Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance (3 page)

Noah Hardy, the world-famous rock star. The bad boy.
The drunk-in-public, fight-picking, womanizing lead vocalist of Cut Up Angels,
right here, ten feet from me in some hometown mosh pit.

The light glowed across his bare chest and shoulders,
exposing his tattoos in little swatches, like works of art being uncovered from
the dark. Sweat coated his skin, making his muscles glisten. With his
strawberry blonde hair and shaggy beard, his firm muscles, and his whittled
waist, he looked like some gorgeous Irish bareknuckle boxer. Like he belonged
in some tougher, more violent century.

Good God, he was the hottest fucking thing I had ever
seen in my life.

It wasn’t like I hadn’t seen Noah before. I’d been to
his shows, of course—who hadn’t, at this point? But this was something else. I
felt like I was seeing him naked. As he raged in the mosh pit with the rest of
the hardcore crowd, it was like I was privy to some intensely private side of
Noah Hardy that I hadn’t even known existed.

When the festival news hit, so did the public
speculation. Because Noah had bona fide baller status, most assumed he and the
others had jetted off to some private sunny resort to wait out the storm. But
that hadn’t felt right to me. The looks I got from around the room when I spoke
it out loud almost gave me pause, but I held the line and asked for a flight to
Seattle. Something in my gut told me that, in this darkest time, Noah Hardy was
going to run home. And I had been right.

How had I known that?

I tried not to stare, but I couldn’t keep my eyes off
him as he shoved and pulled his way through the band’s set. If anyone in the
crowd knew who he was, no one seemed to care or pay him special mind. Just like
everyone else in the pit, he got pushed, and he got helped back up if he lost
his footing. Watching his firm body move in the strobing lights, hearing the
primal pounding of the drums… it was all getting my heart pumping in a way I
hadn’t anticipated. Anxiety was quickly being replaced with something hotter,
and in that moment, I felt ten years younger.

I finished my beer in two huge swallows and immediately
ordered another round. My gaze drifted away from the mosh pit, but not without
a fight. I tried to stare at the bottles lined in a row against an old dirty
glass mirror behind the bar. Tried counting them, reading the tiny print on the
labels, anything to keep me from looking back over at Noah in the crowd. His
mind-numbing hotness notwithstanding, I had a goddamn job to do. I spent all
night hunting him down, and here he was. I couldn’t blow it now.

“This is our last fucking song,” yelled the band’s
vocalist into the mic.

Shit, of course it was. That meant I had two, maybe
three minutes to figure out how I was going to make this approach. Several
plans were on the table, but things like this were like going into a war
zone—you just never knew what it was going to look like until you got dropped
in the middle of it. The rumors had told me Noah was looking to recruit a new
band—a fitting sign that Cut Up Angels might actually be done with thanks to
this new scandal. Introducing myself to Noah as a potential replacement musician
had been plan A.

But he didn’t look like he was recruiting tonight. He
just looked like a regular dude, enjoying a show. Plan A now looked weird,
paranoid; he’d wonder where I had heard the rumors about recruiting, why I was
asking. This would be over before it began.

So I guess I just needed to look like a regular chick,
enjoying a show, too.

In that case…

I turned back toward the stage. Hell, maybe I would even
enjoy myself for real tonight. The pit had died, but the vocalist was in the
audience now, and a handful of dudes—including Noah—were gathered around him in
a huddle, screaming lyrics into the mic together, butting heads and sweating
all over each other. Sweat dripped down Noah’s back tattoos and disappeared
down his tight black jeans. Heat rumbled inside me, and I tried to quench it
quickly with a swig of beer. Noah Hardy was supernatural levels of hot. Suddenly
all I could think about was running my hands up the taut muscles of his back.

The song came to a smash-cut end, and the crowd
erupted into howls and clapping. House lights flicked on, and somebody turned
on an old Fugazi album as background music.

My eyes were still on Noah when he came out of his
show trance and started heading toward the bar, where he had left his shirt in
a crumpled black heap next to a half-finished beer. The shirt and beer I was
slowly realizing I had sat next to when I came in.

Well, shit.

