Crazy Love (The Bad Boys of Brit Pop Book 1)

by Madelynne Ellis

  “Joel, stop it. Just stop it.” A damp, naked Knox splattered all over the floor isn’t going to improve the current situation.

  I try and insert myself into the space between them, which earns me a smack in the face.

  “Bastard,” I curse, staggering backwards, clutching my nose. I don’t think Joel’s done any real damage, but it still smarts. I blink, as multi-coloured blobs float before my eyes and my ears pound as if there’s a monkey pummelling the drums inside them. “For God’s sake, will you just leave him be? Mauling him isn’t going to fix anything.”

  Joel curses some more, and his fists remain tightened.

  “Really?” I say, raising my fists. “Do we need to duke this out?”

  He looks at me, standing there stark bollock naked and gives a short dry laugh. “We are so screwed.” He sinks down on the spot and puts his head in his hands.

  I sit too, with my back against vanity unit.

  Today ought to have marked the biggest highlight in Paradise Kiss’s career. Instead, it’s likely to be the date of our demise.

  “I should have known,” Joel mumbles into his palms. “The whole fame thing, touring, it was never actually going to happen. I don’t even know why I let myself believe.” The despair and resentment that bleeds into his words, makes me realise exactly how much hope he had riding on us making it. Knox has blown that for him and by association so have I. Joel and I might have been on opposing sides most of the night, but we’re still mates, and I hate seeing how torn up this is making him.

  Of the four of us, Joel has the most outwardly normal background. Two parents, two and a half siblings, a nice family home in the suburbs. It’s just they’re all stark raving bonkers. His mum’s losing her mind to dementia, his dad’s lost a leg to diabetes and forgets to take his meds on a regular basis, and his older siblings both have Multiple Personality Disorders. The youngest, his step-sister, fled the country two years ago to traverse the Amazon basin. I know he wants this gig because he needs the money to buy in additional help, and move his parents to sheltered accommodation, but it’s not reason enough to destroy Knox.

  The band is the only thing keeping him vaguely together.

  “You could have solved everything, Nate. All you had to do was ask her. I mean explain it to me, how is it OK to shove your dick into her, but not to hand her a passport to success?”

  I pull my knees up before me and rest my chin on them. “Maybe I don’t want to drag her into our shit.” I don’t have a sensible explanation. Nothing that’s happened tonight between me and Loveday has made the remotest bit of sense. I’m not sure I want it to.

  “We don’t have anything to offer her, Joel. She doesn’t need to ride our coat tails, she’s talent by the bucket load, and Graham Callahan has offered Bitch Slap the exact same opportunity that he’s offered us. There’s no reason for her to band hop, and I won’t ask it of her, regardless of the situation with Knox.”

  Joel shakes his head, over and over, as if he can’t actually stop. “That’s not true. What you’re saying about her having the same deal on the table that we do—it’s not. It might seem that way, but it really isn’t. I’ve been talking to one of Callahan’s assistants. He really wants us. He’s not even remotely serious about signing Bitch Slap, hell they’re not even a serious band. They only exist to piss your brother off. Anyway, this whole perform your best song at six thing is just a gimmick to test us.”

  “Really?”

  He nods.

  “Well, if that’s true, maybe it doesn’t matter if we perform.”

  “Big risk,” Dane says from the doorway. “I take it we have a problem.”

  -13-

  Loveday Trevaskis

  “Where the fuck have you been?” Jessie demands as I slink back into our hotel room as quietly as humanly possible. I’d hoped she was asleep, but I guess that was too much to ask. The lights were off, but she clicks the lamp on as I stumble my way towards the bed, which paints the room with a soft bronze glow. “Where?”

  I shrug. “Went for a wander.”

  Considering the current time, I decide it’s probably not worth getting into bed, especially when it means climbing in beside Jessie, whose glower makes her look as if she’s auditioning for a role in the next post-apocalyptic blockbuster, so I turn to my suitcase and pull out some fresh undies, jeans and a tee.

