Read Online You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) by Erika Kelly - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Erika Kelly
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asked.
“I don’t have an ego here. It’s a waste of my time if I’m just going to play local venues the rest of my life.”
“Go big or go home?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard you sold out at the merch table last night.”
He nodded, still thinking about the way he sang.
Did
he do that? And more importantly, was he undermining himself? Man, that would piss him off. All the time and effort devoted to making a go of this career . . . believing his dad’s crap that he had some special talent . . . only to languish on the bottom rung. God, he owed his dad better than that.
“You should work it all the time. You’ll have your money for the studio session in no time.”
He gazed out the window. The early-morning sunlight sparkled on the surface of the pool. He felt her come up beside him, felt her heat. She smelled of coffee and something sweetly fragrant.
“What’re you thinking?” Her voice washed over him, cool and soft as a clean sheet.
“I don’t want to fuck this up.” He wished he’d met her sooner. He wished he—and the band—had made these changes long ago.
“You won’t. Slater, you’re incredibly talented. I screen all of Irwin’s demos. I know what’s out there. You’ve got a gift. And it’s not just your look, though, believe me, being the gorgeous, swoon-worthy lead singer matters a lot in this business. But it’s your songwriting. That’s the real ticket for you.”
She paused, giving him a mischievous smile. “You do know you could make way more publishing your songs than fronting a band, right?”
“But then how would the chicks find me?”
“True. Just a thought. Anyhow, the tiniest shift will turn your hard-driving songs into rock anthems, and your lyrical melodies into ballads that’ll make girls cry.” She frowned. “Well, they cry now, actually. But I can’t tell if they’re frenzied because you lifted your shirt and showed them the most amazing abs in God’s kingdom or if they’re really listening to the lyrics.”
“How come I don’t make you swoon?”
The skin between her eyes puckered in disappointment—but only fleetingly. “It’s so tired, isn’t it? The whole rock star/player thing? I don’t know. It just doesn’t do anything for me.”
He knew he should be insulted, but oddly, he wasn’t. Because what she said rang true. So true, it was like gears locking together. He
was
trite. And it
had
gotten old. He’d known that for a long time. It’s just . . . the girls were there . . . it was easy. What guy didn’t want to get laid?
“What does do something for you?” he asked.
“I wish I knew.” She leaned across him—her smooth, warm skin brushing across his arm—turned on the faucet, and rinsed out her mug.
And then she lowered the dishwasher door and her plump, soft breast bumped into the back of his hand, and it sent a shock wave rippling through him straight to his dick.
“I’d sure like to find out.” She let out the sweetest little sigh.
He couldn’t even begin to make himself calm down because, yeah, he’d just felt the fullness of her breast, but he’d already had a look at them, so he had the double whammy of a visual along with the actual touch, giving him a semi right there in the kitchen.
Jesus, he had to get a hold of himself. What were they talking about? Oh, what turned her on. Christ. Great conversation for a guy with a semi. “Any more coffee cake left?”
“No, but I got bagels. You know that deli right up on Pleasant Valley? They’re not bad.”
Bagels. Excellent. He could think about bagels. “If you don’t like musicians, who do you like?”
She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms, lifting those lovely breasts. They bounced when she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, using an elastic from her wrist. “I guess I’d really like a guy I can trust.” She glanced at him. “But that’s not a type is it?” Her soft laugh breezed around his heart.
He watched her pull a bagel
“I don’t have an ego here. It’s a waste of my time if I’m just going to play local venues the rest of my life.”
“Go big or go home?”
“Yeah.”
“I heard you sold out at the merch table last night.”
He nodded, still thinking about the way he sang.
Did
he do that? And more importantly, was he undermining himself? Man, that would piss him off. All the time and effort devoted to making a go of this career . . . believing his dad’s crap that he had some special talent . . . only to languish on the bottom rung. God, he owed his dad better than that.
“You should work it all the time. You’ll have your money for the studio session in no time.”
He gazed out the window. The early-morning sunlight sparkled on the surface of the pool. He felt her come up beside him, felt her heat. She smelled of coffee and something sweetly fragrant.
“What’re you thinking?” Her voice washed over him, cool and soft as a clean sheet.
“I don’t want to fuck this up.” He wished he’d met her sooner. He wished he—and the band—had made these changes long ago.
“You won’t. Slater, you’re incredibly talented. I screen all of Irwin’s demos. I know what’s out there. You’ve got a gift. And it’s not just your look, though, believe me, being the gorgeous, swoon-worthy lead singer matters a lot in this business. But it’s your songwriting. That’s the real ticket for you.”
She paused, giving him a mischievous smile. “You do know you could make way more publishing your songs than fronting a band, right?”
“But then how would the chicks find me?”
“True. Just a thought. Anyhow, the tiniest shift will turn your hard-driving songs into rock anthems, and your lyrical melodies into ballads that’ll make girls cry.” She frowned. “Well, they cry now, actually. But I can’t tell if they’re frenzied because you lifted your shirt and showed them the most amazing abs in God’s kingdom or if they’re really listening to the lyrics.”
“How come I don’t make you swoon?”
The skin between her eyes puckered in disappointment—but only fleetingly. “It’s so tired, isn’t it? The whole rock star/player thing? I don’t know. It just doesn’t do anything for me.”
He knew he should be insulted, but oddly, he wasn’t. Because what she said rang true. So true, it was like gears locking together. He
was
trite. And it
had
gotten old. He’d known that for a long time. It’s just . . . the girls were there . . . it was easy. What guy didn’t want to get laid?
“What does do something for you?” he asked.
“I wish I knew.” She leaned across him—her smooth, warm skin brushing across his arm—turned on the faucet, and rinsed out her mug.
And then she lowered the dishwasher door and her plump, soft breast bumped into the back of his hand, and it sent a shock wave rippling through him straight to his dick.
“I’d sure like to find out.” She let out the sweetest little sigh.
He couldn’t even begin to make himself calm down because, yeah, he’d just felt the fullness of her breast, but he’d already had a look at them, so he had the double whammy of a visual along with the actual touch, giving him a semi right there in the kitchen.
Jesus, he had to get a hold of himself. What were they talking about? Oh, what turned her on. Christ. Great conversation for a guy with a semi. “Any more coffee cake left?”
“No, but I got bagels. You know that deli right up on Pleasant Valley? They’re not bad.”
Bagels. Excellent. He could think about bagels. “If you don’t like musicians, who do you like?”
She leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms, lifting those lovely breasts. They bounced when she pulled her hair up into a ponytail, using an elastic from her wrist. “I guess I’d really like a guy I can trust.” She glanced at him. “But that’s not a type is it?” Her soft laugh breezed around his heart.
He watched her pull a bagel
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