He came around the corner of the bar and stopped for a
moment, looking at me. At first it was surprise on his face, like he hadn’t
expected to see anybody when he looked up. But surprise quickly melted into
something else—something softer. I watched his eyes as his gaze ran slowly,
painfully slowly, down the length of my body and back up to my face. They
stayed there, locked on my red lips, and he licked his own as if he were
imagining them.

A sexual spark lit between my legs. I couldn’t
remember the last time anyone looked at me that way—let alone a man as gorgeous
as Noah Hardy. I smiled back at him reflexively.

As he took the last few steps toward me in a much more
confident, cocky stride, I realized with a sudden mix of terror and excitement
that I had just given myself my “in” to get close to Noah. It hadn’t been my plan—it
was
never
my plan, for this or any job. It was bad form, not my style,
but Noah—here’s a guy who was used to taking any woman he wanted backstage and
having his way with her.

Judging by the look on his face, tonight, that woman
was me.

~ THREE ~

Noah

Sometimes
it feels like I don’t have a shred of fucking luck left in my miserable life.
But other times, it feels just the opposite. Maybe I was just desperate for
some luck to count this as a win. Maybe it was just the leftover adrenaline and
oxytocin from moshing my fucking heart out to some juicy underground hardcore,
giving me a natural high. Maybe I just wanted to lie to myself to get out from
under the pile of hot garbage that was my life outside of this club.

But I didn’t expect to come out of the pit and find
her sitting there, like she was waiting for me. I didn’t know who she was,
never seen her gorgeous face before in my life, but for a split second, I
actually had this thought that someone had pulled the image of the perfect
hardcore girl right out of my brain and brought her to life. And here she was,
sitting at the bar of the Graveyard Club, eating me up with her eyes. She gave
me a shy smile and turned back to her drink, and I took that as a challenge.

I pushed my sweaty hair out of my face and came up to
the bar where I’d left my stuff. I kept my eyes on her as I grabbed the
half-full stein of draught and drank it down in two thirsty gulps. I never took
my eyes off her, watching, hoping to catch a glimpse of her checking me out. A
side-eye sneak.

Groupies, they ran right up to you. There was no game
in it, no challenge. It was like filling up a plate from a buffet and hoping
none of it was left out too long to give you food poisoning. They served a
purpose, sure, but who wants to eat at a buffet all the time?

This woman, she wasn’t that. I was almost sure she
recognized me, but she wasn’t a groupie. Not a chance. This one wanted to be
hunted.

Lucky for her, I’m one hell of a hunter. And I don’t
mind chasing down my dinner.

Kevin saw me sit down and immediately put another full
beer in front of me like the champ he is. Then he glanced over to the beauty at
my left and asked her if she needed another.

“Get her whatever she wants for the rest of the
night,” I answered. “On my tab.”

She gave me that side glance I was waiting for, that
sassy, non-committal interest that made my dick twitch in my jeans. Her pouty,
gorgeous red lips twisted into a smirk. To Kevin, she said, “Shot of Jameson
and another pint, please.”

Fuck, even her drink order was hot. Kevin put the shot
down on the counter and she threw it back without a hitch. I took another
glance down her body, not bothering to hide my interest. She was skinny, but
still had a nice, plump pair of tits that I couldn’t wait to put in my mouth.
More interesting at that moment was the shirt she wore.

I leaned closer to her, and felt our thighs connect
beneath the cramped space of the bar. She didn’t move away. “I like your
shirt,” I said, close to her ear. Her flowery scent hit my nose like a dream.

That half-grin appeared on her lips again, and she
tilted her head toward me. When she finally met my gaze, I wasn’t ready for it;
not for those big, full blue eyes, like enormous crystal pools you could dive
right into. Coupled with her pale skin and bright red lips, she was like a doll
come to life. A shock ran down my spine and between my legs. For a moment, my
chest was actually too tight to draw a breath.

She ran her eyes over the tattoos on my bare chest and
replied, “I like yours, too.” Her grin went from something shy and curious to a
full, seductive come-on that only made me harder than I already was.

