Dirty Boys: Bad Boy Rock Star Romance Box Set

by Jade C. Jamison

  I reminded myself not to get too excited. They were doing more filming for the video, so whatever crowd we had was no doubt instructed to get as close to the stage as possible. It would look better on camera that way.

  I wondered if CJ made it or not. I almost texted him just to ask and decided against it. I was still miffed at his rejection of me. Well, it wasn’t outright rejection. It was delayed gratification…and I wasn’t in the mood. So I was on to Plan B. Make him eat his heart out.

  When we went onstage, all thoughts of CJ were gone. The fucking house was packed, something I hadn’t expected. It might have been because it was a free show or maybe it was because the folks in charge had hyped it up really well, but it didn’t matter. We had people there—a shit ton of people—and they were stoked to see us. Man, the second I stepped onstage, I could feel it. The room was full of energy, and it was palpable. I had no idea what that would do for my playing. Yeah, I’d played the talent show last spring, but it was nothing like this—and I knew this was a small space compared to what we’d be playing in the near future.

  But I was hyped as I stepped up close to the mike that I’d be using singing backup with the other girls. The crowd was chanting, cheering, clapping, and when Barbie came onstage last (not fashionably late this time), they went nuts.

  They did the same thing for my first solo…and my second…and my third. The night flew. I could barely remember any of it as I looked back, but it was exciting. After the show, we even signed a few autographs, and that was when I knew some of the audience members had to know we were getting ready to release an album and go on tour. What I liked the most was I didn’t hear a single person tell me I was good “for a girl.” I probably would have slammed a fist in someone’s face if they’d said it.

  This was our taste. And it was amazing.

  Our parents even came to watch. I was glad, since mom and dad had missed me at the talent show. I saw no sign of CJ, though, and I was a little disappointed. Peter was reviewing footage and offered to let us watch one song on the big screens so we could see what we looked like. All I can say is it was awe-inspiring. To see myself up there playing like I did—hell, to see any of my girls rocking out—it was amazing. We were all on that night, and we kicked ass. I couldn’t wait to see what playing for a huge audience was like. What made me feel even better is we’d rehearsed so much before recording the album that we hardly made any mistakes. The ones we did make weren’t caught by the audience.

  No way would I sleep tonight.

  When everyone was out of the venue except for Peter, the Vagabonds, and our parents, we sat down at two of the big round tables in the hallway and talked shop. Peter let our parents know about our daily stipends for meals and fun; about when and how he planned to make sure we focused on homework and study; how we would be chaperoned and no girl would have her own room—we would be in pairs or threes every night. We would have our phones whenever we weren’t onstage, and he would encourage us to call our parents at least once a week. He fielded a lot of questions and, by the end, our parents were excited to see us making the step. They were proud of us—they saw tonight that we weren’t just five girls playing around. We were real musicians. And we were really on the verge of making it big.

  * * *

  We were two weeks away from tour and it was killing me. At least in a week we’d begin rehearsals again. I had a lot of pent-up energy due to the excitement, and I had no way to expend it.

  One morning, I lay on my bed, plucking at my guitar, thinking of a new tune I wanted to start working out, and I stopped. I started thinking about Decker, wondering why he’d just dumped me so unceremoniously. Well, I knew why—a new girl—but I wondered why he’d been looking in the first place. It got me to thinking about my dad and I figured that was just something guys did. Eventually, they grew tired of the women they were with and searched for greener pastures.

  It was a good reminder for me that I’d cared about Decker a hell of a lot more than I’d thought. That sucked, because it made him hard to get over. CJ would have been the perfect solution. Being with him would have made it so easy to forget about Decker. I had no distractions right now, nothing to keep my mind occupied.

  I picked up my phone, my thoughts focusing on CJ, and I found his number. I typed in a text. How’s the tour going? I expected to get an answer later in the day—if at all.

  But he texted me back almost immediately. Great! You can’t believe what it’s like. More than I ever thought.

  I can’t wait!

