Knocked Up by the Rockstar
By Christina Hovland
Chapter One
Courtney Lincoln was never one to point fingers. Never one to be supremely philosophical either. But even she couldn’t deny that the enemy of her enemy was a mega jerk-face.
She might not care for rock star Brennan Baxter—Bax—or his perpetual asshat rocker attitude, but she never wanted him to get run over by the tour bus or anything. Though a little nudge from the fender wouldn’t hurt to deflate his ego a tad.
All that aside, she really didn’t want him to get run over by the bus of life.
Unfortunately, that’s pretty much what his ex-fiancée did to him. Figuratively, at least. According to the band manager, Hans, Bax’s heart was well and truly crushed. This was not a fender bump. Nope. His ex had crushed him like a Valentine’s Day lollipop under the heel of her Louboutin boots.
So, yeah, Bax’s ex-fiancée was a mega jerk-face. Because even Bax didn’t deserve that kind of betrayal.
“Explain to me why I have to go to save him. Don’t we have people for that?” Courtney balanced the cell between her ear and her shoulder and scooted to the side so a gaggle of girls could hit up the ladies’ room.
Taking her note from the Lizzo song, she flipped her brown hair over her shoulder and checked her nails.
Friday night was club night for Courtney and her friends. Thanks to her position as publicity manager for the band Dimefront—Bax’s band—and being bassist Linx Lincoln’s little sister, she’d dropped names like confetti in the ocean breeze and scored a VIP table at Pew, the latest and greatest nightclub in Los Angeles. The place where everyone who was anyone wanted to be seen.
Courtney was everyone who was anyone. Thus, here she was.
“He’s almost to the Beverly Hills Hotel,” Hans said, his deep voice clear—she was off the clubbing circuit for the night. The club and hotel were only a block apart, now the call made all kinds of sense. Blah, this stunk.
“C’mon, Court.” Her best friend, Irina, strutted toward her in three-inch high heels and a little black sheath dress that accented her curves in all the right ways. Irina gestured toward the dance floor and did a little shimmy shake. “You’re off duty tonight.”
Oh, if only that were true. The teeny tiny nerve endings in Courtney’s feet tickled, willing her forward toward Irina. Toward the dance floor and fun. Unfortunately, Hans continued yammering instructions, so she was very much on duty. That duty did not include getting her boogie on with Irina.
Courtney readjusted the phone to hear Hans better, but Irina rallied with hands on her hips and a mouth in a full pout.
“Did I lose you?” Hans asked.
“Uh-huh,” Courtney said, making big eyes at her friend and then pointing toward the phone. “I mean, nuh-uh, I’m listening.” Sort of anyway.
“You’re not off duty, are you?” Irina’s defeat was evident in the words as she folded her arms across her cleavage, bumping it up higher. Irina shook her head, so her shoulder-length blonde hair flicked against her chin. “Nope. You’re totally working tonight.”
Irina was 100 percent correct and about to be mega-disappointed, since they’d been planning this night for months.
“Hans? How did you even know where I am?” Courtney paused and glanced around the dark room where bodies on the dance floor squirmed and grooved. She shook her head. Nope, didn’t need to know how Hans found her, because it would probably only serve to piss her off. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
The Dimefront band manager seemed to know everything about everyone in the band and those who worked with the band.
Their location, latest medical checkup, preferred brand of snack food, and beverage choice.
“Beverly Hills Hotel,” he said, since that’s all he needed to say.
“Fine.” Courtney huffed, looking longingly at the leather booth with the sleek black table that her friends would get to enjoy and she would not. Hans’s marching instructions in place, she wrapped up the call and sighed.
“Which one this time?” Irina asked, her Taylor Swift red lips pinched to the side.
Courtney didn’t answer, because her nonanswer told the story for her.
“Bax?” Irina lifted her eyebrows. “Seriously?”
Courtney sighed, nodded, and shoved her phone into her purse.
“But you got dressed up.” Irina dove into full pout mode. “You cannot waste it on Bax. I forbid this.”
