Not Just Another Rock Star Romance

by Lisa Suzanne

  I shake my head, and the grilling begins.

  Shayna goes first. She seems to be in charge. “Tell us a little about your dating history.”

  That’s tricky. I need to answer diplomatically without admitting I’ve basically been whoring around for the past year.

  “Well I was in a pretty serious relationship for a few years, and then I found out she was cheating on me. I ended it with her and dated around a bit. I met another girl about a year ago. We were only together a short time, but I really liked her. The problem was that she really liked someone else, so we ended things. I’ve just been casually dating since then.”

  Some of the producers exchange glances, and I wish I knew their secret language.

  “After the way your last two relationships ended, are you okay with the idea of being on a show where you’re competing against another man for the affections of possibly the same woman?” Shayna asks.

  To be honest, that’s a sticky point. But since I assured myself I’m not going to find love on this show, it doesn’t really matter. I figured they’d ask this question, so I have a prepared response.

  “Yes, absolutely. I think my history gives me the edge to instinctually know if a woman’s feelings might be stronger for someone else. And if not, well, the drama will certainly make for great television.” This elicits a laugh from everyone seated around the table, so I relax back in my chair a bit. Comedy is my go-to comfort zone. If I can make someone laugh, I feel immediately at ease...and I just made eight people laugh.

  The next question is the one I hadn’t really been prepared to answer: “Are you ready to find love?”

  They probably want the truth, but they won’t be happy with my big, fat NO. They don’t want to know how much I enjoy the single life. They won’t be pleased to know that I’ve sworn off relationships after being hurt one too many times.

  Shit, even the last girl I was semi-serious about still doesn’t know how badly she hurt me.

  If you love someone, you let them go, right?

  That’s what I had to do when she told me she loved someone else. As much as it hurt, the part of me that loved her wanted her to be happy. Maybe I made it too easy on her in the end. Maybe I let go too quickly without a fight. But I’d seen it coming from a mile away. It hadn’t really been a shock to me when she confessed she was in love with her best friend.

  But the producers of Take My Heart don’t need to know any of that, so I smooth my face and prepare to lie.

  “If my match is out there waiting for me, I’m ready for her.”

  Prefacing my sentence with an “if” is my saving grace there. It’s not technically a lie since I already know my match isn’t going to be waiting for me on the other end of this five weeks.

  The interview committee seems to swoon at that answer. I’m golden.

  The interview goes on to ask about my job, my family, and my preferences when it comes to women. I answer as honestly as I can.

  “In the eighth episode, we will introduce the women to your family. Who will be present at that meeting?” one of the producers asks.

  “My band is my family,” I answer immediately.

  “So instead of mom and dad, your potential future partner will be meeting the members of your band?”

  I nod. I have zero intentions of involving my blood relatives in this. Besides, my band is more of a family to me than my actual family. I haven’t been home to see my parents in...five years? Can that be right?

  They ask a few more questions, and then Shayna looks around the table. “Any further questions?” They all shake their heads, apparently pleased with my responses.

  “Alright, Mr. Hunter, this concludes our interview,” Shayna says. “We have a few more men to interview, but we will be in touch with your manager either way within the next forty-eight hours. Production will begin in two weeks, so if you are chosen, we will have a tight turn-around schedule. Do you have any questions for us?”

  “Have the women already been chosen?” I ask, truly curious as to how the process works.

  The producers all glance at each other, each with a small smile—almost as if they don’t expect my question and are pleased with it.

  “Yes, they’ve all been chosen,” Shayna says. “We have ten ladies and five back-ups in case anything should happen between now and the start of filming. If you’re chosen, we think you’ll be pleased.” She places some emphasis on if you’re chosen.

  I suppose I’ll find out in the next forty-eight hours.

  4

  “Are all the gigs updated?” I ask Kylie later that afternoon at our weekly band meeting.

  She nods. “They’re in all of your calendars with twenty-four hour and four-hour reminder notifications set, as per your request.”

