You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (23 page)

And then he was gone.

—

“Get your showers now,” Slater said as they headed off the stage toward catering. They were always starving after a show. But where Slater grabbed a shower—their only chance to shower on the road—the others didn’t want to miss a moment of partying time. If they waited until Piper’s show ended, they had to fight for shower time with her band plus all the crew.

Showers were also Slater’s only chance to relieve himself. He’d done just as he’d promised, sending his girl pictures from his phone, daily emails and Facebook messages, and so far it had worked. They’d remained close.

But it wasn’t enough. Because he wanted her all the time. He missed touching her. He fucking loved his hands on her.

Pushing into the men’s bathroom, he dropped his clothes and turned on the faucet.

Stepping into the hot spray, he soaped up, his mind going immediately to her. Her mouth on his, her hands clutching his ass. He wanted her. He wanted her now, always, all day long. When she touched him, she had this expression on her face. Like she loved his body, couldn’t get enough of him.

He gripped his cock, lathering it up in long, tight strokes. Desire got ahold of him, and heat burned along his limbs. He pictured Emmie on her knees, one hand around the base of his cock, her tongue swirling around the head, licking down in her exploration of him. Every time they were together, it seemed she couldn’t get enough of him, wanted him even more. He imagined his cock sinking into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat, and then he was pumping fast, heart racing. He could see the water hitting her slender back, her long dark hair plastered to her creamy skin, and her cheeks caving in as she sucked him deeply into her mouth.

He came quickly, but it fell short. It didn’t satisfy. Because, ultimately, he was alone in a grimy shower stall in the bowels of an arena somewhere in San Francisco. And Emmie was alone in their house in Austin.

He’d left his clothes and shaving kit in the bathroom that held a long line of sinks and toilets. So he stepped out of the shower and walked naked to get his towel.

Piper stood there, standing in front of the mirror, dressed and made up for her show.

“What the hell’re you doing here?” She should be with her band. He reached for his towel, quickly scrubbed his face and hair before wrapping it around his waist.

“I have a few minutes. It’s insane back there. Roger’s from San Francisco, so he literally invited everyone he’s ever known in his life. I’ve never seen it so crazy in the greenroom.” She caught his gaze in the mirror. “I don’t think he’s going to work out.”

“Why are you here?” He couldn’t keep the irritation out of his voice. She had her own bathroom. There were eleven guys on the bus, and one woman. She had the whole women’s shower room to herself. He stood behind her, just to the side, talking to her reflection in the mirror.

“Look at us.” She took them in with a look of awe. “We’re fucking perfect.”

We?
What the fuck was she talking about? He hadn’t given her a hint of interest because
he had none
. “Look, Piper, I—”

She reached for his arm—making it look like a friendly gesture. But then her warm hand slid down his skin slowly, ending in a squeeze. “Hey, I’ve got an idea for you.”

He narrowed his eyes. She had to share her idea with him now? When he was alone in the men’s room? Buck naked?

“You know that bridge you’re having such a hard time with?”

His pulse quickened. How did she know about the song he’d struggled with for weeks?

She had his attention now.

Her mouth curled into a seductive smile. “I hear you in the back lounge. Everyone else has their headphones on, but I’m listening to you. I like your music. I like your process. Mine’s different, so I’m fascinated by yours.”

“How’s it different?” He didn’t like talking to her without his clothes on. She’d get the wrong impression. Yet, he wanted to hear what she had to say about the bridge. She was a damn good songwriter. Maybe she had a suggestion.

“You’re, like, an artist. You work on your craft. And it’s really cool. You take it so serious.”

“What do you do?”

She shrugged. “I don’t sweat it. It just comes. I keep a notebook and a digital voice recorder with me all the time. So, like, I’m in the grocery store and I’m deciding between the Slim Jims or the spray cheese and crackers, and all of a sudden these lyrics hit me. Like, just a line or two. And then I’m out. I can’t even think about meat sticks anymore. I have to abandon my cart and go to my car and let it come.”

“You’re lucky.”

“I know. I’m not tortured like you are.” She squeezed his biceps. “I’ve got a stadium to rock, but let’s meet in the back lounge when I’m done, and I’ll play you my idea.”

