Lucas: A Rockstar Romance (The Sinful Seven Series Book 1)

by Connie Lafortune

  I linger in bed just a tad longer than I should because it smells just like him. Cardamom, a hint of bergamot, a trace of lavender. It’s seductive, intoxicating. So much so that I could lie here all day and just breathe him in.

  Sundays are always my day off, and Sal gets Saturdays. It’s a great tradeoff because it gives him the day to spend with the grandkids. It doesn’t matter to me what day off I have because I normally go shopping and run errands. If I have the time, I might do some laundry, too. It’s a lifesaver since most days I’m too exhausted to function after work. Besides, it’s not like I have a guy who demands all of my attention. It’s all good. Some days I prefer it that way, and today is one of them.

  After crawling out of bed, albeit reluctantly, I lounge around in my jammies while sipping coffee and eating breakfast. It’s a significant change of pace from setting my alarm and rushing off to work before the sun comes up. I can lounge around for as long as I want and then, when I’m damn good and ready, I can start my day. Not quite yet. I’m going to soak up the warm rays of the sun peeking through the checkered curtains.

  While I’m browsing through my phone, I check my e-mails and scroll through social media. It’s a joke, really, so much drama. I check Java Joe’s website for today’s specials. I’m happy to see Sal posted them because sometimes he forgets. Hey, I’m the boss and I’ve forgotten a time or two. Shit happens.

  Once I get bored, I snap my phone closed and force myself to get motivated. A few downward dogs in the middle of my living room are just what I needed to get my butt in gear. In a matter of minutes, I’m in the shower and washing Lucas out of my system. Just for today.

  Thirty minutes later, with my hair still damp, I’m driving to the grocery store with bags in tow. Of course, going up and down the aisles is a chore since I never know what I want on any given week. Doesn’t matter, I’ll wing it like I always do. Four bags and sixty dollars later, I’m on my way home. Yeah, it’s true what they say—Never go shopping when you’re hungry. Bad idea.

  After unpacking the shit I bought for the week, I wonder if I can pull up a recipe online with these random ingredients. Pinterest is my friend, so I punch it up and put in a few items. Wow, I’m shocked when fourteen recipes pop up. As I scroll through them, I realize I’m missing a bunch of other ingredients. Epic fail. Canned soup it is, then. I have plenty of that in my pantry.

  When my phone dings again, I remember someone called while I was driving home, and I couldn’t answer since my phone was stuffed in my jeans pocket. It’s Cheryl. As much as I’d love to have a girl’s day out, my laundry won’t do itself. She always has the weekends off and gets bored. I bet she called Beth first, who was probably busy, so I was her second choice. Doesn’t matter, I just need to put my foot down. Wish me luck.

  “Hey, girl. What’s up?” It sounds like she’s running up the stairs, so I give her a second.

  “Hey, Abby. Um, can I call you back?” Oh, my God! Was she having sex? Did she just butt-dial me or something?

  “Sure, I was just… Never mind, call me when you can.” I don’t bother waiting for her to respond. I just hit end and call it a day. Wow, that was very weird, but then again it was Cheryl. I’d stake my life on the fact that she was having sex. Yep, for sure.

  Cheryl never called me back. Oh, I’m going to have a field day with this one the next time I see her. I’m gonna call her out on her shit and watch her turn fifty shades of red. The good news is I meal prepped and I won’t have to eat canned soup all week long. Thank god for my dishwasher is all I can say, since I always use every damn pot and pan I own. Don’t ask. My life is not a glamorous one by any means, but I love my appliances.

  Now I’m going to soak in a hot tub with loads of bubbles. Pour myself a glass of wine or two and finish my book I started on Friday night. Hopefully, I won’t get another text from my girls to save their sorry ass. And this is how I spend a typical Sunday.

  Exciting? Hell no, but with any luck, Lucas will want a repeat of last night. A girl can dream.

