CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) (8 page)

BOOK: CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)
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“It must be difficult,” I replied. “Having your entire day dissected by the media…”

 

 

He nodded in approval. “I knew what I signed up for but this bullshit still drives me batty.”

 

 

“Like what?”

 

 

“They pick and choose the parts of my life they want to display,” he grumbled, leaning closer to me. I could smell the musk of his skin combined with his spicy cologne. “Then, they put all those bad parts together and parade that Frankenstein of a monster as the real Heath Lawrence.”

 

 

“Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster,” I replied, the bibliophile in me correcting him. “But I get your point.”

 

 

He sat back and his unbuttoned shirt revealed more of his toned chest. “What’s next on the lesson plan?”

 

 

After reviewing the writing exercise with him, I brought out another worksheet. “Well, there’s some math problems that I wanted-”

 

 

We were interrupted by a loud tapping noise against the bus.

 

 

It was Tyler. He pounded on the bus again. “Hey, Heath! The stage is being set up. We have to do a few sound checks and then start practice.”

 

 

“I guess that’s the end of this session,” Heath said, getting up with a groan. A part of me felt sad to see him go more than any teacher needed to feel for a pupil. “I’ll see if I can make time for you, Charlotte. Don’t trip on a liquor bottle on your way out.”

 

 

And just like that, the rock star left me.

 

Practice.

 

 

That was all it took to get good at something. Charlotte had been right about that. With enough practice, you could get good at anything.

 

 

That wasn’t to say I wasn’t blessed with some natural talents.

 

 

I was born to perform. Before I was even old enough to shave, I could belt out tunes like a veteran. I could dazzle a crowd before my balls had even dropped.

 

 

The audience became clay in my hands. I could make them reach nirvana with a single word. I could cause them to weep by changing the timbre of my voice. I felt like a man elevated to Godhood by the masses.

 

 

To me, practice felt like play. It was like being told to eat your vegetables. I didn’t mind since these vegetables tasted like a rack of lamb.

 

 

On the other hand, Charlotte’s homework was like shoveling dung straight into my mouth. I didn’t know how much of it I could take. It was pure humiliation. Each question reminded me of how much an idiot I was. Even writing down an intelligible answer was an uphill battle.

 

 

Yet, I forced myself to do it. I was more at home with sheet music than worksheets but I forced myself on it. I wouldn’t admit defeat so easily.

 

 

At first, I guessed it was my pride. I hated to lose. Whether it was a singing content or a round at the pool table at the local pub, I didn’t accept second place. I had to win no matter how difficult it was.

 

 

Then, I thought it was a way to keep my career going. I knew a threat when I heard one. The record label would drop me unless I showed I could be a good, well-behaved student. Worse, they had neutered me by making me sign a binding contract with a non-compete clause. I couldn’t live without playing and sharing my music. Yet, I knew it just couldn’t have been that.

 

 

Finally, I realized this motivation came from my teacher. Something about Charlotte got through to me. The woman was just too stubborn for my charms to have any real effect. I could more easily seduce a mannequin than that cold woman.

 

 

Charlotte aroused something in me. I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to fall prey to my charms. If doing my homework was what it took, then I’d do it.

 

 

“The acoustics here are pure shit!” Dave moaned, tuning his bass guitar. “That reverb isn’t natural.”

 

 

“Put a sock in it, you diva,” I replied, turning my head back to practice. “Howard and I had to make due with no speaker systems when we first started out. Count your blessings if this place doesn’t suffer a power outage.”

 

 

“Don’t get him started about the good old days,” Tyler grinned, letting off a riff on his guitar. “He’ll never stop.”

 

 

Ever since Howard’s death, the whole rock star gig had become so routine. Gone were the days of wonder and discovery as we travelled the world. Now, the label micromanaged my entire life. I couldn’t even use the microphone I wanted due to some licensing deal.