  “You fucked him,” she says, like she knows it without a shadow of a doubt, because she’s somehow managed to track my movements while I was out of her sight. She gets out of bed, comes up behind me, and slaps her hand on my shoulder as if she’s about to make a citizen’s arrest. “I can’t fucking believe it, Lowdy. Jesus, you stink of him.”

  Stink’s a bit of an exaggeration, surely. Though there’s definitely a trace scent of his aftershave on the dressing gown. Or maybe that’s just how the hotel linen smells.

  Either way, I refuse to feel guilty.

  “Why’s it so damned difficult for members of this band to keep their knickers on?”

  I respond with another shrug, this one backed with a smile, as I step into a clean pair, these ones white with cute little heart detailing. I guess I left the others behind on Darke’s bathroom floor.

  I notice Ivy’s staying remarkably quiet. She’s definitely awake though, I can see her eyes and nose peeping out from under the duvet.

  “I knew you were going to do it the minute you clapped eyes on him. It was there in your face, you were just eating him up with your stare,” Jessie continues.

  I don’t argue with her. I learned not to bother, back when we were five. It’s interesting though, because I’m pretty certain my first thoughts about Nathaniel Darke weren’t of licking him. They concerned the fact he was prepared to stand back and let us gang up on his brother, so long as we didn’t get too rough.

  “You’re mind’s always in the fucking gutter.”

  “Better than being a prude.”

  A shudder rolls right up her spine. She pulls her shoulders back and stands tall. “I’m not.”

  She so is. Jessie, for all that she enjoys dressing like a rock groupie, actually believes Dane’s a pervert for enjoying coming all over her tits. I, however, rather enjoyed Darke coming all over mine. Not that I planned for it to happen. Same as I didn’t anticipate him whispering a whole host of dirty words in my ear, or sticking my fingers in his arse. In fact, I’m pretty sure my plan was to keep my distance, because Nate Darke has bad news written all over him.

  He’s covered in insects, skulls and snakes, for Pete’s sake.

  Too bad fate seems to have different plans.

  Is it wrong that I want the zombie apocalypse to happen all over again now? I want to meet him on the stairwell again, drag Knox up the stairs, and then fall into Darke’s arms. The only difference I’d make, is that Joel Ashton wouldn’t show up and cut things short. Instead, we’d stay in bed, I’d work Darke up into a frenzy, and then he’d take me for another ride on his glorious cock.

  Glorious—yes, I’m not just waxing lyrical.

  I probably ought to have written something on it, and not just on his stupidly cute arse. Maybe, a property of label.

  “You’re not even sorry.” Jessie grabs me by the elbow and spins me round to face her. She’s dressed in little pink shorts and a vest top, but still manages to look like the bitch queen of hell. I refuse to let her rage diminish my good mood. I’ve been exceedingly well fucked, so that I’m still tingly from it between my thighs, and I’m determined to hold onto the fuzzy warmth it’s created in my chest for as long as possible.

  “I’m sorry you’re upset by it.” That’s as much of an apology as she’s going to get. I haven’t betrayed the band, and it’s not like I slept with her ex. I just let myself get caught up in the moment and enjoyed myself a little. “I didn’t plan anything, Jess. It just happened.”

  “If you didn’t plan your little rendezvous, then how did Nate get your number?” she demands. “That’s who you were on the phone to when you left t
he room, wasn’t it? I didn’t hand it over, nor did Ivy, so the only person it could have come from was you.”

  She’s determined to be cross. Maybe that’s due to lack of sleep, or a function of pressure, but I don’t appreciate being her verbal punching bag.

  “Was it by chance, because you wrote it on his hot sexy body with your pulling pen? Where’d you mark him, eh? Right along the length of his cock perhaps, so he couldn’t misinterpret that you were up for it?”

  “Stop being such a bitch. What does it matter how he got my number, or that I shagged him. Yeah, I did, OK, and it was fab.”

  “It matters because we agreed they were off limits,” she growls.

  She’s twenty-two, and she’s growling at me like she’s a goddamned tiger, how infantile is that? And actually, we didn’t agree anything of the sort. There wasn’t even a consultation process, Jess just laid down the law on the issue, and then only after she’d noted my interest. Basically, she just hates the idea of my having a sex life when she hasn’t had a shag in months, not since she split with Dane, in fact. And that’s not for want of offers. The fact, I’m realising, is that she wants Dane back, she’s just not prepared to admit it to herself.

