Rock Star: The Song (Book 1 of a Bad Boy Romance) (2 page)

“The muffins are really good.”

“I’m glad you like them, they’re homemade.”

“Give my compliments to the chef.”

“You just did.”

There was a pause.

“Anyway, didn’t I leave the money outside?”

“No,” I said casting a glance at him. With his dark black hair slicked back he looked awfully familiar, but for the life of me I couldn’t place him.

“Sorry. It completely slipped my mind this morning.” He hurried over to the counter, and fished out a twenty-dollar bill. Turning sideways I noticed the guy didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, and yet he looked healthy. As he stepped forward, I took one back.

“It’s OK, I don’t bite.”

I swallowed hard. My body was still getting over the shock of seeing a stranger naked. All that flesh, and those brown eyes… well…

I reached for it, and felt his finger brush mine ever so slightly. It immediately brought my senses to life. I turned and made a beeline for the door.

“Well, I should go.”

“I didn’t get a name?”

“Meghan. Meghan Sullivan,” I said over my shoulder.

I know I should have asked for his, but I didn’t. The last thing on my mind was sticking around and having a conversation, actually it was the first thing on my mind, because it was the only thing on my mind. I pinched my eyes shut again for a second trying to get a grip, and nearly walked into the door on the way out.

I could have sworn I heard him snicker as I closed it behind me.

“Nice to have met you.”

“Same here,” I hollered back as I quickened my pace down the steps with a smirk on my face. When I made it back to my truck, I let out a deep lungful of air and took a moment to calm myself. I felt like a kiddy schoolgirl. It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen my fair share of naked men. Between my ex, and the pervs in the town who had shown up at the door with nothing on, you could say I was a connoisseur of the male specimen.

Like a bird-watcher, but without the watching.

But none had come close to what I had just witnessed. If anyone knew how to look after their body, it was him. He oozed sensuality in more ways than one. That sexy smile, those hard muscles and that hard jaw with the right amount of stubble. I laughed to myself as I turned over the ignition. I could tell that he was used to being seen naked. He was in no rush to grab the towel, and yet he had the good sense to not linger to the point of coming across creepy.

I was sure I recognized him. I scratched my head, before reversing out. As I made my way back I chewed over what I had seen in the room, there were no female clothes, at least that I had seen. Maybe she was still in the lake, freezing her nipples off. Either way, what had started out strange, was now even stranger.

But damn, he was fine.

“
H
ow’s it coming along
?”

My manager had been riding me daily for the past two weeks about writing a new song. I’d been given a month to come up with something big or else. I knew what “or else” meant. It wasn’t that they hadn’t given me enough time. They had been more than accommodating, but like anything in life, business was business and friendship only went so far, especially in the world of music and corporations running the show.

It was all about money.

But money was the furthest thing from my mind.

“You know phoning me every day isn’t going to get it written any faster.”

“I know. I just want to keep you on your game. I need it in two weeks, Chase.”

“Mia, you’ll get your song.”

“So any trouble from the locals?”

I smirked, remembering the look on Meghan’s face earlier that morning.

“Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, if you need anything, give me a shout.”

After hanging up, I tossed the phone on the bed and stared at my guitar in the corner of the room. The notebook was open and the page still blank. It didn’t matter how many times I sat in front of it. No words came. I grimaced at the thought of telling Mia that I wouldn’t have a song for her. But you couldn’t force these things. Sure you could sit there, hum a few tunes and send a prayer up, but I’d been stuck for a long time.

Oh, how they loved to see a person rise, and how much more they enjoyed seeing you fall. I hadn’t written a song in over two years. It was as if someone had turned the tap off. In many ways, they had.

I ran a hand through my hair. My mouth felt dry.

I took out a bottle of Jack Daniel’s from the minibar, and poured two fingers’ worth. It was still morning, but I needed a drop. Just a little something to kick-start the senses. It had always helped in the past. I never got drunk, but there was something that definitely happened when alcohol flowed through the veins. Like the mind loosened up. Problem was in two years, it still wasn’t working. Now drinking had become an excuse, just to blot out.

I’d thought of venturing out, seeing what this town had to offer but the chances of being mauled by overly enthusiastic fans was the very reason Mia had put me here. She made sure it was stocked with food and alcohol, but there was nothing like fresh coffee in the morning.

When I wasn’t writing songs in the studio, I had a summer getaway on Cape Cod. Going there wasn’t a great option, even though I hadn’t put out an album in two years. Once word got out that I owned a property, crazy fans would show up at all times of the day and night. With little security, there really wasn’t much to stop fans from trying to clamber their way over the gate.

At first you don’t mind.

Success had a way of pulling you in. It teased the heart like a drug. It’s only after experiencing it daily that you begin to realize how much you prefer obscurity. I loved to play, but struggled with the fame part. For a while I had considered retreating into the shadows, laying down low and returning to playing bars. But that’s the other thing about stardom. It follows you, and makes those around think they are entitled to a piece of you. You should be grateful, you have the world at your feet, some would say.