 

 

The man was like a second wind. No mountain felt too high. No challenge was too difficult. We were an unstoppable team.

 

 

Damn, why did he have to die?

 

 

“Hey, Heath,” Ryan said, punctuating his statement by hitting a drum cymbal. The mousey drummer recoiled when I faced him. “We have to start testing the vocals and melody.”

 

 

I readied my microphone. “Keep your prick in your pants!”

 

I watched as a battalion of fans gathered outside the Dell Music Center. The venue had seating for over five thousand people. Another thousand or so could sit on the freshly mowed lawn.

 

 

I didn’t know if it would be enough.

 

 

From age eighteen to eighty, countless women camped outside the venue. The show still hadn’t started and they gathered like crusaders on a pilgrimage. Some were crying as if the trip here would bring them nirvana.

 

 

I was glad to be far away from the gathering crowd. Better yet, I would get a seat in a special booth with the other VIPs. Jared, the manager, suggested I bring some earplugs.

 

 

I didn’t know whether it was because of the loud rock music or the louder cheering by Heath’s fangirls.

 

 

Tickets typically cost thirty dollars for a decent seat. Fancier seating would cost sixty dollars. Double Damage commanded over a hundred dollars per seat. The pass for their cross-country tour would set you back a thousand dollars.

 

 

It was no wonder Heath got away with so much crap. The man brought home the bacon every time he went on tour. Nonetheless, his scandals must have gotten bad enough if the record label was considering dropping him for good.

 

 

With the front man dolling himself up for the main event, I sat with the rest of the musicians. I watched as they did last minute inspections on their instruments.

 

 

Tyler sat across me and absentmindedly strummed his guitar. “First time you’ve been on tour?”

 

 

“First time I’ve been to an actual concert,” I revealed to his surprise. “Unless you count that showing of Phantom of the Opera I went to last year.”

 

 

He looked intrigue at the revelation. “You just need to know how to deal with Heath when he’s on tour.”

 

 

“You’ve been working with him the longest, right?”

 

 

“More like putting up with him the longest,” the Irishman laughed. He seemed to be one of the few men who could stand up to Heath’s antics. “The man’s been through as many bandmates as he’s been through girlfriends. It’s even worse with managers. It wasn’t until Jared that the label found someone who could work with him.”

 

 

“Jared must really care about Heath’s music and well-being.”

 

 

“I think it’s more about the payday,” Tyler answered with a cynical laugh. “The man sees us as walking dollar signs. Why do you think he’s fighting so hard to keep Heath on? The front man is his cash cow. Jared will squeeze him dry until Heath’s in a retirement home. Or dead.”

 

 

Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted us. “What the hell are you doing with my teacher, Tyler?”

 

 

“Oh, just warning her about how much of a stubborn bastard you are,” Tyler smirked, looking over his shoulder to his bandmate. “She doesn’t know what she signed up for.”

 

 

Heath looked so gorgeous. His dark hair was slicked back with gel. He trimmed his facial hair so that his face had a sandpapery texture to it. As usual, he wore an unbuttoned shirt that exposed his toned pectoral muscles. His eyes were lit with a sense of haughtiness.

 

 

I almost wanted to slap myself for thinking about my student this way.

 

 

“Well, get ready for another check on the electronics,” Heath ordered. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was jealous of Tyler for simply talking to me. “I don’t want another Shea Stadium incident.”

 

 

Tyler picked up his guitar and grumbled. “You’re the boss.”

 

 

Soon, the other musicians followed and left me alone with Heath.

 

 

Basking in his masculine presence, I asked. “What happened at Shea Stadium?”

 

 

“The damn electronic interference fucked up the speakers when we went to New York City last year,” he recounted. “We ended up playing acoustic like we were some indie band in the basement of a pub. I paid the fans out of pocket so they could get a refund. Call me whatever you want but I won’t take your money for a shit performance.”

BOOK: CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE)
5.71Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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