Not Just Another Rock Star Romance

by Lisa Suzanne

“Dax,” she says, not smiling back. She sits beside me, and her eyes glow a violet purple that’s at once both unique and sexy.

  “You’re a curator?” I ask.

  She nods. She’s more reserved than the others, but I can usually make conversation with just about anybody.

  “What does that entail, exactly?”

  She lifts a shoulder. “It’s complicated. I do a lot.”

  “Such as...?” I ask.

  “I’m in charge of education and community outreach.”

  “What does that mean?” I ask, pulling at straws to get her to open up a little.

  “I organize field trips for schools. I teach audiences about the art we house. I research artists and catalog our artwork.”

  I can’t help but get caught up in her violet eyes as she talks. “What kind of art do you have in your museum?”

  “We’re exclusively pop art.”

  “Enlighten me,” I say with a little laugh. “I know little to nothing about art.”

  She rolls her eyes. “You ever heard of Andy Warhol?”

  “The Campbell’s soup guy?”

  She nods. “He’s pop art. In a nutshell, artists use imagery from pop culture to create something new or different.”

  “So what do you think of someone like, say, Picasso?”

  She rolls those purple eyes again. “Overrated.”

  “Are you serious? Isn’t he, like, the best artist ever?”

  She shakes her head. “It’s all about perspective. Is he talented? Sure. But Cubism isn’t for me. It’s just shapes.”

  “Isn’t all art just shapes?”

  “My God, you have a lot to learn.”

  “I won’t deny that,” I say, laughing. “But what do you know about music?”

  “Probably not as much as you,” she concedes.

  “Then does that make us a good match? We can each teach the other something new?”

  “Teach me something new about music.” She holds her hands up expectantly.

  “Did you know there’s over two hundred different genres of rock music?”

  She raises her eyebrows. “No, I didn’t.” She counts off on her fingers. “Hard, metal, and classic. That’s three.”

  “There’s also pop, alternative, thrash, punk, ska, screamo, and all kinds of hybrids. Should I go on?”

  “What is your band?” she asks.

  “We’re usually described as a hybrid of hard rock and pop rock.”

  “Time’s up,” Shayna says. I didn’t even notice her appear from the slider doors this time since I’d been surprisingly captivated with Talia.

  “I look forward to talking with you more,” I say, and Talia nods before standing and allowing Shayna to escort her out. I watch as she walks away, wondering why she’s so intriguing to me when she seems so different from my usual type.

  My conversation with Kristy is more about sports than ourselves. She seems nervous, and I just can’t imagine myself having sex with her. That presents a real problem to me. I can always picture myself having sex with a woman, but I can only envision tossing back beer in a bar with Kristy after a hot wing eating contest. She’s already friend-zoned with no hope of moving out of that zone.

  Eden is last, and she’s as gorgeous as I remember from yesterday. She has this perfect little body that screams to be touched.

  She cozies right up to me, curling her legs under her and leaning into my shoulder on the little outdoor lounger we share. It’s natural, like we fit and we’ve known each other for ages even though we met yesterday.

  “Tell me all about being a rock star,” she says, drawing little circles on my thigh with her finger.

  I chuckle. “I’m not a star. Yet.”

  She laughs. “That’s not what I heard.”

  I shrug. “We’re locally famous. We have a good following in San Diego and LA. And we’re going on tour soon with Vail.”

  She raises her eyebrows, clearly impressed, and I managed to get in a plug for the tour. Kylie will be proud.

  I sigh as I think of Kylie. I’m supposed to be getting her out of my head, not thinking of her as I talk with one of the hottest prospects on this show.

  “What about you? What’s your job like?” I ask.

  “I work in advertising for a social media company. Pretty much everything I do is online. Do you do anything besides your music?”

  I nod, ready to plug my t-shirt line while I’m here. “I’m also an entrepreneur. I have a line of t-shirts.”

  Her brows furrow. “What kind of t-shirts?”

