The Replacement War: A Rock Star Rom Com

by Lisa Suzanne

I see someone walk by my door as I reach under the bed for even more cat pictures, and when I glance up, I find her quaking with laughter in the hallway.

  She thinks she’s so goddamn funny when really she nearly just gave me a panic attack. I refuse to let her know that, though. I won’t let her see me weak.

  I glare at her. “Are we even now?”

  She lets out a maniacal laugh. “Hardly! You managed to procure literally every cinnamon item known to man and you messed with my lunch by giving me tuna.” She counts off my offenses on her fingers. “Oh, and there’s the little thing about telling everyone we hooked up and then letting me know that chicks can’t play bass.” She sets her hands on her hips in a power stance, and I wish it wasn’t so goddamn sexy. “So, to answer your question, no. We’re not even close to even.”

  She spins away down the hallway, leaving me alone with her words and more fear...but this time, it’s not the cats I’m scared of. It’s whatever else she has in store for me.

  CHAPTER 26: LEXI

  He’s the idiot who actually got up from the table to grab a drink from the food room in the middle of dinner.

  I’ve been carrying this stupid saltshaker around with me all day, biding my time and waiting for my moment. Everyone’s nearby when I stand, walk over by his seat, and shake it out over his salad and mashed potatoes, and I don’t even care. Mostly everyone’s locked in their own conversations—except for Tyler, who stares at me as I work.

  “He loves salt,” I explain sweetly across the table, and then for good measure I pour a little more over his entire plate.

  Tyler laughs. “Sure he does.”

  When Gage returns with Decker and a glass full of ice and some amber liquid, I’m back in my seat eating my salad like nothing happened.

  He digs into his salad and makes a face, but he keeps eating anyway. He finishes the whole thing.

  I keep glancing at him out of the corner of my eye, trying hard to be inconspicuous. He takes a bite of his chicken, and I almost lose it at the face he makes. But when he bites into his potatoes, I feel his gaze on me.

  I glance over at him innocently as I eat a bite of my own chicken.

  “Salt, Lexi? Really?” he says across the table.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say.

  He glances around the table like he’s looking for some sort of confirmation on his accusation, but nobody bites. Everyone’s head is down, locked in on their own plates or in their own conversations, and I’m thankful nobody ratted me out.

  Even though the cameras won’t lie, and when the show airs he’ll know it was me.

  Who will even care at that point, though? We’ll know who the winner is—or, at the very least, we’ll know who isn’t the winner.

  He picks as much salt as he can out of his potatoes, but the damage has been done. He ate a lot more salt than his body is accustomed to, and now I have to think of what my next little trick will be.

  Because I’m kind of out of ideas already.

  I head to the food room after dinner to grab a soda, and I find Tyler in there.

  He’s mixing up some drink concoction. “Want one?” he asks.

  “What is it?”

  “Whiskey sour,” he says.

  I make a face. “Whiskey and sour don’t sound like they go together.”

  He laughs. “Try one and let me know.”

  I shrug. “All right,” I say, mostly because Dax told us to celebrate tonight, so why not follow his advice?

  I watch as he grabs ice and pours in whiskey followed by sour mix. He holds up the glass for me and I take it a little tentatively. He chuckles and holds his glass up in a toast. “To celebrating.”

  I hold mine up and repeat his toast, and then we both take a sip.

  It burns double time—once from the whiskey, and again from the sour—but I pretend like it doesn’t. I might even like it after I choke the first one down.

  Tyler’s oblivious to all that, though. “When are you gonna tell me why you put salt on Gage’s food?”

  “Okay, truthfully, he told me once that salt makes his hands swell. Nothing like swollen fingers when you’re playing the bass, right?”

  Tyler’s jaw drops, but I can tell it’s in jest. He holds a shocked hand to his chest. “Are you telling me the sweet and innocent Lexi Weber is attempting to sabotage Gage’s chances?”

