by Alyson Hale
ROCK HER LONG
Rock Her Series #3
By Alyson Hale
ROCK HER LONG
Copyright © 2019 by Alyson Hale.
All rights reserved.
First Print Edition: June 2019
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to locales, events, business establishments, or actual persons—living or dead— is entirely coincidental.
NOTE: This book is not intended for readers under the age of eighteen.
Dedication
Chapter 1
Elyza
Chapter 2
Eddie
Chapter 3
Elyza
Chapter 4
Eddie
Chapter 5
Elyza
Chapter 6
Eddie
Chapter 7
Elyza
Chapter 8
Eddie
Chapter 9
Elyza
Chapter 10
Eddie
Chapter 11
Elyza
Chapter 12
Eddie
Chapter 13
Elyza
Chapter 14
Eddie
Chapter 15
Elyza
Chapter 16
Elyza
Chapter 17
Eddie
Chapter 18
Elyza
Chapter 19
Eddie
Chapter 20
Elyza
Chapter 21
Elyza
Chapter 22
Eddie
Chapter 23
Elyza
Epilogue
Eddie
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
LINKS
OTHER BOOKS BY THIS AUTHOR
NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR
Dedication
To anyone who is still searching for their place in the universe. May your light burst forth and dazzle everyone around you.
Chapter 1
Elyza
A swirling haze of smoke floats up toward the ceiling fan. I suck in a deep breath, letting the pungent scent of weed infiltrate my nostrils and travel down into my lungs. There’s only so much of this herbal anxiety cure to go around tonight, and I need as much as I can get. With all the stress bearing down on me in my personal and academic life, it’s amazing I haven’t turned to something stronger yet.
House parties have become my favorite part of going to college; not because I like to party, but because I enjoy making fun of the stupid shit other people do when they’re wasted. Girls have attached themselves to guys all around the ping pong table. All the males in the room seem riveted by watching each other throw a plastic ball into plastic cups. I watch them play from a distance, thinking whoever invented this game must have been drunk or high or both. A collective groan breaks out when Julio, the one who invited us here, throws a ping pong ball and completely misses the table.
One of Julio’s buddies grins in his direction. “That must be how it feels when he aims for your pussy, eh McKenzie?” Julio’s girlfriend glares at him, resulting in a howl of laughter from the rest of the guys.
I sigh and turn to Lance, who’s sitting next to me on the sofa. “Bong.”
Lance hands me the bong and his lighter, his chestnut-colored fingers brushing mine in the transfer. His dark brown eyes are bloodshot, and his face has lost all expression. Normally, Lance is the life of the party, but we’re all stressed about finals, so when they offered us a hit, we couldn’t resist. I take some crushed cannabis leaves and fill up the bowl, then light it up and take in a long breath.
Maria, my roommate and other partner-in-crime, takes the bong from me and takes such a long hit that I worry about her suffocating. When she can’t hold it in any longer, smoke flies out of her mouth as if from an exhaust pipe, punctuated by a rattling cough.
“You’re only supposed to hold it in for a few seconds, you know,” I tell her.
“Yeah, I know,” Maria sighs. Her dark, long eyelashes frame her creamy beige eyelids as she leans her head on my shoulder and closes her eyes. “I’m just nervous. I can’t believe they’re making us wait until after winter break to get our results.”
“Right? It’s...bullshit,” Lance drawls, his voice as dead as his eyes. I giggle at him. This guy has been my constant companion since kindergarten. I chose this college in the Appalachian mountains because of him. After all, I could study anywhere to be a nurse. But Lance is my other half, though not in a romantic sense. He is very vocal about his appreciation for the male physique.
“Julio!” Lance calls out, raising up his beer cup. Julio’s head snaps around to face him. “Twerk it for me, ba-bayyy!” Julio grins and gives a twerking demonstration with his admittedly round, juicy-looking ass. Lance responds with loud appreciation. “Ow, owww!”
Everyone laughs, except for McKenzie, whose withering glare zones in on Lance. Unfazed, Lance flashes her a pearly grin and an exaggerated wink. Everyone but her seems to realize the “flirting” between Lance and Julio, who are dorm mates, is all in good fun. Julio is straight as an arrow and completely obsessed with McKenzie, even though she’s a jealous bitch. He’s the star of the school’s soccer team, and before he tied himself down to her, he was quite the ladies’ man. Now that she’s finally got him in her clutches, it seems like she’s having trouble trusting him.
Sighing, I reach for my cup and take a long swallow of Coors Light. I’m not a huge fan of the flavor, but it’s the only alcohol these dumbfucks will buy. I miss when Lance and I used to sneak into his parents’ wine cellar at home. I’ve sampled quite a few of them now. My favorite by far are the Malbecs, robust and fruity with the pleasant bite of dark chocolate.
