Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4)
Authors: Jade Allen
Dan
Hard
Rock Star Series
Book
4
Jade Allen
Copyright © 2016 by Jade Allen
All rights reserved. No
parts of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without written
permission from the author, with the exception of brief quoted passages left in
an online review. This book is a fictional story. All characters, names, and
situations are of the author’s creation. Any resemblances to actual situations
or to persons who are alive or dead are purely coincidental.
This e-book is licensed
for your personal enjoyment only; this copy is not available for resale or to
give to another reader aside from any transaction through Amazon’s e-book
lending program.
Disclaimer
This book is intended for
readers age 18 and over. It contains mature situations and language that may be
objectionable to some readers.
***This is the fourth book of the Hard Rock Star series. Each book
within the series is a
STANDALONE
story and may be read without having read the other
stories first.
Book 1:
North
Book 2:
Nick
Book 3:
Julian
Book 4:
Dan
Book 5:
Mark
(Coming Fall 2016!)
A Message From Jade Allen
Hi there! Before you begin reading, I wanted to
let you know how honored I am that you chose to download my book. It really
means the world to me to have readers like you! Writing has been a sole passion
of mine for as long as I can remember, and without your support, I wouldn't
have the means to continue my craft. So, from the bottom of my heart, thank
you!
To show my many thanks, I wanted you to know that
I've included several
hot contemporary romance
bonus stories in
this book at no extra cost!
Also, do you love dangerously sexy bad boys, but are
curious about what it would be like to take an alluring alien home for the night?
Or maybe you have a hankering for a ride in the saddle with an irresistible
cowboy? We’d like for you to have a feel for all of the genres we publish here
at Red Lily, so we've hand selected some of our favorite stories (in their
entirety!) and I’ve included them at the end of this book as well!
All the Best,
Jade Allen
Table Of Contents
Bonus Collection: Sizzling Selected Stories From Red Lily Publishing
Hot Contemporary Western Romance
The Billionaire Cowboy’s
Desire
Falling For The Hot
Rodeo Cowboy
Drilled By The
Billionaire Cowboy
Paranormal Romance
Fated Mate Of The Dragon
Princes
Claimed By The Wild
Alpha Werebear
SciFi Romance
My Encounter With A
Sweet Alien
Steamy Contemporary Romance: Bad Boys, Billionaires and More!
Secret Desires Of The
Billionaire
It was a Saturday night at Respects, and Mark and
I had PB&Js—Pabst Blue Ribbon with a Jameson shot—in front of us. Outside
on the patio, the karaoke was just starting to get into gear; the MC had to
wait for the burlesque show to end, but everyone had managed to get a good few
drinks in, so he had plenty of people willing to take their turns on the
smaller stage.
“Seriously,” Mark said, leaning in close but still
shouting a bit to be heard over The Cure, playing through the system, “how
fucked is it that Jules has a girlfriend before we do?” I laughed, shaking my
head at Mark’s question. It was one we’d passed back and forth about a dozen
times since Jules and Fran had come out about their relationship and started
working on their side project together.
“We don’t need girlfriends,” I told Mark, throwing
my arm around his shoulder. “We’ve got Molly!” Mark rolled his eyes and picked
up his Jameson and gestured for me to follow suit.
“Man, fuck Molly,” Mark muttered. I raised an
eyebrow even as I took the shot glass in one hand and my beer in the other to
chase it.
“You can’t fuck Molly,” I pointed out, smirking at
my own wit. “She doesn’t have the right parts.”
“She doesn’t have
any
parts,” Mark agreed.
We knocked back our whiskey and I drank a gulp of beer. I knew I’d need to slow
down soon—I was getting into the territory where fun drunk started to slip into
messy drunk, and I didn’t want to end up on some stranger’s couch again.
“I’m just saying,” Mark said, turning the empty
shot glass over and sliding it on the acrylic bar top, “I need to get laid like
fucking yesterday.”
“Who’s stopping you? Go—find one of those girls
from the show. Or one of the ones who wishes she was in the show,” I suggested.
