by Megan Derr
Table of Contents
Title Page
Book Details
Dedication
Prelude: Give Me Drugs Instead
Track 01: Family Reunions Are Played to a Dirge
Track 02: Pleasure Doing Business
Track 03: Pandemonium
Track 04: All the Words We (Don't) Say
Track 05: Services No Longer Required
Track 06: Enough is Enough
Track 07: So Close I Can't Touch You
Track 08: 'Simple' is Another Word for 'Complicated as Hell'
Track 09: Tabloid Love Affair
Track 10: Thicker Than Blood
Track 11: Words are Glass (Love the Way They Shatter)
Track 12: Father and Sone
Track 13: Empty Closet (Skeletons on Display)
Track 14: Love You Like a Romance Novel
About the Author
Love You Like a Romance Novel
Megan Derr
Jet gave up everything to make it to the top of rock. On track to take over his family's business and wealth, he defied everyone to start at the bottom and work his way up to become drummer of one of the world's most popular bands, Forever and a Dai. His family might have forgiven him if he hadn't taken his cousin Dai with him.
Jason is everything Jet chose not to be: an obedient son, a powerful and respected lawyer, wealthy, established, and set to inherit the family kingdom. Dai's brother, and Jet's cousin, he is a constant reminder of everything Jet should be and is not.
But everybody has secrets, and those secrets are all about to come out.
Book Details
Love You Like a Romance Novel
By Megan Derr
Published by Less Than Three Press LLC
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission of the publisher, except for the purpose of reviews.
Edited by Samantha M. Derr
Cover by Megan Derr
This book is a work of fiction and as such all characters and situations are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is coincidental.
First Edition January 2013
Copyright © 2013 by Megan Derr
Printed in the United States of America
ISBN 9781620040324
To my business partners
Sasha gets the pretty rock boys
Samantha gets the men in suits
Prelude: Give Me Drugs Instead
Jason looked up as the door to his study opened, already knowing who he would see. In all the world, only one person walked into his house, into any room in his house, without knocking. Jason was the youngest partner in his firm, he had friends and associates who would make a politician weep with envy. He had a fortune he barely used and was set to inherit quadruple that someday when his parents died. He was powerful, influential, and no one to trifle with.
No one, not even his mother, bothered him uninvited.
Except for Jefferson Andrew Kristopherson, more commonly known as Jet, drummer for the popular rock band Forever and a Dai. The very same band in which Jason's brother, David, was lead vocals.
They were the bane of his existence. Jet, especially. Beautiful, dirty, tattooed, mouthy, utterly fuckable Jet.
He strode into Jason's study like a twink hoping to make a couple extra before he got thrown out. His jeans were skin-tight, the black t-shirt with the name Brite Knights emblazoned on it even tighter. Jason had seen any number of people try for that look, but Jet owned it. No shoes, clearly no underwear, hair just long enough to tousle nicely and give him a touch of pretty.
"Get out," Jason said, saving the document on which he'd been working and closing the program. He had known they were back in town, but he hadn't thought anyone would bother to contact him for a day or two. He certainly hadn't expected Jet to walk into his house at twenty to midnight looking like a Rentboy. God knew his own brother couldn't be bothered to give him the time of day unless there was a legal matter to be addressed.
Jet ignored the order and strolled up to Jason's enormous desk, planting his hands on it and bending over slightly. Jason caught a whiff of chocolate, coffee, and a tropical scent that might have been his soap or shampoo. It all just made him think of twinks again—and how sturdy his desk was.
Christ, clearly he needed to get out. He snatched up the lowball at his elbow and drained the last of the Kentucky bourbon in it, but it was not enough, unfortunately, to banish the image of Jet bent over his desk, that ass in the air, begging to be fucked.
"Hello, cousin," Jet said, making the two little words somehow sound unbearably filthy. Almost everything Jet said sounded filthy to him. Worse, he was certain Jet knew it.
