Not Just Another Rock Star Romance

by Lisa Suzanne

  “Congratulations,” I say, nodding to her hand.

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  “Same guy?”

  She nods, and a long pause passes between us. A million things flash through my mind. I want to ask why she’s at my bar. I want to ask why she chose him over me. I want to know why I wasn’t good enough for her. I want to know if I could’ve done something different.

  Those are questions that have preyed on me since she dumped me, but I don’t ask any of them. Instead, I say, “I’m happy for you. I better get back to my friends.”

  “We’re here to see Tuesday’s Gold,” she blurts.

  “Enjoy. They’re good.” I smile sadly at her and walk away.

  Autumn is eager for my return to the table, but seeing Piper threw a wet blanket on my urges. A wave of sadness washes over me, and I’m not even sure why.

  I don’t want to feel that way, but I’m powerless to stop it.

  I manage to detangle myself from Autumn, and I head home alone. No Autumn. No Brooke. No Piper. I feel a little sorry for myself as I hear Brody through the wall when he gets home accompanied by at least one woman, possibly two. When I hear giggling, I put in my earbuds and blast my music, drowning out the sounds and my thoughts as I focus on the beats of the drum and the strums of the guitar and the lyrics of the chorus until I fall asleep.

  5

  “What happened to you last night?” Brody asks me the next afternoon. I stayed in my room until I heard his dates leave. I didn’t want to deal with them asking me why I ditched their friend, and frankly I don’t feel like I owe any of them an explanation—Brody included.

  I pull out the canister of coffee to brew a fresh pot while Brody focuses on a video game.

  “Nothing,” I mumble.

  “Don’t give me that shit,” he warns, suddenly beside me in the kitchen.

  I avoid eye contact as I fill the empty pot with water. “I ran into Piper last night.”

  “Oh shit,” he murmurs.

  The two of us don’t exactly wax poetic about our feelings, but Brody knows how hurt I was when Piper ended things. He knows she’s the reason I turned to women and alcohol—much like I had after my break-up with Vickie. Not that he complains much about it since he often partakes with me.

  “Dude, do you really think this reality show is a good idea?”

  His question comes out of the blue just as Kane walks into the kitchen.

  I sigh. “Are you seriously rehashing that right now?”

  “Kylie did explain to you how this show ends, didn’t she?” Brody asks. Kane listens quietly to our conversation.

  “I know how it ends.” My voice holds a sharp frustration that even I’m surprised to hear. I finish pouring the water into the base and hit the button to brew before turning to Brody. “Look, I’m not going to fall for someone if I make it on. I’m purely doing this for business.”

  “But what if you do?” Kane asks. “And what if she chooses the other guy?”

  “Then she chooses the other guy. I’ll be fine.”

  Kane grabs an apple off the counter and tosses it casually into the air before catching it one-handed. “None of us want to see you go through what you did after Vickie and Piper.”

  “I didn’t even make it on yet, so this conversation is pointless.”

  Kane and Brody steal a glance at one another, and I choose to ignore it. I have bigger things to worry about than the two of them and their gossip session. For one thing, I’m working out a melody on a new song that I want to share at practice today. So I leave them in the kitchen with my coffee brewing and I head to the shower, where I tend to do my best thinking.

  I have a missed call and a text from Kylie when I get out of the shower.

  Kylie: Call me ASAP.

  I sigh, tired of being told what to do. It’s nice that everyone cares about me, but I’m a grown man who is capable of making my own decisions.

  And my decision is to call Kylie back when I’m damn good and ready. I have work to do.

  It takes me a few hours to match up lyrics to the melody I’ve been humming, but I’m pretty sure it works. I’m excited to share it with the guys when practice starts in an hour.

  I head down the kitchen to grab some food, surprised at how quiet the house is. I’m on the bottom step when the front door is thrown open before it slams shut.

  Kylie’s a hot mess, her hair flying around her in a flurry as her angry gaze falls in my direction. “Don’t you check your fucking phone?”

