Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1)

  Brooklyn Rockstar

  Book One in the Kendall Family Series

  Jennifer Ann

  Contents

  Copyright

  Dedication

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue

  Note from the Author

  Adam’s List

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of writer’s imagination or have been used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. Namely: Adderall, Alice in Chains, Alice in Wonderland, Amex, Beastie Boys, Brooklyn Nets, Camaro, Facebook, Fireball, Google, GQ, Grammy, Ho-Hos, Honda, Hooters, The Hulk, Instagram, iPad, Jameson, Keds, Kings of Leon, Law & Order, Led Zeppelin, Lois Lane, MacBook, Magnolia Bakery, Middleton, Nirvana, Oreos, Pearl Jam, The Pixies, Pocahontas, Prince Charming, Sleeping Beauty, Soundgarden, Swarovski, Tarzan and Jane, Tiffany, Twitter, YouTube

  BROOKLYN ROCKSTAR (KENDALL FAMILY #1)

  Copyright © 2016 Jennifer Naumann

  All rights reserved.

  Cover designed by BESTOFYOU

  Image © Nejron Photo

  AISN:

  For my fellow author and Foo lovin’, NYC bestie, Maria. I’ll always love you for introducing me to Brooklyn Heights. Here’s hoping you find yourself a Charlie.

  Chapter 1

  CHARLIE

  Small, warm hands wandering across my chest, a set of hard tits pushing into my back, and an unshaven pussy rubbing against my bare ass wake me from a hard sleep. With a deep breath, an obnoxious stench of floral perfume or whatever else chicks spray themselves with fills my lungs.

  Christ. I brought one home?

  “Morning, sexy,” a woman’s voice purrs.

  My eyes open to the familiar surroundings of my bedroom in Brooklyn Heights. Guitar leaning against the rustic night stand built by my grandfather, jeans and T-shirt from the night before in a crumpled pile in the middle of the rugged wooden floor—as if I stripped out of them in a damn hurry. Both a sure sign I was up late entertaining.

  Not only does my skull feel ready to explode, but there’s a funky taste in my mouth of Fireball and cigarettes, which is never a good sign. A string of scattered flashes replays the events from the night before. My last memories are of leaving the bars for a private house in the Bronx where I played beer pong as several hot women hung on my every word. But I don’t remember much after that. I must’ve been bombed out of my mind to actually invite someone over.

  Massaging my throbbing head with my fingers, I twist around to face the naked chick grinding into my backside. I’m met with eager, dark eyes surrounded by fake eyelashes that are starting to come off. Her facial features are typical of the Jewish girls I knew growing up—long and slender nose with respectable cheek bones. She’s decent enough, but the blonde with her arm draped around the brunette’s waist, sitting tall to get a good look at me, is a total knockout. Her sultry lips bend with a tempting grin and the room begins to spin.

  Holy shit. Not again.

  Bits of conversations from the night before return as I lock gazes with her. California girl trying to get a break as a model. Madison something. Big fan, knows every word of Coney Island Kid by heart. Sad the band’s hot drummer went missing. Not looking for anything serious, just wanting to have a little fun. All things I’ve heard a hundred times before.

  “Ready for round two?” the blonde asks, widening her eyes. “You passed out on us just when things were getting interesting.”

  “Party’s over,” I say, pulling my body from the brunette’s eager clutches. If it weren’t for this brutal hangover, I’d possibly give in even though it’s a terrible idea. If just one of these chicks opens their mouths or took a picture of us together, it could all come crashing down. Again. “I’m sure it goes without saying, this needs to stay between the three of us.”

  “Of course,” Madison answers, stretching as she pulls her long hair over her tanned shoulders. She’s a bit skinnier than I prefer, but her perfect tits stretch into the air along with the rest of her, their rosy centers perky and begging to be sucked. When my eyes travel down her body, finding her completely bare down below, my balls draw tight.

  “We wouldn’t dream of telling one of the gossip sites, if that’s what you’re worried about,” the brunette says with a crooked smile.

  I narrow my eyes on her, jaw clenched. “Get dressed and get out.” Moving from the bed, I’m aware both their eyes are locked on my hard-on as I snag my phone off the night stand and make my way to the bathroom. “Best be forgetting this address too. It isn’t even my place, it’s my brother’s.”

  It’s likely on their way out they’ll see the memorabilia and pictures of me with other well-known musicians—if they haven’t already—and know it’s my place too, but I can’t risk the chance of them returning or sending their friends and the paparazzi my way. I’ve lived a nice quiet life since we bought the apartment and don’t want that to change.

  Slamming the door to the bathroom, I text Lorenzo an SOS message before taking a good, hard look at myself in one of the mirrors. The cool blue eyes I inherited from my mom stare back at me lit with judgment and disappointment, puffy with a short night of sleep. I may as well be standing face-to-face with my asshole father, the man who first taught me to see women as mere objects. Running a hand through my dark hair sticking up every-which-way, I sigh. After last night, it’s becoming clear that fame has turned me into a womanizing dick.

