Hard Sell: A Bad-Boy, Rock Star Romance

by Savannah Skye

  “Hey, where’s that pain in the ass brother of yours?” Gina asked.

  Cheri rolled her eyes. “Hanging with the groupies, where else?” She hitched the strap of the camera bag on her shoulder and they strolled out of the conference room to the large area that served as practice space and hangout for the band.

  The loft was one floor of an 1800's factory converted into office space. Sub-Zero had the top floor and here the ancient wood beams held up the roof. The walls were all made of red brick and the floor solid hardwood varnished to a bright shine. At the end of the room, a raised dais held the band’s instruments and amps, and tall, thin Bose speakers graced either side of it.

  Gina’s eyes roamed the room until she spotted a knot of scantily clad girls surrounding Rory next to the makeshift bar a roadie had set up on a plank and sawhorses. “There’s no moss on that rolling stone.”

  “Nope,” Cheri said with a nod, trying to ignore the growing pit of her stomach as she willed herself not to search out the rest of the band. “We need to round those boys up for these pics or I’ll never get them on the website.”

  “Connor,” called Gina, beckoning with her hand, “Mac, Quinn, Rory. Hmmm,” she frowned, looking left and right. “I don’t see Dev anywhere.”

  “That’s because he’s a lazy shit,” said blond-haired Connor after giving Cheri a friendly kiss on the side of her forehead. “The man hasn’t dragged himself out of bed yet. I just spoke to him on the phone. He’s on his way.” He draped an arm around Gina.

  “Well, I don’t blame him,” said Connor. “Ashley Marlowe is a good reason to stay up late.”

  Gina scoffed and stalked away, trying to get the rest of them in some semblance of order.

  “We have a schedule to keep,” said Cheri. She tried not to let it show, but even she could hear the shrillness of her voice. “Any idea how long he’ll be?”

  “Any minute now,” said Quinn.

  Cheri walked away, focusing her energy on setting up her tripod, lighting, and digital camera instead of the images of Dev rolling around in a bed with Ashley Marlowe.

  She had finally gotten lost in her task a few minutes later when Gina’s heels clacked on the hardwood floor and she bent to nudge Cheri in the arm.

  “Here, get some coffee in you.” Gina handed her a steaming cup.

  “Thanks,” said Cheri, but her words were lost in the commotion at the elevator of the loft.

  Dev Lachlan stepped in with his arm around Ashley and Cheri died a little inside. His dark hair was mussed, his muscular frame loose and comfortable as if he’d spent the night doing something taxing.

  It was bad enough imagining them together. But now, seeing it? She felt like she was going to be sick.

  He had a big smile on his handsome face as he bent down and whispered something in Ashley’s ear. She gave a little pout but made her way toward the makeshift bar.

  Dev looked up, scanning the room, and rubbed his hands together.

  “So what’s on the agenda today?”

  Dev’s rich, masculine baritone filled the space, just like it always did, and Cheri had to stifle a mewl that curdled in her throat. There was a good reason why he was their lead singer. His voice was like rich caramel, decadent and low, making her insides shiver. Somehow, she straightened and steeled herself for the job ahead.

  “Over here, lover boy,” she said, her tone thick with sarcasm. The years of familiarity between them took the edge off and he just grinned at her. But even that hurt. That smile had ignited a million panties across the globe, but all it did was make her ache.

  With long strides, he strolled toward her and then plucked her coffee from her hand, his blue gaze drilling into hers.

  “Always prepared,” he said with a wink. “Thanks, Bug.”

  He was standing too close and the smell of his cologne wrapped around her. Cheri’s stomach and her knees turned to jelly just as they always did when he stood next to her.

  Must. Not. Crumble.

  She chided herself for not having the fortitude to defend her own drink. But of course, he could have her coffee. He could have anything he wanted of hers.

  Because she was madly, crazily in love with him and had been since she was eleven years old.

  And she would do just about anything to make it stop.

  Chapter 2

  "And Dev," said the DJ at the other end of the line, "the success of Zero Primed has cemented your position as the breakout band of the year. To what do you attribute your overnight success?"

