Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (12 page)

Forcing my feet to move, I stalk through the various packs of people until I’m directly in front of the woman I want.

“Well, hello, sexy kitten.” I offer my elbow. She places a gloved hand in its crook.

The silky gloves reach her upper arms and give me a few very naughty ideas. She’ll be keeping those babies on when we get down to business. I imagine they will feel as divine as she looks when she’s stroking my cock, which is already reacting to the images my fantasy has induced.

“Meow,” she purrs. “I like to be petted.”

“And I like to pet, especially cats whose emerald eyes match their gown. Did I mention you look fucking fantastic? Seriously, babe, I’ve never seen a sexier woman.”

“Ah, you probably say that to all the girls.”

I know she’s teasing, but her comment annoys me. “Believe me; I say things to you I’ve said to no girl.”

Her hand tightens and her lips part. I feel the slight shiver my words trigger.

Good.
She needs to know how different she is.

“Shall we dance?” I don’t wait for an answer, guiding her through the masked throng and into the middle of the swaying, spinning couples.

She lets me lead, and I do my best to keep us both on our feet and not looking foolish, though why I’m worried is beyond me. Very few dancers are adept at this dance style, and I expect the music to switch over any time now. Hopefully we’ll be gone before then. I want to fuck Cadie with not only her gloves, but also her masque that includes cat ears.

Yes, I’m a freak.

“We don’t need to stay long. I’d rather spend our last night alone, making another memory. Oh, and I think you should keep that masque on for a while,” she giggles softly. “Fucking Zorro could be interesting.”

It seems we share the freak label…not that I mind.

Running my hands down her sides and over her hips, I lean down and whisper, “Cadie O’Shea, keep talking like that and we won’t make it back to my suite.”

She lets out a little moan that is more than I can take.

Screw this party. I need to be shagging my Cadie Cat—now.

“Wait until I text you and then come to my room. I have a few surprises for you.”

“Don’t keep me waiting.”

“You don’t have to worry about that. I’ll be quick. Omar will keep an eye on you. If another man even comes within five feet, he’ll handle it.”

She laughs, amused by my threat cloaked as a promise. “What if the poor guy is just asking for directions to the men’s room or on his way to grab a drink? You can’t beat up everyone.”

“But I can. Or I can have Omar do it.”

Cadie doesn’t yet grasp how possessive and protective I am. She has an idea, but even I’m amazed by the way I respond to the idea of another man interested in her.

She’s mine. She might not realize it yet, but she will tonight if everything goes as planned.

“Remember, wait until I text you.” I kiss her forehead and make a rapid exit just as the music is hijacked and a Crude Element song blasts through the room.

Too bad I can’t predict my future with Cadie the same way I predicted the music meltdown.

I can only hope she loves my surprises as much as I’m falling in love with her.

Cadie

“I don’t think public life in and of itself can destroy you. I think it’s the way some people react to it, and some people are more sturdy than others…I don’t think any one faction can be blamed for a person’s self-destruction—a certain amount of that has to be innate.”

-Patti Smith

Confused, I stare at my phone. It’s been over an hour since Shag left me waiting. I am starting to worry. The party has turned rowdy, and the men are becoming bolder. Omar is making good of Shag’s promised protection, but I want to leave. With Robin acting like I don’t exist and monopolizing Roxie, I feel alone and vulnerable. My old insecurities have come out to play, and they play dirty, harassing me with some of Mitch’s worst criticisms and reminding me I am way out of my league with Shag.

Robin’s right. I’ve been foolish, turning into a starry-eyed groupie and falsely believing I have a future beside the world’s
Sexiest Performer Alive
.

What a joke.

Glancing again at my phone, I make a decision. I’m not waiting another second. I have a keycard to Shag’s room, and I intend to use it. I haven’t seen Misty or Marcus Rodriguez around for a while either, which should be comforting, but instead I’m wondering if they’ve somehow managed to waylay Shag. Maybe he needs me to rescue him for a change.