  I glare at her as I walk past her to the kitchen. “Yeah. I saw your message, I remembered that you work for me and I don’t take orders from you, and I ignored it.”

  She makes some feral growling noise of anger that’s actually pretty hot. “God, I fucking hate you sometimes.”

  “Feeling’s mutual, sweets.” I flash her a smirk.

  She huffs out an angry breath, and I can’t help but feel a jolt of satisfaction at her anger.

  “I have news for you, asshole.”

  “No shit. I gathered that from your text.” I open the fridge and gaze inside, more focused on the fun of provoking an already angry Kylie than I am on finding something to eat.

  “You know, when you act like this, I don’t even want to tell you.”

  She piqued my curiosity, but I’m not about to let her see that. She’ll crumble before I do.

  “You’re free to do whatever you want,” I say, pulling out the lunchmeat to make myself a sandwich.

  “Do you really think it’s smart to piss me off?” She stalks into the kitchen and stands behind me while I set the lunchmeat on the counter. “Don’t you realize all I do for you?”

  “I do. And you’re paid handsomely for it.” I turn back to the refrigerator to grab the mayo. Kylie follows close behind me.

  “That doesn’t give you the right to treat me like trash.”

  She has a point. I don’t mean to treat her like trash, exactly. I just like to push her buttons. I turn from the fridge to face her, and she’s closer than I thought. Our eyes meet, and hers are full of anger and something else—heat. Her scent of coconut washes over me, and I severely repress the feeling of comfort I get from it. I take a step back to get out of her orbit. It’s too close, and we have an oath. I can’t touch her no matter how weird the feelings in my chest are when I smell her.

  I sigh as I set the mayo on the counter. “It doesn’t give you the right to order me around, either.”

  “Fair enough.” She sticks out her hand. “Truce?”

  I take her hand in mine, startled at the sizzle of heat that races across my chest when our hands meet. “Truce.” I pull my hand away quickly as she clears her throat, and I head to the pantry to grab a loaf of bread. “So what’s this news you have?”

  She grins, the angry encounter between the two of us apparently forgotten as her whole face lights up. “You made it on.”

  I pause as I stare into the pantry, sure I didn’t hear her correctly. “What?”

  “Take My Heart. The producers chose you.”

  I turn around to face her. “Shut the fuck up.”

  “I’m serious, Dax.” She’s grinning wildly, her smile lighting her face up so brightly in the moment that I nearly forget what she’s telling me. “You’re going to be on TV!”

  I toss the bread on the counter and race across the room to grab Kylie in a hug. Her arms wrap around my waist, and a feeling of warmth washes over me. But just like seconds earlier, I repress the electricity between us.

  I can’t mix business and pleasure. I can’t let the members of my band down. As much as I like to aggravate her, we need her. If I take what I really want, she’ll end up leaving the band. That’s what women do—they leave me.

  Besides, she deserves better than someone like me.

  I push away the strange tingles in my chest as I hold her in my arms, and I force myself out of our hug.

  “What do I need to know?” I ask, turning away from her to focus my attention on making my sandwic
h.

  “Well, Shayna says they loved you so much that you were their first choice, and that’s why they called today. They’re still deciding on spots three and four.”

  “Who’s spot two?”

  “Some athlete. A football player, I think.”

  “Sweet. A band nerd against a football player,” I mutter, finally taking a bite of my sandwich.

  “You’re not a nerd,” she says softly.

  I glance up at her and find her tender eyes on me, and I force my gaze away before I find myself lost in it. I take a seat at the table, and she sits across from me. She pulls a portfolio out of her bag and slides it across the table as I take another bite of my sandwich.

  “What’s that?” I ask, my mouth full of ham and turkey.

  She eyes my sandwich.

  “Sorry. Did you want one?”

  “We need to work on your eating habits before you go on national television.”

  I shrug innocently and swallow. “I don’t normally talk with my mouth full.”

