Hung Out: A Needles and Pins Rock Romance

The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.

©2015 Hung Out by Lyrica Creed

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the author.

Published by: Rock Star Reads

Cover Design: Book Bangs

Formatting: Book Bangs

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To those who breath music from their soul into the hearts of their listeners.

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Scarlette and Gage know they can’t hide their relationship from public eyes forever, but it should be easy enough to fly under the radar while they are separated by Gage’s rehab stay.

Or not…

When a viral sex video outs them as lovers, their very new and now long distance relationship is tested.

I could have been any rock star’s kid. My mom dated dozens of famous musicians over a decade and a half, and I use the word dating very loosely. Any one of them could’ve been the one.

But I hit the rock star daddy lottery.

That’s what people are acting like anyway. It’s sickening.

I’m Scarlette Conterra daughter of Tyler Conterra, rock icon who fatally overdosed three weeks shy of joining the twenty-seven club. His millions multiplied into billions over twenty years, and I’m days away from reaching trust fund age.

I’m not going to lie and say it won’t give me a thrill never again to worry about paying my bills. Being offered my own onyx charge plate and invited into elite social sites is also a strange kick. But I’d give it all up and go back to bartending my way through college to have one real memory of my dad—one little clip in my head or fuzzy image that I know for certain is not part of a YouTube video or a Google Image.

I can’t imagine anyone will believe that. But it’s true.

Achy eyes and blurred vision kept me from continuing. My thumb rested on the keypad of my phone while I squinted the almost tears away and read what I’d typed.

What the hell?

I was supposed to be writing a two-hundred-word essay on ‘The Biggest Misconception About You.’ It was one of five such questions on the application to my dream college of naturalistic medicine.

This rambling monologue, although very true, was unacceptable.

Extremely personal.

Bringing up a new screen, I watched the icon blink and thought back to a couple of months ago. What was the biggest misconception about Scarla Smythe? Never mind that girl faded into nothingness a few nights ago on the red carpet.

Scarla Smythe was safe.

Scarlette Conterra was terrifying.

“S
o damn sexy. In body and soul.
And she was his girl.

For now.

The clock in his head never stopped these days. Rehab loomed closer with each second, waiting to take him from her.

He was going to miss her birthday. He was going to miss her everything. For months. It made him crazy to think about, especially when their relationship was so new.

Sifting through the pictures his publicist had sent, Gage stopped on one.

Scarlette stepping from the limo, protectively centered with him on one side and Colt on the other. His hand was behind her, resting on her back. Colt’s hand was curved above her elbow. Her dazzling smile looked as natural as if she’d been appearing at publicity events forever. It was Colt and he who were glaring into the camera lens.

One or both of them had remained protectively by her side the entire evening, sometimes both holding her hands at the same time, and sitting on either side of her at the feature. For once, he hadn’t wanted to punch Colt for having his hands on her.

The two of them appearing together with her saved any speculation in the tabloids that would have occurred if she had shown up alone with him. It was natural enough. Her stepbrother and his bandmate. Her stepbrother and the guy who had loaned the ‘Scarlette Rose’ and other memorabilia to the film.

Letting the picture drop, he picked up another.

Scarlette posed by a huge poster of Tyler. The family resemblance was so striking that he doubted anyone could look at her next to her father without a lump in his or her windpipe.

He jumped in surprise when her arms wrapped his neck from behind, resting her chin on his shoulder. “Where’d you get those?”

“Fax.”

“I didn’t know there was a fax here.”

“Everything’s here you could ever need.” He watched as she perused the matte prints. “In fact, I was thinking. Why don’t you stay? Until you go to school. You could even do the enrollment from here. Logan, my PA, takes classes at USC. He can help you get set up. Ivy could come stay with you some. Right? I could make one call. Rent it for another month.”

“Whoa. Slow down.” She eased around to sit on his lap. They both stared at the surf rolling in and Rascal prowling the jetty. They’d arrived at the bungalow on a private beach in Los Cobos around midnight, after the documentary screening a few nights ago.

They had fifteen days together before he would go into rehab for an estimated three to six months. This time he’d have to stick it out, or be handed into custody to do county time.

He knew he was making her crazy with possibilities and plans. Dates and details. He’d had a bank account opened for her and had already deposited more money than she’d need to get by until her birthday. He remained antsy, spouting a constant fountain of information he thought she’d need while he was gone. He wanted to make sure she didn’t want for anything, and a piece of him knew some of his suggestions were a hope to ensure she’d still be his when he returned.