Waking Up Married: A Rock Star Rom Com Page 8

I nod, a grin spreading across my lips, and I haul her up in my arms and swing her around. I don’t even think twice about it when I set her down and plant a kiss on her mouth.

  She gives in for half a beat, and then she gently pushes me away. We do have an audience, after all.

  And speaking of audiences...

  “It’s time,” Mitch says, and I turn toward Emily.

  “We’ll talk after the show,” I say, and she nods. I lean in for a hug, and I bury my face in her neck for a minute as more memories from our intimate time together last night plow through me. “Thank you,” I whisper, and I’m not sure what, exactly, I’m thanking her for. It might be for agreeing to do this with me, or it might be for one of the best nights of my life last night...even though neither of us can explicitly remember it.

  She trembles in my arms, and then I let her go and head over to the other guys in my band so we can play the fuck out of this place.

  And we do.

  I take the stage with a new level of confidence and excitement, and it takes me nearly half the show to realize it’s because Emily is backstage watching me. Every time I’ve looked over at her, she’s been singing along. She knows every word to every song, which puts her in the mega-fan category.

  Mega-fans aren’t typically what I’d consider relationship material. They only want to be with a band member because of what they know of his public image.

  But Emily isn’t just a mega-fan.

  She’s someone I already know...someone in my history even though she’s only ever been in the periphery. But suddenly she’s been thrust front and center, and I’m not mad about it.

  In all honesty, I could think of worse people to end up married to. If I was going to get blackout drunk last night and do something dumb like marry someone I hardly know, at least it’s my sister’s best friend and not some random mega-fan.

  Those images of our night together come back to me in the middle of our eighth song, a slow song with a steady beat that somehow reminds me of the intimacy we shared.

  Maybe this whole fake marriage thing won’t be so bad after all.

  CHAPTER 15: EMILY

  I cross my arms over my chest as I watch MFB perform, bobbing my head and singing along to every song.

  In the whirlwind of the last twenty-four hours, I’d forgotten how talented my husband actually is. Every once in a while, I catch him glancing toward the place where I stand. I’m under no illusions that he’s actually looking at me back here, but a girl can dream, can’t she?

  I don’t know why I agreed to stay married to him. Maybe it’s because of my chat with his sister—who I’m still mad at for being the one to even suggest we get married—or maybe it’s because I couldn’t stop thinking about the way his breath felt against my neck when he thanked me after I agreed to think about it. He smelled like a day at the beach mixed with a night of passion, and I couldn’t help my shiver at his proximity.

  I think deep down I agreed because I have nothing to lose that I haven’t already lost. My family already knows, a million other people already know, and I really hope that little piece of shit Chad knows. What’s the worst that could happen?

  When the show’s over, Adam rushes off the stage, makes a beeline right for me, crushes my body to his, and plants a steamy kiss on me.

  He’s slick with sweat, but that doesn’t stop me from wrapping my arms around his middle and kissing him back. When he parts from me and his eyes meet mine, there’s heat in his. We stare off for a few beats, and then he guides me by the small of my back toward a hallway.

  A kiss that hot can’t be fake. Can it?

  As we leave the backstage area, it’s then that I notice the cameras.

  It’s with a heavy heart that I realize the kiss wasn’t meant to be real. It was a show for the media, and I have to start getting used to the fact that I’m an actress playing a part now.

  When I wake up the next morning, I’m alone in my own bed and much less confused than I was yesterday morning upon waking up.

  I’m fully clothed, I’m alone, and I’m headache and hangover free after skipping the booze last night at the after party.

  Obviously I’m never drinking again.

  Amber slept in Rascal’s room, and this trip to Vegas that was supposed to be a fun girl’s weekend has turned into something else entirely. She’s busy hooking up with her brother’s friend while I find myself completely alone. The only person I even remotely know here besides Amber is my new husband, and it suddenly feels like he’s either pity-hanging out with me or he’s doing it for show, not because he actually wants to be hanging out with me.

  I open the curtains and let the morning light stream through as I stare thoughtfully down at the Strip below. Am I making a huge mistake by agreeing to this? I’m really only giving up the next six months in exchange for money, but at what cost to my own personal life?

  Usually when a relationship ends, there’s a mourning period, a time to get over what was lost.

  I didn’t get that with Chad.

  I take a quick shower, and I’m just about to pull my underwear out of my suitcase with the tiny hotel towel secured around me when there’s a knock at my door. “Hang on!” I call into my suitcase, but the door opens anyway.

  I jump around, startled, and hold the towel over my chest tightly as I face the man on my mind himself. “I said hang on, not come in.”

  A lazy smile slowly tips up the corners of his mouth. “Sorry.” He doesn’t look very sorry as his eyes move lasciviously down my towel-clad body. “I guess we’re even since I was in a towel when you two got here.”

  My cheeks turn red, and I turn around to finish fishing my clothes out of my suitcase. “What do you want?”

  “Just to see my wife naked.”

  I whirl around to face him again, my eyes widening. “What?”