Not that Jet could mock him for it overmuch. As their eyes met over his desk, one smirking, one glaring, he knew they were both thinking of the last time they had been alone in Jason's study. Angry. Drunk. Everything they had done that night was seared into Jason's memory.
"Jefferson," he greeted, just to see that sour, bitchy look flicker across Jet's face. There were few things Jet hated as much as his real name. "It is now fifteen minutes until midnight. Go. Away."
"That's no way to treat a fan, Jayla."
Jason froze, completely overcome by disbelief—by terror. It wasn't possible. The lengths to which he had gone—
But looking into Jet's mismatched eyes, one brown, one blue, he realized it was true. He tried to deny it anyway. "What are you talking about?"
In reply, Jet drew back and reached into the messenger bag slung over one shoulder. He set a hardcover book on Jason's desk, turning it so Jason could read the title.
Like he needed to read it. He knew that book better than anyone. He was still hating the damn thing, he'd gone through so many edits. Evergreen Moments by Jayla Crystal. He still wasn't certain about the title, but he was pleased with the tree and diamond bracelet chosen for the cover.
"I know you'll read anything, but romance novels?" he finally asked.
Jet shrugged. "I was bored enough to try one. We were stuck in that airport for fucking ever—"
"And you have obscene amounts of money to your name, so why a romance novel?"
"I was picking books up at random, and I finally hit the romance section. There was like most of a shelf of books by Jayla Crystal. I skimmed a couple of them, just screwing around, but something about them nagged me. I kept reading until I came to, oh, what was the title ... ah. Primrose and Murder. I got to the part where the protagonists get into a fight at the yacht club and accidentally set their table on fire."
Jason stood, snatched up his lowball, and fled to the minibar set amongst his bookcases. He filled it three quarters full and drank half. Of course it was the yacht club that had sunk him. Of course it was Jet, goddamn Jet, who did the sinking.
He had been careless using that incident. It had actually been Jet's parents, though they'd all been there to bear witness. "Get to the point, Jefferson. You didn't come here because you're a fan."
No, it would be a cold day in hell before anyone he knew learned of his stupid books and actually admired him for them. Just thinking about his coworkers, his family—anyone—learning about it made him cold.
"Autograph, to start, Ms. Jayla Crystal."
"Fuck you."
Jet smirked and Jason hated himself for the way that particular curve of lips turned him from cold to hot in a second flat. "Autograph first."
Narrowing his eyes, Jason stalked back to the desk. He set his glass down hard on the desk, then pulled the book close and picked up a pen. But then he froze, stupidly nervous and hopelessly depressed. He wanted to sign a book because somebody actually liked it, not beca
use his cousin was being a dick and about to blackmail him into something.
Scowling at the book, he opened it to the title page and signed: To Jefferson, my most ardent and adoring fan. ~Jayla. He slammed the book shut and threw it at Jet, annoyed that he caught it so smoothly.
Jet shoved the book back into his bag, then dropped the bag on the floor and circled around Jason's enormous desk. He wedged in between Jason and the desk and hopped up on it, spreading his legs and yanking Jason close to stand between them. "You are the only man I know who is still wearing a suit and tie at midnight on Friday."
He made short work of the tie, throwing it carelessly aside, and licked his lips in a way that really needed to be illegal. Jason often wondered if anyone else saw Jet the way he did, like some sort of over-sexualized Puck set loose upon mortals to sow his special brand of mischief.
God, he wished Jet would go far, far away and never return. He could handle things when Jet wasn't around. But the minute Jet walked into the room, it was all he could do to think straight. He hoped to god no one ever figured out Jet was his only weakness.
"Hello, cousin," Jet said again, murmuring the words against his lips. "Give me one good reason I shouldn't tell everyone you're a world-famous romance writer."
World famous was a bit rich, but Jason didn't quibble. Instead he just accepted the invitation those lips were giving. Jet tasted like coffee and chocolate, but that was hardly a surprise. Jet loved mochas, drank each like it was going to be his last.