  A couple of minutes passed before he texted me back. So you’re not still mad at me?

  That made me smile. I got over it.

  Several minutes passed. Oh, that wasn’t good. But a little while longer, once I’d given up, he texted me again. Good. I couldn’t have it on my conscience.

  I couldn’t resist. Oh, you have a conscience?

  Another few minutes passed and then I got another text. Our next single will start playing on the radio the week after next. I can’t wait to see what you think.

  I’m sure I’ll love it. After another second, I typed, Hey, where are you guys right now?

  Hell if I know. Close to Boston in some suburb but I couldn’t tell you what it’s called.

  I think we’re going to play in Boston too.

  Sorry. Gotta go. Early dinner before the show. I’ll send a pic later.

  Cool! Good luck!

  I set my phone down on the nightstand, expecting that to be the end of it, but then I got another text. Don’t you know it’s bad luck to say good luck? You’re supposed to say break a leg.

  If I wanted to break something on you, CJ, it wouldn’t be your leg.

  More silence. Then Guess I should be glad I’m halfway across the country, right? And he followed it up with a winky emoticon. Aw. Too cute.

  It made me feel better that we could at least be friends. It didn’t mean I wouldn’t lust after him anymore, but I wouldn’t hang my heart on him. I couldn’t afford to be hung up on a guy.

  Yeah. Probably. Followed up with a devil emoji.

  That week was hell. It seemed to drag on and on, but once we started rehearsing, it felt real. There was a buzzing in my body that couldn’t be stopped as I geared up to go. I started buying a few things for the months ahead—shampoo and conditioner, razors, extra mascara, shit like that, and then I began packing.

  We were leaving on a Sunday afternoon and that was good, because dad’s fall classes had started, and even though he had work to do to prepare for class and look over papers already turned in from the first week, he at least didn’t have to miss class to drive me to Colorado Springs.

  Friday was our last rehearsal. We decided to meet late morning and end mid-afternoon, just to take it a little easy. Our first show was Monday night, and we figured if we did a little warm up that afternoon that we’d be ready to go come show time. I stopped by the coffee shop on the way out of town to get a mocha frappe. After I paid and turned to leave, I almost ran into Decker. He was standing with three other boys from the football team, and they were dressed in shorts and red and black sleeveless t-shirts with lettering that said WHS Bulldogs. Well, I was no longer a bulldog, not now that I was leaving town and would be doing school through correspondence course or online or however Peter had arranged it. Whatever the case, my life was getting ready to change dramatically and, somehow, saying goodbye to Decker seemed fitting.

  In my head, I was sending thanks to the stars above that I’d dressed the role—that is, the role of the girl who got away. I was wearing jean cutoff shorts with sandals and a fitted Slipknot ladies tee that showed off a little of my belly just above the waistband of my shorts. I saw his eyes go straight to my nose, though, where he could see the ring it was now sporting. Kinda hard to miss, I guess. I had to remind myself to be cool. A half-smile turned my lips up as I said, “Hey, Decker, how’s it going?”

  I don’t think he’d expected me to be civil, because he was dumbfounded for a few seconds. “Hey, Kyl
e.” Wow. There was no love there, and I suspected it was because he was trying to act cool for his jock buddies. And it was then and there that, for the first time since I’d begun dating Decker, I saw him for…maybe not what he was, but what I needed him to be so I could move on, leave this town behind, and take on the world.

  He was a boy, a stupid boy, a dipshit jock who thought little of anything other than sports, winning, and girls. I couldn’t fault him for being competitive because, as I got older, I realized I had a bit of a competitive streak in me myself. Nor could I fault his interest in the opposite sex, because I myself thought about males—and sex—frequently, and the only thing that trumped those thoughts was music. Even the sports angle wouldn’t have worked against him if it hadn’t made him a part of that dumb ass jock mentality that I was seeing at that moment—the idea that he had to be cool, had to be aloof, had to act macho and almost misogynistic…something Decker clearly was not when he was alone. It was an act he was putting on, one that I hadn’t caught before, probably because we didn’t hang out much with his friends when we were together. Now that football season was imminent, though, he lived, dreamed, and breathed the almighty football.