She wasn’t wrong that Courtney had gotten dressed up. In her own stilettos and an adorably short red dress that stopped mid-thigh, Courtney had even gotten a blowout on her hair, fresh all-over waxing, and new fingernails.
“One drink first?” Irina asked, using her best impression of a sad basset hound.
“I really can’t.” But man, she wanted to.
Irina thought on that for two beats. “Half a drink?”
Courtney went in for a sorry I have to leave, best friend hug and squeezed before Irina could make it to the tequila shot suggestion that would be coming next. “Rain check. Tell the girls?”
Resignation etched on her face, Irina nodded. “This sucks.”
Yes, indeed it did.
The grudge against Bax built with each footstep as Courtney hoofed it to the Beverly Hills Hotel. Click. Tap. Why couldn’t he have picked a location closer to Hans? Click. Tap. Why did he always ruin things for her? Click. Tap. This didn’t need to be her problem. Click. Tap. She had a life. A life where she made plans. Click. Tap. To finally embrace being single again and maybe bring a guy home. Click. Tap. A guy who wasn’t looking to insert himself into her forever and ever.
She and the last guy, Levar, lasted about six months before it became clear he wanted more, while she wanted less. That got sticky quick, and she ended things with Levar. Then she took a break to think about what it was she wanted out of life.
Fun was what she wanted out of life. Nothing serious so she could embrace her free spirit and run with it.
Striding to stand near the valet, she did a quick check to see if Hans had sent any other details other than his request that she ensure Bax not check into the hotel, where he was sure to be seen.
Courtney’s job was simply to ensure he was not seen.
Hans worked to make other arrangements at another hotel where Bax could enter through the back, and they would book the room under a pseudonym. Courtney just needed to get him there, and then she could (maybe) get back to her night.
Maybe get back to having that fun she’d been searching for.
Depending on how long this took.
And how intense the Bax-induced headache was at the end.
Her cell chimed with an incoming message.
Hans: Bax ETA 3 Minutes
Courtney leaned against a pillar to fiddle with her phone. She texted her mom, then her brother.
This was literally the antithesis of having a good time.
Just then, Bax’s Aston Martin slid into the pristine circular asphalt drive, heading for the valet stand.
Courtney stepped away from the pillar, shifted the thin strap of the Gucci purse on her shoulder, and placed her hand on the passenger door handle before Mr. Valet could even consider coming to check Bax in.
She pulled open the door. Thankfully, it wasn’t locked. She slipped inside, right onto the leather, letting her skirt ride up just a touch on her legs. Not so much that it was indecent, just enough to make her point that she did not give two fucks what Bax thought of her or her clothing choices. Also, she’d gotten a spray tan earlier, since her skin was way pale and she had spent no time at the beach lately. Might as well show off that spray tan.
Bax had dirty-blond hair—some might call it brown. Really, it depended on the lighting. Gorgeous blue eyes that he did not deserve, and either he’d gotten a spray tan, too, or he’d hit the beach. Because he was also rocking a California tan. He’d probably hit the beach, knowing Bax.
He didn’t even flick a look at her legs as he growled, “Fucking Hans.”
Why did all the excessively hot guys have to be assholes?
“I believe the words you are searching for are ‘Hey, Courtney!’” She settled into the leather, pulling the seat belt across her lap. “‘Thanks for saving my ass.’”
Bax gripped the steering wheel and didn’t move forward.
“I believe the words I am looking for are ‘I need a hotel room for the night.’” This he said with a teensy bit of sadness that actually tugged on the little strings around her heart because he sounded like his old self. Brennan. The guy who grew up on the same street. The guy who started a band with her big brother.
The guy who eventually morphed into the asshole who was Bax.
“Hans has me on damage control.” She balanced her purse on her knees and aimed for chipper. “Which means no one will see you going into this hotel the day before the tabloids trash your engagement.”
Well, in truth, his ex had done the trashing.
