Rock Star Romance: Dan (Contemporary New Adult Rockstar Bad Boy Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 4) (88 page)

****

Seeing the whole band back together made Mona
swell with pride. It had been quite a long time since they were all last
assembled there for a completely joyful occasion. It was also the first time
that a certain asshole wasn’t in attendance.

Ryan stood up in front of everyone at their tables
and held up his glass of beer in a toast. “Tonight, we raised a little over two
thousand and five hundred dollars!”

Everyone cheered.

“Of course, the majority of the proceeds will be
going to the veterans’ fund. But Mona and I have decided that a percentage of
it and anything else we can raise in the next few weeks will go towards our
friend Weasel and his motorcycle’s repairs.”

The loud applause and shouts went up again.

Weasel sat at a table of honor in the front. He
blushed and looked shy when Ryan made that announcement and everyone cheered
his name.

Mona still had no idea why Lance had gone after
the most unassuming member of the club. Perhaps it was because everyone liked
Weasel, or perhaps it was because he was the one least likely to try and seek
vengeance. She thought it was mostly just the fact that Lance was a bastard and
was trying to lash out at any member of the club.

From her place at the bar, she put in an order in
the kitchen for a special cupcake to be delivered to Weasel’s table. She also
made sure that Ryan got as many glasses of his favorite beer as he wanted.

“So what about you, Mona?” Arthur asked her when
he came up to the bar to order a new drink. “Any chance we’ll see you on your
own bike one of these days?”

She smirked a little. “I don’t know. The others
might be worthy of that, but are you?”

He laughed. “Maybe not.”

“I’ve been practicing riding around on The Duke,”
she replied. “Now that we’ve rescued it from the jaws of Lucifer, I’m never
letting that baby out of my sight again. Though it remains to be seen if I’ll
be able to race on it. I’m mostly good at not crashing it so far.”

Arthur smiled, amused at her. She was young and
spunky, which was different from the older, father-like figure they’d had in
Benny. But the group had already gotten used to their new
supreme leader
.
She showed a lot of promise, too. “Not crashing is the first step in becoming a
good motorcycle racer,” he said with a wink.

She smiled and handed him his drink. “I’ll keep
working on it,” she promised him.

Maybe, if she could convince Ryan to teach her, it
wouldn’t even take that long before she was out there on the race track,
whizzing past the merchandise table.

She’d been riding bikes for so long that there was
really no reason she couldn’t at least try. The baby would have to remove her
training wheels at some point, right?

****

With the money they had raised in hand, Mona and
Ryan took Weasel’s banged-up motorcycle in for repairs. It was an estimated one
thousand dollars’ worth of damage. It was going to need new brakes certainly,
along with new controls and fixed up bodywork in order to run right again. But
Mona didn’t want to stop there. She didn’t want his bike to simply work again.
She wanted to improve upon its performance, because she felt like she owed it
to Weasel. She put in about six hundred dollars of her own money to add on some
extra features. They would give Weasel’s bike a nice, new blue finish. It
wouldn’t just be puttering along again; it would be singing down the race
track.

Before they left the bike shop, she checked out
the helmets and decided to buy a new one for herself. It was teal and white
like The Duke, though a slightly lighter shade of teal. Buying a new helmet for
her rides meant that Mona meant business.

The repairs on Weasel’s bike were going to take a
week, which was fine with them because his recovery from his injuries was going
to still take quite a bit longer than that. As long as the bike was ready for
him when he was back on his feet, they would be happy.

Later on, after they’d come home from the bike
repair shop, Ryan took Mona out on a date to a restaurant that was a more
classy affair. He wore a suit and everything! Mona put on a sexy red dress that
showed off the tattoos on her upper arms and the paleness of her skin. Her dyed
black hair was a stark contrast with her light skin, particularly when more of
her skin was on display. She was not a prude by any means, she just usually
reserved showing off this much skin for when she was on a date like this.

She had been waiting to go on a date like this
with Ryan.

