Rocked Senseless: A Stand-Alone Rock Star Romance, page 4
Logan: Incoming. Are you decent?
Me: Yeah, come on in.
A few seconds later, the door to my dressing room opens. Logan appears with an impressive piece of female ass on his arm. Her stormy blue eyes pierce through me. From the crown of her golden head to the bronze sheen of her tanned, long legs, she is physically superior to me in every way, and she knows it. Her lips curl into a blood-curdling smirk that does nothing to take away from the murderous intent in her eyes.
“Hi Celeste,” I say meekly. Thanks to this damn record deal, I have to be nice to her, even if she’s a total bitch to me.
Celeste’s smile darkens. “Hi, Madison. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks.” I clear my throat, turning to Logan. “Is it time?”
“Close to it,” he says, releasing Celeste. His arm is blushing slightly from where she was holding it. She must have been gripping him for dear life.
Threatened much?
“You ready?” Logan asks me. Celeste hovers beside us like a bee guarding its favorite flower.
I sigh. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
Logan places a hand on my upper arm. I can almost hear Celeste squirm. “Hey, you’ve got this. You’ve killed it at every concert, despite everything you’re going through. You’ve always been a rock star, but on the last leg of this tour you’ve really proved yourself.” Logan squeezes my arm and smiles.
His sweetness never ends. I return his smile, though not as freely as I would without Celeste’s eyes burning a hole in my skull. “Thanks, Drummer Boy.”
“Knock ‘em dead, Cricket.” Logan touches his headset and says, “Copy that. The team wants me for a soundcheck, so I’ll see you ladies later.” He walks away from us down the hall.
Celeste calls out after him, “I’ll catch up with you in a minute, Sugar Bear.”
I have to stop myself from gagging.
“Sugar Bear.” I can never get used to that.
The storm in Celeste’s eyes whirls into a hurricane as she levels her gaze with mine. Her voice is low and ominous.
“Listen up, sweetheart. I don’t know what’s been going on since that accident of yours, but Logan is mine. Keep your tiny little pasty-white hands to yourself, or I will fucking end you. Got it?”
I raise an eyebrow and scoff. “Excuse me? You’re gonna threaten me backstage at my concert?”
“It’s my daddy’s concert.” Celeste’s nose soars high, making contact with the stratosphere. “You wouldn’t have shit without him, Little Miss Goth Queen. Or me, for that matter. Remember that.”
She’s right, in a convoluted way. We were all at a club one night, not long after Logan and Celeste started dating. I was drunk and started acting a fool, standing on tables and dancing as I belted out my lyrics. Celeste recorded me and sent it to everyone she knew, trying to mock me. Someone talked to her father about me, and the rest is history. What was intended to be humiliation actually got me everything I ever wanted.
I smirk. “Whatever. I have no idea what you think is going on, but I can assure you Logan has been a perfect gentleman this whole trip. I haven’t seen him look sideways at a woman. As for the two of us, that’s never going to happen.”
Celeste narrows her professionally made-up eyes. “I’m watching you, Humpty Dumpty.”
I spread my arms wide. “Go right ahead, Prissy Missy. I got nothing to hide.”
Her mouth twists into a prim little smile. “Good.” She sashays down the hallway, swinging her hips to a beat only she can hear.
My body sags against the wall. Celeste may have accidentally gotten us this record deal, but she knows full well she can take away our chance at another one any time she wants. Her “daddy” gives her whatever she desires without question.
Dammit. My days on this stage are definitely numbered.
After the concert, I head to the nearest club with Jay and Dalton. Logan and Celeste are doing God knows what at their penthouse apartment, so it’s just the three of us, although Ana’s meeting me here tonight. My plans are to get sloshed and forget about the nightmare that was my first tour. Once we get to the club, Jay and Dalton start chatting up their groupies, and I order myself a martini and cling to the bar, avoiding the masses of people on the dance floor.
