Her Reckless Rockstar by Gena Snow

Chapter 1

 

Tristan

 

I drive my Ferrariinto the parking lot of Tropic of Cancer, a bar I haven’t visited for a while. My half-brother Jared likes the place because he met his girlfriend over there, and our family owns the property. It used to be my favorite place, though, and my band hung out here quite often. But that was before we were famous. Privacy becomes more important as fame grows. We don’t hold any concerts in town anymore because we don’t want to attract outsiders to the sanctuary of our home.  Hell, we haven’t been on any tour at all since I started my rehab a year ago.

I’ve fully recovered from my addiction, and we’re getting ready for an album release concert. After a day’s practice, I want to relax. But I’m tired of watching Netflix or visiting my parents. I need to meet people.  Alton is a small town, and there isn’t much to do. There’s a bowling alley, but I’m not into the sport. The other option is the bar. I like the second choice better because Dylan mentioned the hot barmaids over there. It’s about time I get laid.

With that purpose in mind, I scan the interior for palatable sights, but I’m disappointed. A couple of women walk around in skimpy clothes, but they’re too skinny and look awfully young. Are they even over twenty-one? I walk straight to the bar counter, where a few guys are sitting at. Only one bartender is working, and he’s Jeremy, a guy I went to school with.

“Hey, rock star, what’s up?” Jeremy’s eyes light up.

I curse silently. I’m not in the mood to chat with a high school bully. Jeremy was a football captain back in high school, and he used to taunt me because I didn’t do well in any sport.

“Not much,” I say. “I didn’t know you worked here. I was hoping to see some hot chicks.”

“Sorry. The hot ones all left town. That’s why they hired me back.” Jeremy shrugs. “And the last one got stolen by your brother.”

He’s talking about Hailey, who quit soon after she moved in with Jared.

I recall the guy went to an out-of-state college on some sports scholarship but dropped out in his second year and came home because of his pregnant girlfriend.

“How’s Daisy?” I ask after ordering a whiskey on the rocks.

“She’s fine.” Jeremy smiles. “She stays home taking care of the kids.”

“Nice,” I say. A trace of envy crawls into my mind. The guy might be a jerk, but he’s lucky, too.

Like it or not, I find myself listening to Jeremy brag about his blissful family life, which mainly includes his coaching his eight-year-old twin boys football on weekends. I’m finishing my first shot when Jeremy glances at his watch. “Sorry, buddy. I’ve got to go. It’s nice catching up with you.”

Jeremy takes off his apron and is out of the counter in no time, but before he leaves, he passes me a glass of ice cubes and winks at me. “You’re gonna need this. The chick who comes in later is so hot you’d catch fire if you weren’t careful.”

I roll my eyes. “Get lost!”

I answer some texts from the band manager and publicist Max, who’s organizing our next Vegas concert.

Max: “Just got a confirmation from the Cosmopolitan. We’ve gotten Chelsea on Saturday, three weeks from now.”

That’s good news because we’ve waited for months for the spot.

Me: “Great. Thanks!”

Max: “Let’s celebrate. What about a party this weekend? I’m free Saturday.”

Me: “Isn’t it too early? We could wait until after the concert and celebrate in Vegas.”

Max: “Great idea.”

 

I’m about to type another line when I hear a throaty voice speaking at the other end of the counter.

“Hello handsome! How may I help you?”

The moment I look up, my breath catches in my throat at the sight of the sexy angel flirting with a middle-aged man sitting a few stools away from me.

Jeremy’s warning isn’t a joke. My body heats up in an instant, from head to toe, and especially in the middle.

The young woman is wearing low-rise shorts barely covering her hips and showing her cute belly button. Inside her denim halter-top that looks like a bra or a bikini top, her snowy white globes are eager to bounce out of their constrain.

I feel the gallons of blood rushing south, ready for an explosion. My jeans are tenting up, and I shift in my seat, so it isn’t obvious to others. Damn. I need something cold, and pronto. I reach for my drink, but the whiskey is all gone. I don’t hesitate to grab the glass of ice Jeremy kindly brought me, tilt my head as I open my mouth, and pour the ice cubes into it. 

The moment I do that, the angel turns my way, and our eyes meet. She stiffens a bit as her brown eyes widen, and she stares at me as if I’m a monster. Hell. I’m only chewing ice. It isn’t such an anomaly, is it?

