So I Married a Rockstar (2 page)

Drax walks away, leaving me swaying in the aftermath of his arrival. His words are like a sharp slap to the face, or like that time my bestie Pepper talked me into doing the Ice Bucket Challenge. Wherever my brain went, it pours back into my body in a rush and leaves me blinking in rage and humiliation.

Sounds finally begin to filter through my daze, and I can hear Drax's fans screaming and cursing at him. Of course, that's all out of admiration. I want to curse him for entirely different reasons.

It's Raining Men
penetrates the fog and I know my dads are dragging him inside, away from his adoring -- probably violently so -- fans. And here I am, still standing on the sidewalk. Fury bubbles up inside me, and I have no one to take it out on.

I level a cold glare at Fanboy #1 and snap, "Anything happens to that bike, it's on you."
 

He blinks like I smacked his hand with a ruler and just nods. I feel a teensy bit guilty, but then I remember him calling me 'bitch' and I get over it.

By the time I get inside, Papi is gushing all over Drax like a groupie. Dad's behind the counter, fumbling around in the mini-fridge and laughing at Papi's antics.

"Ay,
chulo
," Papi coos, stroking Drax's big, leather-clad arms appreciatively. "You so strong. You work out?"

Drax shrugs out of his riding jacket to reveal a skin-tight black T-shirt that leaves little to the imagination. Spotting me walking up behind them, he tosses the jacket at me. I imagine wrapping it around that big head of his and smothering him with it, but I'm distracted by him flexing a tattooed bicep in Papi's delighted face. I have to admit, it's pretty impressive.
 

"What do
you
think?"

"Oooh," Papi squeals, clapping his hands frantically before realizing he's wasting a golden opportunity and wraps them around the bulging muscle.

I have to hand it to Drax, he's is a good sport. Not a lot of straight guys, especially hard-core metal-heads, would be comfortable with a gay man fondling their body, but Drax is grinning. Whatever. He may be a good sport but he's still a jerk.

"Luis, stop manhandling that poor boy," Dad says, handing Drax a bottle of water. "Drax, is it? That can't be your real name."

The rocker nods while downing the entire bottle in one tip of the head. I can't help but watch the way his Adam's apple bobs with each chug, the dark stubble peppering his neck rippling in a most inviting manner.
 

"Draymond Maxwell," he finally answers.

"Draymond, I'm Malcolm Raines, co-owner of Raines Records. You've already met my husband and business partner, Luis Gonzales-Raines. And of course you know our beautiful and talented daughter Lauren Raines."

Drax's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he turns to me. Once again, that icy hot gaze nearly stops me in my tracks. "You're not with Harry Stephens Productions?"

"No...I mean, yes...I mean..." Dammit! I'm all twisted up and mixed around, or something like that. Taking a deep breath, I try again.

"Harry sent me."

No need to mention that my cantankerous boss had no choice but to send me. His company normally has two concert promoters on staff, including Harry but most definitely
not
including me. They're the ones who usually handle stuff like this. I'm just an assistant, for criminy sakes.
 

But Michelle Ophus, Harry's other promoter, got headhunted by a big-name promoter and quit without notice last week. Drax was her client and Harry was busy with a big evangelical production running tonight, at the same time as Drax's concert but across the bay. So he sent me, and with such encouraging words, I might add.

"Fuck this up and you're fired," he said as I walked out of the office this morning. No pressure, right?

Jerkwad. But if I do well with this, that jerkwad might take me on as a full-time promoter, so I'm determined to make everything go perfectly.

Dad clears his throat and I realize I'm staring at Drax, who is wearing the most irritating, knowing grin. Oh God! My skin flushes and I scurry behind the curtain we set up to hide boxes of head shots and other junk necessary for a signing like this. Like a coat rack for the heavy leather jacket he tossed at me.

Thank goodness I was raised in this store, and know exactly what goes into a signing or I might have forgotten something. I hate forgetting things. I also breathe a sigh of relief knowing that Michelle was able to totally organize tonight's concert before quitting. All I have to do is get Drax to the venue. Easy, right?

