Her Reckless Rockstar by Gena Snow

Chapter 7

 

Tristan

 

 

 

Avery left an hour ago. I’m still sitting by the pool, ignoring the mosquitos’ assaults and thinking about her. What have I done? I can’t believe it. All day, things were going well, really well. I liked the girl, and it was a dream that came true the moment in the pool with her. What happened afterward was a fantasy I conjured up. Did it really happen? And why am I alone now?

I regret what I did. What made me think I could take her pictures without her consent? I guess I was used to people doing it to me all the time. I didn’t think she would mind it so much from how she dressed and acted in the bar. The fact that we became intimate in such a short amount of time further blinded my judgment, and I got carried away. Damn. I don’t know the girl at all.  She’s sassy but vulnerable as well, and just remembering her tearful eyes makes me want to kick my own ass.

 

I return to my house and pick up my electric guitar. I play Blue Moon again, reliving the moment I sang for Avery and recalling the sparkles in her eyes. It’s her favorite song, and mine too.

Our band’s genre is heavy metal, but I liked jazz, blue, and other gentler rock music when I was a kid. My mom has had a significant influence on my musical preferences. She loved the oldies and would play Elvis, Ames Brothers, the Beatles, and Frank Sinatra’s songs all the time.

When I think about my childhood, I remember the small, cozy cottage in the woods. Mom would drive my brother Nick and me to school in the mornings and then go work in the town library.

In the evenings, Mom made dinner while Nick and I played. Sometimes, Dad would join us for dinner, but a lot of times, he wouldn’t. When Dad was here, Mom was always happy. And when he wasn’t, Mom would speak less, and we would listen to the sad love songs. 

I knew Nick and I were “illegitimate” children of my dad, a rich man. Mom never spoke directly about it, but my brother and I figured it out from the kids’ gossips. What else could explain the absences of my dad and the fact we never saw him in the mornings?

When I asked Mom why Dad couldn’t tuck me to bed or where he was in the morning, she just said he had to go to work.

I guess I have to thank my dad for my exposure to songs that filled our empty house.

And then, in my fifth grade, Mom smiled at Nick and me one day, telling us we’re going to move into Dad’s house.

Our lives changed after that. Dad did his best to make up his past absences to us. He came home for dinner every evening, and he was at the breakfast table every morning. He even took us to practice golf with him over the weekends or to amusement parks. There seemed to be an overwhelming amount of joy and excitement that I took a while to accept that it wasn’t temporary.

But at the same time, I knew our happiness was built upon my half-brother Jared’s misery. Jared would always sit quietly at the dinner table and seldom join our weekend activities. He probably hated us in the beginning, although he was never mean to us.

Now that Jared has found his love, it’s my turn to be jealous of him. No matter how successful I’ve become, there’s a lonely boy inside me that’s forever seeking love. The moon in my life has always been blue. Well, for a fraction of the day today, it was golden, but the brilliance is gone too soon.

I strum the guitar and hum the sorrowful tune, “Without a dream in my heart. Without a love of my own.”

I put down the guitar. I must find a way to win Avery back. How? I rack my brain for another half an hour, and then I stand up from the chair. I think I’m going to write her a song.

 

 

It’s only been two days since I last saw Avery, and I miss her like hell. I texted her and called her, but needless to say, she ignored me. I want to go to Tropic of Cancer to see her but hold my urge. Apparently, my last visit to the bar drew lots of attention because there are photos of me drinking on social media and comments saying I’ve quit drugs and become an alcoholic. I hate it. That’s why I don’t have the freedom to go to public places.

Max warns me not to mislead the fans since we’re trying to repair my image. I need to appear clean and sober. I’ve written a song for Avery, and I want her to hear it. I could send her a link to the video I posted on YouTube, but I want to see her face when I sing the song.

I pace in my living room, hesitate before I reach for the door handle. And then I say, fuck it.

The Tropic is busier than usual when I get there. As soon as I sit down on a stool, someone comes over, introduces herself, and asks for a selfie. Shit. I’m wearing my sunglasses, but this is a small town. Of course, my presence is noticed.

I agree to the woman’s request, and before I know it, a few more people come.

I order a Desert Nectar from Avery and gaze at her as she mixes the drink. Goddamn. She’s wearing underwear to work again. This is driving me nuts. I’m hard even though I force my attention to stay above her neck. From my peripheral vision, I can still see her very enticing curves.

Why does she look calm and collected being practically naked in public while freaking out when I took her nude pictures in private the other day?  This woman is a mystery.

“Here you go,” she says in a professional voice with a business-like manner, but I’m aroused all the same. I’ve seen the passionate girl stripped of all the pretenses, naked with desire for me.

“What time do you get off work?” I ask before she abandons me.

She pauses. “Midnight.”

Damn. It’s only eight. “Good. I’ll wait for you.”

“Sure. Suit yourself. But I’m not going out with you.”

“I’m not asking you out,” I say after sipping the drink. It tastes as spicy as I remember but not as sweet. Did she forget to put syrup?

“What do you want?” she asks without a smile.

“I want to play a song for you. I wrote it.”

Her eyes sparkle for just a brief moment. “I’m not interested in it. I don’t like metal.”

“It isn’t. It’s punk. No, pop.” I do my best to interest her.

“I don’t like them either. In fact, I don’t like anything you write,” she says, narrowing her eyes on me.