I wave at her with a mouthful of ice.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

I give her a thumbs-up, chew and swallow quickly, and then I speak before getting a brain freeze. “It’s Tropic of Cancer here, and I’m thirsty.”

“We’ve got plenty of drink here that’ll quench your thirst,” she says without the coquettish smile she showed the other guy earlier, but the flicker in her eyes is as flirty.

My eyes keep sliding to her very tasty-looking bosom.

Fuck me. My throat feels dry. I need more ice to put off the fire.

“Sure, babe,” I say in a hoarse voice that I don’t recognize. “You’ve got anything sweet, spicy, and succulent?”

The angel’s lips curl up. “Sure I do. I’ll make you a Desert Nectar.”

“Excellent,” I say, not having the faintest idea what it is. But the word nectar surely sounds good to me since I feel like I’m in the middle of a hot desert.

“By the way, I’m Tristan. Nice to meet you,” I say to her. She doesn’t look like she knows who I am. The fact puzzles me a bit because I’m a local celebrity, but she might be new in town. Besides, I’ve spent a year to recover from addiction, and our band faded away from the limelight.

“I’m Avery,” she says with a brighter smile.

Avery. Why does the name sound so familiar to me? It rouses a blurry but sweet memory.

While she mixes the drink, I don’t hold back my fascination with her. My eyes roam over her curves. She stands with her back to me, so I get a nice view of her backside, round and perky. Her thighs are straight, and her legs are shapely.

“Here you go,” Avery’s husky voice caresses my ear as she pushes a glass of clear liquor in front of me.

I reach for it and take a cautious sip. It tastes exactly as she promises: sweet, spicy, and luscious. The lime flavor is an extra.

I let out a satisfying sigh and take another greedy gulp. “Excellent,” I say. “What exactly is it?”

“Tequila with agave.”

“Of course,” I smile. “Great name.”

She’s standing right in front of me, watching me with her dreamy brown eyes. My eyes don’t leave her as I taste the drink I keep in my mouth. I let my tongue swim in it while imagining what I’m savoring is her honeyed juice. Spicy, sweet, and lime-flavored.

Again, my pant tent enlarges. I swallow the drink with a groan. Her eyes narrow, reflecting my own lust, and she walks away.

The place becomes busy, and there are quite a few customers. The business has taken off, according to Nick, and he’s going to increase the rent.

A man gestures Avery to go to him and pays his tab. While giving her a twenty-dollar tip, he says, “Honey. I’ve got a house with five bedrooms, and it needs a woman. When are you going to say yes?”

My brain isn’t the sharpest at the moment, but even so, I get it. Is he asking her to marry him? I’m enraged with the outrageous flirtation. My eyes turn to Avery protectively. If she gets upset, I’ll throw a punch in the guy’s face.

To my annoyance, Avery smirks. “Are you asking me to be your housekeeper?” she asks in a sugar-coated voice. She doesn’t seem to mind at all. Obviously, she’s used to these kinds of banters.

“No, sweetheart,” the man plays along. “I’m asking you to be my wife.”

Avery giggles. “Come on, Vinny. You don’t need a wife to clean up the house.”

The man shrugs. “I’ll come up with a better proposal next time.”

“I’ll be waiting!” Avery says with a sweet smile.

Daman. Little flirt. I glare at the man who walks out of the bar.

Avery shoves the twenty into a purse she keeps under the counter.

That’s not my type of woman. I remind myself. I don’t need a slut. But I can’t take my eyes off her. This girl is young despite her makeup. That thick mascara can’t cover her innocent brown eyes, and her pouty lips are so fresh and inviting. Christ. My manhood twitches, just imagining what they could do to me.

Maybe she isn’t what she seems. From her earlier remarks, the girl doesn’t seem to be a gold-digger. She practically turns down the guy’s proposal. Serious or not. It’s still a temptation, isn’t it? I have a gut feeling that the girl is simply putting on an act, and she’s a fantastic actress.

As I’m having another glass of Desert Nectar, I observe Avery quietly. Yes, she’s undoubtedly a professional flirt, and she earns a wad of cash with her skill. But there are moments she stands there resting, absorbed in her thoughts. Seductiveness falls off her face like a mask, replaced with a dignified and stern look. Damn. She reminds me of someone. Someone young, innocent, but fierce.