Down To You: Rockstar Romance (Sixth Street Bands Book 5)

by Jayne Frost

  “Hey, Lo,” she said before slowly swinging her attention to Dylan. “You ready?”

  Dylan was already on his feet, smiling down at me. “Have fun with the VIPs.”

  The knot in my throat precluded anything but a nod. I couldn’t even return Tori’s wave as the asshole ushered her to the door.

  Sinking back in the chair, I pulled the phone out of my pocket when I felt the vibration against my leg.

  The Metro Music logo flashed on the screen. Mac. Or maybe it was a member of his team. My thumb shifted from the red button to the green.

  “Hello.”

  A rumbling laugh set my teeth on edge. “Logan … how’s the windy city treating you?”

  I twisted toward the door where Tori and Dylan had disappeared. “Awesome. What do you want, Mac?”

  “I want to give you a chance to reconsider my offer. Before it’s too late.”

  “I’m on tour, in case you haven’t heard. And besides, I’m not leaving my band. I already told you that.”

  He clucked his tongue, and I could picture his beady, black eyes. “There’s always another band. It’s you that’s not replaceable.”

  “Nice try, but I ain’t interested.” From across the room, I made eye contact with Elise. She tapped her wrist, and I hauled to my feet. “I better not find out it’s you planting shit in the press.”

  Despite the record breaking crowds, Mac’s lawsuit cast a dark shadow over the tour. We were constantly dodging questions from the media about the bogus stories his team planted.

  “You should be thanking me. There’s no such thing as bad publicity.”

  Jaw torqued tight, I ducked around a few clusters of people in the lobby. Hot air rolled over me as I passed through the automatic doors and into the summer morning.

  “I gotta go.”

  Ending the call before he could reply, I pocketed my phone.

  Sean gave me the side-eye as I slid into the seat beside him.

  “You’re looking rough,” he noted.

  “I need to get laid.” Sean made a big production of putting a couple of extra feet between us. I laughed. “You’re pretty and all, but I wouldn’t want to ruin our lifelong friendship. You know I never stick around after I get it in.”

  The truth spilled out unbidden, and Sean made a face, either from the bad joke or the truth behind it.

  Turning my attention to the window so he wouldn’t see my smile fade, I said, “Lucky for me we’re having supper with a room full of women that I’ll never have to see again.”

  Trapped between Dylan and Beckett on the couch in Dylan’s suite, I stared at the screen on my laptop while Trevor explained the latest avalanche of legal paperwork from Metro.

  In the corner of the screen, Taryn alternated between chewing her fingernails and batting Chase’s hand away when he tried to stop her.

  When Trevor finished spinning his tale of doom, he roughed a hand through his hair and said, “Given what just came to light, it might be time to start looking at settlement options.”

  Dylan, Chase, and Beckett all spoke at once while Taryn just stared into the camera. At me. It was my fight. I always knew it. But Mac had just brought it to my door.

  “Hold on,” I said, my voice razor thin and barely audible over the chaos. But Taryn heard it.

  “Everyone, shut up!” she screeched, and it was like someone pressed the mute button. “Belle, what did you want to say?”

  I cleared my throat, but the tears were still there. When I tried again, Dylan’s hand found mine and Beckett wrapped an arm around my shoulder. But they couldn’t protect me from this.

  “Let me understand,” I began in a shaky voice. “The masters to the unfinished Damaged album are Metro’s property? And Mac can do what he wants with them?”

  Trevor shook his head. “The masters are in Mac’s possession. He’s asserting that they’re his. That Metro holds the distribution rights. That doesn’t mean it’s true.”

  “But they’re Rhenn’s songs,” Dylan growled.

  “Technically, they belong to the group,” Trevor responded calmly. “At least that’s how I’m going to spin it.”

  “Spin?” Taryn interjected, indignant. “They do belong to the group. And therefore, they belong to Tori.”

  “Well according to this,” Trevor held up a piece of paper. “Miles Cooper has standing as well. Are you aware of what this is, Tori?”