With the knowledge Omar is trailing behind me, I make my way through the sweaty bodies, ignoring a slap on the ass. I hear raised voices, evidence that Omar is still on duty. The man is definitely loyal. I welcome the urge to smile. Surely there’s nothing to worry about. Shag’s other security guys are no doubt keeping an eye on their boss while Omar is busy babysitting me.

When I reach Shag’s cabin, I hesitate. He told me to wait and I don’t want to overstep my bounds. Ready to walk away, a woman’s laughter stops me.

What the hell?

It’s then I notice music and more voices from behind his door.

My heart is already starting to crack. This isn’t good. I’m not going to like what I find, but I can’t turn back now. I need to know the truth.

Inhaling through my nose, I let out a whoosh of air and slide in the keycard.

Nothing could have prepared me for my supposed surprise from Shag.

The first thing I notice is the smell. It reeks like marijuana and cigarettes and something musky and earthy I refuse to label. 

The large mirror has been detached from its place on the wall and is on the floor with long rows of white powder crisscrossing the glass. There are a few razor blades and rolled up bills nearby.

Misty is dressed in some slutty lingerie getup that I could only dream about wearing with my fuller figure. She’s holding a glass of champagne and circling the chair where Shag is tied up naked and gagged
and
receiving a very energetic blowjob from some skinny blonde chick with humungous boobs and bracelets lining her arms. She has a dragon tattoo that starts under her hair and winds down her back, all the way to her ankle, where its tail curls.

Shag’s head is flopped back, and he’s obviously intoxicated, more like annihilated.

The cock I planned to ride later is rock hard, and his hips rise to meet the blowjob queen’s downward motions. He grunts from beneath his gag.

Misty sees me first. “Oh shit! We were supposed to text you. Shag wanted to surprise you. Watching me eat your pussy was his latest fantasy. He was hoping to shock you with a mini-orgy. We got started without you. Sorry.” She shrugs.

Shag finally lifts his head, his eyes roll as he struggles to focus. I know the minute he recognizes I’m in the room. A strangled groan erupts from under the gag, and his expression is nothing short of tormented. But despite his obvious anguish, his pelvis seems to have a mind of its own and continues thrusting into the bimbo’s mouth.

“That’s it baby, fuck her mouth,” Misty urges. “Come on, Cadie, don’t be shy. Take off your dress. I’ve never been into fat chicks, but Shag seems to fancy you, so I’ll give you a go.”

I’m too stunned to speak. My feet have turned to lead, and I’m stuck staring at my worst nightmare. Anything Mitch might have said or done pales in comparison to what I’m witnessing.

Firm hands grasp my shoulders and pull me back. “Please, Miss O’Shea, let me get you away from this depravity. You are far too good for the likes of him. I quit, by the way,” he directs his last statement at Shag.

The big body guard guides me to the door, handling me like I’m a China doll. Marcus Rodriguez bursts in, his camera pointed at Shag like a gun. Instead of firing bullets, he’s firing off snapshots, immortalizing images that could lead to Shag’s ruin.

Most people aren’t big supporters when it comes to hard drug use, but the sex stuff sells. It will add to his stage persona, making him seem more desirable to many women. His male fans will have another reason to admire their rock hero. Overall public opinion could go either way.

My opinion is decided.

He’s another fucking loser. Someone I trusted who I should have avoided. Believing I could handle an emotion-free affair was naïve and stupid. I won’t make the same mistake twice.

Once we’re outside Shag’s room, the anger takes a backseat to my humiliation and heartbreak; the tears come. Omar shelters me from the people passing by, and when I’m finally inside my own suite, he calls for Robin and Roxie.

Robin arrives and takes me in her arms, stroking my hair. There’s none of last week’s judgment, just a best friend’s love.

I let her and Roxie rock me like a baby while I sob.

