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Chapter One
Lauren Bryant adjusted her green belly shirt and sucked in a shaky breath. She was on the verge of being brushed by greatness. This close to seeing the sweat, touching the rock-hard abs, drowning in the throbbing, undulating beat.
Okay, so the first and last, sure. The middle one? Not likely in this lifetime or any other. Though wouldn’t that add an air of authenticity to her paper?
Rockstar abs feel like any other man’s abs…
Wait, scratch that out. She hadn’t touched any other man’s abs either so she couldn’t authoritatively make that claim. And in this paper, everything would be documented and re-documented. Checked and re-checked. No ifs, ands, and butts—specifically male ones.
But she was at a rock concert, not a flesh-peddling convention. Although they were surprisingly similar at times.
“Seriously?” Beside her, her best friend Ethan shook his head. He was still slouched in his seat, flipping through the stock report on his phone. Meanwhile, she fiddled with her clothes, trying to make sure everything was covered that she wanted covered and everything exposed that she wanted exposed.
Her big boobs and large ass were assets here, rather than the distractions they were seen as in academia. So was her blond hair and grayish-blue eyes, even if they appeared more wholesome and homespun than rockstar groupie. She’d always wanted straight, jet black hair like Cher in the old days. So ever since she’d started coming to Warning Sign shows, she’d worn a dark wig. Hey, if she had to do this rock groupie-slash-stalker thing up properly, she might as well have some fun with it. Her search for fun also included the pink see-through scalloped lace lingerie she’d worn under her stupidly tight clothes.
At least she’d look good for the coroner if she died of asphyxiation.
Another thing to overcome, apparently, was having a male best friend when you were at a rock concert specifically to get some action—the sort that hopefully wouldn’t get her arrested or naked. What was the point of wearing sexy lingerie if you just ended up in the buff? Her breasts appreciated the support.
“Do you really have to appear so disagreeable?” she asked, shoving Ethan hard in the shoulder. He bobbled his phone and gave her a look of pure malice. “No one’s going to approach me with you sitting there looking like a gloomy Gus.”
“Gloomy Gus? Seriously?” His eyebrow winged up. “Your lack of current vocabulary is truly awe-inspiring.”
“Fine. Stop harshing my buzz. Better?”
“Maybe, if you had a buzz.” He smirked. “You don’t drink, remember?”
“I don’t, but I can. At any time. In fact, I might get rip-roaring inebriated tonight.”
“Sure you will, honey. I’ll just hold my breath on that one and hope I don’t turn blue before the paramedics arrive. Preferably blond and busty.”
“I’m blond and busty. Don’t see you caring there.”
“Black wig, remember? And your breasts aren’t in my sphere.” He went back to his phone. “You’re practically a male as far as I’m concerned.”
“Thanks for the ego boost, jackass.” She huffed out a breath and perched on the edge of her seat, crossing her arms. “Look, you know why I’m here. Why I have to make this count. With the restraining order, I might not get another chance—”
“Restraining order?” He grabbed her wrist. “You didn’t say it had escalated to the point of the courts getting involved.”
She squirmed away. Ethan in stern professorial mode wouldn’t help her get her party on. “They haven’t, but let’s just say that ninja blond manager will probably harvest my organs for food for her pet anaconda if she spots me anywhere near her precious band again.”
Which was exactly where she was. Near ninja blond manager’s band yet again.
It wasn’t as if she’d intended to stalk Warning Sign in particular. She’d just needed any small-to-medium-size band that she could study and see in concert a few times so she could observe their fan base and attempt to integrate with them in a real, actionable way. Warning Sign seemed to perform often in the LA area, and she’d won tickets on the radio twice now to shows where they were the opening act, so it had to be kismet. Or something else, possibly more sinister.
At any rate, she’d been a good little student and sold her sticker collection on eBay and her old Converses—not the pink ones with the hand-painted rainbows, because hello, collector’s item—to make more money for tickets. Just like any good groupie who didn’t actually own a car with a working carburetor and so had to stay in LA and in the immediate area.
Enter Ethan, with his brand new SUV and willingness to drive her up and down the west coast to shows, because he knew that she was in desperate straits. And since they lived together, due to her mother kicking her out last fall after the incident, Ethan had reason to help her get back on her feet. Lauren had taken over Ethan’s guest bedroom and chipped in with rent, but she was sure he was eager to get her out so he could go back to having naked parties or whatever he did to unwind on weekends.