  I recognized the document I’d signed all those years ago giving Miles a stake in the Damaged catalogue. “Yes.”

  Trevor sighed. “Then Metro’s right, Miles has a claim.”

  Taryn started to speak, but Dylan beat her to the punch. “What does Miles need to do to … I don’t know …”

  When he struggled to find the words, Trevor took the reins again.

  “He can sign a document relinquishing his rights. That’s not a problem. But Mac is going to offer him a shit ton of money to make sure he doesn’t. I’ll set up a meeting with him and find out where he stands.”

  Dylan and Beckett looked at each other, and as if by some silent agreement, Beckett said, “Don’t do that. We’re his friends. We’ll talk to him. ”

  Once, we were. But that was before. The only friends Miles had now were his pills and his booze.

  Your fault, the voice in my head admonished. And as always, I listened. Because it was true.

  Shifting my attention to Trevor, I asked, “How long until we have to file an answer?”

  “A month from Friday,” he replied, tossing his pen on his desk. “We still have some time.”

  “All right,” I said, slumping back in my chair. “I don’t want to talk settlement yet. Let Dylan and Beckett talk to Miles. I’ll fly home before we head to Europe, and we’ll discuss it more then.”

  Trevor raised a brow. “You’re still going to Europe?”

  Of course I knew what that look was about. But I hadn’t even spoken to Logan about the online classes or modifying his plea agreement.

  I shrugged noncommittally. “Yeah.”

  Dylan’s heavy gaze swung my way, and Taryn didn’t miss the exchange either.

  Before they started up with the questions, I sat up straight and addressed my attorney. “Is there anything else? Because I’ve really got to get back to work.”

  22

  Never.

  Not in all my twenty-eight years had I ever turned down a blow job. Admitting that probably made me a dick. But being a dick was kind of a given. Now I had bigger things to worry about.

  Like, “Will this become a pattern?” or “What the actual fuck is wrong with me?” or “Please don’t step on the hem of my dress,” because, apparently, I’d turned into a woman.

  That probably happened about the time I’d refused the blow job from the willing blonde with the nice rack. And the pillow soft lips. At least they looked soft. I hadn’t actually kissed her.

  And why was that exactly?

  Because you’re a woman.

  Since the whole exchange sounded logical in my inebriated condition, I started thinking about lesbians. Because, if I were a woman, I’d most definitely be a lesbian.

  The random thoughts continued to ping around in my brain as I stumbled toward my suite.

  Tori’s body guard du jour cocked his head when he saw me coming.

  What the hell was his name? Didn’t matter.

  “S-stand down a-asshole. D-don’t make me hurt you,” I slurred, glaring at him with narrowed eyes. “D-o you w-want me to hurt you?”

  It was my standard phrase. And it always, always, worked. I was a scary guy. Scary. Only, he didn’t seem scared. He just stood there, flicking his toothpick from one side of his mouth to the other. And then he laughed.

  “Yeah, okay. Don’t hurt me.”

  Taking a step, I tripped over my own feet, and bounced off the wall.

  He rushed forward. “Do you need some help?”

  “N-no, but you will.” I waved my key at him, but it slipped out of my hand and fell onto the floor.
It seemed like a good idea to reach down and pick it up. Until the ground came up and met the side of my face. “The f-fuck?”

  The bodyguard lifted me off the ground by my collar. “Up you go.”

  Out of the corner of my eye, the door swung open.

  Who the fuck is in my room?

  But it wasn’t my door. It was Toris’. Plural. Because there were two of her.

  They both stepped into the hallway. “What the hell is going on?”

  I pointed at the bodyguard because, maybe she was talking to him.

  She wasn’t.

  “Jesus, you drunk-ass,” she growled. The bodyguard offered to help, but Tori slipped her arm around my shoulder, muttering a refusal.

  “I-I can walk, princess,” I said as she dragged me through the door.

  “Shut up,” she hissed, maneuvering me to the couch.

