Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3)

by Crystal Kaswell

  I shake my head. "There's no way I'll pass next semester. Not with how hard I worked to get Cs."

  "Do you even like law school?"

  "I don't know. We can't all be rock stars."

  He shrinks back for a second. Then he blinks and his expression is back to confident. "You'd hate being a rock star."

  "Says who?"

  "Me."

  I say nothing.

  "Deep down, do you want to be a lawyer."

  "I don't know."

  "I think you do."

  "I think it's none of your business. If this is a fling, then why do you fucking care what I want to do?" I push myself out of Joel's lap and off the couch. "You can't do this, Joel. You can't pry me open if you're going to leave."

  He looks up at me. "I want to help you."

  "I've never talked about this stuff with anyone. I can't… if we're divorcing in five days… don't convince me I can trust you and rely on you if you're going to leave."

  He nods. "Okay."

  "Okay?"

  "Yeah." His voice gets soft. "I like you, Bella. I want to help you."

  "You're bossy."

  "I know."

  "I…" I'm fucking lost here. I like him too. And the way he's looking at me… it's like he's promising he's going to stick around.

  Like he's screaming I don't want a divorce.

  But he isn't saying that.

  He isn't saying anything.

  My deep breath does nothing to calm me.

  His expression does nothing to illuminate his feelings.

  My stomach churns. It's not just Bella, you're a failure. It's also what the hell does Joel want?

  I need a break from this.

  I take the remote. "I'm going to watch more Harry Potter."

  He nods and pulls me back into his lap.

  It still feels like I'm exactly where I belong.

  17

  Bella

  My thoughts refuse to settle.

  Joel wants me.

  He likes me.

  He cares about my future.

  But we're divorcing in less than a week.

  That doesn't make any fucking sense.

  I try to push my thoughts aside through Harry Potter, but they stick. Even as we dress and take his flashy sports car to the venue in Hollywood.

  We're right by the walk of fame. The sidewalk with star's handprints is familiar. The white Hollywood sign is bright against the dark hills.

  But here, on the street, our surroundings aren't glitz and glamour. It's dirty, and gritty, almost like a real city.

  We park at an underground garage and walk three blocks to the venue.

  It's a brisk night. I feel incredibly uncool in my flats, jeans, collared shirt, v-neck sweater combination, but I'm grateful for the layers.

  Joel slides his arm around my waist. He holds me close as he leads me to the venue.

  It's confusing how good his touch feels. The sexual part I understand.

  But there's more to it.

  This feels like the touch of a husband.

  Or at least a guy I could see as my husband, one day.

  I push the thought aside as we walk into the dark venue. It's all black with a rock and roll vibe.

  The bouncer nods hello. "Hey, Joel." His eyes linger on my chest. "Who's your friend?"

  Joel pulls me closer. "My wife."

  The guy continues staring at my boobs.

  Joel glares.

  The bouncer offers an apologetic shrug. He motions to the door behind him. "Head in. Everyone is ready for you."

  We do. But Joel isn't walking with his usual bouncy steps. He's clearly irritated. Is he jealous?

  I study his expression. There's something protective about his stance, but there's this frustration in his eyes.

  It's not jealousy.

  It's more that he doesn't like people thinking he treats women like interchangeable sex toys.

  Maybe.

  I'm not sure.

  I should ask.

  That's the key to marriage, communication. But when I open my mouth, words refuse to fall.

  I don't want to talk about this.

  I don't want to talk right now.

  I want to run away from everything and everyone and find some magic clarity.

  That's not going to happen. I might as well enjoy another few days as a rock and roll wife.

  Sound check at a cool, nearly empty club is a good start.

  This place looks big enough to fit a few hundred. Right now, it's about a dozen.

  Roadies are setting up gear on stage. Bartenders and servers are mulling around by the bar. There are hanger-ons there too.