—

“They’re already signed,” Arturo shouted in her ear. The club was packed, the instrumentation so loud it drowned out the vocals.

Emmie’s shoulders sagged. This band was the first she’d really liked in all this time.

Seated at a table with several of Amoeba’s promotions guys from around the country, she leaned into him and shouted back, “Are you sure?”

He nodded. “Brian McKesslar, Star Records.” He tapped the manila envelope on the table in front of her. “But don’t worry. We’ve got some good ones for you. Check ’em out.”

The guys were in town for a multi-band show at the Three-Sixty, and she’d spent the last several days with them talking about up-and-coming bands. She’d gotten over a dozen possibilities from them—thankfully.

A woman who’d been eyeing Arturo for half the night finally got up the nerve to saunter over. She leaned down and whispered in his ear.

Emmie watched his lips curl into a smile, and then his jaw dropped and his eyes went wide. He threw his head back and laughed. Bumping shoulders with her, Arturo leaned in and said, “Just got an offer I can’t refuse. You gonna hang around awhile?”

“Sure.” Either that or go home to an empty house. And the thought of being in that house without Slater made her ache.

She missed him. Missed him so hard sometimes she couldn’t catch her breath. How was that possible? Absence was making her heart grow
acutely
fonder.

Arturo scraped his chair back. “Well, if you don’t, it was great seein’ you, Em. Let me know what you think of those bands.” He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek and took off with his, uh, date.

Emmie turned her attention to the other guys, tuning back in to the conversation about the grossest things they’d seen artists do on tour. Her phone buzzed in her lap, and she discreetly checked it.

She smiled as the video loaded. In the six days since the boys had left, Slater had sent her photos and videos, texts and Facebook messages. Just as he’d promised.

Excusing herself, she threaded her way through the crowd to the exit. Once outside on the busy boulevard, she pushed play.

The guys sat around a table in the lounge of the bus holding up the care package she’d sent them. Thanks to all her years in the music industry, she had promotions guys all over the country that would pass along the packages in exchange for extra tickets to the shows. She wanted to make sure her guys had a touch of home throughout their time away.

“Nom, nom, nom,” Derek said. “You make the best chocolate chip cookies on the planet.”

“Fuckin’ A,” Pete said. “We miss you, Em.”

Cooper reached into the box and grabbed a handful. Derek yanked the box away. “Don’t be greedy, asswipe.”

When Ben tried to wrestle the box away, Pete leaned over to stick his hand in the box, causing Derek to leap up in the too-small space. As the guys fought for possession of the cookies, Slater’s hand entered the screen, whacking their heads, trying to get them to pay attention to the camera. It resulted in a slapfest among the guys that had them laughing their heads off.

“We’re supposed to talk to Emmie, you jerk-offs,” Derek said.

“Guys, shut the fuck up,” Slater said. “I’m recording.”

Slater turned the camera toward himself, shaking his head as if to say,
Forget it
. “Anyhow, we all wanted to thank you for the cookies. Obviously, we love them.” He looked uncomfortable, bringing the camera a little closer to his beautiful face. “I know you’re at a show right now. I hope it’s a good one.” He swallowed. “I miss you.” The video ended.

She brought the phone to her heart, closed her eyes, and let the emotions wash over her. What they had—it overwhelmed her. Needing to talk to him right away, she hit his speed dial.

He answered on the first ring. “Emmie?”

Oh, God, she missed him. She wanted him. She wanted him so much. “Jonny,” she breathed.

He didn’t say anything, and she worried she’d caught him at a bad time. The low rumble of music and laughter filled the background.

“Are you there? Jonny?” She felt a little embarrassed. “Do you want to call me back?’

“No. I’m here. I was just . . . letting it sink in.”

“Sink in?”

“You called me Jonny. I like that.”

She smiled, stepping aside as a group of rowdy teenagers walked by. “I miss you.”

“Yeah.” Such heaviness weighed down the single word. “Where are you right now?”

“The Whiskey.”

“Still hanging out with the guys?”

“Yeah. This is their last night. They’re all leaving tomorrow.”

“Did they give you any good leads?”

“I hope so. I’ve got a list of bands to check out.”

“Of course you do.”

