The Fire Walker: A Rock Star Romance Read online

  The Fire Walker

  A Rock Star Romance

  Amity Cross

  The Fire Walker (A Rock Star Romance) by Amity Cross

  *This book was originally published as The Fire Walker by Nicole R. Taylor in 2013. It has been significantly rewritten and edited.

  Copyright © 2013-17 by Amity Cross/Nicole R. Taylor

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All song titles, song lyrics, products, networks and brand names mentioned in this book are the property of the sole copyright owners.

  Cover Design © Amity Cross / Nicole R. Taylor

  Contents

  1. Dee

  2. Jessie

  3. Dee

  4. Jessie

  5. Dee

  6. Jessie

  7. Dee

  8. Jessie

  9. Dee

  10. Dee

  11. Dee

  12. Jessie

  13. Dee

  14. Jessie

  15. Dee

  16. Jessie

  17. Dee

  18. Jessie

  19. Dee

  20. Jessie

  21. Dee

  22. Jessie

  23. Dee

  24. Dee

  25. Jessie

  26. Dee

  27. Jessie

  28. Dee

  29. Dee

  30. Jessie

  31. Dee

  32. Dee

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  Other Books by Amity Cross

  Chapter 1

  Dee

  “I swear to God, Dee, if you don’t hurry the hell up...”

  “Take a chill pill, Zoe,” I said, tuning the last string on my guitar. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it.”

  “I wanna get this done today if you don’t mind.” She rolled her eyes at me, flipping her long brown hair over her shoulder.

  Zoe Granger, aka hot legs, was my best friend. She was my family, unrelated by blood, but we may as well have been listed on our birth certificates as siblings with the amount of time we spent together. She was also the lead vocalist and guitarist in our band, The Devil’s Tattoo, which was the band I started for her.

  I knew what people thought when they saw us hanging out. We were so close it looked like we were together, but it couldn’t be further from the truth. Zoe was my sister from another mister. She’d go to hell and back for me, and I’d do the same. In fact, I’d already done just that.

  When her life fell to pieces, I was there for her. Start to finish. I didn’t regret it, not for one second. When I said I started this band for her, I did, but it became more than that. We added another three people to our extended family. Frank was on drums while Chris played bass, and Simone was our manager. They were as much a part of this as Zoe and me.

  “The album will get done,” I said with a chuckle. It had become a running joke with the guys about how long it took me to tune my guitar. What could I say? I was a perfectionist.

  We were recording the last song of our full-length debut album. Well, technically, it wasn’t our debut, but it would be our American one, complete with four new songs and rerecording and mastering of our original ten. Much to our surprise, we’d been asked to do it in Los Angeles. A whole world away from our base in Melbourne, Australia, and today was going to be the last day. That was if we could get these last guitar parts down before the clock ticked over to midnight. That was when the powers that be would kick us out of the studio, finished or not.

  “Will is coming in tomorrow, and I don’t want to make him sit in here to watch you tune your guitar,” Zoe said with a huff.

  Will Strickland was the bass player in The Stabs, the band we toured with last year, and Zoe’s boyfriend. They were so in love it made me sick, but I’d never seen her happier. I only wished I’d be that lucky someday. Will had told me that when he saw her, he knew she was the one. It was a nice notion, but I reckon it didn’t work that way for everyone.

  Catching Zoe’s eye, I gave her a wink and slid my fingers across the strings. “See? Perfect.”

  Slapping me on the arm with a grin, she pushed out of the booth and joined Chris, Frank, and the sound tech by the board. Sliding the oversized headphones over my ears, I shut out all the outside noise and held a thumb up to signal I was ready. As the intro of the song we were finishing up started, I closed my eyes and just felt it out. I knew this stuff back to front. I lived it, and I breathed it. I didn’t need a score to follow. It just came to me.

  Zoe had tried to teach me how to read music, but it just wasn’t in me. The structure of lines and notes and time signatures just took out the magic and spontaneity. I liked to live on the edge.

  The Devil’s Tattoo was all about straight up rock ’n’ roll. Catchy riffs, complicated solos, moody lyrics, distortion, rawness. Playing guitar was the best thing in the world and to do it with such an awesome group of people and with such a challenging lineup of songs? It was the bee’s knees. For once in my life, I was content to leave things just as they were.

  The song I was currently playing was called ‘Red Heart.’ It was one of my finer moments as a songwriter, and I hoped this one would be the first single. It had a slow, moody start, but then the guitars cranked, and it was off the charts. Zoe did the vocals, and damn…she had lungs all right. I couldn’t wait to play it live.

  We’d rehearsed this song so many times I knew it back to front, so I glanced up and caught Zoe’s gaze and winked. At that moment, the outside door opened, and two women walked in like they owned the joint. That could only mean they were record company types, and I wondered why they were here at this hour. Either we were special snowflakes or they wanted to pull the plug.