“Why didn’t you tell me so?” he laughed when she
confessed that to him. “I asked you what you wanted to do on our first date and
you said you wanted to go to an arcade.”

Mona smiled at him. “It’s better to have waited
for you to think of this.” She gave him a wink. “You picked out a nice place.”

The restaurant had white tablecloths, paintings of
the walls, a piano player, the works. It did not seem like the sort of place
two motorcycle club members would go to. Mona loved that. Just because she
lived a life of engine grease didn’t mean that she didn’t want to be treated to
a fancy meal.

When she looked at the menu, she let out a giggle.

“What?” Ryan asked her curiously. He looked a bit
uncomfortable to be wearing a suit, though it looked quite nice on him.

She had not noticed before how young Ryan still
looked. Sure, he was older than her by a few years, but he was at the young end
of the Running Hill Riders’ spectrum. She wondered, feeling suddenly bashful,
if she looked young to him, too.

Pointing at the menu, she showed him the cause of
her giggling. “They actually have caviar. Ryan, where did you find this place?”

He blushed a bit. “I looked it up online. I
actually searched for ‘fancy restaurants in Detroit.’”

“Awww,” she said, grinning at him. “Are you
serious?”

Ryan looked down, embarrassed.

That only made her coo more. “AWW! Well, I think
you did a great job. This place is very fancy.”

The duo ended up mostly sticking to tried and true
entrees. She got some ravioli and he got a steak.

“I’d get the caviar as an appetizer,” she said.
“Except that I’ve heard from reliable sources that it’s a fancier concept than
an actual food. I heard it’s really salty.” She made a face.

Ryan chuckled. “Well, that’s a relief because it’s
also expensive.”

After they gorged themselves on fancy, less
familiar types of food, they went home together to have a dessert of Tarts Du
Pop. The s’mores flavor.

“Given the choice between fancy and laid-back, I
do prefer laid-back,” Mona told him, taking a bite of her lightly-toasted
pastry. “Let’s save dinners like that for once a year.”

Ryan smiled at her. “I like the way you think.
Although, some years might need to be fancier than others.”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

All of a sudden, Mona felt like she was dreaming.
Ryan got down on one knee beside her chair in the kitchen. He placed his small
plate on the table in front of her. It had his pop tart on it, as well as a
diamond ring placed on top of the pastry as though the chocolate and graham
flavored treat served as its cushion.

“You don’t have to answer right now, and it
doesn’t have to be anytime soon, if you want to wait, but… Mona Myers, will you
marry me?”

Mona brought her hands up to cover her mouth. This
was a surprise. It felt like they hadn’t been dating for very long, but then
again they had known each other for years. She was already so comfortable with
him. She trusted him more than anyone. She lived with him. She loved him.

“Yes!” she said, looking into his eyes and beaming
tearfully. She nodded to confirm it. “YES!”

Smiling back and getting a little tearful himself,
Ryan took the ring off the pop tart and placed it onto Mona’s left ring finger.
They kissed happily.

He laughed softly. “You taste like s’mores.”

They were going to have quite a few announcements
to make at their next meeting. For now, they celebrated privately over their
silly treats, before going upstairs and celebrating further between the sheets.

****

It was several months before the Running Hill
Riders held another meeting at Hog’s Grogs. In that time, so as not to spoil
the fun for everyone, Ryan and Mona kept their engagement a secret. They wanted
to have a big summer meet-up in order to celebrate Weasel’s recovery and kick
off a summer of races and events around the community.

Some new recruits even showed up and signed their
names on the members list. Mona was so happy that their little club was growing
and garnering attention for Benny’s noble, charitable cause.

As usual, Ryan stood before everyone else as they
sat at their tables. Mona was behind the counter at the bar, keeping the
beverages flowing and making sure that everyone was having a good time.

