Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1) Page 5

  Then, as if the heavens opened up to shine a light, I catch sight of her in the back, near the bar. There’s a sweet little smile on her lips as she alternates between talking and laughing. Fuck me, she’s something else. I’m so mesmerized by the features of her beautiful face that it doesn’t register right away that she’s with a guy now—a preppy, ivy league type of fucker. Oh yeah…it’s the guy that introduced me earlier. Leona’s grandson that took over the bar. Holden or whatever. I bristle as he reaches out to touch her shoulder and his smile grows.

  A boulder settles in my gut. I should’ve known she’d be taken. Someone like her doesn't just wander around unattached. But by that guy? Doesn’t seem her type. If she truly is his girl, I hope he’s willing to move the fucking earth to make her happy. It’s what I’d do if she were mine. Then again, even if she is dating him, what’s to stop me from trying?

  The second I finish the song, I roll into the last one of the night. I almost drop my guitar when I spy the brunette and her friend making their way to the exit. Fuck.

  I cut the song short, quickly expressing my gratitude among the broken chants of “one more song,” before storming off the stage. Lorenzo’s eyebrows are drawn down into a sharp ‘V’ when I hand him my guitar and keep walking. “Where you goin,’ man? Aren’t you going to play an encore?”

  I make it all the way to the back door that will take me into the alley before reality sinks in. What am I going to do, chase her down the street and ask her out? She’d think I was insane. Besides, I can’t just stroll down the sidewalk after playing a gig without getting mobbed. Those days are long gone.

  Pleading cries and applause continue to rock the bar. If I’m going to make this solo thing work, I can’t act like a crazy fucker and blow off my fans. Rubbing my weary face, I make my way back to Lorenzo and reclaim my guitar.

  Nervous chuckles fall from his mouth. “You okay, brother?”

  “Yeah,” I answer before storming the stage once again. As expected, the chicks roar in excitement and I have to wait a few minutes for them to chill. I finish up with the song I wrote a few years ago after a girl I once thought I could love ripped my heart from my chest. It’s a piece of cake to pour real emotion into the song when it feels as if I just missed out on the opportunity of a lifetime by letting the brunette walk away.

  When it’s over, I stand and soak in their applause. The thought of being with the older reporter is almost revolting as she jumps up and down, her gaze burning with lust as she knows what’s to come. At least it’ll sate the hard-on the brunette worked on building up all night.

  I grab the microphone and say, “Thank you for coming here tonight and showing your support! You’ve been a kick-ass audience! Good night, Brooklyn!”

  Without jumping around on stage and screaming lyrics like with a Thrashtag show, I’m surprisingly dry for once and hardly know what to do with myself. Lorenzo claps me on the back before taking my guitar. “You lost it for awhile there, but that was a solid finish. You had this performance by the balls, brother! Big things are in your future, I can taste it!”

  Rolling my eyes, I punch him in the arm. “What you’re tasting is pussy. Where’d your new friends go?”

  “Same as usual.” He adjusts the collar on his crisp button-down. “They were only hoping to get to you. When I told them it wasn’t happening, they walked away.”

  If I weren’t so certain he’ll end up marrying his ex one day, I’d almost feel sorry for the guy. It must be a shitty feeling to get used time and time again.

  Dante, my personal body guard of two years who since became one of my closest friends, appears in the usual jeans and tank top that shows off most of his military tattoos. He’s so massive it’s as if he ate two dudes my size and Lorenzo for dessert. “There’s a Miss Porter who insists on coming back. She says you’re scheduled for an interview.”

  “Interview,” Lorenzo taunts under his breath.

  I comb my fingers through my hair and huff deeply. “Yeah, send her back. Thanks, Dante.”

  All at once the reporter sneaks up beside Dante, her eyes wild. She looks ready to eat me alive. Her tits spill out of a tight corset and her legs seem to go on forever beneath a short leather mini skirt. As requested, she’s wearing the high heels from the interview. Her lips twist with a wicked grin. “You were brilliant tonight, Charlie. I could feel the emotion in every song you played. The crowd ate it up. This solo venture is going to launch your career to new heights.”

