Marrying the Rock Star

by B. B. Hamel

  “Marry me, Delia.”

  I drink in the words and I think I might pass out.

  3

  Chase

  “Are you joking?”

  Delia stares at me like I just asked her to murder her mom or something like that.

  “Very serious,” I say. “I need a new image, and what’s better than marriage? It’ll change the conversation completely.”

  She stares at me for a second, and I think I see a chink in her armor. I feel like she’s considering it, like maybe she can see how this could benefit the both of us.

  Or maybe she just wants to get close to me, like we were back in the day.

  My heart’s beating fast. Delia’s fucking beautiful, even more beautiful than she used to be. I always thought she was sexy but god damn, she’s grown up. Pretty eyes, full lips, thick hair, incredible figure. She carries herself with confidence and she’s still funny and strong on top of it all.

  “Fuck no,” she finally says.

  I can’t help but smile at that. Okay, typical Delia, says exactly what she’s thinking and doesn’t soften it at all.

  I hope she never changes. I’d hate it if she started filtering herself just for me. It’s part of what I really like about her.

  “What if I offered you something in exchange?” I press.

  She frowns even more. “Like… money? I’m not a prostitute, Chase.”

  “No, not money,” I say, trying not to laugh.

  “I’m still not a whore,” she says, starting to glare at me.

  “Wait, Delia. Hold on.”

  “No, you hold on. I’ve worked too damn hard to just whore myself out to some freaking rock star who thinks he owns the whole world.”

  I slam my drink down on the bar. That stops her little rant, although half the room looks over at us.

  “A recording contract,” I say softly to her as the eyes slowly drift away from us.

  Her frown changes into surprise. She doesn’t say anything, just watches me.

  “Why?” she says finally. “I mean, how do you even know I’m any good?”

  “You think you’re the only one stalking old friends online?” I grin at her and shrug a little. “I’ve been paying attention to you. Saw some of your stuff on YouTube. I bought your first album when it came out.”

  She blushes a little bit. “Really?”

  “Sure, I thought it was great.”

  “Yeah, well, the label didn’t.”

  He sighs. “It’s politics. Believe me.”

  She chews her lip, looks at her drink, and downs it. I lean back and watch as she orders another one. We sit in silence, waiting for it to come. When it arrives, she downs that one, too.

  “Fuck you, Chase,” she says finally.

  “Is that a no?”

  “No,” she says, “it’s not.”

  I smile a little bit. “Okay then. That’s good.”

  “I need to think about it, okay?”

  “Okay. We don’t have to go get hitched right this second.”

  She winces. “Hitched. Jesus.”

  “I know, it’s weird. It’s insane, actually. But I need help, and I know you can pull it off.” I lean close to her again. “You’re smart, beautiful, funny. You’ll have to learn to keep your mouth shut, at least a little bit, but… you’re perfect. You know the business, too.”

  She shakes her head. “Hardly.”

  “Definitely. You’re the real musician here.” I lean back again. “I’m just the performer.”

  We drift into silence and I know she’s thinking. I almost feel bad, giving her this dilemma, but it’s not a bad dilemma to have.

  She pretends to be my wife for a little bit, we have some fun, do some interviews, and eventually we get divorced. In the meantime, she can record an album with a real label. I’ll make sure it happens.

  All she has to do is say yes and come along on this crazy ride with me.

  “Shit,” she says, finally breaking the silence. “You’re insane. Did fame make you insane?”

  “Nope,” I tell her. “I just know this will work, and I see how it can benefit both of us.”

  “By basically paying me to be your wife.”

  “By making sure a talented friend gets what she deserves… if she’s just willing to help me out, too.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Fucked up, Chase.”

  “I know.” I spread my hands out in front of me. “What else can I do?”

  “You really can get me signed?” she asks, staring into my eyes.

  “I really can,” I say.

  She bites her lip again. “I want to meet everyone,” she says. “Your whole freaking… I don’t know, team, whatever you have.”

