by Lisa Suzanne
“I love you,” I say, racing through the second light toward her place and making record time in getting there.
“Right back at you, sister.”
“Where were you?” I ask, purposely changing the subject when I feel the sting of tears threatening behind my eyes. I can cry later. Right now I need to get to Amber’s place safely.
“I was just picking up some clothes for this weekend at a little shop near my place.”
“What’s going on this weekend?”
“MFB is in Vegas and Adam invited me to come see them play and hang out.” Right. I remember her telling me that her brother’s band, MFB—short for My Favorite Band—was heading to Vegas. Maybe I can stay at her place while she’s gone for the weekend. It’ll give me time to veg out and get my head back on straight. She pauses, and then she says, “Oh my God, you should come!”
“What? No. I can’t come.”
“Adam will be there...” she says in a singsong, like that’ll be the thing that convinces me.
Okay, if I’m being completely honest, I’ve always carried a major torch for her brother. He was a senior when we were freshmen in high school. He never gave me a second look, but I gave him more than a second look...and a third...and a fourth...you get the point.
“As much as I love looking at your hot rock star brother, I can’t just go to Vegas this weekend.”
“Why not?”
“Because I promised I’d go to this work thing Chad has...” I cut myself off.
I realize this all literally just happened, but it’s going to take me some time to shift my vocabulary.
Chad and I have been together a long time. I stopped thinking in terms of me a long time ago. I stopped speaking in terms of I the minute I realized I loved him. It wasn’t that I had plans this weekend, it was that we did.
But now there is no we, no us, and it’s time to think of myself again.
And maybe that means a girls trip to Vegas with my best friend.
I pull into her driveway, just behind her car. We both hang up, and we get out of our cars at the same time.
“I’m not going to Chad’s work thing, am I?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “Nope. Not when you’re coming to Vegas with me.”
CHAPTER 3: ADAM
“What about her?” Brody points to a woman in the front row with white-blonde hair that falls in waves down to the middle of her back. He twirls a drumstick between his fingers as we stand backstage before our gig.
“She’s hot.” I shrug. “But I’m still not looking for a hook-up.”
Brody shakes his head with disappointment and gives Dax a look that clearly reads help me out here.
“You need to get laid,” Dax, our lead singer, says. “I know it. Brody knows it. Rascal and Kane know it.” He names all four members of our band aside from me. “The only one who doesn’t seem to know it is you. Is it Bree again? Because it’s been six months, man. Time to move on.”
Dax is lecturing me. Again. It’s easy to be the lecturer when you’re getting regular sex. Me? Not so much.
My ex and I both said things we can’t take back, but that’s not even the point. I don’t want to take them back. I have moved on.
She wanted me to choose her over my band, and I wanted someone who wouldn’t ask me to make that choice. And so, in the end, I refused to choose, and that was that.
“God, you need to get some pussy,” Brody says.
I laugh. It’s not like the king of one-nighters has been exactly spreading his seed all over the land since he settled down with one woman. Not for lack of opportunities, but because he’s committed. He’s stuck on the girl he loves, and I miss those days.
I don’t miss her, though. Just the idea of someone like her.
We line up backstage just like we do every night, with Brody leading the pack and the rest of us trailing behind.
I take my spot and slip my guitar strap over my neck, adjusting it where it cuts into my skin. I slide my fingers into position and take a deep breath, and then the lights blind me as they flash on in the same second Brody hits the first beat of the first song we play. And then we’re off.
When the show’s over and we’re at the after party, I clink a shot glass against Rascal’s. He’s the unlikely guy I’ve grown closest to this tour, maybe because we’re both single, and he’s scouring this afterparty once again for a pair of girls we can take back to our tour bus.
I don’t want to take anyone back to our tour bus.
I want to go back alone and get ready for what will surely be a crazy weekend ahead.
We’re heading to Vegas, and I invited my little sister to hang with us while we’re there. It’s her birthday weekend, and I couldn’t think of a better way to help her celebrate than rock star style.