I cut open a box of the head shots Drax will be signing and pull one out. I've never seen one quite like it. It's a black-and-white photo of his face, very tightly cropped. The edges are almost black, fading toward his amazing eyes, which are the only spot of color in the photo. The same icy blue that paralyzed me is staring back at me, and I'll be damned if I don't go all fluttery inside.

"Want me to sign that for you?" His voice is deep and rumbling, like a big truck rolling by outside...or an earthquake, which seem appropriate considering how shaken I am already. I spin around, startled, my hands accidentally crumpling the photo in a tight grip.

There's only a few feet of room back here but it seems to take him a year to walk the three steps required to reach me. He stops inches away. I can still smell the heady aroma of leather but now something more earthy is added. It's almost buttery but there's a kick of spice to it. It's all I can do to stop myself from closing my eyes and sucking in a deep breath of his scent.

"Here."
 

His voice is a hot whisper of air across my skin as he slips the photo from my frozen fingers. I don't dare look up at him. If I do, I'll drown in those eyes. But they're almost calling out to me. The temptation is irresistible.
 

My gaze travels up the cotton-covered ridges and valleys of his chest, over the taut sinew of his neck and hard edge of his jaw, where a muscle is spasming, until it meets his. He's looking at me like I'm his next meal, and so help me, I wish I was. Jerk or not, I'd let this man, this beast, devour me whole, right here behind that flimsy black curtain in the middle of my dads' store.
 

If only he'd ask...

"Lola-
mami
, da peoples
es
getting restless,
querida.
You should--"
 

Papi's high nasal voice breaks off as he pokes his head behind the curtain and sees...well, I have no idea what he sees, honestly. And I don't want to know. But his megawatt grin gives me a pretty good idea.

The spell is broken and I take a step back from Drax, almost tripping over a stray box of headshots. I clear my throat and smooth my already smooth dress. Drax watches my every move like a predator tracking his prey, but I force my gaze away from his. It's like a tractor beam or something. If I avoid looking directly into his eyes, maybe I'll survive this.

He snatches up a silver Sharpie and uses his thigh as a surface on which to smooth the photo enough to sign.
 

"Here," he says, giving me a panty-dampening smile.

I blindly take the signed photo he's holding out and wonder what just happened. I don't even know this guy, and I like him even less, yet he has some strange power over me. No man has ever affected me like this and I'm not sure I like it one tiny bit. I feel so out of control, and I hate being out of control.

I can feel my cheeks glowing as bright as Rudolph's nose and Papi's silly grin isn't helping matters any. Drax has turned to his jacket and is fumbling around in a pocket, so I drop his photo onto a chair and hurry out to the signing table with a big stack of photos and silver pens.

Clearly, I'm going to have to keep my distance from him. He has some kind of weird primal magnetism that leaves me as weak as a kitten. I have no desire to bring the kind of drama that follows a man like him into my life. And if Harry ever got wind that I was canoodling with a client, my fledgling career as a concert promoter would be over before it even begins.

Besides, why would a guy like Drax want a girl like me? Don't get me wrong, I'm cute as hell, especially today. But let's get real for a second. You never see 'curvy and cute' dangling off the arm of a 'hotter than Hades' rockstar. Doesn't happen. It'd be like trying to breed a fluffy little bunny with a man-eating tiger.
 

Nope, I'll just have to be satisfied with knowing that, for however brief a moment, Draymond 'Drax' Maxwell thought I was yummy.
 

The signing has flown by. The fifty fans who'd lined up early were joined by another couple hundred by the end of the two hours. I plopped countless piles of head shots on the signing table, always careful not to look into Drax's Photoshopped, two-dimensional eyes. Or his three-dimensional ones, either, for that matter.
 

It's well past when the signing should have been over but Drax is still cheerfully signing for the stragglers that keep popping in -- well, as cheerfully as a heavy metal singer can be between the hours of ten and noon. The shop is bustling as people browse Raines Records's eclectic selection, and Dad's old-fashioned cash register never stops ringing up sales. This will be a good day for my dads, and that makes it all worth while.

I have to say, I was really impressed watching Drax work the crowd. He was equal parts attentive and rude to every dreary demon-lover who approached the table, and they gobbled it up like candy.

