Chapter 1

Jared

Loneliness was a bitch. True, that wasn’t the most convincing statement to say when surrounded by a group of screaming girls in a sports bar, eager to touch any part of your body they could get their hands on. And try telling that to a horny twentysomething guy. This place was a smorgasbord of groupies interested in a quick lay.

Not that I was complaining.

So far I loved what I did for a living. I loved the fans, and I loved hanging out with the guys in the band, even during our last grueling tour. But that didn’t stop the nagging feeling that despite the music, the fans, and the band, despite how hard we had worked and how much we had sacrificed to get this far, something was missing.

But hell if I knew what it was.

“Oh my God,” the girl in a super-tight white tank top shrieked, jumping up and down on the polished floor. Her huge tits bounced like overinflated beach balls. “I can’t believe it’s you. You’re like my favorite guitarist of all time.”

I flashed her the smile that always left girls sighing. Mason, the drummer for Pushing Limits, claimed the smile guaranteed I’d get laid. I wasn’t so sure about that. “Well, thanks. You just made my day.” I had already used the same tired line five times in the past fifteen minutes. But as long as the girls at the radio-station-sponsored event didn’t compare notes, they’d be fine.

Flipping my lucky guitar pick between my fingers and across the back of my hand, I glanced at Nolan with his mob of fans. His girlfriend, Hailey, was standing to the side, talking to Kirk’s sister. Neither of them paid attention to the eager fans pawing at the individual members of the band. It wasn’t like the two women hadn’t seen it before. Although I had to admit I was impressed at how Hailey took it all in stride. Not all girlfriends were like that.

A kiss on my cheek dragged me back to my own group of screaming fans. The girl with beach-ball tits grinned at the smartphone in her hand. Had she just taken a fucking selfie of her kissing me?

“Okay, everyone,” Rebecca, one of the radio personalities, said through the speakers. It was early afternoon and the brightly lit sports bar had been rented for the event, which meant the TVs weren’t on, much to Kirk’s annoyance. I chuckled. His occasional glares aimed at the TVs meant one thing: he was missing out on a hockey game featuring his favorite team, the L.A. Kings.

“May the games begin,” Rebecca continued once she had everyone’s attention. “And ladies, no mauling our special guests. You wouldn’t want to scare them off, right?”

“Boo!” Mason’s loud voice exploded through the stale, beer-scented air. His lazy grin, bright against his brown skin, was visible above his groupies’ heads. He wasn’t the only one disappointed at her suggestion. The girls crowded around him would’ve been more than happy to continue groping the bulky drummer—and the feeling was mutual when it came to Mas. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he already had some of their phone numbers.

“Is everyone still in their assigned group?” Michael, the other radio personality, asked. His question was met with a chorus of yeses, shrieks, and hollers. “The first event is the beanbag toss. The winning team is the one with the most bags in their bucket at the end of three minutes.” He and Rebecca had us line up behind the throw line in the middle of the room. In total, fifty participants, with the girls easily outnumbering the guys, had won the chance to join us today.

The two radio interns herded Nolan, Mason, Kirk, Aaron, and me to the front of our respective lines and handed us each our first beanbag. I returned my guitar pick to my back jeans pocket. And the game commenced.

Cheers and groans filled the air as each person at the throw line quickly tossed their beanbag into their team’s bucket. I might have not been brilliant when it came to basketball, but I could hold my own. The beanbag landed smartly in the white bucket. I moved to the back of the line.

The next person, a brunette in a tight black dress and stilettos, hurled her beanbag at the bucket as if the damn thing was burning her hand. She missed our bucket and almost scored a point for Aaron’s team.

Before I knew it, all nine girls and the one guy in my group had finished their turns, and I was up again. Like last time, I nailed the bucket, but it wasn’t enough. A quick glance at the guys’ buckets warned me my team wasn’t doing too hot.

A hand from behind me squeezed my ass. “My turn,” the I-want-to-fuck-you-all-night-long brunette said.

I gave her both a brief nod and the grin that was reserved for groupies—the one that said any other time, I might’ve been interested—and walked to the end of the line again. The empty feeling trailed alongside, and I glanced at Nolan and Hailey. Both were lost in their own little world, despite the fans screaming and cheering around them. They smiled softly at each other in the way I was all too familiar with after being their roommate for a short time, ever since Hailey moved to L.A. to be with Nolan. Usually the look meant he was about to become one very happy guy—as my thin apartment walls could attest to.

The ass-grabber joined me, and her gaze tore the jeans and T-shirt off my body. She leaned in, her breath against my ear. “I’d be all for you playing me like a guitar afterward.”

I barked a laugh. And here I thought guys were the real winners when it came to lame pickup lines. “Thanks, but . . . but I have somewhere to be after this.”

She flashed me a pout. “Maybe afterward?”

“Maybe some other time.”

She brightened, failing to see the lie for what it was, and slipped her fingers in my pocket. I had no idea if she was giving me her phone number, but she took the moment to cop a feel. And from the way she smiled at me, she liked what she felt.

I stepped back and grabbed a beanbag from the bucket at the front of our line. But as I tossed it at the intended target, the brunette brushed her hand against my ass, again, and the bag missed its mark by a foot.

The loud blast of a whistle ended the game. I didn’t need to count the number of beanbags to know we’d lost. Not that I really cared.

“We won!” Mas hooted.