  "Like most ‘overnight successes’, I’m going to have to say years and years of hard work," replied Dev with a wry laugh.

  It was true. At first, Sub-Zero was just another teenage garage band, born of the need to give Rory a place to go when things got too rough at home. But Dev, Rory, Connor, Mac and Quinn found more than a hobby with their music, and, as they graduated high school, weekend gigs helped to supplement their meager paychecks.

  About three years ago, they all got serious about the band. Tensions and arguments arose mostly from a lack of focus and their creative direction. A three-month hiatus from the music and from each other made one thing very clear to all of them.

  They were lost without their band and their friendship.

  Now they were on the bus on the second day of their biggest tour yet.

  "Don't listen to him," Connor was saying to the DJ with a grin. Goofball Connor always had a quip or snarky remark. Dev wondered what he was going to say next. "We hit it big because I'm so damn hot."

  Dev groaned and so did Rory. Mac and Quinn were on a separate call to another radio station in the lounge at the back of the bus.

  The DJ chuckled. "So it has nothing to do with the chart climber, Thief of Hearts off the Zero Primed album, Connor?”

  "We let him live with his delusions," said Rory.

  "Hey," quipped Connor, "as long as my ‘delusions’ keep coming home with me after the show, I’m good."

  They all chuckled. Then, the DJ’s voice grew more serious. "So Dev, since you wrote the lyrics, who is the woman in Thief of Hearts?"

  "Many, many women," Connor said with a smirk.

  "The truth is," said Dev, "Connor’s right. Which may be why the song is so popular. Every man knows a woman like her and every woman wants to be her. People can relate. I think fans like that."

  "Judging by record sales, I’m going to have to agree with you," said the DJ. “Guys, I know you have a show to prep for. It's been great talking with you. And, listeners, you can see Sub-Zero at the Rockin' Pony at Ashbury Park tonight at eight PM. Stay tuned for your chance to win tickets to the concert."

  They could hear a production person mutter "all clear" over the line in the background, and the call clicked off.

  "You are such an ass, Connor," said Dev.

  "Yeah, we can't take you anywhere," seconded Rory.

  "Geez, guys. It's not like anyone listens to FM anymore." Connor flopped onto his bunk in the tour bus. He was clearly tired as well as stressed. They should all be sleeping while the bus rolled to be fresh for tonight's show. But they were still keyed up from the last night's performance, the first of the tour, as they all became aware of the amount of blood and sweat the next few weeks would take out of them.

  It was going to be brutal.

  The fact was, opening night of the tour in Providence had sucked. They arrived behind schedule and then the road crew had problems with the venue crew. All of that had resulted in the show starting an hour late. The crowd was unhappy and grumbling when the band finally took the stage and, due to all the stress and tension, they hadn’t played their best.

  All in all, it was a shit-show. One that Dev was hell-bent on making sure didn’t happen again.

  Bill came out of the space at the furthest end of the bus where he sat with Mac and Quinn, who had been giving an interview to a college FM station. He walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of water.

  "What's wrong with you guys?" he said. “You all look l
ike your dog just died.”

  "Nothing," said Dev. He was trying to warm up to their new manager, but he still wasn’t a hundred percent sold yet.

  "I could use a good breakfast," complained Rory. He stood at the long granite counter that served as the kitchen counter and waved at the boxes sitting there. "What is this shit, oatmeal? Protein bars?"

  "Yeah," seconded Connor. "Let's stop for breakfast."

  "Can't," said Bill. "We barely have enough time to make New Jersey and get the set-up done. We don't want a repeat of last night," he continued, giving them a disapproving look. He tossed a protein bar to each of them.

  Dev felt like hitting Bill and, looking around at his friends’ faces, could see they shared the same sentiment.

  "Get some sleep. We need energy on the stage."

  Connor tossed his bar back at Bill, who put his arms up to defend himself. Rory followed suit.