  Of course, none of this would be an issue if I opened my mouth and spilled what I know about Teddy Knox. Then it’d be all pats on the back for being a super spy, and her telling me I’m a very clever girl, as if I’m still in primary school and I’ve got a gold star for my reading.

  Too bad, I’ve no intention of saying a word about Paradise Kiss’s bass-player. Right now, I hope he makes a miraculous recovery, and that Paradise Kiss turn up in an hour or so and wipe the floor with us. At least they want this deal for the right reasons. Jessie only wants it for spiteful ones.

  I zip up my jeans, and pull on a pair of heeled boots, then stand before the mirror and smear concealer over the dark smudges beneath my eyes. Jess continues to scowl at me as I work, adding a layer of foundation and then eyeshadow, liner and blush.

  Exasperated, she eventually turns away, and swaps her PJs for clothing, pulling on a microscopic skirt and a skinny-fit, home-made Bitch Slap tee.

  “We ought to cut you loose for what you’ve done.”

  “You what?” I laugh, because it’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard her say. “What is it, an hour or so until we play for Mr. Big, and you’re planning on booting me for—”

  “High treason,” she says, cutting me off. “It’s still a death offence.”

  I just shake my head. This is so dumb. At least Paradise Kiss have genuine problems to combat—Knox genuinely needs help—not ones invented for the sake of drama. Graham Callahan isn’t going to pick us, or if he does he’s going to drop us just as fast, because Jessie’s too bloody high maintenance. “Good luck with that,” I say. “It should make playing interesting.”

  She fluffs her hair, and sighs huffily. “I didn’t say I was going to do it, only that I should. If it wasn’t for this deal…” She lets the thought trail off. That’s all right, I don’t need her to say it. I get it. I really do. I just happen to wish this argument had something to do with music, and wasn’t just about the wound Jessie is still carrying about because Dane Darke dared to put his band before her.

  “Did you dump him, or did he dump you?” I ask. She’s spent so much time mouthing off about him it’s weird that I don’t know. Telling too, in so many ways.

  “What?”

  “Did you dump Dane or did he dump you?”

  “I’ve always wondered that too,” Ives pipes up. She’s been curiously silent regarding all of this so far, but that’s Ivy, determined to play the role of Switzerland in any conflict. “I know everything else about him, including his shoe size.”

  Jessie’s face turns puce. “What does it matter?” she blusters. It ended months ago. He doesn’t mean anything to me now. She joins me by the mirror and jabs a finger into my chest. “In any case, stop changing the subject. How do we know you haven’t told them everything?”

  “Everything, Jess? What everything would that be?”

  “What song we’re doing,” she says.

  That’d be difficult since we haven’t even discussed options amongst ourselves yet, and as if it’d make a damned bit of difference anyway. Actually, I do know what we’re playing, and not because it’s the best choice, just because Jessie can’t see anything outside of her own little bubble of hurt. “You really think Perverted Tit Fucker is going to win us the deal?”

  “Yeah.” Her eyes go wide and round as if she’s astonished I don’t agree. “What else would we do?”

  I think back to what Darke said about my voice being stronger than Jessie’s, and how he knew they had competition when he heard me play, Slow Sweet Burn. That’s the song we ought to be playing for Graham Callahan, but Jessie’s never going agree to it. It’s too important for her to be front and central, hogging the limelight, and sticking two fingers up at Dane. So I just hold my tongue, same as usual. It’s pointless arguing with her, she never backs down.

  “Callahan wants a group that can warm up a stadium crowd. PTF always gets them going.”

  “You don’t think he wants something he can turn into a number one hit, perhaps?”

  She cocks her head to one side as if mulling the possibility. “I think he’d consider it a bonus, but nothing more.”

  She’s always has an answer. God forbidden anyone else attempting to have the last word.

  I smear on more lipstick and pull a brush through my hair. It’s even more flyaway and bushy than normal after my tumble with Darke. Nothing ever tames it.