I smiled back at her, and the pale skin on her neck
and chest flushed with heated arousal. A delicious future was laying itself out
in front of me in my mind. “That’s from their ’99 tour, right?”

She nodded immediately. “I still have my disposable
camera photos. Our stop was the first one after Kip set his hair on fire trying
to do that drunk fire breathing bullshit, so he looks like a charred corpse in
all of them, but he said it was worth it.”

Whoa. I did not see that coming. The Rising End was a
foundational band, underground but still big enough that normies knew their
name. Part of me expected to hear she just swung by Hot Topic two weeks ago to
pick up some knockoff version of it. But not this chick. Looking closer now I
could tell the shirt was old, loved, well-worn; faded from years of washing; a
few tiny holes near the seam where she’d probably had to pull it down when it
got messed up in a pit.

She wasn’t a groupie, and she wasn’t some bullshit
poser. This chick was the real deal.

She had no idea how excited and blazingly horny I felt
listening to her talk about my scene like that. I rubbed my thigh against hers,
and smiled to myself when the slightest pressure returned. “I would really love
to see those pictures.”

She looked over at my face again and smiled, a sweet
one this time. “Is that you inviting yourself to my place? Pretty ballsy.”

“Oh, I don’t think we need to go that far out of the
way to take care of business, do we?”

Heat rose in my loins when she didn’t retract, but flushed
red, her smile growing. She turned back to her beer, quiet for a few moments,
like she was thinking.

She got me rock hard when she replied in a throaty
voice, “It has been a while since I fucked in a club.”

That was it. I had to have this chick, and I had to
have her right fucking now. My dick could barely stand her hotness, the feel of
her soft, thin thigh against mine. I stared at her until she turned back to
look at me.

“What?” she said, self-conscious, as I ran my gaze all
over her face and neck. When I stopped on her ruby red lips, they pursed in a
delicate little o-shape as she let out a knowing sigh.

I didn’t have a rational thought in my head. I took
one of my hands and cupped her jaw underneath her hair. When she didn’t pull
away, I urged her toward me until those gorgeous lips met mine, open ever so
slightly, teasing me with her hot breath and soft, wet tongue.

Her kiss sent something rocketing through my nerves
that I had never felt before. Not with past girlfriends; not with the hottest
groupies. In a millisecond my kiss went from a teasing preview to hungry
devouring, like I had been starving for her taste my whole life and never known
it. Judging by how fiercely she returned it, I wasn’t the only one who felt it.
I ran my left hand up her denim-clad thigh, reaching almost to the soft heat
between her legs. I felt her gasp against my mouth, felt the vibrations of a
moan in her kiss. It only made me moan back at her and squeeze her thigh with
aching hunger.

When we pulled away, it felt like we had been kissing
for hours. Her pale skin flushed with heat; her big blue eyes were bright with
anticipation and arousal. “I’m Laurel,” she said quietly

“Noah,” I said, though she probably already knew that.
I ran my thumb along the skin at her jaw. It was like porcelain.

“You’re a damn fine kisser, Noah,” she said.

“I’m damn fine at a whole range of other things, too,”
I said. I could hear the lust in my own voice as I pulled her face close to
mine again. “I’d love to show you just how good.”

Laurel looked in my eyes and smiled. “Oh yeah?”

I grinned back at her wickedly. I ran my hand up her
thigh again, slower this time, purposely grazing a finger over her pussy with
enough pressure that she could feel it through her jeans. Laurel moaned and
closed her eyes under my touch, and made my dick so hard it ached.

I pulled her lips against mine for a smaller kiss, and
then whispered, “Meet me in the green room in three minutes.”

I planted one more kiss before she could reply and then
stood up from the stool, stealing one more glance her way before moving around
the bar to look for Kevin. Laurel stared at me, smiling, her eyes devouring the
muscles on my back and shoulders. I winked back and disappeared into the back
room.

Kevin was kneeling on the black rubber mats on the
tile floor, struggling with a new keg that had been dented by the idiot
delivery guy and wouldn’t stand up on its own. Immediately I got down and
helped him secure the draft line on the spigot and get the stupid thing
wriggled into its place under the counter. He patted me on the back as we stood
up.