I stare blankly at L.A.’s finest frolicking around the club. Sometimes, I still feel like I don’t fit in here. It’s been nearly a decade since I moved here from South Carolina, and I still feel like that small town girl who first stepped off the plane in LAX. When am I going to feel like I’ve earned this?
Maybe I feel out of place because I didn’t earn this. It was handed to me because my best friend missed his true calling as a male model. Celeste fawned over him the minute she saw him and embarked on a quest to make him hers. I always knew he was good-looking, but it still surprised me that he managed to catch Celeste Norman’s eye. Maybe I fucked up by not trying him on for size when I had the chance.
Fuck me . . . I can’t spend the whole night moping like this.
“Mads . . . oh my God!” Ana grabs me from behind, spins me around on my stool, and pulls me into her chest, sobbing against my shoulder. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be with you in the hospital. I feel like the worst bestie in the world.”
I try to breathe through her suffocatingly tight embrace. “It’s okay, Ana.”
Ana jerks back in my arms, her sea-green eyes wide with hope. Her honey-blonde hair cascades over top of her deep green dress. “You remember me?”
I cackle. “Of course I do, dumbass.”
Ana lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank God! I was so afraid you’d wake up with no memories of anything we’ve ever done together.”
I give her a playful shove. “You worry too much. How was your trip?”
Ana sits down next to me and fills me in on the events of her trip abroad. I try to listen, but her words fade into nonsense in my head. I’m so horny, I’m starting to see floating dicks in my vision. I screwed around with the guy from Seattle, but we didn’t actually do the deed. We got naked, I sucked him off, he came in my mouth, and then he passed out on the bed.
Fucking loser. I needed some good dick, and we barely even made it to third base. That’s why I stole his Metallica shirt. They’re a good band, and I might as well get something out of the deal.
Finally, Ana runs out of Italian fashion designers to chatter about and eyes me quizzically. “You’re not really here with me right now, are you?”
I fidget with my glass, twisting it around aimlessly. “How did you know?”
“Honeybun, we’ve been tight for eight years now. I know you.” Ana searches my eyes. “How are you, really?”
I sigh, sagging against the bar. “To be honest, I’ve been in a slump ever since this tour started.”
Her eyes flood with compassion. “Still not over Jenks, huh?”
I squirm in my seat. Emotions make my skin crawl. “I guess. Plus, some weird shit has been going on since the accident.”
“Really? Like what?”
My neck and cheeks heat up. “Well . . . ”
Ana gasps and throws her hand over her mouth. “You hooked up with one of the guys, didn’t you?”
“What? No!” My voice is way too loud and squeaky.
Ana narrows her eyes at me and drops her elbow to the bar. “But something did happen. I can tell.”
“No, nothing happened, I just . . . ” I sigh and run my fingers through my hair. “I’ve started having these feelings—”
“Hol-y shit.”
I look at her flabbergasted face. “What?”
“You finally realized you’re in love with Logan.”
My gaze darts to Dalton and Jay, who luckily aren’t paying us any attention as they chat up a group of women near the bar. “Keep your voice down,” I snap. “And no, I’m not ‘in love’ with him. It’s just a weird crush or something.”
Ana groans, rolling her eyes. “You moron. Of course you’re in love with him. You always have been. Everybody knows that.”
“What? Everybody? Who the hell have you been talking to about this?” My grip threatens to shatter my martini glass.
Ana shrugs. “Jay and I talk about it all the time. You two are so blind, it’s hilarious. Although, it’s not so funny now that he’s with Celeste.”
My chest wrenches with pain. I never let on the fact that Celeste is constantly harassing me. She and I hate each other, but Logan and Celeste’s relationship is how we got our demo in front of Trevor in the first place. The last thing I would ever want to do is fuck that up because of my own selfish wants.
“Why do you think I’m in love with him?” I ask.
Ana points to my face. “That. That’s why.”
I glance down at my reflection in the glass. She’s right. I look crestfallen. It’s not just that I hate Celeste. It’s . . .