  A tall guy with dark hair nods and moves towards us. Oh, that's Ethan Strong. The guitarist. I remind myself of the gossip—he was mowing through lingerie models until he got back together with his ex-girlfriend. There aren't many pictures of them together, but the ones I saw stood out. She's a strawberry blond with a noticeable and incredibly hot goth style.

  She's not here. At least, not somewhere I can see her.

  Ethan extends his hand. "I'm Ethan Strong. You must be Bella."

  I shake his hand. "Bella Chase, yeah." Or did I take Joel's last name? I don't remember seeing any paperwork.

  Joel nods. "You kept your name."

  My cheeks flush. How did he know exactly what I was thinking?

  Ethan is mostly hiding his what the hell expression, but he isn't quite there. I don't think it's anything about me. I think it's more that he can't believe Joel is showing up with a wife.

  I clear my throat. "It's nice to meet another friend of Joel's."

  He nods. "Yeah, Mal had a lot to say about your jam session. Well, a lot for him. My brother isn't exactly talkative." He turns to me. "He said Joel tried to teach you to play the bass."

  "Only for a few minutes," I say.

  "You want to learn a guitar riff?" he offers.

  "No thank you," I say.

  Joel slides his arm around me. "My wife prefers the rhythm section."

  Ethan looks to me and cocks a brow. "Is that right?"

  "I prefer the audience section," I say.

  Ethan laughs. "Nothing wrong with that." He brushes a dark lock from his blue eyes. "Joel treating you well?"

  "He is my husband." It's not an answer, but I don't feel compelled to share my personal life with anyone. Even one of Joel's friends.

  His expression shifts to something playful. "If he gives you too much shit, call me. I'll talk to him."

  "Will you?" I ask.

  "I can't promise he'll listen. But you must know how hard his head is by now," Ethan says.

  "Not just my head, Strong." Joel winks.

  I shake my head. "That was bad. You're off your game."

  "Angel, you're brutal." Joel slides his arms around my waist and pulls me into a slow, deep kiss.

  Thoughts flee my head at an alarming rate. I don't care why we're here.

  I don't care what he expects of me.

  I don't care that this is ending soon.

  I need his body against mine.

  I need him.

  Now.

  He pulls back with a smile.

  My expression is needy. Desperate even.

  Ethan motions to Joel then to the stage. "Kit's not going to be here until showtime. You're up."

  "Duty calls." Joel takes my hand and leads me to the stage.

  We go up the stairs on its right. It's smaller than I expected. Actually, the entire venue is smaller than I expected. Everything Anne has told me about Dangerous Noise shows suggests they usually play to a much bigger crowd.

  "This venue is smaller than normal?" I ask.

  Joel nods. He takes his seat at the drum kit in the middle of the stage. His eyes meet mine. "Mal orchestrated the whole thing so Kit and Ethan could meet you."

  "Is that why I feel like an exhibit at the zoo?"

  "That's probably everyone checking your tits."

  I motion to my baggy sweater.
"In this outfit?"

  Joel's smile spreads over his cheeks. "Even in that outfit, I can tell they're fucking nice. Then there's your ass in those tight jeans."

  My cheeks flush.

  "Of course you're welcome to lose the sweater." He picks up a pair of sticks. "And the button up blouse."

  "You're okay with your friends seeing me in my bra?"

  His voice drops to something low and seductive. "I don't mind being watched."

  Oh.

  My head fills with all sorts of beautiful mental images.

  My chest heaves.

  My sex clenches.

  I'm a filthy pervert.

  Who knew?

  Joel's smile is something truly, beautifully evil. He winks at me.

  His expression shifts as he turns his attention to his drum kit. He's focused.

  Intense.

  At peace.

  Serenity spreads over his face as he pounds at his drum kit. This is exactly where Joel belongs. He knows it. Everyone in the venue knows it.

  His movements are precise and loose at the same time. God, his arms are moving so fast I can't keep up.

  It's incredibly sexy.

  But it's more than that.