“Hi everyone,” Ryan said, speaking in his usual
friendly, upbeat voice. “Welcome back to Hog’s Grogs. I hope you all have been
having a great summer so far. We’re very excited to kick off the summer season
of biking. We’ve got a lot of fun activities and events planned this year.
There’s going to be a Fourth of July race. That’s a normal thing, but this year
we’re planning to hold this event at Belle Isle Park. It’s going to be a bigger
deal, more up-scale and, we think, tons of fun.”

The bikers that were assembled cheered. Weasel was
sitting in the front row. His leg was finally out of its cast and he seemed to
be back in full form. Mona wondered if he had been on a bike since his
accident. They were about to find out.

“And now, we have two more announcements. Mona,
please come up here with me.”

She grinned and hopped over the bar, making
everyone laugh and applaud even more. She jogged up and joined Ryan at the
front of the room, wearing one of the black shirts that Arthur’s wife had
designed for the team.

“Hello!” she said. She couldn’t help but beam as
she looked around the large space of her bar. This was her family. “I’m not
sure if you all realize this yet, but you people are the most important people
in my life. The number one person is standing right up here with me.” Mona
looked up at Ryan and took his hand in hers. “Ryan and I wanted to announce
that Weasel has a surprise gift from all of us. And it’s waiting outside, so if
you all want to, follow us!”

She and Ryan went outside, followed by the rest of
the group. Standing on the sidewalk right by the entrance of the bar was
Weasel’s shiny, newly-crafted bike. He stepped out and looked at it, his mouth
falling open.

“Wow!” he said. He went up to it and got on
immediately. “It’s beautiful. Thank you!”

“We all pitched in and made sure that it was
modified in a way that would make it run smoother and cooler.” Mona grinned.

“I can’t wait to race now,” he said.

All the Riders clapped for him as he started up
the engine and listened to it purr.

“And now, we have one final announcement,” Ryan
shouted over the lovely sound of Weasel’s purring bike. “Mona and I are getting
married!”

She held up her left hand so everyone could feast
their eyes on her diamond engagement ring.

More applause rang out and echoed in the parking
lot. “We haven’t set a date yet, but of course you will all be invited,” Mona
told them excitedly. “Now let’s go back inside and get wasted!”

Weasel secured his bike in a parking space and
they went back inside to drink, chat, listen to the fun music blaring from the
speakers and enjoy each other’s company.

Mona continued to work the bar for a while before
Lenny finally insisted that she go relax and celebrate with her friends. Then
she joined Ryan at his table and sipped happily at her whisky sour.

“What have you guys been talking about?” she asked
curiously.

“Are you planning to ride up the aisle on the back
of The Duke?” Arthur asked. “Everyone wants to see you ride that beauty.”

Mona blushed a little. “Oh, yeah?” she asked.
“Well, all right. I think that can be arranged. Just don’t leave early.” She
winked.

She was being her typical, playfully mysterious
self. She’d been like that with these guys since she was knee high to a
grasshopper.

Ryan ate, drank and was merry while Mona took it
upon herself to be his ride home. They’d arrived before everyone else, as on
the day of her father’s funeral and dammit if they weren’t planning on leaving
last in much the same way. She sipped Diet Coke and munched on French fries
while sitting beside him, laughing along with their in-jokes and feeling like,
at last, she was a part of the club instead of just an outsider who wanted in.

As everyone began to stand up and collect their
helmets and things for their rides home, Mona whistled. “You all are so eager
to see me ride The Duke?” she said. “Well, you can watch me ride it right now.
I’m going to take Ryan home with me.” She mimed drinking and pointed a thumb at
Ryan. He’d had a bit too much.

Several
woop
s went up. She grinned and
turned off the lights in her bar, locking up once everyone was outside in the
parking lot.

They all got onto the bikes and Mona felt a
buzzing in her body as the adrenaline and excitement filled her up. For the
first time, she knew what she was doing and everyone was going to witness. She
made sure Ryan’s helmet was on and buckled before double-checking her own and
starting up her engine.

She was truly one of the club members now.

“For Benny!” she suddenly called as she peeled out
of the parking lot ahead of the rest of them.