Well, as rock star style as I’ll allow my little sister to get in Vegas with me. I am her older brother, after all, and I still need to protect her.
I swallow a bit of whiskey, the liquid bringing me back to the present as I laugh at the look on Rascal’s face, and I proceed to down some more.
The nightly drinks have helped with the post-break-up blues, and watching Rascal get drunk and puke every night after a couple shots because the kid can’t hold his liquor was definitely tops on the Rock on the Road highlight reels. Rascal didn’t learn from seeing himself on the screen, but the same can’t be said for me.
“Oh my God, it’s really you!” some girl says as she tosses her arms around my neck just as Rascal heads to the restroom. She has wavy dark locks that fall just past her shoulders and heavily made up blue eyes. She smells like strawberries and rum, which tells me she’s not the girl for me. Rum reminds me of my sister, not of a girl I want to take into my bed.
“It’s really me,” I say, giving her a quick squeeze and trying futilely to untangle myself.
“You were soooo amazing on that stage,” she says dreamily.
“Thank you.” What else is there to say? I appreciate the compliment, but I’ve never been particularly good at taking them. I typically leave that for our front man, Dax, and his sidekick, Brody, as I blend into the background.
“I’ve always dreamed of hooking up with the lead guitarist...” she says, trailing off as she runs her fingernails up my arm.
She won’t believe the it’s not you, it’s me old line, but it’s the truth. It’s really not her. It used to be so easy to just say I had a girlfriend—because I did.
But I don’t anymore, and so there’s nothing to stop me from taking this girl to bed.
Well, nothing aside from those utterly ridiculous, self-loathing morals again. And this time, I’m free and clear of shots of sex on the beach, which means I’m going to do the smart thing...the one thing that will protect us both. It’ll keep me from making a mistake I’ll only feel shameful and guilty about in the morning, and it’ll protect her self-esteem.
I lie.
“That sounds fantastic, really, but I have a girlfriend. I’m so sorry.”
She looks a little crestfallen as she flushes, but she nods and has the grace to look a little embarrassed for hitting on me in the first place. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
I shake my head. “Don’t worry about it. Let me buy you a drink.”
She shakes her head. “That’s okay,” she mutters, and she bolts.
“She ran out of here fast,” Rascal says when he slides beside me at the bar. “You show her your tiny dick?”
I laugh. “No. She hit on me, and I told her I had a girlfriend. And for the record, it’s not tiny.”
“Did you tell her I’m single?” His red hair bounces as he eagerly anticipates my answer, and I can’t help but think that sometimes, especially when he’s been drinking, he’s more of a cartoon than a human being.
“I said you’d buy her a drink, and she said she’d rather have the money.”
He laughs. “Asshole.”
“And her friend said she couldn’t get with a dude named Rascal.” I take a sip
of the Guinness I opted for after my tequila shots.
“It’s not my fault I was born with the last name Rascowicz.”
He has a point. He introduced himself as Will when we first met, but the nickname has followed him since he was in kindergarten.
“Why’d you really turn her down?” he asks softly. These comfortable moments with Rascal used to be rare, but he seems to be mellowing a little this tour. He’s always been fiery and unpredictable and immature, but he’s also somehow become someone I can confide in over the last few months.
I blow out a breath and take another sip of my drink just to have something to do. I tap the side of my glass as I get down to the heart of the matter with the least likely guy in my band to be the one to listen. “Because I don’t want something that’s going to last for one night. And, hey, you never told me what happened with the girl in Cleveland who kept your shoes.”
He laughs. “And I won’t. Did you bang her friend?”
I shake my head. “I passed out,” I say, putting air quotes around the action.
Rascal shakes his head. “Pussy.”
My brows draw down at his insult.
“Not you,” he clarifies. “I’m telling you that you need to get some pussy. The best way to get over someone is to get under someone else. And if you’re not gonna do that, at least send your rejects my way.”
