Rock stars do it harder, p.1
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       Rock Stars Do It Harder, p.1

         Part #7 of Big Girls Do It series by Jasinda Wilder
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Rock Stars Do It Harder


  Copyright Page

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Also By

  Rockstars Do It Harder

  Copyright (c) 2012 Jasinda Wilder

  All rights reserved.

  This one is for all my superfans. You make this the best job ever. Thanks for all the love!



  The pain in Anna's eyes when she caught sight of him on the stage sent a bolt of agony through Chase Delany's heart. It was the ultimate rejection, even more than her words. She'd told him in no uncertain terms she didn't love him. Even that didn't hurt quite so much as seeing her soft, sweet, expressive gray eyes blaze with pain and surprise and anger at the mere sight of him.

  Since she'd rejected him, Chase had thrown himself into the band, into tours and concerts. He wrote like a madman, pouring his pain and anger into songs that got progressively darker as the weeks passed. His bandmates noticed, but they didn't say anything. The darker music drew the fans, drew the crowds to swelling numbers, filled the stadiums and the bars and the casinos. Sure, they weren't headliners yet, but of all the opening acts, Six Foot Tall drew the most attention, garnered the loudest applause.

  None of that mattered. Not to Chase.

  The fans could scream their heads off, but it wouldn't fill the ache in Chase's heart, the hollow in his belly. Only she could fill him like that, and she'd chosen someone else. Even when fans sneaked backstage after shows and pressed their bodies against him, he couldn't find a single moment of contentment.

  He'd let a girl take him all the way once--and only once--after Anna broke his heart. He'd rejected dozens of girls up until then, all skinny girls with small, hard breasts and waists he could span with his hands, ribs showing when they lifted their tops to tempt him with their pale, frail bodies. He'd rejected them all, politely but firmly.

  Then a different kind of girl found him backstage, bribed security to give her a few minutes alone with Chase before a set. She was tall, with wide hips and heavy breasts, a luxurious fall of black hair, and bright green eyes. For the first time in weeks, Chase felt the stirrings of desire. He let her peel her shirt off, pendulous breasts swaying in front of his face, her areolas dark dimes against her pale skin. She'd pushed her skintight pants down to her feet and stepped out to stand before him naked and gloriously beautiful, a pale Diana. The cold air of the dressing room made her nipples stand on end, hard little beads.

  Chase sat, waiting, heart thudding, his pose deceptively casual. She didn't say anything, just unbuckled his belt, tugged his pants down to his ankles, slipped her legs astride his, and impaled herself onto him, moved above him, her green eyes locked on his, full lips pressed thin, heavy breasts swaying. His body responded, but his mind stayed frozen and cold, his heart empty and black.

  She isn't Anna. He pounded the thought through his mind, a harsh reminder, but to no avail. Black hair flashed into blonde locks, green eyes turned gray. Her name was poised on his lips, whispered in the cold air.

  Her nostrils flared and her eyes narrowed, the black-haired beauty, but she smiled and said, "I can be your Anna, if that's what you want."

  She moved faster above him, her eyes closed, and her breath came faster as she neared climax.

  He came, and the release was brief and unfulfilling. She rose off him, plucked a few Kleenex from the box on the counter behind Chase. He watched with a kind of detached, apathetic disgust as she cleaned the white trickle from her thighs, swiped down the line of her lips, and then threw the tissue in the small metal trash can on the floor. She dressed, pulled her long black hair into a ponytail, and opened the door. Before she departed, she pulled a small white rectangle from her purse, a business card, and set it on the filing cabinet by the door.

  "If you get over Anna and you want some real company, call me." Then she was gone.

  Chase sat, his pants still around his thighs, cock limp and sticky against his leg. A fist knocked on the door, jerking Chase from his blank stare, and he tugged his pants on, buckled his belt, and called a hoarse, "Come in."

  The security guard poked his head in. "You're on in five." He saw the card on the cabinet, and flicked a grin at Chase. "Nice, huh? That chick had some big ol' titties, right?"


  "Gonna bring her backstage again after?"

  "No." Chase felt a flood of self-loathing wash through him. "In fact, don't let anyone else back here again."