  “How many do we have?” Kane asks.

  “I had already scheduled you light for the next two months so you could prep for the tour. You’re averaging three per week between now and the tour, but I can cancel if you give me at least a week’s notice.”

  “Perfect,” I say, thinking about the shooting schedule in case I’m chosen for the show. We usually play six nights a week, and that would never work if I’m gone two nights for filming.

  “Let’s talk about Dax’s interview,” Adam says.

  “Let’s not.” I pick at the label of my beer bottle absentmindedly before I recall Kylie’s words. I immediately stop and glance up at her. She smirks. Dammit—she caught me.

  Kylie grilled me on every last detail of the interview on our car ride home, and I don’t really feel like rehashing it again. If I make it onto the show, they’ll see the portions the producers felt merited viewing anyway.

  “How’d it go?” Adam presses.

  I shrug nonchalantly. “Fine.”

  “You think you made it on?” Rascal asks.

  “I feel good about it. I guess we’ll see in the next few days.”

  Everyone looks at me hopefully, including Brody. Apparently he had a change of heart, and I’d guess it was because either his father or Adam talked to him about how huge this could be for MFB. It isn’t just about me going on some reality television show or finding love anymore.

  “More importantly, if you do get on, how’s that going to affect MFB?” Adam asks.

  Kylie answers for me. “I’ll schedule things so nothing will really be affected. Are all of you flexible with practice times?”

  I look around at the men in my band. They’re all nodding at Kylie in agreement. It’s clear how much they all want this.

  Kylie leaves after a two-hour practice, and then we’re free for a rare night off.

  Rascal goes home for dinner with his family. Adam and Kane head off to be with their women, and that leaves Brody and me.

  “You want to do something tonight?” he asks me as we sit across our kitchen table from each other eating cheeseburgers Brody grilled.

  “Sure. What did you have in mind?”

  “The three Bs?”

  I chuckle. The three Bs are bar, booze, and boobs. It was a code he came up with to ask me in front of mixed company whether I wanted to go out, get fucked up, and look for someone to fuck. Brody’s all about the codes. In fact, it was he who came up with “My Favorite Band” as the meaning of the initials behind MFB when in fact that wasn’t at all what MFB had originally stood for.

  We were in middle school and we’d been jamming in Brody’s garage when we decided that we were going to be a real band with a real name. Adam had gotten detention that day from Mrs. Fenwick, our math teacher who we all hated. Our nickname for her was Mrs. Fuckwit, and we tossed around different names for the band like Mrs. Fuckwit’s a Bitch or Mother Fuckin’ Bitch. We thought we were hilarious at twelve-years-old, but since we couldn’t exactly share that name with our parents at the time, we shortened it to MFB. And when Brody’s mom asked what MFB stood for, somehow he blurted out, “My Favorite Band. So if someone asks who you’re going to see tonight, your answer is My Favorite Band. Get it?”


  The name stuck with us for the past thirteen years, and this upcoming tour is going to make it a household name.

  Maybe.

  We’ll have a better shot if I make it onto Take My Heart.

  “I’m in for the three Bs,” I say, wondering if this will be one of my last nights out with Brody for a while. Once filming starts, I won’t have time to head out to the bar. The show might even take off and I won’t be able to just walk into a bar without being swarmed by adoring fans.

  Right. A guy could daydream, but somehow I don’t see that sort of thing ever really happening.

  We head to Emerson’s a little before ten. We’ve played there at least three times a week for the past couple of years, and we tend to hit it up on our nights off as well. Not only is it a fun and casual scene, but lots of gorgeous ladies hang out there because of its proximity to San Diego State University. Even though I had my share of heartbreak nearly a year ago due to a certain graduate student who attended SDSU, I suppose it isn’t fair to hold that one relationship against the whole school.

  I purposely bought a house close to the bar since we perform there so often, and it’s just a few blocks over. It’s worth it to walk and not worry about driving, and the owners of the bar are gracious about allowing us to store our instruments overnight and pick them up in the morning if (when) we need to.