  There's something about seeing him excelling at the thing he's meant to do. It makes me jealous and proud at the same time.

  I'm ready to watch him all night when someone bumps into me. An older woman, in her 40s or 50s. She's short with a muscular frame and a sharp black suit.

  "Sorry, sweetheart. I thought you were one of Mal's friends. I can't keep up with these boys." She offers her hand. "Alessandra Rodriguez. I handle all this shit." She motions to the venue. "Booking, touring, dealing with Mal's constant requests."

  "Bella Chase. Nice to meet you." I shake her hand.

  She looks to me then to Joel then back to me. "You married the drummer, huh?"

  "I did."

  "And it's sticking?"

  "Oh. Well. I, um…"

  "I wish it was none of my business sweetheart, but these fucking artists and they're fucking feelings. They make every little thing my business. I need to know if the boy is going to be canceling shows because he's devastated. Musicians are always listening to their hearts instead of their bottom lines, running of to Maui or skipping recording sessions because they have to look for inspiration in some model's cunt." She just stops herself from rolling her eyes. "I'm sure you're used to it."

  I nod like I am.

  "You have a minute, sweetheart? I could use some help putting out a fire."

  I like to help. And I need a distraction from the feeling whirling around my stomach.

  I'm jealous of my husband.

  I want what he has, this place where I belong.

  This passion for what I do.

  My voice is weak, but I do manage a nod. "Okay."

  Alessandra leads me to a spot backstage. It's not much of a backstage. It's more of a hallway behind a curtain.

  She motions to a room at the end of the hall. "Dressing room's down there if you need to do some pre-show ritual later. You don't have to pretend or be shy with me. I've seen it all before."

  My gaze goes back to Joel. He's still in a trance. He has no idea I'm back here.

  This is a nice angle. I can see all the action, but I'm well out of the fray. Joel's friends can't look at me like I have two heads.

  I can't get caught up in the jealousy monster threatening to swallow me whole.

  Alessandra motions to a printed paper with a list of names, phone numbers, and email addresses. There are some huge names on here. Some of the biggest names in rock.

  She taps the first four names. They're highlighted in pink. "These fucking assholes tell me they'll take any gig they can get, then they give me shit about showing up by nine. If they aren't here at nine, they don't go on. End of story." Her voice is tough but all-business. She's not irritated or emotional. She's making a decision.

  I'm jealous of her too. I want to feel badass and in control. Only the thought of calling strangers and demanding they bend to my will has my palms sweaty.

  I promised Joel I'd try new things, even things that terrified me.

  This certainly qualifies.

  "You want to use my phone, sweetheart?" She offers me her cell.

  I take it. "Okay. I can do that."

  "You're calling on behalf of Alessandra Rodriguez. Don't give them a name. Just tell them not to fuck off."

  Okay, maybe she's a little irritated. But I'm glad to help someone who helps Joel.

  I do really like helping people.

  It makes me feel good.

  Useful.

  Productive.

  I dial the first number and bring the phone to my ear.

  A deep voice answers. "Yeah?"

  "Is this Kell?"

  "Don't you know who I am?"

  I don't know who anyone is. I look to Alessandra. She's already onto her next fire, chewing out one of the guys who works at the venue.

  A deep breath helps calm my racing heart. I channel my sister, the hard-ass lawyer. "I know you need to be at Club Lurid at nine o'clock or you won't be going on."

  "Who the hell are you?"

  "I'm calling on behalf of Alessandra Rodriguez."

  "She finally got an assistant?"

  "I have other calls to make." My palms are so clammy I nearly drop the phone. I wipe my left palm on my jeans then shift the phone to my left hand. "Will you be here at nine or not?"

  "Yeah, I'll get to it."

  "Thanks. Goodbye." I hang up the phone before I can say anything embarrassing.

  My heart is thudding against my chest. I just told off a rock star.

  And he listened.

  He believed my threat.