  I really thought I was standing on my own until Tori wiggled free and I fell onto the cushions like a sack of potatoes.

  She backed up to survey me, crossing her arms over her chest. “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

  As she looked me over, I did my best to puff out my chest. That’s right, princess, this is the real me. I party All. Night. Long. And drink. And turn down blow jobs.

  Wait …

  Scratching my head, I tried to rework my thoughts into something clever I could force past my thick tongue.

  Exasperated, Tori tipped forward. “Eight thirty! Why the hell are you so fucked-up at eight thirty at night?”

  Surely, she meant morning? I’d been out forever. It seemed like forever. Maybe not forever. But a long damn time. I shifted my gaze to the window. It was dark.

  I was still trying to figure it all out when Tori spun on her heel and stalked toward the television. No, the mini-bar.

  “I’ll t-take a Jack,” I said, tilting my head so I could get a better look at her ass when she bent over. “No Coke.”

  When the room started to spin, I closed my eyes.

  “Drink this,” I heard Tori say, a second before she pressed something plastic into my hand.

  I cracked open one heavy lid. And she was there, kneeling in front of me.

  Somewhat dismayed when my first thought glided right past blow jobs, again, I reached out and touched her hair. “F-fuck. You’re …”

  Some of the irritation fled from her gaze, and she dipped her chin. “I’m what?” Her voice was soft. Hesitant.

  She was so many things. But as I took her in, only one word pushed its way past all the sludge in my head. “Beautiful.” I ran my finger over her jaw and down to the hollow of her neck. To the scar. And that was beautiful too. “And you smell like cookies.”

  She laughed. It was light, like soft rain against the glass. “Cookies?”

  “S-snickerdoodles.”

  My heavy lids fluttered closed. But I knew she was still there. I could feel her. And smell her. And if I tried real hard, I could almost taste the sugar on my tongue.

  23

  There’s a place between asleep and awake when your brain is still lost in a dream, but yet, you know you’re conscious. That’s where Rhenn lived. He owned that space in my head. That little sliver when the day was new—it belonged to him. I could always feel him in the foggy mist, like a ghost on my skin.

  Only, today, when I drifted up from the deep water, the soft fingertips gliding over my calf … they weren’t his.

  I knew it, even before I opened my eyes.

  It was Logan, sprawled out on the other side of the couch, in the same spot where he’d passed out. Only now he was awake, staring out the window, one arm tucked behind his head.

  My gaze shifted to his other hand, stroking my leg with long fingers.

  I watched him for a good two minutes, maybe more. The man was gorgeous. He shone like the moon. A light in all the darkness that swirled around him. And there was darkness. But it didn’t consume him. Just danced along the edges, framing him in shadow.

  His gaze jerked to mine when I retracted my foot. We stared at each other for a long moment.

  Then he cleared his throat. “Morning, Victoria.”

  I tried to muster up some anger. It should’ve been easy, considering his behavior last night.

  And why was I surprised?

  Obviously, he was feeling better. Whatever virus had lingered in his system for the last few weeks was gone. So naturally, he was back to his old ways. Getting drunk. Staying out all night. Or until eight thirty. I was too tired to laugh at that.

  Instead, I propped up on one elbow and ran a hand through my messy hair, looking anywhere but at him. “Morning.”

  With the way I’d slept, wedged against the back of the sofa with Logan’s leg pressed against mine, I should’ve been stiff. But I wasn’t. Just a little sore from the time I’d spent in the gym.

  I snuck down there every day when Logan was out doing press. I couldn’t run. Maybe I’d never run again. But the elliptical made it feel like I was running. Weightless.

  Logan’s feet hit the ground with a soft thud.

  “Hangover?” I asked, pushing upright.

  “Not bad. I wasn’t that drunk.”

  Snickering, I gingerly climbed off the couch. “Okay.”

  “I wasn’t,” he insisted. “I remember everything.”

  His tone held a trace of anger, so I looked down at him, confused.

  Was he mad because he said I was beautiful?

  Probably.

