The Complete Rockstar Series (79 page)

Lila. Holy shit
. Images of the two of us grinding together, kissing, clothes coming off… stumbling into the backseat of her car. My headache explodes into unbelievable agony.
Oh my god.
I had sex with Lila Fucking Griffin.

I must be the stupidest asshole on earth. I pick up the phone and jam it into my pocket. It cracks against the smooth stone Hannah gave to me.

Some good luck charm. It turned me into a total fuckup.

My self-flagellation is interrupted when a pair of headlights shine across the beach, casting the sand in a yellow-gray glow. Before I can bring up another awful memory from earlier today, I brush off my clothes and hop into the backseat of my dad’s car.

“You look like crap,” Hannah whispers, her eyes half closed.

I ignore her and lean against the window, pissed off and ashamed. Mom looks over her shoulder and gives me a worried smile, but otherwise, the car is silent. My parents are so awesome. Somehow they understand I don’t want to discuss anything tonight. I’m sure tomorrow my mom won’t be as understanding and will want at least a few details of how I became stranded on a deserted beach in the dark.

I laugh to myself. Maybe some good will come of this. Maybe they’ll realize what a bitch Lila Griffin is and—

I
’m wet
. It must be raining. Another drop hits my cheek, rolling up my face toward my hair.

Up? Can it rain up?

My head hurts so fucking bad it’s difficult to think. Intense throbbing clouds my mind, pounding so hard it’s as if my heart is beating inside my skull. Slowly, painfully, I reach up and wipe the dampness from my skin right as another large drop splats next to the first.

“Shit.”

I rub the moisture away and crack open my eyes. Blackness. I’m surrounded by total blackness, the only exception a gloomy blue glow a few feet away.
What the fuck?
I’m so confused, I can’t tell where I am or what direction is up or down.

Another drop of warm water hits my skin and I immediately swipe at it, bringing my fingers a few inches from my eyes to get a better look. Even with very little light, it’s obvious the liquid isn’t clear and much too dark and thick to be water. In fact, my hands are stained an eerie purplish-black color in the faint blue light.

When I try to move my head to see where the water—or whatever it is—is coming from, a feral scream rips from my chest and throat. Pain like nothing I’ve ever felt turns my body inside out. I’m on fire, every part of me burning white hot and searing at once.

My neck is somehow twisted at an odd angle, my skin is sizzling with the agonizing sting of a thousand tiny paper cuts, and my arm won’t respond to my brain’s instructions, instead lying limp while my shoulder shrieks in agony.

The heartbeat in my skull speeds up, hammering out a rapid, drumming beat. Using my other hand, I attempt to push my useless body off the ground, wincing when the bites of hundreds of bits of glass dig into my palm. Minutes… hours later—I’m not sure it matters how long it takes, even if I could figure it out—I finally manage to maneuver my body into a sitting position.

My chest is filled with liquid fire, heaving from the effort expended. Every square inch of my body is raw. There’s not a single part of me that doesn’t hurt. When I feel another dark droplet hit me, this time landing on the top of my head, I look up to find the source.

And promptly lose the contents of my stomach before passing out from the pain.

F
our years
later

“
S
o
I finally get to see your hot boyfriend’s band in action?”

My best friend, Kate, can’t hide her excitement. “They’re brilliant, Abby. You’ll see.”

Kate and I met in our Intro to Economics class at UCLA last semester. She’s from the UK, going to school on a soccer scholarship, and mentioned how difficult Psych 101 was for her to understand. Since my major is psychology, I offered to help her out and we’ve been friends ever since.

“They better be good. I’m missing out on a cozy Friday night snuggling up with my textbooks, the remote control, and a pint of mint chocolate chip in order to be here with you.” I smirk when her eyes widen comically.

Kate laughs, throwing back her head as she flashes her fake ID at the overweight and very hairy bouncer blocking the door of the venue. He lets us pass without comment, but I don’t miss the way his eyes run up and down both of us from head to toe.
Yuck.

We ignore the lewd stare, giggling with anticipation as we head directly to the backstage area of the club. An older man with dark hair, a handsome smile, and wearing an expensive suit lights up when he spies Kate.

