Playing Me: A Rockstar Romance Read online

  Playing Me

  Jenny Lynn

  All rights reserved

  Copyright © Jenny Lynn

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  Soundtrack

  World Outside by The Devlins

  Way Down We Go by Kaleo

  Closer by Kings of Leon

  Bad Romance by 30 Seconds to Mars

  Sail by AWOLNATION

  Tearing Me Up by Bob Moses

  Two Weeks by FKA Twigs

  Haunted by Beyonce

  Young and Beautiful by Lana Del Rey

  Don’t You Remember by Adele

  Good to Love by FKA Twigs

  Nothing Compares to You by Chris Cornell

  Out of the Woods by Ryan Adams

  Left Handed Kisses by Andrew Bird

  My Wrecking Ball by Ryan Adams

  Cold Water by Damien Rice

  Love you Till the End by The Pogues

  Prologue

  Corinne

  Twenty years earlier

  It’s late. I know because it’s pitch black, but also because of how still and quiet the world outside is. Beth is asleep in her small bed across from mine, breathing softly, and mama is probably still at work. Hearing daddy play guitar through the thin walls always wakes me up. I can’t help it, I’m drawn to his music. He tells me it lives in me just like it lives in him.

  I slip from underneath the sheets and tiptoe across the floor of our bedroom to the door, slowly opening it and poking my head out. Daddy is strumming the guitar, mumbling words, then he stops to write. Strum, mumble, write. He does it again and again, I’m mesmerized. When he looks up and our eyes lock he raises an eyebrow.

  “What are you doing out of bed, pumpkin?”

  “I just wanted to listen.” I step out through the doorway, edging closer to him.

  “Your mama won’t be happy that you’re out of bed so late.”

  I grin. “But you’re not going to tell her.”

  Daddy tries to look stern for a moment, then a laugh breaks through his lips. “No, I suppose you’re right. I’m not going to tell her. C’mere, Corinne. Tell me what you think of this.”

  Delight ripples through me and I rush over, plopping down at his feet like an eager puppy. I push my hair out of my face and look up at him, beaming. I love listening to daddy play. He starts to strum his guitar; the room fills with music, then he adds the most incredible instrument of all - his voice. He creates a world with that voice transporting me far away from our rickety old trailer to a place where everything is as beautiful as the sounds he creates. I haven’t heard this one before, it’s new. It’s spectacular. I’m rooted to the ground, music swirling all around me, and when he finishes playing the absence of sound leaves me wanting more.

  “Well, what d’you think?”

  I start nodding and clapping, trying to stay quiet so I don’t wake Beth but wanting him to see my enthusiasm. He looks past me to the clock on the wall then puts down his guitar.

  “Come on, pumpkin,” he reaches down and scoops me up into his arms. “Your mom will be home soon and I don’t want to give her a reason to be mad at me.” I giggle as he places me into my bed and tucks me in. He kisses my forehead, his prickly beard tickling my skin.

  “Goodnight Corinne.”

  “Goodnight daddy.”

  He goes back out to the other room and starts to strum his guitar again, practicing his new song. Maybe this will be the one that he sells, maybe one day my daddy will be famous. How could he not be famous? He’s the best musician I know, the best in all the world I bet. Jake Williams will be a star and take us away from this trailer park. It’s just a matter of time. I dream of his success, of a better future for all of us, and I drift off to sleep with a smile on my face.

  Chapter One

  Archer

  It's a rush like nothing else, standing backstage and hearing them chant my name. Screaming for me. Archer! Archer! Archer! An incantation meant to summon me from the darkness into the spotlight. Those quiet moments when I stand backstage, a bottle of whiskey in my hand, I think to myself - this is the closest thing to being a God. To being worshipped.

  "Ready to head out there?" Billy, my lead guitarist and best friend, appears at my side.

  "In a minute. I like to make them wait for it. It's all about the anticipation."

