Driving Me Crazy: A Rock Star Rom Com Read online

  I just don’t believe it.

  I toss the letter in the pile with the junk mail. If my dad was married before he met my mom and had my brother and me, my parents would’ve told us. We’re a close family. We share everything, including mistakes and missteps, and we work through those things together. If there was someone who shared a parent with me out there, my mom and dad would never keep that information from my brother and me.

  I shake the whole silly idea out of my head.

  Someone’s trying to get something from me, and that’s that.

  I push those strange thoughts away and try to come up with something else to fill their void when a sudden sense of guilt presses on my chest.

  And I know myself well enough to know that the guilt will push through my chest until I find the truth.

  She said her health is declining. What if I can help her?

  She said I have a sister. What if it’s true? I’ve always wanted a sister.

  I do a quick search online of their names and find a photograph of a girl named Amanda Wilson in Maine who looks a lot like my brother. But I’m not really an internet sleuth. I’m more of a see them in the flesh and decide if they’re telling the truth kind of girl.

  They can’t be telling the truth.

  I’m going to forget about it.

  But just in case, I do a quick search for what it would cost me to fly out to Maine on a random weekend a month from now. Not because I’m going to go, but because I’m just curious what it costs.

  Of course I’m not going to go. And even if I wanted to go, which I don’t, I wouldn’t go alone.

  That would be stupid.

  Based on what my bank statement just told me...unless I decide to come clean with my brother and admit why I’m interested in going to Maine while asking him for money, well, flying isn’t a viable option at the moment.

  I can’t do that to him.

  He’d want to know the truth, too, and I don’t want him to feel this same strange sense of guilt for not helping out family if they are, in fact, family.

  And so I chalk it up to exactly what it is: a weird, meaningless letter from someone probably trying to get money out of me because I have a famous brother.

  CHAPTER 5: AMBER

  I’m not wearing any pants when my doorbell rings.

  I ignore it, hoping the offender will go away, but it rings again.

  It’s nine-freaking-thirty on a Wednesday night. I just got home a half hour ago after three days of twelve-hour shifts, I won’t see Will until tomorrow, I got a weird letter I can’t stop thinking about, and I’m spent. I’m mid-binge on a rom com series on Netflix with a big bowl of popcorn, a glass of rum and Diet Coke, my favorite sweatshirt, a comfy blanket, and no pants thinking about how I don’t have to go to work until Monday.

  And my freaking doorbell rings again.

  And then my phone joins in on the chorus with a text.

  Will: Open your door.

  I smile at my phone.

  He wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow, but I’m thrilled he’s here tonight. I haven’t seen him since I flew out of St. Louis.

  “Hey,” he greets when I open the door. He holds up a bottle of Captain Morgan and a cheesecake.

  My mouth waters when I spot the cheesecake. “Well hello there,” I say to the dessert and not to Will, and he laughs as I open the door wider. He drops a kiss on my lips on the way by, and immediately everything feels a little better.

  “You’re back early,” I say against his lips.

  “Glad I didn’t catch you here with some other guy.” He makes a face like whew that was a close call.

  I laugh. “Nah, he left hours ago.”

  He narrows his eyes at me, and I hold up both hands. “Kidding, kidding. You actually just missed him.”

  The narrowed eyes deepen to a glare.

  “I’m kidding again,” I say. “I’m happy you’re here.” I press my lips to his again.

  He leans his forehead down to mine. “Me too. Especially because you’re not wearing pants. We got in a little earlier than I was expecting and I waited until I thought you’d be home.”

  “It’s nice to have you back.” I can’t help but wonder what it’ll be like now that his six-week tour is over. We hooked up mid-December, were apart for the holidays, had a fun time on New Year’s Eve, and then he was back on tour at the beginning of January. Now we’re mid-February and I’ve only seen him a handful of times since we got together.