He fit far too well in Jason's arms, knew exactly how to move, how to touch. Nimble fingers made quick work of the buttons of Jason's shirt before sliding across the smooth expanse of his chest. Jet's mouth slid away from his, across his skin, every touch burning. "You really need a tattoo."
"Over my dead body," Jason retorted. "You've got enough for two hundred people, anyway." He drew back enough to get Jet's too-tight t-shirt off, immediately mourning the loss of that hot mouth.
The chance to rake his eyes over Jet's body almost made up for it. On anyone else, the countless tattoos of cartoon characters covering every available inch of skin would have looked stupid. Jet somehow made even that look hot, even if Jason always felt a little bit dirty about mouthing Rainbow Brite when he pressed kisses to Jet's chest, or when he dragged his tongue along the smurfs marching across Jet's stomach.
He flicked the gold ring in Jet's right nipple and ordered, "Off my desk. Your ass is not improving that contract."
"My ass improves everything," Jet said, but slid off the desk—and shoved Jason into the bookcases behind it before damn near fucking climbing him, twining around him, and kissing him as if they'd both die if he didn't. It was wet, hungry, sloppy, and exactly what Jason wanted. He would never admit it aloud, though, not even to Jet. Especially not to Jet.
Jet moaned for him, the sound sweeter than honey, almost as sweet as finally getting his damn jeans open and sliding hands inside to grab that fine ass and grind their cocks together. He was ruining his slacks and didn't care. He had enough work for three people and it was all due Monday morning. He didn't care about that either.
They were only fucking again because Jet was blackmailing him, and Jason still did not care. He would later. He would do everything in his power to stop it.
Later. For the moment, he just gave in like the addict he was and enjoyed Jet.
Track 01: Family Reunions Are Played to a Dirge
"I'm going to murder you. Slowly. Give me one more reason and it's done."
Jet rolled his eyes. "According to the world and his mother, there are already more than enough reasons to murder me. Also, fuck you."
"Fuck you," Dai retorted, raking a hand through his hair in frustration and sending the gold-sparkle spikes in every direction. Jet thought about telling him he looked like Metro Ken, but then decided against it—for the moment, anyway. "What's with you, anyway? You've been bitchier than usual today."
"I have not," Jet said, even though he knew Dai was right. He would sooner give up music forever than tell Dai that he was fucking Dai's much-despised big brother. It was not Soap Opera Day and would not be for a long damn time.
He rubbed irritably at his aching head and tried to remember where he'd put his aspirin, half-suspecting he'd already polished off what was left of it. Jet dropped his hand and looked up—and inwardly winced at the pensive look on Dai's face. "Look," he said, before Dai could start to prod him about his goddamn feelings, "it can't be that fucking hard to rhyme 'bird'."
"Which is why we've been sitting here for three hours not rhyming bird," Dai said, giving him a look that said Jet was fooling nobody. "We'd probably do better if you'd stop moping."
"I'm not moping," Jet muttered. His fingers twitched as he fought an urge to seek out the bruises on his hips, suddenly feeling too hot as he remembered the way Jason's fingers had felt putting the bruises there while he fucked Jet so hard he'd forgotten how to speak and had left him breathless and sore and desperate for more.
The way he'd been gone when Jet woke up a couple of hours later, only the mussed sheets and the lingering scent of Jason's expensive I'm a goddamn lawyer cologne to prove anyone else had been there at all. "I've got it," Jet said sourly. "Turd. That rhymes with bird."
Dai rolled his eyes so hard that Jet was surprised they stayed in his head. "You are—" A deep laugh cut off whatever Jet was going to say, and their attention snapped around to the door. Dai shouted in surprise and shot from his seat, dashing across the room to throw himself into the arms of his lover, Cooper Stone. "Coop!"
Jet turned away, an ache in his chest, jealousy coiling in his gut. No one was happier for Dai than he, but he wouldn't have minded a lover of his own he could greet like that. He and Jason were way too complicated for that—and also vaguely illegal, depending on the state, but law-breaking was the least of his concerns.