  The security guard lifted an eyebrow in surprise. "You sure? You don't want--"

  "No, I don't."

  "All right, man. If you say so."

  After that Chase had taken to hiding in the green room, or in a crowd of other musicians. He'd started to heal, started to forget.

  And then, a few weeks after the black-haired girl, he'd gone out onstage in Vegas, some music festival in a casino way off the Strip. The lights had gone up, the crowd had been wild, manic, infusing him with a crazed energy. The first number had killed. Then he'd paused, scanning the crowd, seeing only a sea of faces. Just as Chase was about to give the signal to kick in the next number, he'd seen a flash of blonde hair, an all-too-familiar face only a few feet away from the stage.


  One look, and his heart had crumbled all over again.

  He'd written dozens of songs about her, but he'd only written one song to her, for her. It was, perhaps, his best song to date. The band had learned it, but they hadn't planned on performing it yet.

  It was time, he decided.

  Chase spun in place and waved for his band's attention. "We're doing 'I Found You.'"

  "Now?" This was Gage, his bassist, and one of his oldest friends.

  "Yeah, now. She's here. She needs to hear it."

  Gage shrugged. "If you say so, man."

  "Make it burn, boys," Chase said. He turned away and fixed his eyes on Anna.

  Mic to his lips, he addressed her. "This next song is...special. It's brand new, so you guys are the first live audience to hear it played. I wrote it during a time of heartbreak and loss. Just listen--you'll see what I mean." Chase paused to tamp down the emotion rising within him. "I hadn't planned this, but the person...the woman I wrote this song about, she's in the audience today. Makes this performance especially personal. Anna, this is for you."

  He watched her eyes darken with pain, and then the drumbeat kicked in and the music carried him away. He screamed himself raw, that song. But it didn't matter. She turned away, and he knew she'd made her final choice. Just as well. He was so hurt, so full of blind rage, he wouldn't have been able to speak to her.

  He saw him, Jeff, standing behind her.

  "Take care of her." Chase's raw, hoarse voice boomed into the silence of the stunned audience.

  Jeff only nodded, and Chase was satisfied. Even through the boiling anger and searing pain, he wanted her to be happy, and it was clear Jeff made her happy.

  The rest of the set flew by, and he collapsed in the green room, completely spent. He sipped water and settled in to wait for his bandmates to finish partying with the rest of the festival bands. He wasn't up for a crowd, not then.

  The door opened, and he started to bitch out the security guard, but the face he saw poking through the gap stopped his heart. She hesitated, unsure.

  "You?" Chase's voice cracked into a whisper.

  "I know you probably don't want to see me, of all people, but--"

  "No, it's fine. Come on in." He set his bottle down and tried to gather his scattered wits. "What--uh, what are you doing here?"

  She shrugged. "I don't know." She held up a backstage pass. "I have th
is...Anna--sorry, she gave it to me. That looked like it was pretty rough, and I thought you might need someone to...I don't know. But here I am."

  Her eyes held sorrow for him. That hurt, in an odd way. She cared about him? She saw his pain, clearly. "Here you are."

  The silence stretched out, neither of them sure what to say, or do, or feel.

  God, she's gorgeous. The thought struck him, unbidden.

  For the first time in months, Anna was nowhere in his mind.


  Jamie Dunleavy licked her lips and tried to slow her breathing. Chase was staring at her, his gaze inscrutable. He was sweaty, dark eyes narrowed, chest heaving, a bottle of water in one fist. His hand was so big it made the bottle of Ice Mountain look tiny.

  She knew she shouldn't be there, with Chase, backstage. It was just asking for trouble. He wasn't with Anna anymore, but he was still off-limits. A best friend's ex was a big no-no, in her book. She'd fucked more guys than she'd care to count or admit, but she'd never, ever slept with the ex of anyone she cared about. She had some standards, after all.

  So why am I here? No reasonable answer popped into her head.

