Bad For Me (My Forbidden Rockstar)

  Bad For Me

  My Forbidden Rockstar

  by

  Dara Bowman

  Kindle Edition

  Bad For Me

  My Forbidden Rockstar

  Written by Dara Bowman

  Copyright © 2013 by Dara Bowman

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted , in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  The following story contains mature themes, strong language, and sexual situations. It is intended for adult readers.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One - Annie

  Chapter Two - Annie

  Chapter Three - Dom

  Chapter Four - Annie

  Chapter Five - Dom

  Chapter Six - Annie

  Chapter Seven - Dom

  Chapter Eight - Annie

  Chapter Nine - Dom

  Chapter Ten - Annie

  Chapter Eleven - Annie

  Chapter Twelve - Dom

  Chapter Thirteen - Dom

  Chapter Fourteen - Annie

  Chapter Fifteen - Annie

  Chapter Sixteen - Dom

  Chapter Seventeen - Annie

  Chapter Eighteen - Annie

  Chapter Nineteen - Dom

  Chapter Twenty - Annie

  Chapter Twenty-One - Annie

  Chapter Twenty-Two - Dom

  Chapter Twenty-Three - Dom

  Chapter Twenty-Four - Annie

  Epilogue - Dom

  Chapter One

  Annie

  “Thanks so much for coming by.”

  Her voice is too cheerful, and sickeningly sweet.

  I force a smile as I make my way out of the stifling recording office, and once I’m out of view, I stalk across the baking parking lot to my car.

  This is such bullshit!

  Another rejection, and the stupid girl barely even listened to my demo tape.

  I toss my raggedy blue bag into my equally beat up car. The door opens with a loud screech, and I plop down onto the scorching hot seats. As I put the key in the ignition I close my eyes and turn the key, praying that this damn car will start.

  C'mon, C'mon, C'mon.

  Of course it won't turn over.

  “You have got to be kidding me!” I scream into the steering wheel.

  If I don’t get out of this parking lot soon, I’m going to lose it. I’ve had about as much as I can handle for one day, and what I really need is to get home, put my sweats on, and pour myself an extra large glass of wine.

  Or vodka.

  Vodka would definitely do the trick.

  I try the key again and after much protesting, my car finally roars to life. I throw it into reverse to get out of the parking spot. I back out, barrel around the corner, and once I’m on the main road, I feel my shoulders relax and the stress begins to slowly melt away.

  My car shakes as it moves sluggishly down the street and I know that I’m going to have to eventually give in and allow my father to buy me a new car. I’ve been holding my ground for as long as I possibly can. Everyone else takes advantage of my father, but I try so hard not to. I love my father for who he is, regardless of his mountain of money, and I want him to know that. I don’t like lavish gifts, and I try to accept things only when I really need them.

  Unfortunately, I think I’m going to need to accept his help with a new car soon, which makes me feel even lousier right now.

  To add to my pissy mood, LA traffic is at its finest. We're practically at a crawl and now my car is beginning to overheat.

  I take stock of my shitty day so far.

  My mother called me in the morning to complain about my father’s upcoming wedding. How my mother even knows these details, I’ll never know. I swear she’s hired a private detective to follow my father around. Once I finally got her off the phone, I had to rush around to get ready for my audition.

  It’s a record-breakingly hot day in LA, and my car has no air conditioning, so I arrived at my audition looking like I had just ran the entire way there. My carefully straightened auburn hair was thick and frizzy and I had pit stains on my dress.

  It was fantastic.

  Not surprisingly, the audition was a nightmare, and I didn't even meet with a record executive. It was just one of their assistants; a clear indication that I was not a priority by any means. The girl I met with was a frothy little thing with a tan that was way too dark. She also happened to have bleached-blonde hair and big fake breasts. How unfortunate. The disingenuous little skank barely even listened to my tape before she ushered me out of the room and thanked me for my time.

  Whatever.

  And now my car troubles.

  I sit in traffic and look around at all the nice cars. Part of me feels envious, because I know if I wasn’t so damn stubborn, my dad would buy me any car I like. He would probably weep with joy if I told him I wanted a Mercedes, Lexus, or something similarly ridiculous.

  I look over at a couple in a cute little white convertible. That looks nice. Maybe I’ll ask my father for one of those and then I will really be breaking all my rules.

  Since I have nothing better to do, I let my mind wander.

  I wonder if I should give up my dream of working in the music business. My father has been so supportive of me while I purse my passion, but my passion hasn’t seen much success. At twenty-four years old, I’ve spent the last few years auditioning and waitressing, and I've only been able to land an occasional singing gig in local clubs. My father insists that I don’t need to wait tables, but I can’t let him pay all my bills, it's hard enough accepting what he already does for me.

  As if she knows I’m thinking about my father, my mother calls. Again.

  “Hi Mom.”

  “Hi Annie, honey. How was your audition?”