  So far it’s been pretty easy. I haven’t really had to nurture and water anything. We haven’t made any major commitments, we have fun together, and the sex is incredible.

  And now he’s here with rum and cheesecake and even though I had a bad day, he’s already making it better.

  “How was work?” He walks through my entry toward my kitchen.

  Tears spring to my eyes as I remember the look on the six-year-old girl’s face as the doctor explained her mother’s prognosis. “Hard.” Usually I’m better about hiding the emotional side of my job. Usually I’m better at compartmentalizing it.

  Not today, I guess.

  I swipe at a tear that tips over my lid.

  He drops his gifts on the counter and steps toward me, taking me in his arms. “What happened?” he asks softly, his lips against my temple.

  “I don’t want to talk about it.” I swipe another tear. I don’t want to cry in front of anyone, least of all Will. I know I’m supposed to be vulnerable in front of him, but I don’t want him to see me as anything other than strong.

  “Then let me distract you.” He takes my hand and leads me over to the couch, where I sit. He tucks the blanket around my legs. I watch as he grabs my glass off my coffee table where I left it, hits play on my remote, and steps away. He returns a minute later with a full glass of rum and Diet Coke and hands it to me, and then he sits down next to me.

  He wraps his arm around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him. He’s being exactly what I need without asking me a single question, which is a sure sign that he’s been paying attention more than I think.

  He’s not a rom com kind of guy, yet he sits by my side and laughs at the right moments. As soon as I drain the last drop of my drink, he takes my glass. “More?”

  I nod, and he takes my glass back to the counter to refill it.

  I don’t realize that I haven’t actually heard him make the drink. I’m engrossed in the show, finally distracted from the letter and my rough day and laughing at something the main character just said when his voice interrupts all that.

  “What’s this?”

  I turn toward him to see what he’s talking about, and my heart stutters in my chest.

  It’s the letter.

  I threw it away, and then I dug it out of the can. I tossed it in with my recycling, but I fished it out of there, too.

  And that’s all happened in the last hour since I got home.

  I’ve read it ten times by now, and each time, I’m left with wonder.

  Has my father been lying to me my entire life? To my brother? To my mom? Is she in on it?

  But every time, I come to the same conclusion. It can’t be real.

  And yet...

  I can’t seem to throw it away.

  I can’t seem to stop reading it as I search for some clue that it’s real.

  Except I never meant for anybody else to read it.

  I leap off the couch. “Oh, that’s nothing,” I say. I rush over toward him and grab it from his paws.

  “You have a sister?”

  I shake my head. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s fake. Someone wants something from me. Scams like this happen all the time.”

  His brows dip down. “But that picture.” He nods toward the paper now in my hands. “I thought it was Adam at first.”

  He’s not wrong. My brother is the spitting image of my dad at a young age.

  And maybe that’s why I haven’t been able to toss the letter. Anyone could get a photograph of anything in today�
�s digital world, but this is one that has obviously aged with time and maybe a little admiration—or maybe with disgust.

  I heave out a breath.

  His brows dip down. “Don’t you want to know if it’s true?”

  I shake my head. “Not really,” I lie.

  “But what if you have a sister out there?” He gestures wildly toward the paper I’m clutching to my chest.

  “I have a brother here,” I counter. “And even if it were true, which it’s not, but even if it were...then there’s some reason my father chose to keep it from Adam and me our entire lives. It’s not up to me to unleash the destruction this could potentially cause.”

  He takes a step toward me and sets both hands on my shoulders. “My mom couldn’t have more kids after me. If I found out there was a chance I had a sibling out there, you better believe I’d do anything to meet him or her.”

  I lift a shoulder. “I guess that’s where we’re different.” My voice is soft, but I can’t deny he hit a nerve.

  “For what it’s worth, it’s why I’m still so close with them.”

  I look over at him, my brows drawing in. “Huh?”

  “It’s why I go to my parents’ house at least once a week. It’s why I bring my laundry over for my mom. I’m their only kid, and they’re my only parents.”

