With You: A Rock Star Romance (Rocked in Love Book 1)

by Jessica Marlowe

  Even though Curt had earbuds in, Walt’s voice cut through the music. He removed them, stood, and stretched. He grabbed a bottle of water and downed it.

  New York. Madison Square Garden. Jack had seen a dozen concerts here, but tonight would be the first time Stone Highway headlined. Their openers, Xerxes, would travel with them throughout the first leg of the twenty-month tour.

  After three singles from their third album, Traveling Spectacle, held the top three spots for a week on Billboard’s rock streaming chart, their downloads and album sales skyrocketed, elevating them to the next level. Tickets for this tour were sold out everywhere. The Garden gigs had sold out so fast they’d added two nights.

  Jack pushed to his feet and stood next to Curt. Elliot and Buzz joined them. Each put in a hand, and for a several seconds, no one spoke. “Let’s have a great gig,” Jack said.

  Jack walked to the door and opened it. The dull hum of the audience intensified, and they all paused to listen. From the expression on his bandmates’ faces, Jack wasn’t the only one who was nervous. Elliot’s lips twitched in a reluctant smile. He knew Elliot would be okay, at least until the gig was over.

  Outside, Jeff, now head of band security, stood watch. Jeff nodded and strode down the hallway. The band followed along the labyrinth of the backstage area until they reached the side of the stage.

  Holden Webb, Jack and Curt’s guitar tech, handed Jack his Gibson Les Paul Custom Black. Jack slid the strap over his head. He warmed up by playing the intro to Rush’s “La Villa Strangiato.” As ready as he’d ever be, Jack looked around; everyone was ready except for Curt, who argued with Holden.

  Jack’s body pulsed with nervous energy, so he stepped up to the entrance to the stage and turned his attention to the audience. The dull hum he’d heard from the dressing room was now a rowdy mixture of voices. As he peered into the arena, his whole body tensed as time and air ceased to exist.

  Fuck, she’s stunning. A beautiful, tall, curvy woman with dark hair stole Jack’s attention. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Or breathe. Blinking was out of the question. The sounds from backstage and the audience faded from Jack’s consciousness. Movements around him slowed down.

  PINKS. In a sea of overdone, stylized women, she stood out like a breath of fresh air. Breathe, asshole. She was talking to one of the pinks. He wouldn’t have pegged them as friends, but as the burgundy stunner pleaded with the pink, it appeared they were.

  Jack heard his name, but it sounded far away; maybe he’d passed out. Elliot waved his hand up and down in front of Jack’s face. Jack knocked his hand away, so Elliot stood in front of him. His lips moved but Jack couldn’t hear him. He shoved Elliot out of the way. “Fuck off, Black.” But as usual, he didn’t. Instead, Elliot shook him, and Jack had no choice but to look at him. “Fuck off.”

  Jack turned his attention back to the audience. Good, she’s still there. He felt lightheaded, so he took a deep breath.

  “Hey, man, what the fuck is wrong with you?” Elliot asked. “We’re about to go on, and you’re standing here in a fog.” Elliot shook him again. “Jack-off, snap out of it.”

  Grinning and keeping one eye on the stunner, Jack half-turned to him. “That girl is stunning.”

  Elliot glanced at the audience and shrugged. “Lots of beautiful women, care to be more specific?”

  “The one in the burgundy top, fifth row, dead center.”

  Elliot’s lips curled into a smirk. “That one’s not gonna fall on her knees for you, buddy.” Elliot snickered and smacked Jack on the shoulder. “It’s shaping up to be a fun night, Jack. Your celibacy is boring. You know I live vicariously through you.” Elliot’s smile dipped.

  Jack knew his friend was thinking about his wife. Elliot still considered himself very much married. Poor bastard was in love with his wife. Jack sighed. Lucky bastard was in love with his wife. “Brother, you could live my life.”

  “Go fuck yourself.” Elliot’s expression darkened.

  Jack smirked at him. He took every opportunity to remind Elliot that he wasn’t doing enough to get his wife back. He was in sorry shape, so stubborn. Siobhan asked for the trial separation after she’d miscarried. Elliot’s only pastime these days was sulking. He needed to act.

