Resentful rockstar the b.., p.1
Resentful Rockstar (The Burnt Clovers Trilogy Book 2), page 1
RESENTFUL ROCKSTAR
THE BURNT CLOVERS
GINA AZZI
Resentful Rockstar
Copyright © 2023 by Gina Azzi
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
CONTENTS
1. Allegra
2. Derek
3. Allegra
4. Derek
5. Allegra
6. Derek
7. Allegra
8. Derek
9. Allegra
10. Derek
11. Allegra
12. Derek
13. Allegra
14. Derek
15. Allegra
16. Derek
17. Allegra
18. Derek
19. Allegra
20. Derek
21. Allegra
22. Derek
23. Allegra
24. Derek
25. Allegra
26. Derek
27. Allegra
Epilogue
Also by Gina Azzi
Acknowledgments
About the Author
ONE
ALLEGRA
“The Burnt Clovers have made headlines in every major city in Europe.”
I glare at the television screen that hangs in the corner of the bar.
An image of Derek, looking just as sexy as the last time I saw him—he was naked and wrapped in the navy sheets of his bed—splashes on screen. It quickly spins out to an image of my brother, drunk, high, and disoriented. Levi’s hair is a mess, sticking out at odd directions, and his eyes are empty. But he’s smiling. He’s cheesing so hard, his jaw could crack.
“But their tour is coming to an abrupt halt now that rhythm guitarist, famed Levi Rousell, has checked into rehab. We’ve confirmed reports this morning that Levi…”
Ugh. I sneer and turn away from the television. I don’t want to hear any more. I don’t want to see images of Derek or Levi or even my friend Mav, blitzed or laughing. Not when the pain of their abandonment, over four months old, hasn’t scabbed over.
One of the bartenders, Devy, turns off the television. “Hey, Allegra, you’re in section B tonight.”
“Okay,” I reply, not caring which group of tables I have. While some of the girls complain that one section trumps another, my tips are solid. I know how to joke, interact, and talk to my tables—a giggly bachelorette group or a pack of guys looking to blow off steam—and it pays off in the form of much-needed cash.
I’ve been serving cocktails at the popular lounge, Beirut, since the start of last semester. Since I returned to LA jaded, heartbroken, and mostly uninterested in things that used to matter.
“You look hot, mama,” Luis, one of the bouncers, greets me with a kiss to the temple.
Beirut boasts a solid crew, and I’ve enjoyed my time working here. But I’m here out of necessity, not for extra spending money. When The Burnt Clovers kicked off their European tour without a backward glance, without so much as a good-bye, I left Boston.
Sure, Mav reached out and offered to rebook my flight after my friend Buck’s funeral. Yeah, my brother Levi checked in twice, via text, to see if I wanted to join him in Paris.
But they don’t know the full story.
They don’t know that Derek Reiner made love to me the night before. That he kissed me soulfully and called me his everything.
No matter what happens, just know that the way I feel for you, it’s real.
He fucking lied.
Because not even twelve hours later, he was wheels up on a flight to London and I was sobbing on his bedroom floor wondering what the hell happened.
At first, the band’s tour dates filled my every conscious thought. I scoured the internet for photos of the guys; I listened to the radio to hear their songs. But after a few weeks passed and I put the pieces together—Derek lied to the band and said I stayed behind for Buck’s funeral—I moved on.
I flew back to LA. I re-enrolled in a few classes at UCLA.
Ivy, Nova, and Kenny already had a three-bedroom apartment and their usual college commitments. Ivy’s on the softball team, Kenny’s applying to law schools, and Nova’s just as boy crazy with a new guy every week.
So, I rented a dingy studio off campus and picked up this gig at Beirut. In my spare time, I continue the type of work that filled my cup this summer in Boston.
I’m working with the homeless in LA. I’m giving back to a community I care about. I’m doing good work that Buck would be proud of.
And Derek Reiner and the rest of the band can fuck right off.
“You ready, girl?” Luis asks, flipping his chin in my direction.
“Yeah.” I grin and shake off thoughts of the Clovers.
I’m numb to any news of them now. It doesn’t even phase me that my brother’s in rehab. Months ago, I’d be sobbing over his downward trajectory. Now? Now, I don’t have the emotional bandwidth to worry about anyone else’s bullshit.
Now, I’m being me, enjoying my life, and doing work I care about. Full stop.
Luis opens the door and the handfuls of groups waiting outside trickle in. The lights are dim, the music low and sensual, the environment inviting and exciting.
I fiddle with my top, making sure my breasts are concealed but show enough skin to tempt. I rake my fingers through my short hair, fluffing it up at the roots. When the first group of guys takes a seat in my section, I run my tongue over the front of my teeth and grin.
It’s showtime.
I sashay to their table, pop my hip, and greet them. “Hey, guys, thanks for coming tonight. I’m Allegra and I’ll be taking care of you this evening.”