The tabloids were just going to finish it tomorrow. So said Hans and her contact at Raglan—the most offensive and therefore most popular of the online tabloids.
The short version of the story? His ex-fiancée lived in his house, took his cash, enjoyed the trappings of his fame… while cheating on him with one of his Bel Air neighbors—an investment broker who wore suits.
“Where am I supposed to go?” he asked. And dammit again with the lack of Bax in his tone and a lot of Brennan. “Em’s still at the house. I told her she could stay until she found somewhere else.”
Courtney’s eyebrows seemed to lift right up of their own accord. This was not normal Bax, because Bax was badass. This guy—the one with a voice crack—was not badass.
Brennan was the guy who used to be nice to Courtney and shared his after-dinner Andes chocolate mints when their families went to supper together. He was the guy who assured her there was nothing wrong with her when Tommy Rigby broke her heart at sixteen. He was the one who made her feel seen when everyone was all eyes on her musical savant of a brother.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Courtney asked, dropping her tone into neutral territory and not you-have-me-up-against-a-wall-so-I’m-gonna-spit-in-your-eye territory. That’s where they spent most of their time these days.
He shook his head, opening and closing his hands on the steering wheel.
“Do you want me to drive?” she asked—and not just because she’d never driven his Aston Martin before and would actually really enjoy it. The circumstances notwithstanding.
Instead of answering with words, Bax revved the engine and headed toward the road, winding around the tropical flowers and palm trees lit from the bottom with spotlights like they were the genuine celebrities on the property.
“How are your mom and dad?” Courtney asked, chirpy. She already knew how they were—her mom reported in on them often. They were presently on a world cruise they’d planned to stay on up until Bax’s wedding—the wedding that wasn’t happening anymore.
“They’re fine. Currently in paradise or playing the slots on some ship. Right or left?” he asked, terse, without emotion.
Brennan was well and truly gone… again.
Yay.
Not.
“Gotta choose,” he said with a growl. “Before the light turns green.”
Yup, total Bax, which made her stomach hurt a little, since she hadn’t seen the hope of Brennan like that in years. She sort of missed that guy. Missed who he had been back then.
Missed who she had been back then.
“Serious, Court. Right or left? Where to?” he asked, terse as hell.
She scowled and glanced at her cell to find a serious lack of instruction from Hans.
“Right,” she said on a whim.
He turned. “Where are we going?”
“My condo.”
“Court,” Bax said. No… he didn’t say it. His voice cracked a little as he whispered her name. Huh, maybe Brennan was back for more than a brief stay. “It’s Friday night. Tell me you don’t have plans?”
“Of course I had plans.” She rolled her eyes dramatically and did a Vanna White air-swipe along her red dress. “Those plans, however, have been wrecked. So now I have new plans. You plans.” She made sure the point came across that she didn’t like those plans.
“Me,” he said like a grunt.
“Ding, ding, ding.” She twirled her index finger in his direction. “You.”
“I can stay at Hans’s place.” He scowled. “If he won’t let me check in at the hotel, I’ll just stay with him. Then you can get back to your plans.”
If only it were that simple, right? Alas, no. Simplicity was missing from the evening.
She shook her head, that blown-out brown hair tumbling.
“Hans stopped responding for right now, which means I don’t know where he is or what magic he’s whipping up. Which means I do not want to drive across town to find out that he’s not home.” She paused. Patted the dash of the truly impressive Aston Martin. “Besides, this is currently my ride. You can take me home. Then you can go wherever Hans directs.”
“Fine.” Bax’s shoulders dropped. “Your place.”
“My place.”
He scratched his neck. “Where exactly is your place?”
“You don’t know where I live?” she asked, a spicy little ache nestling in the center of her chest.
Unlike Hans, who knew everything about everyone, Bax was more of an “all about himself” kind of guy.
“Never needed to know until right this moment,” he said, and the truth of those words stung.
So she relayed the address to Bax.
Brennan wasn’t coming back, and that sort of tore a little more hurt into her heart.
