Reckless Obsession (The Reckless Rockstar Series) Read online

  “Better give us a minute,” I say.

  “How much do you get paid?” Garrett asks Bria as he peruses his menu.

  I hiss at him. “That’s pretty personal, don’t you think?”

  She laughs. “Let’s just say more than you, but it’ll have to last. In two weeks, when the tour is over, I won’t get any paychecks for a while.”

  “Where do you live?” Liam asks.

  “New York City.”

  “Maybe you could sing with us for a few gigs—you know, to tide you over. The money is better than what we’re getting here.”

  I kick him under the table.

  “I’m actually going on tour with White Poison again in seven months. They’re going to Europe.”

  “You must have really impressed them,” Liam says. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen them with the same backup singer for two tours.”

  She shrugs. “I like to think I’ve impressed them, but I’m sure it has to do with my dating Adam.”

  She doesn’t seem like the type of girl who would use someone to get what she wants, and I feel sorry for her. Is she so naïve that she doesn’t know he’s screwing around behind her back?

  A group of girls come in, and two of them look familiar. They were the ones talking about Adam the other night. They hesitate when they see us sitting with Bria but go on by.

  “God, I’m so tired of this cold weather,” the one I think is Aimee says. “Three weeks from now, I’ll be wearing my string bikini on a beach in Fiji. I can’t wait.”

  Bria’s eyes widen and get glassy. Her chin quivers.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  She swallows and dabs at her eyes. “I’m just tired.” She tucks her menu behind the napkin holder. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m going back to the arena.”

  “It’s half a mile away,” Garrett says.

  “The walk will do me good, and I’ve lost my appetite.” She peers over to where the girls are sitting. “Pre-show nerves still get to me.”

  Liam stands to let her out of the booth. “We’ll see you later.”

  She nods. “Have a good show.”

  “You too.” Liam watches her leave and turns back to us. “What just happened?”

  I motion to the table of girls. “I’m pretty sure Adam Stuart is screwing around with one or more of them, and I’d venture a guess that maybe Bria knows it.”

  Brad snorts. “She shouldn’t be surprised. He can have anyone he wants.”

  I narrow my eyes. “True, but he shouldn’t string her along. That just makes him a douchebag.”

  “Do you think he cares what people think of him?” Garrett adds. “He can sit back and count his millions and do whatever the hell he wants.”

  “That shouldn’t include hurting people.” I look out the window. Bria shuffles her way down the street. “We should make a pact that we won’t end up like that. You know, the stereotypical band guys who are all assholes with lists of riders longer than my dick.”

  “That’d be a short list,” Liam deadpans.

  I introduce him to my middle finger. “I get the expensive houses and cars and personal jets, but I think you can have all that and still be a nice person.”

  “You’re assuming we’ll make it big one day,” Garrett says.

  “Oh, we’ll make it big,” Liam says. “And when we blow White Poison’s record sales out of the goddamn water, they’ll be begging to open for us.”

  While they’re busy dreaming about our future, I pull out my phone and google Bria Cash. I don’t see anything about an album, but I find a YouTube video of a high school talent show where she sings a Taylor Swift song. I put in my earbuds and listen to the entire thing.

  Chapter Five

  Bria

  During the van ride to Hartford, I stare at the White Poison tour bus in front of us. I don’t get to ride in it. Never have. It’s for the band only, so they can sleep, de-stress, or work on new music. Despite being onstage with them, I get to ride in the large passenger van with some of the crew. It’s almost impossible to sleep, given its rigid seats and lack of headrests.

  Liam’s van is behind us. It’s even smaller than this one, yet it holds the four of them and all their luggage and equipment. I wonder if there’s any extra space. The short time I spent with them at the diner yesterday was better than any time I’ve experienced on the road with White Poison. They seem genuine and nice, but that’s probably because they haven’t made it big yet.

  I try again to fall asleep, but I can’t. I haven’t slept more than a few hours since yesterday. Every time I doze off, I hear Aimee bragging about going to Fiji. I turn to the guy sitting next to me; he sets up the band’s instruments. “What are you doing after the tour ends?”