“Hey, Allegra,” one of the men replies. “I’m Alex. This is Tommy and Ramon.” He points to his friends.
I shoot Alex a wink, watching as his eyes spark. He’s good-looking, with dirty blond hair and hazel eyes. He’s wearing a black fitted button-down, with the sleeves rolled up on his forearms. Black ink travels up his arms and disappears under the cuffs of his shirt.
I bite my bottom lip, liking what I see. He’s got enough of an edge to pique my curiosity, yet his features are in opposition to the man who’s ruled my mind for far too long.
Derek’s whiskey eyes and unruly, dark hair take up too much space in my head as it is. Wouldn’t it be nice to get lost in two pools of hazel rather than drown in bottomless whiskey?
“Can I start you guys off with something to drink?” I ask.
They order a bucket of beers and a round of tequila shots. I nod before stopping by the other two tables that are now brimming with patrons to introduce myself.
Yeah, tonight’s going to be a good night. My section is filling up, my tables are solid. And Alex is just the distraction I need to ensure I remain desensitized to all Clovers news.
I’m not wondering about Derek. Or worrying about Levi.
I’m working. And when my shift ends, I’m hitting a party.
My shift passes quickly with Alex and his friends at one of my tables.
“Take a shot with us, Allegra!” Ramon hollers when I pass by a few hours later.
I laugh and shake my head, noting how Alex’s eyes drink in my curves. He doesn’t disguise his interest and I revel in it. The attention, the desire, the reassurance that I’m not totally damaged. Just slightly bruised.
I sidle over to their table. “You really want another round?”
Ramon grins and Alex chuckles.
“Only if you’re drinking with us,” Alex says.
I give a little nod. While we’re not supposed to get blitzed during our shifts, our manager is pretty laid-back. Each server has a $100/shift cap to purchase drinks in case it’s someone’s birthday or a friend pops by. We’re also allowed to take a shot or two if we can handle it.
If the past few months have taught me anything, it’s that I can handle my liquor.
“I’ll be right back,” I tell the guys.
I hear Tommy snicker and Alex cheer in the background.
I step to the server’s station.
“What do you need?” Devy asks.
“Four tequila shots,” I say, adding the order to my portable POS system.
Devy glances at the table of guys and her eyes narrow. “For table two?”
“Yeah,” I confirm.
She looks at me, her gaze studying. “Be careful with them, Allegra. I know Tommy from years ago and they’re a wild bunch. Good guys but they party really hard.”
I nod, pasting a smile on my face. “Thanks, Devy,” I say, wanting to reassure her.
A thrill shimmies down my spine and my stomach clenches in anticipation. Tonight, I want to party hard. I want to shake off the shitty thoughts that whisper on the edges of my mind about Levi and the band.
Since I heard the news earlier, I’ve had to work to push away thoughts of Derek. And here I thought I was healing, icing
I shoot Devy a grin as she places four shot glasses on my tray.
I slow my gait and make sure Alex’s eyes are on mine as I approach his table. I pass out the shot glasses and tuck the small round tray underneath my arm while holding the fourth shot.
I raise it. “Cheers, boys.”
Ramon snorts. Alex grins, slow and sexy, like he knows I’m down to fuck. Like he knows how badly I want to turn off my mind and just feel. Something, anything, that isn’t painful.
“To you.” Alex tilts his glass in my direction.
I lift an eyebrow and toss back the tequila. It goes down easy, just like water these days.
“What time are you finished tonight?” Ramon asks.
“Off at three,” I reply, cocking my head.
Alex smirks. “I’ll wait for you.”
“Good,” I confirm.
After that, I leave the boys to their own conversation. I work my tables, do my rounds, banter and smile and engage. When Beirut closes, I cash out, stash my tips, and say good night to Devy and Luis and the others.
Then, I exit the lounge and note Alex, leaning against a black Mercedes S-class in the middle of the parking lot.
“Where are your friends?” I ask as I approach his ride.
“Waiting for us,” he says cryptically.
I shrug and slide into his car.
As he maneuvers out of the parking lot, I pull in a deep breath. His car smells masculine, like cologne and pine. It’s clean and comfortable and I let my mind rest as I lean my head back.
“You want to get into fun or trouble?” Alex asks, reaching over to palm my thigh.
His hand slips over my slick, leather leggings, and an image flares to life in my mind.
Wearing these leggings as I approached a Boston brownstone. Knocking on the front door. His voice, his eyes, his surprise when he saw me. Stellina.
I shake my head to clear it and turn my attention to Alex. I’m here with Alex. “Aren’t they the same thing?”
He chuckles and squeezes my thigh in agreement. Minutes later, Alex parks and takes my hand as we walk into a gorgeous, oceanfront property, where the music is bumping, the liquor is flowing, and the pills are popping.