  “Is that a yes?”

  “No, it’s a maybe.”

  “Okay.” I push aback from the bar and stand. “Good enough for me.”

  She hesitates but nods. “All right. Let’s do this.”

  I reach out and she hesitates, but takes my hand. Together, we leave the bar. Nobody even looks over as we leave.

  We make it back to the venue just as the guys are starting soundcheck. Delia wanders in behind me, looking a little dazed as we approach the stage from the side.

  Nathan runs through a little arpeggio, his fingers flying down the frets. Joss sits off to the side, mic in his hand, waiting for his turn as Landon hits the kick, the cymbals, the snare.

  I feel Delia come up next to me. “I’m a little starstruck,” she whispers.

  “Which one?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “All of them.”

  I laugh and take her hand. It’s so natural and I don’t even think about it. She doesn’t flinch away, probably because she’s too busy staring at Nathan.

  She’s starstruck. I bet she’s never met guys this famous before. It was no big deal with me, since she knew me already, but it’s probably a little crazy to see the others so up close.

  I squeeze her hand, a little smile on my lips.

  “Come on,” I say, and we step out onto the stage.

  Joss notices us first. “Fuck, man,” he says, standing up. “Where have you been?”

  Nathan frowns but keeps playing. Landon gets up and comes out from behind his kit.

  “Sorry, guys,” I say.

  “Are you okay, man?” Landon looks concerned.

  “I’m fine.” I release Delia’s hand and gesture at her. “Guys, this is Delia.”

  Nathan finally stops playing and puts his guitar down.

  “Hi,” she says, still staring at Nathan. Actually, I realize she’s looking past him.

  He frowns. “Who’s she?”

  “Friend of mine,” I say. “She’s gonna watch the soundcheck and hang around backstage.”

  “Cool,” Landon says, grinning. “Nice to meet you.”

  But Delia doesn’t hear him. “Is that it?” she asks softly, taking a step forward.

  Nathan looks at me. “Uh, dude, what’s wrong with this girl?”

  “Nothing,” I say. “She’s just into music stuff. I think she’s a little starstruck.”

  She gives me a look. “I’m not starstruck, you moron.”

  Joss laughs out loud, Landon sniggers, and even Nathan smiles at that.

  “Well, then why are you staring at Nathan like you want to scream and cry?”

  She blinks and shakes her head. “Oh, I don’t care about him. I care about…”

  “The guitar,” he says, nodding like he suddenly understands.

  “His guitar?” I make a face. “Who cares about his guitar?”

  Delia gapes at me then looks back at Nathan. He rolls his eyes.

  “Philistines,” he says.

  “You don’t know?” she asks me.

  “Know what?”

  “That guitar.” She steps toward it before looking at Nathan. “Maybe I? Please?”

  He looks at me and I nod. “She knows what she’s doing.”

  “Okay,” he says. “Just be careful.”

  Deli
a picks it up reverentially. Nathan treats that guitar like it’s his first-born son, cleaning it after every single show, inspecting it for damage whenever someone other than him touches the thing. He says it’s something special but I’ve never gotten into obsessing about instruments.

  Clearly, Delia knows what it’s all about.

  “A 1952 blonde Fender Telecaster,” she says, placing the strap over her head. She strums it lightly, playing a quick little sequence, and I swear her eyes roll into the back of her head.

  “Yeah, we know it’s old,” I say, glancing at Landon for help. He’s just shaking his head at me like I’m a moron.

  “It’s not just old,” she snaps at me. “It’s, like, the peak of the Telecasters. One of the greatest models ever made.” She looks at Nathan. “Is this an early model?”

  “Yep,” he says proudly. “An early ’52. No substitutes, totally original and mint.”

  “Beautiful,” she whispers.

  “So what?” I ask again. “It’s a guitar.”

  “It’s worth like fifty grand on its own,” she snaps at me, and then sighs. “But the sound is priceless.”