“FOR BENNY!” they all yelled, following her on
each of their big, wonderful, souped-up Harleys.

Benny Myers would be so proud.

THE END

PART ONE

Rachel groaned into her pillow as the sound of Muse’s
“Hysteria” ripped her out of the depths of an intense sleep. She reached out
blindly, groping for her phone on the bedside table, trying to decide whether
or not it was worth it to cue the snooze function. It would only net her an
extra nine minutes—just enough time to start drifting off again before the
alarm came back on—but the weight behind her eyes, the heaviness of her arms
and legs against the soft, warm bed, was so tempting to give into.

She pulled her face free of the pillow and opened her eyes,
staring dumbly at the still-playing alarm flashing on the screen. She knew if
she didn’t make up her mind soon, she would be fully awake, and there would be
no point in tapping the snooze icon. Groaning again, she tapped the icon and
dropped the phone onto the bed next to her, curling up. She could at least
pretend, for the moment, that she didn’t have anywhere to be.

Rachel was still hovering in the mental space between
asleep and awake when the alarm went off again; her brain had started to perk
up into function, insistently cataloging everything she would have to get done
that day, in spite of the deep-seated desire to return to sleep.
God, I
don’t want to go to work,
she thought, sitting up in bed and reaching for
her phone to shut off the alarm for good. She could have, theoretically, hit
the snooze button one more time; she only needed twenty minutes to get ready
for work, and the alarm was set to forty-five minutes before she had to leave.
But she was awake; there was no point in pretending anymore.

She took a deep breath and swung her legs over the edge of
the bed, climbing down and scrubbing at her slightly greasy-feeling face.
Rachel decided that a big glass of water, a toothbrush, and some face soap
would complete the process of transitioning out of sleep and into waking life.
But first, she absolutely had to get the coffee started.

Rachel wandered out of her bedroom and into the kitchen,
blinking sleepily as her feet shuffled along the rug; for the moment, she was
determined not to check her email, or even to look and see what was going on
amongst her friends online. The quiet of the house, so early in her day, was
not to be interrupted by considerations of the incredible mess waiting for her
when she arrived at work. Her body moved automatically as she went into the
small apartment kitchen: turning on the faucet, rinsing the coffee pot,
scooping coffee into the basket, reaching up to retrieve a glass from the
cupboard. Slowly but surely, her body was coming awake, her brain losing the
lingering fog of sleep.

While the coffee brewed, Rachel downed the glass of water
in a few rapid swallows, washed her face, and brushed her teeth, sitting down
heavily at the tiny table in her dining room—a second-hand rescue from when a
distant aunt had passed away while she was in college, and her cousins had
needed to get rid of as much of the woman’s hoarded furniture as they could.
She poured herself a cup of coffee and added milk and sugar, giving it an
experimental, necessary sip before she finally unlocked her phone and tapped on
the email icon.

A resigned sigh gusted through her lips as the screen loaded,
showing somewhere between fourteen and twenty new emails. Rachel took a deep
breath and began to skim the previews, her eyes taking in subject lines and the
first sentence or so of the messages themselves. She mentally prioritized them
based on who they were from, whether or not the subject line said “urgent” and
her own experience. It had been a little over two years since she had
gratefully taken the job of Administrative Assistant, feeling the hot breath of
student loan debt collectors on her neck. She had worked hard to get as many
scholarships as possible to make her way through college, but Rachel had been
forced to resort to loans when there was simply not enough money.

About a year into working for Elite Advertising, Rachel had
come to the conclusion that the job was never going to get any better. She knew
that her superiors had low-balled her on their initial offer, counting on her
desperation to get a job—any job. She knew that they had no intention of
appreciably increasing her pay, or giving her any kind of promotion; she had
proven herself to be too efficient to make the argument that additional
responsibilities merited an increase in pay. Whenever she tentatively raised
the subject, she was met with “But you’re so capable; this will only take up a
few minutes here and there in your schedule.” The thought of abandoning the
job, of finding something better, had occurred to her more than once—but the
very real possibility that she would leave one dead-end only to step into
another held her back.