“Ouch,” I say. I can’t help smiling because at least she’s talking to me, and she doesn’t look that angry. “Is it how you speak to your customers?”

“No, but it’s how I speak to jerks.”

Since she brings it up, I sigh. “Look, Avery. I’m very sorry to hurt your feelings the other day, but I just … I don’t know what got into me. I guess I just wanted to …” I lower my voice, so the guy sitting a few stools away won’t hear what I’m about to say. “Wanted to see you when I …” I want to say missed you, but it sounds so sappy that I swallow the words back.

“When you jerked off?” she says in a throaty voice as she leans forward, giving me an eyeful of her deep cleavage.

Damn. My cock twitches hopelessly. I can’t even deny what she says because hell, I’ve already done it a few times by just recalling those pictures that she deleted but still etched in my brain.

Avery scoffs with an eye roll and leaves me.

Shit. I screw up. Now she’s confirmed again that I’m a jerk. I finish the drink watching Avery flirt with other guys. Every giggle or smile feels like a cut on my flesh. It’s all I can do not to gouge those guys’ eyes out so they wouldn’t be able to see her.

“Hey rock star, you’re back!” a man’s voice draws my attention away from Avery.

I look up and curse silently. Damn. Jeremy. Why’s he still here? Shouldn’t he be gone already?

“Working late tonight?” I ask.

“Yep. I’m filling in for the evening manager today.”

I glance at his name tag and notice the word “manager” that I hadn’t last time.

“Congrats,” I say.

He shrugs. “It’s nothing. I don’t get more tips and have to handle lots of troubles.”

Then an idea comes across my mind.

“Jeremy, may I speak to you in private for a moment?”

He blinks. “Of course. Come to my office, please.”

I follow him to his office.

“Have a seat, please,” Jeremy says.

I thank him and sit down.

“So, how may I help you?” he asks eagerly.

“Well, I just have a proposal for you.”

He lifts an eyebrow.

“You see, our band has just released a new album, and we’re doing some promos. I’m wondering whether we could have a couple of concerts at your bar.”

He takes a moment to process the info, and then his mouth opens. “Of course!” he says. “I mean, I need to ask Mr. Parker, the owner, first, but I don’t think he’ll have a problem with it.”

“Sure, you do that,” I say. “However, I have a condition.”

“What is it?” he looks a bit apprehensive.

“You’ll need to impose a dress code on your employees. They must dress properly. I don’t want the media to think we’re performing at a strip club.”

Jeremy's face turns a bit red, and he nods. “I can certainly speak to Mr. Parker about it as well. Please understand we do not require them to do it. The girls want more tips. It’s why.”

I know he must be lying. At the least, they’ve encouraged the girls to dress that way to attract customers. “Just let them know they can expect a soar in business if our band performs here. There shouldn’t be any loss in tips. And the requirement is only temporary.”

“Absolutely. I’ll tell them just that,” he says in a hurry. “Thank you for the honor.”

 

I return to the counter and find Avery serving the guy who asked her to marry him last time when I was here. His name is Vinny.

Vinny looks at Avery with puppy dog eyes. “Sweetheart, you look gorgeous tonight.”

“Thank you, Vinny,” Avery says. “You want your Rum and Coke?”

“Yes, please.” The guy’s eyes never leave Avery’s chest.

“Oh, Vinny, are you ever going to try anything else?”

“No, sweetheart. When I find the right drink for me, I don’t switch. And when I find the right woman, I don’t give her up.”

What the fuck? My nostrils flare. I clench my fist. I’m going to smash his head.

Avery laughs coquettishly. “Vinny! You’re such a philosopher. I like that!”

Is she serious?

Vinny smiles. “You do? Is that a yes?”

What? Is he proposing again?

Avery looks taken aback for a second, but she composes herself. “Nice try! But no, Vinny. You keep practicing!”

Vinny grunts, looking hurt. “One day, you’ll say yes, sweetheart. I won’t give up, and I mean it!”

Shit. This guy isn’t right in the head. Can’t he tell she’s just flirting with him? The way he looks at Avery isn’t normal. He might be on drugs, or a psycho, or whatever. I’m suddenly concerned about her safety.

I order another drink from Avery when she comes to me and say to her, “You’d better stop flirting with that guy.”

She huffs. “Since when have you become my dad?”

Seeing she’s turning away, I grab her wrist. “Please. I’m serious. I don’t want you to get in trouble. He’s obsessed with you. He’s dangerous.”

She rolls her eyes, obviously thinking I am the one with mental issues. “Are you dangerous?”

What? I chuckle. “Me? Of course not. Why would you think so?”

“Good.” She smirks. “Because you and he have the exact same look in your eyes.”

Damn. This fiery little woman. God! I want to kiss those defiant pouty lips until they’re swollen. “Maybe you’re right,” I say in a gravelly voice, a voice I get after performing a two-hour concert. “Maybe I am obsessed with you.” 

She shivers and gazes at me with those dreamy brown eyes. “Should I stop talking to you, then?”

“No, honey,” I say. “Absolutely not.”

I pay my bill and rush out of the bar. If I stayed a minute longer, I would turn violent, either toward the hot barmaid or the lustful customer who doesn’t stop ogling her.

Besides, I have trouble hiding my king-sized pant tent and need to get a release pronto.