Rock Star: The Song (Book 1 of a Bad Boy Romance) (5 page)

But how did anyone know what they were meant to do? And what about this store, maybe I was just a fool with a dream, like all the fools who had left the comfort of their surroundings and ventured off to Nashville or entered contests.

I mean, could I really win? It just didn’t seem possible.

I made a mental note to speak with Sophie. Had she only uploaded one song or all of them? If it was all of them, well, I would have to write another one. The thought wasn’t daunting, but it excited me. Creating something new and fresh.

For a brief moment, I found myself lost again in writing. I wasn’t thinking about the outcome, whether anyone would like it. It was just me and that pad of paper. Melodies spun in my head and the words flowed effortlessly.

As for Chase Bryan, he had disappeared into the far recesses of my mind, at least for the rest of that evening.

T
he evening replayed
in my mind that morning. I felt like a jerk. The things I had said to her. What on earth did she think of me? She was a feisty one, I would give her that, but I also liked that. She didn’t just bend over, drop to her knees or turn into a complete child when I was around her. In fact it was quite the opposite. There was something to a woman who could stand her own ground. Not take any crap.

I’d made up my mind that morning, I would try to turn around. I wasn’t going to let her think that I was a complete douche. I wasn’t perfect but I had reasons to be careful. The past few years had seen a string of dates with women who only seemed to have an eye on my bank account. Others, well, they just wanted to get with me so they had something to brag to their friends about. In years gone by it was hard to get close to celebrities. Newspapers and events were the only way to dig up fodder, or catch a glimpse. Now everyone had access. Anyone with a cell phone or a social media account could stalk you.

The number of hate messages I got on a daily basis would have made even the strongest celebrity rethink staying in the business. It didn’t matter how nice you acted towards some. It was always twisted. Taken wrong. Taken out context and then published for the whole world to see.

I had lived in the eye of the public for over eight years, and it hadn’t got any easier. I grimaced at the thought that Meghan might have been sharing what I had said or gloating over the kiss. Yet a part of me knew that probably wasn’t the case.

She had countless times that she could have spread the word about my whereabouts. But glancing outside the window that morning, no paparazzi were to be seen. No locals queueing up hoping to get a photo or my John Hancock.

Had I been too forward kissing her?

She didn’t have a boyfriend.

There didn’t seem to be any indication that she didn’t like my company.

Was I turning this into something it wasn’t? Going down a road that could only lead to breaking her heart? Life on the road made relationships hard. That’s why so many dated those who were already in the business. At least that way they understood the cost involved in touring. There were only a few weeks in the year I wasn’t on the road. I lived in a tour bus, surrounded by sweaty drummers, drug-fueled guitarists and frequent nights of groupies lined up outside our bus.

In many ways, I had the life that any single guy would dream about. Freedom, the open road and a different woman every night if I wanted was heaven.

But even heaven can lose its shiny appeal if you spend too long there.

Women throwing themselves at you became old. The chase was no longer there. The desire. I wanted to be wanted in a way that went beyond a quick moment in the sack. That was too easy. Anyone can do that. I wanted to feel the draw of another pulling at my heart, the kind of connection that I wrote songs about.

I wanted someone to ignite the kind of wild passion that made me write the way I did when I first got into the business. It was raw, animalistic and yet heartfelt all at the same time.

Could I have that with her?

Meghan would arrive at nine o’clock, like she always did. My money was outside, but this time she didn’t show. I waited on the front porch shifting from seat to seat. Trying to act cool and collective. Inwardly I was anxious. Eager, you might say, to smooth out the previous night.

By ten o’clock I decided I would phone. Maybe she had got delayed.

When she answered, her voice was low. That was to be expected.

“You’re running late.”

“Excuse me?” she said.

Oh crap. I had a way of putting my foot in my mouth all the friggin’ time. Really, there should have been a school for this kind of stuff.

“I mean, I was looking forward to seeing you.”

“Uh huh,” she muttered, sounding unconvinced.

