Page 3 of Rock Star

Not that I’d ever find out.

Not with her.

Anyone else, and I’d have already scored a hit.

I liked women, and they liked me.

I liked to fuck.

Hard, and often.

Apart from singing, writing songs, and running CM Records with my bandmates and management team, fucking was the only other thing I was good at… even when I was high on coke. Never used anything harder, unlike Ella. By the time we found out she was on H, it was too fucking late.

I stopped staring at Phoenix and swiveled my gaze to where hers had landed on the opposite wall, imagining a vast arena filled to capacity. The vision injected a spark into my performance. Rhys was doing what he does best on his guitar, his musical rawness taking us to the killer bridge I’d written.

“I want it, I need it,” I sang with Phoenix, who was maintaining perfect pitch.

If only Ella had lived…

I focused on the music, to stop my baritone voice wobbling as a result of the sadness invading my spirit, and I got to the end of the song without breaking down.

It would become easier with more practice.

Easier but not better.

“Thanks, Phoenix,” I turned to her with what I hoped was an encouraging smile. “You did good. The guys and I will make our decision asap. Jake will call you...”

My smile had made her nervous, I could see it in her beautiful green eyes. She handed me the microphone, her fingertips brushing mine as her flowery perfume invaded my senses. Heat filled my body, going straight to my balls.

Fuck, my bloody dick had hardened.

Phoenix picked up her bag from where she’d dropped it by the door and I stared after her as she made her way out of the room.

I whirled around and caught all the guys’ eyes hooded with lust and glued to her ass. “Band meeting. In the boardroom. Now,” I growled.2The four of us secured our instruments on their stands and trooped into the board room with Jake. We pulled out chairs at the center table, the mythical creature after which we’d named our band etched into the middle of the glass.

ChiMera operated like a democracy, we voted on every decision, but I was the driving force and spokesman. I’d met Rhys, Zach and Pierce, aka Foxy, at UCL, University College London, where we were all studying Economics. But the four of us were there essentially to meet likeminded musicians and form a band. Jake, our fifth member, had been at boarding school with me and was my oldest friend. We’d both enjoyed the same privileged upbringing, spoke without a regional accent, and had jammed together on our acoustic guitars while growing up. But Jake’s heart wasn’t in performing. Instead, he helped build up ChiMera from nothing, taking on the role of our first manager and becoming our Creative Director when we got so big that we moved to LA and needed a management team. Jake also became everyone’s best mate and had our backs; we couldn’t function without him, not least when everything fell apart after Ella died.

“Whoever we pick is off limits.” I sat and swiveled my gaze across their faces. “We keep our dicks in our pants, agreed?”

They held up their hands, feigning innocence.

Like they weren’t fucking Phoenix with their lust-filled eyes.

Foxy twirled a drumstick in his left hand; he was never without one. “The last girl was such a babe. But we’re gonna pick her, aren’t we?”

“She had perfect pitch.” Rhys’ Welsh voice was deep and melodic. He glanced at me briefly, then continued, “Just like Ella.”

“Her name is Phoenix Johnson,” I reminded them all. “If we give the job to her, we’ll treat her with respect, ok?” I paused, chewed on my lip. “Is it a unanimous decision, then? Shall we vote on it?’ In typical British fashion, I said, “All in favor of offering the backing singer position to Phoenix, say ‘aye’.”

Five ‘ayes’ echoed around the table and my cock wanted me to punch the air.

Careful, Axel.

She’s out of bounds.

You and your dick need to look elsewhere.

“We gotta get back to rehearsing,” I said to no one in particular, changing the subject. “It’s been a while.”

For obvious reasons.

“Yeah, man,” Foxy rolled his drumstick over his knuckles and flipped it back between his fingers. “Felt a little rusty just now.” Foxy was a Londoner like me, except his accent showed his origins… unlike mine.

Zach, the quiet one of the five of us, originally from Northern Ireland, blew out a breath. “You gonna call Phoenix, Jake? Get her in here tomorrow so we can rehearse with her?”

“Sure,” he got to his feet and headed out of the room.

The rest of us eyed each other morosely, our expressions saying more than words ever could.

Rhys cleared his throat. “Maybe we should dedicate the rest of the tour to Ella? She’d have liked that, I think…”

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