  The tension in my chest melts into something lighter. I'm nervous, yeah, but I'm also exhilarated.

  I feel like a badass.

  Alessandra nods approval. "That was good. What was it— Isabella?"

  "I go by Bella."

  "Of course." She gives me a long once-over. Her expression fills with confidence. "You okay to make the rest of those calls?"

  "I think so."

  She nods. "You are. I can tell."

  I'm not as sure about that. But I know I want to feel as badass and exhilarated as I did after the first one.

  I nod. "I've got it."

  18

  Bella

  I make the rest of the calls without any additional clammy palms. Then Alessandra has another task for me. I should probably object to doing her bidding, but I'm enjoying the break from my thoughts too much to care.

  I get caught up helping her until I feel an arm around my waist. Joel pulls my body into his. He drags his lips up my neck, then they're hovering over my ear.

  His breath warms my skin. "The venue is filling up. You should grab a spot by the front or head to the VIP area upstairs."

  I press my back against his chest, melting into his body. It feels good being this close to Joel. Too good. "Can't I watch from backstage?"

  "Eventually. But the first time you see me perform—no fucking way." He takes me to the curtain, to that spot where you can see the stage. "This is not a view of a concert. You don't see the show. You don't feel the energy."

  "Where is the view?" I don't see his point, not yet, but I can admit that this isn't my area of expertise. I haven't been to a concert since high school.

  "By the front of the stage, with everyone pushing to try to get closer to the hot singer." He presses his lips to my neck. "Mal has fucking crazy fans."

  "And you don't?"

  "Watch the show. You'll get it."

  "Okay." It's not hard to imagine the singer drawing a crowd. But then it's not hard to imagine women screaming Joel's name and throwing their panties on stage.

  My stomach churns.

  This is a fling until one of us says otherwise.

  After our divorce, we go our separate ways.

  That's what I should want.

  I shouldn�
�t want Joel around all the time.

  I shouldn't care that thousands of women want to get in his pants.

  His voice pulls me out of my thoughts. "You've been hogging my wife." He nods to Alessandra.

  She smiles. "I like her. I only wish I could find an assistant half as competent. She's smart, no sass, and she doesn't check out the talent."

  Joel looks me in the eyes. "Tell me that last part isn't true."

  "If you'd like to strip for my viewing pleasure, I'm more than happy to ogle you." My cheeks flush. Where did that come from?

  Joel laughs. He pulls his t-shirt up his stomach, showing off inches of taut abs.

  Mmm.

  Must.

  Screw.

  Husband.

  Now.

  Joel shoots Alessandra a knowing look.

  She nods back. "Nice to meet you, sweetheart. I'm sure I'll see you soon." She heads down the hall.

  Then it's just me and Joel.

  And my raging libido.

  I'm considering asking him to pin me to the wall and fuck me here, in front of anyone who could walk by.

  What the hell is wrong with me?

  He brushes a stray hair behind my ear. His grey-green eyes fix on mine. "You keep looking at me like that and I'm going to put you out of your misery."

  "My misery?"

  "You want to fuck me." He runs his fingertips down my neck. "You're desperate to fuck me."

  Yes, but I'm confused too. I can't fuck him again until I know what we're doing here. "I should get a spot for the show."

  He looks to the stage then back to me "If you insist."

  I could stay here.

  I could demand his lips, his hands, his cock…

  God dammit, I need to get ahold of myself.

  I take a step backwards. "I, um… break a leg." I turn before I can give in to how badly I want the comfort of his body.

  Back in high school, I went to a ton of concerts with Anne. I went to a few with my best friend.

  I even saw a few indie bands with Stan.

  But I've never been alone.

  And I've never been to a show like this.

  The opening act is playing. I recognize the singer's voice from one of my phone calls. He's good, and he's charismatic, and he's strutting around the stage like he owns the place.

  Women in the audience are screaming and singing along with the lyrics and jumping up and down.