She smiled. And it all came rushing back—their stunning connection, their voracious need for one another. “How’d the show go tonight?”

“Great. It’s been crazy because of all the press—I swear Piper’s a fuckin’ media whore—but it’s all good.”

“Who’s hungry?” a woman’s voice called out in the background.
Piper.
Emmie’s body tightened.

“Holy shit,” someone said—maybe Pete? “What is all that?”

“Damn, that smells good.” Ben. The guys started talking over each other—strange voices mixed in, too.

“What’s going on?” Emmie asked Slater.

“Hey, hey,” Piper shouted. “What the hell is that? Are you eating
cookies
?”

“Give ’em back,” Cooper said. “Emmie made ’em.”

“Yeah?” Piper said. “Fuck the cookies. I’ve got trays of manicotti.”

Voices shouted over each other. The guys seemed excited.

“Slater, what’s going on?”

“Looks like Piper brought dinner.”

“What does that mean, she
brought
dinner? Don’t you guys have catering?”

“Em, I should go.” She could barely hear him over the excited chatter on the bus.

“Just answer. Don’t you have catering?”

“Yeah, of course. I don’t know. She said something about getting us home-cooked meals whenever possible.”

A knot of anxiety pulsed in her chest. Piper got them
home-cooked meals
?

“What the fuck—hey, don’t throw them out,” she could hear Derek shout.

“Is she throwing out my cookies?” Emmie asked, one hand pressing into her stomach.

“No, of course not.” He must’ve taken the phone away because she could hear his muffled voice—angry now. “Give it to me.” And then he came back to her. “I have to go. Let me call you back later.” He hung up.

Emmie stood on the sidewalk, aware of the thump of bass from a car passing by, a couple making out against the plate glass window of the office building next door.

For the sake of her sanity, she tried hard not to think of Piper on that bus. Her familiarity with the guys. Like, did she walk around naked? Did she try to be one of the guys—swearing and pranking? Or did she play up her femininity? Did she sit on the guys’ laps—on
Slater’s
lap?

But Emmie’d never imagined Piper playing the maternal role. Taking care of the guys. Flirting, seducing, sure. But trying to
replace
Emmie? They weren’t in competition. They had different roles in the guys’ lives.

Oh, my God, had she actually tried to
throw out
the cookies Emmie’d made?

Okay, you know what? This is ridiculous.
She called Slater back. She wouldn’t let Piper get to her like this.

“Hey,” he said. The vibrant conversation and laughter in the background made Emmie sick to her stomach. “Let me go upstairs.”

“Wait, if you’re eating, we can talk later.” She realized just then he usually only called when he had time alone. Which meant she’d never had this insight into their time as a group before. And it sounded like they were having a blast.

“No, I want to talk to you now. I hate that . . . Well, let me just get upstairs.” A few seconds later he came back on the line. “Okay.”

She didn’t know what to say. Where to begin. She hardly wanted to spew her insecurities all over him. But then again, what chance did they have if she didn’t voice her fears? “I guess I’m a little rattled by all that. I mean, home-cooked meals?”

“Yeah.” He sighed. “She likes to ‘take care of her boys.’”

“I just . . . wow.” She blew out a breath.
Just ask
. “Okay, I have to know . . . How, um, how it’s going with her? You know.” The screech of metal jarred her as a car scraped along the curb. Doors opened and club-goers spilled out. The car sped off.

“I’m going to translate that into, ‘Am I developing feelings for her?’”

She felt a pop of release, and all the anxiety drained away.
Slater.
“It’s good you speak Emmie. Makes it so much easier to communicate.” He made everything better.

“No, no feelings. And I won’t. I want you, Emmie. Only you.”

She bit down on her bottom lip, her hand covering her heart. She believed him.

He was quiet for a moment. And then, “We’re not stupid, Em. We know what she’s doing.”

“Okay. I’m sorry, I just . . . She freaks me out. The things she does.”

“Yeah, I know. But I don’t care about her. I care about you. Us.” His voice went all gentle.

Piper squealed. Feet trampled. “Slater!”

Slater released a huff of breath, as though someone had slammed into him. “I gotta go, Em. Talk later?”

But he didn’t wait for her response.