  The women started talking with Simone and shook hands all around, and then everyone turned to look at me. I couldn’t hear what they were saying of course, but I hoped it was nice. I was awesome, so naturally, it would be.

  The taller woman looked like a rocker with shaggy black hair and maybe in her early thirties. I was a terrible judge of age. Rule one when trying to determine the age of the opposite sex, always aim low. The other woman was staring down at a tablet she had in her hands, frowning at the screen. Her face was angled away, and she was the only one who hadn’t looked over at me. She was pretty. Mousy blonde hair, slim, and a tattoo down her arm. Well, pretty wasn’t a good word. Beautiful? That was a bit better.

  The other woman elbowed her with a knowing smile, and she glanced up from her work. They knew I was checking her out. What was new? I was a free man who could look at any pair of legs he wanted.

  Her gaze crossed mine, and my fingers fumbled over the strings, making a horrible scratching sound. She had big brown eyes like fucking Bambi, and I almost choked. Through the glass, I saw Zoe fuming, but the others were laughing their heads off.

  Hitting the intercom, I said, “Start it again.”

  My gaze fell onto the blonde woman as I straightened up, and she was standing there with her hand over her mouth, stifling a laugh. There was something about her…

  I was always a bit of a clown, but right then, I kinda felt embarrassed. As the track started again, I gave Zoe a shrug
and turned my back so I didn’t have to look at them. And God, I had to know who that woman was. My gaze had locked onto her like a magnet, and I’d never felt anything like it. Bam. Connection.

  It was then I realized everything Will had said about him and Zoe was right. Seeing him so pussy-whipped on tour was bloody amusing, to say the least, but now I was beginning to understand. When I saw her, I just knew.

  Will Strickland you motherfucker.

  By the time I came out of the booth—three takes later—the woman and her friend were gone.

  “Who were they?” I asked Frank, who was sitting on a couch at the back of the room. Everyone else had disappeared somewhere.

  He shrugged. “Label types.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Be more specific.”

  “Marketing manager. Wants to keep us happy. You know the deal.”

  The deal would probably be taking us out for dinner, gigs, and clubs. I didn’t really care. “Who was the blonde one?”

  Frank raised an eyebrow. “Intern.”

  “Her name was intern?” I asked annoyed, knowing full well he had caught on to the fact I’d already made eyes at her.

  “She said her name was Jessie,” he said slyly. “They’re from New York.”

  “New York, huh?”

  “She was a looker.”

  “I saw her first.”

  “Dammit,” he said with a laugh. “I so knew you were checking her out.”

  “Of course, I was, mate.”

  “I’m going to the shop. Do you want anything?” That was his code for ‘I need to get out of this shoebox,’ and he started toward the door.

  “Nope.”

  “Later then.”

  The door closed behind him, and I sat there in silence, listening to the muted sounds of the track coming from the sound tech’s headphones. He was a nice guy, but he didn’t hang with us much. It had been a stupid amount of weeks, and I didn’t even remember his name.

  Thankfully, Zoe came in, saving me from myself, with two takeout cups of coffee in her hands. She held one out to me and said, “Never say I don’t give you anything.”

  “Thanks, hot legs.” I really fucking needed caffeine and a distraction. Recording was a hard slog, and there were times when there was nothing to do but listen to yourself breathe. Those were the times when my mind sank into depression. I was the kind of guy who needed action to stay afloat.

  Chris was in the booth playing the last bass part for ‘Red Heart,’ and the sound tech had headphones over his ears listening to what was being recorded. Frank wouldn’t come back for at least twenty minutes, so we were free to talk dirty if we wanted to. No one was listening.

  “What did those record types want before?” I asked, trying to work up to asking about the woman Frank had said was Jessie.

  “Schmoozing,” she said with a shrug. “They want to take us out for dinner tomorrow night and do the whole club thing.” She didn’t sound impressed, but I knew Zoe wasn’t into going to clubs. She called them meat markets, and when she had a hot piece like Will Strickland, of course, she didn’t want to go. But if it meant this Jessie would be there, then I was all over that shit.

  “They’re doing this now?”

  “We’re pretty much finished recording, so I guess they want to reward us.”

  “Like a dog doing a fucking trick,” I said sullenly. This was my dream, making it big, but I found myself disliking the facade that the business types threw up in our faces. As long as we were making them a dollar, then they slapped on the fake smiles and were all for showing us a good time. All I wanted to do was stand on a stage and play.

  “Dee, I know. But a record deal is a record deal. Just ’cos they want to sell out and make cash, doesn’t mean we do.”

  “I know. Sometimes, it just shits me to tears.”

  She smiled, patting me on the knee. “You’re too genuine. Good guys get eaten up.”

  “Good guys finish last,” I scoffed, thinking about my perpetual single status. Girls liked the bad boys, and I didn’t have a bad bone in my body. I was the anti-alpha.

