Bad Beats: A Rock-Star Step-Brother Romance (3 page)

Glancing down at my old jeans, a stab of guilt threatens to gut me.

Just two days ago, following Robin’s masterful manipulation and our cardboard pizza, I allowed her to drag me to the mall. Once there, I’d actually let her pick out a new outfit for me to wear tonight. She chose a cleavage-enhancing, corset-bustier-thing that makes my boobs look bigger and definitely better than I’ve ever seen them. We paired it with a black mini, well, almost a mini. I refuse to wear anything that’s more than an inch above my knee. My thigh size is not something I tend to showcase, ever. To make her happy, I compromised with a pair of lacy leggings and black suede boots with chunky heels.

I own a black leather jacket and intended to throw it on for good measure. I also agreed to extra makeup as long as I could wear my glasses. The idea of makeup
and
contacts is just too much to deal with, no matter what the occasion.

Convincing both myself and Robin that I loved the look, she was shocked, when at the last minute, after it was too late for her to do anything; I rushed into my bedroom and traded my sexy new getup for my always-safe jeans and T-shirt and a pair of Chucks. The only item not booted from the ensemble was my leather jacket, now resting across my lap. 

As planned, we were too late for me to change back. Robin stayed annoyed at me until Crude Element hit the stage.
Thank you, God, for sexy rock-stars!

Speaking of sexy rock-stars, I give into temptation and glance up at the stage. I’m shocked to find Shag Steal, kneeling near the edge, belting out the lyrics to one of their first top-ten hits.

Even more shocking is the fact he’s staring at me―again.

I gasp, and my phone slips from my hand. I’ve never been more grateful for spending extra to buy its protective case.

Dropping into a crouch, determined to rescue my most treasured device, I’m not prepared for the sudden surge of screaming fans who decide at that exact moment to rush the stage. I’m knocked over when one overzealous teenager knees me in the back as she battles to get closer.

Robin screams my name and then the crowd draws back.

An image of Moses, using his staff to part the Red Sea, crashes through my mind as a pair of leather-clad legs appear before me, and a group of security guards hold back the flood of fans.

Still singing, Shag reaches for my hand and pulls me to me feet before I can reach the phone. He’s inches from my face. Before I can react, he slips off my glasses and kisses my cheek, letting his guitarist take over with a mind-bending solo.

I can see perfectly fine up close, so there is nothing keeping me from the realization that Shag Steal is far better looking an inch from my face than on TV or in photos. His eyes remind me of chocolate, dark and delicious. And in that moment, it is as if we’re the only two people in the room. The security guards maintain their vigil, cocooning us.

Shag’s gaze drops to my lips and he leans in.

It hits me then, he plans to kiss me, on the mouth, in the middle of thousands of screaming people.

No way.

I step back and raise my palms, putting a barrier between us. He looks disappointed, but quickly regains his composure, handing back my glasses. He doesn’t seem to notice, and a second later, he’s propelled back onto the stage. He finishes the song without missing a beat and launches into the next.

Three encore’s later and the show is over, at last.

As the crowd disperses, I rub my ringing ears and look down. My expensive cell phone is a few feet away, its screen now crushed.

Crap
. Freaking Shag Steal; if he hadn’t distracted me, I’d have my phone and my dignity, both intact.

“Oh. My. Gosh. That was fucking amazing!” Robin shouts, her cheeks flushed with excitement. She follows my stare. “Oh, shit.”

Being the good best friend she is, she grabs my broken phone and tucks it in her purse. “I’ll make sure you get a new one.”

Before I can argue, a tall man with stringy brown hair, desperate for a good washing, approaches from the backstage area. “Contest winners! Over here, please! They’re almost ready for you.”

A few female winners squeal; Robin is one of them.

I want to bolt, but I drove, and leaving Robin behind isn’t an option. It’s time to pull up my big girl panties and get this charade over with. I’ll never see Shag Steal again after tonight.

Knowing that allows me to take my first step toward the backstage door. The stupid ‘meet and greet’ can’t get over soon enough.

Shag

“You laugh at me because I’m different, I laugh at you because you’re all the same.”

– Jonathan Davis

“My pleasure,” I say, not meaning it, as I scrawl my name on one winner’s t-shirt.

She leans into me for a selfie, checking her phone several times. Once satisfied with the photo, she moves on to meet Slyder.

A very pregnant Chloe stands guard at his side, glaring at any woman who stares at him for what she considers too long, which is about ten seconds. Another reminder of how much I’d hate to be shackled to one woman like my guitar player. He seems to take it all in stride, but I don’t understand how he does it. Chloe is jealous and insecure, driving everyone on tour crazy with her possessiveness. She catches me looking and shoots me a nasty look.

It’s no secret we don’t get along. She thinks my ‘bad boy’ behavior is somehow contagious and does everything possible to keep Slyder isolated from the rest of the band, me in particular.

I shake my head and glare back. She looks away first, like always.

The next person waiting in my line is the pretty blonde who came with the redhead. I peer over her head, expecting to see the girl I can’t stop thinking about behind her. I’m frustrated she’s not there.