  We stand there and watch her go through a chord progression, her face blissing out hard. Nathan grins and nods at me, and clearly I have his stamp of approval.

  Joss claps me on the back. “You’re an idiot,” he says, like he knew shit about that guitar.

  “Whatever,” I grumble.

  Delia finally finishes and hands the instrument back to Nathan. “Thanks so much,” she says.

  “Any time,” he answers. “Just glad someone appreciates her like I do.”

  She walks back over to me, grinning her face off. Maybe I don’t understand vintage guitars like she does, but I can appreciate anything that makes her happy.

  It’s an odd feeling, actually, seeing her smiling like this. I’m jealous someone else did it, but I’m happy she’s happy anyway.

  “What do you think?” I ask her as we walk away.

  “I think I never dreamed I’d get to play that guitar,” she says.

  “Did you know he’d have it?”

  She grins a little sheepishly. “Yep.”

  “Oh, god,” I groan. “Did you come all the way here just to see it?”

  “Yep,” she says.

  I sigh. “Look, Delia—”

  “And to marry you.”

  We stop walking and I stare at her for a second, not sure I heard her right.

  “Look, I need this,” she says. “My career’s stalled, Chase. I doubt I’ll ever get a real shot again, and this… well, it might be my last chance. I know it’s crazy but whatever. I’m down for crazy.”

  I step closer to her. We’re alone in the hallway, and my heart’s beating fast. “Are you sure?” I ask. “It won’t be easy. We’ll have to spend a lot of time together… we may even have to act like we’re actually married.”

  “You mean like…?” She trails off, eyes wide.

  “Kiss, hold hands, that sort of thing,” I say, and smirk. “Did you think I mean you’d have to fuck me?”

  She hits my arm, but lightly, playfully. “No, idiot,” she says quickly.

  I look into her pretty eyes and I know she’s lying. I feel a thrill run through me, completely unexpected.

  “Look, we have one more person to meet,” I say softly. “But if you’re sure, we can do it right now. What do you say?”

  “Let’s go.” She nods, like she’s preparing herself for something. “I’m ready to dive into the deep end.”

  “You have no clue what you’re getting yourself into,” I say, grinning. I take her hand again and squeeze. “I think you’re going to have a lot of fucking fun.”

  She smiles back at me, a little more uncertainly, but that’s okay. She doesn’t have to be certain.

  I can be certain for the both of us.

  I lead her away from soundcheck, back toward the green room. There’s only one person we need to talk to now and I know exactly where to find him.

  4

  Chase

  Karl looks like a little wolfman. He’s hairy, with heavy gold glasses like a stalker out of a ‘70s movie. There’s a chain around his neck and I swear, if he actually had enough hair, he’d have a freaking perm.

  The guy’s a relic from another age, but I know he’s no joke. Karl Bell is famous, at least in the music industry. He’s been bringing up bands forever now, and Slide is just one in a long line of success stories.

  Karl looks at me and back at Delia. “You’re fucking kidding me, right?”

  I grin sheepishly. “I’m not kidding.”

  “Jesus, kid, what the fuck’s wrong with you?”

  “You got a better idea?”

  “Yeah,” he says, “you don’t do shit and wait for this to blow over.”

  “I don’t think so.” I put an arm around Delia and pull her against my side. “Delia here’s going to help me get rid of this bullshit stigma.”

  “Hi,” she says to him. She looks almost as starstruck as when she saw Nathan’s guitar.

  Karl ignores her. “Listen, kid,” he says. “It worked out for Joss, I’ll give you that. But I can’t have my whole fuckin’ band getting randomly married. It’ll look bad.”

  “It won’t,” I say. “It’ll distract from what really looks bad, and that’s the fact that everyone thinks I’m into fucking golden showers.”

  Karl winces. “This is extreme.”

  “It’s an extreme situation.”

  I stand there under Karl’s iron stare, but I’m not backing down. I can feel Delia starting to tense next to me, and I wish I could tell her to keep calm.

