My Rock #3 (The Rock Star Romance Series - Book #3) by Alycia Taylor Page A
Authors: Alycia Taylor
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about it for a few hours at a time,
and then I’d freak out again. Before the show, I ’d
downed two beers. It was enough to take the edge off, but they lasted about an
hour and then I was climbing the walls again.
I didn’t think I was a junkie. I was not sweating and
twitching and hallucinating and shit, but my mind was spinning and it hurt to
think. I went out on stage feeling like that, and as
soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake.
I was sitting on the stage during the results show, again trying to keep my face
neutral. I hated knowing that fucking camera was
pointed at my face. I was in worse shape than I’d been
in during my performance. I was pissed at everyone and
everything. I ’d already snapped at half the crew. I avoided Elly because I was really pissed at her. This was
all her fault. I was doing fine until she came along
and fucked everything up.
When it was my turn, I
swore the host enjoyed once again replaying my horrible performance and the
judge’s reactions to it. I ’d never been a violent guy,
but for some reason, I firmly believed I could whoop the shit out of this
little man without giving it a second thought. I had
to actually will myself not to punch him right there on stage and in front of
the cameras. The last young teenybopper we had hanging on, the one that looked
like daddy’s little princess, was in the bottom three again. She landed there a
lot, but she always made her way back. She never looked worried. I wondered if she was a good actress or if she was just that
confident. The host finally looked at me and said,
“I’m sorry Tristan, but you’ll have to go join Hayley in the bottom three.” He
didn’t really look sorry. You think with all the money they paid him to do his
job, he’d at least be able to fake it better.
I got up, went to the death chair, and waited for my fate. Within the next ten
minutes, Brooke was sitting next to me in the other
chair. She looked pissed; I don’t know if it was
because she was in the bottom three, or because she had to sit next to me. Her
performance last night was as bad as mine . I wondered if it had anything to do with the fight we’d had
the night before. I probably should have felt bad
about that, but I didn’t. She was the one throwing around accusations and
threats. She should have left it alone.
Ten long minutes passed with another commercial
break and a promotional trailer we’d shot for a car company. Then the host
finally sent Hayley back to her seat. She looked like she hadn’t doubted that
she was going back. I was trying like hell to, if not feel confident, at least look it. I knew that fucking camera was on me. I was reminded of the old adage that news people used: If it bleeds, it leads.
During the elimination rounds, they kept a camera tight on the faces of those
in the bottom three, hoping to spot blood.
I glanced over at Brooke. She had tears dried on her face and she had her stool
swiveled so her back was both to me and the cameras .
She apparently hadn’t told anyone what she was threatening to about me and Elly—not that I gave a shit if she did or not. If I win this thing, that’s great. If I get disqualified for having the best sex I’d ever had, it was still worth it.
Besides, as long as Elly didn’t confess, as long as she didn’t have pictures or
audio tape, we could deny it.
When the host called us both to the center of the
stage, he asked the judges if they thought the voters had gotten it right by
putting the two of us in the bottom. The judges agreed that by last night’s
performance alone, we should both be going home. Then the host went on to say
that the votes had been closer than they’d ever come before. The one of us who
was staying had only beaten the other one by less than a hundred votes.
Considering that millions voted, that was a slim margin. If I wasn’t going home, I was doing it by the skin of my teeth, as I should be.
At last, after all the host’s time-filling
and then I’d freak out again. Before the show, I ’d
downed two beers. It was enough to take the edge off, but they lasted about an
hour and then I was climbing the walls again.
I didn’t think I was a junkie. I was not sweating and
twitching and hallucinating and shit, but my mind was spinning and it hurt to
think. I went out on stage feeling like that, and as
soon as I opened my mouth, I knew it was a mistake.
I was sitting on the stage during the results show, again trying to keep my face
neutral. I hated knowing that fucking camera was
pointed at my face. I was in worse shape than I’d been
in during my performance. I was pissed at everyone and
everything. I ’d already snapped at half the crew. I avoided Elly because I was really pissed at her. This was
all her fault. I was doing fine until she came along
and fucked everything up.
When it was my turn, I
swore the host enjoyed once again replaying my horrible performance and the
judge’s reactions to it. I ’d never been a violent guy,
but for some reason, I firmly believed I could whoop the shit out of this
little man without giving it a second thought. I had
to actually will myself not to punch him right there on stage and in front of
the cameras. The last young teenybopper we had hanging on, the one that looked
like daddy’s little princess, was in the bottom three again. She landed there a
lot, but she always made her way back. She never looked worried. I wondered if she was a good actress or if she was just that
confident. The host finally looked at me and said,
“I’m sorry Tristan, but you’ll have to go join Hayley in the bottom three.” He
didn’t really look sorry. You think with all the money they paid him to do his
job, he’d at least be able to fake it better.
I got up, went to the death chair, and waited for my fate. Within the next ten
minutes, Brooke was sitting next to me in the other
chair. She looked pissed; I don’t know if it was
because she was in the bottom three, or because she had to sit next to me. Her
performance last night was as bad as mine . I wondered if it had anything to do with the fight we’d had
the night before. I probably should have felt bad
about that, but I didn’t. She was the one throwing around accusations and
threats. She should have left it alone.
Ten long minutes passed with another commercial
break and a promotional trailer we’d shot for a car company. Then the host
finally sent Hayley back to her seat. She looked like she hadn’t doubted that
she was going back. I was trying like hell to, if not feel confident, at least look it. I knew that fucking camera was on me. I was reminded of the old adage that news people used: If it bleeds, it leads.
During the elimination rounds, they kept a camera tight on the faces of those
in the bottom three, hoping to spot blood.
I glanced over at Brooke. She had tears dried on her face and she had her stool
swiveled so her back was both to me and the cameras .
She apparently hadn’t told anyone what she was threatening to about me and Elly—not that I gave a shit if she did or not. If I win this thing, that’s great. If I get disqualified for having the best sex I’d ever had, it was still worth it.
Besides, as long as Elly didn’t confess, as long as she didn’t have pictures or
audio tape, we could deny it.
When the host called us both to the center of the
stage, he asked the judges if they thought the voters had gotten it right by
putting the two of us in the bottom. The judges agreed that by last night’s
performance alone, we should both be going home. Then the host went on to say
that the votes had been closer than they’d ever come before. The one of us who
was staying had only beaten the other one by less than a hundred votes.
Considering that millions voted, that was a slim margin. If I wasn’t going home, I was doing it by the skin of my teeth, as I should be.
At last, after all the host’s time-filling
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