My Rock (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

head
down on your knees. I’ll get you some water. You’re third, by the time Gary and
Violet finish, I’m sure you’ll be good to go.”
    I got her the water
and I explained to all three of them how this was going to work. They would go
in and sing one song. The judges would stop them whenever they wanted, and
they’d tell them either “Yay or Nay” right then and there. Then they would go
out the other side where the show’s Emcee was waiting to interview them. When I
said that, Violet gagged a little. I found a small trash can and sat it next to
her as I ushered Greg through the curtain that separated us from the judges. I
radioed Kevin and told him to send me another.
    I had my back to
the door and I heard Molly come in; she was speaking to someone quietly. I
heard her telling them where to have a seat and that I’d be with them soon. I
felt an arm brush against mine and I looked up to see an array of tattoos. I
followed those up and I was suddenly looking into Tristan Roger’s face. He
looked a lot cleaner and better groomed than he had the night at the bar. He
grinned at me and in spite of myself I felt my stomach flip. He went and took
the seat Molly had directed him to. Wow, was his career really this bad?
    “Are you okay,
Elly?” Molly asked me. I realized I was still gaping at him.
    “Yeah, yeah, I’m
sorry, Molly. I’m fine. Thanks.” She raised an eyebrow as if she doubted it,
but she was too busy to ponder it further. I took a deep breath in and walked
over to give Tristan my spiel. To his credit, he didn’t let on that he knew me.
To my chagrin, I realized that could be because he really didn’t remember me at
all.

 
    CHAPTER
SIX
    TRISTAN
    On Monday, I had a hellacious hangover. I’d stayed
out at the club until two that morning and then I had a couple of girls I’d met
there at the apartment, until I finally remembered how early I had to be at
this fucking audition. It was after four before I finally kicked them out. I
slept for about an hour, which I think did me more harm than good. Then I
dragged my tired ass out of bed and into the shower. While I was shaving, I
looked at my hair and realized that I really should have gotten a haircut. I
forgot sometimes that I looked like shit. It never really seemed to matter
anymore.
    When I finished shaving, I spiked my hair up with
some gel and looked at it. It still looked like shit, but it was better. I
opened the new package of t-shirts I’d bought and pulled one on. It was a little wrinkled , but there was no fucking way I was
pulling out an iron. I had to dig to the back of my closet to find a pair of
jeans that looked halfway decent, and, after I pulled them on, I put on my
boots and looked at the final product in the full-length mirror. It would have
to do because it was already after six and I was afraid that I was going to end
up at the back of the line. That was exactly what happened, and, by five that
evening, I still hadn’t even made it close to the doors. I stayed as the line
thinned out some, the people not hardcore enough to brave the streets of
Burbank overnight. My fucking head was throbbing and I could have really used a
joint. But I dipped down deep and found a shred of the determination that I
used to have, back when I was a kid, and I stayed.
    By about three in the morning, most of the
contestants that had stayed were asleep. I spotted a girl, just barely over
legal sitting about three people away from the door. She looked lonely, so
being the good guy I am, I went forward to keep her company. I ended up
spending the rest of the night in her sleeping bag. We fooled around inside the
bag, and, when the sun came up on Tuesday morning, I was suddenly contestant
number four, right behind my new girlfriend…Veronica? Valerie? Fuck, something
that started with a V.
    Around eight a.m., I was finally shuffled into a
room with about fifty other losers and then, sometime around nine, taken
backstage by a chick with a lisp but a nice