Her cell phone chirped. Tossing her toothbrush into the cup she shared with Slater, Emmie spit out the toothpaste and ran into her bedroom. Diving onto the bed, she snatched the phone from her nightstand, rolled onto her back, and said, “Hey, baby. Shouldn’t you be onstage right now?”

“Hello, this is Val Johnson calling from Amoeba Records for Emily Valencia.”

“Oh. Oh, my God. I’m so sorry, Val. I thought it was someone else.”

“Mr. Ledger has asked me to call on his behalf.”

She rolled her eyes at the receptionist’s bizarre formality. “Okay.”

“He’d like to know the current status of your employment.”

Now why would Val call her for Irwin? “He knows what I’m doing, Val. What’s this about?”

“He’d like to know if you’d consider coming back to work for him temporarily, until he finds your replacement.”

She’d already
found
her replacement. “Please don’t tell me he drove off Roxanne?” Everyone loved Roxanne. The woman ran the office like a pro.

“Miss Taylor no longer works for Amoeba Records. May I give him an answer?”

“Why are you talking to me like this?” And then it struck her why a twenty-two-year-old girl with blue hair and five-inch wedged combat boots would talk like a robot. “He’s right there, isn’t he?”

Val let out a strange murmur.

“Put him on the phone.” Emmie waited as sounds filled the receiver. What sounded like a hand covering it, a scuffle of some sort, and then the clearing of a male throat.

“What?” Irwin
.
Sounding like a petulant boy.

“Why didn’t you call me yourself, you knucklehead? You probably made poor Val pee in her pants.”

“She’s not wearing pants. She’s wearing a rubber band. And why would I call you? You left me.”

“After finding the perfect replacement for you.”

“Perfect? That woman was
old
. And disgusting. She ate ham sandwiches with her mouth open. I still have nightmares of that horrible ball of mush, white bread, pink ham, and little bits of lettuce. Disgusting.”

“Irwin, she’s been with Amoeba for years. Everyone likes her. And she met all your needs.”

“No, she didn’t. She didn’t turn down my sheets and put a chocolate on my pillow.”

Emmie pulled the phone away from her ear, wanting to bang it on the kitchen counter. “She’s not a hotel maid. She’s not even supposed to be in your house.”

“That was a metaphor. I thought you went to NYU? The point is she isn’t you. She didn’t give turndown service. You make me feel how I do when I come back to my room after a long, awful day of insanity and find my bed turned down with a chocolate on the pillow. A really fine chocolate. That’s what I want. I want you back.”

“Well, I can’t come back just yet, now can I? I haven’t found a band you’re willing to sign. Of course, I
have
found a great band—a freaking sensational band—but you’re too stubborn to sign them.”

“Bollocks. I’m not stubborn at all. And I
am
interested.”

Emmie straightened, her breath catching in her throat. “You are?”

“I’m also interested in Piper, but if you say one word about it to anyone, I’ll fire you.”

She smiled. She really did love her boss. “I’m so excited.”

“And I’m in hell. Come back.”

“When I discover
another
band.”

“You can do that here.”

“Not when I work for you, I can’t. That’s an all-consuming job. Besides, I’m not going to be your personal assistant. If I come back, it’s in a different role.”

“You don’t want to work with me?” He sounded hurt, and her heart squeezed.

“Of course I want to work with you. Just not jumping into a cab so I can run to Dylan’s Candy Store and fill a bag of red M&Ms for you.” She blew out a breath. “Look, the truth is, you don’t need turndown service. You’re an incredibly competent guy. You need someone as efficient and professional as Roxanne. Why don’t you hire Val in the meantime? Until you’ve found someone who doesn’t chew with her mouth open?”

“Bloody hell, she’ll blow anything that walks into the office. God, no. Look, I won’t make you work so many hours.”

“It’s not just the hours.” Although, of course, it was the hours. She’d had neither the time nor the energy for anything else when she’d worked for him. “I want a promotion.”

“Come back to me, and we’ll discuss possibilities.”

“You mean come back to you, and we’ll pretend that someday you’ll give me more to do than pick out a tie for your new shirt?”

