Played by the Rockstar
Chapter One
Becca
Neon beer signs totally signaled a new beginning. Sure, a girl might not think it possible, but Rebecca—Becca—Forrester was out to prove they could. The scent of hops and bourbon paired with the blast of music through the speakers and constant hum of life in the background at Brek’s Bar in Denver, Colorado. Outside, the snow had turned to a slushy mess. Inside, the bar warmed her like she’d taken a shot of top-shelf whiskey.
Oh yes, this joint was the perfect place for a fresh start that did not involve anyone else or the baggage they dragged along with them.
“Why do you want to wait tables here?” Brek asked, giving a dose of emphasis on here. “I’d have thought you’d prefer some place with tablecloths.”
Becca laughed. Brek was as biker as biker got—long hair, leather, and an abundance of tattoos. His wife was…not. She was a financial planner, and Becca’s friend.
Becca shook her head. She definitely didn’t want to wait tables anywhere else. “I’m looking for the diviest dive I can find.”
The idea to wait tables was a complete one-eighty from her recent past as a certified behavioral counselor, but she wouldn’t go back. Not yet. Especially not when she was having a perfectly lovely time at the local go-to spot for great music in Denver, hanging with her friends, and harassing Brek into hiring her as a part-time waitress while she took a life break.
“Diviest dive? Well, I guess this is your place.” Brek flashed her a smile.
“Exactly.” Becca tucked a lock of her thick, brown hair behind her ear, where it belonged but never stayed. “Until I figure out what comes next for me.”
“You can live the dream right here with me.” Brek patted the bar top like it was a living, breathing thing. Something he adored.
Sigh. Someday she wanted someone to look at her like Brek looked at his wife and his bar top.
Not now. She was on a break from all of that—the relationships, the responsibility, everything—but, someday, the adoration thing would be fun to have, too.
He’d created the perfect dive bar atmosphere—neon lights on the dark wood over the bar with his name lit up in blue. The wood paneling covering the walls was new enough to make the place look well-kept but beat up enough that it didn’t look like he had tried too hard. Aesthetically, nothing matched. Yet everything still worked together. The place was definitely Instagram-worthy.
The darkened room hopped in preparation for the band to take the stage. A vibe she loved pulsed through the air. That feeling right before music blasts and the lights come to life. Yep. This was exactly what she wanted for her present life: loud music and the familiar faces of the bar’s regulars, with no further obligation for the mental or physical well-being for those around her.
Also, the best bands played at Brek’s Bar. Sometimes, because he had the connections, Brek brought in huge names. Like huuuge. Waiting tables here was perfect for a recovering groupie on hiatus from life.
“You can start next weekend?” Brek asked.
“Next weekend would be perfection.” Becca glanced at her friends, mingling across the room.
Then Linx entered Brek’s Bar. Becca choked on nothing but air.
Linx. Walked. Through. The. Door.
Bassist for Dimefront. Hot as all hell. Heartbreak in leather pants when he took the stage.
She, on the other hand, was only hot when she wore a sweater. Definitely not heartbreak in any kind of clothing. Unless… Could a woman be heartbreak in yoga pants? She was sure that wasn’t possible. She shook the thought from her head as he moved her direction.
Her mouth didn’t just go dry; her entire body froze in time.
Tonight, he’d ditched the leather and wore shredded blue jeans instead. Lanky, with ridiculously long dark hair, stubble that was a half day away from being a full beard, and all the charisma of a man who could get tens of thousands of screaming fans on their feet with one chord on his guitar. He scanned the room like he owned the joint.
Brek may have owned the bar, but Linx owned the room.
“Looks like my current assignment is here,” Brek said, offhand with a touch of growl.
“Linx is your assignment?” Okay, she tried to resist sliding her gaze back to Linx, but she failed. Every woman in the house got the Linx grin as he continued his slow saunter through the room.
“I’m his babysitter…” Brek said, glowering in Linx’s general direction.
Crumpet crap-ola. Her blood seemed a whole lot thicker and her skin a whole lot thinner when he sauntered toward Brek… and her. The blue neon halo was a nice touch. Well done, universe. Well done, indeed.
She sighed because…. Linx.
All eyes were on him. Every woman in the room got a solid eye canoodle as he strutted right up to where she stood across from Brek. His eye canoodle could likely get a girl pregnant. She sucked in a breath and braced for her turn.
Linx moved less than an arms-length away, and her heart stuttered like he’d asked her to remove her panties. Surely, he wouldn’t recognize her. It’d been years since they partied in the same circles.
She held her breath because she couldn’t take the risk of his scent. Not because she had any special superpowers that involved scented rock stars—that she was aware of—but she knew he smelled amazing. Rock star heaven and concerts and something musky, like oak trees in the rain.
“Do you want me to wait for the drinks, or do you want to send them over when they’re done?” Becca asked Brek, ignoring the fact that Linx was right-freaking-there doing some kind of intense handshake thing with him.
“You should definitely wait,” Linx said, blasting her out of her knickers with that smile of his.
Yes, she often thought in British slang that she’d picked up one summer on a European Dimefront tour. She really took to their language choices. Refined, but still rather raunchy.
Like her. Rather, who she wanted to be.
She slid her gaze up the length of Linx—long and lithe. Not beefcake, but definitely built. He had more of a runner’s build. Muscle and sinew, but not overdone.
He leaned against the bar top, a look of pure happiness on his face. This wasn’t a cat’s-got-his-cream smile. This was a cat’s-about-to-play-with-his-dinner-before-devouring grin.
“Becca, this is Cedric,” Brek said, slinging drinks like a pro.
Cedric?
Right. Sure, yes, she knew that was his given name. Cedric Sebastian, wasn’t it? Last name was Lincoln, and all the original members of the band took a nickname that had an x at the end. Together, they made a triple-x, which they found hysterical, as pointed out in multiple Rolling Stone articles.
“Becca,” Linx—er, Cedric—stretched her name across his tongue and played it like an instrument.
He held his hand out to her. What to do? What to do?
She could touch him. She should touch him. He was expecting her to touch him.
Do something already, Becca.
She was overthinking this way too much. So she gave him a solid handshake.
The way he squeezed her palm was nearly erotic. For no good reason, either. It was just a handshake. He didn’t make any lewd gestures or anything.
Still, the bar seemed to zip to a pinprick and focus on Linx.