Christmas with a Rockstar (Rock Revenge Trilogy 3.50)

He scowled at me. “Yeah, but do you really think you’re in any condition to drive the Porsche?”

“I need some fresh air.”

“Rush, you’ve got interviews and the VIP meet-and-greets.”

“You said we were through with all the bullshit after tonight.”

“After tonight’s obligations. It’s not all about you. Your fans are what keeps the Rush machine cranking out the cash, and you know it.”

“Yeah. All right. I get it.” I closed my fingers into tight fists, wishing they were gripping the leather-wrapped steering wheel of the Carrera instead. “They get an hour.”

I could do sixty more minutes for him and for my bandmates who worked as hard as I did. But that was it. I was as sick of myself and the arrogant rock-star act as everyone else was.

“After that, I’m gone.”

“Everyone out.” Bradley barked the order to the media reps that had followed us into the dressing room. “Rush needs a shower.” He cast his authoritative gaze around the throng within the claustrophobic ten-by-fourteen-foot space.

As usual, when he spoke, people listened. It was an innate ability he’d been honing since I met him in grade school and he convinced our headmaster that after-school suspensions were inhumane.

“Interviews will run according to the order on the sign-up sheet,” Bradley said, and the already ra

pidly emptying room cleared out even faster. Everyone hoped to be first in line.

When only my entourage remained, he addressed our small crew. “Thanks for all your hard work tonight. I’ll meet you in the green room. For now, I need you to give us some privacy.”

Murmuring acquiescence, they filed out.

As soon as the door shut behind them and we were alone, Bradley narrowed his gaze on me.

“Been on tour months without a fuckin’ break,” I said quickly, recognizing the impending lecture gleaming in his eyes. “I gotta go off the grid before I go completely insane, man.”

“I hear you.”

He studied me a long beat. Whatever he saw turned his light blue eyes storm-cloud dark.

“I got your back. You know I do. But you aren’t the only one who’s dead tired. If you go underground this time, I need you to stay underground, all right? I’ve been at the center of this whirlwind with you, and I’d like a breather from the chaos too. So, no aspiring actresses during the break. No models. And no more Rock Fuck Club chicks.”

“You expect me to be celibate?” I raised my brows.

“As a priest.”

“After the stunts we pulled in Catholic school, I don’t think they’d allow either of us to become men of the cloth.”

“Real wine swapped out for grape juice.” His flattened lips twitched.

“Frogs and garden snakes in the sisters’ lockers.” I grinned. “They were prophylactic measures. Our stunts served a purpose.”

“Kept those rulers off our knuckles after that, didn’t they?”

I nodded, missing those days when we’d not only had each other’s backs, but also confided everything to each other. Simpler days. Simpler lives.

Bradley’s expression turned serious again. “So, you headed to your condo in Santa Monica?”

“Yeah, after I drive around a bit. Clear my head.”

“You mean go to a bar, pick up a chick, and get laid again.”

“Probably.”