  9

  Lucas

  Last night, I was too wasted to tell my best friends why I passed out on the rooftop. So, instead of trying to pry it out of me, they crashed in my living room and let me sleep it off. No questions asked. But now it’s Monday and Willow’s in the kitchen making breakfast, while I take a shower. I didn’t have the heart to tell her I’m not hungry, or that I don’t have the balls to fill her in on what’s happening. But I know I need to. Eventually they’ll find out, and I might as well be the one to come clean.

  After stepping out of the shower, I swipe my hand across the steamy mirror. The condensation drips down the glass while I glance at my reflection. Funny, I don’t look different, but I sure as hell feel altered. Distorted. Who the fuck am I kidding? This life I’ve been living is nothing but a joke. A sick, fucked up con that my family would have pulled off for the rest of my life if I hadn’t walked in on them.

  Fuck!

  I smash the face that stares back at me as if that’s going to fix what they’ve already broken. And the only thing that breaks is the mirror into tiny little shards that scatter across the floor. I grip the sink, take a few deep breaths, and hang my head. How can I possibly explain something to them when I can’t figure it out myself?

  “Lucas, what the fuck? Open the door, now!” My eyes bounce to the door when Jet slams into it. At this rate, he’ll pull it clear off the hinges.

  “I’m fine, really. I just dropped a bottle, give me a few to clean it up.”

  “Fine, but if you’re not out in five, I’m busting down the door.”

  I bend down, gather some of the larger pieces, and toss them into the trash. It gets tricky when I try cleaning up the little bits, so I just leave them. Nothing I can really do without a broom, so I wash my bloody hands, dry off, and get dressed.

  Ready or not, here I come.

  Three sets of eyes study me as I stride out of the bathroom. I hide my injured hand safely inside my pants pocket. Not that it will be there for very long, but it will buy me some time.

  “You okay?” Willow’s concern has me feeling all kinds of emotions I sure as hell don’t want.

  “Nothing coffee can’t cure.” I’m quick with a wink and hurry to the counter so I can grab myself a cup, hiding my hand. Once I’m finished, I saunter over to the table and take a seat.

  Trevor leans forward while I pick at the food that Willow prepared. Everyone else’s plates look like they’ve been licked clean, but between my hangover and my little secret, my appetite is nil.

  “Care to explain why you’re eating with your left hand, Lucas?” Fuck, I should have known that Trevor would notice. Well, my busted hand is only the icing on the cake.

  “I punched the mirror, it broke, and I cleaned it up. No biggie.”

  “Ah, yeah, it is a biggie since you play guitar with your right hand. Let’s have a look, and we’ll be the judge and jury.”

  Willow sucks in a breath when I lay my hand on the table. Yeah, my hand’s swollen like a fuck and my knuckles are still bleeding. I know exactly where she’s heading when her chair scrapes across the floor. “Be careful of glass, Willow. I didn’t sweep it all up yet.”

  “You’re a glutton for punishment, Lucas. You know that?” It’s a rhetorical question, so I ignore it. “Okay, we gave you plenty of time to sober up, spill your guts, and tell us what’s eating you alive.”

  Everyone’s eyes are focused on me and I fucking hate it! I also know they legit care and wouldn’t have spent the night if they didn’t.

  “Shit just got real at the Knight house the other day. Apparently, my so-called mother didn’t carry me in her womb. I’m the illegitimate bastard from a one-night stand my father had.” Willow immediately stops cleaning my hand to look up at me. I don’t meet her stare because I don’t want anyone’s pity. Just telling them what they wanted to hear. The truth and nothing but the truth. “Yeah, I walked in on a private conversation between Landon and his mother. So, I confron
ted them and when my dear old dad showed up, I wanted to blow the whistle on the whole charade. But I refrained. Funny thing is my birth mother was a nightclub singer. Guess that’s where I get my pipes from.”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Lucas!” Trevor said. “I had no idea when he called it would be a kick in the teeth like this. I just thought you guys had your weekly falling out and it worried him when you stormed off. This is...”

  “Fucked up,” everyone speaks in unison. It eases some of the tension and we all have a laugh or two. Until we realize the magnitude of the situation and we all grow silent.

