Brooklyn Rockstar (Kendall Family #1) (5 page)

Hello Brooklyn is right. The screaming resumes until there’s a dull ringing in my ears. Charlie knows the effect he has on every woman in the room, and he’s soaking it up. It’s a turn-off when I consider he’s probably slept with hundreds of groupies. Still, I can’t deny that I wouldn’t be able to turn down someone like him. My mouth waters as I envision my tongue licking the intricate design swirling down his monster-sized arms—some of which appears to involve a rosary and a woman praying.

Amidst the obnoxious racket of women, I pretend to check my phone for messages. In reality, I’m completely unnerved by Charlie Walker. It’s ridiculous for me to think he showed any real interest in me, even if I wasn’t turned off by his smug attitude. If anything, maybe he was staring at me because he’s shocked that I didn’t dress up for him like all the other women. That would make perfect sense.

As he starts strumming the guitar and crooning an easy-going, beautiful melody, I lose myself in the music, forgetting about the strange interaction between us. Damn, the guy can
really
sing. In “Coney Island Kid” there was so much background noise from the electric instruments that I wasn’t able to appreciate the deep, raw roll of his voice.

Sharlo shimmies up into my side and I laugh, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and shaking my body along to the beat. A couple of months ago, I never would’ve pictured myself standing here instead of busting my butt for minimum wage in a town I despised for most of my life. I’m in New York with a friend I’ve been dying to meet for years, free to do whatever the hell I want. Things are stellar enough on their own. Who needs a gorgeous rockstar?

E
very single fucking
time I sneak a look at the sexy brunette with intense eyebrows, my dick stirs inside my jeans, begging for permission to play. I do my best to ignore it, instead using the energy to make this my best performance. Yet I can’t shake the intense moment when our eyes met. With that one heated look, she completely unmanned me. Beneath those curved, dark eyebrows are the most alluring honey colored eyes that make me want to tangle my fingers in her long dark hair and break one of my most coveted rules of not kissing groupies.

What in the hell am I doing? Women are nothing more to me than a casual good time. Something to keep me busy and satiate my needs. Beyond that, they’re not worth any serious kind of investment. Danny always said that we didn’t need chicks getting dragged into our crazy shit and messing with our heads. So what is it about this one—who is so far from my normal type it’s like she’s in a different zip code—that made me want something more than a casual fuck?

For starters, she’s not dressed desperate like 99% of the others, and she bobs her head along to the beat like concerts are her thing. Like it comes natural and she doesn’t give a shit about putting on a show to impress anyone. And she makes the reporter I invited look fake as shit. Damn it, I shouldn’t have made that Gwen chick think she’d be getting a private show after the interview.

Unlike the groupies that come after me, the brunette seems genuine in every way. Braided hair, collection of dark freckles that spill from her little nose down onto her cheeks, she’s fucking
cute
. Both her eyelashes and tits appear to be the real deal. Most of all I appreciate the fact that she isn’t falling all over herself for a chance to touch me like everyone else by the stage. For a heart-stopping moment I wonder if she’s into women the way she’s touchy-feely with the chick on her other side.

With every glance, I find myself fantasizing in different ways. I want to fist her dark, silky hair. I want to kiss every last one of her freckles. I want to cup her tits beneath her shirt that make a sweet curve beneath her top. I want to make her come with my mouth and find out what her voice sounds like as she cries my name. But above everything, I want to run my tongue over every inch of her sun-kissed skin and sink my teeth into her ripe bottom lip.

Jesus, Walker.
Focus.

Though the crowd continues yelling like crazy, I could play the theme song from
Law & Order
and they’d probably still lose their fucking minds. How am I supposed to gauge my talent as a solo artist on a crowd driven by hormones?
Stacking the audience with women was one of Lorenzo’s least brilliant ideas. I nearly bust a gut laughing when I catch him cozying up off stage to a set of blonde twins that could work for Hooters. The guy is more driven by pussy than I’ve ever been, which is saying a lot.

I catch the brunette’s interested gaze a second time when my set’s nearly over. Her pouting lips part slightly with a silent sigh and she stops moving as I watch her. Those big brown eyes fill me with the kind of warmth I haven’t felt since I was a kid that got off on campfires and hot cocoa instead of women. When I imagine her lips all over my skin, sliding up and down my cock, it throbs painfully and I lose my place in the song. The brunette’s body jerks and she snickers inside her hands.

She laughed at me.

Goddamn she’s really something special.

After bullshitting my way through the rest of the melody, I announce that I’m going to take a small break before playing the last two songs. I dart from the stage, hooking Lorenzo by the arm and pulling him away from the blondes.

His eyes widen. “Why a break
now
when you’re almost done?”

“There’s someone in the crowd I have to meet. If I go down there we both know it’ll create a giant cluster-fuck. You need to get me her name and number.”

“Listen. I told you it’s time to cut back,” he reminds me in a dark tone. “You don’t need any more random hook-ups messing with your reputation. Your focus should be on finishing this set with a bang. You want to give them something they can’t stop talking about.”

“I’m not interested in a hook-up,” I answer, peering through the heavy curtains. “I just want to meet her.” The brunette and the hippie chick she was hanging on are both gone. Hopefully they're just getting more drinks and haven’t left. There’s a tight pinch in my chest when I consider that I may never see her again.

I turn back to Lorenzo. “Short brunette with freckles and a braid thing in her long hair, lacy white shirt, decent set of tits. You’ll know her when you see her—she’s fucking hot as hell. Nothing like the other women here tonight. Not like
any
woman I’ve met in the city. She’s…pure or some shit. I don’t know what her story is. She was standing in the front row next to that reporter Gwen Whats-Her-Name.”

“If you’re considering another three way, you better check yourself.” Lorenzo shakes his head. “You really are losing it, brother.”

I glare back at him. “Would you shut up already and get her info?”

“On it, boss,” he answers smartly, saluting me.

As he leaves, a heavily tattooed and pierced blonde wearing a shirt with the bar’s logo hands me a shot glass filled with dark liquid. I appreciate how she doesn’t treat me like I’m a big thing. “I was asked to give you this in preparation for your post-interview activities. The lady said you’d know what that means.” She shrugs, then turns away.

Christ
. I
have to
find a way to ditch the reporter. The only chick I want to see tonight is the brunette with the cocky smirk. Bringing the glass to my lips, I tip my head back and down the shot of whiskey in one gulp. At least she got my drink right this time.

I catch my reflection on the hallway mirror and scowl. Since when do I get all worked up over a chick?
I’m Charlie Fucking Walker and could have any woman I want.
You want the brunette
, a persistent voice answers in my head.

Shaking it off, I return to the stage and wait for the drunk women to stop yelling in slurred voices. The brunette and her friend still haven’t returned, so I grab the microphone. “We’re not done rocking this place just yet,” I announce, hoping to entice them to return.

I start the opening chords to a ballad my record label insists needs more work if I want it to become mainstream instead of being considered indie rock. The crowd seems receptive, but there’s still no sign of the brunette. Frustrated, I strum the guitar strings a little harder than necessary on the refrain. I should’ve jumped off the stage during my break and introduced myself to her when I had the chance.

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?”