  Finally, Karl shakes his head. “No.”

  “Karl, of everyone in this band, who has been the easiest to manage?”

  Short pause. “You have,” he admits.

  “And when things fall apart, who’s there to help pick it all up and put it back together?”

  “You.” His gaze is still iron, but not as certain.

  “I’ve never pushed for something before, Karl. I’ve never asked for anything.”

  “And you’re asking me for my permission to marry this girl?” He arches an eyebrow.

  I shake my head. “No. I’m asking you to get her a recording contract when this is all said and done.”

  His eyes practically bug out of his skull. “Are you fucking kidding?” He looks at Delia. “Is that what he promised you?”

  “Yes,” I say before she can speak up. “I promised her that, because I know you can deliver.”

  He barks a laugh. “I can’t deliver shit, Chase. No way.”

  “You can and you will.” I glare at him. I’m not backing down. “Here’s the thing. This band has been through a lot lately with Landon leaving and coming back, Joss getting married and now this shit with me in the press. Slide can’t afford all this garbage and still stay relevant.”

  Based on the look Karl’s giving me, I know he agrees. “So what? You want me to get some random girl a recording contract?” He looks at her. “Can you even sing?”

  “She’s fucking good,” I say quickly. “Really fucking good.”

  Karl’s quiet for a moment. “Do you really want to do this, Chase?” he asks.

  “It’s happening, and you’re going to help me.”

  He sighs, shaking his head. “Fucking musicians.”

  I grin. “You love it. Why else would you be in this business?”

  “Look, I can promise to help get her a contract, okay?”

  “No,” Delia says suddenly. I feel her stiffen and step away from me. “No, that’s not the deal.”

  Karl glares at her. “Too bad. That’s the best I can do.”

  “No,” she says again. “You promise me an actual contract, or I’m out.”

  “Karl,” I say, arching an eyebrow. “Promise her.”

  “Fine, fucking hell, fine. I promise.”

  I look at Delia and nod. “It’s okay. Say what you will about Karl, he doesn’t break his
word.”

  “Fucking musicians,” he says, walking away from us. “Pain in my fucking ass. Another fake marriage? Fucking shit, god damnit, and a contract for this fucking girl…” He trails off as he disappears into the hallway.

  Delia bites her lip, watching him walk away. “Is he always that angry?”

  “Yep,” I say. “You’ll get used to it.”

  We stand there alone together in the green room. The sound of the band warming up drifts in through the hallway.

  “Are we really doing this?” she asks me.

  I smirk and step closer. “We absolutely are. Haven’t you always wanted to marry a rock star?”

  “Not at all,” she whispers.

  I get inches from her, looking down at her beautiful body, her full lips. It occurs to me that I wouldn’t mind being married to her, not at all.

  “What about me?” I whisper. “You’ve always wanted that.”

  “Don’t be so sure.” But she doesn’t back away.

  “You better work on that,” I say softly, stepping up to her. I put my hands on her hips, pulling her against me. She looks surprised as her hands press up against my chest.

  “What are you doing?” she asks.

  “Practicing.” I hold her there, her body against mine, warm and soft. My cock’s half hard and I hope she notices.

  “Practicing,” she echoes. “Since we’ll be fooling the world.”

  “Having second thoughts?”

  “Absolutely,” she says. “But I’m not backing down.”

  “Good.”

  “I really thought I was just meeting an old friend for a drink,” she says. “Never expected to end up with a husband.”

  Her lips are full and beautiful. I move closer to her, heart hammering. I need to taste her so badly it hurts. She tilts her head to the side, looking up at me, eyes slowly closing.

  “I just heard Karl flipping shit.”

  I stop and pull away from Delia. She steps back from me, blushing like crazy. We were inches from kissing when Joss came into the room and interrupted.

  Fucking bastard.

  “Oh, yeah?” I say, trying to calm myself.

  He hesitates, looking between us, a big smile on his face. “Looks like congrats are in order.”