“No.” I shake my head, looking out at the crowd on the dance floor. “That can’t be true. I mean, I would have realized it a long time ago, wouldn’t I?”
“Maybe not, sweetie,” Ana says. “Some people can be in denial about their true feelings for decades. What made you realize you had a crush on him in the first place?”
“I forgot who he was when I first woke up—”
Ana interrupts me with a gasp. “You did get amnesia!”
“Yeah, for like, five minutes,” I grumble. “Anyway, I kind of thought he was my boyfriend instead of my best friend.”
Ana grins. “I see. You thought he was yours for a second, and you didn’t hate it.”
“Not even a little bit.” I swirl the last bit of liquid in the glass and toss it down my throat. Why haven’t they invented bottomless martini glasses yet?
“Well, honey, I hate to say it, but you don’t have a lot of time.” Ana points at the spot on her wrist where a watch would be if she had one. “Celeste seems like the kind of girl who is going to start demanding a wedding ring soon. If this is more than a crush, you need to figure that shit out yesterday.”
Fuck. She’s right. I’ve heard Celeste dropping “subtle” hints in front of Logan more than once.
I shrug. “Whatever. It’s probably nothing. I just knocked a screw loose when I dove off the stage, that’s all.”
Ana shakes her head, a smirk warping her annoyingly perfect features. “If you say so, girl.”
After downing two more martinis, we strut out to the middle of the dance floor, positioning ourselves directly underneath the disco ball. I loosen my hips, throwing my hands above my head. After the concert, I changed into a slinky black dress that hugs my curves just right. My makeup is on point, and my hair is styled and shiny, thanks to a team of makeup artists and stylists who spent the whole night making me this way. Getting a piece of ass to help me forget about Logan Young should be easy. This time, I plan to get pounded hard and fast.
A blond beefcake with a lip piercing approaches me right away, lining up his hips with mine and rolling them to my rhythm. I grace him with my sweetest, most demure smile and motion him closer with my index finger. He flicks his tongue over his piercing and sucks it back into the corner of his mouth. The muscles between my thighs clench at the suggestion.
He places his hands on my hips. Our bodies sink into each other. As his lips touch down to mine, Logan’s face flashes into my mind.
Uh-oh.
Now I can’t even start a one-night stand without thinking of Logan? Ana might be right.
Beefcake notices my hesitation and pulls away, frowning. “Sorry, I thought you wanted this.”
“I thought I did too,” I sigh. I step backward and turn away, swallowing down bile.
I hate emotions. They complicate everything. And falling for someone you have no business falling for is the worst emotion of all.
I walk into my downtown loft and lock the heavy wooden door behind me. As soon as I hear the final click of the cogs, I peel off my dress and head into the partitioned-off sleeping area to change clothes. The entire place is an open layout except for the bathroom. My decor is mostly leather and studs. I should probably grow it up a little bit . . . but then again, what’s the point? It’s not like I’m ever going to change. I’m always going to be the same hot mess I’ve been since I was a kid.
Once I’m clad in my usual combination of a ratty-ass band tee and frilly booty shorts, I sink down into my mattress face-first.
What the actual fuck?
Aside from being heartbroken over Jenks, I’ve never had trouble getting a one-night stand. This queen-sized platform bed has seen more men than I care to admit since I moved to L.A. I mean, it’s not like I couldn’t have invited Beefcake home anyway, but it just didn’t feel right. Not when my thoughts were literally consumed by another man.
I probably would have called out Logan’s name during my orgasm . . .
Yuck. And yet not yuck.
I rub my eyes until I have blind spots and lean my chin on my arms. Is Ana right? Have I always been in love with Logan? She didn’t know us when we first met, but she’s known us long enough. Jay apparently has been talking behind my back with her, too.
Fucking traitors . . .
Still, I wonder. Have I just been blind this whole time?
I stand from the bed and take two steps over to my bookcase. The second shelf from the top has all my diaries, from when I was ten years old all the way up until now. I kept a diary, not only to write my lyrics in but also to keep a record of important events and my personal thoughts. I wrote a lot about Logan . . . all platonic, but still, maybe there was something I was missing.