Lover. He almost laughed. Jason would never call Jet a lover, and most days Jet was able to ignore that and keep positive—keep trying. But he was wrung out from the European tour, ready for a real break, and whatever equilibrium he'd managed to obtain had shattered the previous night when Jason had shown up on his doorstep at three in the morning and fucked him well into sunrise without even going through the usual rigmarole first.
It made Jet wonder what the hell was really going on, but it was just past nine o'clock and—
He yelped in surprise when someone pounded on his front door. Dai cast him a look. "Shut up, Metro Ken," Jet muttered and fled amidst squawks of outrage to open his front door. He stared, surprised and resigned all at once.
Jason was beautiful, and it was the part Jet hated most about him. Tall, collected, black hair and blue eyes, wearing a black three-piece suit with a green paisley tie that glinted with silver threads. He had Dai's face, but was older, sharper, cooler. Dai tended toward pretty; Jason was flat out beautiful. "What the hell do you want?" Jet asked.
Ignoring him, Jason stepped inside, brushing up against Jet until he was forced to step back. Inside, Jason closed the door and looked at him, then at Dai. "We need to talk, now." He didn't wait for them to reply, just strode off like a lawyer leading his paralegals to the boardroom.
In Jet's living room, he navigated around the luggage and equipment that had been dumped there the previous day. He stopped in front of the fireplace, then turned sharply and faced them, eyes locked on Jet.
Jet felt suddenly cold because Jason had never looked at him like that—seriously, somberly, as if he was actually sorry about whatever he was going to say. "Your father died yesterday," Jason said. "I'm sorry."
The words punched Jet in the face. He stood there staring, dumbstruck.
"Uncle Jeff is dead," Dai demanded, but then winced at his own outburst when Jason glared witheringly at him. "Jet—" he said, stepping toward him. Jet jerked away, turned on his heel, and slammed his fist into the nearest wall.
Dead. His father was dead. The bastard—
He couldn't think. Jet raked his hands through his ha
ir and fled the living room, making a beeline for his bedroom and nearly killing himself when he took the winding stairs to the second floor three at a time. In his room, he slammed the door shut and collapsed on the nearby couch and buried his face in his hands.
The smell of Jason's cologne lingered still, and it was all that kept him from screaming. His stupid fucking father was dead. Jet made a rough noise. That was fucking cheating. "You stupid goddamn bastard," he said to the carpet, and he refused to cry because he wouldn't give his father that much satisfaction.
Someone knocked on his door, but Jet ignored it. He needed—he needed—
Fuck, he didn't know what he needed. For his goddamn father to be alive. It wasn't supposed end that way. He and his father had always been on the outs. Jet had never wanted any part of being Jefferson Kristopherson, not his parents' version of Jefferson anyway. He didn't want to be some corporate goon. Music was where his heart lay, but his parents hadn't budged. Hadn't really talked to him since he'd run away.
They might have, he knew, if he hadn't convinced Dai to run off with him. Nobody would ever forgive him for stealing Dai away. But he'd thought, eventually, he'd figure out how to fix things. It wasn't like he was a failure. Forever and a Dai was a raging fucking success, and they had a solid reputation. None of that crap with drinking and drugs and swinging wildly out of control. No, when he'd formed the band, he'd made damn certain they were all willing to work hard, toe the line, and not become just one more group of fame junkies.
Christ, his mother must be a mess. Jet would need—
Someone pounded on the bedroom door again, and Jet bit back an angry response. "Leave me alone," he finally said. "I just need to be left the fuck alone."
"Okay," Dai said through the door. "But call me when you do need me, okay, Jet? I'm headed to the meeting with Parker. Be back tonight unless you tell me not to come."
Jet sucked in a breath and let it out slowly. "Okay."
He heard Dai leave, biting back an impulse to call him back. But he didn't really want Dai to come back, he just ...