“Kate! Glad you could make it.” The man wraps his arms around her shoulders, briefly squeezing her to his chest in a friendly hug.

Kate smiles. “Now that footy is over for the season, I have a little more free time. Abby, this is Ross Evans. He’s the uncle to one of the guys in the band and their manager. Ross, this is my good friend, Abby. We go to university together at UCLA,” she explains. Her British accent somehow makes our lives sound much more exciting than they really are.

“Nice to meet you, Abby.” Ross extends a hand, shaking mine with a firm but gentle grip. I like him instantly.

“You too. Hawke is your nephew, right? He’s the drummer?” I ask, trying to remember the three men in the band who aren’t Kate’s massive, muscled boyfriend, Dax.

“He is. The guys are down the hall, last room on the right.” Ross points behind us. “The sound check is done, so they’re just hanging out, probably screwing around back there. You two can help me out by making sure they get on stage in time.”

“Thanks Ross,” Kate says. “You know I’m good at getting Adam to do whatever I want,” she tosses over her shoulder. Ross chuckles as he heads in the opposite direction. We walk down the hall and Kate leans in to whisper. “Adam tends to go on the piss before shows, which leads to him disappearing, which leads to finding him shagging a slut in a closet when he’s supposed to be on stage.”

My eyebrows fly so far up they may as well hit my hairline. “Oh. That’s… not good.” I guess all those rumors about guys in bands getting around are true. The thought makes me feel more than a little naïve and inexperienced, and worried for Kate since her boyfriend is one of them.

Kate shakes her head and puts her hand on the doorknob. “No. It’s not good. Adam can be a real wanker sometimes, but… he has issues.” She sighs, her shoulders dropping. “Honestly, he’s a good guy. I’ve known him for a long time and was in school with him forever.” I knew she grew up outside London with Dax and one of the other guys in the band. The other member must be Adam.

“I believe you.” I squeeze her hand in support. “Since I’ve been studying psychology, I recognize that people act out in specific ways, sometimes to combat the terrible things in their head.”

“Right. Yeah, I forgot you would understand better than most people. Thanks. Maybe you’ll be good for Adam, who knows?” Without warning, Kate spins and points a finger at me. “Just don’t shag him, you’ll regret it and I’ll have to kill him.” I’m about to laugh, but she takes a deep breath and opens the door.

Not even one step inside the room, Kate squeals, crossing the length in a few hurried steps to leap into Dax’s outstretched arms. When they begin making out with sloppy, wet kisses, my face heats up. I glance around the room, desperate for anything to take my focus off their very physical display.

“Hi.”

Oh my god.
One of the most beautiful men I’ve ever seen in my life unfolds his tall body from a tattered couch and holds out his hand. My voice fails me, my mouth hanging open. Somehow, I manage to lift my arm to shake hands with the stunning, golden-skinned, blond man.

“Gavin Walker,” he says, his voice quiet but rich and melodic.

“Abby. Abby Kessler,” I somehow choke out.

“Left another one speechless, did you, Walker?” A second man pushes Gavin’s shoulder, sending him stumbling sideways.

“Jackass,” Gavin says, pushing the other man back.

“Hey there. You’re Kate’s friend?” the new man asks. My breath is sucked from my lungs. Are any of these guys
not
gorgeous? Where Gavin is gold, Hawke is onyx. His black hair and black-framed glasses compliment his olive skin.

“Ummmm… y-yes. I-I’m Abby.”

He grins, sticking out his hand. As his firm grasp envelops my hand, my eyes are drawn to the tattoos peeking out from his sleeves. “Hawke Evans, drummer.”

When our hands touch, a strange buzz electrifies my skin. I don’t want to let go, completely mesmerized by his handsome face. My attraction to this man isn’t the same as what I feel when looking at Gavin. Gavin is beautiful, yes—he’s perfect—but Hawke is appealing in a different kind of way. A way that speaks to something deep inside. Only a few inches taller than my five-seven, his dark hair is wild and standing off his head in large, messy waves. His clothes are modern and fitted—tight jeans, red Chucks, and requisite hipster T-shirt over a long-sleeved thermal. A bar in his eyebrow glints in the light, as do the multiple piercings in his ears, along with a small stud in his lower lip and another in his nose.