I sit down on my bed and start reading the first volume. Chuckling at my big, scrawling elementary school handwriting, I snuggle into my down pillows for a read that’s guaranteed to be both funny and embarrassing.
“Today was my tenth birthday. Nana bought me two presents: an electric guitar and this journal. She knows I want to be a rock star, so she got me what I need to play my music and also what I need to write it.
“I have the best Nana in the world . . . but don’t tell her I said that. She already reminds me, all the time, of how much she does for me. It’s annoying.
“I have some songs in my head, but I don’t think I’m ready to write them down yet. Someday I will, though, and I’ll write them all in here.
“Until next time,
“Mads”
A few more journal entries follow. I wasn’t very consistent. I only wrote in it about once every few weeks. However, I can’t help but notice there’s no mention of my parents. My dad travels everywhere as part of an indie rock band, and since my stepmother, Cass, is also part of the band, she’s with him, so it’s been just Nana and me as long as I can remember. It’s a sore subject for sure, but I’m a little surprised I didn’t write about them at all. I didn’t even write about any of the kids in my class, only Nana and my music. We really were all each other had for the first few years of my life.
After I finish my ten-year-old journal, I bring out the next one. The very first entry snags my attention.
“Today, I met an interesting boy. He’s my new neighbor, and we go to school together. I was playing frisbee golf in the yard—not real frisbee golf, but a kind I made up by tossing it through the space between the limbs on our big tree—and I threw it too hard. It went over the fence.
“I jumped to the top of the fence so I could hop down and grab the frisbee. When he heard the sound, Logan Young came running out of the house to see what was happening. He was amazed that I had jumped up there in one leap, even though I’m so short.
“He smiled at me and asked, ‘What are you, some kind of cricket?’ We laughed and laughed. He and I played frisbee together for the rest of the night. It was so much fun. After we found out that we both like music, I told him he was my new best friend. He calls me ‘Cricket’ and I call him ‘Drummer Boy’ because he plays the drums. He demonstrated a beat on top of the frisbee to prove it. He’s good, even when he’s not using a real drum set. I think he might be the coolest person I’ve ever met.”
I smile, my eyes burning with unshed tears. That memory is one of my favorites. Such a simple meeting, but it altered the course of my entire life. A broken girl with a globetrotting, vagrant father who never had time for her had finally found someone to occupy her days with. Logan was so much more than a friend to me . . . he was my savior.
Maybe that’s why I never saw him as a “boy,” but more like a life raft for me to cling onto.
I lie down and snuggle into my covers. I have a lot of diary entries to read and shit to figure out.
I line up my pool cue, aiming for the corner pocket. My mind creates the lines and angles needed for the winning sink. One of my hidden talents is that I am a total beast at geometry . . . and really, any kind of mathematics. Madison always hated me in school, because she had to pull all-nighters to make a B on a math test, but I pulled out one-hundreds with a flick of my wrist. I don’t talk about that to people I don’t know well, though. It makes me sound like both a nerd and a douchebag if I brag about my academic prowess.
I rear back and stab the billiard ball. It smacks into the eight ball, sending it right into the pocket.
Celeste’s brother, Ivan, groans and chalks up the end of his cue. “Logan wins again. What is your secret, bro?”
I chuckle and swallow the rest of my bourbon on the rocks. It scorches my throat on the way down. Most people would cough or choke at a sensation this intense, but I welcome it. It reminds me I'm alive. “If I told people, it wouldn’t be my secret anymore.”
“Touché.” Ivan grins. He’s the one person I trust around here.
We’re in the rec room at Trevor Norman’s Malibu beach house. The man has fifteen fucking beach houses in different locations around the globe. Dude makes some serious bank. Sometimes, I still can’t believe I managed to catch his attention. Dating his daughter was a dirty way to the top, but sometimes you have to play dirty to win.