“Glad you came, Allegra,” Alex says, and he sounds like he means it.
I grin up at him. “Yeah, me too.”
Then, I enter the party, accept the first glass of bubbly pressed into my hand, and hug Tommy and Ramon hello like I haven’t seen them in ages, like they’re my long-lost friends, and not guys I served an hour ago.
They sweep me into their group. Everyone at the party is animated and fun, sharing exciting stories and discussing various topics. I flit from one group to the next, casting off any self-consciousness and letting the energy of the crowd buoy me up after months of sinking.
It’s loud and light. It’s a whirlwind I want to sweep me off my feet.
“You good?” Alex asks. He comes up beside me and his fingers press into the small of my back.
I smile up at him, pausing as two of him swim before me. I blink, focus, and—there he is. “I’m great!” I gush. I don’t know how many drinks I tossed back, but the last two have certainly pushed me over the edge.
I don’t care. Tonight, I want to live dangerously. Recklessly. For the moment. And this is such a beautiful moment.
“I’m glad,” Alex murmurs. His hand flattens in the center of my back, slides down and rests on the swell of my ass.
I tilt into his side, eager for his warmth. Connection.
We hang around for a few more minutes and I listen as Alex asks a few questions to the group I was chatting with before he appeared. Then, he takes my hand and leads me up a winding staircase.
I go willingly, giggling when my toe catches on a step.
“Careful, love,” he warns.
Love. Derek called me that a time or two. It used to mean something different when he said it. There was a weight to his word, a significance in his tone.
It doesn’t matter now.
We clear the steps and Alex guides me into a bedroom. The balcony door is open and the sound of the sea—churning waves and restless water—washes over me. I turn in his arms and lift my chin, ready to meet his kiss.
He dips down and presses his mouth to mine. Hard, firm, and the distraction I’ve sought all evening.
Our restraint breaks free. The sly glances and quips of the night dissolve in hot, tracking hands and needy, panting breaths. I reach for Alex’s pants as he pulls off my shirt. Our clothes form a puddle on the floor. He quickly rolls on a condom.
Clashing teeth, clumsy movements, and then—“Right there,” I pant. He enters me on a sharp thrust, pinning my back between the bedroom wall and his hard body.
He fucks me with intention. The need to get off, the desire for release claws up the back of my throat, and I sink my nails into Alex’s shoulders. He’s relentless and it’s just what I need. Angry and edgy and filled with delicious friction.
“Fuck, you feel good,” he murmurs. His fingers sink into my ass and grip hard enough to bruise.
I grind against him, throwing my head back. “More.”
“Got you,” he promises, working me to the edge. “Get there, babe. Get there.”
I do. I come hard, swearing at him, as he continues to thrust.
“Fuck,” he groans as he reaches his peak.
When he stills inside of me, the scent of our desperation colors the air. Our skin is sticky, our breathing uneven.
I feel him slowly soften inside me before he pulls out and gently places me on my feet.
“You good?” he asks, much like he did twenty minutes out.
“Great,” I exhale, trying to regulate my breathing.
Alex nods and disappears into the bathroom.
The breeze ripples over my heated skin, causing a flash of goosebumps to break out along my arms, down the center of my stomach.
I dress quickly, fixing my top to make sure I’m not flashing too much.
Alex reemerges. “You want a ride back to your car?” he offers.
“Sure,” I say casually.
There aren’t two of him anymore, but I’m not sober enough to drive. Is he? I shrug. I’m ready to go. I got what I came for and now, I’m tired. Spent. Wanting to be on my own after too much stimulation, too much connectedness.
I find my phone in my purse and consider messaging the girls or calling Nova for a ride.
But I don’t want to hear the concern in her tone or explain that I had a perfectly good one-night fuck with a guy whose last name I don’t know. Not that Nova would judge. In the morning light, I would.
Or at least, I used to.
Instead, I follow Alex back down the stairs and out to his car. He drives me back to Beirut and drops me off. I stumble through the parking lot, around the side of the building to where I parked.
When I get there, I brace a palm against the side of my car and hunch forward.
The evening churns in my mind. The alcohol burns the lining of my stomach. Acid and regret. Fuck.
My hands grow clammy, and the skin on the back of my neck tightens. I dip farther forward, just as a stream of vomit pours from my throat.
I groan, knowing I should care more about the splatters that kick up and dot along my shoes.
“Gross,” I scold myself.
I roll toward my car, dropping my head along my forearm. Take a deep breath in, a slow exhale out.
Images of Derek flicker through my mind. I still taste his kiss. Recall the weight of his body against mine. Remember his words, his voice, the vulnerability in his gaze, when he entered me.
Lies. All fucking lies.
“Hey, you’re okay,” a voice says right before a heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Can’t drive like this.”
The hand shakes me gently and I manage to drag my head up. Force my eyes open.