  Tonight’s a nice November Tuesday night, but then again, every night in San Diego is relatively nice. When we arrive at Emerson’s, the parking lot’s full. A long line of eager men wait outside the door, but not a single lady waits there.

  That’s because Tuesday is Ladies’ Night.

  Ladies get two free drinks, and men wait for hours outside just for the chance to get in to hang with the drunk women. Tuesdays are always fun nights to play at Emerson’s, but this week another local band, Tuesday’s Gold, is playing. We’ve been splitting time with them for the past few months, and it works for us since Emerson, the owner, raised our pay so we aren’t losing any money. He has as much to lose as we do if he doesn’t hold onto us. We’ve built an excellent local fan base who comes out for every one of our shows and pays good money to drink a lot of alcohol at the bar.

  And the best part about Emerson’s is that we never have to wait in line. Security checking identification at the door knows us well, and the bartenders know our regular drinks and automatically open a tab for us when we walk in. Most of the time we don’t even need to cash out—they just keep a running tab open and half the time they waive our bill...the perks of being a local celebrity.

  We don’t have a regular table, per se, but we are known well enough around town that if there isn’t an open table, someone will make room for us. And tonight is no different.

  Brody and I pick up our drinks at the bar—a Miller Lite for each of us—and walk toward the booths. A group of three women sit at one, each of them eyeing the two of us with some sort of animalistic hunger. One of them looks familiar, but for the life of me I can’t recall her name. She has long, wavy blonde hair and blue eyes with too much make-up. Her gorgeous tits are pushed up and spill out the top of her shirt, where I allow my eyes to feast a flirtatious second longer than I should.

  “Ladies,” Brody says, lowering his voice to a deep growl. I try not to roll my eyes at his tone. Really, I try. He’s such a predictable douchebag, but women fall for it every time.

  “Well if it isn’t the two hottest boys from MFB,” the girl who looks familiar says. How do I know her? Maybe she’s just a regular fan at our shows. I must’ve seen her out in the crowd at some point.

  “Dax, this seat’s open,” she purrs, patting the booth beside her. “Wide open.” She gives me a wicked smile, and the sudden image of her naked and making her O-face flashes through my mind.

  Shit. I definitely slept with her, and I don’t even know her name.

  The other two girls eye Brody and motion for him to sit by them, and I just hope that someone will say this chick’s name so I don’t look like the total dick I am.

  “We just love your music,” says the one on Brody’s right. They’re both hot for Brody.

  “Thanks,” Brody says. “We love our fans.”

  I try really hard again not to roll my eyes.

  “We come here all the time when you’re playing,” the one on Brody’s left says. This is getting downright awkward. I don’t know any of their names.

  “I know,” Brody says. “I’ve seen you.”

  The girls swoon, and I draw in a deep breath before I blurt the thoughts in my head and tell Brody to tone it the fuck down. “I’m Dax,” I finally say across the table, as if I’m introducing myself to mystery-woman’s friends.

  “Oh, we know who you are. I’m Leah,” the girl on Brody’s right says, pointing to herself, “this is Emma.” She points to the girl next to her and then across the table. “And you know Autumn.”

  “Of course I know Autumn,” I say smoothly, relieved that she fell for my name trap. “And you know Brody.”

  “We’d like to get to know him better,” Leah says, lowering her voice to a purr like Autumn did when I sat beside her.

  “Well he’s free for the night,” I say, and he shoots me a look. I’m not sure what the look’s for considering I just set him up for a perfect ménage.

  I take a sip of my beer and glance over at Autumn. Our eyes meet, and I know I have a slam dunk. The question is whether I want it.

  She doesn’t look like an Autumn. The word itself makes me think of Thanksgiving and warmth and brown hues. She’s none of those things. She’s sexy, but she’s definitely more of a Summer—hot, sexy, beachy, blonde, and wet. If she’s not wet now, she will be by the time I’m through with her.