  He'd just looked so...angry and broken when Anna finally, truly, and literally turned her back on him. The look in his eyes, before he'd shut himself down, was one of soul-deep hurt. And Jamie was a sucker for troubled, hurting guys. She seemed pulled to them. It wasn't so much bad boys that she was drawn to as guys with serious issues. Endless hours of self-psychoanalysis and girl talk with Anna had given her enough insight to understand why she was drawn to the fixer-upper, dark, and dangerous types: She saw herself in them, and hoped they'd have at least a chance of understanding her, of getting why she was the way she was.

  So far, no luck.

  Lots of sex, some of it pretty damn spectacular, but that was about it. Lots of walks of shame, lots of guys who disappeared after a tumble or two.

  Chase seemed to be the ultimate in tall, dark, and fucked-up. He was lounging in a chair, sweat pouring down his face and beading on his clean-shaven head, a pair of supple, faded black leather pants hugging his thick legs and showing off a bulge that had her throat going a little dry and her pulse pounding. He had a ripped, sleeveless Led Zeppelin T-shirt on, tight around his torso and showing his burly, toned arms. His wrists were adorned with thick leather metal-spiked bracelets, and tribal tattoos peeked out from beneath his shirt onto his shoulders and arms. His ears were pierced and gauged. His brown eyes were so dark they were almost black, narrowed and struggling for expressionless apathy.

  Jamie saw through his efforts, though. He was hurting. She had no idea what she, of all people, could for him, but she knew she couldn't just walk away and leave him to hurt alone.

  "I don't know why I'm here, honestly," she said a second time. "Shit. I already said that. I just...I guess I wanted to see if you were okay."

  Lame, lame, lame. Jamie kicked herself. Usually she was pretty good at saying exactly what she was thinking. To a fault, actually. She had tendency to take brutal honesty to a whole new level sometimes. But now, faced with Chase, her best friend's ex-lover, Jamie found herself tongue-tied, stammering, fumbling for complete sentences.

  Chase swigged his water before responding. "Okay? I mean, I'm here. I'm alive. I'm..." He trailed off, rolling the water bottle over his forehead. "Fuck. No, I'm not. I'm not okay at all."

  That was all the opening she needed. Jamie moved into the room and closed the door behind her. There was only the one chair, so she sat half on the counter, her back to the mirror and the too-bright light bulbs. She was within arm's reach of Chase, but not suffocatingly close. She tried to ignore how being this close to him had her feeling shaken up and out of sorts.

  "Can I help?" she asked.

  Chase laughed, humorless. "Help? What are you going to do? Get Anna back?"

  Jamie flinched and stood up. "No, I can't do that. She's happy with Jeff. I just...I know how it feels. I--" She shook her head angrily. "You know what? Whatever."

  She stomped toward the door, cursing herself mentally. She was stopped by strong, gentle fingers on her arm, spinning her around. Her lungs froze and her brain melted. Chase was suddenly inches away, his huge, hard body frighteningly close. She could feel the heat emanating from him, as well as the confusion and the hurt. And the attraction.

  His eyes were on her, but she still couldn't make heads or tails of what he was thinking.

  "I'm sorry, Jamie. That was a dick thing to say."

  "Fucking right it was." Damn it, there goes me and my mouth again.

  Why was he closer now? The glittery heart on her tank top, bulging with her breasts, brushed against his Led Zeppelin shirt. The contact, even that little bit, had lightning bolting through her. Her nipples weren't even hard, but she was still shivering when each of her breaths had her chest expanding and pushing her against him.

  "Well, I said I'm sorry. It's just--I'm just--"

  "No, now I'm the one being a dick," she said. "I shouldn't be here. I'm her best friend, and I'm probably just making things worse."

  His hand was still on her arm, circling her bicep. He was so close now she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes. His gaze was intense, and Jamie felt something in her stomach clenching at the way his stare washed over her, glancing from her face to her thick, curly hair and down to her cleavage. Her shirt wasn't low-cut, but it was tight enough that the outlines of her bra were visible.

  And now, under his eyes, her nipples peaked and poked through her bra and thin cotton tank top to dimple the material.

  She felt his body respond. Oh, god. Oh, god. He's huge. She felt her body quivering and straining to feel more, get closer. Get your ass out, Jamie.{danger comment}

  She didn't listen to herself. He wasn't holding her arm so tightly that she couldn't have gotten away, so why was she stuck in place like she was about to kiss him?