  I shake my head. “Just evening the score. But I’m out of ideas. He’s allergic to cats, so I put pictures of cats all over his room. Then there was the salt thing. That’s all I’ve got.”

  Tyler laughs. “Then you came to the right person.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Why would you help me?”

  He lifts a shoulder. “I like you. I think you have a real shot to win this, and what he said that first night...well, it was pretty shitty.”

  I soften my gaze on him. His words were everything I needed to hear—and the way he said them makes me feel like he’s an actual ally in this house. Not because he’s after sex, and not because he has some other ulterior motive, but because he’s an actual good guy. “Thanks. That’s really sweet.” An awkward beat passes between us. “All right, hit me with your ideas.”

  He laughs. “Well, there’s the easy ones like stealing his clothes and towel when he’s in the shower or setting the alarm clock in his room to go off at a really odd hour. We can mess with him while he’s sleeping, like putting shaving cream on his hand and tickling his nose so he gets shaving cream all over his face, or we can fuck with his bed and take all the screws out so it collapses when he gets in.”

  I giggle at the thought of it. They’re all harmless pranks, which is funny...but it feels a little off. I don’t necessarily want to piss him off, and I don’t want the sort of revenge I might face with those types of pranks.

  No, that’s not what I want at all.

  What I do want is to distract him from the challenges.

  And so I say, “I love all those, but they’re not exactly what I’m going for. I’m just looking for a way to throw him off his game.”

  “Then use your best weapon.” He says it like the answer is obvious, but I have no idea what he’s getting at.

  My brows dip down. “What do you mean?”

  He glances up and down my body, and then he nods. “You know what I mean. Be a woman. Be the woman he wanted over the weekend. Guys are pretty predictable. All you need to do is be you, unapologetically, and maybe turn up the flirt a little. Maybe show off your legs or bend over in front of him or let him see down your shirt. That would be enough to throw him off his game.”

  “You really think so?” I ask. I don’t even know what it means to be unapologetically me, but I do kind of get what he’s saying. Gage and I spent the entire weekend together. I know what he likes. All it would take is to shake my booty in front of him a few times to distract his thoughts from music.

  Tyler’s eyes widen as it seems like a light bulb goes off above his head. “Oh, shit. I just had the best idea.”

  I take a bolstering sip of my whiskey sour, and this time I can’t hide the wince at the taste. “What?”

  “Let me preface this by saying one thing before you get the wrong idea. I like you. A lot. But I’m not into going after a woman who belongs to another man, so what I’m about to propose will be strictly between two friends who are going after the same prize.” He finishes the liquid in his glass before he pours another for himself.

  “I don’t belong to another man,” I say. “I don’t belong to any man.”

  “Oh give me a break,” he says. “Everyone here can see it. You two didn’t just fuck all weekend. You’re in love with each other.”

  I raise a brow and then, because he got me all fired up, I stand up for myself. “First of all, Tyler Caldwell, what we did or didn’t do over the weekend isn’t anyone’s business. Don’t be so crass. Second of all, I may have developed feelings for him, but the second he started acting like a total jerk here in the house, those feelings di
sappeared. In fact, the second I saw him here, I realized neither of us really knew anything about the other one after all.”

  He rolls his eyes. “Okay, sure.” He nods and the whole exchange is dripping with sarcasm. “And that’s why you’re exacting your revenge. That’s why you’re doing anything you can to sabotage his chances. Because you feel nothing for him.”

  I blow out a breath of total frustration. “Fine. Whatever. What’s your idea?”

  “You and me.” He says it like that’s the whole idea.

  “Um...what?”

  He gestures between the two of us. “You and me. The accidental roommates who met on a reality show competition and fell for each other. It was instant, and it was fire. If he thinks you’re over him because you’ve fallen for me, he won’t be able to see straight.”

  I narrow my eyes at him again and purse my lips as I study him for a beat. “What’s in it for you?”