  Billy chuckles and shakes his head, he's used to me by now. He knows how I like to work, and he can't argue it's been effective. Together we went from playing in our school gym, to Chicago dive bars and now this. A sold-out stadium of fans in a near frenzy waiting to hear us, to see me. Despite what my piece of shit father thought, I always told Billy we'd make it someday and I was right. Our band had made it big time.

  I close my eyes and take one last swig of whiskey, listening to the crowd. They’ve waited long enough. I toss the bottle carelessly to the ground where it smashes open, then stroll on stage at an unhurried pace. The cheers turn to a deafening roar as I plant myself firmly in front of the microphone facing forward towards the sea of people. It is a rush like nothing else, and I’m addicted.

  “Boston, are you ready?” I ask, my voice dropping low. The screams continue and I smirk, winking at a group of women in the front row. They grab onto each other and shriek in reply.

  We start off our set hard and fast with one of our quicker paced songs. My band around me is focused and well-practiced. After all these years together we’re a well-oiled music machine. My voice carries through the microphone over the speakers, reaching every corner of this vast space. For our next two songs we slow it down a bit, give the crowd a chance to catch their breath, then we launch into our most recent hit and they all lose their minds. Push and pull, keep them from guessing what’s coming next. I like to think of it as a form of seduction, teasing and then rewarding the crowd. Women, audiences, instruments. I can skillfully play them all.

  We push through our set list, five more songs a mix of old and new material. When we’re done I stand in the spotlight and wave. “Goodnight Boston, you’ve been a fucking blast!”

  As soon as I’m out of sight backstage I hear them clamoring, shouting for an encore. They always do, and I always deliver. I pick up a guitar and stroll back out alone as planned. The women shriek as soon as I reappear. I stand in front of them and start to strum, a hush falls over the crowd as I play. I sing into the microphone, letting my hands work the strings. This is where I pretend I have a soft, sentimental side. Where I pretend I care about something other than making music, getting drunk and getting laid. It’s important to seem like you have layers, even if underneath it all, what makes you tick is pretty simple.

  I finish, and the applause is thunderous. I catch the eye of a sexy blonde in the front row with killer curves, her tits round and full. She smiles at me. She’ll do. I wave to the crowd one last time then head backstage, adrenaline coursing through my veins. I’m always so pumped up after a show. I gesture for the bouncer, a huge beast of a man, and he comes over. We peer around the corner from the stage.

  “That one,” I gesture to the blond.

  “Alone or with friends?”

  “Whatever, I don’t care.”

  I head to the green room to join up with the rest of the band while the bouncer fetches for me. Inside the room I find a towel and wipe my face, then strip off my sweaty t-shirt switching it for a fresh one.

  “You sold a lot of merch tonight,” our manager Scott is checking his phone nodding at whatever he is seeing on the screen.

  “Great set tonight,” says Dane, our bassist. Our drumm
er Ray is already focused on a sandwich, always a man of few words but a killer sense of beat.

  “I don’t know, you sounded a bit off pitch when you were singing Last Day,” Billy tells me. I grimace and throw my dirty shirt at him which he dodges, laughing.

  “I fucking wasn’t.”

  “Don’t forget, you have an interview,” Scott says as he gestures to a serious looking brunette waiting in the corner. She has dark-rimmed glasses and her hair is tied back. One of those attractive girls trying hard not to look hot so people take them seriously. Those are the ones to look for. When they let loose, from my experience, it’s pretty wild. The chicks who act the most proper are usually just waiting for the wrong kind of a guy to give them an excuse to let it out.

  I stroll towards her with a smile and drop onto the couch beside her, stretching my arms behind me. She inches away from me and clears her throat, I chuckle. Go ahead. I like a challenge sweetheart.

  “Archer, my name is Vicky, from the Boston Times. Thanks for making the time for me today.”

  “The pleasure is all mine, Vicky. That’s a pretty name.”

