Kind of Famous (Flirting with Fame Book 3) Read online

  He snorted. “Cuddle Rock?”

  I shrugged and cast my eyes up at him. “Yup.”

  His mouth turned down in a poor attempt to conceal a burgeoning smile, and I chuckled.

  Maybe I’d been a social hermit for such a long time, I no longer knew how to handle sustained human contact. I was a castaway on a deserted island, and romance was a ship headed for adventure. Right now, I needed to get my sea legs and steel my nerves for the possibilities ahead.

  As if he were reading my mind, he pulled me closer, and my disquiet melted away. It was impossible to resist his charms, so I stopped trying. Instead, I leaned into him and relished his arms enveloping me as we strolled together.

  I wondered how often one of the band invited a girl to hang out. It was an instant aphrodisiac. Surely they’d used band practice to get chicks at least early on.

  “Thanks for getting me out of work. Or at least getting Lars to let me go on a field trip.”

  “It was a little selfish on my part.” He kissed the top of my head, and not for the first time I felt like I must be dreaming.

  After a couple of blocks, we stopped in front of a building that looked like an abandoned mechanic with three metal garage doors covered in graffiti. Shane produced a key and unlocked a red door that opened with a grinding creak. Previously muffled noise burst out as a guitar solo mixed with an erratic bass line.

  “This is where you rehearse?”

  How many of their fans had figured that out? Anyone could hang out here and wait for them to appear. I scanned the immediate area, but the only person hanging around was a lumpy, pale guy across the street, leaning against a tree, earnestly reading his phone. Just as Shane held the door open for me, Mr. Potato Vampire lifted his eyes and met mine. It may have been my imagination, but I got the sense he was recording us.

  When I got inside the entryway, I asked, “Did you see that guy?”

  “Which guy?”

  “Across the street. Looked like he just came up from some underground lair.”

  Shane peeked back out. “Oh, that’s just Jim.”

  “Jim? Who’s Jim?” My voice rose to compensate for the cacophony coming from farther in.

  “Nobody, really.” He leaned against the wall. “He’s this guy who runs a fan site out of his basement or something. He snoops around sometimes.”

  “A fan site?” My stomach felt sour.

  “I guess you call it that. He’s not a very good fan.”

  That made me laugh. “What’s a good fan?”

  “Well, I mean, he doesn’t say very nice things about us, or anyone really. He’s not exactly a jerk or anything, but he kind of likes to sensationalize things a bit.”

  If there was a sensational Theater of the Absurd website out there other than Jaclyn’s, I’d never come across it. “And he follows you around?”

  Shane scratched his chin. “I don’t know what he does, honestly. His site isn’t about us so much as whichever bands he can glom onto. It’s insane what people will do to get a little closer.” He curled his nose, obviously disdainful of that level of overinvestment.

  I wondered if anyone might think I’d taken my job only to get closer to Walking Disaster. Obviously, I wasn’t rejecting these invitations, but band access had turned out to be a side benefit to an already golden opportunity.

  Surely, I wasn’t the same as Jim.

  “So, why’s he here?”

  Shane shrugged. “Probably spying on Noah.”

  As if that answered the question. I lifted my phone and opened a browser. “What’s the name of his site?”

  “Fan something. I wanna say Fan Blog, but that sounds pretty lame. I honestly don’t read it, but he usually introduces himself with a laminate badge like he’s official.”

  I Googled, but as I suspected, the name was too vague. I decided I’d ask Ash later and shoved my phone back into my bag.

  Shane pushed off the wall. “I mean, he’s got to be pushing thirty. You’d think he’d have a job or something.”

  I coughed. “Yeah. You’d think.”

  He took my hand. “Speaking of jobs, can I show you around my workplace?”

  We followed a fluorescent-lit corridor into a cavernous space that had clearly once been a garage, converted with soundproofed walls, guitars lining the floor, a huge set of drums in one corner, and various other instruments and amplifiers scattered around. My dad would have fainted at the sight. The three aluminum doors that fronted their rehearsal hall had been boarded up, and a makeshift stage stood where the hydraulic lifts had been.