I don’t agree with her attitude, but I get why McKenzie worries about losing Julio. Every guy I’ve ever been with has run off with some other girl. In my case, it’s because they wanted someone who would put out. I haven’t ever been able to “connect” with a guy, and I think it’s because I’m afraid he’s going to leave me, like my father did. I’ve had boyfriends and engaged in plenty of non-penetration sexual activities, but I wouldn’t let them swipe my V-card. It’s not like I never planned to have sex with them eventually. I just didn’t feel comfortable enough after a few weeks of knowing each other to let them in. Then, before I could work up the nerve, they were already in bed with another girl. The cycle repeated itself so many times, I lost count. The more I got my heart broken, the more I decided the male sex is just wired that way. All they care about is getting that “home run.” Nobody gives a shit about what’s going on inside a person.
I sink back into the plush couch cushions, drink in hand. “I need a real man.”
“Girl, preach,” Lance says, putting his hand up in the air as if we’re in church.
“Amen,” Maria agrees.
I lean against Lance’s shoulder and sigh. “Lancie, when are we ever going to find real men?”
“I don’t know, sugar.” Lance leans his head on top of mine and presses a kiss against my temple. He needles me with his skinny elbow. “At least you get to spend your winter break with rock stars. Lucky bitch.”
A giggle bubbles out of my throat. I’ve been watching my sister Kyri from a distance as she met and fell in love with none other than the Jace Hawthorne,
lead singer of the Filthy Bangers. It still seems too fantastical to be true. My big sister, the wallflower, the nerdy bookworm, marrying a rock star? Puh-lease. I’ll believe it when I see it.
Still, the idea of spending the holidays with four filthy-rich, devastatingly handsome British rocker boys holds great appeal. Jace is taken, of course—unless my mom and Kyri have been lying to everyone for the past few months—but the other three are single and hopefully down to earth enough to keep me company. I’m going to have to make sure I don’t have any of their memorabilia lying around before they come over. Kyri and I were among the Filthy Bangers’ first fans. We never got to go to their concerts because they only toured in Europe, but we have all of their albums. There are even posters of them on our bedroom walls. From what I hear, they’re starting their first American tour in a few short weeks. Normally, I would be in the audience with Kyri, screaming and possibly throwing my underwear if I got real crazy, but now that she’s engaged to the front man, it’s going to be...weird, to say the least.
“Let us know how it goes,” Maria says. She leans against me, her honey-brown eyes wide with excitement. “I want all the dirty deets when you get back. Dick size and all.”
Heat rises up my chest and neck. “Come on, Maria. You know that’s not going to happen.”
Maria groans and sags against me. “You mean you’re not even going to take advantage of the opportunity to bang one of the Filthy Bangers? I didn’t say you had to sample them all, just one!”
I stare at her. Prim, doll-like Maria has never misbehaved a day in her life, except for coming to parties with us and taking the occasional hit. She is dead focused on her dream of being a lawyer, like her parents. I’ve never even seen her bring a guy back to our dorm room, and now she’s acting like it’s a given that I have to have sex with one of the Filthy Bangers. Where has this Maria been all this time?
“She’s right, bae,” Lance sings teasingly. “You would be a legend if you came back to school saying ‘I fucked a rock star over Christmas break.’”
I laugh through the tension in my throat. “You two must be higher than I thought if you think I’m going to give it up to one of these guys. Even if they wanted me, it would be a hard pass. Have you forgotten my dad abandoned our asses to go on tour with them and be their manager?”
Lance clicks his tongue. “That bitterness is going to get you nowhere in life, Ely.”
“Yeah, Elyza. You can’t blame them for what your dad did,” Maria adds.
Tears prick my eyes. I huddle my knees into my chest, my go-to signal that I want to be left alone.
Lance and Maria let it go, but their words burn in my ears for a while after that, drowning out the noise from the hooligans gathered around the ping-pong table. My dad left us years ago, when I was just a child, and I still miss him every day. I’ve heard he’s back in town and wants to see me over winter break. At first I was excited to see him, but now I’m nervous. The man I remember Rick Calloway to be is “Daddy.” Daddy showed me how to pitch a softball. He took me bowling and to the arcade. He let me ride on his shoulders, perched high above the clouds...or at least, that’s how my young mind saw things. And now he’s Dad, the man I haven’t seen in over half my life.
What if he’s changed? What if I’ve changed? It doesn’t seem likely we’ll have much in common after spending over a decade apart. Plus, he’s apparently filthy rich now. He’s on a whole different playing field from us.
But then I think about the Filthy Bangers coming to my mom’s house for Christmas, and I get excited shivers all over my body again. I hope I’m able to maintain some sense of self-control around them. There’s one in particular—the bassist, Eddie Turner—that I’ve dreamed about for most of my life. I was just starting to develop an interest in men when Kyri first introduced me to the band. We watched their music videos together and swooned over them the way only preteen girls can. Kyri and I would argue fiercely over which of the band members was the hottest. She insisted the hottest one was Jace, which was so basic of her. Jace is the front man. Everyone obsessed over Jace. I always stood up for Eddie. His dark hair, bright gray eyes and ripped, tattooed arms flooded all my budding sexual fantasies. Even now, I can feel my panties dampening a little just thinking about him.