  “That’s a good start.” She motions to the portfolio that appears to be thick with papers. “Those are the profiles of the women. Since filming covers such a short span of time, the producers want you to get to know the women a little bit early. You’ll find pictures, personality traits, stuff like that. Try to memorize their names and faces, but the producers will be there to help you if you forget.”

  I nod and continue eating my sandwich. I’m curious about what awaits me inside that portfolio, but I’m trying to be polite in allowing Kylie to finish explaining the logistics.

  “Filming starts two weeks from today, and I’ve already started clearing your schedule to accommodate the show. I’ll get everything on your calendar and make sure to fill in your down time with band practice.”

  I nod. “Perfect. Will I have much down time?”

  She shrugs. “Not a ton. But we’ll make it work. You’re only filming full days twice a week, but they may need you for additional interviews and commentary.”

  “What if America hates me?” I ask. My voice is full of more vulnerability than I expect it to be, but if there’s one person in the world who has shown me I can be vulnerable with her, it’s Kylie. “What if I fuck this up?”

  She watches me chew my sandwich thoughtfully for a few beats, her eyes flicking down to my jaw. “Just be yourself, Dax. Everyone’s gonna love you.”

  Her words comfort me more than I’m willing to admit.

  She fills me in on more details, and then she leaves me with the portfolio.

  My hands shake ever so slightly as I reach to pull at the corner of the folder. Nerves rocket through me, a strange and unfamiliar feeling as I think about what this could do for our future. I need to make sure I come off as my true self—the guy I’ve only let a few people see in my life. The guy who’s been hurt but who is loveable and kind even though he has a certain persona to portray as the lead singer of a band.

  The guy Piper and Vickie both fell for before they left me for other men.

  Before I’m able to flip open the cover of the folder, Brody and Rascal come bounding through the front door. I quickly let the flap fall shut as I grab my sandwich, trying my best to appear nonchalant as I calm the thunderstorm of nerves coursing through my chest. This is ridiculous. I’m not expecting anything out of the show apart from a good time and a whole lot of exposure. So why am I nervous about what’s in that portfolio? Why am I anxious to “meet” the girls?

  “What’s going on, man?” Brody asks me as he heads straight for the fridge and grabs a beer. He glances at Rascal and me, too, and then takes one out for each of us.

  “Not much,” I say, trying to maintain my cool. I want to wait until we’re all in the same room before I deliver the news that I made it, and Kane and Adam walk through the door just as the three of us finish our first round.

  “Ready for practice?” Kane asks.

  We head to the basement where we store our equipment. I bought this house about six months ago. I used to live with just Brody and Kane in a smaller place, but we all wanted to live together, and I wanted a house with a basement so we’d have a place to practice without disrupting the neighborhood. I soundproofed and refinished it into a perfect space for us, putting the construction skills I learned from part time jobs in college to good use. I completed the space with relaxing couches, a fridge always stocked with plenty of beer, and tables and chairs where we write, discuss, and fine-tune. We only go down there for serious band business, and occasionally we hold our band meetings there, too.

  Before we each head to our respective instruments, I say, “I have some news.” I keep all traces of emotion out of my voice so as not to give anything away.

  Four sets of eyes turn toward me expectantly, almost hopefully.

  I take a deep breath. “I made it on.”

  A few seconds of silence pass as they process the information, and to me they feel eternal. And then everyone starts cheering and yelling at once.

  I grin at the guys.

  This is going to be one hell of a ride.

  6

  Nights like tonight, when we don’t have a gig and spent a few extra hours practicing, are few and far between—and even rarer are nights when the five of us don’t have plans.

  Kane’s girlfriend, Sierra, and Adam’s girl, Bree, are close friends, and they’re having their own ladies’ night. I don’t know where Kylie is tonight, and I don’t even know why I’m thinking about her. I push her out of my mind as I sit with my four best friends in our family room, each of us holding our drink of choice after a long day of practice.

