My Rock #2 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #2) by Alycia Taylor
Authors: Alycia Taylor
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MY
ROCK #2
THE
ROCK STAR ROMANCE SERIES
By
Alycia Taylor
Copyright
2014. All rights reserved.
Get
Future New Releases In This Series For 99 Cents
Read My Rock #1 By Clicking
Here
Read My Rock #3 By
Clicking Here
Read
My Rock #4 By Clicking Here
Click
Here to Like My Facebook Page
Get
An Email When My Next Book Comes Out By Clicking Here
CHAPTER
ONE
TRISTAN
I alternated between loving and hating L.A. Today, I
fucking hated it. I was stripped down to nothing but my jeans and I was still
sweating like a fucking pig on a spigot. Supposedly you didn’t need
air-conditioners in the City of Angels. Apparently the guy who came up with
that idea was from out of town. It was hard to think when it was this damned
hot. I had to be back on stage for the next “elimination round” for Fresh
Voices in a couple of days and I wanted to knock their socks off. I had kind of
thought I didn’t really care about that shit anymore. As long as I had a place
to play my music a couple times a week and they paid me enough to pay my bills
and have a little left over for recreation purposes, I was good. Then all of a
sudden I was back on a real stage with the hot lights in my face and real
equipment that didn’t fucking screech in the middle of your set….it was like I
was suddenly back home. I ate up the applause, and knowing people were sitting
at home watching me on television was addictive.
I reached for my blunt…this was the fantastic thing
about living here in Southern Cali. Being so close to the border meant that I
didn’t have to buy shit that some crack head grew in his kitchen or in his
granny’s garden out back. This stuff was grown and cut by professionals in
Mexico where it should be. They know what they’re doing over there. I didn’t
smoke anything but Acapulco Red and it was some good shit. Sprinkle it with
some high-grade coke and wrap it in a cigar and you got yourself one mother-fucking
good blunt.
Damn! I
really need to stop getting distracted with the heat and my smoke and write
this damned song. I want to win this shit. I want a million fucking dollars.
I’d never even seen that kind of money. I was sixteen when I started playing
music so of course my parents decided to become “managers” like every other
fucking child star’s parents in this shitty town. They did okay…for a while.
Somewhere along the way the old man got me to agree to sign some paperwork that
said he’d be my manager and the trustee for my assets and income until I was
twenty-one. I was probably high at the time…and it was probably from something
that mother fucker had given me.
I did my
first stint in rehab at seventeen…before Uptown Boyz had even gotten famous. The record producer said if I didn’t clean up my act he
would take steps to terminate the contract. The old man panicked at the thought
of losing all that cash and he took me to some hide-away cult in the Santa Ana
hills that called themselves a rehabilitation facility. I stayed there for a
month with a few other “child stars” and I learned a lot. Most of it had
nothing to do with staying clean, but when I got out, I kept that part to
myself. For a while, I kept it together and acted like a good boy…I loved
performing and losing that option was the only threat that worked on me. I
didn’t have any real friends, what I had were followers…audiences…fans…I was
lost without them. Those other shitheads in the band were straight-arrows. They
all had mommies that followed them around and made sure they weren’t letting
the over-night fame go to their heads. My mommy was busy doing other
things….like the record producer and a couple of the daddies and God only knows
who else.
While she was
doing them and I was touring and earning fucking millions of dollars, the old
man was “investing” my money. By the time I was twenty-one and the band broke
up and I went to him and told him I wanted control back of my
ROCK #2
THE
ROCK STAR ROMANCE SERIES
By
Alycia Taylor
Copyright
2014. All rights reserved.
Get
Future New Releases In This Series For 99 Cents
Read My Rock #1 By Clicking
Here
Read My Rock #3 By
Clicking Here
Read
My Rock #4 By Clicking Here
Click
Here to Like My Facebook Page
Get
An Email When My Next Book Comes Out By Clicking Here
CHAPTER
ONE
TRISTAN
I alternated between loving and hating L.A. Today, I
fucking hated it. I was stripped down to nothing but my jeans and I was still
sweating like a fucking pig on a spigot. Supposedly you didn’t need
air-conditioners in the City of Angels. Apparently the guy who came up with
that idea was from out of town. It was hard to think when it was this damned
hot. I had to be back on stage for the next “elimination round” for Fresh
Voices in a couple of days and I wanted to knock their socks off. I had kind of
thought I didn’t really care about that shit anymore. As long as I had a place
to play my music a couple times a week and they paid me enough to pay my bills
and have a little left over for recreation purposes, I was good. Then all of a
sudden I was back on a real stage with the hot lights in my face and real
equipment that didn’t fucking screech in the middle of your set….it was like I
was suddenly back home. I ate up the applause, and knowing people were sitting
at home watching me on television was addictive.
I reached for my blunt…this was the fantastic thing
about living here in Southern Cali. Being so close to the border meant that I
didn’t have to buy shit that some crack head grew in his kitchen or in his
granny’s garden out back. This stuff was grown and cut by professionals in
Mexico where it should be. They know what they’re doing over there. I didn’t
smoke anything but Acapulco Red and it was some good shit. Sprinkle it with
some high-grade coke and wrap it in a cigar and you got yourself one mother-fucking
good blunt.
Damn! I
really need to stop getting distracted with the heat and my smoke and write
this damned song. I want to win this shit. I want a million fucking dollars.
I’d never even seen that kind of money. I was sixteen when I started playing
music so of course my parents decided to become “managers” like every other
fucking child star’s parents in this shitty town. They did okay…for a while.
Somewhere along the way the old man got me to agree to sign some paperwork that
said he’d be my manager and the trustee for my assets and income until I was
twenty-one. I was probably high at the time…and it was probably from something
that mother fucker had given me.
I did my
first stint in rehab at seventeen…before Uptown Boyz had even gotten famous. The record producer said if I didn’t clean up my act he
would take steps to terminate the contract. The old man panicked at the thought
of losing all that cash and he took me to some hide-away cult in the Santa Ana
hills that called themselves a rehabilitation facility. I stayed there for a
month with a few other “child stars” and I learned a lot. Most of it had
nothing to do with staying clean, but when I got out, I kept that part to
myself. For a while, I kept it together and acted like a good boy…I loved
performing and losing that option was the only threat that worked on me. I
didn’t have any real friends, what I had were followers…audiences…fans…I was
lost without them. Those other shitheads in the band were straight-arrows. They
all had mommies that followed them around and made sure they weren’t letting
the over-night fame go to their heads. My mommy was busy doing other
things….like the record producer and a couple of the daddies and God only knows
who else.
While she was
doing them and I was touring and earning fucking millions of dollars, the old
man was “investing” my money. By the time I was twenty-one and the band broke
up and I went to him and told him I wanted control back of my
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