  “Wow.” My jaw dropped.

  Shane waggled his eyebrows, aware it was a cool-ass space. The whole thing was such a turn-on, I entertained illicit fantasies about doing him on one of those amplifiers.

  Sadly, we weren’t alone.

  Noah, Micah, and bass player Rick, now standing still with silent guitars, made for a quintessential garage-band tableau. Micah smiled and waved his pick in greeting. Rick set down his bass and lit a cigarette. Noah shot us a glance, then absolutely shredded his guitar with what sounded like a ghostly shriek.

  Shane dragged me back into the corridor. “Let me take you on the rest of the tour, such as it is.”

  Back the way we came, an office had been transformed into a temporary kitchen with a refrigerator and a microwave. Farther in, what was once a waiting room held a sofa and some other rickety furniture. On the table sat a duffel bag.

  Shane palmed his forehead. “Oh yeah, Jo thought to send along some of your clothes and your laptop.”

  “That was super nice of her.”

  “She also said you’re welcome to stay there tonight still.”

  “Oh, I—” hadn’t thought that far ahead.

  “But I was kind of hoping—” Red crept up the side of his neck in an endearing display of shyness. Oh, to have five minutes with him alone on an amplifier.

  “Let’s see where the day leads, yeah?”

  “Yeah.” He backed toward the hallway. “If you really need to work, we can set you up in here. The fridge is filled with snacks and drinks. Mi casa es tu casa.”

  I blinked rapidly. If he’d manipulated my day job just to stick me in the corner, I was going to lose my shit. “Uh. Lars expects me to record your new songs. If that’s okay.”

  He brightened. “Of course. That was one of my better ideas, yes?”

  I relaxed, laughed, and agreed. “Do I have time to change?” I ran Vanna White hands over my day-old outfit.

  “Yeah. They’ll be tuning their guitars forever. If you want to hide in the waiting room until we play our new stuff, I’ll understand. Or you could come watch for a bit.” His lower lip disappeared between his front teeth, and it suddenly registered that he was nervous to have an audience of one: me.

  “Are you kidding? I plan to catch every second.”

  Noah’s voice exploded from the other room. “Kind of need a drummer in here.”

  Shane gave me a quick kiss, and I said, “Go on.”

  As he turned, I swatted his butt, and he took a step without peeling his eyes off me, which resulted in him tripping over my computer bag. He recovered with a little flourish, and I wished I could have a few more minutes alone with that adorkable boy.

  Once he’d closed the door, I dug into the bag Jo had kindly packed and stripped off the day-old duds. I appreciated slipping into fresh-smelling clothes, even if I had to exchange a nice blouse for a T-shirt. At least she’d packed another skirt as an option.

  Out of all the possibilities, she’d selected my well-worn Theater of the Absurd shirt, and I had a brief moment of panic picturing her discovering my disproportionate amount of Walking Disaster merch. What would she make of that treasure trove?

  When I found the bag of makeup, my toothbrush, and a tube of toothpaste, I decided that Jo would be my forever fri
end even if I never saw her again after this week. I prettied myself up and shook my hair out. I felt human again when I walked out into the rehearsal hall.

  Noah wolf-whistled when I crossed the room and said, “Hey, Ginger Spice.” I couldn’t believe I’d thought he was the attractive one just a few days earlier. I ignored his taunt and settled cross-legged on the sofa, studying the camera with feigned interest.

  Shane hollered over, “I know this can get boring, so let me know if you need to take a break.”

  That made me chortle. “You have no idea how not boring this will be for me.”

  Micah’s voice reverberated low through the amps as he pressed his mouth to the mic. “Love the T-shirt.”

  I rolled my hand with a regal bow of my head.

  “Super fan.” Shane grinned, and I knew he meant it as an endearment.

  Noah shook his head. “Did she promise to fuck you if you brought her here?”

  Shane rose off his stool, eyes narrowed. Crash cymba wobbled. “Noah, I’m giving you one warning. Don’t start.”