  He shrugs. “If I don’t win this thing, I want to see you win. There aren’t enough women in bands like MFB, and I’d love to see more. Besides, he’s a top contender, Lex. He’s an amazing bassist, he’s got the look, and he’s got the right personality. He’s got stage presence, which most of the other guys we’re competing against are lacking. We both know that. You, me, him.” He ticks us off on his fingers. “Top three. He’s our biggest competition, so distracting him works to my advantage, too.”

  I stare at him for a beat. If I was in a different headspace, I’d totally want Tyler. He isn’t just attractive with dark, mysterious eyes and a beard that’s slightly longer than super hot scruff. He’s a classic bad boy rock star, and he’s got the look down pat. He’s got the talent, and he’s smoking hot, and he’s got tattoos that snake down his arms and legs. He sleeps without a shirt, and his chest, stomach, and back are covered, too—and he’s in great shape. Abs for days, lean from lots of cardio.

  But Gage is on my brain. I’m not the girl who can switch from one guy to the next without a little space in between to grieve what I lost.

  And the thing I lost is shoved in my face day after day, hour after hour, minute after minute.

  Tyler’s right. I need to do something about it, and this may be my best shot. It may be my only shot.

  I draw in a deep breath, and I exhale. “All right. Let’s do it.”

  He grins. “You sure?”

  I shrug. “A fake relationship? Sure, why not.”

  He shakes his head with a laugh. “Just don’t go falling for me, okay? It’s all just pretend. Even if I have to kiss you.”

  I laugh. “Don’t you go falling for me,” I warn. “Even when I have to kiss you back.”

  CHAPTER 27: GAGE

  They told us to celebrate, so celebrate we do.

  Decker and I race to the bottom of our glasses of whiskey, and then we get some more.

  I’m feeling good—a little lighter than I have since I first saw Lexi here, like maybe after a couple days here in the house together I’m finally starting to get used to the idea that she isn’t mine anymore. What we had was just for one weekend, and we agreed that was where it would end.

  And it ended.

  Done.

  Game over.

  I don’t even care that she’s been in the food room with Tyler for the last ten minutes. I care even less when they walk out of the room together, laughing, both sipping from drinks and smiling like they share a secret.

  Maybe they kissed in there.

  A little bit of the lightness I felt a second ago takes a tumble.

  Okay, so I’m not used to the idea that she isn’t mine anymore. I’m not even used to the idea that we hate each other now after how fast and hard I fell for her.

  We both said things we can’t take back. We’re both at fault, and even in my semi-drunken haze, I can admit that maybe I’m a little more to blame. I didn’t mean to blurt out that we’d hooked up...I was just so damn surprised to see her here.

  At first, it was a happy surprise.

  But it quickly took a turn.

  And then she put me in my place in front of everybody. She embarrassed me and hurt my pride. And that’s just not something I can so easily push aside.

  I drain my drink and head in for another.

  When I come out, my eyes search the room until they land on her.

  She’s sitting on the couch with Tyler.

  She’s laughing.

  He’s laughing.

  His arm is slung over the back of the couch but also sort of around her, and they’re both turned into each other. Their body language speaks volumes.

  And then he leans in toward her and nips her neck with a kiss.

  She giggles and takes a sip of her drink.

  He does it again, and she giggles again.

  I fucking rage.

  I grip my glass until my knuckles turn white, and a little voice in my head tells me that if I exert any more pressure on the glass, it’s going to shatter.

  My other hand balls into a fist until my short fingernails dig into the flesh of my palm.

  She isn’t his to kiss.

  I want to fucking scream it to the entire room.

  But then I remember...she isn’t mine to kiss, either.

  I storm past them and out the patio doors for some fresh air. I slam it closed, and it’s quiet and still out here. Inside there’s the constant hum of voices. Music is always playing somewhere in the background.

  But out here, the only sound breaking the silence is the rolling of the waves smacking onto the shore. Out here, I can draw in a deep breath of salty sea air and try to compose myself again.