  I grit my teeth. “They passed. No surprise there.”

  “Oh honey, I’m sorry.” She pauses. “Do you have any more auditions lined up?”

  “No. I’m going to have to call Jane when I get home.”

  Jane is my semi-agent, and lately she seems to be less and less interested in working with me.

  “Sweetheart, have you thought about, you know, giving it up?” My mom asks delicately.

  “I don’t know, Mom. This is what I feel like I’m meant to do. What else would I do?” I ask fiercely.

  Music is my life. Ever since I was three years old, I’ve been singing. I don’t know how to do anything else.

  “But maybe you need a change of pace,” my mom hedges.

  I know where this is going.

  “Maybe you should come check out the music scene in New York?” She asks hopefully.

  I get ready to bite back at my mom, but I give up, I'm feeling too defeated today. She only wants what’s best for me, and I have blown off so many of her invitations to the East Coast because of Sid.

  Sid.

  Just thinking that name sends a dagger through my heart, and then causes it to explode in fiery anger.

  Maybe my mom’s idea isn’t so bad. Maybe I do need a change of pace. Maybe New York
would be good for me.

  “I don’t know, Mom. Maybe...Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I should get out of LA and check out a new music scene.”

  My mom squeals with glee so loudly that I have to hold the phone away from my ear.

  “Really, Annie? Oh, I would love it!” she gushes, “I have plenty of room here so you could stay as long as you like, and we would have such a great time! I can show you all over the city! And I know that Sheldon would just love to finally get to meet you!”

  My mom’s enthusiasm makes me wince as I realize how crummy a daughter I've been lately. I haven’t seen my mom in two years and I haven’t even met the infamous Sheldon. My mom is notorious for her many boyfriends, but Sheldon has been around for a year and a half and my mom actually seems happy with him, so he must be special.

  “Well, maybe I can come out for a visit first, and then decide.” I say.

  My mom would love that, and actually I would too. Now that I’m free from the vicious stranglehold my relationship with Sid had on me, I can go wherever I want.

  “Yes, I would love that! You’re welcome any time! As soon as we hang up, I’m going to look at airfares!”

  I laugh at her excitement. “Okay, Mom. Sounds good. I’m going to go now.”

  “Okay, baby. Love you! Bye-bye!”

  The line goes dead.

  I shake my head and can’t help smiling at my mom’s infectious personality. I remember how I used to be like her until I became jaded, thanks to Sid and all the record executives' assistants I've met here in California.

  I spend the rest of my drive home thinking about Sid.

  The moment I met Sid, I was a goner.

  I met him last year while working at one of the best jobs I had ever gotten, at a music bar just outside LA proper. I would wait tables three nights a week and then I would sing a set afterwards. I even had a couple bites on potential record deals, but that was before I ruined everything.

  Sid headlined twice a week and he always brought in big crowds.

  I knew better. I knew Sid was trouble just from looking at him. His dark tan complexion and velvety mocha eyes were dangerous. Sex appeal rolled off him in heavy waves. He had a gritty charm that made him seem raw and otherworldly at the same time. Both of his arms were covered in various tattoos, and he always knew how to show off his body just enough to make the girls swoon.

  I tried to resist him, honestly I did.

  But once he took the mic, I was just as bad as the groupies, practically ripping off my panties and throwing them at him.

  You would have thought I had learned my lesson from the dickheads I had dated before, but I just couldn’t ignore Sid and his smoldering eyes and firm ass.

  It didn’t take Sid long to notice me either. He was around one night during one of my sets, and I could feel his eyes on me from across the room. I may have overdone it that night, touching myself as I sang, and throwing my dark hair back and forth more than usual. I couldn’t help it though, something about Sid brought out the animal in me.

  That night I found myself pressed up against a dressing room mirror, my skirt hiked up, and Sid banging me from behind. I tried to make it a rule not to sleep with guys right away.

  It never worked.

  We were inseparable after that. Sid said he wanted no one but me, and that I was The One.

  I didn’t believe in any of that crap any more, especially after what I saw my parents go through, but Sid made me want to believe. Although looking back now, I realize that I missed all the warning signs. The way he kept his phone so guarded and secretive. The nights he forgot to show up to my apartment and claimed he had another gig. The random clothes I found at his place.

  I was such a fool, blinded by a love for someone who did not deserve it.

  I let my own music career ambitions slide as I let Sid dictate my life. I told myself that he would never cheat on me, that the sex was too hot and our bond was too strong. We talked about making our own record together and getting a place of our own.

  One night I showed up at work unannounced to pick up my phone charger. I had left it there by accident but the timing couldn't have been better. I noticed that there was a woman I had never seen before waiting in Sid’s dressing room.