  “You guys know I’m not going on tour, right?” Ivy says, sitting up in bed to break the uneasy silence Jess and I have fallen into.

  “Don’t be stupid, Ivy,” Jessie immediately barks.

  “I am serious.” An enormous yawn stretches Ivy’s mouth wide. She raises her arms and stretches, then climbs out of bed and adopts a yoga pose. “I don’t want to play for ginormous crowds. I don’t want to make records, or meet Black Halo. I just want a house with a nice big garden where I can grow stuff, and have—”

  “Twenty three kids running about. We know,” Jessie groans. She rubs at her temples, then raises her hands in defeat. “Fine, we’ll let Dane win. We’ll tell Graham Callahan we’re not interested. Thanks, but no thanks. Will that make everyone happy?”

  “I’m just being honest,” Ivy says, standing on one leg, and bowing forward as if she’s a skater. “You’d prefer that, wouldn’t you? I mean, I’m happy to play for Graham Callahan so you guys have a chance at fame, I’m just saying that I’m not going to sign a contract is all. I’m not interested in money and celebrity and all that stuff.”

  “We get it,” Jessie says, and stomps off into the bathroom in a huff. A moment later, I hear the shower start to run.

  “You understand, don’t you, Lowdy?” Ivy turns her rather intense gaze on me.

  I find it faintly ridiculous having a conversation with someone who has her limbs in such a twist, but I nod. “Sure. I understand.” I pick at my fingernails while she cycles through several more poses, each more perplexing than the last.

  “So, are we performing or not?” she asks, staring pointedly at the bathroom door once her routine is done.

  “Honestly,” I shrug my shoulders.

  “It’s just, I’d like to know what to put on.”

  “How about whatever you feel like.”

  “Cool,” she agrees, and pulls a tie-dyed smock thing out of her bag.

  I’m glad she’s happy. Me, I’m just very, very tempted to leave this room, head back to 423 and offer myself up as a temporary bassist for Paradise Kiss. It might not be a secure position, but at least I wouldn’t have to put up with anymore of Jessie’s tantrums, or Ivy’s ambition apathy. And I’d be part of a band with drive and a future ahead of them, because I’ve realised Bitch Slap are going nowhere.

  And like that, all the joy drains out of me.

  -14-

  Nat
haniel Darke

  “I assume you’ve tried sobering him up?” Dane asks, leaning over the tub to take a look at Knox. My brother looks far too good for this hour of the morning.

  “A cold shower didn’t fix him, nor has being dragged halfway around the hotel, or punched,” I say.

  “That wasn’t a punch, it was a prod,” Joel interjects. He scowls at Knox, who is completely unaffected by the venom being thrown his way. “If you want me to try the latter, I’m up for it.” He climbs to his feet. As do I.

  “Punch, prod, they amount to the same thing when he can’t defend himself, Joel. For fuck’s sake leave him alone.”

  Lightning fast, Dane slaps us both around the ears. “Quit bickering.” His calm is unnerving. Usually, he’s the hot-head we’re both piling on trying to calm down. He gingerly prods Knox, but gets no response. “So I’m assuming we’re fucked in terms of turning up and playing for Graham Callahan?”

  “Yep.” Joel and I respond simultaneously.

  At least we agree on some things.

  “Finish the song?” Dane asks me. He turns away from the tub and finds himself a perch on top of the vanity unit.

  “Nope.”

  “Which all means Bitch Slap are going to walk off with our prize,” Joel says, deliberately aiming to incite Dane’s wrath. “All thanks to the chug-monster there.”

  Knox hasn’t even thrown up on him.

  Astonishingly, my brother doesn’t bite. He’s obviously dropped a few Zen tabs since Callahan stated his terms. Instead, he just scratches at the stubble he has on his chin.

  “Bitch Slap aren’t walking off with anything, Joely-boy.”

  “Yeah, they are,” Joel grouches. “Thanks to imbecile here.”

  “Quit picking on him. He’s one of us, and we swore we’d stick together and support one another come thick or thin.”

  “Hm, and how exactly is him being too fucking stoned to play, supporting me or acting in the spirit of togetherness?”

  He slams his fist into the side of the bath, denting the plastic side panel.