  I sort of imagine this is what life will be like on the road—the five of us on a bus, sitting around drinking as we tour the country opening for Vail...except Kylie will be there, too.

  I take a sip of my third Miller Lite of the night just as Kane asks, “Are we all happy with the set list?”

  I glance around at the other guys. They’re all nodding their consent, and I sigh.

  Kane turns toward me with a raised brow. “What?”

  I lift a shoulder. “I think it’s a mistake to put two ballads back to back.”

  He rolls his eyes. Of course he does—it was his idea, and I’m not opposed to it just because of that. I’m opposed to it because of their positioning in our set, between two fast songs that take a lot out of me, and I’ll be the one who has to sing back to back ballads while the rest get to basically take a break.

  “Why?” he asks.

  I look around the room for support. “Think about the rock concerts you’ve been to. What do you do during a ballad?”

  “Grab another beer,” Brody says.

  “Wave the flashlight on my phone in the air,” Rascal says.

  “Take a piss,” Adam says.

  I shrug. “See? We’ve got people flashing their lights and everyone else leaves. They leave.”

  “They’re men. Half our audience is women who eat that shit up,” Kane protests.

  “Right, but the other half is men. Chew on that before you toss out the idea. I’m not opposed to two ballads. I’m opposed to two back-to-back ballads.”

  “Because you don’t want to sing them,” Kane mutters.

  “Dude, that’s not even why. I love the ballads as much as all our other shit. I don’t want to give people double the chance to leave when we’re trying to prove we’re worthy openers for Vail.”

  “I smell a bet,” Brody says. He perks up immediately.

  Kane and I both turn toward him. “What kind of bet?” I ask.

  He thinks for a minute, and then his eyes light up. He glances around at everyone in the room. “Do we all have our own opinions on this?” We all nod, and then he says, “Then we battle it out. Survivor-style.”

  “Survivor-style?” Adam repeats.

  “We compete in a challenge,” Brody says, clearly making this up as he goes and basing it on the popular reality television show. “Whoever wins is safe for that round, and then we vote someone
off the island. Another challenge, another person is safe, another vote. When it gets down to the final two, the first three kicked off will choose the winner.”

  “This is stupid,” I whine. “We can’t determine our set list from some game.”

  Kane raises a brow. “Why? Is our little reality star afraid he’s gonna lose a pretend reality show?”

  He knows nothing will get me going quite like a challenge. “Not to your dumb ass,” I say with a smirk.

  “Then let’s do it,” Kane says.

  I huff out an annoyed yet resigned sigh. “Fine.”

  Brody cheers, and then he takes charge. He runs to the kitchen to grab a pad of paper and some pens. “Okay, we’ll each write a challenge down and stick them into a hat.”

  “Don’t we need a host for this?” Adam asks.

  Brody looks mildly offended. “You think I can’t handle it?”

  “You can’t compete and handle it. Conflict of interest,” Rascal says.

  Adam pulls out his phone and sends a text.

  “Who’d you text?” Brody asks.

  “Kylie.”

  My heart stutters in my chest and I need another goddamn drink. I hate that suddenly I can’t even hear her name without reacting to it. I stand and head toward the kitchen. “Anybody need anything?” I yell from the depths of the fridge.

  “Another round,” Adam says, and I grab five beers and pass them around.

  Adam’s phone starts ringing, and he puts it on speaker when he answers. “Hi Ky,” he says.

  “You’re doing what now?” Kylie’s voice is like a sweet honey in a room full of men.

  “Playing Survivor,” Adam says. “We need you to come be our Jeff Probst.”

  “I just got out of the shower.” She sounds annoyed, and I can’t help the image that flashes through my mind.

  A naked Kylie.

  A naked, dripping wet Kylie.

  A naked, dripping wet, slippery Kylie.

  My dick reacts to my thought process, and I chug down half my beer before settling the bottle into my crotch the way men do. I act with nonchalance, but I’m really doing it to try to calm down the big dog.