  “Dude, what the fuck?” Buzz asked, shouldering Jack as he and Curt joined them. “Snap out of it, the show must go on.”

  The band was ready, so the house lights lowered to near black. Jack’s nerves settled down as they always did. When the jumbo screen went on with their intro, they moved into position, the only lighting provided by the screen itself. Jack tried to orient himself; she should be right in front of him. He couldn’t wait for the lights to go up.

  As Curt launched into the intro to “Secrets,” the audience erupted into thunderous cheers and applause.

  Jack closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. His fingers rested over the fretboard. Elliot plucked the E on his bass, and Buzz struck the ride cymbal. The stage lights danced before his closed eyes, and Jack felt the volume increase. He exhaled and his mind cleared. The roar of the crowd faded as Jack’s fingers glided over the strings. This was his favorite part: the four of them together, guitars and sticks, making music. Opening his eyes, he exhaled, drew a deep breath, and sang. To her.

  By the third song of the set, Jack had yet to banter with the audience. Normally, he’d close his eyes, and from the first note, he’d be in the zone. Regardless of the size of the crowd they played to, he’d always been able to connect with them. But tonight, he found it nearly impossible to concentrate on anything other than her. At times, it felt like they were the only two people in the arena. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep his eyes from seeking her out. And his distraction showed. No one ever played a flawless set, but tonight, he felt like an amateur. Enough. Get your shit together.

  But, he didn’t.

  After “Dirty Code,” during the guitar change, Jack took the ’59 Les Paul Flame Top from Holden. It was his current favorite guitar.

  “She’s not staying in tune,” Elliot said to Beth, his bass tech. She shook her head as she placed it back in the rack and grabbed his ’67 Gibson EB-3.

  When Elliot walked over, Jack said, “I’ve got to meet that girl.”

  Elliott’s expression was blank for a second and then realization hit. “Do it. Send her a note. Chicks dig that shit.”

  “A note?”

  “Yeah, you know, invite her backstage,” said Elliot with an abundance of “duh” in his voice and an eye roll.

  Was he really going to do that? She wasn’t the type. Her pink friend was, as were most of the girls around her. He needed to get his head back in the gig. He’d screwed up the words to “Rise and Fall.” Luckily for him, the crowd sang along.

  “I’ll cover for you,” Elliot said and then walked on stage.

  Elliot and Curt bantered back and forth about how great it was to be back in New York. The crowd cheered.

  Holden was engaged in an animated conversation with Beth, so Jack said to Walt, “I need paper and a pen.”

  The guys played an extended intro to “Hurts to Breathe,” giving Jack time to scribble a note to the stunner. “Here.” Jack turned to Walt as he inclined his head toward the audience. “There’s a beautiful girl, tall, dark hair, fifth row, dead center, burgundy top.” Jack handed the folded note to Walt. “Give this to her.”

  “Will do.” Walt turned and lumbered to the stairs on the side of the stage.

  “What the fuck is going on?” Holden asked. He looked at Curt’s guitar rack. “First Curt’s Archtop was out of tune, don’t know how the fuck that happened. I tuned it myself after soundcheck. Now Elliot’s bass. Maybe the guitars need security.” Holden shook his head as he picked up the next guitar Curt would be using and gave it a once-over.

  Jack would ask Holden about that later. He adjusted the Flame Top on his shoulder as he returned to center stage and launched into the song.

 
He closed his eyes and tried to focus on the lyrics; instead, the image of the stunner flooded his mind. What was wrong with him? Jeez, she was just a girl. He hadn’t been this nervous about a girl since he was fifteen and working up the courage to ask Mia Samson to the spring dance. He met hundreds of girls a year. What was it about this girl that had him so on edge? He glanced over to Elliot and saw the large smirk he wasn’t trying to hide. Dick.

  Elliot laughed.

  As the song ended, Jack’s eyes settled on her. Walt made his way to Section B, and Jack broke out in a sweat. When did it get so fucking hot in here? Jack took a swig of water as Walt lumbered past the fans in row five, stopping next to the object of his obsession. Obsession? Damn.

