Crash bang wallop a spic.., p.1
Crash Bang Wallop: A Spicy Rockstar Romance (Rise Like A Rocket Book 4), page 1
Copyright © 2023 All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product 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.
No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, without permission in writing from the author.
Cover Model: Anthony Patamisi @anthonypatamisi
Photographer: Michelle Lancaster
@lanefotograf www.michellelancaster.com
Cover Design: Manuela Serra
Translation: Amanda Blee
Contents
Dedication
Plot
Social Media
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Epilogue
Acknowledgments
Dedication
I’ve learned that you can be brave and afraid at the same time and there’s nothing wrong with that. I’ve learned that waiting for the perfect day, the perfect moment, for blind faith in my options, or for a plan to come together, is useless.
You’ll never test yourself if you only get involved in things where success is guaranteed, where there’s nothing to be scared of, nothing to be brave about, no risks to take.
I’ve learned that confidence and conviction are learned by stepping up, accepting the challenge, even when the chances of succeeding are slim.
So...
Be afraid. Only then will you know how brave you are.
Be full of insecurities, only then will you learn to believe in yourself.
Laura
No one can guess
what I say when I am silent,
who I see when I close my eyes,
how I am carried away when I am carried away,
what I search for when I reach out my hands.
Nobody, nobody knows
when I am hungry, when I take a journey,
when I walk and when I am lost.
And nobody knows
that my going is a return
and my return is an abstention,
that my weakness is a mask
and my strength is a mask,
and that what is coming is a tempest.
They think they know
so I let them,
and I happen.
They put me in a cage so that
my freedom may be a gift from them,
and I'd have to thank them and obey.
But I am free before them, after them,
with them, without them.
I am free in my oppression, in my defeat
and my prison is what I want.
The key to the prison may be their tongue.
But their tongue is twisted around my desire’s fingers,
and my desire they can never command.
I am a woman.
They think they own my freedom.
So I let them,
and I happen.
Joumana Haddad, I am Woman.
Plot
You only reach eternity by leaving behind something unforgettable. I don’t want to burn and disappear like ashes in the wind. I want to burn forever.
Thirty-year old Eric Murray, drummer with The Blind Spot, has it all: success, money and more women than any mere mortal can handle.
His soul, however, is a strong box no one gets to open. Revealing his true self would mean opening up old wounds that he’s determined to keep sealed forever. In Eric’s world it’s appearance that counts, and to the world, he appears happy.
So why does the assistant stylist, the brat with her head in her fashion magazines, treat him so badly? She’s rude, annoying, and as feisty as a kitten with a pulled tail.
He can’t resist the challenge, however. By the end of the tour, after weeks cooped up on a tour bus, she’ll be throwing herself at his feet.
Eighteen-year-old Lalita Price’s dream is coming true. A first year student at a prestigious design school in New York, everything in her life is well-ordered: even the Post-Its almost completely covering her bedroom wall.
When renowned costume designer and stylist, Tori Davis, asks her to be her assistant on The Blind Spot’s promo tour, Lalita knows that it’s a momentous occasion for her career.
But how will Lalita, so used to avoiding the limelight, handle being around a group of entertainers?
When she finally decides to face her fears and accept the challenge, she realizes that there’s something much more dangerous waiting for her on that luxurious tour bus - two golden-brown eyes capable of turning her new-found confidence on its head.
It takes courage to feel, it means learning that it’s better to choose than to suffer.
To really live, you have to take your foot off the brake and give in to the chaos.
Social Media
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Chapter 1
Istare at my reflection, one eyebrow cocked in admiration, taking in the rock-hard abs, sculpted pecs, magnetic gaze, and finely chiseled features, and nod. Looking good! Who needs modesty and all that BS when you’re Eric Murray from The Blind Spot?
Why should I deny it? I’m rich, famous, handsome AF - and I just turned thirty.
Forget that crap about resolutions and noble sentiments, Christmas is over.
New Year, New Me? Nah, I’m good, thanks!
Soon we’ll be leaving on a tour to promote our new album, which means new girls in every new city, wild parties, wilder fans and a boatload of money!
What more could I ever want?
Well, I wouldn’t say no to a little sex right now.
My buzzkill bandmates are all cozily coupled up and I’m here, at home, in bed, alone and bored.
Scrolling idly through my Insta feed, I notice a recent post from Kimberly Jones. Kim’s a model I’ve been following for a couple of weeks but, as I’ve already had her, it’s time to ‘unfollow’. I’m about to hit the three dots, when I notice something...
“Now we’re talking!” I exclaim, sitting up straight.