  No. No. No.


  She was falling forward...

  His lips were salty with sweat, soft yet firm, scouring her mouth with something like desperation. His hand tightened on her arm, his other hand slipping to the small of her back and pulling her close. She moved into him instinctively, crushing herself against him before she knew what she was doing.

  Then reality hit like a palm-strike from Jesus. What the hell am I doing?

  Jamie threw herself backward out of his arms, away from his kiss. It hurt. It physically, mentally, and emotionally hurt to pull away so forcefully. He tasted, felt, and smelled like man-heaven. Hunk-nirvana. Sex-Valhalla. Were there other kinds of heaven she could compare that ten seconds to? Probably, but her brain was too fried to come up with them.

  She'd kissed him. It hadn't been his fault. It was all her. She was a terrible, terrible best friend and an awful human being.

  Jamie's fingertips touched her lips, as if to keep the memory of his kiss close. Her back was to the door, and her breath came in ragged gasps. "That...that shouldn't have happened. God. I'm so sorry." She ducked her head so her copper curls draped in front of her face. "I don't know what the fuck I was thinking. I'm sorry, Chase. I shouldn't have--" she cut herself off and groped for the doorknob.

  Time to beat a hasty retreat before he could come up with a scathing response. Or worse, kiss her back. 'Cause that would be terrible. Wonderful, amazing, incredible...and totally wrong. If he kissed her, he'd be a cad. If she let him, it would push her past having just made an innocent mistake and into heinous-bitch territory.

  He took a step, licking his lips, brows furrowed in confusion. "Jamie, wait. Just hang on a second. That was--"

  "A mistake," she filled in for him. "Never going to happen again. It can't. I'm Anna's best friend, and you're her ex. Us...that's not just 'hell, no' territory, it's like...full-on 'fuck no' country."

  Chase's lips quirked. "You drop the F-bomb a lot, don't you?"

  Jamie shrugged. "Yeah, I do. I know it turns a lot of guys off, but it's just how I am."

"I think it's hot."

  Jamie backed up. "You're not allowed to think I'm hot."

  "Why not?"

  "Because. You just can't. It makes this that much harder."

  "Makes what harder?" He took another step toward her.

  She turned and spoke as she walked away. "This. The part where I do the right thing for once in my life. I'm gonna walk away, and we're both going to pretend nothing happened."

  "But it did happen." He was chasing her, moving through the bustling hallways after her, shouldering aside techies and band members and stage crew. "Jamie, wait. Just hang on and let's talk about this."

  She shook her head, curls bouncing. "No way. Not happening, Chase. Don't push me."

  She tried to ignore him. She saw the exit just ahead, the red-lettered sign shining in the distance, a thin bright line of white spearing through the backstage gloom as someone stepped out. She scurried for the exit, not looking back, trying to ignore the part of her that was begging, Just one more kiss, Jay. Just one more. It can't hurt anything.

  She made it. She hit the crash bar with her hip and stepped out into the oppressive, dry desert Las Vegas heat, squinting at the sudden brilliance of the day. She fumbled in her purse for her sunglasses and slipped them on, thankful for the emotion-blocking quality of the mirrored aviator shades.

  But of course, he was right behind her. His hand was on her hip, spinning her around. How did he do that? She wasn't a small girl, and she worked out. She took kickboxing. Jamie knew she was buff. He shouldn't be able to manhandle her like she was some sprightly little thing.

  "Jamie, just hang the fuck on for a second." His voice was a low growl. "Look, I'm not gonna pretend it didn't happen, but I know why you're bugging about this, and you're right. It's...complicated. But I don't think--"

  Jamie smacked his hand away from her body, needing clarity, and god knew his hand on her wasn't helping. "Don't think what? Think it won't be a problem? Think we can just hook up and no one will be any wiser? She'll know, Chase. She's my best friend, and I can't lie to her. Trust me, I've tried. We're like...psychic with each other. She's lied to me, and I've known when she was lying. I know when she's hiding something, and vice versa. Not to mention, it's wrong. You don't fuck your friend's exes, Chase. You just don't."

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