  “Anything you can think of. I take submission ideas on my website and I’ll make just about anything into a design.”

  “Give me an example.”

  “One says Sex Machine. Another one says Orgasm Donor. But there are ones that aren’t sexual, too. One says Dog’s Best Friend and another one has a picture of a zebra that says I have a zebra on my shirt.”

  She laughs, and I can’t tell if it’s a genuine laugh or if she’s laughing for my benefit. But I feel like if I lose cool points with her, then she doesn’t deserve me. I love my shirts, and anyone who doesn’t can kiss my ass.

  “I love that,” she says. “I want to submit ideas!”

  “Daxshirts.com. Submit away.”

  We talk more about my shirts, she tells me a little about her life in Santa Monica, and then our time is up. I have to get changed for our group date, but I find myself wishing I had more time with her.

  I have no idea how I’m going to split my time between six ladies who another guy is also vying for, so this is going to be one interesting evening.

  I head up to wardrobe, where I run into Danny. I’m curious how his conversations went with the four ladies I just spoke to, but I’m not about to ask. I don’t need the type of insecurities that could lead to.

  After Karina hands us our suits for our date, we go our separate ways to change, but we meet up again in the hair and make-up room. “Are we allowed to talk about the girls?” Danny asks me.

  I shrug.

  “Go for it. Just save the good stuff for the interviews you’ll have to do later,” Shayna says. I hadn’t even noticed she was in the room.

  The cameras are always watching.

  Danny glances at me. “So how did your four conversations go?”

  “Fine. You?”

  “Good. Who did you like best out of those four?”

  I don’t want to get too detailed, but the truth of the matter is that one of us will be deciding who’s going home each episode. I want to make sure he keeps the ones I like in case he has the power today. “I liked Talia and Eden. You?”

  “I liked all four, but Eden definitely stands out. So does Kristy.”

  “Amanda?” I ask as Becky dabs some powder on my face.

  Danny shrugs.

  “Me, too,” I say.

  “She said she still lives with her ex.” Danny wrinkles his nose.

  “She told me the same thing.” We’re gossiping like a couple of teenagers as we get our make-up done, and I almost start laughing at the thought.

  He glances at me as his stylist works on his hair. “Anyone from the other six stand out to you?”

  I shrug. “They’ve all got something good going for them.”

  “Yeah,” he says. “But Chantelle? Not really my type.”

  “Is she the high maintenance one?”

  He nods, and his stylist grabs his head to still him.

  I chuckle, but it’s the end of our conversation as we both think about who should go home tonight.

  Shayna leads us down to the family room where Mel stands alone. She starts talking into the camera. “Now it’s time to see who will send one of the ladies home tonight.” She reaches into a jar and pulls out a sheet of paper. Before she looks at it, she says, “The man on this paper will also get to choose one woman to spend some extra one-on-one time with at the end of the date.” She glances down at the paper. “Congratulations, Dax. You have the power tonight. Be on the lookout
during your date to see who you want to send packing. Your women are waiting for you out front.”

  We walk out the front door to find a huge party bus. The women are sitting inside and a bartender stands at the back, ready to make whatever we request. I go with beer, as does Danny, and when I turn around, I bump right into Poppy. It’s as if she stands a bit too close to me on purpose, but luckily neither of us spill our drinks.

  “Sorry,” I say with a smile.

  “My fault,” she says, her voice raspy and sensual.

  She’s definitely giving off the vibe, and I’m giving it right back.

  “You better take your seat before the bus leaves,” she says, leaning in close. I can’t help glancing down the front of her dress at her gorgeous cleavage. “You know, safety and all. There’s an open spot next to me.”

  “Sounds perfect.”

  I take my beer and rest my other hand on the small of Poppy’s back. I see jealous eyes follow us to our seats, but with six women all vying for the attention of two men, there’s bound to be plenty of jealousy.

  “Did you have fun getting ready with the other ladies?” I ask.

  She shrugs and lowers her voice. “I was done an hour and a half ago. I’ve just been anxiously waiting for you.”