“Stop depreciating yourself. Helping me pick out a tie was one tiny morsel of what you did for me. Managing every aspect of my life, my artist’s lives, and anticipating all of our needs is a job only a highly intelligent, competent person can handle. There are very few of you in the world.”

Emmie pulled her elbows in tight against her body, resting one hand over her heart. She hadn’t realized how badly she’d needed to hear him say that.

“I’ll do whatever you want. I’ll double your pay.”

She appreciated how hard he tried to get her to come back, but come on. Whatever she wanted? She kept
telling
him what she wanted. Did he listen to her at all?

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me it was about money? I’d pay you anything to stay.”

He’d misunderstood her lack of response. “It’s not about the money. God. It’s about the promotion.” Seriously, he still didn’t get that?

“What if I promote you to something and you keep on doing your work for me?”

“Really? You’d do that for me?” She couldn’t believe him. “Gosh, Irwin, you’ll really promote me to Something? I’ve always wanted to be Something!”

“That is the only thing I don’t miss about you. I’m not sure, really, why I even hired you in the first place.”

“Look, I don’t want a fake promotion. I want a real one. I want you to think I’m so good that I’m wasted in my role as your personal assistant. Until then, I’m going to keep looking for a band that’ll knock your socks off.”

“But you’re not wasted. You’re irreplaceable. Now, look, Emmie, I do have other things to do than listen to you mock me. But before I go, it’s important you don’t say a word to anyone, including your brother, about my interest in their band. Or in Piper.”

“Of course. You know I’ve got your back. But Piper’s with Flow. She’s with Eric. How can you—”

“Her contract’s almost up. And Eric’s a small-time hack.”

“Everyone’s a small-time hack compared to you.”

“Do you see why I need you here? You don’t for one moment believe the Masticator made me preen like that, do you?”

“No, Roxanne’s all business. Which I thought you’d like.”

“Why on earth would I want all business when I can have you? Having you is like having little smiley-face emoticons pop up all over my life. It’s the little touches, Emmie, that make life worth living.”

He sounded so sad. It killed her. “We will find you a great replacement, I promise. In the meantime, let Val step in.”

“I’d sooner sell shoes for a living. In a suburban mall. While eating fat pretzels dipped in mustard. No. Absolutely not. She’d be worse than the masticating old lady.”

She heard the fumbling, muffled sound of the phone being passed again. And then Val came on the line. “Em?” She sounded nervous.

“Well, that went well.”

“What did you tell him?” Val asked in a rough whisper.

“That I’m not coming back.”

“You’re crazy. Who wouldn’t work for Irwin Ledger? Why can’t you be happy with what you’ve got? You’re only twenty-five. Stick with this job and see where it takes you.”

“I’ve already done that. It’s taken me exactly nowhere. Besides, you don’t know what it’s like working for him. He has no boundaries. He’s all-consuming.”

“I’d happily consume him.”

And that’s the problem right there.
“Yeah, well, he’s going to have to keep searching for someone new.”

“He doesn’t want anyone new, Em. He wants you.”

She couldn’t deny that with each passing day temptation grew. It would be so easy to slide back into her old job. She knew she couldn’t take it, of course, but how much longer could she hold out? She had no income, yet she had to continue to pay rent on her New York apartment until she found a new tenant.

Of all the job possibilities in her field, the only one that put her inside the music world would be A&R coordinator. Publicity, management, promotions, those jobs would keep her on the outside—doing busywork for the artists. Besides, any other job would be entry level and, after putting in
eight years
, she wasn’t willing to start out at the bottom in another field.

No. She had to win that damn promotion.

—

He needed to talk to his girl, but he didn’t want to be interrupted when the guys got back on the bus. Two rows of bunks, tiered in threes, mirror images on either side of a narrow aisle, precluded privacy.

Dropping out of his coffin, he moved quietly down the narrow aisle, the rumble of the engine overpowering any sounds he made. He punched her speed dial, brought the phone to his ear as he tread carefully down the steep staircase. A couple of their roadies played a video game in the main section, so he closed himself inside the back lounge, which was strewn with pillows, random instruments, and empty beer bottles.

“Jonny?” she answered sleepily.

He couldn’t keep from smiling. “Hey, sorry to wake you.” He loved that she used his real name. Settling onto the cushion, he tucked a pillow under his arm. “We had a great show tonight.”

