew he had a reputation as a “nice guy,” whatever the fuck that meant. But I really hadn’t had much conversation with him—or any conversation one-on-one.

  He struck me as someone who had a lot more going on than simply being “nice,” but whatever.

  Maybe that was just the loaded looks he kept giving me.

  Or the rumor I’d heard about him—and chosen to ignore.

  Come to think of it… I knew very few things about Matt Brohmer for a fact. I knew Summer and Elle were superfans. I knew he was a killer bassist I’d be lucky to have in my band.

  And I knew he was smoking hot.

  Lean and toned.

  That thick brown hair you just wanted to sink your fingers into.

  And his skin. I liked tattoos, in general. I liked them on me. But what I really liked was clean, naked skin on a guy.

  And those fucking eyes of his…

  If I’d ever seen a guy with bedroom eyes, Matt Brohmer was it.

  Where the fuck is Summer?

  I finally pulled out my phone and called her, but she didn’t answer.

  Then I stumbled across Zane. He was sitting in a parlor on the second floor with his feet up, watching his wife, Maggie, playing pool with his bodyguard, Shady, across the room. Summer, wherever the fuck she was, had Van Halen rocking now, “You Really Got Me,” and Zane’s boot was tapping to the music as I approached.

  “Jesus Christ, where is everybody?” I complained.

  “Colonel Mustard,” Zane said, pointing at me and squinting one eye. “In the library, with the rope.”

  “Nope.” I dropped into the chair next to him. “It’s Miss Scarlet. It’s always Miss Scarlet, with the lead pipe.”

  “Ouch.” He grinned.

  “Have you seen Summer?”

  “Suuummerrrr!” he hollered out to no one in particular. “Nope. Last time I saw her she was in the ballroom with Professor Plum, though.”

  I snorted. “Sounds about right.”

  “Seriously, have you seen the ballrooms in this place? Who needs two ballrooms?”

  “I need zero ballrooms,” I said.

  He reached over to tap his fist to my shoulder. “So how’s it going, brother?”

  “Great. What a fucking great show tonight.”

  “Yeah. So when are you coming back on tour?”

  I sighed and dropped my head back on the chair. “Don’t ask. Everyone fucking asks, and it’s killing me.”

  “Because we miss you, is all.”

  “Yeah. I’m working on it.” I looked him in the eye. “On that note, tell me everything you know about Matt Brohmer.”

  Zane’s eyebrow rose. “Why? You want him?”

  “Yes,” I admitted. “But don’t say anything to him. It’s just something Summer and I are putting together. Early stages.”

  “That’s fucking great, man. You can’t have him until we’re done with him, though,” he added, with a mock stern voice.

  “Obviously.”

  “What can I tell you? You know I’ve been playing with him on and off in Wet Blanket for a few years. And he’s been totally solid on this tour. You know his talent.”

  “He got a girlfriend back home or anything?” I figured I could slip that in as acceptable curiosity.

  “Don’t think so.”

  “Groupies?”

  “About a million, give or take a thousand.”

  Sounded about right.

  “What’s his type?”

  “No idea,” Zane said. “He had a thing for Maggie a while back, though.”

  Maggie… Zane’s cute, hot, petite—and very female—wife.

  Which made Matt either bi or closet… or made me totally fucking wrong that he’d ever given me the look at all.

  “Holy shit,” I said. “And he’s still breathing? Would’ve thought you’d bury a man for that.”

  “Considered it briefly.” Zane flashed his white-toothed smile at me. “But then we’d be out another bassist.”

  My phone buzzed with a message, and I glanced at it.

  Summer. Fucking finally.

  “I gotta deal with this,” I said, getting up. “Been trying to find Summer for hours.”

  “Later,” Zane said, but he was hardly listening. Maggie was just sliding into his lap.

  “Hey, Ash,” she said.

  I waved a see you later and pushed through the closest door… into a kitchen. I looked around. No one was in the room, but the lights were on. Where the hell was I?

  This place was a fucking labyrinth.

  I paused to read Summer’s message.

  Summer: Have you talked to Matt?

  You mean, since he looked at me like he wants to swallow my dick whole?

  I thought about what to say to her, very carefully, mindful of the booze in my system, and typed a reply.

