Page 1 of Rockstar Rescue
CHAPTER 1
DYLAN
"Hey, Dylan," Clara purrs, her voice cutting through the thunderous roar beyond the red curtain.
The attractive blonde stage manager slides alongside me, her warm, bare arm snaking around my shoulders
"The crowd's hungry for you."
Clara’s luscious red lips point dangerously close to mine. Her whispered words carry a promise that makes my pulse quicken. "And I'm ready for you, too."
Her green eyes flash with something primal, something I shouldn't want.
But I do.
We’re old friends, Clara and me.
Bedfellows, too.
"What do you say you come over to my place after the performance? We can make it a real party.”
The question hangs between us like a ticking bomb. I know I should refuse. It always ends the same way: an incredible night of the most crazy-ass sex a man could want.
Unlike after-concert hookups with the usual groupies, with Clara there’s no need for me to act likeDylan the rockstar. We could just chill.
Enjoy a fun night of naughty nookie, friends-with-benefits style.
“Can’t,” I force myself to say. “The band’s leaving as soon as the set ends. Need to head out before the storm hits.”
I give her a quick hug and check on my young band in the dressing room. It’s their first tour with me.
“Ready, guys? It’s showtime.”
They follow me, pumped up and feeding off the energy of the mostly college-age crowd.
I stomp onto the stage, raising my Fender guitar high in the air.
The crowd roars. And just like that, I launch into my latest hit. I aim the guitar at the crowd, Johnny Cash style. It’s been my schtick for so long I’m usually credited with creating it.
Jimmy—he’s my drummer—hits his sticks hard. His violent rhythm forces me to go faster and harder than I like. But he knows that it stirs the audience into a frenzy.
In five minutes' time, the crowd’s whipped into a near trance. They hold up their lighters as they chant my name.
A few of the girls even toss their panties on stage.
Ridiculous.
But that bit of silk and lace on the stage floor turns my guys on. I was the same way when I was their age.
When the concert finally ends, we run through the crowd like always. Our way of making a physical connection with the fans.
A pretty blonde in the aisle nearly trips me as I run past. “Meet my mom!” she yells, face flushed as she pushes an older woman forward. “She’s your biggest fan.”
Her mom?I can’t be that old, can I?
I flash a smile and a thumbs-up . Then I exit to hook up with the rest of the guys.
They’re already pulling away some of the prettier girls and ushering them into the tour bus.