  I wonder if she keeps lowering her voice because she doesn’t want Danny to hear. I glance across the aisle from me where Amber is cozying right up to him. These two women, at least, aren’t shy in going for what they want.

  We talk quietly to each other as the bus moves along, and after about twenty minutes we pull up to a bowling alley.

  Producer Paul appears at the front of the bus. “Tonight’s date is bowling. You’ll be escorted to your lane where your shoes await. We’ve got a special section for confessionals, so we’ll pull you throughout the night. Any questions?”

  “Yeah, I have one,” Chantelle says. “Why’d we have to get all dressed up to go bowling?”

  Paul stares at her for a moment, and then he just turns away in annoyance without answering. I hold in my laugh as Danny and I step off the bus first and wait for the ladies so we can head inside the bowling alley for our first group date, and that’s when it happens.

  Chantelle is the second to last woman who steps off the bus, and when she does, the bottom of her dress gets caught under her heel. She stumbles and catches herself, but not before she rips a nice, gaping hole in the fabric.

  Silence falls over the group as we all await her reaction. Let’s be honest—she didn’t have the best attitude going into this date, and we all know this isn’t going to be pretty.

  “Fuck!” she screams. It’s blood-curdling, like something actually tragic just happened. It does suck, but it’s not the end of the world, and I know right away without a shadow of a doubt that this isn’t the woman for me. I need someone who can let little things like this roll off her shoulders—someone who could even laugh about it.

  That’s not Chantelle.

  14

  One of the producers pulls Chantelle aside while the rest of us continue on our date. The bowling alley is empty since the producers rented out the entire place so we could film. I’m assigned to lane number fourteen, and Danny is down in lane number three. We’re far enough away from each other that we won’t overhear conversations, and a few different confessionals are set up around the place near the shoe rental, the bar, and the arcade.

  Jarrod intercepts me before I get to my lane. “Quick confessional,” he says. I glance down the lanes and see that Danny is already being interviewed.

  The camera is shoved in my face, and Jarrod asks, “Since you have the power tonight, anybody you think is definitely safe?”

  I’m about to reply with a snarky comment about how the girls back at the house are definitely safe, but the expression on Jarrod’s face tells me not to. “Uh...” I start, thinking of the girls on this date. “Poppy stands out as someone I’d keep around past tonight. She approached me on the bus and we had a nice talk.”

  “Any frontrunners to go home tonight?” he asks.

  I lift a shoulder. “I’m pretty low maintenance and I’m not sure how well I’d connect with someone like Chantelle, but I haven’t gotten to know her beyond one or two quick conversations.”

  He glances at the cameraman and shakes his head. “Answer again but reflect my question.”

  I sigh. “I’m a low maintenance guy, so if I have to name a frontrunner to go home right now, I’d say possibly Chantelle. I don’t know her very well, but I haven’t seen much of a connection yet.”

  He nods. “Any expectations for tonight’s date?”

  “My only expectations for tonight are to get to know the women better, to start developing some connections.” I duck my head as I pretend to be shy—something I’m definitely not. “And maybe to kiss someone.”

  “Thanks,” Jarrod says.

  “How’s this going to work?” I ask.

  “Three ladies will come over and fight for your attention. That’s basically it. Give it to them, get to know the girls, drink some more, and by all means, remember sex sells.”

  He turns on his heel and takes off with the cameraman. I blow out a breath and chug down half my second beer as I collapse onto the leather seat of the booth, and then three ladies approach my lane: Poppy, Chantelle (in a new dress), and Nicole.

  “Where are you ladies all from?” I ask, trying to figure out how to navigate a three-on-one even though I already know the answer to the question I asked.

  “Dallas,” Chantelle says first, like she doesn’t care that the others have answers, too. “The Big D. It’s also what I want to name my first daughter. Everything’s better in Texas, you know what I mean? Born and raised there with my two older brothers who you’ll meet if I make it to the hometown episode.” She flashes me a wide smile, and I try to smile back but that was a lot of information and I’m just left feeling confused.