  Lorenzo whistles in a low sound. “You look stunning tonight, Miss Porter.”

  Her nostrils flair like she smells something rotten, but she flashes him a graceful smile. “Thank you, Lorenzo.”

  Stepping forward, I tip my chin at Lorenzo and Dante. “Gentlemen, your services will no longer be needed tonight.”

  Dante’s large features tighten. “You sure about that?”

  I have no doubt the guy would take a bullet for me, but having a constant chaperone makes me feel claustrophobic. The good thing about living in Brooklyn Heights is that I’m allowed privacy for the most part. If there weren’t hundreds of women outside tonight who want a piece of me, I’d take to the streets on foot without any worries.

  “We’re going to blow out of here,” I assure Dante. “Just get us to the car out back and we’re good to go.” I set my fingers on Gwen’s lower back. “You have any problem being photographed with me?”

  “Of course not,” she answers with a purr. “It’ll be good press for the magazine.”

  Our small entourage heads for the back door where we’re greeted with deafening screams and bright camera flashes. Arm loose around Gwen’s waist, I guide her to the private car waiting a dozen feet away, scowling when I realize the brunette will think I’m a total sleezeball if she sees a picture of me with the reporter.

  After Gwen’s safely inside the car, I slap hands with Lorenzo and Dante, then pause with my hand held up, smiling for the cameras as reporters hurl the usual questions.

  “When can we expect your solo album to be released?”

  “Any news on Danny’s whereabouts?”

  “What do your other bandmates think of your solo career?”

  “Who’s the blonde? Are you dating again?”

  “Will Thrashtag get back together or call it quits?”

  It’s the worst kind of violation of my privacy knowing one of them waits for me inside the car, but it’s my own damn fault for leading her on in the first place. Instead of answering their questions, I slip into the safety of the tinted car, slamming the door behind me.

  Before I can sit all the way down, Gwen’s fingers are undoing the button on my jeans. Her emerald eyes are lit with the same feral look I get from all chicks who are determined to get fucked by a rockstar. “You were amazing,” she purrs, yanking my jeans down my thighs. Her fingers coil through the slit in my boxers and she growls quietly when she finds her treasure.

  Not surprisingly, I’m already hard. My dick’s well trained for this kind of scenario even though it’s all at once revolting to picture myself being sucked off by someone who could’ve been in college when I was born. I still can’t shake that hot brunette from my mind. It feels like a betrayal of sorts to be with another woman. What the fuck is going on in my head?

  “Hold up,” I say, carefully removing her hands and placing them in her lap. “I thought we could grab a cup of coffee.”

  “Coffee?” she drawls, all at once appearing livid. “You want to take me out for fucking coffee? Why not a cocktail? Are you going back on your promise?”

  The last thing I need is a pissed off reporter who will expose me in a bad light to the public. If Danny was around, he’d gladly take her off my hands and show her a good time. I can just picture him foaming at the mouth for the chance.

  I turn on the charm with a smirk and pull her in close, trying not to gag when I’m greeted with the stench of cigarettes on her breath. “It’s just that we both have our careers to think about first. Once the interview is
out of the way, then we can see where the night takes us.”

  “Good,” she answers, snuggling up in the crook of my arm. “Because, sweetheart, I’m going to show you moves that will have you begging for more. I’ll ride that beautiful cock so hard you won’t ever go back to twenty-something year old pussies.”

  I lean forward to tap on the partition glass. The old driver opens the window between us. “Sir?” his deep voice asks.

  “Take us to Mikey’s on Furman.”

  “Yes, sir,” he answers before closing the window.

  “Isn’t that a bar?” Gwen asks with a smirk.

  I nod. “Changed my mind.”

  It’s going to take a shit-ton of booze to get through the rest of the night.