She had her own problems. Specifically, the one that had led her to become a pseudo Warning Sign groupie. She’d hung up their latest tour dates on the wall above her tiny desk and they had basically played connect the dots with the major cities near the Pacific Ocean—LA, San Fran, Seattle, Portland. She’d been at some of those shows, along with concerts at a few smaller venues—both before and after she’d gotten read the riot act by manager lady. So had Ethan, grumbling all the while. But he understood why it was so important she take this undertaking seriously, even if he was certain she was going about it all wrong.
He also got more ass than a toilet seat without any of the icky morning afters, so she wasn’t listening to him. He didn’t understand her struggles. In his world, being a nerd was hot to the opposite
sex. In hers, she was viewed as a sex object or irrelevant. Sometimes both at the same time.
Normally, she didn’t want to be seen as a body with no brains. Except tonight and at the other concerts she’d attended. She was an immersive student. If jumping around and flapping her boobs would get her closer to the band—and all their fans—she was just fine with that.
Plus, experiences. She was greedy for as many as she could get, and lo and behold, concerts seemed to be a gateway drug to plenty of them.
“Besides, Blondie just told me to stay away from rehearsals and not to get too close to any of the band members,” Lauren muttered, flicking through the ends of her wig. Stupid thing didn’t want to stay in place. “I’m in the audience. They’re safe.”
Probably.
“Did someone say blond?” Ethan sat up straighter and glanced around. “Point her out to me. Rack?”
“Married. Rockstar-married. The cream of the cream.”
She’d done more than a small amount of research on Lila Ronson Shawcross Crandall, the manager of Warning Sign. What she’d found out had surprised her. She definitely hadn’t expected the shark-eyed, low-voiced blond bombshell who’d practically had her arrested to be the type to slum with rockstars. Not that rockstars were slumming, but she didn’t really match up the usual grungy rocker with a woman with flawless makeup, a Donna Karan suit, and Jimmy Choos.
But who was she to judge? Lauren’s body of knowledge about rockers could be held in a shot glass with room left over.
“Good for her,” Ethan mumbled, his tone indicating his level of interest. Which was nil. “Since she probably isn’t my type anyway, I’ll try not to cry over my Apple stock.”
Lauren rolled her eyes. Typical Ethan. He was a gentleman to the core despite his big talk about being a love ‘em and leave ‘em kind of guy with impossibly high standards. Of course, she was also the only woman he wasn’t related to who had been in his life for longer than a weekend. They’d been friends since her third grade enrichment classes, run by Ethan the sixth-grade brainiac himself. Their age difference hadn’t kept them from striking up a friendship that had endured for almost fifteen years, continuing even while she’d been sequestered away at an all girls’ private boarding school in Vermont.
She just chose to tune out the stories about his conquests. Must be what having a brother felt like. You knew they had sex, you just didn’t want to know a thing about it.
Not even a single thing.
Onstage, a couple techs bustled around, moving cords and equipment, testing the microphones and the lights. The arena was filling up fast, and as she craned her neck back to see the rows and rows of seats high above them—she’d been blessed by the radio gods for these seats, that was for damn sure—she tried to imagine how it felt to stand on that stage.
To look out and see everyone shouting for you. To hear your name being yelled, your songs sung back to you. To watch girls cry just at the chance to stand beside you.
She couldn’t fathom any of it. Sure, she’d taken eight years of piano lessons, and still retained a surprising amount of what she’d been taught, but she’d only taken them because her parents expected her to have a musical hobby. She enjoyed music, but more to soak it up and in than to play it herself. If she had a grand passion, she’d yet to find it.
Passions in general were hard to come by in her life. She’d resigned herself to that years ago when yet another date had turned grabby hands with her after paying for her movie. Back then, men had unnerved her. After four years at an all girls school, it had been weird to reintegrate and realize how far behind she was all the girls she’d known before. They were all happily having sex and in steady relationships while she was managing to have a couple awkward dates that never added up to much.
Almost six years after high school and only a few months from her twenty-fourth birthday, she couldn’t claim to have proceeded much past that. Thank God for Tumblr, which had filled in many of her blanks. And made her super horny, which was neither here nor there.
Still, she believed in honesty. When a man asked her out, she told them upfront what they were dealing with so she didn’t have to put up with rudeness and too many probing questions later.
I’m a virgin. Is that a problem for you?
Like clockwork, the guy hit the door and kept right on running.