“Hey, great show.” The blonde extends a program for me to sign.

I’d forgotten we were still selling these things. I scribble my name across the cover.

She hesitates before blurting, “You know, my friend Cadie’s phone got broken in that stampede.” To prove her point, she pulls an iPhone from her purse, its screen is shattered.

I decide right then it makes sense for me to win Cadie’s friend over with my charm. “No worries. I’ll replace it.”

Her face brightens, and I give myself a mental pat on the back for quick thinking.

Now I know the aloof girl’s name, and I like it. I’m pretty sure Cadie is Irish. Not that I’m really surprised after getting lost in those green eyes and seeing her fiery curls up close. The splash of freckles dotting her cheeks was a pretty good indication too. I’d even gotten a taste of her Irish temper when I tried to kiss her.

What the hell was I thinking?

I wasn’t thinking, at least not with my head.

Because, believe me; I don’t make a practice of jumping off the stage and serenading my fans, let alone locking lips with them.

Though, in Cadie’s case, she doesn’t seem like much of a fan. More likely, her friend dragged her to the show, and for some reason, I’m okay with that. It proves she isn’t just another groupie panting for a chance to suck my cock, or some super-fan, obsessed with my life and desperate to claim any one-of-a-kind souvenir she can get her hands on.

Shit, from what I’ve seen so far, she’s an All-American good girl. She probably lives at home with mommy and daddy and is enrolled at the local community college. Not my normal type, not even close. Not to mention my no-redheads-rule.

Blondie is staring, waiting for me to say something else. “What’s your name?” The words rush out. I figure I should at least act interested.

Her cheeks flush and she smiles, revealing perfect white teeth. “Robin.”

My tour manager waves and points at the remaining winners before tapping his watch. It seems I’ve lingered too long. He wants me to finish up with the autographs.

Misty joins him, her phony smile in place. I hope she remembered I need more of the white stuff and some weed. She’s always on top of those things, so I’m not sure why I’m so anxious tonight. I give her a little nod that she returns, putting me more at ease. I turn my attention back to Robin.

“Once we announce the cruise winners, I’ll get your contact information. For the phone,” I add, making my intentions clear. I don’t want her getting any ideas. As attractive as she is, it’s her friend I have the insane urge to impress.

As if thinking about Cadie conjures her, I spot her talking with Roxie by the food spread. They’re both munching on whatever the caterer delivered. A few male contest winners are snacking too, checking out my rhythm guitar player at the same time. Her purple spiky hair is hard to ignore. I can’t help but smile.

What keeps me smiling is Cadie. It appears she likes to eat and isn’t shy about doing just that. The other girls are avoiding the food like it contains poison or might cause the next plague. I know what they’re scared of―getting fat. It’s almost like they think that simply standing by the table will add pounds and increase their BMI.

If they only knew, I prefer curvier women. Big full tits and a nice round ass are sexy as fucking hell. I don’t want to touch a woman’s ribcage or be poked by hipbones either. I want a woman not a skinny boy. Now don’t get me wrong, I’ve fucked women of all shapes and sizes. I love pussy. But a woman like Cadie…I want to bury my face between her thick thighs and never come up. My cock swells at the image of her cunt, wet and tight.

As if sensing my scrutiny, she turns, catching my gaze. She pushes her glasses up and quickly turns away, once again ignoring me.

I feel something unfamiliar: the sharp sting of rejection.

I don’t like the feeling, in fact, I’m pretty fucking sure I hate it. My dick isn’t thrilled either, deflating with my mood.

Rather than dwell on the strange new emotion, I force myself to focus on the other winners and finish signing autographs. The two groupies I picked out earlier make an appearance, staggering in from behind stage right. Ronnie, our sound guy, is between them. He wipes below his nose and laughs at something one of the girls says, confirming my suspicions. They’ve been hitting the blow and have finished off at least a few beers.

In response, my gut tightens, anticipating the fresh boost that first, post-concert line will bring. If for some reason Misty hasn’t handled my delivery, I’ll borrow from Ronnie.

Cadie could never handle my appetites. I have no doubt, she’d never approve of my lifestyle.

Fucking hell.
I need to move on.
I mean seriously,
why am I spending so much time worrying about someone who can’t even stand to look at me?

I’ll send her a cell phone and be done with it. She doesn’t belong in my world, and trying to force a square peg into a round hole is a waste of time, time I don’t have.

“Okay, everyone,” Rod’s booming voice silences the room and my thoughts. “It is time to select our two cruise winners. Portland is the last city on our schedule for this promotion. One of you will win two spots aboard the luxurious Starlight Sea Queen. And, I’m sure you’re already well aware that Crude Element will be onboard for your ten day voyage.”

A few people cheer, and hushed whispers ripple through the group. Everyone appears eager to win.

Well, not everyone.

Cadie once again looks like she wants to be anywhere but here. Despite my ‘don’t have time for a girl like her’ resolution, I attempt to catch her gaze, but she keeps her eyes trained on Rod, her expression blank. Robin, on the other hand, can barely stand still. She bounces from foot to foot, and a huge smile reflects her excitement. From what I’ve seen so far, the two women are complete opposites.