  J

  When the band had taken the stage, the volume had gone nuclear. Even so, Emily had heard Nicki’s squeal of delight. Of course, she’d heard of Stone Highway, and Nicki played their music all the time, but she knew nothing about the band. Emily had been to several concerts but had never experienced such a reception to a band. She felt like she’d been hiding under a rock. She also had no idea the lead singer was so…deliciously handsome. Like drop dead gorgeous. Totally hot as—

  Nicki poked her in the arm. “Hey, you in there?”

  Her smirk told Emily that she’d been caught staring. Shit. She hoped Nicki wouldn’t read too much into it. He was a hot guy, who also happened to be a musician. She had a thing for musicians, but then again, didn’t every girl? His voice transitioned from silken to jagged with ease. So what? Damn. When did it get so hot in here? No wonder there was a sea of women in the front rows. Nice scenery. Her heart was broken, but the heat that pooled low in her belly reminded her that parts of her were very much alive. Her reaction was more than she’d felt in weeks.

  Nicki poked her again.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize, he’s hot.”

  Emily put her hand on Nicki’s shoulder because she bounced like a jackhammer.

  The next song sounded familiar, up tempo, and Emily forgot everything, and sank into the sound of Mr. Delicious’ voice. Smooth, warm, enticing. He sang about a girl.

  Even though it was a love song, it wasn’t soft but grinding. Emily was transported into the role of the object of his affections. The singer’s voice told the story, but in her mind, she saw it unfold. They were at a crossroads, this couple. They loved each other desperately, but stubbornness was impeding that love. He was trying to find his way back to her; she was trying to move on without him, but she wasn’t happy.

  Not the welcome home I hoped for, baby

  I’ve traveled so far

  Please let me come home

  As the last note of the song trailed off in beautiful, haunting reverb, tears filled Emily’s eyes. She scrunched them closed. She absolutely wouldn’t cry. This wasn’t about her. This was about two other lovers. Not her and Sully. There was no her and Sully. He wasn’t coming back, and she didn’t want him back.

  Emily took a tissue out of her purse, wiped under her lashes, and dabbed the corners of her eyes. She needed to keep it together. Looking around, she noticed other women were also dabbing. A young couple in the row in front of her were hugging and swaying back and forth, a solemn, unspoken promise to never let that be them. Everyone had a story like the couple in the song. But it didn’t sound like that relationship was over. There was still hope.

  Hope. The song was about hope. But Emily had none.

  “Elliot,” Mr. Delicious said into the microphone. “I think the audience is asleep. I can’t hear them, can you?”

  Elliot’s response was drowned out by the crowd’s screams. Emily heard Nicki over everyone else.

  Mr. Delicious’ laugh was full and warm as the band started the next song. She turned to Nicki, to ask the singer’s name, when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

  Turning back, Emily had to crane her neck to see the face of a man that stood where a petite woman was before. Between the band playing and the noise of the crowd she couldn’t hear what he said, but when he extended his hand with a piece of paper, she took it. He turned and left.

  Confused, Emily stared at the note. She looked around but didn’t see anyone trying to catch her eye. She opened the folded paper, and even though the light was dim, she could read it.

  Come back and say hi.

  Jack

  “Who’s Jack?” Emily asked to no one, since Nicki was talking to a guy two seats down from her, over the guy’s girlfriend. She tugged Nicki back to her own space, not missing the nasty look the girlfriend leveled at them. Emily sighed. Impending disaster averted.

  Nicki turned to her, saw the note, and snatched it from Emily’s hand. Her eyes glazed over as she read it, and she bounced like a small child on a sugar high. “Holy crap. Do you know what this says?” she squealed.

  “Yes.” Emily swiped the note back from Nicki and repeated, “Who’s Jack?”

  Nicki shook her head at Emily like she missed the easiest answer ever on Jeopardy! and forgot to phrase it in the form of a question. “Jack just invited you backstage,” Nicki yelled. She continued to bounce, testing the tensile limits of her dress. Thank goodness, her back was to the guy she’d been talking to. Her dress wasn’t designed for bouncing, and his eyes would’ve popped out of his head. The girlfriend would’ve definitely lashed out at Nicki.

  “Still doesn’t answer my question, Nic. Who’s Jack?”

  “Are you kidding me?” Nicki yelled.

  Bounce, bounce, bounce. The song ended just as Nicki yelled, and everyone turned in their direction. Warmth crept up Emily’s neck and into her face as Nicki pointed to the stage.