“Any of ‘em would lay you.” It was pretty close to the truth; Mark never had
any trouble picking up women, with his long, curly hair and big brown puppy
eyes. He was ripped from playing drums and going to the gym, but he had a baby
face at the same time. The only person in the band who had ever been better
than him at pulling tail was Nick—but Nick was an honest guy suddenly too,
dating his journalist girlfriend and shockingly managing not to cheat on her
with anyone.
In fact, every member of Molly Riot was paired off
except for Mark and me—which I assumed was the main point that the drummer was
getting at in his comments about Jules. There was probably something about
macho pride—some Spanish thing—in Mark’s objections to being single while Jules
had a steady girl, but I didn’t really care all that much. For my own part, I
only resented it inasmuch as it meant that none of the other guys in the band
wanted to hang out as often; as soon as rehearsals were done, or we finished in
the studio for the day, they were all off to their girlfriends.
It wasn’t too bad; Mark was fun to go out with,
and when I wanted to get laid, he was good for finding girls to hook up with
who miraculously had friends every bit as hot as they were. It wasn’t like it
was difficult for me to pick up a chick on my own—more that unless Mark
suggested we find a hookup, I wasn’t interested enough to put in the effort. I
had nothing to prove to anyone, and I’d come to the conclusion about a year
before that about half the time, one-night stands turned out to be shitty sex;
why waste the effort and time when getting myself off was at least as
satisfying, if not more so?
The DJ went from The Cure to Yeah Yeah Yeahs, and
I started tapping my foot idly against the leg of my stool, looking around the
club. It had cleared out some after the burlesque show, with the typical
downtown club kids wandering to their preferred haunts: O’Shea’s for the guys
and girls who wanted uncomplicated beers surrounded by Irish paraphernalia,
Monarchy for the ones who wanted to thrill themselves with the notion that
because they could afford bottle service they were somehow cooler, Off The
Hookah for people who wanted something more “adventurous” and “exotic” than
regular cigarettes, and so on. The hardcore Respectables crowd was there,
though: goths, hipsters, misfits, nerds. Tattoos and piercings everywhere,
unnatural hair colors, cute vintage-styled dresses or jeans and tee shirts or
all-black for girls and the same for guys—in some cases including the
vintage-styled dresses. Nobody batted an eyelash at it; the stranger thing was the
odd Polo-and-Khakis college kid, who should be at O’Shea’s or maybe in
CityPlace instead, drinking overpriced Miller Light or mining a friend’s bottle
service.
“You two ready for another round?” I turned my
head in the direction of the voice that cut through my thoughts and saw the new
bartender that Jackson had mentioned when we’d arrived; at least, I didn’t
think there’d been more than one new hire at the club, and the woman in front
of me was one I’d never seen before. She had dark green hair pulled back from
her face in short, almost spiky-looking pigtails on either side of her head,
and a pair of heavy-rimmed glasses to frame dark eyes, but other than that she
looked almost more normal than anyone else in the club at the moment, save for
maybe Mark and me: black tee shirt, jeans, light makeup, a pair of studs in her
ears, a fine gold-chain necklace with an S pendant that hung down to just above
the neckline of her shirt, highlighting her cleavage. She had an hourglass
figure, all full tits and hips with a tight little waist in between, and I
definitely—definitely—wanted to watch her walk away from us, though I also
wanted to make sure she’d keep coming back; I was pretty sure her ass was
spectacular, though I hadn’t seen it to notice yet.
“Let’s do another shot each,” I suggested to Mark;
when I looked at him, I saw that he was definitely taking in the same
information I was, with the same impact.
“What’s your name? I don’t think I’ve seen you
behind the bar here before,” Mark called out, leaning closer to the bartender.
The woman grinned.
“Sophie,” she told him and then glanced at me to
make sure I’d also heard. “How about it? Another round?”