  He’s laughing, and I must have moved too quickly because the towel comes untucked at the top and I watch in horror as it flutters to the ground in what feels like slow motion.

  “Wish granted,” he murmurs.

  “Oh my God!” I yell, and I jump to the floor to grab it and cover myself with it. “Go! Get out! Give me two minutes to find some clothes!” I’m shrieking and screaming and yelling all at the same time, and he just laughs as he spins out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him.

  I’m freaking mortified.

  I draw in a deep breath to try to compose myself as my heart races.

  Was he eyeing my naked form appreciatively? Or was that all in my imagination?

  It all happened so quickly that honestly it’s difficult to tell. It had to be my imagination playing tricks on me.

  I get dressed, run a comb through my wet hair, and meet Adam in the living room. “What did you need?”

  “The lawyers moved our meeting up.” He glances at the clock on his phone. “We have an hour until they call, and they gave me a list of topics to talk about with you before the call so we’re prepared to answer their questions.”

  I sigh. I’m not ready for this, but who is ever really ready to draw up a contract spelling out the details of a fake marriage to a rock star? “Fine. I just need a cup of coffee first.”

  He nods toward the pot. “Can I get it for you?”

  I shake my head. I need to keep my hands busy or else I’ll just sit on the couch wringing them nervously.

  Adam sets up a tablet so we can both see the screen as we sit at the large dining table with seating for ten. He glances at me, and I notice a hint of nervousness in his own eyes. “Don’t let the lawyers intimidate you. They warned me against saying this, but I trust you, Em. Ask for anything you want. You have all the power here.”

  I glance over at him, and his eyes are filled with this genuine sincerity and concern...for me. He wants to make sure I’m the one protected in all this even though it’s his lawyer we’re about to speak with.

  I should probably get a lawyer of my own, should probably run through the logistics of all of this...but he jus
t said it. I trust you. The feeling is mutual.

  “Is it okay if I record our conversation?” he asks, pulling out his phone and tapping a few buttons.

  I nod, and then he pulls up the list of topics and hits record.

  “This isn’t a standard marriage contract. It’s more of an agreement between the two of us for what this will look like. Do you have any questions before we start?” he asks, and I shake my head.

  He studies me for a beat, and then he gets started. “Okay, then first up is living arrangements. You’ve already admitted you’re moving out of your ex’s place, so just come live with me. When the contract is up, I’ll help you find somewhere to live.”

  “Where do you live?”

  “San Diego. Dax owns a house and we all live in it.”

  “No,” I say, shaking my head. There are multiple reasons why living with a band is a bad idea, but I voice the one that’ll be most convincing to this particular argument. “If we’re newlyweds and we want this to be believable, we need our own place.”

  He nods and taps his temple. “Smart. We’ll find a place to rent.”

  “Somewhere on the beach,” I say, because I’ve always wanted to live on the beach but could never afford it...until now.

  “On the beach,” he agrees. “But close to Dax’s place.”

  “Fine,” I concede. “What’s next?”

  “Work life. In the spirit of making this believable, you should quit your job and come on the road with me. Especially since Rock on the Road will be following us around.”

  I’d be naïve to think he wasn’t going to suggest that very thing, but he’s right. Besides, my face is splashed all over the media now. It’s not like I can just go back and work at the bank.

  A little shudder runs through me.

  It’s funny how one minute you’re a single bank teller mourning the loss of your relationship after your ex cheated on you and the next minute you’re married to a rock star and discussing life on tour.

  Or maybe that’s just me.

  And now I find myself hammering out the details of our sham of a marriage before we Skype a lawyer to sign away the next six months of our lives.

  “What does going on the road with you mean, exactly?” I ask.

  “It means you’ll be the eighth member of the band.”

  My brows furrow as I silently ask what he means. There’s only five members of MFB by my last count.

  “The five of us, Kylie, Zoey, and now you.”

  “Ah.” I say it like I understand, but I’m far from understanding how I’m suddenly the eighth member of a hugely successful band when it’s been years since the last time I even saw this guy.

  “And being a member of the band means you’ll tour with us, sleep on the bus, share a hotel room with me, hang backstage with the other girlfriends, that sort of thing,” he explains. “We have a road break coming up next week plus a short break for Christmas, and then we’re back on the road in January.”

  His explanation brings up all sorts of questions, so I start at the beginning. “Sleep on the bus. Where?”

  “When the Rock on the Road cameras are with us, it’ll be in my bunk.”

  “W—with you?” I stutter, my cheeks flaming as a little shudder runs through me at the thought of those abs so deliciously close to me. The little shudder turns into a tremble.

  “Well, yeah.”

  So he really wants to make this believable.

  “Okay. You mentioned Christmas. How will that work?” I ask.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, do we celebrate with my family or yours? And do we have to fake it in front of them, too?”

  He considers that for a minute. “I have plans to go to Michigan to see my grandparents. You’re more than welcome to come. I think in order to protect what we’re doing, the fewer people who know the truth, the better. And I suppose that includes families.”