  At first I was somewhat relieved when Danny’s sudden disappearance postponed the band’s tour since I was scared as shit for our first headliner. What if I don’t have the star power it takes to keep a three-hour show fresh and exciting?

  Now, when I consider the fuck-up in the next room, maybe I would’ve been better off on the road, though the temptation to give into occasional hook-ups would’ve been even greater. And even though it has almost been a year, I sure as shit don’t want to deal with the fact that I’ll eventually have to find a new drummer.

  I snub my nose at my reflection and toss my phone next to one of the sinks before turning on the shower nozzles. One foot is past the glass shower door when the heavy bathroom door creaks open and Madison slips inside, still naked. My eyes are drawn to her sweet tits like magnets.

  “Thought maybe you wanted some help with that beautiful morning wood,” she says before biting her lip and bac
king up until the door closes. Gray blue eyes travel down the muscles on my chest, stopping at my cock. “Don’t pretend you don’t want me, Charlie. I saw you get hard when you were looking at my body.”

  Tilting my head back to the tiled ceiling, I groan. I’ve always had a problem saying no to beautiful women throwing themselves at me. In my defense, there isn’t a living guy on the planet that could turn down the kind of women desperate to taste my cock or take it for a ride.

  “I’ll give it to you any way you want it,” Madison purrs, stepping closer. She doesn’t stop until our naked bodies are pressed together and her lips are temptingly close to mine. “You were amazing last night. I want to get you off again.”

  My dick shifts against her belly, conceding to her offer. Her firm tits poking into my chest are like fucking heaven and nearly make me come on her soft skin. How do I not remember sleeping with her?

  “Fuck me, Charlie,” she pleads, wrapping her hand around my shaft. “I promise to make you come so hard you’ll forget every other girl you had before me.”

  What the hell. I’ve already made the mistake of bringing them home and apparently slept with her at least once already. With a deep grunt, I scoop her up and set her ass on the stone vanity. Madison arches backward, giving me easy access to her ripe, double Ds. I squeeze one before latching my mouth around it, biting and sucking until she’s gasping beneath me and pulling my hair with both hands. Their unnatural hardness is a major turn-off as I massage them with my fingers. It doesn’t take a plastic surgeon to know she’s had implants.

  “Bite ‘em harder!” she cries.

  A harsh laugh falls from my lips. They’re probably numb as fuck after being removed and sewn back on. She may not even notice if I bit them off. Fake eyelashes, fake tits, can’t anyone be fucking real anymore?

  She pulls my eyes away, her face tight with a scowl. “What’s so goddamned funny?”

  Staring into her eyes, I shake my head. “I can’t do this. You have to go.”

  Lips snarled, she opens her mouth, but I’m saved by the sound of my best friend yelling my name from the hallway. “Where are you, man? You still alive?”

  Madison crosses her arms with a frown that makes her downright ugly. Most the women I’ve hooked up with start out hot as shit on the outside, but their true intentions usually reveal themselves with time. They’re almost always after notoriety from sleeping with someone famous. Guess it’s what I get for giving groupies the time of day.

  “Who’s that?” she asks.

  “None of your business.” I grab a towel off one of the open shelves and wrap it around her shoulders like she’s a little kid. “Leave. Now.”

  “Have you ever considered maybe your drummer left the band because you're an asshole?” She spins around with her eyes narrowed to small slits. “Before I leave, you should know I lied. Last night wasn’t anything special. It was mediocre, just like the music you write.”

  There’s no rational reason why her snide remarks should get to me, but my skin crawls with the need to set her right all the same. Thankfully the bathroom door flings open to a wide-eyed Lorenzo. He’s wearing his usual style of a meticulously ironed T-shirt and cargo shorts with a thick chain around his neck, bright white tennis shoes that are somehow always scuff-free. The way his dark hair is freshly buzzed on the sides, I wonder if he finally manned up enough to pay his ex at the salon a visit or if his tight ass broke down and bought an electric razor.

  Some chicks are intimidated by the size of my thick friend on first glance. Most think he’s hot until he opens his mouth. Madison, however, is clearly disgusted by what she sees. She curls her upper lip and pulls the towel tight around her body.

  “¿Qué pasa, gorgeous?” Lorenzo sings, giving Madison a slow leer. “Need some help finding your clothes, sweetheart?” When his dark eyes shift onto mine, he’s grinning like an idiot. “You gonna introduce me?”

  I slip a towel around my waist. “She’s leaving.”

  Madison marches back to my room, grumbling something to the brunette. Lorenzo’s eyes practically shoot out of his head. “Oh shit! There’s another chick in there? Bro. Listen. I thought you were done with this shit after last time. I know it’s fun, but there’s more at stake with this solo gig and you definitely can’t afford another scandal right now.”

  “Why do you think I told you to come over?” I snap. “I don’t remember inviting them back here. I don’t remember much of anything after I left the bar,” I say, blowing out a long breath and leaning against the sink.

  When I realize there’s no way Lorenzo could have made it here this quickly from his place in Staten Island, I cross my arms over my chest and tip my chin. “Taking the walk of shame home from Vanessa’s again?”