  Her cheeks flush and she clears her throat again as she fumbles with her notebook and scans her questions. It’s adorable. She must be new at this.

  “Be easy on her Archer,” shouts Billy from across the room.

  “My first question,” Vicky begins, her voice trembling slightly, “is what do you hope fans take away from your new album?”

  “I want people to think about everything in life they’ve been too afraid to go after, and just go for it. But most of all, I want people to enjoy it.”

  “You’re wrapping up a U.S. tour with your final show tomorrow night in New York. What can fans expect?”

  “For me and the band to blow it out of the water and give it everything we’ve got on our last show. Then it’s time to hit the studio and start working on our next album.”

  “Speaking of your next album,” Vicky shifts in her seat. “What do you say to your critics who feel your music has lost a lot of the grit and soul it had in the beginning?”

  “I don’t get your meaning, Vicky.” My smile slides off my face. So much for an easy interview. She squirms visibly. Good.

  “Um, well, there have been a few critics who, and I’m just paraphrasing here, say that you’ve sold out. That your new music lacks substance.”

  “Well it’s a good thing I write for the fans and not for the fucking critics then, isn’t it?”

  “That’s a valid perspective,” Vicky says. “Last question. It’s no secret you have a lot of female fans. On their behalf I have to ask, is there anyone special in your life right now?”

  I lean my body towards her, scan her face with my eyes. “No one special. But I’m always looking, Vicky.”

  Her cheeks are burning, her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose slightly.

  “You have a bit of a reputation as a heartbreaker. Do you think that’s fair?”

  “No, not at all. I’m on tour a lot, and I guess sometimes I get really lonely. It’s a hard lifestyle sometimes and not for everyone.” From across the room I see Billy roll his eyes and shake his head. “Say, Vicky, if that’s your last question can I get you a drink?” I slide my arm behind her casually.

  Scott interrupts. “I think Vicky has everything she needs for her article, don’t you Vicky?”

  Vicky blinks, then nods. She reaches out her hand and after a second I shake it.

  “It’ll be online tomorrow,” she tells Scott.

  “Thanks Vicky,” he smiles his million-dollar smile and leads her out the door. She looks back at me one last time, I can tell she doesn’t want to leave. Once she’s gone from sight Scott shakes his head at me and raises a finger. “Never the reporters, we agreed, Archer.”

  I laugh. He’s always spoiling my fun, and I think Vicky would have been fun. He’s right though. Last month I screwed a hot little magazine reporter, then ignored her calls. Apparently I had promised to take her out, I say a lot of things I don’t mean when I’m horny. To say that the article had been less than glowing would be an understatement. She may have insinuated I’m a woman-hating pig, or something along those lines. Like I’m the one to blame for her spreading her legs.

  As soon as the door opens the group of women, including my blond, are standing on the other side. Just like that Vicky is a distant memory. These women are always eager to please. They want a night with a famous musician, and I want a night to lose myself with a beautiful and willing partner who will do anything I want. We both get something out of it, this suits me just fine.

  I make eye contact with my blond and pat the seat next to me where Vicky was just moments earlier. She brushes her hair over her shoulder then strolls over, her hips swinging, then seats herself beside me. I look her over, her short skirt sits high on her thighs.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Candy.”

  I hold in a laugh. A Boston bleached blond named Candy. Of fucking course she is. “Want a drink?”

  She nods and I look towards Scott who grabs two bottles of beer and hands them over to me. I pass Candy one then tap mine against hers and take a long deep drink as my hand finds its place on the soft skin of her thigh. The other girls are mingling with the rest of the band and suddenly the room is filled with voices. I half listen to Candy while she starts to drone on about something. I can give her tonight, but nothing else. That’s about all I want to give any woman. That’s about all any of them are worth to me.