None of his physical features are what I find fascinating, though he is beautiful to look at. No, it’s what I see
behind
his geek chic, black-framed glasses that calls to me. His eyes, one light brown, one bright blue, are like nothing I’ve ever seen before. I’m not sure what it is, just that he turns me on like no one else has. My attraction is indefinable and borne of instinct.

I picture myself tracing those tattoos with my tongue, causing goose bumps to break out up my arm and at the base of my neck. Yet, I’m not cold. In fact, I’m suddenly quite warm. My previously useless libido kicks into high gear, sending a flood of liquid heat that starts at the top of my head to rush to the bottom of my feet.

“H-hi.” I cringe at my social inadequacies. Hawke smirks and glances down at where I’m still clutching his hand. I yank back like he’s on fire and stare at the ground, humiliated. “Sorry.”

Hawke laughs—a light, playful laugh that sends a shiver down my spine. “No worries. Thirsty?”

I pray for the one-percent chance that my face isn’t bright red and glance up. Hawke is smiling, his expression pleasant and open, not judgmental or irritated at my social faux pas. That fiery heat hits me again… hard.

“Sure.” Without question, I follow his lead to a table in the back of the room set up with an assortment of soft drinks, alcohol, and food.

“Take your pick,” he says, waving his hand over the table. I grab a Diet Coke while Hawke chooses a bottle of water. When he lifts it to his mouth, his sleeves push back, revealing more of his intriguing tattoos.

I stare at the slashes of bright ink on his sinewy forearms. He’s a drummer, so of course his arms would be all muscled and hot. My eyes flick back up to his, studying the unusual dual colors. Maybe I’m projecting my lust onto Hawke, but I swear I see some of it reflected back at me.

My brain is telling me to stay away, keep my distance from the gorgeous drummer. But my instincts are telling me to get naked with him as soon as possible. A relationship with a guy like Hawke would never work out.

“Want to sit down and talk for a while?” Hawke asks, breaking my rambling thoughts.

Who says it would be a relationship?
Maybe I’m getting a little ahead of myself.

Maybe Hawke is exactly what I need in my boring, unadventurous life. I stare into those intriguing eyes once more and I already know my decision has been made. A hot guy—the bad boy with tattoos, piercings, and pretty much unattainable to an inexperienced girl like me?

I’m a total goner.

“That was brilliant,” Dax says, holding up his beer for a toast.

“Cheers, mate.” Adam clinks his third, or maybe fourth—hell, it’s probably his twelfth—glass against everyone else’s. Beer slops out the side and onto his hand. “Oops.” He looks utterly unconcerned by the mess.

“It was a great set,” I agree.

I lean back in the booth at the club we played tonight, scanning the room. The itchy, bugs under my skin feeling I get sometimes is back and I need a release. I’m too worn out to do anything dangerous to get the rush of adrenaline that quiets my mind, so I’m left to find a girl to burn off energy with. Preferably someone hot who doesn’t mind a quick fuck in the back room.

My eyes land on Kate and her friend, Abby. Because I’m a guy, horny, and she’s beyond attractive, I check out Abby’s body. Fuck. I have to adjust my dick as my gaze drifts down to her perfect, tight ass, followed by long, tan legs that go on forever. She’s gorgeous, wavy blonde hair, petite nose, big blue eyes, and athletic looking. The ultimate California girl. Which is usually an instant turnoff for me, what with my last experience with shallow California girls being nothing less than horrific.

She might look the part, but after speaking with Abby backstage before the show, I found her to be completely unlike any of the girls I grew up with. She’s kind, friendly, and smiles a lot. Missing is the gossipy bitching, the sneers, the “better than you” attitude that usually accompanies such stunning physical beauty. In fact, the only thing I could think while shaking hands with her was
mine
.