  Chapter 6

  CHARLIE

  Harsh sunlight over my face rouses me from a deep sleep. Rubbing at my aching forehead, I grab my phone from the pillow next to me to confirm what I already guessed—I missed the late morning jam session with my producer.

  Dreams of the brunette and those big brown eyes surrounded by freckles haunted me all night long. In some she was laughing cruelly and telling me I’d never make it on my own. In others she was seducing me and begging me to make her come. Just the memory of the erotic fantasy makes my dick hard. I stumble my way into the bathroom and beat off in the shower.

  In the end I couldn’t stand to let the reporter touch me, even after four shots of top shelf tequila. She was pissed as hell when I grabbed a cab ride home, but I was gutted when it really sunk in that I wasn’t going to find the girl that wouldn’t leave my fucking head alone.

  I came home to spend the better part of an hour searching Leona’s website and social media, hoping to find a past picture of the brunette or her friend. With a visual reference I could send Lorenzo back to the bar and have him ask around to see if anyone knows her or the blonde. He’d think I’ve lost my goddamned mind, but he’ll do whatever I ask. I don’t have any other leads to go by and I’m desperate.

  I throw on a pair of jeans before starting a pot of coffee and checking my messages. The private investigator I hired to search for Danny on his mom’s behalf checked in early with the usual: nothing. At least some things don’t change.

  Lorenzo and Rick both tried calling, texting, and sending emails to get my attention, saying I needed to contact them ASAP. Lorenzo was likely livid after hearing I blew Rick off this morning. I decide that I better talk to Lorenzo as his last text reads:

  Get your ass up! It’s an emergency!

  “About fucking time!” Lorenzo snaps into the phone, sending the throbbing inside my head into overdrive. “Have you been online yet?”

  Yawning, I glance at my laptop sitting at the end of the kitchen island and scratch my ass. I had planned on purposely avoiding the internet today, knowing there’d be reviews of the gig. I’m definitely not ready for that shit. “I just woke up,” I tell him.

  “Listen, I don’t know what the fuck you did last night to piss that reporter off, but Rick’s outta his mind and wants you in his office. Better get your ass dressed because I’m on my way to get you. We’ll discuss our options on the way.”

  Before I can ask him any more questions, he ends the call. Shit. Whatever Gwen wrote must not be good. Probably would’ve been better to make good on my promise to her.

  I whip my phone onto the counter, pissed that Lorenzo had the nerve to use that tone with me, and go for my laptop. A Google search of my name produces 5,020,011 results. I normally don’t search myself, but this sounds pretty serious and I don’t want Lorenzo hanging over my shoulder when I get the news.

  The first article to pop up grabs me by my balls.

  Exclusive! Thrashtag’s Lead Singer Trashes First Solo Gig

  (Rachelle Magazine) - 2 hours ago

  Last night at Leona’s, the wildly popular Brooklyn bar known for hosting legendary acts, Thrashtag fans were treated to an exclusive preview of lead singer Charlie Walker’s much anticipated solo career. But the heartthrob failed to live up to the hype.

  ‘Trashes gig?’ ‘Failed?’ What the actual fuck? It wasn’t my best performance by any means, but she’s taking it way too far. By the time I click on the link, my heart’s about to burst from my chest. The magazine’s home page features a larger than life photograph showing an unflattering frown on my face as I’m escorting the reporter to the car. I rub my temples, swearing underneath my breath as I read the article.

  BY GWEN PORTER

  Thrashtag’s lead singer Charlie Walker disappointed hundreds of screaming fans when he took to the small stage in one of Brooklyn’s trendiest neighborhoods. Dressed in torn jeans and a T-shirt with hair longer than his signature look and two days of scruff marring his otherwise chiseled jaw, the only recognizable feature of the internationally known rockstar was his smug smile.

  If it weren’t enough that Walker has been neglectful of his hygiene, he was unable to entertain a crowd without his bandmates to carry him. Missed chords, forgotten lyrics, an abrupt break, and a near refusal to satisfy the crowd’s request for an encore, the famous rocker was rigid at best and definitely not up to the task at hand.