Shag Steal deserves everything he’s going to get when
Rolling Rock
publicizes his raunchy revelry. How could he possibly think after everything I shared with him about cocaine and my relationship with Mitch that I’d be interested in a drug-fueled sex-fest?

He turned out to be everything I originally believed him to be and so much worse. Nothing he can do or say will ever repair the damage inflicted tonight. My heart is bursting, severed and broken, tiny painful pieces are cutting me up from the inside out. I’m not sure how I’ll survive a shattered heart, but I’ll find a way. I have to.

I can’t let Shag Steal win.

I will rise from the ashes like a phoenix, burning brighter and stronger because of his betrayal.

Shag

“The rumors of my death have been greatly exaggerated.”

-Paul McCartney

Two months after the cruise and almost three weeks out of rehab, and I can still see, with startling clarity, the expression of devastation reflected on Cadie’s beautiful face when she found me tied to a chair with some strange blonde between my legs, looking like she was bobbing for apples.

What I can’t see is how and why I was in that chair to begin with.

I remember telling Cadie that I’d text her in a few minutes and then heading to my cabin to get her surprise ready. Everything that happened after I left the masquerade ball, until Cadie and Omar entered the suite, is blocked by a blurry, black fog.

I wish I could forget the pandemonium that ensued, following their exit. Unfortunately, the fog thinned, giving me a front row seat to my almost demise.

Marcus Rodriquez, aka, reporter with a grudge, used his camera to immortalize my life’s worst moment in all its undignified glory, selling the most explicit photos to LMZ. He penned his own scathing piece of ‘literature’ for
Rolling Rock’s
devoted readers, ensuring the issue would become the most-read in the magazine’s history.

Instead of threatening to leave our record label for greener pastures, as previously planned, I ended up begging for one final chance to redeem myself, promising to accept anything they suggested in order to keep my career from complete collapse. My band-mates didn’t deserve to lose everything because of my appalling actions.

First on the get-right-with-the-world list was a very public apology and well-documented entrance into drug rehab, which I actually welcomed. Getting away from the press was a major relief. Part of my treatment plan required that I avoid reading anything from the
outside
world. My approved reading list was vetted by a clinical team of addiction specialists, and all selected subjects had to do with my recovery efforts, not my infamous failures.

Freed from the burden of public opinion, I was able to focus on getting healthy. I contacted Omar and begged him not to give up on me, requesting he investigate the night in question. He confessed the sordid scene that he and Cadie had stumbled in on made little sense. In light of the expensive presents I’d sent him to purchase and the feelings I had professed to him, about her, just that morning, left him equally baffled.

After working with me for two-plus years, he is well aware of my unconventional lifestyle, but is also aware that I’m not cruel on purpose. I’ve been called rude, crude, and abrupt, but not completely heartless. He also understood I had put an end to my shag-nanigans with Misty at the beginning of the cruise. None of it added up.

Fuck!
If only I could remember.

Our current working theory is that Misty and Marcus orchestrated the entire affair. They’d somehow drugged me, likely with roofies or another fast-acting benzo. Between leaving the masquerade ball and arriving at my suite, I’d been duped by the duo, losing an amazing woman in the process.

Trying to make things right, I’d called Cadie countless times, imploring her to forgive me and to consider that I might have been set up. I had followed the calls with texts, flowers, and gifts, even sending her two pet rats with an all natural, three-story mansion for them to enjoy.

Nothing. Nada. No response.

She’d cut me right out of her life, crushing my heart—a heart that had only just begun to thaw after being frozen for so many years.

Sick and tired of the emotional pain, something I would typically cover with booze and blow, I tried to enlist Omar to help win Cadie back, but he refused to get involved. That was one condition he’d insisted on before returning to work. I didn’t blame him; in fact, I respect him even more. Putting him in the middle wouldn’t be cool. Getting Cadie back is up to me, no one else.

