Read Online Rockstar Romance: Julian (Contemporary New Adult Bad Boy Rock Star Romance) (Hard Rock Star Series Book 3) by Jade Allen - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jade Allen
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the sex.”
“I’ll try and help a brother out,” Mark said, smirking. “Get everyone to party it up for the last night. Beg to go to the Clermont Lounge, then you and Fran can have the bus to yourselves.” I snickered.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll play out just like that.” The fact was that I’d take any chance to have at least fifteen minutes alone with Fran at that point—and twenty or thirty would be even better. Maybe an hour. We had to make up for lost time, after all. “See what you can do.”
“You know Nick’s never going to let you live it down though, right?” I nodded. The other day, during one of the bullshit promotional interviews we’d had to do at yet another radio station, Nick had spent the entire time dropping hints—little comments about “how close we’re all getting as bands,” and “the need for companionship” and shit like that. It was just enough to get a sharp look from Alex.
“Yeah, I figure I’ll be getting texts about it when we’re back in Dade,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. It is what it is.”
“Even if you don’t know what it is, exactly?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Even then,” I agreed. “Let me finish this bullshit for the site.”
“I’ll come get you in a bit; Nate wants to smoke out.” I nodded and turned back to the blog post, thinking to myself what a fucking fiasco that part of the agreement had been.
From the label’s perspective it was a huge success; getting us and the members of Juniper Woolf to update it every day had driven a lot of traffic to the site, which had resulted in people ordering merch—including our last album—and there was some kind of ruckus at the label about “generating buzz” which I didn’t understand but apparently made them happier than a pig in shit. But if we ever did anything like this again—some kind of promotional deal with another band—I was going to put my foot down to Ron and insist that we get an actual journalist of some kind, at least some kind of fucking writer, to do the work of documenting it.
I’d just finished and posted the blog to the site when I heard someone else walking into the rec area. I looked up while I closed the laptop down and saw Nate. “What’s up?” Nate shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket and coming up with a couple of joints.
“Fran’s doing some interview thing with a magazine, so I thought I’d come back here and see about getting lit,” Nate explained.
“Feel like sharing?” Nate set one of the joints aside and I handed him my lighter.
“Sure, man.” He got the joint going and took a hit, holding his breath for a second as he passed it. It was quality shit—probably more of Fran’s stash, I thought, when I passed the crackling, smoking joint back to him. “So you and Fran?”
“Jesus how many times do I have to have this conversation? I’m fucking tired of it,” I said, coughing through the heavy smoke.
“She just normally doesn’t hook up like that. It’s weird, is all,” Nate said before taking another hit. I took the J from him when he extended it to me and took as big a drag on it as I could handle. For a second we were both silent, holding the pot smoke in our lungs to get the most out of it. We both started coughing at almost the same moment.
“Yeah, she mentioned the first time we hooked up that normally she just takes care of things herself on tour,” I said; I doubted that it was a secret to any of her band mates. Hell—everyone in Molly Riot knew everyone else’s porn preferences and masturbation schedules. You couldn’t help knowing shit like that when you spent every waking moment together. It surprised me again that Fran and I had managed to pull off keeping our thing secret for so long.
“When was that?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You want to know the first time I fucked your lead singer?” Nate shrugged. I took another hit. “Right at the start. I think Orlando probably.”
“I’ll try and help a brother out,” Mark said, smirking. “Get everyone to party it up for the last night. Beg to go to the Clermont Lounge, then you and Fran can have the bus to yourselves.” I snickered.
“Yeah, sure,” I said, shaking my head. “It’ll play out just like that.” The fact was that I’d take any chance to have at least fifteen minutes alone with Fran at that point—and twenty or thirty would be even better. Maybe an hour. We had to make up for lost time, after all. “See what you can do.”
“You know Nick’s never going to let you live it down though, right?” I nodded. The other day, during one of the bullshit promotional interviews we’d had to do at yet another radio station, Nick had spent the entire time dropping hints—little comments about “how close we’re all getting as bands,” and “the need for companionship” and shit like that. It was just enough to get a sharp look from Alex.
“Yeah, I figure I’ll be getting texts about it when we’re back in Dade,” I said, shaking my head. “Whatever. It is what it is.”
“Even if you don’t know what it is, exactly?” Mark raised an eyebrow.
“Even then,” I agreed. “Let me finish this bullshit for the site.”
“I’ll come get you in a bit; Nate wants to smoke out.” I nodded and turned back to the blog post, thinking to myself what a fucking fiasco that part of the agreement had been.
From the label’s perspective it was a huge success; getting us and the members of Juniper Woolf to update it every day had driven a lot of traffic to the site, which had resulted in people ordering merch—including our last album—and there was some kind of ruckus at the label about “generating buzz” which I didn’t understand but apparently made them happier than a pig in shit. But if we ever did anything like this again—some kind of promotional deal with another band—I was going to put my foot down to Ron and insist that we get an actual journalist of some kind, at least some kind of fucking writer, to do the work of documenting it.
I’d just finished and posted the blog to the site when I heard someone else walking into the rec area. I looked up while I closed the laptop down and saw Nate. “What’s up?” Nate shrugged, slipping his hand into his pocket and coming up with a couple of joints.
“Fran’s doing some interview thing with a magazine, so I thought I’d come back here and see about getting lit,” Nate explained.
“Feel like sharing?” Nate set one of the joints aside and I handed him my lighter.
“Sure, man.” He got the joint going and took a hit, holding his breath for a second as he passed it. It was quality shit—probably more of Fran’s stash, I thought, when I passed the crackling, smoking joint back to him. “So you and Fran?”
“Jesus how many times do I have to have this conversation? I’m fucking tired of it,” I said, coughing through the heavy smoke.
“She just normally doesn’t hook up like that. It’s weird, is all,” Nate said before taking another hit. I took the J from him when he extended it to me and took as big a drag on it as I could handle. For a second we were both silent, holding the pot smoke in our lungs to get the most out of it. We both started coughing at almost the same moment.
“Yeah, she mentioned the first time we hooked up that normally she just takes care of things herself on tour,” I said; I doubted that it was a secret to any of her band mates. Hell—everyone in Molly Riot knew everyone else’s porn preferences and masturbation schedules. You couldn’t help knowing shit like that when you spent every waking moment together. It surprised me again that Fran and I had managed to pull off keeping our thing secret for so long.
“When was that?” I raised an eyebrow.
“You want to know the first time I fucked your lead singer?” Nate shrugged. I took another hit. “Right at the start. I think Orlando probably.”
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