  Noah laughed. “I guess that answers that.” He lifted his guitar strap over his neck and turned his back to Shane.

  I had no idea what was going on between them, but I didn’t think I’d ushered in the tension. This was the Behind the Music moment when the narrator announced, “Backstage things were falling apart.”

  Micah strummed a chord and said, “Come on. I don’t want to be here all day.”

  Shane settled in behind his drumkit, and once in place, he ruled all he surveyed.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The minute I was settled in with my camera, Shane smacked his sticks together four times and yelled, “We are Sex Ba-Bomb!” Then he attacked his set in a passionate but undisciplined drum solo.

  The other three looked at him with varying levels of disgust, waiting until Shane stopped.

  In the sudden silence, Noah asked, “What the hell was that?”

  “Improv?” laughed Shane.

  “It’s from Scott Pilgrim,” muttered Rick. “Great movie.”

  Micah imposed order on the chaos. “We were planning on the Black Keys cover? But Layla suggested we try a Walking Disaster song. Maybe we could give ‘Expulsion’ a go?”

  At the mention of a cover, I checked the camera battery and flipped my phone to airplane mode just to be sure it didn’t interrupt.

  Noah groaned, but Rick just said, “Cool. It’s been a while since that song was a hit.”

  “You can play it, Noah? Right?” Micah’s taunt did the trick. Noah played the opening riff, then sucked on his teeth like a baby.

  After a little more discussion, Shane gave a real count off and kicked off a rhythm at the same time Rick started a bass line. Noah’s fingers flew across his guitar while he lifted a foot in a step he never took. Micah strummed his guitar and then cupped the microphone with a pick lodged between his thumb and forefinger. Then he began to sing the first verse.

  Chills.

  Sure it wasn’t a real concert. When they performed for an audience, they more than brought it. They’d made a name for themselves for their surprising and interactive live shows. When I saw them at the amphitheater outside Indianapolis, Micah jumped off the stage and went back to the vendors and bought a beer—while he was still performing the song. Shit like that made them unpredictable and fun to watch.

  This was a whole different world. If I wanted to, I could have walked right over there and touched them. They could see me. Micah winked right at me, and I wanted to squeal.

  I was a sucker for lead singers. Often beautiful, but always charismatic, they made everyone in the audience want to be them or have them. Micah was no exception. He’d always been a favorite of mine, although nobody could hold a torch to Adam for sheer sex appeal.

  Noah went to town on a crazy lick and reminded me why I’d crushed so hard on him for so long. There’s nothing sexier than watching a man seduce the hell out of the neck and body of a beautiful piece of wood. My whole life, I’d been a guitarist girl.

  But there was a drummer hiding behind all of the glitz, and when all was said and done, I wanted to go home with him.

  I’d somehow become an insider for the time being, and my mind followed that trajectory to the possibility of one day getting this kind of access to Walking Disaster. It wasn’t likely, but the possibility was there, when it hadn’t been before. Like I’d gotten five of the six lottery numbers and just needed a little more luck for that last one to click into place. If I played my cards right, I could maybe even get backstage passes. I could be the envy of every fan girl on the interwebs.

  I let those asshole thoughts have free rein until I hit the limit of my imagination, which involved revealing myself to my fan site family as someone with legit connections to the band and not simply a girl with a website who hid behind anonymity and fear.

  Contact fame wasn’t my true end desire, but the temptation lurked. What I really wanted was right here. I got to be a private audience of one and hear this incredible band put on a show for me.

  I didn’t want to normalize this experience because I knew I was nothing more than Cinderella at the ball, and at midnight, my life would revert to normal. All these Prince Charmings would stay in their castle. I didn’t have a glass slipper to lose.

  I pulled my knees up under my chin and listened, head bobbing to the beat. Speaking of the beat, I zeroed in on Shane who kept the rhythm so perfectly, he disappeared into the background. Occasionally he’d do something fancy with the high hat, but mostly he banged and banged and banged.