I laugh even though he incorrectly assumes it’s Bree I’m thinking about as I wonder whether there’s something wrong with me.
I’m a rock star who doesn’t want a random hook-up, a one-night stand, or an awkward morning after.
CHAPTER 4: ADAM
“Hit,” I say, and I hold up my empty glass so the waitress can see I need another. I bust at twenty-three, and Dax moans as the dealer rakes away three black chips. It’s just the two of us playing blackjack in a private, high-limit area. We just rolled into town a few hours ago, and everyone else is up in their rooms taking showers and naps (or having sex in private) after a few days on the bus.
“Three hundred bucks on one hand. Remember the days when three hundred bucks meant groceries and beer for a month for all five of us?” he muses.
I laugh. Even though three hundred bucks isn’t much to us anymore, it still hurts to just throw it away. My luck is shit at this table, yet I keep throwing more money down. “Times have sure changed since we signed with Ashmark.”
“Speaking of Ashmark, I hear Vail’s in town playing MGM this weekend,” Dax says. Vail is the worldwide phenomenon fronted by Mark Ashton, the owner of our label, Ashmark Records, and we were lucky enough to open for them on tour a few years ago.
“Capacity there is about five grand more than Mandalay Bay.” I’ve studied all the venues in all the towns we play. What good is a sellout crowd when the venue only holds a hundred people? My goal is to sell out stadiums, and Mandalay Bay, where we’re playing, holds twelve thousand people.
We sold out both nights we’re playing there.
It’s not just a goal. It’s a dream come true. That many people want to see our little band play live, and that thought blows my fucking mind.
“We should see if Mark would be willing to swing by and play a song with us,” he says, tapping the table to indicate he wants the dealer to give him another card.
Dax and Mark have gotten pretty close over the last few years, and considering Mark owns our record label, we should have an in. “Text him.”
He loses his hand, and he stands from the table to send a text, sitting out a hand.
And him sitting out a hand is when my luck turns around.
I’m dealt an ace and a jack, and with that blackjack, I bet another hundred bucks on my next hand. I’m dealt two kings, and I win against the dealer’s seventeen. I double down. I stack more chips. I win, win, win like I can’t seem to lose.
All in all, I walk away about ten grand richer than I started.
And it’s only the start. I can feel in my bones that this is going to be one hell of a lucky weekend.
We head back toward our floor. We booked two three-bedroom suites; Dax, Brody, and Kane, our bassist, are in one, and Rascal and I are sharing one just down the hall from them. Once my sister gets here, she’ll take the third bedroom.
When I walk into my room, the main living area is quiet. I grab myself another Guinness from the bar and collapse on the couch. I check my messages, and I have one from my sister.
Amber: Left a little earlier than expected. Should be there around four.
I check the clock and see that she’ll be here in the next hour. We have a club appearance at ten at the MGM, but as far as I know, that’s our only plan for the night. More than likely we’ll have some dinner, pre-party in Dax’s room for a while, and head out.
On that note, a call from Dax comes through a few seconds after I’ve closed my eyes to get a little rest before the night begins.
“What’s up?” I answer.
“Mark texted me back.” I can tell immediately from his tone that he’s calling me with good news. “They want us to join them on stage tonight for a song, and they said they’ll swing by our show Saturday.”
“What time?” I ask, thinking of the club appearance we’re scheduled for tonight.
“A little after nine. They want us to sing ‘One for the Road’ with them, and it’ll be plenty of time to get to the club. They might join us there afterward. Can you tell Rascal?”
“As soon as I find him,” I say, excited about the opportunity in front of us. We’re going to play with Vail, legends in the music industry, and their sold-out crowd of over seventeen thousand people will hear our little band’s name as we take the stage with them tonight.
Okay, maybe we’re not so little anymore, but still.
And I love that my sister will be here to witness all the fun.
I’m too amped up for a nap. I bang on Rascal’s closed door, and he responds with a muffled, “What?”