  They can’t be serious...can they? Are they really into each other? She’s a sexy spitfire...that I know. And he’s an already successful musician. I still can’t figure out what the hell he’s doing here when he already has a place as a bassist in a great band. Shit, maybe if he walks away from this whole thing as the winner, the next competition will be to replace him in Capital Kingsmen.

  “You okay, man?” Decker’s voice interrupts my silent brooding.

  I blow out a breath. “Yeah. Fine.”

  “I saw what you saw,” he says quietly, and I wish there weren’t cameras everywhere around here capturing my every facial expression. I wish this competition was closer to being over, but there are eight of us left still.

  “She’s not mine to lose to him.” I take another sip of whiskey.

  “So beat them both,” he says. “In the challenges, I mean. In this competition. You can still win that.”

  I lift a shoulder. “Yeah, but so could you or Blaze or Colt.”

  “Not John or Tim?” he asks.

  “Probably not Tim. Maybe John.” We both laugh, and it’s nice having a friend here in the midst of what’s most definitely the craziest thing I’ve ever done.

  Okay, one of the craziest things I’ve ever done. You can’t really put a price on snorting wasabi for twenty bucks or working as a male stripper for private parties just after my twenty-first birthday. Or that time I car surfed on the highway...okay, so I was stupid when I was younger. I’ve grown up a lot since then.

  Except...have I?

  I ordered all the cinnamon shit just to piss her off.

  I changed her sandwich to tuna because I knew she hated it.

  I’m thinking about releasing butterflies into her bedroom, but I can’t figure out how to manage it.

  It’s all stupid, immature responses to the way she made me feel like a total asshole. Maybe I deserved it.

  Usually alcohol makes me more fun, not more introspective. Tonight, though, that’s not the case.

  And so...I guess I better keep drinking.

  I glance inside. I don’t want to go in there when the two of them are cozy on the couch. I don’t want to see it, don’t want to let it distract me from why I’m here. But let’s be honest: she’s been a distraction since the day she tapped my shoulder in that hotel lobby bar.

  I need to go in if I want another drink. And I definitely want anoth
er drink.

  I need another drink—especially if I’m going to be forced to watch the woman it took me three days to fall in love with as she starts falling for someone who isn’t me.

  I beeline for the food room, and Blaze is in there grabbing a beer out of one of the refrigerators. He glances up at me. “You okay with all that?”

  His voice matches his nickname. It’s deep and gritty and low, and he’d intimidate the fuck out of me if we met in a dark alley. Instead, I’ve learned he’s a genuinely nice guy. I’ve also learned he’s the kind of guy I want to hear when he talks. Some guys talk and talk and it’s all bullshit. But Blaze...he reserves the use of his voice for things that matter.

  I blow out a breath. “Everyone knows, huh?”

  He grunts out a chuckle. “Hard to keep secrets in a place like this.” He gestures toward one of the cameras angled in the corner of the room.

  I nod. “It wasn’t a secret, per se. Not when I had no idea she’d be here.”

  “How’s that going for you?” he asks.

  “Shitty.” I pour a generous helping of more whiskey. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. I can’t let it distract me from the end goal.” I raise my glass, and he nods before I tip it to my lips. I drink down more than I should in a single gulp. It’s not the first night I’m racing to numbness, and it won’t be the last. Whiskey is my anesthesia of choice tonight, proven by the second rather large gulp I take.

  “I get where you’re coming from.” He raises his glass in the air, too. “But maybe you’re chasing the wrong goal.” He flattens his lips into one of those pressed smiles, and then he walks out of the room, leaving me wondering what the right goal is.

  I don’t get much time to ponder it. Decker joins me, and we down a few more glasses. We don’t even leave the food room as the others come and go. Instead, he perches on one counter and I perch on another, each of us with a bottle of whiskey beside us that we tip over our glasses once they’re empty again.

  I’m drunk. I haven’t been this fucked up in a long time.

  At twenty-seven, I should know my limits. I should be smart enough to understand that my every move—my every word—is being recorded and could end up on a television program.