I appreciated all the success I had got. Climbing the Billboard charts, the awards and endless flow of letters, emails and fans who showed up at concerts. Who wouldn’t love all that? But it had started to take its toll.

Water splashing outside jarred my thoughts.

Taking my glass I moved over to the window and gazed out. Further down the lake I could see an older man out in a fishing boat. His dog was swimming in the water beside him. For a moment I wondered what it must have been like to live in near solitude. To spend the afternoons fishing, walking a dog or cozying up with a steady girl.

A steady girl, I scoffed. It had been a while since I’d known anything steady. My life was a roller coaster of ups and downs. A chain of women from the east to the west coast. Different towns, faces of strangers and one hotel after the other.

This place made a change.

Mia had set me up in nice digs. At least compared to what else was available in this neck of the woods. The solitude of a cabin in the woods, that backed out onto a glassy lake with pristine waters was idyllic. She thought it would spark ideas, reignite the muse and send me into a writing frenzy. But it wasn’t that the muse was there.

Hell, if I waited for the muse to show up, I would have never had a career in the music industry. Every songwriter knew you didn’t wait for inspiration to hit. You pummeled it over the head and stormed that blank page with or without it. Eventually it showed up.

As I watched the old man puttering around with fishing lines, I found myself thinking of… what did she say her name was? Meghan, that’s it.

There was no denying, she was hot. I always found it amazing how some of the most beautiful of women were hidden away in small towns. I could feel that urge again. It usually came when I was alone, with too much time on my hands. The need to blow off some steam, or create some.

With all this silence, and pent-up frustration, I could do with the company of a good woman.

I
wasn’t
sure why I kept the morning incident to myself. I didn’t know him, or owe him anything. He would soon become like many who blew through our small town. A faint, distant memory, and one that would be shared among friends over one too many glasses of wine.

However, people had a way of talking in this town. Words whispered between two friends always found their way beyond four walls. And until he was gone, I didn’t want to make waves, especially when he paid so well.

The rest of the day blew past fast, I put out of my mind the incident in the morning and focused on the task at hand. Trying to come up with new and creative ways to win back the vast number of locals. It wasn’t like they would stay there forever. Everything new was a novelty. Soon its shiny appeal, cozy couches and overpriced coffee would become the woes of those who had jumped ship. They would no doubt come crawling back, with stories of how awful it was, and how my mother had always been a delight.

Of course she would have welcomed them with open arms, as that’s just what she did. Others, well, she might tell them to go jump in a lake. Preferably the one that sexy pants had taken a jump in.

My mind zipped back to him again. Something about my interaction with him, made me eager to visit him again. It wasn’t just the fact that he was drop-dead gorgeous but it was curiosity. It was niggling me. The face. I had seen it before. It was like seeing an actor in a movie and then seeing them again years later — you know you’ve seen them, but you can’t place who they are.

Were they famous? No. We never got famous people in this town. The closest we had to fame was a local, Jillian Westborough, who had made a name for herself as a chef in the city. When she returned she opened up a little eatery down on Main Street.

She was the talk of the town, at least until she realized that charging people thirty dollars a plate in a small town wasn’t going to cut it. Hell, people balked at paying me two bucks for a coffee. So why on earth she thought she was going to pry open stingy purses for thirty bucks was nuts. Anyway, she hadn’t had her restaurant opened more than two months, when she closed up shop, and hauled ass back to the city.

No sooner had I had that thought, when the phone rang. Sophie was the first to pick it up. I was just wrapping up with a customer who had been chain drinking coffee for the better part of the day. We all knew he had a thing for Sophie, but couldn’t bring himself to say anything. It didn’t help that Spike was always within earshot. The guy really needed to get a job. Both of them did. Truth was the town held little for anyone unless they worked in the cheese factory. Some families had spent their entire lives in there.

“It’s for you, Meghan.”

I nodded, cleaned off my hands and took the phone, keeping an eye on dodgy Dave in the corner of the shop who was known to swipe anything that wasn’t tied down. Last month he’d attempted to take out a chair. I swear. What he was going to do with that, was beyond me.

“Yeah, hello?”

There was silence on the other end of the phone.

“Hello?” I asked again.

Sophie screwed up her face.

“Yeah, it’s me. Um,” a voice spilled.

“Who?”

“Cottage number seventeen.”

All the blood rushed to my cheeks. I wasn’t sure whether to laugh or slam the phone down.

“Oh, skinny-dipper.”

I heard a slight chuckle on the other end of the line.

“Listen, I know you only deliver in the morning, but I was wondering if you could swing by with some supper.”

What was I? His maid?

“You do know we are only ten minutes from you.”

“I don’t have a vehicle, and well, I’ve kind of run out of a few extras.”