It’s a simple selfie of Kim and her friends. Underneath, she’s written, ‘Just arrived.’ There’s a blonde chick standing next to her. I’ve seen her before with Kim and she’s...#fuckable!
In fact, if I remember rightly, that night I was tempted to dump Kimberly mid-party and hook up with her friend instead. So what better time than now?
I zoom in on the photo but can’t quite make out where they are. It’s out of focus, all I can see are designer lights and the girls’ faces.
I quickly open the chat.
ERIC: Hey. Cool pic. Where you at?
KIMBERLY: Lavo on 58, why?
ERIC: Figured I’d join you.
KIMBERLY: Really?
ERIC: Really!
KIMBERLY: I’ll be right here.
I jump off the bed, heading for my closet. I need to get to Lavo before Kimberly’s friend hooks up with someone and I end up boring my ass off with Kim.
I pull on a bomber jacket and five minutes later I’m in my Mustang, destination Lavo.
I park up, toss my keys to the valet, and make my way to the entrance, obviously by-passing the queue. The doormen are well-trained and know which VIPs have precedence over mere mortals.
Lavo is one of the trendiest places in New York right now, and as soon as I walk in I’m met by pounding music, pulsating lights and intermittent blasts of Cryo smoke. The dancefloor is throbbing with hot, scantily clad girls and everything is just perfect.
Hi, honey, I’m home!
Before I can do anything, a hand comes out of nowhere and grabs my arm.
Kimberly.
“I’ve been waiting for you,” she says, nuzzling against my chest.
“What a welcome,” I exclaim, pulling away and glancing around.
Her friends are just a few feet away, gathered around a table, sipping trendy cocktails and trying to look like, until one second ago, they weren’t all staring at me. Their embarrassed expressions are a dead give-away, they can’t even pretend to make small talk.
Anyway, I’ve spotted my prey and she’s just as hot as I remembered.
“Your friend? What’s her name again?” I ask, leaning in close to Kim.
“Which one?” she blinks up at me.
“The cute blonde, with the long hair.”<
“Louise. Why?” She asks, puzzled.
“Well, as we’ve already met, I can’t just rock up and ask her name, can I?”
“Rock up?” Kimberly asks, a hand on my wrist.
“Yeah, rock up.” I push her hand away.
“You mean you’re here for her?” Her voice goes up several octaves. “Not me?”
“Did I stutter?” I lean in close again. “You had your turn, Kim, time to give the others a chance. I told you, no one rides the Eric Train twice, encores are for the stage.”
Without waiting for her reply, I turn and join the girls at their table. “Hey, Louise,” I announce, toying with a strand of her long blonde hair. “Want to dance?”
“I thought you were here with Kimber?” she says, fluttering her lashes.
“You think?” I flash her a meaningful smile.
Kimberly, however, may be down, but she isn’t out. Yet. “Arrogant shit! You can’t come here and hit on my friend!” she shrieks, pushing me away.
“Why not?” I ask calmly.
“Because… we have something...you made me think you were here for me...I...I...I…”
“Ay, ay, ay, ay,” I sing. “I thought I was the musician around here, querida. Anyway, take what’s left of your dignity and scram. You had your moment. Now, if you don’t mind, I’m busy...”
“This is surreal. You’re out of your fucking head!”
“Whatever,” I raise my hands in surrender and turn to Louise. “So, may I have the honor?”
“No, I’ll stay here, thanks,” she pouts.
“Too bad. There’s no shortage of pretty girls here tonight. Adios...” and I calmly walk away.
Two steps later I see her, a brunette, her hair in an elaborate high pony. She’s all alone, just waiting to be hit on. Who am I to disappoint her?
I circle her, making sure she sees me then, leaning on a pillar, crook my finger for her to join me.
Two seconds later, it’s game over.
“Elaine,” she says, holding out her hand.
I shake it, then glance behind me.
Kim and her sorority girls are leaving.
What? They thought I’d be pissed because one of them turned me down?
Plenty more chicks in the sea!
A few hours later, I stretch out in my bed with a satisfied grin.
Elaine was as wild as I figured she’d be and also smart enough to realize there was no way I was going to let her stick around after the fun was over.
I reach over and grab my cell phone. 4:am. There’s a message request notification. I recognize the profile pic immediately: Louise.
I get so many requests I don’t even bother reading them, but this time, smiling broadly, I swipe to accept.
LOUISE: I couldn’t say yes, not in front of Kimber, but if you still want to meet, just me and you, I’m free.
ERIC: You like bad boys, huh?
LOUISE: I like hot guys, period. Besides, it’s not like you put a ring on it, is it?