I open it, and he’s lying naked on his bed—face down, at least, thank God. I wince as I turn away and shield my eyes from his pale white ass, though even I have to admit that it looks like the extra time he’s been putting in at the gym has been paying off. “Put some goddamn clothes on,” I say, but nothing can ruin my good mood right now. “I have news.”
“What?” he asks.
“Vail asked us to perform a song with them tonight.”
“What?” He turns over and sits up, treating me to his entirely naked body.
It’s the third what he’s said in the last thirty seconds as if he doesn’t know any other words. “Dude, put some clothes on.” I face the door instead of him. “I shouldn’t have to ask twice.”
“Stay out of my room if you don’t want a view of the goods,” he says, but I hear him get up and rustle around for a second. “Okay, I have pants on, asshole. So what’s this about Vail?”
I turn around, and he rubs his eyes like I woke him up then runs a hand over his fiery red curls. “‘One for the Road.’ They want us to come play it with them tonight, and they said they’ll return the favor on Saturday.”
“That’s awesome.” He grins. “Touring with them opened so many doors for us.”
“I know. And can you please keep some clothes on when my sister’s here?”
His grin widens. “We’ll see. I always thought she was kinda hot. Think she wants a little Rascal in her?”
“You’re sick,” I mutter. “She’s my sister. She’s off-limits.”
Speaking of my sister, a text comes through from her.
Amber: Where should I go when I get there?
Me: Valet your car. We’re in Octavius Tower room 2304. Don’t text and drive.
Amber: I’m not.
How is she not? Unless she’s not alone...but she didn’t tell me anyone was accompanying her. I don’t ask, though, just in case she’s lying and she actually is texting and driving, which is not okay.
After a quick meeting with the guys where we sketch out our plan for the night and do a little cele
brating, I take a quick shower. Just as I finish toweling my hair dry, I hear a knock at the door.
“Rascal! Can you get that?” I yell.
He doesn’t respond, and the knocking gets louder.
“Rascal!” I try again, but he still doesn’t answer. “Where the fuck is he?” I mutter as I wrap the towel around my waist and run to answer the door.
“I realize we haven’t seen each other in a while, but that’s way more of you than I want to see,” my sister says when I open the door. She purses her lips, and she’s not alone.
Her friend Emily stands behind her, the curls of her dark hair shining in the lights of the hallway and her cheeks burning bright red as her eyes zero in on my stomach. I flex my abs.
I can’t help it. It’s like some natural response to eyes on me.
I watch as her eyes widen a little and then move up to mine.
Even though I haven’t seen her in a long time, I’ve known this girl for years. She’s always been my annoying little sister’s annoying best friend. She’s always harbored a raging crush on me, obvious in the way she’s always looked at me like she’s looking at me now.
Obvious in the way she used to find reasons to bump into me in the hallway when she’d sleep over at my parents’ house when we were teenagers.
Obvious in the way she’d flirt innocently with me when she thought my sister wasn’t paying attention.
But the way she’s looking at me now? There’s nothing innocent about it, and I’m suddenly seeing my annoying little sister’s annoying best friend in a whole new, very non-annoying light.
Maybe it’s the Guinness talking, or maybe it’s the excitement of taking the stage tonight with Vail. Or maybe it’s neither of those, and little Emily has suddenly grown up.
“I didn’t know you were bringing a friend,” I say casually, my eyes still on Emily as my sister brushes past me into the suite.
“You could offer to take our bags, asshole.”
“Nice to see you, too, Amber.” I let my sister handle her own bag, and I take the handle of Emily’s rolling suitcase from her. “Hey, Emma.” I grin at her, and her lips tip up in a smile. It’s an inside joke, a throwback to the time I called her Emma one morning because I thought that was really her name when I hadn’t cared enough to listen when Amber introduced her at the dinner table the first night she slept over at our house. They couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve. Funny enough, that’s about the same time we first formed MFB. I’m sure I was too wrapped up in my own little world to notice her...but for some reason, I’m noticing her now.