“Listen, Meghan. About last night. I apologize for being a dick.”

She was quiet on the other end of the phone. I couldn’t believe I was actually saying it. I didn’t apologize to anyone, especially not some girl I’d met in a backwoods town. But she wasn’t just any girl. It was in that moment, I knew that.

“I’m listening.”

“Join me for breakfast today. I wanted to chat, run a few ideas at you. Maybe get some input from you on a song I’m writing.”

I knew that would do it. At least I hoped. Compliment. That was always what Mia would say. Women loved compliments. They never got enough of them.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I’m actually traveling out of town. I need to go up to my parents’ cottage. There is a buyer who is keen on seeing it.”

“I’ll come with you,” I spat the words out without giving any thought to what Mia would have said. She wouldn’t know. And did it really matter? I hadn’t written one iota on the new song. A morning out with Meghan, well, that might be just what I needed.

“You will? I mean, you want to go with me?”

“Why not? We can chat on the way up and you can bring breakfast with you.”

She hemmed and hawed.

“It’s a long drive. About an hour.”

“All the more reason to keep you company.”

“Alright, but if you get out of line, me and you are going to have a problem.”

“I’ll be a good as gold. I promise.”

“You betta be, or I’ll ditch your celebrity ass on the side of the highway.”

“Deal.”

* * *

M
eghan arrived
about twenty minutes later. Her truck let out a large bang as she pulled up in front of the cottage. Smoke billowed out the back. I’d been sitting out front waiting for her since we’d got off the phone. I smiled and she returned a subtle eyebrow raise as if the old country charm wasn’t going to cut it with her today. She was skeptical, funny and no doubt liable to follow through on her promise of dumping me in the middle of God-knows-where if I didn’t behave.

I cracked open the rusted door, and slid into the torn-up leather seat. The floor was covered in old coffee cups, and a couple of items that I swear moved by themselves. I didn’t even want to ask. However, my look of disgust must have caught her attention.

She narrowed her eyes as if waiting for me to say it.

Instead I smiled back.

“Let’s go.”

“Clean freak,” she replied as she pulled away.

A few minutes down the road, several comments about the weather and she seemed to open up.

“So what is the deal with you? I mean you wear torn-up jeans, sing about rusted pickup trucks and how you like your woman to drink beer. And yet your place was immaculate when I walked in.”

“OCD.”

“Are you serious?” She let out a chuckle before checking herself. “I mean, it’s OK, I had a cousin who was like that. She always kept washing her hands. Literally. You could turn your back on her for a few minutes and there she was back at the sink. Does it bother you?”

“Yeah. I guess. I dunno. Being on the road with a bunch of guys, stuck in a small space. You kind of get used to seeing mess everywhere. When I get off the road, I like to keep things tidy. I don’t know why but it helps me feel as if I’m in control. You know. There is so much about what I do that is out of my hands. Whether people like the songs, whether they will get into the top ten on iTunes, whether anyone will show up for concerts. I know it looks all neat and tidy and cushy life on the outside, but most days I feel like I’m in the middle of a storm.”

“Do you think that has any bearing on your writing?”

“What do you mean?”

“You said you were struggling to write. It can’t be easy trying to come up with something when you are being pulled between so many responsibilities and have so little downtime.”

“You would think so. Heck, even Mia my manager thought that by me coming here I would be able to get past all the clutter in my head and write a decent song. To be honest, I’m not sure that is the case.”

“Then how has it worked in the past?”

She took a swig of her coffee and kept her eyes fixed on the road ahead.

“My first album I put out, I had years building up to that. I took my time. I was inspired like most songwriters. You don’t have any outside pressure telling you what you should write, or how many sales you need to get with it. It’s just you and that guitar. Sitting in a room having fun. Pouring your heart out.”

“And that was a huge hit.”

“Yeah. Yeah it was, but then the second one, everyone expects you to do it again. They expect it to be as good if not better. But what they don’t realize is by that point, you are spending so much time going from interview to interview, back and forth in the studio and then touring. It makes it real difficult to even think. That’s why so many guys are taking uppers and downers just to manage the day-to-day demand.”