  Chapter Two

  Corinne

  I have a stack of flyers in my bag and I’ve been walking for hours. My feet are protesting in my boots but it’s all going to be worth it tonight. As the opening act, I get a portion of the bar sales so it's in my best interests to bring in a crowd tonight. The music scene in New York is a tough business but it’s just a matter of time, and luck, before I get my big break. In the meantime I’m hitting the pavement to promote my music when I’m not working at the diner to pay the bills. I smile and walk into a coffee shop, heading for the counter.

  “Hi,” I wave at the man standing there. “My name is Corinne, I’m playing at The Velvet tonight. I was wondering if I could put a poster up.”

  He looks me over, contemplating my request. I place my hands together in front of me.

  “Please?” I add.

  “Sure,” he shrugs.

  “Thank you so much.”

  I take out a poster and my roll of tape, attaching it to the wall where it joins the other hopefuls. Art shows, plays, other musicians. We’re all struggling for space on the wall, struggling for space in this competitive city trying to make our dreams a reality. I smile again and wave, heading back out onto the street.

  I stop at six more places, four let me put up posters. I’ve done everything I can do. Back on the subway I make my way to the Brooklyn apartment I share with my roommate, Nancy. She’s seated on our faded second-hand couch when I walk in the door.

  “Hey,” I nod at her as I walk past towards my room.

  “I put eight posters up on campus today,” she tells me.

  “Nancy you’re the best. Are you still coming tonight?”

  “Why do you think I’m plowing through my assignments now? To make sure I’m completely free tonight. I wouldn’t miss it.”

  “Love you,” I say as I walk down our three step hallway to my room.

  I’m convinced this apartment used to be a one bedroom but the landlords added a wall so they could squeeze another tenant into it and charge more. It was cramped but for a student and musician the rent was somewhat affordable. Well, affordable for New York at least. I met Nancy four years ago when I answered her ad for a roommate. We clicked right away, bonding over our shared love of bad horror movies and good pizza. She didn’t mind that I was always playing music, in fact she enjoyed listening to me practice in the background while she studied. She was my best friend in this big, anonymous city and always supported me. We were both broke, but the sha
red struggle just strengthened our bond.

  I hit a switch and the strings of lights I had strung up around my room pop on, casting the small room in a warm glow. There was my bed, a tiny desk and a closet - that’s all I could fit. My guitar was propped in its case in the corner and I ran my hand over it affectionately. Tonight, we’re going to make great music together, I thought to myself. I’m the opening act for a bigger band, but it’s a great gig I was lucky to get after the owners of the Velvet suggested me when the other openers cancelled at the last minute. I needed to be at the top of my game tonight.

  I headed for the bathroom and creaked on the faucet, stripped then stood under the stream of water. It starts off ice cold and I grit my teeth, but after a few minutes it warms to a tolerable temperature. I wash my hair, shave my legs and scrub my body. When I was done I grabbed my towel, wrapped it around myself and headed back to my bedroom.

  My red a-line dress was hanging in the closet waiting for me, an amazing thrift store find. I pulled on my underwear, roughly drying my hair, then get to work on my makeup facing the mirror on my desk. When I’m done I blow dry then use my curling iron to coax my hair into soft waves, holding my breath as I set the style with hairspray. My reflection looks polished, sexy, confident. All I need to do now is pretend that’s how I feel inside instead of the nervous wreck I really am. I get into my dress and slide on my tan wedges, then pick up my bag and guitar as I check the clock. It’s time to head over to the Velvet for soundcheck.

  “See you there,” I tell Nancy as I head for the door.

  “You’re going to kill it!” she shouts after me.

  During the subway ride I take deep breaths to calm my nerves, gripping my guitar case tightly. Opening for a bigger band is a step up from playing smaller lounges and coffee shops. This was an opportunity I needed to make the most of.

  I get off at my stop then carry my things with me. I rush inside not wanting to be late, the bar was setting up for the night and there was a team wiring equipment on stage. Excitement and nerves were swirling inside me, I grip my guitar case and head over.