  I glance up at him, and I’m surprised to see his vulnerability. He’s the prankster, the comedian, the guy nobody takes seriously. And maybe that’s why we’re good together...because I see him as more than that.

  He clears his throat before I get a chance to respond. “Have you looked them up?”

  “Yeah. I ran a quick search and found a girl who looks a lot like Adam named Amanda Wilson.” I set the letter back on the counter, not really sure why I’m still clutching it to my chest when clearly he already read it—at least the part about me having a sister. “And then I closed that window because I don’t want to know.”

  “Do you want me to do a quick search? At least the address?”

  I shake my head. “No. And if you say a word about this to Adam, I will cut you.”

  He chuckles. “I won’t say a word, Amber.” His finger touches my chin, and I look up at him. “You can trust me.”

  And that’s when I realize with a big dose of fear that this isn’t just fun between us anymore. We’re starting to get serious, and that’s not something I ever saw coming.

  CHAPTER 6: WILL

  After one more episode of her show, she stands and stretches. “I need to go to bed. I’m exhausted.”

  I’m not saying I came here for sex...but I wouldn’t say no. Unfortunately, it’s looking like it’s not in the cards.

  Which is okay. It’s been an emotional day for her, and I’m just trying to be here however I can be…which has never been my thing, and that’s what tells me this is different.

  I follow her up the stairs and climb into her bed while she heads to the bathroom. When she joins me, I wrap my arms around her.

  “I think I’m gonna go on that road trip,” I say. “I’ve got the time, and it’s just something I need to do. I’d love for you to come with me, but I understand if you can’t.”

  She sighs. “I don’t know. I have to work, and think of all the farmers markets I’ll miss.”

  “You can’t?” I ask into the darkness. “Or you don’t want to? Because you have vacation time, and I’ll buy all your cookies for the next four weeks. Or even better, I’ll show off your cookies while we’re driving and maybe someone’ll see and you’ll become this big, famous chef on the Food Network.”

  “What do you mean, show them off while we’re driving?” she asks.

  “I assume Kylie will want a camera in the car to grab footage for Rock on the Road. Even if you don’t come, you could make road trip cookies that I could take with. Something like Road Head is the Best Head. Or Tripping on the Road. Driving Me Crazy. I don’t know. You’re the creative mind behind the cookies.”

  “Wait a minute. You’ll be filming for Rock on the Road on this trip?”

  I blow out a breath. “Probably.”

  “You think something could happen with my cookies?” She sounds...hopeful.

  “Why?” I ask. “Do you want something to happen with your cookies?”

  She’s quiet a moment, and then she says, “I’m just so burned out at work. You know? I haven’t even been there three years yet, and I’m just...done. Days like today...” She trails off. “Doing the cookies is fun. And baking, well, it’s still science, which I love. You know? It’s something I enjoy. Work...I don’t really enjoy that. Not like I should for the long hours I’m there and how much of myself I put into it. Cookies make people smile. They make me smile.”

  “I get it,” I say, an edge of commiseration in my voice. “I’ve been feeling a little burned out myself. It’s why I want to take this trip so badly.” An idea forms in my mind. “My goal was always to drive across the country. And you know, Maine is about as far across the country as you can get from California.”

  “Maine?” she whispers.

  I nod even though she can’t see me. “Maine.”

  “As in Wells Beach? The return address on the letter?” I hear a little terror behind her words.

  “We don’t have to.”

  “But it’s an option,” she says flatly.

  “It’s an option.”

  She blows out a breath. “Let me think about it.”

  I lean over and kiss her. “Whatever you need, babe.”

  “I need a better nickname than babe.”

  “Okay, Cookie.” It’s the first thing that pops to mind since we were just talking about her cookies.

  She huffs out an annoyed breath, and I can’t help my laugh.