  I want to feel a little insulted that he’s asking me to lie to my family, but honestly a lie is easier than the truth in this case. “I have plans with my family, too,” I say, though I can’t deny the idea of being a part of his family is appealing.

  “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, though that bridge is only a couple weeks away. It probably wouldn’t be completely out of the question to spend it apart, though it might look weird to do that as newlyweds. We’ll figure it out.”

  I nod.

  He glances at the tablet. “Next up is payment. You’ll be taken care of for rent and bills, and I’ll give you a credit card for anything you need while we’re married. We agreed to fifty thousand, and you’ll get the payout at the end of our term. But I’m asking you to quit your job and give up your life for six months, so I feel like that’s worth at least double.”

  “A hundred thousand dollars?” I sputter.

  “You think that’s enough?”

  My eyes widen at what he’s offering me. “You had me at fifty, Adam.”

  He laughs. “Okay, then fifty.”

  “You just said a hundred. You can’t take it back.”

  “Good. You’re asking for what you want, just like I told you to.” He catches my eye and smiles, and it’s nearly enough to melt my panties right off. God, he’s hot.

  Speaking of melting my panties off...I still can’t believe I might have had sex with this man and I can’t remember a single thing about it. “I have a question,” I blurt before I can stop myself, breaking our gaze as I look down at the table. I trace a pattern on the glass just so I have something to look at other than Adam’s penetrating eyes.

  “What?”

  “Do you remember, um...I just mean, uh—did we definitely sleep together?”

  He’s quiet for a few beats, and I finally glance up at him. Brown eyes heat as they focus intensely on me. “I had a memory,” he finally admits. He clicks off the voice recording that I completely forgot about. This part of the conversation is just for the two of us.

  “Of our night?”

  He nods. “We definitely did more than sleeping together, Em.”

  I blow out a breath. I finally bedded Adam Wilson, my adolescent crush, and I don’t even freaking remember it.

  “And there’s more.”

  I tilt my head, and he looks nervous to confess the next part. What more could there be?

  “I didn’t find a condom,” he says softly.

  “I’ve been on the pill for years.”

  Relief passes over his face, and disappointment fills me that I have no memory of our night together.

  What was it like?

  I want to ask the question, but something stops me.

  I don’t want to know secondhand.

  Besides, we were both wasted. It couldn’t have been my best performance.

  He opens his mouth to add something more, but then the call from the lawyers comes through on the tablet.

  We tell them the details of our conversation, they ask us each a few questions, and Adam promises to send over the voice recording he took of our conversation in case they missed anything before they draw up the finalized contracts for us to sign.

  “Anything else you want to add?” the lawyer asks.

  Adam turns toward me and grins. “Don’t go falling in love with me.”

  I’m supposed to sleep in a tiny space with him and those ridiculous abs, travel the country with him and his band while they’re on tour, act like I’m married to him, and somehow not fall in love with him when I’ve been partway there for half my life?

  “Okay,” I murmur.

  But I can’t make any promises.

  CHAPTER 16: ADAM

  I told her not to go falling in love with me because I’m already halfway there with her.

  But the part that really stings? She said okay.

  Okay. Two syllables that tore a little piece of my heart when she agreed not to fall for me.

  I want to ask her out on a date, but we’re in this weird position where I’m afraid she won’t believe it’s
real or she won’t want it. So I have to fight my feelings.

  For her sake.

  It’s ridiculous. I hardly know her...yet I’ve known her for years.

  I’ve already asked too much of her. Trying to date my wife just sounds like a recipe for disaster...but when I kiss her, I want to do a whole lot more than try to date her.

  I have to keep pretending the kisses are for show.

  They’re not.

  And what’s worse is that I have to keep my lips off of hers when we’re not in front of the media. I wonder how much that’ll change when filming for Rock on the Road begins next week.

  Everything came together fast. The deal was already in the works when Kylie and Dax presented it to us, so we really just needed to sign off on the contracts. Mark Ashton has connections everywhere, and he found a crew ready to take footage starting next Wednesday. Our tour bus already has the camera ports from when we filmed our original season of the show, so the actual cameras will be installed before we head up to Sacramento next week.

  We have one more night here in Vegas, and then we head home to San Diego tomorrow.

  I’m ready to go home. I’m ready to get out of Sin City where mistakes were made.

  I’m ready to live with the consequences of those actions, but I’m not so sure I’ll be ready to let Emily go when our six month expiration date comes up on the calendar.

  “Have you watched the wedding?” she asks me just before we’re getting ready to leave for Mandalay Bay. We don’t need to do a soundcheck tonight since we played last night, but we do have a VIP meet and greet before the show.

  I shake my head. Between playing two shows and signing contracts left and right, I haven’t really thought about it.

  That’s a lie.

  I’ve thought about it a lot, but I don’t want to sit there and watch myself make such an epic fool of myself. I don’t want to see what three million people have now seen.

  “Me neither. Want to?” she asks.

  I lift a shoulder. “I’m a little curious.”

  “Me too.”

  I laugh, and then I pull out my phone and search our names. The first hit is our wedding video.