  To avoid more pre-packaged projectiles, Bill shot to the front of the bus where he had a space set up for his office work. Connor made a face as he disappeared into his cubby.

  "We gonna put up with that shit?" said Connor. "He's supposed to be working for us."

  “I know he’s annoying, but I think we’ve got to give him a chance to grow on us,” Dev shrugged, shoving aside his own annoyance to keep morale up. "He's done some good things so far."

  "Hey," said Rory, "it's just for three weeks. Let's keep it together for now, and decide at the end of this tour." He flashed a couple game controllers. "Anyone interested?"

  The miles slid past, as the bus sliced through Connecticut and then into New York. Rory and Quinn played Halo, while Mac read a book. Connor fell asleep in his bunk and Dev followed suit.

  Sleeping while moving had never suited Dev, though. His dreams were disjointed and he finally woke feeling worse than he did before. His eyes opened as the bus rolled to a stop.

  "Where are we?" he asked.

  "Ashbury Park," said Connor. "We are pulling into a no-tell motel from the looks of it."

  Bill bounced to the center of the bus.

  "Hey. We're stopping for dinner and to get a shower before we go to the venue."

  "Here?" asked Dev.

  “There’s a diner behind the motel.” At the incredulous look from the guys, he shrugged and motioned toward the door. “Next time, we’ll find a nice place. Come on, we're on a schedule."

  Dinner was garbage, and between the shit food and the shittier sleeping situation, he felt lousy. But his trepidation evaporated when he saw the venue. The stage was massive, with large video screens on either side. It sat facing a large seating area that could accommodate ten thousand.

  This was, by far, the biggest stage they’d ever played. The crew had been busy while they were at dinner and now scurried around as they finished setting up the electrical, lights and equipment. The band's instruments had been unpacked, with Rory's drum-set sitting on a huge dais in the center back of the stage. He grinned widely when he saw it. Then the large backdrop was unrolled with the band logo filling it--a white wolf with his fangs barred against a background of snow-frosted trees and rocks.

  Connor hustled over the stage, ripped his bass guitar off its stand and thrummed the opening strains of an old Police tune. Mac picked up his guitar and joined him and Rory climbed behind the drums and picked up the beat. Quinn shrugged his shoulders and went to the keyboards, and Connor waggled the head of his guitar toward Dev, inviting him to join.

  Dev shook his head but a few seconds later said fuck it and took up the microphone as they covered that old standard from beginning to end. The final wails Dev exaggerated playfully high, even higher than Sting. When the final strain ended he staggered forward.

  "I think I pulled a groin muscle on that last note," he croaked in the microphone and collapsed on the stage. The venue crew stopped and looked at him in horror until the band all cracked up laughing.

  Exactly what he’d hoped for. The tension of their rocky start was broken and they were ready to start work. And good thing. The crowd wound up being huge, packing every seat. When the band took the stage a short while later, their enthusiasm was like a drug.

  For the first time, Dev felt like the lead singer of a big-time rock band, following in the footsteps of his idols. It was a huge rush, and he climbed higher as the crowd sang along and waved the lights beaming from their iPhones. When the band walked off stage ninety minutes later, the crowd screamed and stamped their feet for their return. So far they hadn't played crowd favorite, Thief of Hearts, and whole sections yelled the title of the song in unison.

  The five of them returned from backstage by tacit agreement, and the crowd roared. Mac poured out the opening strains on his guitar and the great crush of people roared even louder. And Dev sang.

  She looked like an angel,

  Walked like a dream,

  There was no escape,

  When she looked my way,

  Thief of hearts.

  Mac took it away with his guitar solo, crushing it for sixteen bars until Rory joined him, followed by Quinn joining in on the bass. It was the big finish, and the crowd was loving it. Dev never heard so much clapping, cheering and whistling in all his life.

  "Thank you, everybody," he called through his microphone and they all waved as they walked off stage.

  Pure magic.

  He was still jazzed, pulsing with adrenaline two hours later. The bar was filled with road crew, groupies, and staff, and the feel was electric. It was some old dive that one of the crew found while foraging for dinner, and Sub-Zero and its entourage had poured in to celebrate their road victory.