  “You mean after I sleep for two weeks straight?” He laughs. “I’ll do what I always do between gigs—work on my brother’s construction crew. He builds houses.”

  “Are you …” I glance at the tour bus again. “Are you going to Fiji?”

  He looks at me like I’m crazy. “Fiji? Where did you get a crazy idea like that?”

  “I thought since the band is going, maybe you’d go too.”

  He snickers. “As if I’d ever be invited.”

  “So they do invite people?”

  He gives me a sympathetic look. He knows I’m dating Adam. Everyone does. “I honestly don’t know who goes on those trips. For all I know, it’s just the four of them.”

  He’s lying. I look out the window, lips tight, and gaze at the snowy hills in the distance, wondering who else has been lying to me.

  A few hours later, we pull up at the hotel, the entire caravan still in perfect follow-the-leader formation. That rarely happens. Liam’s van pulls in behind us, surprising me. They never stay at the luxury hotels where we bunk.

  When I get out, I stretch my legs and catch Crew doing the same. “I thought you couldn’t afford places like this.”

  “We can’t, but this is our last show, and Liam’s uncle wanted us to go out in style. He booked this for us as a Christmas present. After the gig, we’re staying the weekend to unwind and do some male bonding or some shit like that.”

  “That’s nice.”

  I can’t help feeling a little sad that after tonight, I won’t get to hear their music in my dressing room before I go onstage, but I remind myself there are only five more shows, and for the first time in months, I feel a sense of relief.

  Crew and I are talking when Aimee gets off the tour bus. I feel a quick spurt of anger. “What the …?”

  “Everything okay?” he asks.

  “No, everything is not okay. I was told nobody else rides with them. It’s why I was relegated to one of the roadie vans. I’ll catch you later.”

  I storm over to the bus as Aimee saunters away, her hair all disheveled, like she was sleeping or something.

  Kurt, Collin, and Louis get off the bus. When they see me, they look guilty.

  Adam appears, tucking in his shirt. “Hey, luv. Didn’t know you’d be waiting.”

  “Obviously, otherwise you’d have wiped Aimee’s lipstick off your face.” His zipper is at half-mast. I point. “Might want to close the goddamn barn door.”

  “What’s got you in a tizzy? I was sleeping. I always sleep on the bus.”

  I cross my arms. “Yeah, sleeping with Aimee. Not to mention taking her to Fiji.”

  “Hogwash,” he says with no guilt whatsoever. “But even if that were true, you’re the one who gets to call herself my girlfriend.”

  I’m disgusted that he says it like I should be honored even though he’s sleeping with anyone wearing a skirt.

  “I’m so stupid.” Outraged, I look at the sky. “How naïve I was to believe I was the only girl in your life.” I give him a hard shove. “And what an asshole you are to make me think I was.”

  He looks around at our audience, causing me to do the same. Some of the crew are watching, as are all the guys from Reckless Alibi. “This is hardly the place for this conversation, Bria.
”

  “This is exactly the place for it. That way everyone will know what a jerk you are.” I glance at Aimee, whose grin is not the least bit apologetic.

  He finishes buckling his belt. “You’ll find you’re the only one who cares, luv.”

  I stomp my foot. “Stop calling me that.”

  He tugs on my elbow. “Calm down. Let’s go up to my suite.”

  I jerk away from him. “I’m not going anywhere with you ever again. I’m done with you.”

  He grabs my arm again, harder this time, and looks down his nose at me. “You’re done when I say you are and not a moment sooner.”

  Crew takes a step forward, but his bandmates hold him back.

  I painfully pull my arm free. “Screw you, Adam. I don’t care who the hell you are. Nobody treats me this way. I don’t care what Aimee and your other sluts do, but I’m finished being your doormat.” I turn to the roadies. “Kudos for keeping his man-whoring under wraps for so long. Does he pay you extra for that?”

  Most of them look away but Reckless Alibi is ready to come to my rescue if Adam doesn’t back down.

  “Do you even know what you’re doing?” Adam asks with an air of superiority. “Nobody tosses me to the curb. I’m Adam bloody Stuart.”