  “It might be too soon, but have you considered searching for your real mother? Did you get her name from your dad?” Ah, poor Willow is ever the optimist.

  “No, I didn’t stick around to find out, and truthfully, I’m not sure if I want to know. It’s obvious she was greedy and chose her career over her kid, so why would I put myself out there?”

  “Just know that whatever you decide, we’re behind you every step of the way.” Trevor knows that I’m so done. Talking about it will not change a thing and I’m too hung over to give a shit at the moment. So, we say our goodbyes with a promise to meet up tomorrow for practice. Trevor was kind enough to remind me we’re only a few days away from the big gig, so I need to get my shit together. Today will be the last day of my very own pity party. Then it’s time to move on.

  ***

  Abby

  I love my job, I really do, but some days I’d love to stay in bed and play hooky. Today is one of those days. I’m just not feeling it, but since I have bills to pay like a million other folks getting up at the butt crack of dawn, I slip out of bed and hit the ice-cold floor.

  No one’s here to hear me piss and moan, but I do it anyway for my own peace of mind. I truly try to look at the glass as half full, but as of late, I’ve been a Debbie Downer. My life is not the most exciting—hell, if I’m being honest it’s not at all. In all fairness, I don’t have the drama a lot of other girls have, either. When I’m caught up in all of my friends’ break-up drama, I suppose I should be happy it’s not me in their place.

  My mindset changes the second I step inside the shower and the scalding water hits my achy bones. Once I’ve finished shaving, scrubbing, and shampooing, I linger just a tad bit longer for the hell of it because getting up at four in the morning sucks ass. Still, I need to be my cheery self when I unlock the doors at Java Joe’s since no one likes a grumpy barista first thing in the morning.

  I’m humming one of The Sinful Seven’s songs as I unlock the back door and step inside the coffee shop. The scent of cinnamon permeates the air, and I swear I can taste it on my tongue. If I were in a grumpy mood, the sweet smell of pastries baking would surely pull me out of the funk. Our pastry chef, Theresa, comes in on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Saturdays. And I swear I gain ten pounds just from smelling all of her sweet treats. I’m sure it doesn’t help that I steal a few of them as they’re hot out of the oven.

  After locking up my personal items and washing my hands, I prepare for the morning rush. You’d be surprised how many people are waiting in line when I unlock the front door. Thankfully, Maria will be here before that happens. I can’t imagine handling a crowd of this size all alone, first thing on a Monday morning.

  I’m about to go back into the kitchen when Theresa strides in carrying one of her huge trays filled with mouthwatering creations. “Good morning, Abigail. I made you your favorite cinnamon buns today. I set them on the back counter so you could enjoy them for breakfast.” She winks at me before sliding the tray into the pastry case.

  “You’re spoiling me, Theresa. Thank you.” I can’t wait to sink my teeth into the sweet, buttery goodness, but I need to finish my opening chores first.

  Maria walks in as soon as everything’s done, so after we chat a bit, I sneak into the back with a cup of coffee and devour every little crumb of cinnamon bun. Please don’t judge. I’ll need all the sugar I can get my hands on to get me through my shift.

  The line outside’s been forming for about twenty minutes now and I try taking a few deep breaths to calm myself. It’s not like me to be anxious like this, so I’ll blame my lack of sleep for this one. I admit I feel out of sorts and don’t understand why. There’s no time to dwell on it since Maria just opened the doors and customers are pouring in. Maybe that’s a good thing since I have to concentrate on doing my job.

  Time flies by so fast that I don’t have a single minute to glance at the clock. But now that the morning rush is over, I need some time to pull myself together. Just when I’m about to go into the backroom, the bell rings. When I glance up to greet yet another customer, someone special stands there. I rush around the counter so fast, I swear the wind just about knocks over Maria.

  His arms open wide and I launch myself into them without a care. “Adam, why didn’t you warn me you were coming?”

  “And spoil the surprise? Never. How’s my favorite girl doing?” His cologne is so familiar that I feel like I’m home.

