How to Be a Rockstar's Girlfriend: a fake dating, small town, rockstar romantic comedy (Cash &

Chapter 27

Phone call – a trigger for the downfall

Gibson

“What are you doing here?” Jett asks when I enter the house we’re renting together.

“I live here or have you forgotten since you hit your head?”

He scowls. “Being injured is boring. I’m supposed to ‘rest’. No parachuting. No rock climbing. No parkouring. No bungee jumping. What am I supposed to do? I’m bored.”

Uh oh. A bored Jett is not good. The last time he was bored he decided to enter a Via Ferrata competition. You’d think traversing a mountain via ladders, cables, and bridges would be right up his alley. It was. As was drinking beer while doing the competition. Ladders and a drunk Jett are not a good combo.

“Why don’t we play Grand Theft Auto?” I suggest.

I don’t have anything better to do than play games with Jett today either. Not when Mercy is working and we have no band obligations.

Jett rubs his hands together. “I’m going to kick your ass.”

“You can try.”

My stomach growls a few hours later and I check the clock. “I need a break.”

“Pussy,” Jett mutters but he pauses the game. “What are we going to eat? Fender hasn’t filled our fridge for days.”

“Let’s eat at the brewery.”

“The diner’s open.”

I scowl at him. “I’m not going to fall off the wagon and drink just because we have lunch at the brewery.”

He studies me for a moment before sighing. “Fine. But I’m not accepting any responsibility for what happens.”

I grab a jacket and we head out.

“Should we ask Fender to join us?” I ask as we pass the house he shares with Leia.

Jett snorts. “I walked in on him and Leia once. I don’t need a repeat.”

I shove his shoulder. “Liar. You stood there and watched.”

He shrugs. “It was hot as hell. Always handy to have some material for my spank bank.”

“Women still rejecting your advances?” I tease as we continue walking to the brewery.

He glares at me. “I can have any woman I want.”

Except there’s only one woman he wants but he refuses to give in to her. Poor Aurora is in for a long wait while Jett grows up and realizes love is worth taking a chance on.

I nearly stumble at my thoughts. A mere two months ago Jett and I thought the same. We even agreed to a pact – neither one of us would fall in love. But now here I am thinking he’s an idiot.

It’s confirmed. Mercy can wield magic.

Cayenne waves as she approaches. “How are you boys doing?”

Jett hitches up his pants. “We’re not boys.”

She giggles. “No, you are not.” She winks at him before addressing me, “How is Mercy holding up?”

“She’s okay. A bit shaken but you know Mercy. Strong as the cars she repairs.”

She pats my shoulder. “We’ll keep a better eye on Mercury from now on. The little sneak must have been pouring his drinks into a plant.”

“Much appreciated,” I say and she continues on her way.

“What happened to Old Man Mercury?” Jett asks.

I fill him in as we reach Main Street and turn toward Naked Falls Brewing. Clove rushes out of her coffee shop, Clove’s Coffee Corner, and waves us down.

“How is Mercury?” she asks when we reach her.

I chuckle. “Like you haven’t heard from Cayenne already.”

“You’re starting to get the hang of small town living.”

I am. Winter Falls is the shit. I never thought I’d want to live somewhere where everyone knows my name but the town residents are quirky and fun.

Several tourists walk into her café. “Give Mercy our love,” she says as she hurries off to help them.

“You’re fitting into town,” Jett says.

It’s not a compliment. It’s an accusation. There’s not enough adventure to be found in Winter Falls for him. If he’d stop running away from his past, he’d realize he doesn’t need to chase adventure.

“It’s a cool town.” I point to Forest who’s walking his chipmunks without any pants on.

Jett chuckles. “You may have a point.”

We reach the brewery and are immediately shown to a table in the corner.

“There are some tourists in here,” the waitress says. “Better to stay a bit hidden.” She narrows her eyes on me. “Unless you’re going to hit on them.”

I raise my hands. “Not me. I’m taken.” I motion to Jett. “He might be interested, though.”

Jett frowns. “I’m supposed to be taking it easy.”