  “No, you’re an asshole.”

  I walk away, and he laughs. Laughs.

  I struggle not to cry, managing to make it around the corner before the tears fall.

  I hear footsteps behind me, and whirl around. “Get the hell away from me!” It’s Reckless Alibi. “Sorry. I thought it was him.” I sit on the curb and wipe my eyes. “How could I have been so stupid? I was a fool to think he was faithful to me.”

  Liam sits next to me. “You’re nice and beautiful and have the voice of an angel. Fuck him, Bria. And fuck White Poison. Come sing with us.”

  “No offense, but I’m the backup singer for one of the hottest bands in the world. I’m not sure I could be a backup singer for anyone else, plus there’s the Europe tour.”

  He touches my shoulder. “Do you really think you’ll be included after what just happened?”

  Like a punch to the gut, I realize what I’ve done. I wasn’t thinking of the consequences. I let my emotions get the best of me. Why couldn’t I have kept my mouth shut and quietly dumped him? Of course I’m not going to be invited on the Europe tour. I publicly shamed Adam Stuart.

  Oh, God, I feel sick. My head falls into my hands. “What have I done? I’ve ruined everything.”

  Liam says, “Hold on, Bria. You did the right thing. That prick had it coming. Your career isn’t over. It’s only getting started.”

  “You misunderstood,” Garrett says. “We’re not asking you to be our backup singer. We’re asking you to be one of our lead singers.”

  Surprised, I look at Crew. He’s pacing. “I don’t know you,” I say. “What’s even more relevant is that you don’t know me. I’ve never sung with you. How can you make such an offer?”

  “Come to a few rehearsals,” Liam says. “See if we’re a good fit.”

  I glance at Crew again. He doesn’t look happy.

  “Don’t mind him,” Liam says. “He knows we need a female lead. He’s fighting it.”

  I shake my head. “I couldn’t. Not if you don’t all agree.”

  Crew kicks a rock into the street. “She’s a smart girl,” he says before walking away.

  Garrett holds his hand out to help me up. “He’ll come around. We’re serious about this.”

  “As a heart attack,” Brad adds.

  Crew turns the corner, looking pissed.

  “I don’t know.”

  “Think about it,” Liam says, pulling a card out of his wallet and handing it to me. “You’ve got another week here. Give yourself some time to rest, then come jam with us. It doesn’t have to mean anything. It’ll be fun, and it will give us a few weeks to work on grumpy.”

  “Why do you think he’s so against it?” I ask. “Other than the spotlight not being solely on him?”

  Liam sighs. “He’s got his reasons.”

  Garrett huffs. “Reasons he needs to get over.”

  “Piss off, Garrett. You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

  Garrett shakes his head. “Still.”

  “Still nothing,” Liam says. “Mind your own goddamn business and let him work out his shit.” He turns to me. “Are you okay? Do you need a place to stay?”

  “We have separate rooms.” I laugh. “Obviously. How else could he shag everyone with a pair of tits?”

  “And maybe some without,” Brad says.

  I turn up my nose at his insinuation. How many people has he been sleeping with? I make a mental note to visit my doctor when I return to the city and have him run every available test.

  They go to their van for their luggage, and I enter the hotel, avoiding anyone associated with White Poison.

  As I pass the bar, I see Crew sitting by himself, tossing back a shot—two empty glasses already sitting in front of him. And I wonder what his story is.

  Chapter Six

  Crew

  Seven years ago

  I can count on one hand the few moments in my life I remember with such clarity, it’s as if a high-def Blu-ray is imprinted on my mind. One of those moments was the day my parents told me they were getting a divorce. I was ten. I was wearing pajamas with baseballs on them. I had a granola bar and chocolate milk for breakfast. Then I sat in my room and stared out the window, hoping I wouldn’t have to move out of the house where I grew up.

  Another such moment was the Christmas when Mom gave me the karaoke machine. The first time I turned it on and sang a song in front of my family, I knew I wanted to be up on a stage.