  Apparently I have made my decision. Autumn/Summer will be coming home with me. Or I’ll be going home with her. It doesn’t really matter where it happens. Shit, it could happen out behind the bar for all I care. I suppose that makes me an even bigger dick, but I’m about to possibly go on a reality TV show followed by a tour with a huge band. This isn’t going to be my last one-night stand.

  Although I suppose if I slept with her before, it isn’t technically a one-night stand.

  This is probably a bad idea. She’s going to want another night. First one, then two...then it snowballs and suddenly we’re in a relationship. I can’t do that—especially not now, but maybe not ever.

  I motion for the waitress and order another round for our whole table. Autumn moves a little closer to me, her thigh rubbing mine and her foot playing with my shoe. What she wants is pretty clear.

  A few beers later, I’m making my way back from the bathroom when I bump into an old friend. “Sexy Daxy!” Brooke exclaims, and I can’t help but wish I bumped into her before Autumn.

  Over the past year, Brooke has become a friend to me. Not just a friend, I suppose—a good friend. We slept together a few times, but she knows my rules and expectations. I never have to explain myself to her. She doesn’t think it means something it doesn’t. She’s basically a fuck buddy when I need one, and I fill the same hole in her life.

  Literally.

  We’re more than just fuck buddies, though. We’re actual friends, but we both know how explosively wrong a relationship with each other would be. Neither of us wants a commitment, so we’ve become the type of friends who could just be there for each other to fulfill whatever we need—a listener, a friend, a confidant, or, more often than not, a roll in the hay.

  “Hey, Brooke,” I say, leaning in to kiss her cheek. She turns her head at the last second and I catch her lips. I laugh as I pull away and shake my head at her.

  “What?” she asks innocently, and I wonder if she actually does want something more with me but puts on a front that she’s happy with our arrangement. She isn’t right for me, and I’m certainly not right for her. A relationship is completely out of the question. “You free tonight?”

  “Unfortunately I’m not.”

  “Damn.”

  “Sorry,” I say, eyeing her t
its longingly. They’re so nice and firm and perky. I know what I’m getting with her. I don’t know what I’m getting with this Autumn chick.

  “Soon,” she says.

  I nod, but I wonder how soon it will actually be. I’m not sure when I’ll be back to Emerson’s apart from our gigs, and I figure I’ll probably be pretty busy once the show starts filming if I make it on.

  She stands on her tiptoes and kisses me again, and I grin as I watch her walk away toward the bar.

  And that’s when I run into another old friend.

  But this “old friend” is actually the ex-girlfriend grad student who broke my heart, and to be honest, I’m surprised to see her at my bar.

  Piper Andrews stands rooted to the spot next to the bar, holding two drinks in her hands as she stares at me with surprise. Her eyes drift to Brooke and back over to me again, and then it all comes crashing back to me.

  Piper caught Brooke kissing me behind Emerson’s early on in our relationship. I’d been trying to push Brooke away, but Piper couldn’t have known that from where she stood. All she saw was the guy who’d invited her to the bar to watch his show kissing some other girl.

  I walk toward her, and she meets me halfway. “Hey,” I say softly. It’s the first time I’ve seen her since she broke my heart almost a year ago.

  I acted like I was okay when she told me she was in love with her friend and was choosing him over me, but I hadn’t been okay with it.

  I’m still not okay with it, but what can I do? Our hearts choose who we love, not our brains. If I could shut that part of myself off, I would.

  I wonder for a beat if she came here tonight looking for me. She looks beautiful. She always does.

  I hate how beautiful she looks.

  “Hey,” she says.

  “You look good,” I say.

  “So do you.” She holds up her drink in a quasi-toast, but I don’t have anything to toast with, so I just smile.

  I smile until my eyes catch the glinting diamond on her ring finger. My stomach drops, and I’m not even sure why. I don’t want to feel anything where she’s concerned. We ended things a long time ago, but it still seems to hurt. Apparently meaningless sex and drunken shenanigans haven’t been the self-medicating ointment I hoped they’d be.