All these years, I’ve imagined him scooping me up into those strong arms, flashing his big, sexy grin at me, pressing his soft lips against mine and slipping that hot, wet pierced tongue into my mouth...
Losing my virginity to a rock star would be a crazy story for sure. It would be the hottest, most unforgettable night of my life. But even if I wanted to, I don’t think I would have the guts to go through with it. I may be old-fashioned, but I’d like to lose my innocence to someone I could have a relationship with. People in the music industry don’t stick around. I know this from bitter experience.
Still, it is just one night of my life. I almost feel like doing it and getting it over with. I wish my stupid emotions would stop getting in the way.
Everything is complicated, and I don’t want to think about any of it right now. Hence why things like weed, alcohol and moronic games like beer pong exist.
I hold my hand out to Maria.
“Bong.”
Chapter 2
Eddie
Bass rumbles the ground beneath my feet. It’s a familiar sensation, but usually I’m the one creating it. When we’re at Slash, a club in downtown Atlanta, I get a break from being a musician and take advantage of the chance to free my inner dance fiend instead. The women love it when I loosen my hips and roll them in suggestion, giving them a tease of my prize hog in the process. I don’t even have to approach them; they come up to me and position themselves in front of my cock, looking over their shoulder as if to invite me in. Being worshipped by gorgeous women all over the world doesn’t get old. Now that my brother Damien isn’t hanging out with us much and Jace is busy with his fianceé, Connor and I have full reign of the ladies market and I plan on taking full advantage of it. Connor is kicked back in the VIP area, watching our drinks and chatting up some beauties on the couch. Even with three beautiful women clustered around him, Connor looks a bit lonely. I know exactly what’s going through his mind.
It feels strange to be in the club without Jace and Damien. They got into it because Jace wanted to fire Rick, our manager, and Damien thought he’d done nothing to deserve it. Jace got his way, as he always does, and Damien was so furious about it he stormed off to get a place of his own. We haven’t seen him since. I’ve only been able to stay in touch with him by phone. At this point, I’m worried the band might be in deep trouble. I don’t want to see us fall apart, but there’s not much I can do about it, which explains why I’m out here partying the night away instead of facing my problems.
I was dancing for all of five seconds before this buxom blonde beauty decided to shimmy in front of me and start grinding against my jeans-covered cock. Her tight, royal blue dress hugs her hips, perfectly accenting her rounded hourglass figure. Her slightly less endowed, dark-haired friends hang on my left and right, each one wanting their small slice of my attention. I let them run their hands up and down my midnight black tank top underneath my leather jacket and slip my arms around their waists. I don’t judge a woman based on body type. It’s all about how she can suck and fuck, and these three beauties all seem like they know what they’re doing and they’re willing to share.
Leaning down, I’m about to kiss one of the brunettes when my mobile goes off in my pocket. With an exasperated groan, I excuse myself and stop by the VIP section to sip down the rest of my Macallan. Connor is moving toward the dance floor, which means he’s either going to dance with his women or take them to bed. If I don’t finish my drink, someone else will. I’ll be damned if I let some random bloke who can’t even pronounce the phrase “thirty year single malt Scotch whisky” take a hundred British pounds worth of this liquid gold away from me. Whomever’s calling me is just going to have to wait until I’ve finished what’s mine
and mine alone.
People often mistake my cheery, lively personality for kindness and call me things like “sweetheart” and “nice guy.” What they don’t know is that I can be a selfish bastard with things that belong to me. I’ve learned how to put on a smile and act like things don’t get to me. It was the only way I could survive after my ex destroyed me all those years ago.
I swallow down the last drop of Scotch and twist my glass in my hand to make sure not even a molecule remains. Satisfied, I set the glass down on the table and exit through the rear door. Once I’m outside the club and leave the ear-shattering noise of it behind me, I dial back the number. It’s a British number I don’t recognize, so I assume it’s another one of Damien’s phones. I just talked to him earlier today, inviting him to Christmas at the Calloways’ home, so it’s probably a question about that. “Yes, what is it?”
“Well, that’s some greeting for your favorite uncle, innit?” I hear the grin in Cyril’s deep, raspy voice.
“Cyril?” My voice cracks like a teenager’s in my surprise. I clear my throat to bring it back to its normal timbre. “I haven’t heard from you in ages, man. How have you been?”
Cyril sighs. “Not so well, I’m afraid. You heard about Al’s heart attack, I suppose.”
“Yes, Damien told me.”
“Well, I’m afraid that was it for us. I just got done wrapping up all the paperwork. Lighting the Fire is no more.”
My heart sinks deep in my chest. The band I grew up with on tour is done. I attended all their concerts once I was old enough to tolerate the sound. They were the ones who lit my fire for music. It feels like the end of an era. “Fuck, Uncle. I’m so sorry.”
