Guitar Freak

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The next big thing in rock, that’s what they call us. I’m going to make damn sure we get there, too. I’m 100% focused on my music. No time for women, no time for romance. It’s just me and my guitar.

Then she walks into our soundcheck. Ellie. Wild, out of control and oozing sex appeal.

I can’t let that woman distract me. I can’t get drawn into her issues. But, for some reason, I can’t resist her.

Join The Freaks on tour for your hit of hot rockers and sizzling romance.

Guitar Freak is book 1 in the 4 book Rock Stars on Tour series but can be read as a standalone.

Chapter One Preview

She walked into the sound check like she owned the place. Typical groupie in heat: leopard-print fake fur coat, fishnet-covered legs that went on for miles, sunglasses covering her eyes, glossed-up lips and that “fuck me” attitude.

She had to be here for Elijah. Everything about her screamed his type. Elijah shrugged without missing a beat on his bass. Then he shook his head at my unspoken question.

Not his? Well, she sure as hell wasn’t Crow’s type. I wasn’t even sure if Crow had a type but if he did, it wouldn’t be her. And the new guy, Matt—he had no interest in groupies. Not when he had that hot model girlfriend.

She might’ve been my type once. Before I grew up and got serious about my music. It hadn’t taken long to learn that girls like her were bad news.

Hell, we’d only been in Berlin a few hours before we headed to the arena to set up. It wasn’t like any of the guys had had time to pick up. She had to just be a general band hound, looking for what she could get.

And what she could get would be gone. I had zero tolerance for groupies in sound check.

I kept singing and playing but searched the empty arena until I caught the eye of the head of security. I gave a nod toward the groupie. We’d talk later about how the hell she’d been allowed in. For now, I just wanted her to hightail it out of here instead of leaning on the barrier in front of me, all tits and legs and eyes blazing with sex.

Ever since the fans had found out I didn’t do groupies, I’d become a challenge for a certain type of woman. The type who thought they were the exception. I’d been promised the best head of my life, threesomes, foursomes, and much, much more. If the human mind could conceive of it, I’d had a groupie offer it. But I had zero fucks to give. Literally. There was me and my music. I wasn’t a saint, but I didn’t screw around on tour. I had bigger plans. Plans that involved no dramas and no distractions.

Hell, she sucked on a lollipop. Way too obvious and way too immature. But, Jesus, that was hot. She took it out of her mouth and ran her tongue around it. The way her tongue flicked over that sweet orb made my cock twitch. I wouldn’t let my cock control me, though. It was just a visual stimulation.

I tried not to look at her. We were already running about half an hour late with this sound check, but the sound guy just couldn’t get the mix right. For the first night of the European leg of the tour, this wasn’t looking good. I inhaled. I wouldn’t lose my temper with him. That wouldn’t help at all. And I wouldn’t look at that groupie, either.

Instead of staring straight ahead, I checked out the arena. It wasn’t much different from a thousand other places we’d played. Three levels. Cleaner and newer than a lot of places we’d played. A few massive screens around the place. I bet Elijah had sussed out every screen and every camera. He loved nothing better than seeing his ugly mug up there, larger than life. Loved it even more when he got a crotch shot on camera. So did the fans, to be honest. We had to have one showman in the band.

The arena wasn’t that huge. Only around 17,000 capacity. I’d wanted to play somewhere bigger, but management said sold-out shows in a smaller venue would create a bigger buzz. I couldn’t argue with that. He’d also said that the acoustics in this place were phenomenal, but I wasn’t feeling that, not with this sound check.

“Still too much bass,” I said over the mic when we’d finished the song.

That damn groupie hadn’t moved. The security guard approached her. I watched them out of the corner of my eye but went back to the beginning of the song. We’d get this sound right, no matter how long it took. We wouldn’t be going onstage tonight sounding anything less than perfect.

I waited until the security guy was throwing her out to start playing again. He stood beside her, letting her know she wasn’t welcome. Instead of leaving, though, she put her hands on her hips, all sass and attitude. Standing like that, with her coat open, I couldn’t miss the perkiness of her breasts. That dress she wore couldn’t be any tighter.

I don’t know what she said to the security guy, but he let her stay.

I’d made myself clear. No matter what they promised, no groupies in sound check. Ever.

That security guard could say goodbye to his job. I didn’t tolerate shit from the staff.

I kept my focus on the sound desk so she wouldn’t get the satisfaction of eye contact. Still, I was aware of every move she made. She sat down in the front row, legs crossed and that lollipop still in her mouth. She was way, way too much.

A few songs later, I decided we could call it quits. The sound guy had finally gotten it right, and we needed to clear out so the opener could get their sound check done.

“About bloody time,” the groupie yelled out. She’d stood up, hands on hips.

“Huh? Who the hell let you in here, anyway?”

God, she was ballsy. I had to give her that. The way she sneered at me suggested that she was the one with every right to be here, not me.

“The same person who let you in. Now, get your gear offstage so we can do our thing.”

She slowly removed her sunglasses. I ignored her and handed my guitar to the guitar tech. The other guys stopped packing up their gear to watch.

“I have no idea who you are, and I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now, stop being a pest and get out of here,” I said.

She pouted, straightening up to her full height. With her hips thrust forward like that, wildness radiated from her body. I hated that wildness.

“Hey, mister, I’m not getting out and I’m not going anywhere, so pull your head in. I’m here to rock!”

I stared at her, wondering if she was totally sane.

“I’m the support band. Well, part of it,” she added.

A couple of guys came to join her. But… no. There was no chick in the support band. I didn’t know much about them, but I’d listened to their CD. No chick singer. No mention of a chick.

“Is this a joke?”

“What? You don’t believe a woman can play bass?”

She had me there. I exhaled slowly. I’d assumed that the support band were all male. And she was right: a woman could play bass. I just hadn’t expected it to be that woman. Why the fuck had no one told me?

I’d fucked up.

I’d been so focused on other things, I hadn’t checked out the openers properly. I couldn’t blame management or the tour manager or anyone else. This was my tour, and everything stopped with me.

This woman would be on tour with us for the next three months. Already, she sent prickles of annoyance up and down my spine. I’d have to share a bus with her. I’d have to share a stage.

Maybe I could get them kicked off the tour. Anything rather than deal with her, because there was no way in hell she’d not be a distraction. I already hated her. I could not put up with that attitude for the entire tour.

I gathered up my stuff and walked offstage. I’d get out of here and clear her out of my mind. She’d be gone before we left Berlin, if I had my way. No dramas, no distractions. That was my mantra for this tour.

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