One thing in my favor that will hopefully help my cause—Rodriguez kept Cadie and our relationship out of the press. He was forced to adhere to our agreement for engaging cruise guests. The contract didn’t allow him to publish photos or private information without formal consent, in writing, from the subject. Cadie had never consented.

There were rumors circulating that I’d hooked up with a contest winner, but details remain sketchy, making it all speculation. I plan to keep it that way. As a deterrent, I made sure legal letters were sent to every cruise guest, reminding them of the nondisclosure agreement they signed and the consequences for publishing unauthorized photos. At least she won’t have to deal with her life under a microscope.

Since my rehab stint, when I’m not dwelling on what really happened that night or how I lost Cadie, I’m trying to focus my attention on finishing the album, already delayed because of my circumstances. My band-mates have been supportive and seem glad to have me back, and the fans have been very forgiving. Our sales skyrocketed, and I’ve received thousands of messages wishing me well and supporting my efforts to stay clean.

Apparently, major fuck ups followed by comebacks are a recipe for success.

I hope my meeting with mother dearest and her current fiancé is as successful. More importantly, I hope my final attempt to connect with Cadie turns out better than my previous efforts.

I’m going to stop by Cadie’s while I’m in Portland for dinner with mom’s next matrimony victim. She keeps insisting he’s ‘the one.’ I’ve heard that same sentiment too many times to give it any credence. Once I’ve done my duty as the doting son, I’m back in LA for a week, and then off to a private island in the Bahamas. It won’t be the same without my redheaded vixen, but not going isn’t an option.

The next tour has been postponed long enough for me to star in a reality cable series. Rehab and this damn show were the label’s two nonnegotiable items. If I want to make changes to our contract, changes that include a massive financial increase and more creative freedom, I’ll have to stay with the show through every episode. I owe the band that much.

Which reminds me, I need to finish interviewing applicants for my new, personal assistant position. I’ll want his or her help during taping. So far, the few candidates I’ve met with have the same starry-eyed gazes I see so often. I need a professional I can trust and who won’t be constantly trying to seduce me or delve into my personal life like some star struck wannabe.

I may not win Cadie over again, but she sure as hell taught me to settle for nothing less than the best. I’ll never be caught with my pants down again, though it’s going to be difficult to maintain my newfound integrity on a reality show that expects me to find my dream girl through a series of bizarre competitions and intimate dates.

Roping a Rock-Star
is supposed to be a wilder, crazier version of
The Bachelor.
The idea is I need a good woman to support my new and improved cleaner lifestyle.

Had it been just me to worry about, I would have told the powers-that-be to fuck off, but once again, I have to consider the band and the ramifications if I defy the label.

The fact that the show is on a cable network means most anything goes. It makes no fucking sense…new clean image vs. sexual encounters with strange women on TV. These women are going to be competing for my love.

Yeah right.
More like for my money and fame.

If I don’t get to Cadie first, before the program airs, I can kiss any hope of reconciliation goodbye.

“We’re here,” Omar announces from the front seat. He’s acting as my driver and security this evening. I told him I’d sit in the front like a normal person, but he insisted I follow our regular protocol.

“Thanks, man. For everything. Order whatever you want and make sure no one, especially the press, interrupts. My mom will whip out baby pictures if she has the chance.”

She’d done that once when I’d taken her to a movie premiere, right there on the red carpet. I’ll never forget the expression on our interviewer’s face.

Omar gives me good news, putting a halt to the vivid images. “I’m certain your arrival has gone unnoticed. I’ve seen no evidence of the paparazzi since we landed.”

“No press is good news.” I hope it stays that way.

I climb out of the town car, and Omar hands the key over to the valet. I’m wearing dark glasses, despite the overcast sky, and my hair is growing back, making me less recognizable.

Even without the press lurking, I struggle to reign in my escalating anxiety.

Meeting with my mom and her new man is stressful enough, add on my imminent attempt to contact Cadie, all without any chemical assistance, and I’m screwed.