Problem is, she’s way too good for me. Plus, with her being Kate’s friend, I don’t want to ruin anything and piss off Dax and Kate by sticking my dick in Abby and inevitably turning around and treating her like shit. Which is exactly what I’d do. I’m too fucked up to actually date her. Too damaged to let anyone close.

The only one who knows everything about my past is Gavin, and that’s only because I met him right after the accident when Ross had me treated at an inpatient psychiatric ward for teens. Gavin was there for his own reasons. Reasons that make me want to beat the shit out of his pile of crap, homophobic father. Group therapy sucked ass, but it brought me my best friend and let me tell him my history without having to actually say it to him one on one.

“Evans! Did you hear a single word I said?” Gavin’s voice plus the sharp elbow he jabs in my side tears my mind away from my wandering thoughts and my eyes from Abby’s ass.

“What?” I turn to face Gavin, who is glaring at me.

“We were talking about what Ross said earlier. Maybe booking some gigs in other cities.”

“Oh. Sure, whatever you guys decide is fine with me.” Like I ever have anything to add to the business end of conversations. I pick up my drink and take a long swig, my eyes finding their way back over to Abby. When I catch sight of her, my hand falters, and I nearly mimic Adam by spilling my beer everywhere.

Abby isn’t where I last saw her. Now she’s over by the bar, chatting with some asshole, preppy, frat-boy type who keeps finding excuses to touch her arm, her hand, her waist. Inexplicably aggravated, I slam my glass onto the table and dig my fingers into my jeans.

Mine!

The word echoes loud and clear in my mind, causing me to grip my glass so tight my knuckles hurt. What the fuck? Since when do I give a shit what girls do and who they do it with?

I’m too far away and it’s too loud to hear Abby laugh, but I’m riveted as she reveals two rows of perfect white teeth. Her tousled blonde hair spills around her stunning face, causing a few pieces to stick to her full lips. She casually swipes them away with a brush of her fingers. When preppy douchebag raises his hand and tucks some of Abby’s hair behind her ear, I nearly lose it.

“Whoa, dude,” Gavin whispers in my ear. “What the hell has gotten into you? You look like you want to kill someone.”

Fuck.
I can’t do this to myself. I’m already on edge from all the other dark shit in my head, and now I’m on the verge of freaking the fuck out over a girl I just met. Abby is
not
my problem. What she does or doesn’t do with frat-boy is
not
my problem. Getting involved with her would ruin her life a thousand times worse than frat-boy simply fucking and chucking her.

Deep breath. Relax. “Nothing’s gotten into me. Just looking for a hookup.”

“Let me help you out.” Gavin smirks, using his drink to point across the room. “That girl has been eyeing you all night long.”

I follow his gesture and find a cute little brunette in an even smaller outfit. She’s wearing too much makeup and her breasts are most definitely fake, but Gavin’s one hundred percent right. The brunette is staring directly at me with a “fuck me” look written plainly on her face.

Without breaking eye contact with the girl, I finish my beer and put the glass down. “Hey. How did
you
notice her?” I nudge Gavin. “You’re gay. Shouldn’t you be looking for men?”

He chuckles. “Check behind her left shoulder.”

I flick my gaze up and see a tall, muscular man with dark hair and day-old stubble doing the exact same thing as the girl, only
his
eyes are fixed on my best friend. I huff, laughing at Gavin. “No wonder you noticed her.”

“Exactly.” Gavin laughs with me.

“Well, I’ll see you guys in a few,” I announce, desperate to take my mind off of Abby and the groping dickbag she’s chatting with. Adam and Dax wave me off, continuing their conversation, which, from the looks of things, is more of an argument. The usual, Dax angry at Adam for being shitfaced during our set…again.

I stand up and make my way over to greet the brunette. It’s almost too easy. All it takes is a brief introduction, the mention of a private room backstage, and that’s it. She lets me tow her through the crowd by the hand. As we pass by the bar, I can’t help but take one last glance at Abby, to find I’m still inexplicably angry at frat-boy for touching her. The douche in question, however, is nowhere to be found. Abby and Kate are talking, heads together, while sipping their cocktails.