  “Does this have something to do with earlier?” Zoe asked with an accuracy that annoyed the hell out of me.

  I shook my head, but she knew me like the back of her hand.

  “You were staring at that Jessie chick like she was something to eat.”

  “I wasn’t,” I protested, suddenly flustered.

  She grinned, shaking her head. “If you say so, Dee Dee.”

  “Shut up.”

  She dumped her empty takeout cup on the table. “You know what you’re doing, but be careful there.”

  “Why?” I asked with a grimace, poking at my untouched coffee. What had she heard?

  “You’re with the band. She’s with the label.”

  I never thought about it that way. I’d just locked eyes with the woman, and already I had to know her.

  “Zoe?”

  “Yeah?”

  “I think I understand what Will was saying now.”

  “About what?” she asked, but I knew she was playing with me.

  “Zoe.”

  “Really?” she asked, frowning. “You haven’t even spoken to her.”

  “Will didn’t speak to you until later.”

  She shrugged. “It worked out for us in the end, but you saw the shit we went through to get there.”

  “Yeah.” I knew it just as well as she did. I’d been there the entire time. I’d given Will a black eye he would never forget when he stuffed up.

  Glancing up, I realized Zoe was peering at me with a strange expression on her face. Like she was worried about me. Like she knew I was going to fail before I even began, and I didn’t like it.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?” I asked with a scowl.

  “You know you can be a little arrogant, right?”

  “No way…really?” I slumped back into the couch.

  “In the beginning, I wish Will had just straight up talked to me. You know, about it. You were there. Cut out the dick, and go straight to the nice guy.”

  “I’m not a dick.”

  “Of course, you’re not. You’re my best friend. But Americans see our sense of humor differently. Instead of the loveable fool you are, you might come across like an arrogant wanker.”

  “Fuck, Zoe.” I sighed, running a hand over my face. “Way to bring a guy down.”

  “You wanted my advice.”

  “I never asked for it.”

  “You didn’t need to.” She sat back next to me, and I wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “I can see it every time you see me with Will.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’ve always been on your own,” she said carefully.

  “That’s by choice.” No, it wasn’t.

  “Dee,” she scolded. “It’s me you’re talking to.”

  I shrugged, not wanting to commit any of my thoughts to words.

  “I know you want more. I saw it in your eyes before. All I’m saying is don’t throw yourself in too fast.”

  I felt my insides knot, and I groaned. “You really get me with an accuracy that pisses me off.”

  “That’s why we’re besties.” She punched me in the shoulder and then planted a kiss on my cheek. “But before you go out, I want her resume on my desk.”

  I threw my head back against the couch and laughed. When we’d started the band and Will was sniffing around, I’d told her that I wanted to see the resume of every guy she wanted to go out with. Now it was like a running joke, and since I was single and she was taken, it was at my expense every time. I knew she didn’t mean it in a nasty way, but I couldn’t help but feel my ego dent a little.

  As soon as we stopped talking and turned our attention back to Chris in the sound booth, my thoughts went straight to this Jessie. What did her voice sound like? Where was she from? People moved to New York to make it big all the time. And most importantly, why had this mystery woman sparked such a reaction in me? Was it really all tha
t?

  If I didn’t find out, I might as well just quit at life. Forever the nice guy finishing last.

  Chapter 2

  Jessie

  It was my first time in Los Angeles.

  The streets were wide, palm trees lined pretty much every boulevard there was, and it was flat. I mean, there were high rises and all but nothing like Manhattan, and the traffic was worse than bad. The gridlock of cars, trucks, and buses was far worse than anything New York could conjure.

  The sky always seemed to be blue here, and it had this haze like the desert had kicked up a dust storm and flung it over the city. It was still America, but it was a different version than I was used to.

  “Jessie?”

  At the sound of my name, I sat up sharply in the back of the town car and flicked on my tablet. I sat next to Georgie, one of Galaxy Records’ public relations executives. She was the spitting image of Joan Jett—tall, leggy, and tough—while I was this tiny little mousy blonde…whatever.

  “Is it too late to go to the studio?” she asked. “What is their schedule?”

  I looked down at the tablet and checked the recording schedule for the label’s newest signing, The Devil’s Tattoo. “They’ll still be there,” I reported. “They’re booked until midnight.”

  “Good.” Georgie tapped the driver’s shoulder and barked the name of the recording studio into his ear.

  Sinking back into the leather seat, I watched the city go past. It was so different here from where I grew up. Everything was so glitzy. I was from Montreal, Canada, but I’d moved to New York City the first chance I got. How could I not? Music was in my blood, and the city was the home of everything from Broadway to punk rock. People went there to follow their dreams of stardom, so it was only natural I went, too. Except I didn’t want to be a star. I wanted to help others become them. Way to turn stereotypes on their heads.