  Holding my gaze, he sank against the cushions, folding his arms over his chest. “How was your date?”

  Jesus, he was still drunk.

  I tried for an indulgent smile, but it froze under his icy glare, shattering into pieces. “I didn’t have a date. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Lunch, whatever. With your buddy, Dylan.”

  There was no love lost between Dylan and Logan, and I got that. Band rivalries were real. And to be expected with someone who had an ego the size of Logan’s.

  Squaring my shoulders, I placed a hand on my hip. “We had some business to take care of. But I changed the schedule so that Caged could take over the VIP lunch with the platinum circle ticket holders.”

  I didn’t know what prompted me to add that last part. And I didn’t like the way it sounded. Revenged Theory or Drafthouse should’ve been tapped to fill in for Leveraged. But I felt a little bad because Caged never got any stage time after dark.

  I assumed the jackass in front of me would be grateful. Or gracious at least. But I saw none of that. Just a smirk ticking up one corner of his lips.

  “What did Dylan eat for lunch?” Logan’s gaze roamed the length of me before settling on my face. “Cookies?”

  You smell like cookies.

  My mouth dropped open when I realized what he was implying. “We didn’t eat lunch.”

  He pushed to his feet, and I had to lift my gaze to meet his eyes.

  “Whatever. You don’t have to send me on an errand when y’all want to meet. Feel free to rattle the walls anytime you want.”

  I was too stunned to reply, which only added to his mounting frustration. After a moment, his face lost all expression.

  “I’ve got a show this afternoon,” he said evenly. “I’m going to go get ready.”

  He stalked to his room without another word, leaving the door open only a crack.

  I waited until I heard the water running to pull out my phone. My finger hovered between the phone and FaceTime icons beneath Taryn’s picture, and before I could think better of it, I hit the latter.

  “Belle!” My best friend’s smile was electric, but it was the window behind her that had my full attention. Clouds and blue sky and buildings I could draw from memory.

  Home.

  Swallowing past the pebble in my throat, I curled onto the sofa. “Hey, T-Rex.”

  We talked about everything but business for the better part of an hour, and only after the front door rattled in the adjacent suite did I say my goodbyes.

 
; Hauling my backpack into my lap, I felt around for the papers Trevor had given me. The documents were self-explanatory, but still, I jotted down a quick message on one of the hotel notepads.

  Logan,

  Trevor says if you complete the online courses and fill out the attached documents, the judge will look into modifying your plea agreement. If it all goes according to plan, my name can be lifted from the bond and you can continue the tour without a chaperone.

  Biting the cap on the pen, I deliberated on what else to say. Thank you, best wishes, or go fuck yourself all sprung to mind, but I settled on a loopy V.

  And then I tiptoed to Logan’s room and laid the documents on his pillow where he’d be sure to see them whenever he decided to come back.

  24

  A current of anger ran the length of my body as I jabbed at the keys on my phone. I never cursed being born. And I didn’t have the destructive kind of depression that led to self-harm. I tended to turn rage inside out. I ranted. Raved. Broke things.

  Like this motherfucking phone.

  Ready to hurl the piece of shit at the nearest wall, I took aim, but my rational side seized control at the last second.

  Break the phone, and then what are you gonna do, genius?

  I let my head fall forward at the same time my arm dropped limply to my side. My sour stomach and lingering hangover precluded any serious drinking, but one shot would make it easier to unscramble the knots in my parietal lobe. And yeah, irony was a fucking whore. Because at some point I’d been forced to commit to memory the exact spot in my dysfunctional brain responsible for unlocking the mysteries of the written word. But I couldn’t actually read.

  Smiling bitterly, I unscrewed the cap on the mini bottle of Jack. “To Irony.” I toasted the air in my empty suite. “You’re one sadistic bitch. Say hi to your sister for me.”

  That would be Fate.

  Because, the two had to be in cahoots. Fate put Victoria in my path. And now the girl was under my skin. Which was the reason I was sitting in a dark room, trying to decipher the papers she’d left on my fucking pillow.