Oops! I Married a Rock Star

Devlin raises a hand. “Please just stop. You’re making it sound like you’re giving me a job reference.”

“I just want you to know that whatever happens between us isn’t going to mess things up with Axelrod,” I mumble, irritated that he’s ungrateful for my effort.

He places a hand over his forehead for a moment, then rubs it slowly. “If I’m going to be your fake husband for a year, or until you get the house…what does that entail?”

Oooh. Maybe he’s going to say yes after all!

“Are you moving to Dallas? You know that’s where the band stays when we aren’t touring, right?”

Does he want to stay in Dallas…? But I can’t move to the huge mansion. Max told me it’s loud and hectic there, a stereotypical bachelor rocker pad. I need a perfect place for fake-married artists, which means I need a place with a studio ready for me. Grandma would never believe I’m doing without a studio, and she’s going to think something’s off.

“Sorry, but I can’t go to Dallas,” I say. “I need to stay in Drover because that’s where my studio is. I have commissioned pieces I need to work on.” The top priority being the first of the three Catherine requested. She said it’s for her boss Barron Sterling, easily the richest man in Texas. He’s building a new mansion in Dallas, and he wants a giant painting to hang between winding staircases that unfold left and right. The piece is to draw eyes in the huge space, anchoring everything together.

“Well, I can’t be in Drover all the time. I mean, we have about eight, nine weeks off to decompress, since we just finished a tour, but we’ll need to be back in Dallas to decide what we’re doing next.” He sighs wistfully. “I was planning on going to Spain during my break.”

I feel bad about that. Spain has always sounded lovely, even though I’ve never been. “If you want, we can go there later. Maybe make it like a late honeymoon. If you’ve already got everything set up, all we’d need would be an extra ticket for the flight.”

He makes a strangled sound. “Ah…no. Don’t think that’s going to work. It isn’t, uh, that kind of trip. And Drover would be okay for a while. I just can’t stay there all the time for a whole year.”

My shoulders sag with relief. But I immediately straighten my posture and smile. “Great! And just so you know, my place has a guest bedroom you can use.”

A pause. “Why would I need a guest bedroom? We’re married.”

“Don’t you want your own space?” Hasn’t he heard what I said about him being a fake husband? He doesn’t have to pretend it’s real when we’re in private. Maybe I should clarify that, so he doesn’t feel obligated to put on an act all the time. It’ll be wearing to keep up for a full year.

“Just to be clear, we’re going to be married for real—legally, for real—for a year. Right? Your grandmother is going to know if we don’t sleep together. What if she comes by? Or your neighbors notice? Isn’t Drover a small town? Don’t people in towns like that spy on their neighbors and make notes of what they’re doing all the time? I heard they’re like security cameras, but better.”

“But…” I eye his broad shoulders and long frame, then picture my princess canopy bed and how he’d fit in there. “My bed is queen-size. It’s going to be tight.”

He waves a hand. “We can get a new bed. I’m sure they have bed stores in Drover.”

&nbs

p; “But—”

He raises a finger. “I can’t go without for a year. And I’m pretty sure you don’t want me banging other women.”

The thought is horrifying. Holy shit. The gossip would be crazy. And I’d feel humiliated even though we aren’t married for real because of the pitying glances and whispers. It’d be a death sentence in a small town. On top of that, Grandma would use it as an excuse not to hand over the house. “No! You can’t do that.”

“Okay, then.” He sits back in his chair.

I run my tongue over dry lips. Crap. Sex wasn’t supposed to be part of the equation with my fake husband, even though I hired an escort for the job. And although I’ve ended up with Max’s bandmate instead, I don’t want to. I feel like sex can complicate things, even if it’s only for a year or so. Will it be weird for Max if he has to hang out with my ex? Max’s opinion of my ex-boyfriends is that they all should be struck by meteors and lightning, simultaneously if possible. And if Devlin “cheats” on me, Max will smash his head in with a guitar.

But I can tell Devlin isn’t going to budge on not being deprived. And articles on the band always mention his wild playboy antics. He probably really can’t control himself for that long.

“Once a month,” I say finally, feeling like I’m agreeing to drinking that disgusting green detox goo Tasha loves to force on me to create “that glass skin.” She doesn’t understand I don’t care that much.

He snorts. “Once a month? What do you think I am? A priest?”

“Priests don’t have sex at all.”

“Four times a day.”

I laugh. “Right. Nobody can do it that many times. Well…no man, anyway.”

“This one can. And we did it more than that in New York.”

We? New York? I blink. “You… Me… New York?”