“Do you take stuff like that?”

“I have. Yeah, I’ve been there. I mean, you do what you can. But some days it’s tough. You get out of bed and you don’t feel like writing. But you have to. So now that drive I had at the start has been replaced by a need, a demand to give the label what they want.”

“Hey, drink up your coffee before it goes cold.” She handed it to me. “But you did it again.”

“Yeah, with the help of a few decent writers in the area. I managed to write a few songs, the rest were collaborations.”

“I always though you did that because it would be fun to sing with another artist.”

“No. No, that’s not why. Believe me. It’s when you can’t come up with any tunes, your label gets desperate and they find an artist who is having a good year and well, they hook you up with them. Maybe you just sing on their album with the condition the song ends up on yours. But there is always a motive behind why you are put together.”

“Huh, I never.”

“You never what?”

“I never thought they would go to those measures just to deliver.”

“Meghan. Everyone is about deadlines. Getting out that next great hit. Making your way up into the top ten hits. That’s why they pay us the big bucks, not because we wear tight jeans.”

She let out a cute laugh.

“So what happens if you don’t deliver this song you’re meant to be writing?”

He tilted his head.

“Well, I will be dropped from my record label.”

“They would do that?”

“Like I said, they don’t mess around. They are in it to make money. The moment you stop lining their purse with dollars, is the moment they will kick your ass to the curb. No pun intended based on our earlier conversation.”

She snickered. “Yeah, buddy, you might end up on that curb sooner than you thought.”

I took a bite of the muffin she had brought, and washed it down with a good mouthful of coffee.

“So what’s the deal with this other coffee house across the street?”

“I should ask you the same. Why did your manager want us to deliver instead of them?”

“That’s simple. Franchises are a dime a dozen. I come across them all over the world. But there is something beautiful found in mom-and-pop stores. They are specific to that town. You won’t find them in the next town over. So pastries, coffee and all those home treats that I miss, I get my fix there.”

“Yeah, there are beautiful things found in these places.”

I eyed her, casting a look over what she was wearing. She was wearing white cutoff shorts and a white top with a nice pair of flip-flops. She looked relaxed but astonishingly hot. I didn’t know what it was about summer and being in a vehicle. Maybe it was all the bumping up and down and heat. But I could feel myself getting turned on the longer we were driving.

The highway stretched through forest that seemed to go on for miles. We saw numerous farmers in trucks, as well as Mennonites driving their funny-looking buggies. There were a couple of small towns that we passed. If you could even call them a town. They amounted to a convenience store slash post office. A gas station, a church and a few homes. I thought Lakeside was small, but there were tiny towns hidden away in some of the most beautiful parts of Oregon.

Eventually we reached a small road that led off into even thicker brush. It wasn’t paved and the truck bounced its way across large potholes that badly needed to be filled.

“So what’s the deal here?”

“My parents owned a small cottage. It was their get-away retreat. When we were kids we used to come up here in the summer. I’ve been trying to sell it since they passed, but I could never find anyone willing to pay the price. It’s not like I was asking for a lot but I always hear the same excuses.”

“Which are?”

“It’s too far out in the middle of nowhere. Doesn’t have internet. Where’s the pool?”

“So how many have seen the place?”

“Counting this one today, probably over fifty people.”

I nodded.

Upon arrival we could see a young couple waiting outside, along with a realtor.

“If you want to wait here. Probably best you don’t show your face.”

“Do I repulse you?” I laughed.

“Smart ass.”

As she got out and walked over to the couple, I watched her. It was hard not to look at her body and imagine all the things I would want to do to her under the covers. I could see it all playing out like a movie in my head. Hoisting her up in my arms, leaning against a wall and running my hands through that thick, almost black hair of hers. Tracing my lips down the curve of her neck and across her breasts. Teasing each nipple with my tongue.