  “Nah, she’s old news,” he answers. I know he’s full of shit because every time he says that, they usually hook up a few days later. He braces himself against the doorway, giving me an eye-full of the colorful serpent decorating his bicep. “Rick called, said you weren’t answering your phone. The studio wants you to come in to work on the new album.”

  “Fuck,” I say among a moan. “I won’t be worth a shit with this beast of a hangover.”

  Truth be told, I’ve performed under worse conditions and could probably suck it up. I just don’t have it in me to face anyone at the studio. Last time I was in they second-guessed the hell out of the songs I wrote, destroying the confidence I had to build without Danny and the guys backing me up.

  Rocking out in front of a live crowd has always been a way to make me feel alive, wanted. Like I’m king of the fucking world. When I agreed with Taz and Corey to take a break, I was eager to keep the high of performing alive in any way possible. It never occurred to me that I may suck on my own until the producer said my first single needed a complete overhaul.

  “I’ll come up with something believable,” Lorenzo offers, shrugging. “You know, like you broke your dick from slamming too much pussy last night.” He deflects the comb I chuck at him and laughs. “Easy, brother. I’d hate to throw you down on your ass in front of your company.”

  Lorenzo was a buddy from the neighborhood where I grew up and acted as my manager in the very beginning when I was a no-name. Then the band got signed and the studio wanted me to use theirs, an uptight bitch who seemed more interested in getting her hands down my pants. I insisted on using Lorenzo and said without him there wouldn’t be a deal. I wanted him to reap in some of the benefits of my success, though I’m not about to give him any fucking handouts. He has to earn it just like I did. For the most part he does a good job. He even knows when to keep our relationship professional and when to razz me in private.

  “Maybe it’s time to lay off the booze for awhile,” he suggests with a casual shrug. “Not that you have a problem or anything, but we both know what a fucking disaster it was the last time you were with two chicks. You’ve always have a problem saying the word no. And bringing them here? Dude, you broke your most sacred rule!”

  Running a hand through my hair I groan. “No shit. I can’t tell you what I was thinking. Like I said, I can’t remember any of it, so I can’t even tell you if they were any good.”

  “I say this out of love, but you’re a stupid motherfucker. The only time two chicks wanted to get with me, one had a third nipple and the other gnawed on my dick like it was a T-bone.” Chuckling, he rubs at the back of his neck. “You are one lucky bastard, though I would think one of these days this scene will get old. Don’t you wanna knock some poor girl up and give her your last name? You could drag her and the rugrats around the country on your tour bus. You’d have someone to cook for you and keep your bed warm at night.”

  “I’m in no hurry to settle down,” I remind him. “Chicks are just something to keep me warm at night.”

  Shit. I think I stole that line from Danny.

  “Fuckin’ Romeo,” Lorenzo grumbles, shaking his head and chuckling. “Somewhere deep down there must be some redeeming feature that makes you so popular
with the ladies. We all know it isn’t that gravelly voice or your ugly mug.” Grinning, he juts his square chin across the hallway. “Shower that rank pussy off and get dressed, loser. I’ll take care of your little mistake and then we’ll hit Molly’s for bagels and coffee.”

  My stomach growls in agreement, so I nod and hit him in the chest. “Thanks, man. If I’m ever dumb enough to walk down the aisle, do me a favor and talk me out of it. That shit’s not for me.”

  “You just haven’t met the right one, brother. When you walk down the aisle one day, my ass better be standing right next to you.”

  “When pigs fly and I decide to settle down with one chick for the rest of my life, you’ll be my best man,” I mutter, ready to be done with this ridiculous conversation. There’s nothing good about my life worth sharing in that way. “Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  “Yeah and I’m holding you to it!” he calls out as I slam the door in his face.

  Chapter 2

  EVELYN

  The white letters “W E L C O M E T O N E W Y O R K” stretching across a red wall inside the busy airport send my heart into a wild staccato beat and my breaths become tight like there’s plastic wrap sealing my mouth. I’m actually doing this. Me. Farmer’s daughter who’s lived on an acreage in nowhere-ville Minnesota her whole life. Have I lost my freaking mind?

  After collecting my luggage, I stop to ask a third person where I can find the spot I was told to wait for my ride as the first two directions I received were as clear as mud. It’s intimidating to be surrounded by hundreds of people and have literally no one I can easily relate to. But for twenty-two years, I’ve been a big city girl at heart stuck in a small town.

  For as long as I can remember I’ve dreamed of moving to New York. The idea seemed ludicrous until two years ago when I met Sharlo, the online friend of a friend who posted something about living in Brooklyn. I messaged her and we chatted non-stop, clicking like we had known each other our whole lives. Enchanted by someone who had lived in big cities all her life, I was eager to live vicariously through my new world-traveling friend. Before long, Sharlo was begging me to move into her apartment, and I was finding ways to convince my dad and crazy-possessive brothers that the farm could operate without me. That in itself was no easy feat, but I had to scrape my life’s savings together to make it work.