  Oh, yeah. School started Monday and the first football game next Friday night—and I was going to miss it all. I was going to be rocking somewhere in another part of the country while these guys stayed here and kept living their small-town lives. I had bigger and better things waiting for me, and the way these boys viewed me wouldn’t stop it.

  I could have been a fucking bitch. I could have been cold and distant. But something inside urged me to take the higher road, because my revenge would be getting up on that stage where I would be worshipped by thousands of eager fans. When I was up there, none of this shit would matter…and I knew I sure as hell wouldn’t think about any of it. No, when I was onstage, that was my whole world. That was it. There was nothing else.

  “Good luck at the game Friday, guys.” That was it. I smiled, stuck my straw in my mouth, and proceeded to walk toward the door.

  As I pushed the door open to walk out, I heard one of the buffoons with Decker say, “Holy shit, man. You tapped that? She’s got a tight—”

  The door closed behind me, leaving the cool air-conditioned room behind, and enveloping me in a heat that would normally have felt stifling, but with the cold drink in my hand and now my mouth, it felt good. I knew too that the cool was just as much due to the iciness of my former boyfriend, but, as I pulled my sunglasses down off my head to cover my eyes and began walking to my car, I grinned. At least Decker’s friends appreciated me. Goodbye, Decker. Eat your fucking heart out.

  Chapter Thirty

  For my last night at home, mom made one of my favorite meals—spaghetti and meatballs with a big tossed salad smothered in her homemade Italian dressing and buttery garlic bread. And she outdid herself. Then, for dessert, her absolutely incredible carrot cake, another one of my favorites. She was going to make me miss her and dad more than I’d thought I would.

  Over dinner, we talked about what to expect over the next two months. Dad did a lot of lecturing, telling me to “be smart” and think things through. Mom urged me to make sure I ate sensibly—not too much soda or sugary drinks, have some fruit and veggies as often as I could, get fresh air and sunshine every day. Her eyes were getting watery when she said, “Honey, be sure to call if you need advice with…laundry, or…or…” She lost it then, and I got up from my chair and hugged her.

  “I’ll miss you guys too.” It was true—I would, especially after the wonderful time we had bonding that night over the meal mom had slaved over. That didn’t mean, though, that I wasn’t looking forward to coming into my own as a real live rock star, earning my own money and doing what I loved. It also didn’t mean that I wouldn’t enjoy not being parented. Of course, I didn’t know exactly what to expect. Peter had, thus far, been a majorly controlling dick. I was assuming an awful lot, thinking I’d have more free rein. It would probably be no different from home, only Peter didn’t love me unconditionally, and I highly doubted he cared about my welfare. And my friends on the road—yeah, we were getting along great, but I also knew that some of them—Barbie, most of all—could rub me the wrong way when we spent a lot of time together. Only the future would tell how day after day spent together would affect our relationships and ability to put up with each other.

  Maybe that was where the fresh air and sunshine suggestion from mom would really come into play.

  We played a long game of Monopoly together before finally going to bed. It was close to ten and mom and dad urged me to get some rest because we were leaving the house the next day before noon. They wanted me to double check what I’d packed before we left, because they’d given me a little cash but not lots, because Peter had promised a vague “daily stipend.” I’d had to decide to leave a lot of things behind because I had no room. So no CDs, even though I loved them. I had to cram all my music on my iPod and phone and hope it would tide me over until I got back home. No laptop. About a week’s worth of clothes. Toiletries. A notebook for writing. Not much else, so I’d have to buy things on the road if it came to that. Mom and dad reminded me that I also had my phone if I needed them for anything, and we tentatively decided we’d talk on Sundays, unless my schedule didn’t work out okay. We didn’t have a clue what my schedule would be like, even though we had an itinerary. Because I’d never been on tour, I had no idea what to expect.