I’ve given up sex and drugs, booze included, and lost the woman I was falling for. All I have left is my music. When I get back to the hotel, I’m going to get busy writing. I’ve never had so many lyrics bouncing around in my head.

I’d always been told giving up chemicals was akin to throwing away your creativity. In my case, it’s the opposite. It seems I have another thing to be grateful for.

They told us in rehab to look at the glass as half full rather than half empty, something I’ve always struggled to do. I’m willing to admit it might be a quarter full.

With Cadie, the damn glass would be overflowing.

* * *

Cadie

I’m running late, something my father abhors. My job interview lasted longer than expected.

As if losing Shag in the most humiliating way possible wasn’t enough, I returned from the cruise to discover the bookstore had hired a new store manager, and I was no longer needed as a department head. The hours and position he offered weren’t enough to pay my bills. Talk about a double insult. First Shag and his stellar shagging and then my job, something thing I truly enjoyed, both gone. 

So much for rising from the ashes like some mythical creature, I’m stuck in the fire with no water in sight. My earlier bravado has been crushed under life’s harsh heel like an insignificant insect.

Of course my dad has his own opinion on the employment matter, insisting my impromptu vacation prompted my demotion. Maybe he’s right. Whatever the case, I’m back in the market for a job, and so far, even with my degree, I’m not making any headway. Not enough experience, not the right kind of experience, the reasons all add up to one thing: I’m unemployed and unemployment benefits don’t stretch far enough. I’ll deplete my savings if I don’t find something soon.

The one glimmer of hope I’m currently clinging to is something my dad mentioned this morning while confirming our dinner date. My future step-brother is in the market for a personal assistant. If it’s anything like the job Misty performed for Shag, minus the sexual favors and drugs, I could do it. In fact, a job like that is exactly what I went to school for. I hate to rely on family, including future family, for anything, but I’m getting desperate. 

I hesitate outside the restaurant door. Quite frankly, I’m astonished my dad picked this place. For someone who is constantly worried about money, he’s chosen one of Portland’s most upscale restaurants for our family get-together. Not that he’s poor or anything. In all likelihood he has money tucked away in various investments I know nothing about. It seems his wife-to-be is reason enough for him to dip into those resources. Too bad I don’t have an appetite to put my theory to the test. It’s not often he treats me to an expensive meal.

To be honest, I’ve lost my desire for food. I’m down to a size ten without even trying. None of my clothes fit right, and I don’t have the money to buy new ones. Robin and Josh say I look better than ever. I wish I felt the same.

Damn Shag Steal for making me realize what I’d been missing and leaving me wanting more.

The door attendant waits patiently, holding the door.

With a sigh, I cross the threshold, hoping my future step-brother finds my skills impressive enough to offer me a job that meets my needs. From what my dad said, the position pays well and involves traveling. Getting away sounds like an added bonus. I’m growing weary of Robin and Josh’s attempts to shove me into some stranger’s arms. They’ve tried to set me up with several guys since my return. I can’t get them to understand that dating is the last thing on my mind.

The way things look, I might stay celibate for life, anything to keep my heart from ever hurting the way it hurts now.

Pushing the painful thoughts back into the compartment I’ve reserved for them, I try to think positive. I need to project positive energy, if I want to make a good first impression.

Following the hostess through the crowded room, I spot my father in a cozy corner booth, an attractive brunette snuggled against him, examining the menu. My step-brother-to-be, his back to me, has a buzz cut and appears to be extremely tall and broad-shouldered, reminding me a little too much of someone I can’t forget. Had his head been smooth shaven, I might have turned around and left the way I came.

Taking another deep breath, I smooth my skirt and paste on a smile. My dad’s head comes up and he gives me an approving nod, while his fiancée lets her gaze travel over me as I approach.

“Here’s your party. Can I get you anything to drink?” our hostess asks.

I stop at the edge of the table, and my step-brother turns his head.