She barely looked up from the register. “What can I get for you?”
“I’ll have two carne asada tacos and your number.”
Her head straightened and her eyes met mine, her lashes rapidly blinking. “Oh my god! You’re Dax, aren’t you? I’m so sorry I didn’t notice you there. What are you doing out here? You’ll get mobbed.”
People starting exploding out of the concert hall, and she was right, I had to get backstage. “It’s cool. Bring me my food to my dressing room.” I threw down a twenty-dollar bill and handed her a laminated back stage pass.
She brushed her hand through her hair, and rubbed the back of her neck. I winked at her and gave her my signature head nod. Before she could say a word, I disappeared backstage.
I stalked passed my singer, Trey. Motherfucker, tried to shake my hand. Fuck him. Fuck them all. Guy was a dick, always had been. Long time suffered of LSD, Lead Singer Disease. I was honest to god glad to be free of these fuckers, I just wished I could’ve left on my own terms.
I opened my dressing room, grateful that the bullshit statement about my departure wouldn’t be released until tomorrow. Creative differences my ass. But I refused to be a sob story to the media. I had a plan. Tomorrow I would vanish, and I would make my own path. I was twenty-one, I had my whole life ahead of me.
I peeled off my leather pants and hopped into the shower. The hot water scalded my skin, and I scrubbed the concert off of my chest.
I heard a knock at the door. Great—dinner had arrived. And dessert.
“Dax, uhm it’s Marisol, from Carnal Asada? I brought your food. I’ll just leave it at the table.”
Not so fast sweetheart. “Hey, hold up. I’ll be out in a second.”
I wrapped a towel around my waist, and opened the bathroom door. “Thanks, babe. Hey, what are you doing tonight?”
Her eyes scanned my body, dropping briefly to my cock but then focusing back on my face. “I have to clean up at the restaurant and then I was going to head home.”
I walked over to her, careful to maintain eye contact. “No, you’re not. You’re coming to Vegas with me.”
Her jaw dropped, wide enough for me to imagine my cock in it. “Vegas? You’re out of your mind. Don’t you have groupies or something?”
I laughed. “Groupies bore the fuck out of me. My bandmates are assholes, everyone in my entourage is paid to tell me how fucking awesome I am. I want a good girl who wants to be bad. Are you game?”
Order Now:
The Virgin & The Rockstar
About Alana
ALANA ALBERTSON IS the former President of RWA’s Contemporary Romance, Young Adult, and Chick Lit chapters. She holds a M.Ed. from Harvard and a BA in English from Stanford. She lives in San Diego, California, with her husband, two sons, and five rescue dogs. When she’s not saving dogs from high kill shelters through her rescue Pugs N Roses, she can be found watching episodes of Cobra Kai, Younger, or Dallas Cowboys Cheerleaders: Making the Team.
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Also by Alana Albertson
Want more romantic reads?
Try my other books!
Heroes Ever After
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Season One Box Set
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Season Two:
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Acknowledgments
I would like to thank my editors for turning this book into what it was meant to be:
Kelli Collins—your razor sharp edits made Ryan shine
Gwen Hayes—clarifying the beats and forcing me to go deeper
Chris—For your amazing line edits.
Lauren Clarke—your coaching has given me such clarity.
To Nicole Blanchard: For listening to my endless rants and encouraging (forcing) me to finish it.
To Kelsey Keeton: for this amazing picture.
To Aria Tan: For creating this gorgeous cover.
To my wonderful husband Roger for loving me and taking care of me while I write.
To my two beautiful sons, Connor and Caleb for your smiles, your laughter, your hugs and kisses.
To all the fans who have been so supportive of my books