  I glance over at Nicole next.

  “Blue Springs, Nebraska,” she says, and then she looks over at Poppy like she’s giving her a turn to answer as well.

  “Los Angeles,” she says with a smile. “About fifteen minutes from this very bowling alley. Looks like I’m the closest to you. You’re San Diego, right?”

  I nod, and Chantelle glares at Poppy.

  “Excuse me? You’re the closest to him?” Chantelle says.

  “Geographically,” Poppy clarifies.

  “You think that gives you some advantage or something?” Chantelle challenges. “Because it doesn’t.”

  Being a bitch certainly doesn’t give you any advantages, either. I force the thought to stay in my mind rather than coming out my mouth.

  Poppy just shrugs good-naturedly and smiles at her, but Chantelle won’t back down.

  “Why would you even say that?” Chantelle asks. “You think he’s going to choose you so neither of you will have to relocate in the end? You think I’m out because I’m in Dallas?”

  “Whoa, Chantelle,” I finally say, trying to smooth over her confrontation. “You’re not out because you’re from Dallas.” You’re out because I can’t handle your brand of crazy.

  I wonder if I can kick her off now or if I have to wait until the end of the episode. I wish Kylie was here. No, scratch that. I don’t wish that at all. I wish Melanie was here so I could ask whether I can give Chantelle the boot now. I’m more comfortable with her than with Jarrod...plus she has those legs.

  I shake my head. I have two lovely women plus Chantelle in front of me, and I’m thinking about Melanie’s legs?

  I blow out a breath and force myself to make small talk—mostly about things I already know from the profile pages I memorized. We even bowl a few frames for fun—but mostly for the cameras.

  After my third beer, it’s time for the restroom. I leave the three ladies to bowl while I find my way to relief, and when I turn down the small hallway leading to the restrooms, I click off my mic pack so it doesn’t pick up any sounds while I do my business.

  An
d when I look up, my eyes meet those of Melanie Werther, who’s just stepping out of the ladies’ room.

  “Well if it isn’t Dax Hunter,” she says softly. Seductively, even, if I’m not mistaken.

  Her eyes gleam at me with something akin to lust, and I glance around.

  There aren’t any cameras back here.

  “Hey, Mel,” I say, sure the beer is fucking with my good judgment.

  She lets the door to the ladies’ room close behind her, and she takes a step toward me. I assume she wants to pass me in the small hallway, so I step out of the way, my back to the wall behind me.

  Instead of passing me, she steps closer, the full length of her body pressed up against me, and her eyes blaze into mine.

  “After tonight’s date, come over to my place,” she purrs. Her voice is soft, probably so the mic pack I’m wearing doesn’t pick up her words.

  “Doesn’t that sort of defeat the purpose of why I’m here?” I ask. She smells like a goddamn fantasy this close to me and my cock presses roughly against my zipper, begging for escape and entrance into...her. “Wouldn’t that be against the rules?”

  She runs her nose along my jawline. “Isn’t that what makes it fun?”

  I’m about to tell her I need her address when a voice cuts into our private conversation. “Am I interrupting something?” Jarrod asks.

  Melanie steps smoothly away. “I was just trying to get this guy to confess who he’s sending home, but his lips are sealed.”

  Jarrod looks between the two of us. “Might I remind the both of you that you each signed different contracts. Dax, you’re not allowed to date outside of the women on this show for the next five weeks.”

  I don’t mention to him that technically Mel is a woman on this show and technically we weren’t discussing a date.

  Jarrod pins his glare on Mel. “And you, Melanie, signed an agreement to keep your hands off the men.”

  “Oh, don’t worry, I wasn’t going to use my hands.” She winks at both of us and slinks out of the hallway, and I blink a few times before I turn away from Jarrod and head into the men’s room.

  15

  When I return from the men’s room, Chantelle is yelling at Poppy and I look over to Jarrod helplessly. He strides across the room to me.