  So…to bed early to keep mom and dad happy.

  I lay in my own bed for what would be the last time for at least a few months, but who was I kidding? I couldn’t sleep. I was too excited. I wondered what our tour bus was going to look like. I went through the list in my head of music stuff, wondering if I had it all ready to go. I had my two guitars, both in hard cases, and all my effects and distortion pedals, plenty of cable, tuner—and then my thoughts were interrupted when my phone buzzed on the nightstand.

  It was a text from CJ, only this time…it was a picture?

  No, it was a small video he’d texted to me. I sat up, eager to hear what he had to say to me. I pressed the play button and waited for my phone to download the video.

  It wasn’t very long, but CJ was smiling from ear to ear. He had a beer in one hand and his phone in another. There was a huge crowd around and it was noisy, so I had to play it again so I could understand him—and also pray the sound didn’t wake mom and dad up. I got under the covers to muffle as much noise as possible and then turned up the volume a little more so I could hear him.

  “Hey, babe.” Babe? Did CJ mean to send this to someone else? My grin faded as the video played on. “So you leave tomorrow. Break a leg on your first show and I promise to do more than kiss you next summer.” He winked and formed a peace sign as much as the beer bottle would let him before another guy—one of his band members—yelled, “Shut off your damn phone and get the hell over—”

  I pulled down the covers and let my head thud against the pillow. Well, shit. Between my excitement about tomorrow and CJ’s promise of more than a kiss next summer, my brain was fueled for hours to come. There was no way I was going to sleep tonight. No way in hell.

  * * *

  Our tour bus was a fucking light blue minivan that was at least two years old. At least we five girls could ride in the back comfortably with our purses and snacks and drinks but not much else. We wanted to do two in the middle and two in the back and we’d all fight over shotgun until one was settled on, but Peter said he was sitting there. “So who the fuck is driving?” Barbie asked, but Peter refused to answer her.

  Kelly’s parents didn’t much care for Barbie’s language, that much was apparent by the looks on their faces, but they said nothing. Peter told us we could put our “carry on” stuff in the back of the van, but large luggage (mainly Barbie’s three suitcases) and instruments would go in the moving van that was on its way.

  Yeah. We had two roadies and they were driving a white van that looked like it had, at one time, transporte
d things like bread or potato chips or toothpaste. I was going to ask why we didn’t have a logo on it, like the one that was going to be on the front of the album, but I kept my mouth shut. Tensions were high—I could feel them—and I didn’t want to contribute to the negative vibes. This was going to be a good day. It had to be. We had our first show tomorrow night and our first single “Dream World”—both the song and the lyric video—would go live on Tuesday. I didn’t want Sunday to fuck all that up.

  We were going to be on the road. Nothing could mess that up.

  But Peter’s shitty planning and Barbie’s nasty attitude sure tried.

  We handed our stuff to the roadies and they packed everything, luggage and instruments, one piece at a time. The van already had amps and some other things I couldn’t identify, and I wondered if all our other stuff would fit inside. The roadies seemed nice enough but they were also weird. One of them, a guy with long, brown, straggly hair, told us to call him TT. The other guy, not to be outdone, called himself Bad Dog. Heaven forbid they give us their real names. The other guy had short black spiked hair and a soul patch. He, at least, looked like he cared about his appearance. He was trim and TT had a little bit of a spare tire, but I had no doubt that both smoked their fair share of pot on a daily basis and kicked back to listen to some Pink Floyd or Led Zeppelin while eating Nacho Cheese Doritos.

  Barbie was yelling at them about the way they treated her luggage, and I just kept my mouth shut. They were treating our instruments with kid gloves and that was all I cared about. I was pretty sure her hair stuff and clothes could take a beating.

  They headed out before we did, and once all our things were completely packed, we told our parents goodbye and got into the van. Vicki’s mom was crying and I saw that Kelly had tears in her eyes, but everyone else was holding it together. Soon after, Peter got in on the driver’s side and off we went.