  She was refined in a way that I could never be, her long black hair was smoothed down perfectly into a tight chignon, she was dressed in a slimming black blouse and well cut black pants, and wore pricey heels. At first, I thought she was an agent or music executive, but she laughed as soon as I walked in the room, as if she were waiting for me to come in and discover her.

  It was a cruel laugh. The kind of laugh you hear from someone who knows they are better than you. She had to be in her thirties, and I could tell she knew she was smarter, prettier, and better than me in every way.

  “Did you think what you had with Sid was special?” she had purred, standing up to her full height. Her legs had been miles long, it seemed. “I give Sid his space, because he needs it. But he always comes home to me, Sugar. He knows a real woman from a little girl.”

  She was mean, beautiful, and mature, and I knew I couldn’t compete with her. We were worlds apart.

  I couldn’t even speak; I was so shocked and upset. Instead, I ran on stage while Sid was performing and tore out the wires from his electric guitar, before screaming at him like a lunatic.

  Sid looked surprised, but not guilty.

  That night cost me my boyfriend and my job.

  So, for the past two months I’ve been struggling, alone now. And I’m not stupid. I know that word spreads fast in the music scene and people now know me as the “crazy girl” who went nuts on stage. Which is probably another good reason to get out of town and head to New York.

  I pull up to my apartment, and park my piece of junk. I walk inside, not even looking at my surroundings as I trudge through. My apartment is quiet, which means my friend and roommate, Elle, isn’t back yet. I strip off my clothes and go straight into the shower. I let the cool water run down my overheated skin, washing away the embarrassment I felt today. I then turn the water to as hot as it will go. The water scolds my skin, but I don’t care. Sometimes I like just feeling. I feel the pain of the hot water, and I focus only on that, nothing else.

  I stay in the shower until the water runs cold again, and then I step out onto the fluffy mat and wrap myself in a towel. Since I’m home by myself, I do that thing that girls do when no one is around. I take off my towel and examine my naked self in front of a full-length mirror.

  I know my self-esteem is damaged thanks to Sid, and I’m working hard to repair it. I try to look objectively at myself. I have long auburn hair streaked with natural honey tones. It hangs wet down my back, and I examine my tits, pushing them higher, as if giving myself a breast lift. I don’t need it though. They’re a perfect size C, and perky enough by themselves – perhaps my best asset.

  My stomach is flat and taught, and my legs are long and shapely. I hold up my arms to see if I have any jiggling skin, and I’m happy to see that I don’t. I step close to the mirror to examine my face. I pull at my skin, giving myself a temporary face-lift that makes me look like an alien. My cheekbones are high and my eyes are a piercing ice blue. I bat my eyes a few times, and I decide that if I do go crazy one day and decide to get any plastic surgery, I will get lip injections. My lips are pouty, but I secretly wish they were fuller.

  I’m bored with dissecting my body, and it’s been a rather successful session, considering, so I walk back to my room and pull on my favorite purple lounge shorts, and holey gray tank top.

  Now I need to get myself that vodka.

  I grab my phone and make my way to the kitchen. Rummaging in the cabinet, I find a bag of Twizzlers, and I mindlessly chew on one as I search the cabinets for vodka.

  “What the hell?” I mutter. I know that Elle and I have half a bottle somewhere.

  Then I remember the party Elle had thrown two weeks ago when I had a show. Shit. The vodka must have been used then.
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  I settle for wine, and I pour myself an extra large glass of Merlot. For kicks, I bite off both ends of a Twizzler, and stick my candy straw in my wine glass. I sip the Merlot through the Twizzler and stare at my toes.

  I need a pedicure.

  I decide right then and there I will give myself a pedicure, because I’ve earned it.

  Singing to myself, I refill my glass, pop my Twizzler back in, and take my liquid snack back to my room.

  I feel better already.

  Just as I find my pedicure kit, my phone rings.

  It’s my dad.

  “Hey, Daddy!” I say a little too brightly. Hmm, maybe I should have eaten before drinking. This wine is already hitting me.

  “Hi Annabelle,” he says.

  My dad is the only person who calls me by my full name.

  “You sound happy.”

  More like drunk.

  “Just relaxing.” I say casually.

  “Tough day?” He is too perceptive.

  “Hmmm,” I say noncommittally. I’ve already had one parent feel sorry for me today, I don’t need two.

  “So, listen, Annabelle, I really need you to do a favor for me.”

  “Sure, Daddy.”

  Crap. Maybe I shouldn’t have agreed so quickly.

  “I’m having a little dinner tonight, and I want you to come by and meet Roxie.”

  Crap. Crap. Crap.

  “Gee, Daddy, I don’t know,” I say, trying to back track.

  “You agreed,” he reminds me.

  Daddy and Roxie have been an item for all of three months. Oh, and they’re already engaged.

  And their wedding date is set…it’s really soon.

  “Annabelle,” he says rather sternly. “You’ve been avoiding meeting Roxie. It’s getting ridiculous. The wedding is only a few months away.”