  Me: Not yet

  Summer: Where are you?

  She asked before I could type out the same question.

  Me: Kitchen

  Me: In ENGLAND

  Me: Those two texts just cost me like 20 bucks

  Summer moved our conversation over to Snapchat, because yes, my friends had made me get a Snapchat account, like some twelve-year-old girl. A pop-up notification told me she was typing me a message.

  Summer: How are you in the kitchen? I’m in the kitchen.

  Me: More than one kitchen?

  Summer: I saw Matty like five min ago out by the maze.

  Me: Ok I’ll take a look

  I left the kitchen, heading back downstairs and in the exact opposite direction of the maze. Or so I thought.

  But then Matt and Jesse appeared at the other end of the long corridor, walking toward me. We were the only three people in the hall, and this place echoed like fuck. My Vans were squeaking on the polished marble. Which meant they saw me right away. I couldn’t exactly ditch through a random archway into another room.

  So I headed straight for them.

  About two seconds later, Jesse nodded at me, patted Matt on the back, and slipped away into another room. Matt didn’t go with him.

  Perfect.

  “Hey,” I said, as we approached each other, “Summer was looking for you.”

  “I just saw her out by the maze,” he said. “Went back for my weed, but I’m heading out there now. Come with me.”

  “Sure.” I turned and fell in stride with him. Wasn’t really sure what the fuck else to do.

  I tried to look busy with my phone and messaged Summer back.

  Me: Meet us by the maze

  We wandered our way through the corridors of the castle as Matt rolled a joint and we made small talk about tonight’s show, the festival, the castle. I followed his lead, though he was probably drunker than I was. I was pretty fucking sure we were lost, though neither of us was saying so.

  “We should really find Summer,” I said. “We wanted to talk to you—”

  “Have you got a light?”

  “Uh, maybe.”

  I was digging in my pocket, trying to figure out if I’d lost my lighter, when Matt turned to me—and pushed me right back into some dark alcove.

  Shiiit.

  He had me against the wall before I knew what the fuck was happening… his hands on my chest, his heat slamming into me.

  Okay, I knew what was happening.

  I looked into his hazel eyes. We were nose-to-nose, and he smelled fucking amazing. Scotch and rum and smoke and some kind of faint bodywash or aftershave or something. That tinge of metallic scent guitarists always had on them; fingers on strings. Sweat and skin and drunken kisses…

  Oh, fuck.

  He was gonna kiss me, for sure. An
d he was definitely drunk. His eyelids were half-mast.

  And my internal radar for guys who wanted to fuck me? It was going off like an air-raid siren.

  Everything in me told me to evacuate the fucking building before we both went up in smoke… but I just stood there, pressed between his warm hands on my chest and the wall.

  “Heard about you,” he murmured, looking at my mouth. And there was no mistaking the meaning behind his words.

  “Yeah,” I said, slowly, “heard about you, too.”

  Then he kissed me.

  He was a gentleman about it, pausing to give me the exact nanosecond I’d need to dodge the fuck out of the way, if I wanted to.

  I didn’t.

  Then he claimed my mouth with his. Slowly. And when I responded, he ramped up the intensity, deepening the kiss—thrusting his tongue in my mouth and flattening me against the wall with his weight.

  Blood thumped through me. His body was hard and hot against mine; I could feel his dick against my hip.

  And I knew I could give right in to this. Get my cock wet in Matt Brohmer’s hot mouth, right now.

  But that would be a terrible fucking idea for several reasons… not the least of which was that I wanted this guy in my band.

  So did Summer, which meant she was gonna murder me if I let him anywhere near my dick.

  And then there was that other reason…

  I pushed him off a bit, breaking away. “I can’t.” My pulse was beating in my head.

  In my dick.

  I wanted to kiss him again.

  “You can,” he said, with hooded eyes, reading my face.

  “I really can’t. There’s, uh, this girl.”

  Was that really my excuse?

  Yeah. Apparently.

  “There’s always a girl,” Matt said.

  True enough.

  We stood there, panting, staring at each other.

  Shit. This was totally new territory for me. I didn’t even know what else to say.

  I’d never really put off a guy because of a girl before. Ever.