Unplugged: A Bad Boy Rockstar Romance Read Online Free PDF Page A

for Kevin. Laurel stared at me, smiling, her eyes devouring the
muscles on my back and shoulders. I winked back and disappeared into the back
room.
    Kevin was kneeling on the black rubber mats on the
tile floor, struggling with a new keg that had been dented by the idiot
delivery guy and wouldn’t stand up on its own. Immediately I got down and
helped him secure the draft line on the spigot and get the stupid thing
wriggled into its place under the counter. He patted me on the back as we stood
up.
    “I need a favor,” I said.
    “Anything, dude, what’s up?” said Kevin, wiping his
hands on the towel that was perpetually across his right shoulder.
    “I need the green room and, like, an hour of privacy.”
    Kevin smiled at me like I was a dog. “Not even home two
weeks and you’re already gonna soil my green room with your conquests?”
    “Would you seriously say no to that girl?” I
challenged him with a laugh.
    “Not on your fucking life,” he said with raised
eyebrows. He dug in his pocket and handed me a key ring. “Last band’s about to
go on, so they shouldn’t give you any grief about kicking them out.”
    “Like I’d give a fuck if they did,” I said, jingling
the keys in my palm. “Thanks, Kev, I owe you.” I turned to leave the kitchen.
    Kevin’s voice followed me back out into the bar, a
little too loudly. “Probably condoms in the drawer!”
    I rolled my eyes and continued on my quest. The
Graveyard Club was a shithole, but even the worst of them had a spare room
where bands could keep their gear locked up while they were here, and catch
some peace and quiet before they all had to get crammed back in their tour
buses and vans, smelling each other’s BO for weeks on end. Maybe the big rock
star life had made me softer than I thought, but I sure as fuck did not miss
that—or the leg cramps, or having to trade precious joints to the other dudes
in the band to negotiate some time to fuck a groupie in the back without being
messed with.
    I knocked on the green room door before I used my key,
as a courtesy. Some skinny, dark-haired kid opened it up, and a cloud of pot
smoke came wafting out from behind him. It made him look like he was a wizard
teleporting into existence. “What?” he said, and then his eyes widened when he
recognized me. That never got old. “Oh, fuck, dude.”
    “You guys are on in ten,” I said in my best authoritative
voice. “Mind clearing your shit out of here?”
    The dude just stared at me for a minute like he was
looking at a ghost. No one had seriously fucked with me yet or mentioned the
festival, but this wasn’t the first time I’d seen fear on the face of someone
who had no reason to fear me. It was more than annoying—it was insulting.
    I snapped two fingers in front of his face. “Yo,
Cheech. You fucking hear what I said?”
    “You’re Noah Hardy,” he said.
    “Holy Christ.” I rolled my eyes. “Welcome to the present.
Now gather up your band and clear the fuck out of this room.”
    “But we haven’t gone on yet!” said a high-pitched
voice from inside the room. I looked over the kid’s shoulder and saw another
skinny, brown-haired version of him on the couch holding a smoking joint.
    Fine. You assholes wanna play? Let’s play. “You have
exactly three minutes to get your shit on that stage and start your set, or
there’s going to be a problem.”
    That might not have been my finest moment. Already I
could hear Gavin’s scolding voice in my head, reminding me that threatening
teenage hardcore bands was not the way to gain public sympathy. But the words
were already out. It’s not the first time I spoke first and thought later. They
only considered the stern expression on my face for a moment before deciding
not challenge me. After that pause, they scrambled to life and started yanking
guitars and drum thrones into their arms. One by one they filed out past me
without looking me in the face again. I wasn’t too proud to admit that still
felt