  Like he had the night before. Ba-dum-cha.

  He made eye contact with me for a moment and twirled the stick around his knuckle, catching it in time to bring it down again. I clapped my hands together, and he grinned.

  If only he’d done it shirtless.

  At that thought, my heart beat in the wrong part of my body. Pulse. Pulse. Pulse. The term heartthrob suddenly made perfect sense. The discomfort was almost too much to bear.

  Once the song came to an end, I made sure the camera kept rolling. The song they’d played was cool, but fans would worship me if I could share the interactions between songs. Fly-on-the-wall stuff. I wouldn’t miss that for anything.

  Micah said, “Noah, tighten up the solo after the bridge.”

  Noah kept his eyes on the neck of his guitar as he plucked the strings. “In due time. I’m not in much of a mood to jam today.”

  “Not asking you to jam, Noah. I’m asking you to work out your shit before you get here.”

  Noah didn’t respond or bother to even acknowledge Micah further.

  “And Rick, you’ve got to bring some more energy. I couldn’t even hear you through the second chorus.”

  “Noted,” was all Rick said before he sat on an amplifier and lit up a cigarette.

  “Shane.” Micah turned his back to me, but his voice carried. “You were on point, but I imagine that’s because you’re performing for someone.” Shane shot me a glance with a cheeky eyebrow waggle. “Keep it up.”

  Noah shook his head. “Of course, he’s on point. He’s hoping to get laid.”

  I hit stop on the video. I didn’t like where this was going.

  Shane just laughed. “Projecting much?”

  “Fuck off, Shane.”

  “Say please.”

  Micah held up a hand. “Can you guys flirt later? We’ve got a setlist to figure out.”

  Noah said, “Whatever.”

  They worked through a couple more of their regular songs and a cover of “Little Black Submarines,” which was one of my favorite Black Keys songs.

  Unlike at their shows, Micah stayed planted at the mic, playing and singing like your run-of-the-mill front man. The energy was low, like they were going through the motions, like they’d forgotten some of this would be posted on the
Rock Paper e-zine.

  Micah said, “Layla, are you ready to record?”

  Then I realized he must not have known I’d been recording the entire time. I wasn’t sure what to do with all that video. They hadn’t told me not to capture it. “Yeah. Are you going to do your new music now?”

  Noah’s eyes widened dramatically. “She’s not going to record our new songs.”

  “Why not?” Micah clearly didn’t take any shit from any of them. Of them all, he probably had the least to lose if the band fell apart. He had his solo gig, and he had the highest profile of all of them. He could probably replace any one of them and the band would continue on. Micah was the band.

  “Look. I get that she wants to hang out and take pictures to show her friends. I get that Shane’s all gaga over her. But come on. Isn’t it enough that she’s getting a personal concert? Do we have to let her leak new music?”

  “Noah, stop being a dick. You never gave a shit about fans leaking bootleg. What’s the difference? Are you worried you didn’t put on your makeup today?”

  I snorted and covered my mouth when Noah shot me a nasty side eye.

  “Okay. Fine. Let’s start with ‘Sugar Rush.’ ”

  Micah heaved an exhausted sigh. “Good.” He shot a glance at Rick then Shane. “Ready?”

  Shane answered with a “One, Two, Three, Four!” Then they all came in at once.

  The song was heavy, grungy, with a throwback sound. Jane’s Addiction, maybe. Noah brought the electricity, playing his guitar like he’d been injected with a dose of adrenaline. He prowled the stage area and even moved out in front, toward me, pursing his lips in a kiss he might have blown. He smoldered into the camera, and I could almost feel the hearts exploding all over the Internet.

  While he kept hogging all the attention, I leaned a little to my right and framed Shane in the view, zooming closer to capture his relentless attack across all the drumheads. I pulled back and focused tight on Micah since the majority of fans would want to examine his every expression. While he could go as bananas as Noah, Micah had the ability to completely disappear into a song, too. When he did, it was like the song consumed him. He’d gone there now. His eyes closed, and he made love to his guitar.