  “Better now that you’re here. When did you get in? Why didn’t you call me?” I have so many questions and I don’t know where to start.

  “I took the red eye last night, got a few hours of sleep, and now I’m here with you. But I can’t stay long, I have a business meeting in an hour, then I’m driving to New Hampshire for three days. When I get back, I’d love to spend some quality time with you.”

  Deep down I know he’s a busy man, and I should be thankful for this small window of time. But I can’t help being angry at him since I’m working and he didn’t plan. Adam’s always been reckless and unprepared where I’m concerned. Maybe my sixth sense was kicking in this morning and warning me of his visit.

  “Maria, I’m going to take a break. I’ll jump in if it gets busy.” I motion for Adam to grab a seat, then go behind the counter and make him his usual latte. I warm up a cinnamon bun and take everything over to his table. I can’t help wondering if one day I’ll be important enough to be someone’s everything.

  “I might have been able to take the morning off if I’d known you were coming. We could have spent some quality time together.” I’m agitated when his fingers don’t stop texting long enough to hear a word I say. “Adam, why are you here?”

  “I’m sorry, Abby. I really wanted to catch up a bit, but it will have to wait until I get back. See if you can get some time off at the end of the week and we’ll spend the entire day together.”

  Seriously? Whatever!

  “It’s getting busy now,” I say, emotionless. “Stay for as long as you’d like, but I need to get back to work and help Maria.” I don’t bother saying goodbye, I just go behind the counter, wash my hands, and help the next customer in line. It doesn’t matter anyway—Adam doesn’t realize I’m gone.

  Wrath

  “Wrath can’t be measured, it has no expiration date. So, I bury it somewhere deep down inside. Until the time comes, when I can set it free.”

  Lucas Knight

  10

  Lucas

  My hand hurts like a motherfucker, but thank god my head isn’t any worse for the wear. Nothing a bottle of water or two and some pain pills can’t cure. I refused to get all fucked up like the night before, because I realized the only one I was hurting was myself. I’m sure dear old dad is going about his everyday business without giving me as much as a second thought. Only fair I do the same. I need to focus on the band and practice, practice, practice, as much as possible. Hey, they say practice makes perfect, right? And, as of right now, I’m shutting down the drama so it doesn’t impede our success.

  After icing my hand for as long as I can stand the tingling numbness that goes along with it, I grab my backpack and head out the door. I’m leaving my acoustic behind since Trevor has everything I’ll need back at his house. It’s an old Victorian and has more rooms than all of our apartments combined.

  I debate stopping in at my favorite coffee joint as I pass by, but I keep on walking. I’m afraid if Abby is there, I m
ight get sidetracked and will bend her over in the supply closet to get rid of some of this tension in my shoulders, amongst other places. Besides, I’ve already pumped my body with enough caffeine this morning, short of inserting an IV drip.

  The front door opens before I walk up the stairs and I’m greeted with a tired smile and open arms. Ah, fuck. Mrs. Collins looks exhausted, and it’s a wake-up call. She’s fucking sick and fighting for her life while I’m complaining about mine. I’m a selfish and inconsiderate prick for forcing Trevor into leaving her behind when she needs him the most.

  I drop my backpack at my feet and wrap her up in my arms. She’s lost so much weight, I swear I could wrap my arms around her twice. My eyes squeeze shut so I don’t do something stupid and make a fool out of myself by setting forth the waterworks. Fuck, this sucks monkey balls.

  “How’s my sweet boy feeling today?” She’s so selfless, always concerned about all of us. I let her go, hold up my hand, and she takes it in both of hers. “Well, that looks fucked, Lucas, but that will heal in time. I was referring to this.” I’m laughing one minute at her fucked reference, but a rush of air hits my lungs when she places one hand over my heart. I have no fucking words. She knows. I’m going to kill the mofo who spilled their guts about my drama, when she visibly has enough on her own plate.

  “No need to worry about me, Mrs. C, I got this.” A small smile tugs at her mouth, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She can read me better than any book out there.