The Complete Rockstar Series

“Let’s go out!”

“Abby, I’m knackered. I don’t want to go out,” I whine.

My flatmate comes into the lounge and frowns. “You’re leaving in two days. I’m not going to see you in forever. You need to get up and do something with me. We’re going out and you’re not saying no.”

“Ugh!”

“Quit moping. For someone who’s about to embark on the adventure of a lifetime, you’re not excited enough and we’re fixing that tonight.” Abby is serious, crossing her arms and staring down at me.

“But Abby, I’m about to go through brutal training. I’m trying to catch up on my sleep before I go.” The whinging sound of my voice doesn’t escape me.

She makes a dismissive noise. “Whatever. This is our last chance, sister. You’ve slept enough for the next four months. C’mon. Get showered and dressed. You look awful.”

Abby grabs my hands and pulls me up off the sofa. “I’m going through a rough patch, Abby. You’re not a nice friend. You should be spoiling me while you have the chance. Let me eat ice cream and watch the telly all day.” I stick my lip out, pouting. Not that she knows the extent of my troubles. All she knows is that Logan and I broke up, she doesn’t know how badly he reacted.

Is every bloke a complete and total bastard?

“You can’t eat ice cream and watch T.V. all day, you’re an Olympic athlete. You need to be in peak form. Now it’s time to party. You broke up with a boyfriend who you say you didn’t think you loved and had been acting like an ass so there’s no point in moping. No more excuses. Go get ready.”

She shoves me bodily into the bathroom and pulls the door shut behind me. Damn, she’s stronger than she looks. And with her psychology degree, she’s always analyzing my moods. It’s like I can’t have a bad day without her wanting to dive into why I’m sad and what happened to cause it.

Okay, so maybe I’ve had a lot of bad days over the last few years, but Christ, I’ve only just begun to stop obsessing over everything—Wes, Logan, my career, Dax. The last thing I need is Abby trying to crack into my head.

It’s not like she hasn’t been hiding something herself. Dodgy phone calls and unexplained absences. The only reason I don’t ask is because I don’t want her to turn the tables on me. And I’m afraid it might have something to do with Hawke, and that hits a little too close to home.

“I hate you!” I call out to the closed door as I strip and get into the shower.

“You love me!” she yells back.

Yeah, I do. Once I leave and don’t have her there to keep me sane, I have no idea what I’ll do.

* * *

“Admit it, this is fun,” Abby says loudly over the pulsing music of the club.

“It is,” I agree. Abby decided we needed to dance, so she dragged me out to Phoenix, a popular club off Wilshire Boulevard.

“Another?” she asks, pointing at her empty glass. I look down and see that mine is empty as well.

I shrug. “Sure! But two is my limit.” No way will I ever end up drunk again.

By the time we maneuver through the thick crowd to the bar and back over to the dance floor, we’re both feeling the effects of the potent cocktails. Grinning, we spin around, swaying to the thumping bass. People our age surround us, all looking to get lost in the music.

I’m about to tell Abby that she’s brilliant and this was a great idea when suddenly there’s a commotion on the other side of the dance floor. Two bright spotlights stand out in the dim lighting of the massive room, creating a halo of light that appears to be following someone through the crowd.

“Cameras,” Abby shouts in my ear. She takes one last look before continuing to dance. “It’s Hollywood, I guess it’s no surprise.”

I nod, agreeing completely, yet not comfortable enough to lose myself again. My last encounter with cameras was that horrific day at UCLA during our final game of the season. Dax went crazy, punched a couple of security guards, and ended up arrested.

Then he broke up with me.

The bright lights come closer to where we’re dancing. Well, Abby is dancing. I’m standing paralyzed—watching the cameras move towards us while an ominous feeling takes root in my stomach, gnawing and tearing at my insides. The group comes within view and the bottom drops out.

“Is that—?” Abby has stopped dancing again and is standing next to me as the horror plays out.

“Lila,” I choke out. “Yes.”

Lila Griffin and her reality show crew in the flesh. I haven’t seen her since the day Dax helped me move out of our dorm room.