  In an obvious attempt to emulate the sounds of successful alternative groups such as Kings of Leon and Mumford & Sons, Walker crooned in a set of easy-going ballads with an acoustic guitar as his sole accompaniment. The original music—written and composed by the Grammy nominated artist—was mediocre at best. With songs aptly entitled “Failure to Launch” and “Believe in Me,” it’s almost as if America’s once ‘Sexiest Man Alive’ is well aware of his eventual fall from the spotlight and pleading for his fans to accept him regardless.

  Earlier in the week when this reporter attempted to question Walker on his impending career change, he was off-put and aloof, skillfully avoiding all inquiries with attempted charm while asking for whiskey despite the early morning hour.

  Sources claim the wayward rockstar has been spotted partying and taking illicit drugs with college students on numerous occasions since Thrashtag has been on break, even entertaining two questionably young women in his home. In light of the Spring Break incident in which he lured two minors into his Cabo San Lucas hotel room, it appears the artist is doomed to repeat history, potentially tossing his career aside for a sexually promiscuous lifestyle.

  In this reporter’s humble opinion, it would seem Charlie Walker’s endeavor of going it alone is nothing more than a pathetic attempt to pick up groupies while the search for drummer Danny Hogril continues.

  Staring slack jawed at the screen, I pound my fists on the table. “That conniving little bitch!”

  Even if it had been as bad as she says—which I’m dead fucking certain it wasn’t—making it sound like I’ve turned into a troll was a low blow. How did she know about Madison and her friend, and why did she have to remind everyone about the Cabo mess? I should’ve known she’d be trouble the minute she walked into our meeting. But per usual, I let my fucking ego take the lead and it got me in one hell of a mess.

  Returning to the Google search, I scroll down to read other infuriating headlines that have me seeing dark red.

  Is Charlie Walker’s Solo Career Finished Before it Even Started?

  Thrashtag’s Lead Singer Doesn’t Have Rockability it Takes to Go it Alone

  Charlie Walker—American Rockstar or American Gigolo?

  Local Authorities Question Walker’s Incident in Mexico and Demand Further Investigation

  If that weren’t enough, the social media hits under my name are flooded with speculation from haters as well as fans losing their shit.

  My heart is breaking. What happened to my gorgeous Charlie? #thrashtagforever

  Maybe Charlie Walker should seek treatment. #rockstarproblems #hugsnotdrugs

  Oh how the mighty have fallen. #RIPThrashtag

  Literally cried my eyes out when I heard Charlie Walker’s new album sucks. I used to love him so hard. #rocknrollisdead

  Maybe Charlie Walker is perfecting the bum l
ook so he can lure more young chicks on the beaches in Cabo. #perv

  There are even four fucking hashtags trending that are specifically about me.

  #RIPCharlieWalkersCareer

  #BringBackTheOldCharlie

  #TalesOfaCaboPerv

  #getalifeCharlieWalker

  I let out a loud roar and swing my arm through the air, swiping my laptop off the island. It clatters onto the wooden floor with a sickening crack of metal and plastic parts that spew everywhere.

  Social media has been both one of the best and worst things to influence my career. When the band first started playing small gigs like the one the night before, there was a virtual explosion on Facebook and Twitter of fans raving about us that got the attention of Rick and the studio. I feel like the world’s biggest asshole for even questioning it, but what if my chances for success passed with Danny’s disappearance? What if my career is finished?

  There’s a sudden pounding on my door. Expecting Lorenzo, I don’t even bother looking through the peephole before swinging the door open.

  “This is bullshit!” I snap.

  I’m met with Gwen’s cold gaze.

  In the light of day, wearing torn shorts and a cheap T-shirt, blond hair tied back in a tight ponytail, and no sexy heels, it’s easier to see her for what she is: a sleazy bitch.

  A swell of anger burns through my head until it feels as if my ears are going to explode. “You have some fucking nerve! Do you know what you’ve done?”