Rachel shelved the topic of the day’s work in favor of
checking in on her friends for a few minutes. She glanced at the time—she still
had ten minutes before she needed to start getting ready in earnest. Scrolling
through her feed, Rachel frowned enviously at pictures of one friend’s exotic
vacation—something she could never scratch up enough extra cash to afford—and a
coworker’s new car.
They can afford to bump pay for the sales team, but not
for the girl practically running the place,
she thought bitterly, closing
out the app before her resentment could bloom out of proportion.

She decided to rub a little more salt in the wound, and
opened up her banking app, thinking that she would make a couple of plans—maybe
pay a couple of bills—before she got dressed and made up for the day’s work.
Logging in, Rachel went through her usual mental routine of trying to estimate
just how much she
should
have in the bank, recalling the groceries she
had bought a few days earlier, the lunch she had treated herself to after
forgetting the Tupperware holding her leftovers. When the screen finished
loading, she glanced at the total and her mouth fell open in shock.

“Two million dollars? What the hell? What—how—it’s got to
be a mistake,” she said, shaking her head and blinking her eyes to clear them.
But the total still showed the same amount. Rachel tapped the account details
option and saw, to her amazement, that it had come from a transfer, showing as
posted just that morning.

Her mind spun for a moment. It still had to be a mistake;
someone had tried to send a transfer to their kid, or to a family member—maybe
even a corrupt politician—and had gotten some of the digits wrong on the
account number. Rachel looked at the time, wondering just how long the hold
period would be for the customer service line. She chewed on her bottom lip and
considered. On one hand, she absolutely had to get ready for work—she would be
late if she didn’t. On the other hand, Rachel thought it was entirely possible
that, assuming the transfer into her account was a mistake, she would probably
face a much bigger problem later on down the line if it wasn’t corrected
quickly.

She called her boss, leaving a voicemail saying that she
had to take care of a personal issue and would be a few minutes late getting
in. Rachel then pulled out her debit card and dialed the number on the back of
it, fidgeting in her pajamas as she entered her account information and
passcode. She tapped her foot lightly on the floor as the hold music played,
her heart beating faster.
What if it isn’t a mistake?
She thought, her
brain barely—barely—daring to hope. But how she could have ended up with two
million dollars in her bank account without it being a mistake of some kind was
impossible to comprehend. No one she knew had that kind of money. The
wealthiest of her friends and family were only making—at most—a hundred
thousand or so per year.

Her mouth was dry and she sipped at her coffee, forcing
herself to breathe slowly. The customer service agent finally came on the line,
and Rachel explained her dilemma. “That is…certainly an odd situation,” the
woman on the other end of the phone said, sounding nearly as surprised as
Rachel was. “I’ll be happy to look into that for you in a little more detail.
Would you be okay with holding?” Rachel told the woman that she would, even
though her skin was crawling, even though she felt an instinctive fear that
just by alerting the bank to the discrepancy, she might—at any moment—find her
door kicked in by unknown “others.”

When the woman came back on the line, Rachel eagerly told
her that yes, she was still there. “I’ve looked everywhere possible,” the woman
said, with a mixture of confusion and certainty in her voice. “There is no way
that the transfer is even possibly a mistake. I was even able to call up the
original bank form that was used—and your name was specified, along with your
account number. We use a redundancy system to guard against errors; it doesn’t
always work, but it’s clear that someone apparently wanted to give you two million
dollars.” The woman paused. “I guess… congratulations?” The phone almost
slipped out of her fingers, and Rachel barely managed a coherent reply before
ending the call.

As she sat in numb silence at the table, a dawning
realization came over her.
I don’t have to go to work today.
She smiled
slowly.
If I’m careful, I don’t have to go to work ever.
She began to
laugh, eyes wide, shaking her head in shock at the turn of events.