  The five of them had sat at a booth shaped like a horseshoe, but, one by one, Rory, Connor, Mac, and Quinn moved off to sample the spoils of war, which included fresh eager faces looking to make a memory with a rock star.

  "Dev," called Bug, crossing the room with her laptop.

  He turned toward Rory's little sister. Her chestnut hair streamed across her shoulders, and her tight, belly-baring shirt and skinny, black jeans displayed curves he’d only just started noticing these past few days.

  When had she gone and grown up? They were only a few years apart, but those years had seemed like decades when they were younger.

  Now, though, his best friend’s younger sister was giving him thoughts he shouldn’t be having. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and tipped his head in greeting.

  “Hey, Bug.”

  Irritation lit her gaze for a brief second and then faded as she plopped down at his side.

  "You've got to see this review," she said enthusiastically.

  "Review? Of what?”

  “The show, duh.”

  “We just got finished, for fuck’s sake," he said.

  "Social media. The Internet. Get with it, man." She flipped open her laptop and the screen blazed to life, displaying a headline.

  Sub-Zero on Fire.

  It was a long review detailing the history of the band to date along with the press photo that Bug took of them with their instruments before they left for the tour. But below were some murkier shots, obviously taken with the author's phone.

  "How could he write all that in this short amount of time?"

  "He didn't. He wrote most of it before he came, the history part, and then must have been writing on his tablet or phone while you guys played."

  "Sub-Zero lit the music world on fire tonight at their outdoor concert at the Pony. Lead guitarist Mac McDermott played as if the devil had made a deal for his soul, while drummer Rory Galveston pounded the toms like the Odin rousing thunder in the heavens,” she read gleefully. “Connor Walkins and Quinn Parker, bassist and keyboards respectively, poured their hearts into the songs. But it was Dev Lachlan, lead singer and front man, who put the soul into their rock sonnets with his impressive singing range and his innate ability to whip the crowd into a frenzy." She punched him in the shoulder, beaming. “Ha! A frenzy!”

  "Stop," said Dev with a laugh. "You're going to give me a big
head."

  "I think that ship has sailed," she snorted.

  “You got me there," he said. "Let’s take a shot to celebrate." He splashed Jack Daniels into his shot glass and then pulled another, filled it and offered it to her.

  "That glass is all gross and gunky. God, do they have a sink in this place?" Her nose wrinkled adorably as she shook her head.

  Dev scoffed. "Have mine then. It was clean when I got it, so unless you think I have cooties..." The glass scraped the wood table as he pushed it to her.

  "Cooties?" she said arching her eyebrow.

  "Remember that time when we went camping, and you stowed away under the equipment in the back of Quinn's old station wagon? And then, to get back at you, we told you that your sleeping bag had cooties and we had to burn it."

  She slapped his arm.

  "Yes, I remember," she hissed. "I spent all my babysitting money to buy that sleeping bag, and then I watched it go up in flames."

  "It did smell bad."

  "It was brand fucking new," she shot back, and then laughed, a clear, high sound, like sparkling water and mischief. It stopped abruptly as she looked down at her laptop.

  "I can't drink now. I have to update the social media sites with this review, and look, here's another one. And then I have to update the blog--"

  Dev put his hand on her shoulder as she lifted her head to meet his gaze. A weird sensation shot through him and for a second, he forgot what he was going to say.

  Drinks. He and Bug, Rory’s baby sister, were celebrating with drinks.

  No big deal. It meant nothing. Less than nothing.

  "Come on. I don't want to drink alone. Have one with me. I cleared it with one of your bosses," he added with a grin.

  She finally nodded and he pushed his drink toward her.

  "Drink up," he said. He took the shot in one gulp. The liquor filled his nose with its rich, smoky scent, and a nice heat settled in his gut. It had been a good day. What better way to end it than getting a little buzzed surrounded by friends close enough to call family?

  Bug had done her shot as well and set the glass on the shellacked wood without even wincing.