“And…I have another surprise. The winner from this stop will be sleeping in the presidential suite,” Rod pauses, allowing the announcement to sink in. “And there’s more. That winner and their guest will be seated with the band every night for dinner
and
be in front of the stage for every performance.”

The room erupts with applause, a few hoots, and excited laughter. Again, I find myself searching Cadie’s face for a reaction. Robin whispers in her ear, but as before, Cadie’s expression remains unreadable.

The girl is something else.
What would it take to get her to smile?

“Shag, you wanna do the honors?” Rod is holding up a baseball cap I know contains the local winners’ names.

Making sure to play up my role for the press piranhas, here to cover the contest results, I swagger toward Rod, a smile plastered on. Misty, the master of phony pleasantries, taught me well how to smile when I really want to tell the world to ‘fuck off.’

Wiggling my fingers, I raise my hand before plunging it into the hat. Part of me wants Robin to win, in hopes she’ll bring Cadie. The other part is telling me, yet again, to forget the sullen woman with the red hair and flashing green eyes.

Letting luck, fate, whatever you want to call it, work its magic, I pluck a ticket from the hat.

Rod accepts it with exaggerated enthusiasm and reads the name, “Our grand prize winner is…”

Stix interrupts with an impromptu drum roll against the closest wall, using the sticks he keeps tucked in his back pocket.

“… Robin Barber!”

She screams and hugs Cadie, who stands stiffly in her embrace.

Robin weaves through the now, long-faced contestants, who at least manage to clap politely. In all honesty, they look like they’d rather tear her apart and take her place on the cruise. 

I glance a final time toward Cadie, curious how she’s taking the news. I shouldn’t have wasted the energy. She squints behind her glasses before meeting my gaze. There’s no denying, she is none too pleased by the results and not for the same reason as the others who are still wishing they’d won.

What the fuck is wrong with this chick?

Before I can over analyze her borderline hostile reaction, the two groupies move in. One squeezes my ass before taking a place on my left side, while her friend ends up on my right. I sling my arms over their shoulders and decide to put all thoughts of Cadie to rest, for real this time.

A night of high grade blow and two sexy-as-sin women will do wonders for my mood. I lean down and plant a kiss on left-side groupie’s hair. She smells like vanilla. My cock responds accordingly, anticipating what comes next.

I’ve done my duty here. It’s time to play.

I saunter out to the waiting limo with two gorgeous females clinging to my sides, leaving all thoughts of a certain red-haired beauty behind.

* * *

Cadie

One Week Later

The six hour flight to Miami isn’t so bad in first class. In fact, I am impressed by the superb service and my seat is beyond comfy. Never one to enjoy flying, I’m truly surprised by the differences between first class and coach.

Because we’re Crude Element’s grand prize winners, we’ve been receiving rock-star treatment since the moment the limo picked us up at home and drove us to the airport. If only I didn’t have to see Shag Steal again so soon, everything would be perfect.

As for the star treatment, in reality, it started a few days before our flight, when two, pre-paid visa cards, each loaded with $2,500, arrived by courier. The accompanying instructions made it clear we were supposed to use the money to purchase vacation wardrobes, including a minimum of one, but preferably two, evening gowns.

To celebrate we went out to dinner. After way too much wine, I promised Robin I would wear trendy clothes of her choosing
and
my contact lenses, for the entire cruise.

I regret drinking with my sneaky best friend. I should know better by now. She even went so far as to hide my favorite old jeans, ratty t-shirts and sweatshirts while I was sleeping.
Devious bitch!

Adding to the unexpected developments, I received a replacement cell phone, courtesy of my roommate and Shag Steal himself. Robin admitted she’d guilted him into sending me a new one. In addition to buying the newer model, he’d programmed his personal number into my contacts. I deleted it after texting a quick thank you, afraid the number might become a temptation I couldn’t or wouldn’t resist using. When it came to Crude Element’s front-man, I wasn’t sure about anything.

I’d replayed the night at the concert over and over―his lips on my cheek, our almost
real
kiss; his heated stares; the way I felt when he handed back my glasses and our fingers brushed―all of it. What burned was my final impression. Watching him stroll out the door, without so much as a glance back, was a painful hit to my already fragile ego. The two, ultra-slim, ultra-gorgeous girls―groupies―I’m sure, hanging all over him, didn’t help.

My practical side gets it and wasn’t that surprised. He is a famous musician, after all, a household name. Women who look like supermodels are the type of women men like him spend their free time with. My feigned disinterest was simply a challenge for him to overcome. When I didn’t respond right away, he moved on. I wasn’t worth his time or any added effort.

Why I believed, for even a second, he was actually interested in me, is ridiculous.

Adding to my crazy, post-concert, pre-vacation week was my father’s anticipated disapproval. He voiced his reasons why I shouldn’t go on the cruise via email, phone calls, and he’d even stopped by my job to present his case when the other methods failed to get the result he wanted. Sighing, I let the stilted conversation play out in my mind:

“When are you going to grow up, Cadie? For God’s sake, you’re a college graduate working at a bookstore. You have a degree in business management and a minor in public relations.”