“Just the shots,” I told her. “And can I get a
bottle of water to go with it?” Sophie nodded and turned to start pouring our
shots. When she walked to one of the other ice bins to grab my bottle of water
for me, I got confirmation on her ass: it was as close to perfect as any ass on
any woman I’d seen in at least a week—at least in person. Mark let out a low,
quiet whistle next to me; obviously he’d seen it too.
When Sophie came back with our shots and my water,
she raised a dark eyebrow and leaned in close, looking at Mark. “Don’t think I
didn’t hear you just then,” she told him.
“I didn’t say anything,” Mark countered, grinning.
Sophie held his gaze for a moment and her lips twisted in an expression that
wasn’t quite a smile; it was that man-eater look that you see in women who know
just how good they are, just how strong they are, just how little they need
you. Sophie leaned in a little closer to Mark’s ear; I leaned away, feeling
like there was something about to happen that I wanted to be out of range for.
I watched as she brought two fingers up to her bright red lips, and barely
managed to keep from snickering until after she’d whistled—high and loud—right
in his ear. Mark’s head jerked back and he clamped his hand over the ear, but
the damage was clearly already done. I caught sight of Sophie’s grin as she
turned to help the next customer and laughed my ass off.
“Serves you right,” I told Mark when he scowled at
me. “Gotta learn to be more discreet, man.” I picked up the full shot glass in
front of me and gestured for Mark to do the same; we knocked back the Jameson
and I took another gulp of beer before fishing my pack of Pall Malls out of my
pocket. Respects was one of a handful of bars and clubs in the tri-county area
where you could still smoke inside—that was a big part of why Molly Riot had
made the place one of our haunts. I shook a cigarette out, lit it, and handed
the pack over to Mark to help himself as I looked around the club. The dance
floor was starting to fill up a little bit more after the post-show slump, and
there were some cute girls out there—but as Sophie walked past me, on her way
to the back to grab a new bottle of Jack, I thought to myself that it was one
thing to be cute—another to be as confidently, carelessly gorgeous as she was.
“We’re back in the studio on Monday, right?” I
tore my attention off of the pretty new bartender and back onto Mark.
You’re
here to chill with him, not to ogle the staff,
I reminded myself.
“Yeah. Jules and Fran have finished up, so he’s
free to start working.” Mark shook his head, sighing with exaggerated
frustration at the delay that Jules’ side project with his girlfriend had
caused; really it wasn’t that big of a deal, considering the band had spent
that time rehearsing new material and getting it where we wanted it—including
Jules. We weren’t hurting for money, and if we’d gone into the studio a month
or two earlier we’d have just been dicking around; it was better to get that
out of the way before we were spending thousands a day to do it.
“As long as we don’t have to take another break,”
Mark said glumly. “I’m tired of start-and-stop.” I rolled my eyes.
“Last time we took a break you spent the week
getting laid with what—five different girls? What are you complaining about?”
Mark shrugged.
“I just feel like things are changing,” he said.
He drank down the rest of his beer and set the tallboy aside.
“Of course they are,” I agreed. “That doesn’t mean
they’re bad—and it’s not like Jules is the only factor. Things started changing
when we got Alex’s ass into rehab and I didn’t see you complaining then.”
“Yeah, but they’re changing faster and faster,”
Mark insisted. “No one hangs out anymore.”
“‘All my rowdy friends have settled down…’” I
crooned. “Nick and Liv threw a party like two weeks ago that lasted a day and a
half! They just aren’t going out as often. Can you blame them? If I had a
steady lay to go home to and someone I gave a shit about besides the band, I
wouldn’t go out as much either.”
“Whatever,” Mark said. He took a deep breath and
then grinned. “I’m just being a morose bastard tonight. I’m gonna use the
men’s.” He stubbed out his cigarette and slid off of his bar stool. “Patio?”
Mark nodded in that direction and I shrugged; the karaoke outside was starting
to get good—in the sense that the people who were going up were progressively
drunker. It might be enough to get Mark out of his bitter mood.
“I’ll grab us a couple of beers and meet you out
there,” I said. I hoped that Sophie would be the one to serve them to me.