  Today, as Abigail Evans plays her flute for Mr. Hannigan so he can figure out which chair to give her in the school band, I’m certain this memory will become one of those moments.

  It’s only been five minutes since I met her. Well, technically, I haven’t met her yet. She doesn’t even know my name. But she’s staring at me. She’s playing her flute, auditioning for her spot, and she chose me to look at. Me. Out of all the kids in this room.

  I’m at the height of adolescence, at barely seventeen years old, but one thing’s for sure—I’ve never before gotten a boner in band class. Seventh period has just become my favorite of the day. The rest of my classes will be torture while I wait to see the girl who plays the flute like an angel. Hell, she looks like an angel. She’s got sun-kissed skin, even though it’s cold enough outside to freeze your balls off. Her long hair is brown, with streaks of blonde running through it. I can’t see her eyes from here, but I’m certain they must be blue.

  Suddenly I’m thanking Mom, who badgered me into taking another year of band. I didn’t protest too much, though. It’s an easy A, but playing the trombone is not exactly my forte. In fact I’m last chair—the worst of all the trombone players at Stamford High. Keyboards are more my thing. It’s what I play in my band. But Mr. Hannigan is hardly what I’d call a progressive teacher. He must be eighty years old. I’m not even sure they had keyboards when he was growing up.

  Abigail finishes playing, and all eyes are on me instead of her—probably because I’m the only one clapping. I look down at my hands as if they don’t belong to me. What the hell?

  Liam rolls his eyes at me, laughing. He’s here for the easy A too. He rocks the trumpet, but his true passion is the guitar.

  “Fantastic, Miss Evans,” Mr. Hannigan says. “Why don’t you take a seat next to Miss Nevin. Hannah can show you the ropes and bring you up to speed.”

  A lot of eyebrows are raised. Hannah Nevin is our first-chair flautist. Is he replacing her with Abigail, or did he just make Hannah Abigail’s mentor? Judging by the look on Hannah’s face, she thinks she’s been replaced. She should be. Abigail’s that good.

  I spend the rest of class totally screwing up my part, earning me some biting stares from Hannigan, but I can’t help it. How can I concentrate on music when
the only thing I can think about is how I’m going to meet this girl? Song lyrics bombard my head, and I wish I had my notebook with me to jot them down.

  Forty minutes later, I’m rushing to put away my trombone when Hannigan calls to me. “Mr. Rewey, I trust you won’t be quite as distracted for Friday’s performance?”

  I can hear Liam’s laughter behind me as I apologize to Mr. Hannigan.

  When I turn around, Abigail is nowhere to be seen. Shit, have I missed my chance?

  “Are your pants on fire?” Liam asks.

  I hold up a finger and check out the hall. My eyes dart around until I find her. I only see the back of her head, but that hair is unmistakable. She looks down at something and then turns, gazing left, then right. Perfect.

  “I have to go,” I tell Liam before I take off in her direction.

  “Dude!” he calls after me.

  I run up behind her. “Abigail.” I touch her elbow. “You look lost.”

  She looks at my hand on her arm, and I can’t tell if she’s happy or mad about it. Maybe she’s just surprised.

  “Abby,” she says, smiling sweetly.

  Happy then. And I was right—blue eyes. Damn.

  She looks relieved that someone is talking to her. It must suck to be the new kid, especially in the middle of junior year after everyone has already found their cliques.

  “Okay, Abby.” I love the way her name sounds, and I know I’m going to work it into some lyrics. “I’m Crew.”

  She’s amused. “Your name is Crew Rewey?”

  I laugh. “My real name is Christopher, but most people call me Crew. Christopher Rewey is a mouthful, and a teacher in elementary school shortened it to Crewey, then it became Crew. My parents don’t call me that; they call me Chris.” I fidget, knowing I’m rambling and she probably doesn’t give a shit. “Sorry, you probably couldn’t care less.”

  “No, it’s actually interesting.” She extends a hand. “Well, Christopher, it’s nice to meet you.”

  I take her hand in mine, and more lyrics bombard me. I can’t wait to get home and put them to music. I don’t tell her no one calls me Christopher, because I think I like that she would be the only one.