My Rock #8 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #8) (5 page)

“Yeah, we are good together,” he said. He pulled me
back into his chest and with his lips just inches from mine he said, “I love
you, Elly.”

Everything inside of me melted. Before I could
respond he crushed his lips back down on mine and kissed me again. That one
took all the breath out of me and when he pulled back this time he said,
“Should we head home?”

I nodded and he bent to pick up his duffel bag. He
stood back up and reached for my hand and I said, “I love you, too, Tristan. I
think I’ve loved you since I was twelve years old.”

He grinned again and in that arrogant, but sexy way
he has about him he said, “I know.”

CHAPTER
TEN

TRISTAN

FIVE
YEARS LATER

I was standing in the vocal room with my headphones
on looking towards the cavernous studio across the microphone at my beautiful
wife and thinking about the bumpy road we took to get to this point in our
lives. I was there, along for the ride, but I knew that I had Elly to thank for
it all. If it wasn’t for her, I’d have been living on the streets or worse—possibly
dead by then. I was five years clean and sober and here in the studio recording
my third album; I had a fucking amazing life.

I smiled at Elly and looked back through the glass
at the big studio with the guitar cases and cymbal boxes and music sheets lying
around. The bassist and drummer from my band were in there getting ready as
were the back-up singers. Being there was amazing, although it was far removed
from being on stage, which I preferred. I would always crave the bright lights
and the stinky smoke that puffed out of the machines—and most of all, the
screaming fans—but this was the route to staying there. Cranking out those new
CD’s and reeling in the fans was all part of it, and by then I was grown up
enough to realize I had to do the things I didn’t like as much as the ones I
did. It was so easy when I was younger to just say fuck it and let someone else
worry about it. But, that was what had gotten me broke and washed up before I
was really even a man.
 

I was also finally listening to my agent, and my
wife, and thinking about doing the talk show circuit. It was like another other
type of artistry; marketing was more than half the battle. I’d learned that a
little late in life, but I’d learned. I didn’t care for the idea, mostly
because I knew they’d want to know about my fall from fame and what happened
and why. I’d never really talked about that with anyone except Elly and my
therapist. I just kept telling myself that I could do it. I’d come a long way
and I had a lot to be proud of.

The music writing had come along great over the
years, too. The happier my life was, the easier the words came…even when they
were painful words from the past. That’s what got me through it, knowing it was
in my past and not a part of my present or future. I actually hoped that
singing about it would help someone else get through it. I hadn’t done much in
my life to help other people so far, and I guess if that’s all I did, at least
it was something. Love songs come a lot easier, too, since I met Elly. I used
to think it was all bullshit and it made for a crappy song. Now, I knew it’s
possible, so when I write about it, there’s a touch of realism to it. That’s
what Elly and I were singing, one of the love songs I’d written.

While we waited for everyone else to get ready, I
remembered back to the first time I walked into that place. I’d come back to
L.A. with Elly by my side after we walked out on the
Fresh Voices
tour. The following week, we met with Manny Diaz in
his office on the thirtieth floor of a glass building in Burbank. The recording
studio is on the first floor, and after we signed the contracts, he walked us
down to have a look around. I was mesmerized. I’d been in a recording studio
before, of course, but I’d been a kid…and a punk…and usually stoned out of my
mind. It was like seeing it all for the first time or with a new pair of eyes. That
day, when Manny opened the door that led from the reception to the control room,
I could almost smell the music. There were pictures hung all around the room of
artists that had recorded here before. They were artists that I idolized; some
that I modeled my music after. There was one there of me amongst them. It was
one of my proudest moments.

Along the front part of the room that faced the glass,
there were boards and knobs and dials and a computer screen bigger than any
television I’d ever seen. Through another door was the machine room where the
big machines did their business. They made a lot of noise so they sat at the
back in a sound proof room, and everything that happened between the control
room and the vocal room happened through our headsets.

Through the expansive glass that surrounded the
control room, I could see the recording room and the vocal room. It was the
ultimate goal of a serious musician to make it there. I’d had that chance and blown
it once, and at the moment Manny walked us in there, I promised myself it would
never happen again. I was going to make the best of every chance I got. I had
to, for my sake and the sake of the woman who had saved me.

Five years later Elly was my wife and we were
recording a duet together for the album. She still didn’t get what an amazing
voice she has. It was hard for me to fathom. I’ve always known that I could
sing…always. When I was four years old, I knew I was going to be a star. Some
people might call that arrogance, but I just call it being aware of your God-given
talent and knowing how to use it to its fullest potential. As a kid, I had no
idea how to do that, and I had no one with the patience and ability to teach
me. Elly changed all that, and for that alone, I will be eternally grateful.

“You two ready?” Rick, the sound engineer asked us.

“Ready!” We said at once. The song was a love song,
like I said. I’d written it about us and we’d only really
sang
it through together a few times, so I wasn’t sure how it was going to go. Elly
was nervous, but she was less nervous than she was the night I convinced her to
do the duet with me onstage in front of a live audience of millions of people.
I smiled at her again as I thought about how she was willing to give up her job
to do that for me. Sometimes I can’t believe I was selfish enough to ask her
to. I guess I’m glad, I was because it all turned out so well…but however you
look at it, I was a selfish ass.

I snapped out of my memories and into the mic I told
the engineer to cue the band. A few seconds later the music started, and when
it was time, Elly and I started singing. Every minor missed note either on our
part or the part of the band or the back-up artists was caught and we’d have to
start over. By the time it was perfect enough for the engineer—and Manny, who
had shown up half way through—it was late afternoon and everyone was exhausted.
Elly and I went out into the control room to say hello to Manny when we
finished, and by that time my agent and self-proclaimed P.R. specialist, Jerry,
had come in as well. He was incredible at what he did, but he was also an
incredible pain in my ass.