“Wait till they’ve counted them, dumbass,” Kirk said next to him. He gave the drummer a brief glance before returning his attention to Rebecca, who was counting the beanbags. A former hockey player, our bassist was as competitive as they came.

“I don’t need to wait, douchebag. My group is just that awesome.” Mason unleashed his grin on them again, and I swore some of his fans came in their panties, if their glazed expressions were any indication.

“Maybe so, but up against my athletic prowess,” Kirk said, “you’re toast.”

Mason smirked. “Bring it on, puck boy.”

Rebecca jotted on her clipboard, then counted the beanbags in Aaron’s bucket.

“Do you have a girlfriend, Jared?” asked a girl who could best be described as jailbait. The rest of my team waited for the answer with bated breath.

I shook my head. “Not right now.”

“So you aren’t dating Tiffany Grainger anymore?” the girl with giant tits asked.

“No. We’re just friends.” I almost snorted at the “friends” part. I didn’t think we had ever been friends. Just on-again, off-again whatevers.

“That’s too bad. You guys were perfect together.”

I shrugged. “With our work schedules as they are, it was too difficult to spend time together.”

The only other guy in my group chuckled. “Must be a tough life, dating a supermodel.”

He didn’t realize how right he was, even if he had meant it another way.

“And the winner of the beanbag toss is . . .” Michael paused for dramatic effect. “Kirk Helmson’s team.”

Kirk’s group cheered, the girls jumping up and down like hyped-up cheerleaders. One actually did do a cartwheel, but her technique was far from impressive.

“I demand a recount,” Mason yelled. His fans giggled. The rest of us laughed.

“Man up, Mas,” Kirk replied. “My team won and you know it.”

Mason folded his arms, chin raised. “You just watch. My team will destroy yours in the next game.” Mock defiance gleamed in his eyes.

“Bring it on, drummer boy.”

Welcome to what it had been like touring with them for the past year. They were always trying to outdo each other in whatever competition they had going. The rest of us had long since learned to ignore them . . . and maybe place the occasional side bet.

“Good to know nothing has changed between those two,” Nolan said to me as we waited for the next game to be set up. “I’d hate to lose our entertainment for the next tour.”

“You mean you’d hate to lose out on winning more money from me.” He and Aaron, our keyboardist, beat me hands down when it came to our little side bets. The little side bets that neither Mason nor Kirk knew about.

“Damn straight.”

“So, Hailey,” I said, “you’re coming with us on our promo blitz, right?” Maybe then I’d have a chance of doing better in our betting game. She would unintentionally distract her boyfriend and he would screw up his bet. Or that was my plan, at least.

“I hope so. Depends on if I can get the time off. Plus we’re expecting . . . a new family member.”

Holy fuck! That was the last thing I’d expected. They had only been together for a few months, but who was I to judge? If anyone should know how easy it was to get a girl pregnant, it was me.

“Well, um, congratulations.” I hugged Hailey and gave Nolan a one-armed hug. Fortunately, the fans were too busy listening to the sideshow entertainment between Mason and the radio personalities to notice our conversation.

Nolan burst out laughing. “She’s not pregnant. We’re adopting a puppy.”

Hailey grinned. “Sorry. Couldn’t resist.”

“Not funny,” I grumbled, doing my best not to let them know how I really felt. Joking about pregnancy was never a funny matter.

Shoving away the pain and betrayal from my past, I smiled, the move genuine. “So, when are you getting the new addition?”

“Today,” Hailey said.

From the look on my best friend’s face, you’d have thought Nolan was four years old and it was Christmas.

Rebecca announced the next game—darts—and we returned to our respective teams. I spent the next hour flirting with the fans, signing autographs, and finding out what they loved about our songs and about the band. This was one of the things I enjoyed most about what I did: interacting with the fans. The real fans. Not the groupies who were hoping to add us to their I-slept-with-a-celebrity tally. They usually couldn’t tell us what they loved about our music. We were just hot bodies as far as they were concerned.

“And the grand prize,” Rebecca announced, “goes to Kirk Helmson’s team.”

Cheers broke out among the teams, including Mason’s.

“Hey, bro,” Mas said with a laugh, “you finally won the Steward Cup.”

Kirk snorted. “You mean Stanley Cup.”

“Sure, whatev.”

Kirk collected the tiny metal trophy on behalf of his team and congratulated everyone as if they really had won the most coveted prize in the NHL.

“You guys want to meet up for drinks later?” Aaron asked after we had packed up our instruments to leave. As part of the event, we had agreed to play a couple of our songs off the debut album. The president of the record label had been quite clear: under no condition were we to play anything from the upcoming album. And basically whatever he said, we did. No questions asked.

“Count me in,” I said. Kirk and Mason also agreed to meet up at our favorite bar.

On my way to my apartment, I stopped at a grocery store and wandered up and down the aisles, grabbing whatever appealed to me and didn’t require much thought. Cooking wasn’t one of my favorite pastimes.

As I pushed my shopping cart down the cereal aisle, I spotted a woman I’d never thought I’d see again—a woman I had known back when we were kids. Only I didn’t remember her looking quite so hot back then, with her long copper hair in a messy ponytail. The woman who was my ex-girlfriend-from-high-school’s little sister.

The woman signing with her hands . . . to a four-year-old boy.

 © Stina Lindenblatt 2016

Now available in ebook and print

My Song For You is a standalone romance. All the books in the series can be read in any order.