“I’ll give you the number for Danny’s Pizzeria.”

“I don’t like pizza. Do you bake anything else? Besides the muffins?”

I paused for a minute, wondering what his game was. “Well, some say I do a fine quiche.”

“Quiche? I don’t think I’ve had the pleasure of tasting that.”

“Oh, you are missing out.”

“I’m sure you can bring me up to speed.”

What did he mean by that?

“Look, I have to go that way anyway this evening. I will swing by and drop it off.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

“Thanks.”

There was an awkward pause, as if he was about to say something else before he hung up.

“Who was that?” Spike asked.

“Our mystery man. He wants another delivery, but this evening.”

“I bet he does,” Sophie said devilishly as she poured out a coffee.

“Sophie,” I said.

“Well, you know it doesn’t hurt to get wet once in a while.”

“I’ll have you know…” I was about to go into depth on my various ways of keeping myself happy without a man, when I could see that one too many of the men in the shop were eavesdropping, namely Spike.

“As you were,” I blushed and went about filling orders.

* * *

L
ater that evening
, I drove out to the cottages. I hadn’t been up there at night before. With the sun dipping behind the tall trees, it made everything appear darker than it actually was. With little light on the road, I had envisioned a deer jumping out and colliding with my truck. Darkness had a way of playing tricks on my mind. It probably didn’t help with Spike’s endless stories of Sasquatch sightings. They guy was such a loon.

When I arrived, I slipped out of the truck with the dish under my arm.

I had the quiche wrapped in foil to keep it warm. Some small part of me was wondering if he was going to come to the door butt naked. Not that I would have minded, he was as sexy as hell.

Instead, the door opened and I was greeted by the sight of him fully clothed. I caught a slight scent of his aftershave. It was piney, and spicy. My stomach was doing backflips.

“Hi.”

He gave another one of his sexy smiles.

“Come on in.”

“Oh, um… I can’t stay, I have to attend an open mic night.”

I handed him the tray. He took it and placed it on the counter.

“Smells good.”

So do you.

“Open mic night?”

I shifted from one foot to the next feeling a little bit embarrassed. I don’t know why I should have felt that way. It’s not as if I’d let it bother me before.

“Yeah, every Friday we hold an open mic night. You know, for people to come and play down at my café. It’s not much, just a few local folks who like to share poetry or sing a tune.”

He leaned against the doorway and smirked, and for a moment I had another flash of his body naked from earlier that morning.

“You play?”

“No, I sing.” I paused. “Well, I try.”

“Any good?”

I raised an eyebrow. I thought back to the odd heckler — Spike.

“I’ll tell you after tonight.”

“Well, you must have people comment?”

I bit the side of my lip. “It’s only my second week doing it. Last week wasn’t exactly a great turnout.”

“So why do it?”

“Why do anything? I enjoy it. That and I was kind of suckered into doing it by my friend.”

“Boyfriend?”

“No. I don’t have a boyfriend. Sophie. She works at my shop.”

“You sure you don’t want to come in?”

I could see a glint in his eye.

“No, but you’re welcome to swing by if you like. It’s not much to see, kind of lame actually.” I shifted again from one foot to the next. “But that’s the kind of things that we do in this town. That, and pushing over the odd cow.”

“Seriously, people do that?”

I nudged. “You would be surprised what people do. I could tell you a few stories.”

“I would like that.”

Holding his gaze I caught something in his reply that made me know he meant it.

“Well.” I thumbed over my shoulder. “I should go.”

“Right. Well, thanks for bringing this by.”

“No problem.” I turned, smiling, knowing his eyes were still on me. I glanced back and sure enough they were.

* * *

B
y the time
I arrived back at the café, I was surprised to find there were close to thirty people crammed into every corner of the room. In a town where the population was just over six hundred, that was quite a lot. The previous week there had only been six people who had shown up. After several songs by the Dancing Jelly Babies, we called it a night. Well, I say that but when two of those six disappeared after the first song, we kind of thought that was our cue to wrap things up early.

“What’s going on?” I asked Sophie who was beaming from ear to ear.

“They’re here for you.”

“What?”

OK, maybe the two songs I sang last week were a slight step up from the Jelly dudes, but I wouldn’t have imagined this.

“Are you sure?”

As I made my way around the tables, I could hear a few people whispering. Some even pointed and brought out their phones. The Jelly dudes were squeezed into a corner tossing looks of disgust as I passed by. Spike stepped forward with a guitar strapped to his back. His eyes lit up.

“Check it out.”

He pulled out his phone, and played a short clip from YouTube.

“Seems like I might have been wrong,” he said.

Yep, you guessed it. My heckler was also my guitar player. You don’t get much lower than that. However, it appeared that one of the six that night loved the songs enough to record them and put them up.

“Well, how about that?” I was surprised as anyone of them. Not that it had received many views. More than likely all of them were local, but that didn’t matter.

Someone liked them.