“Tristan!
Elly! That was fabulous! It was fabulous!” Jerry always used words like ‘fabulous’
and ‘top-notch’ and ‘magnificent.’ No one knew how he really felt about
anything. He was so full of shit that he smelled like it sometimes, but he knew
everyone in town and he could get your name out there in lights faster than
anyone else, so Elly was constantly telling me to grin and bear his bullshit. I
did my best.

“Thank you, Jerry,” my sweet, polite wife said.

He kissed her on each cheek and said, “I’m not even
kidding Elly, you’re magnificent!”

Elly smiled and looked over at me. All it took her
these days was one look at my face to know what I was thinking, and right now
she knew I was thinking that as fabulous as I knew she was, this guy was still
full of shit.

He turned to me then and said, “Tristan, baby!” He
had his arms open, and after five years of me dodging his touch, he seemed to
still believe I was going to hug him. The thought of touching a man didn’t appeal
to me in the least, but the thought of touching Jerry’s soft squishy body
actually repulsed me a little. I put my hand out instead and he giggled like a
little girl before shaking it. Then he said, “How about
The Dialogue
next Monday morning?”

“What’s that?” I asked him.

“Are you kidding? Five of the hottest women in show
business sit around a table and interview celebrities every morning. It’s a
wildly popular show. How could you not know what it is?”

I shrugged, “I don’t watch much television.”

“Well, you should because anyone who is anyone will
be talking about you in the next few months. This is going to be your most
successful album yet and we’re going to make sure that everyone knows who you
are, even if they never turn on the radio.”

I looked at Manny and he said, “Jerry’s the expert,
Tristan. I’d listen to him if I were you.” I looked at Elly and she smiled and
nodded too.

I looked back at Jerry then and said, “Alright, I’ll
be there.”

“One more thing,” he said.

“What’s that?”

“You have to watch the potty mouth. No four letter
words.”

“You think I can’t talk like a professional,
motherfucker?” I grinned and he shook his head. His jowls wiggled back and
forth as he did.

“Be good!” he said.

With another grin I said, “I always am; ask my wife.”
I got elbowed in the ribs by Elly for that.

CHAPTER
ELEVEN

ELLY

Tristan had been trying to get me to record with him
for years. Today was the first time I finally gave in. I knew I could sing, but
I wasn’t convinced I could sing well enough for an album that was surely going
to sell millions of copies. I finally agreed to do it in the middle of a
passionate romp with my husband. He’d convinced me in ways that a lady
shouldn’t ever tell. So there I was in the recording studio on the side of the
glass that’s usually reserved for rock stars. It was a long day, but when they
played it back to us, I had to admit that Jerry was right: it was fabulous.

I was kind of anxious to get home, but Tristan
seemed to be hanging back for some reason. When everyone was gone except for
the sound engineer, I saw Tristan
take
him aside and
whisper in his ear. The guy smiled and looked at me and I knew in an instant
what my horny husband was planning.

After Rick left I said, “What was that about?”
Tristan walked over to the door Rick had just gone out of and flipped the lock.
He grinned at me with that same gorgeous, irresistible grin he’d been using on
me for the past five years to get what he wanted. It worked as well as it
always did. Within minutes I was in his arms with his sexy lips on mine and his
hands working on unsnapping, unhooking, and unbuttoning everything I was
wearing.

I didn’t complain, especially when he broke the kiss
and looked up at me and said, “I love you.”

“I love you too, baby,” I told him. I’d loved him
since I was twelve years old. I slid my body around behind him and grabbed hold
of the bottom of his t-shirt. I slid the shirt up, running my palms along the
sides of his sexy hard body as I did. He held up his arms and allowed me to
pull it off of him and discard it onto the pile of my own clothes. I continued
to stand behind him, letting my hands travel across his hard shoulders and down
across his smooth, sexy belly. They found their way to the top of his pants and
the button and zipper were easily released. I slid the pants and boxers down
with one motion, and as I moved back up to let my hands travel across the
prize, he stepped out of them. Still standing behind him with his bare ass
pressed against my body, I took his hard cock into one hand and began stroking
it. I gently slid the other hand between his thighs and found his balls. He
shivered and made a sound through his gritted teeth as I began to massage them.
I kissed the back of his neck and shoulders as I stroked and groped him. I was
savoring the beauty of my husband and I loved it.

Tristan let me play for a little while. I loved
feeling his muscles tense and quiver under my touch. When he finally couldn’t
take any more, he took a step forward and spun around to face me. He grinned
and then dipped his head down so that he could press his lips against my neck.
He ran them softly along the curve of it, all the way down to my collarbone and
back up again. Then he did it again, only that time using his tongue. The third
pass was lips, tongue and a sharp, erotic bite to the sensitive, supple skin
just below my ear. I could feel it all the way through my chest and down into
my belly. It exploded in wet sensations that dripped warm liquid along my inner
thighs. Then he pressed his lips to my ear and the vibrations of it alone sent
me into an almost convulsive state as he said, “You’re so fucking sexy, baby.”

I put my head back and he knew what I wanted. He
locked his lips back against mine for a passionate kiss as our hands continued
to search each other’s bodies like they were unfamiliar territory. As we kissed,
he walked me backwards over to the brown, suede sofa in the control room. I
briefly considered the stains we might leave on it, but by the time he laid me
back on it and I looked up at the body I loved so much, I’d forgotten all about
the cleanliness of the couch.