“I’m so glad. Is this your first venue that’s not in a college town?”

“Not really. University of Las Vegas is here.”

“Oh, right. So, they loved you?”

“I don’t know about that, but it felt good.” If he told her about the song, he’d have to mention Piper. “How about you? What’d you think of Under Cover?”

“I like them a lot. Unfortunately, so does Brian McKesslar from Star Records. So much so, he’s going to sign them. Oh, well. But on a happy note,
Rolling Stone
just bought another article from me. Oh, and I pitched them a series.”

“Yeah? What kind?”

“Taking a band from the garage to the amphitheater.”

“That’s awesome. Is the band called Snatch?”

“No band should ever be called Snatch.”

“You’re not going to use us for the article?”

“Maybe. Not sure the lead singer’s got enough appeal.”

“Why don’t we take a poll?” he said. “Put his picture up on Facebook, and let the fans vote? Hey, we can get them to vote by offering a date with him? One lucky winner.”

“Okay, down boy. No one’s getting lucky with you but me.”

“There’s my girl.”

“See? This is what I like about you. You make me smile. Every day. You make me happy.”

“What else do you like?”

“Oh, gosh, let me see. Actually, this is an easy one. I love how you see beyond what people say. You’re really sharp that way, and it turns me on.”

“Are you turned on right now?”

“Duh. But I’m not done yet. I love how you appreciate everything I do. You go out of your way to thank me—sometimes you do it in front of everybody to make sure they take a moment to appreciate me, too. That makes me feel . . . Well, that’s a pretty incredible thing you do. I love how intense you are. You put on this act of not caring about anything, being this careless playboy, but I get to see another side of you. You think about everything. You consider everything. And it’s incredibly hot to watch you compose or write or fix something.”

“Well. I’m glad we had this discussion.” He loved the sound of her laughter, so genuine, so true. Nothing fake about her. He knew exactly where he stood with her.

“You, um, you didn’t call this morning. Did you go out and see the city?”

He closed his eyes. He’d never lie to her. “A little. We had breakfast with everybody, walked to the Strip, but then we came back to work on a song.”

“When you said
we
, I got a little stab in my heart. Because I know you meant Piper. It’s okay. You’ve been with her for three weeks. It’s just . . . I really have no idea what your life is like out there.”

Piper Lee appeared in his mind, teasing, taunting. She rose like an apparition between them, because Emmie should know the truth of his life on the road, how Piper was gaming him. Sitting in on his interviews, hanging on his arm to be sure she showed up in all the pictures, jamming with him so they could come up with a duet. But he couldn’t tell Emmie. Even though he’d made her promise to tell him everything—it was their only hope of working—he now had something he couldn’t tell her. Because she’d freak if she knew how hard Piper was working to manipulate him.

“It’s just writing songs, Em. Nothing more. I like writing with her. She’s intuitive, and it helps me. We work well together.” Probably too well. But he’d manage it. “But that’s it. There’s nothing more.” And just like that he knew what he needed to do. “Come out here.”

“Where?” He heard a rustling of paper. “You’re in Portland next, then Seattle. That’s too far. Oh, you’ll be in Denver soon. Hang on. Let me see how far that is.”

“I don’t care how far it is.”

“Well, I do. Plane tickets are expensive.”

“I don’t care.
I’ll
pay. I have to see you.”

“I want to see you, too.”

No, he
had
to see her. He thought of that night, when Piper had come into the men’s restroom. When she’d looked at them in the mirror and said,
We’re perfect together
.

She was just like all the others. She saw his face, his body, the reaction he got onstage—and that’s all he was to her. She saw what he could do for her.

But Emmie knew him. Knew him and still wanted him. “Book a flight. Tonight. Now.”

“I’ll look into it.”

“Don’t look into it. Do it. I’ll pay. Put it on my credit card.”

“No, I have money. I’m just afraid to spend it when nothing’s coming in.”

“We need to see each other.” End of discussion. He’d purchase the ticket himself if he had to.

“I know. Oh, you know who called today? Irwin. He fired my replacement.”

“Already?” His gut tightened.

“Yeah. He wants me to come back.”