"Okay, you motherfuckers, let's do this shit!" he shouted after Dad opened the door to the crowd. The cheer inside and out was deafening.
 

When Fanboy#1 approached the table -- one of his fake tattoo sleeves wrinkling at the crook of his elbow -- Drax tipped a tiny wink my way and asked him, "How's my bike, asshole?"

I nearly snorted out a laugh, and I swear the kid almost crapped his skinny black jeans. Here he'd spent hours waiting in line so he could be the first to get Drax's autograph and what does his idol do? Insults him! The funniest thing of all was that the moron couldn't speak, not even to spit out his name. Drax ended up signing the headshot
Kiss my ass, kid. Drax
.

When the guy read it, he broke out into a grin a mile wide and ran out of the store. He's still visible through the window, standing guard over Drax's bike two hours later.
 

I'm leaning against a nearby table, watching Drax -- I'm helpless to do otherwise -- when Papi sidles up next to me and elbows me in the ribs.
 

"Lola-
mami
, you should..." He waggles his perfectly sculpted eyebrows at me, then very obviously jerks his head toward Drax. "I seen how you looked at him."

"Saw."

"Huh?"

"You
saw
how I looked at him. Which you didn't, by the way. Whatever you think you
saw
, Papi, you didn't."

He waves away my correction and claim like they were annoying gnats. "Don't try to confuse me with your silly English lessons,
querida
. I know what I seen. I seen him look at you da same."

Part of me thrills at the very thought but I won't succumb to false hope. Maybe Drax
had
looked at me with lust behind that curtain, but at some point during the signing, I realized I was probably mistaken. Every single female who approached him swooned almost the exact same way I had. Maybe it's just a hazard of the job. You know, women dropping like horny flies all around you.

"Whatever, Papi. I know you think he's hot--" he snorts, as if to say 'Duuuh'; I ignore him "--but I have a lot to do tonight and trying to seduce a devil-worshipping man-whore isn't on the list."

"Mmm hmm." He raises an eyebrow at me and purses his lightly glossed lips. It's his 'The lady doth protest too much' look.

Then he whirls away to help a gorgeous, statuesque blonde. She's dressed to the nines in a skin-tight pink Band Aid -- I mean, dress -- and sparkly pink stilettos. Poor thing. When she came in looking for an old out-of-print Donna Summer CD, she probably had no idea she was wading into a sea of angsty, father-hating post-adolescents.
 

I'm humming an old Sesame Street song as I approach the signing table. The last fanboy has scurried away, clutching his prize, and it's time to wrap up this shindig.

"Hey,
Lola
," Drax drawls, emphasizing my dads' nickname for me. Then he holds up a finger and says, "Wait, don't tell me."
 

I have no idea what he's talking about so I stay quiet.
 

"'One of These Things Is Not Like the Other', right?"

I can't help but burst out laughing. "You watched Sesame Street?"

"'Course. Who didn't?"

"It's just funny to think of you as a Big Bird fan."

His smile literally makes my knees go weak. No, I'm not even kidding. I nearly crumple.

"Big Bird's the shit. He's the ultimate rockstar."

"Yeah, right," I snort as I start tidying up the table.

"No, seriously. Dude's bad ass. Look at how he handles all those other whackjobs on The Street. Plus, he's a singer. Hell, he's got more Twitter followers than me!"

I try not to drool when he stands to his full height, working out the kinks in his back after sitting for so long. It's like watching my very own personal strip show -- minus the stripping, of course, but the effect is the same. I have to look away or I'm pretty sure my panties will float away on the ensuing flood of desire.

Clearing my throat, I'm about to ask him if he's ready to leave for the concert venue when I look up. He's watching the Barbie wannabe and jealousy twists up my guts. Which is ridiculous. We're polar opposites, Drax and me. He's a flamboyant, attention-seeking entertainer. I'm...not.

Still, I'm not at all happy about him ogling that woman so I 'accidentally' drop a box of headshots on the table, making him jump and forcing his electric orbs on me. As soon as he turns my way, it's like a cool breeze whispering across my hot skin. But I'm over the initial shock of animal attraction and can now speak freely.
 

Or...maybe not.