Dirty Little Mistake (Hard to Love #2)

Chapter 2

Trystan

T he life of a rockstar was epic.

Women threw themselves at you. It didn't matter if you were a famous rock god or a wannabe rockstar with zero fame or money. You were somebody to them when you hit those notes on that stage.

Sweat stung my eyes as the final chord vibrated through my bones. The stage lights burned white-hot, turning the crowd into a writhing mass of shadows. My heart hammered against my ribs—the same rhythm as Cam's voice cutting through the wall of sound, screaming my lyrics back to me. One heartbeat of perfect silence stretched between the end of our song and the crowd's reaction. In that moment, I could almost pretend I was playing just for her.

Lifting the hem of my black t-shirt, I swiped it across my face, wiping the sweat away as I stared blindly through the bright stage lights. As the music stopped, the crowd went wild. Or maybe it was just easier to hear now that the stage was silent. My lips quirked into a smirk when her voice boomed over everyone else.

My gaze found her through the blinding lights, front and center like always. Cam never broke a promise—that's what first caught me off guard about her. Most people in this scene threw around empty words like confetti, but when Cam said she'd be there, she meant it.

Tonight she was radiant, her dark hair wild from dancing, those deep blue eyes holding mine with a challenge I couldn't decode, and her low-cut top accentuated the curves of her full tits, making my mind wander. Her smile wasn't the practiced seduction I got from groupies; it was genuine, teasing, like she saw right through my stage persona to whatever truth I was trying to hide.

The DJ started to spin, and the crowd retracted from the stage, spreading out within the club. Creed, Lennon, Saylor, and I packed up our equipment, all anxious to get to the afterparty to celebrate another successful gig and the good news we hadn't shared with anyone yet.

"Hey, baby." A tall, thin blonde smiled as I strolled off the stage. I rolled my eyes as I passed her. Groupies were a dime a dozen. There was an endless supply of them—always one ready and willing to do anything you wanted. "You want to party?"

"Yeah." I didn't bother turning around, keeping my eyes fixed on the exit. "Just not with you." The words came automatically, the same dismissal I'd used a hundred times before.

Even though I'd invited Cam to the afterparty to keep Kaia away from the cages, I'd never admit it was also to protect her. I liked Cam more than I was willing to admit out loud at this point in my life.

The back alley greeted me with blessed silence, broken only by the distant thrum of bass leaking through brick walls and the click of my boots on broken asphalt. Lennon's black SUV was hidden in the shadows, already growing crowded as bodies poured in—Saylor claiming shotgun, Creed sprawled across the back row, groupies filling every available inch of space between.

The drive to Lennon's felt endless, trapped in that rolling hotbox of competing scents: Saylor's expensive cologne fighting a losing battle against cheap body spray and sour sweat, the sharp chemical tang of someone's freshly dyed hair, strawberry vape juice that couldn't quite mask what else they were smoking.

The windows were cracked, but the night air that slipped in seemed to get lost before it reached my lungs. Each breath felt thinner than the last, the space between bodies growing smaller, until the SUV finally lurched to a stop, and I nearly fell out the door in my rush to escape.

The cool air hit my face, carrying with it the smell of cut grass and chlorine from the pool.

Lennon's street was a snapshot of suburban wealth—manicured lawns and cookie cutter houses. I glanced around. No sign of Jax's truck yet, which meant Cam wasn't there. Usually, these parties blurred together, but tonight felt sharp-edged, important.

Inside, the house was already pulsing like a living thing. Bodies pressed against the walls, music fighting with laughter. On any other night, I'd have jumped right in—but something kept me moving, pushing through the crowd of partiers, past girls with knowing smiles and outstretched drinks and unspoken offers.

The back door offered escape, and I took it, letting the relative quiet wash over me. The pool's surface rippled with reflected light, making patterns that reminded me of stage lights.

The pool house was at the end of the concrete path on the opposite end of the pool.

Lennon's pool house was a mini version of his home. Lennon was as broke as the rest of us, but five years ago, his parents were killed in a car accident, and he inherited all their assets, including this massive, beautiful home.

After he lost them, he fell into a black hole and blew the entire cash inheritance, and it wasn't until the reality of losing the last few things he had was staring him in the face that he was able to pull himself together. The house was paid off, but in order to maintain the bills and taxes, he worked a part-time gig and had a couple of roommates.

The door creaked open into darkness thick with smoke and cheap perfume. Bodies moved in shadows, forcing me to pick my way across the floor like navigating a minefield. Each step brought a new sound—a moan, a whisper, the wet sounds of desperate kisses.

I wanted to chill, smoke in peace, and then go find Cam.

Pulling my blunt to my lips, I flicked the lighter, bringing the heat to the tip, and inhaled as I leaned back on the granite countertop.

"I knew I'd find you here."

The voice slithered through the darkness. I exhaled smoke, watching it curl in the dim light as footsteps clicked closer. Another groupie—this one small and dark-haired like Cam, but wrong in all the ways that mattered. My jaw clenched.

"Can I have a hit?" Each word dripped with suggestion as she swayed closer.

I shook my head as I pushed off the counter. "I prefer to smoke alone tonight." I moved to the living room, sinking into the plush leather sofa. I closed my eyes as my head fell back against the couch, assuming the groupie got the point, but I should have known better. Girls like her didn't give up that easily.

I flinched as her hands curled around my thighs, and my eyes flashed open to see her lowering to her knees in front of me.

"That's okay." She smirked as she reached up, her hands working my fly open. "That's not what I wanted between my lips anyway."

It took a minute for the initial shock to wear off. I grabbed her hands as she reached down to my open pants. "What the fuck?" Her head dropped between my legs as she hummed against the denim of my jeans. "What is wrong with you?" I shifted, pushing off the couch, and grabbed her shoulders, pulling her off me as my pants dropped. I wasn't wearing any underwear.

She licked her full lips as her gaze raked over my cock. "Fuck, baby, they said you were big, but big is an understatement. Do you want to come on my face?"

This is a first for me.

"No..." I snapped.

"You can fuck my face and come down my throat." She reached out for my cock, and I shoved her back.

"What the fuck?"

Her voice shattered the darkness. My heart stopped, then lurched into overdrive as I met Cam's eyes across the room. The groupie's hands still ghosted over my thighs, my jeans still open and my cock out.

"Cam..." The word scraped my throat. The hope drained from her face, replaced by something harder, colder.

"You only invited me because of Kai, didn't you?" Each word fell like ice.

"Cam..." We had everyone's attention. This situation was apparently more amusing than fucking.

"Just stay away from me, Trystan," she snapped before turning and storming out.

"Shit," I growled, shifting to follow her, but my pants were still around my ankles so I stumbled.

"It's okay, baby." The groupie smiled. "I'll take care of you. I'll let you do anything you want."

"Good." I gripped her shoulders tightly and pulled her to her feet. "I want you to fuck off."

I didn't wait for a response as I jerked up my pants and stormed out of the pool house, searching for Cam.

I knew what Cam was thinking, and she was so wrong. I'd never been so worried I'd fucked up something I hadn't even realized I'd wanted so bad, and this time it wasn't my fault.