Taking it easy has never stopped him from charming a fan into his bed before. He uses sex like a drug. When he isn’t consuming actual drugs. Although, he doesn’t do drugs around us anymore. Not after the great mushroom debacle.

“You doing okay?” I ask once we’ve ordered and the waitress has left us alone.

He taps his forehead. “Do you need to ask?”

“I meant mentally. You’re not interested in chasing after female fans and you were moping around this morning.”

He drums his fingers on the table. “Just bored. Ready to get on tour again.”

Before Mercy, I felt the same way. Anxious to hit the road, to play big venues, have the fans scream at me. But not anymore.

I miss the music. But the rest? Being exhausted all the time? Unable to sleep on a moving bus? Waking up not knowing what city I’m in? Nah.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. Usually, I ignore it. But maybe it’s Mercy. Maybe she’s done with work early. Excitement fizzles in my blood.

I don’t glance at the caller before answering. “Hey! Missing me?”

“Son,” my dad begins and my blood boils. How did he get this number? Why won’t he leave me alone?

“No. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t make me sue you again.”

I growl. “Sue me all you want. You’ll never win.”

“Son,” he begins again.

“I am not your son.”

“I saw you born in the hospital, I raised you until you left for college, I paid for your guitar lessons for years.”

Here we go again. He paid for the guitar lessons and thus he has a right to all of my earnings. Never mind I’m the one who played those strings until my fingers bled. Never mind I’m the one who shared a studio apartment with four other men to save money. Never mind how I survived on noodles and day old pizza for years until we got our first record deal.

My dad and mom are the ones who suffered. Not me and my bandmates.

“You haven’t been answering my calls.”

“Probably because I don’t want to speak to you.”

“You are my son. You will answer me when I call,” he demands.

We could go around in circles for days. I’m not interested. I haven’t been interested in years. Not since the first time a process server announced You’ve been served.

“What do you want?”

“We need help getting the car fixed.”

I massage my temple where I feel a headache coming on. “What’s wrong with the Mercedes?”

“It’s old.”

“Old? I bought you the Mercedes less than five years ago.”

“Exactly. It’s old.”

“I’m not buying you a new car because you think a five-year-old Mercedes is beneath you.”

What happened to my parents? We grew up in a middle-class neighborhood. My dad was an electrician with his own business and my mom an office manager. I never wanted for anything growing up. We had enough.

So when Cash the Sinners hit the top of the charts for the first time, I bought them a bigger house in a fancy neighborhood as a token of my appreciation for giving me everything I needed as a child. But since then, they’ve never had enough. How did I miss their greed? Their desire to have it all but not work for it?

“You will buy us a new car or we’ll sue.”

“Yeah? How did that work out for you last time?”

“Pretty well.”

Damn it. I should have never settled the case. I shouldn’t have listened to our manager who was worried about the band’s reputation. I should have fought them. Because now they think I’m a cash machine. They ring, and I dispense money.

I am done giving them money. I’ve been done giving them money for a while.

“Fine. Sue me. While the case is in court, I’ll stop your allowance.” And then I’ll make sure my lawyers delay and delay until my parents have to sell their ‘old’ Mercedes for money.

“This isn’t how a son should treat his parents.”

“Because suing a son for more money when you’re already living off him is how parents are supposed to treat their son?” I fire back.

“You don’t understand.”

“I understand perfectly. You and mom are greedy and lazy. I can’t believe you’re the same parents who raised me.”

I hang up the phone and block the number before slamming it on the table.

“I can’t believe those assholes.”

Jett shrugs. “They’re your parents.”

My nostrils flare and I fist my hands before I reach across the table and strangle him. His outlook on the situation is completely different than mine. Considering his background, it’s understandable. But he could support me for a change.

“Everything okay?” The waitress asks when she arrives and places our meals in front of us.

“Can I get a beer?” I ask.

She smiles. “Coming right up. Enjoy your meals.”

“Gibson,” Jett growls.

I throw up a hand. “No. I won’t have you dictating my life. Besides, it’s only one beer.”