  Emily looked up and her eyes met Mr. Delicious’. He smiled. She looked back at Nicki. Oh, crap.

  “Thank you for coming out tonight. It’s so great to be home. This is our first time headlining the Garden.” Delicious paused as the audience cheered with deafening volume. “We are so grateful for our success. We wouldn’t be here without your unending support. In case you’ve forgotten or been living under a rock, let me introduce the guys to you.”

  Mr. Delicious waved his left hand out. “Curt Stevens, guitar and backing vocals.”

  The guys in the audience woo-hooed and pumped their fists, and the women wolf-whistled.

  “Buzz Stewart, drums and percussion.”

  More shouting, fist bumps, and whistles came from the audience.

  “Elliot Black, bass, backing vocals, and occasionally lead vocals.”

  More whistles and applause echoed from the crowd, and someone yelled out, “We love you, Elliot,” which Elliot acknowledged with a nod.

  Delicious paused and looked directly at Emily. “And I’m Jack McBride.”

  The women whooped, shrieked, and bounced. The guys high-fived and yelled “yeah,” increasing the volume to almost painful levels.

  Jack.

  Their eyes locked. This was ridiculous, but Emily couldn’t look away. This kind of thing didn’t happen to her. This would happen to Nicki. If it had, she would’ve run up on stage, bouncing in time to the music. She’d love it, but Emily hated being the center of attention and wished the floor would swallow her.

  Another song started, a softer one, which helped to calm Emily’s heart rate. It was acoustic. She hadn’t noticed that Jack changed guitars. Must have been while she’d been trapped in his eyes, like a tractor beam. Was there anything sexier than a guy with an acoustic guitar? Emily moaned.

  Nicki stopped bouncing. “Hey”—she put her hand on Emily’s arm—“you okay?”

  Emily took a deep breath and held it for a few seconds before she exhaled. Yeah. Nicki looked more concerned. Emily realized she might not have answered out loud. “Yeah,” she repeated, her voice cracking. Emily nodded and said louder this time, “Yes, I’m fine.”

  With a sly smile, Nicki said, “Obviously, Jack thinks you’re fine.”

  “Nic, stop it. This has to be a mistake or a joke. He can’t be t
he only Jack here.” She could feel her face burning. Even in the low light, she was sure everyone could see she’d turned beet red. Emily looked around and saw disbelieving or nasty looks from the surrounding women. The men looked at the band or at boobs. In their defense, boobs were on display everywhere.

  Nicki noticed the nasty looks too and glared at the women who returned their hungry stares back to the stage.

  Nicki leaned in and said in Emily’s ear, “Jack McHottie, lead singer of Stone Highway, that you’ve been staring at for the last forty-five minutes, invited you backstage. He’s waiting for an answer.”

  As the song ended, Emily shifted her gaze to see Jack staring at her yet again. She was flabbergasted that this guy, Mr. Delicious, frickin’ Rock Star, sent her a note to come back and say hi. What did that even mean? Say hi, like a normal person, and then leave, or was hi a euphemism for a sexual act? Emily looked down at the note. This had to be a joke. “There’s no way.”

  Nicki’s mouth dropped open, as if she’d turned down a million dollars or a once in a lifetime chance. Maybe she was.

  “Are you insane? Have you lost your mind? He’s fucking gorgeous. You have to go.”

  Emily’s stomach roiled, and her heart beat heavy in her chest. She rubbed her palms down her jeans and clamped her mouth shut. People stared. Nicki waited for an answer. So did Jack. Get a grip. Emily repeated this mantra over and over in her head. She closed her eyes, and when she opened them, she felt somewhat better. Time to end this.

  Nicki rubbed her hand. “Come on, you’ve got to do this. After everything you’ve been through, you deserve some fun. Let loose for once.”

  “I am not going backstage. He should’ve picked you. You would’ve sprinted over four rows and scaled the stage without a grappling hook.” Emily looked at Nicki’s skyscraper heels, and added, “Or a net.” Emily glanced at the women around them. Many were dressed similarly to Nicki: tight, low-cut dresses, jeans that were painted on, and barely there tops. One girl wore jeans and just a bra. How had she even gotten in here?