“I need a favor,” I said.

“Anything, dude, what’s up?” said Kevin, wiping his
hands on the towel that was perpetually across his right shoulder.

“I need the green room and, like, an hour of privacy.”

Kevin smiled at me like I was a dog. “Not even home two
weeks and you’re already gonna soil my green room with your conquests?”

“Would you seriously say no to that girl?” I
challenged him with a laugh.

“Not on your fucking life,” he said with raised
eyebrows. He dug in his pocket and handed me a key ring. “Last band’s about to
go on, so they shouldn’t give you any grief about kicking them out.”

“Like I’d give a fuck if they did,” I said, jingling
the keys in my palm. “Thanks, Kev, I owe you.” I turned to leave the kitchen.

Kevin’s voice followed me back out into the bar, a
little too loudly. “Probably condoms in the drawer!”

I rolled my eyes and continued on my quest. The
Graveyard Club was a shithole, but even the worst of them had a spare room
where bands could keep their gear locked up while they were here, and catch
some peace and quiet before they all had to get crammed back in their tour
buses and vans, smelling each other’s BO for weeks on end. Maybe the big rock
star life had made me softer than I thought, but I sure as fuck did not miss
that—or the leg cramps, or having to trade precious joints to the other dudes
in the band to negotiate some time to fuck a groupie in the back without being
messed with.

I knocked on the green room door before I used my key,
as a courtesy. Some skinny, dark-haired kid opened it up, and a cloud of pot
smoke came wafting out from behind him. It made him look like he was a wizard
teleporting into existence. “What?” he said, and then his eyes widened when he
recognized me.
That
never got old. “Oh, fuck, dude.”

“You guys are on in ten,” I said in my best authoritative
voice. “Mind clearing your shit out of here?”

The dude just stared at me for a minute like he was
looking at a ghost. No one had seriously fucked with me yet or mentioned the
festival, but this wasn’t the first time I’d seen fear on the face of someone
who had no reason to fear me. It was more than annoying—it was insulting.

I snapped two fingers in front of his face. “Yo,
Cheech. You fucking hear what I said?”

“You’re Noah Hardy,” he said.

“Holy Christ.” I rolled my eyes. “Welcome to the present.
Now gather up your band and clear the fuck out of this room.”

“But we haven’t gone on yet!” said a high-pitched
voice from inside the room. I looked over the kid’s shoulder and saw another
skinny, brown-haired version of him on the couch holding a smoking joint.

Fine. You assholes wanna play? Let’s play. “You have
exactly three minutes to get your shit on that stage and start your set, or
there’s going to be a problem.”

That might not have been my finest moment. Already I
could hear Gavin’s scolding voice in my head, reminding me that threatening
teenage hardcore bands was not the way to gain public sympathy. But the words
were already out. It’s not the first time I spoke first and thought later. They
only considered the stern expression on my face for a moment before deciding
not challenge me. After that pause, they scrambled to life and started yanking
guitars and drum thrones into their arms. One by one they filed out past me
without looking me in the face again. I wasn’t too proud to admit that still
felt pretty good.

With the band gone, I did a quick sweep of the room,
throwing their haphazard clothes and backpacks into corners and off the couch.
The room’s ancient décor was from the 70s with its tacky leopard-print walls
and enormous mirrors. I normally wouldn’t have even considered fucking anyone
here, let alone someone as gorgeous as Laurel, on the cesspool of a couch that
exists in a room like this; but desperate times called for desperate measures,
and there wasn’t a chance in hell I was going to pass up my chance to score
with Laurel. Besides, the faded black leather seemed like the newest thing in
this room, even if it would probably light up like a Christmas tree if we ever
turned on a black light in here.

As I pulled open one of the drawers to check that
Kevin was right about the condoms, I heard a soft voice, a throat clearing. Laurel
stood, leaning in the doorway, one hand on her delicate hip. She had a wicked
grin on her beautiful red lips, still swollen from my kiss.

My dick got instantly hard at the sight of her.

She sarcastically checked the invisible watch on her
wrist. “Time’s up, babe.”

I smiled. This girl was my kind of trouble.