ERIC: Totally. I’ll be in touch for tomorrow night, got to get some sleep.
Poor Louise. She has no idea that wherever I go there’s a crowd of people ready to snap photos of me with the girl of the moment. Her friendship with Kimberly won’t last long, but who am I to turn down a hot blonde? What is it they say? Nothing costs more than a missed opportunity? Girls like Louise, Kim, Elaine, are all looking for hot, rich, famous guys and I give them exactly what they’re looking for. And what they deserve.
Chapter 2
Iwake with a start to the sound of rock music pounding in my ears - not so good when your head is already hammering. I open my eyes to find a cup of coffee hovering in front of my nose. Attached to it is my friend, Haru. He grins and sticks a Post-It to my forehead.
“We’re not knocking now?” I groan, rolling my eyes dramatically. “I could have been naked.”
“Bestie, we all know that would have zero effect on me,” he shrugs.
“You’ve broken my concentration now,” I continue, already in a bad mood and feeling like a failure.
He leans over my sketchbook. “Your latest design idea? What’s your inspiration again? The Invisible Man? Because, gurrrl, I’m seeing nothing!”
That’s exactly why I’m feeling like a failure. It’s January, the semester just started, and I’m desperately trying to come up with ideas for an important design assignment: an haute couture outfit. More importantly, the points will go towards the semester’s final grade.
“Not funny, Haru. That’s all I have inside my head right now, a huge blank.” I run my free hand through my hair.
“No way!” he shakes his head. “Two days ago you worked miracles on that old jacket of mine.”
We all study at the Parsons School of Design - me, Haru, and his boyfriend, Jacob. We met during orientation and, every now and then, challenge each other to give our old clothes a glow up.
“That’s different. It’s one thing to zhuzh an old jacket...” I snort. “It’s another to create an outfit from scratch, pour all your passion, hopes and dreams into it, follow it on the journey from sketch, to pattern to toile, to mannequin to model, as if I have to explain that to you.”
“Gurrrl,” he says, booping my nose with his index finger. “If your head was as blank as you say it is, you wouldn’t be able to do what you do!”
“I know, but I’ll never come up with anything as beautiful as that scholarship dress. I’ll never reach that level of creativity again,” I sigh, hunching my shoulders. “It’s like I poured all my inspiration into it and now I’ve nothing left.”
“Ah. You know what that’s called? Performance anxiety! You’re in competition with yourself and nothing you come up with is good as you think it should be.”
“Whatever, I just know that I’m letting down everyone who ever believed in me. I just can’t think of anything more stunning than that dress.”
“That’s the thing about taste, Lalita. It’s subjective. One man’s treasure is another man’s trash, right? What you come up with won’t be better or worse, just different, no?” he spreads his arms wide, as if he’s stating the obvious.
“You don’t get it, H. Whatever I come up with has to be more amazing, more magical. It has to impress them so much they forget all about the other dress,” I say, earnestly.
“Lali, until you realize you have no control over what people think, you’re going to remain blocked. Let yourself go, forget about everything else, just create,” he says, wagging his index finger in my face. “I mean, there’s nothing more incredible than nature, take inspiration from that! You could be out there right now, with your pad, scouring the beach, hunting for ideas, maybe after catching a gorgeous, inspirational sunrise. We’re far from Manhattan, but here in Rockaway were always near the sea,” he says, sounding like the official tourist guide.
“And freezing to death in sub-zero temperatures or getting my head blown off by the crazy wind, just in case you haven’t noticed,” I object, pointing to the window. “Plus, I don’t want the first rubbernecker who comes along to stop and try and strike up a conversation while I’m on the hunt...”
‘Who knows. Perhaps you’ll meet a nice boy,” he nods.
“After all my hard work getting into Parsons, the last thing I need is some Alpha Moron who thinks he can turn me into his little sweetheart,” I snap, running short on patience.
My roomie counts off all the advantages of being part of a happy couple on his fingers.
Without bothering to reply, I point to my wall.
Vindicate yourself for yourself.
L. A. S.
Haru snorts loudly. “Damn Post-Its! Does everything you write on them really mean something important?” he asks, fingering one.
“Duh, yeah! I don’t go for random, meaningless phrases. Everything on that wall is relevant to how I’m feeling,” I reply, biting down on the end of my pencil.
“The other day there were eight of them on the fridge door, Lalita. Eight. One for eggs, one for milk, one for...” he counts off on his fingers again.
“I didn’t stick them there all at the same time, just when I saw we were out,” I explain.
“So meaningful. Anyway, speaking of fridges and groceries. You have to leave soon and you haven’t had breakfast yet...” Haru points to the clock on the wall.