  When I awake in the morning, her side of the bed is empty. She’s already up and at ‘em. I glance at the clock and see it’s a little after ten...a little early for me, if I’m being honest.

  And that’s when I smell fresh baked cookies.

  I follow my nose down to the kitchen, where I see Amber’s sweet ass sticking up in the air as she bends over the oven to pull out her newest batch. I can’t help the filthy thoughts that plague me at the vision.

  “Dammit,” she mutters, tossing the pan on the counter.

  “What’s wrong, Cookie?” I ask, and she jumps around, startled as her hand flies up to her neck.

  “Oh my God. I didn’t hear you.”

  I chuckle. “I’m sorry. But what’s wrong?”

  “Stop calling me Cookie.” She nods toward the tray of cookies. “Half of them are useless.”

  “Why?”

  “I made them too thin and they broke. Want a sample?” She grabs a half a cookie from the tray with a spatula and I move closer to take it, dropping a kiss on her cheek in the process.

  “What’s it supposed to be?” I ask, eying the round part of a cookie she hands me. It’s hot, but not inedible.

  “An ass. I was planning to draw little decorative thongs on these for your birthday. Happy birthday, by the way.”

  I laugh. God, I love her.

  I love her.

  I should probably tell her that, but the words die on my tongue, the same place where they’ve stayed since I first realized what I was feeling for her.

  “That’s awesome,” I say instead. I take a bite. “These are fantastic.”

  “Thanks.” She clears her throat and picks up the letter. “I, um...I’ve been thinking.”

  I raise a brow.

  “I’m scared to end up in Maine. I don’t know if I want to potentially unlock long-standing family secrets. But I do like the idea of taking a trip with you, and I didn’t really get you a lot for your birthday, so this is sort of your gift.” She doesn’t look at me as she says the words, instead eyeing the letter. “So yeah. I think we should do it. And I guess I want to know the truth about the letter.”

  “Yeah?” I ask.

  She nods, and she finally looks up at me. Her expression is unreadable, but then I’v
e never been particularly good at reading women.

  “Yeah.”

  I pop the rest of the hot cookie in my mouth, grab her by her hips, and swing her around.

  “This is going to be so fucking amazing,” I say once she’s back on solid ground.

  She smiles up at me, but something in her eyes tells me she isn’t sure she agrees.

  I chalk it up to fear about what she might find out if we dig any further into that letter. We don’t have to go to Maine, but I have a pretty strong suspicion that’s the reason she agreed to go.

  Well, that and getting to spend a month with me.

  We drink a lot at Emerson’s to celebrate my birthday, and once we’re back at the place I share with the rest of the guys in MFB, two huge presents and a cake sit on the kitchen table waiting for me.

  My four best friends, their women, and my girlfriend sing “Happy Birthday” to me, and as they do, I read the cake. Happy Twenty-Ninth Birthday Rascal. And then I look at the picture.

  It’s a stripper with her tits hanging out as she hangs on a pole upside-down.

  I glance at Amber after I blow out the candles. “Is this one of your designs?”

  She smiles and nods, and I laugh.

  “Thank you,” I say. “It’s perfect.”

  She laughs. “Open your presents,” she says, diverting the attention from herself.

  I read the card first.

  Enjoy your last year in your twenties, asshole. All our love forever, D, B, A, & K

  I laugh at the card, but something about seeing a cake saying I’m twenty-nine paired with the sentiment on the card causes a pit to form in my stomach. I push it away for now.

  I tear the paper off a big box and find a huge floor piano like the one they dance along in the eighties movie Big. “Funny,” I mutter.

  I open the second box which is far larger and find a keytar synthesizer, which is basically a keyboard mounted like a guitar.

  “Since we all know how you love playing the guitar,” Dax says, and everyone laughs.

  I want to laugh along, but it’s just...not funny. I fake it for their benefit, though.

  “Are you okay?” Amber asks me once we’re alone a short while later.