Kissing the Player (The Dangers of Dating a Diva Book 1) Read online

  Kissing the Player

  The Dangers of Dating a Diva

  Maggie Dallen

  Contents

  Series Prologue

  Book Prologue

  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

  Epilogue

  Kissing the Hero

  About the Author

  Series Prologue

  Cold air smacked Rose Parson in the face as she swung open the door to the blissfully air-conditioned Emerson Performing Arts Center. Blinking a few times, she let the door click shut behind her as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim lighting of the foyer, the sticky humidity drying on her skin.

  New York in August was no place to be.

  But Rose had driven hours to get here and today, this auditorium was the only place to be.

  Rose had watched all of her upperclassmen friends rehearse for this scholarship competition, just waiting for her time to come—waiting for the day when she was finally a high school senior.

  Well, almost. School would start up in a few weeks, and then it would be official. The countdown to graduation would begin.

  Taking a deep breath, Rose took another step into the crowded foyer. Voices echoed off the tiles as seniors from all over the Northeast mingled and talked.

  Rose scanned the crowd for someone she knew. There were a few familiar faces here and there, but none she felt comfortable going up to.

  She shifted, trying to casually lift her black leather skirt from where it stuck to her thighs. Leather was definitely the wrong choice for a hot August afternoon. But in her defense, she was rocking purple hair these days and black leather was just too perfect to pass up.

  Besides, she wasn’t here to be comfortable. She was here to make an impression. And that was exactly what she meant to do. Rose tossed her hair back over her shoulder, untangling some strands that clung to her neck as she did, wondering if her new look had what it took to stand out in this crowd.

  “If you’ll all take your seats . . . ” An older woman with a clipboard and rigid smile gestured to the open doors of the auditorium. Rose headed toward her along with the others who were forming a quasi-line to get in and take their seats. She’d almost reached the open double doors when she heard her name.

  “Rose!” Lola called out. “Over here!”

  Layne smiled as her best friend waved wildly to Rose, who would have stuck out in any crowd with that bright purple hair. They shuffled forward along with the rest of the students until they’d reached her side.

  From the hug Lola gave Rose, you’d think they’d been best friends since birth.

  They hadn’t.

  Layne Hall, Lola Rey, and Rose Parson had just competed in enough regional performances that they were friendly acquaintances. And right now, Layne was glad to see a familiar face amidst the sea of competition.

  So many people vying for the same scholarship money.

  “Hey Layne, good to see you again,” Rose said over her shoulder before stepping up to the organizer by the door and snagging one of the leaflets the woman was handing out to every student.

  Layne said ‘hi’ back but it was so quiet, no one seemed to hear her.

  That was fine. Lola was the one who liked the spotlight. Layne was totally content living in her best friend’s shadow. She actually preferred it that way, which yes, made it ironic that she was there to sign up for a competition. But she never passed up a chance to compete when there was a scholarship involved, no matter how nerve wracking it was.

  Once they were all through the check-in process, they entered the auditorium, which was buzzing with gossip and laughter. Half the seats were already filled.

  “Let’s grab those seats over there,” Rose said. She was already leading the way, a tall purple beacon in the crowd.

  “Which category are you competing in?” Lola asked.

  “Acting,” Rose said. “You?”

  “Singing.”

  Layne held back a laugh as her two friends noticeably relaxed. It was one thing to be friendly with the competition, but it would be another matter entirely if they were rivals for the same scholarship.

  No one asked Layne what she was competing for, but she assumed it was understood. Songwriting was her one and only talent. Unlike every other senior in this room, she had no desire to be a star.

  “Check it out,” Rose said, her voice a murmur as she shifted toward Lola. “The Fenley twins. Do you think they’re competing against each other?”

  “I don’t know,” Lola said with a shake of her head. “All I know is, I wouldn’t want to share a bedroom with my arch rival.”

  “There’s Louisa from that show you did last summer,” Layne pointed out.

  The three of them passed the time trying to spot their friends and suss out who would be their primary competition. That kept them busy until a tall blonde in the aisle next to them hovered a little too long.

  Layne nudged Lola who looked to Rose.

  “Poor thing,” Rose said. “She looks lost.”

  “I can fix that.” Lola turned toward the blonde. “Hey, you!” she called out.

  When the blonde looked over, brows arched in alarm, Rose chimed in with a big welcoming smile. “Come sit with us.”

  “Oh. Are you . . . Um, are you sure?” She smoothed a hand over her perfect bun.

  “Of course. We’re not gonna bite. I’m Lola Rey,” she said before sticking out her hand.

  “Lillian Preston,” the girl murmured.

  Layne moved her bag so the girl could sit and the three of them watched her fidget with the hem of her skirt before tipping her head down to read the rules and guidelines on the handout.

  “What’s your talent?” Rose asked.

  Lillian’s head snapped up. “I’m a prima ballerina.”

  Layne laughed to herself as once again Rose and Lola seemed to soften, their smiles became even more welcoming. “Are you new to the competition circuit?” Lola asked. “I haven’t seen you around before.”

  “I don’t compete much,” she said.

  “Well, you’re in luck, because between the three of us, we can fill you in on your competition,” Rose said.

  Lola gestured around the auditorium like a tour director as she pointed people out. “Everyone in this room has some level of talent and definitely a lot of drive. But some are more of a threat than others.”

  Rose’s gaze fixed on a familiar brunette who slid into a seat in the row ahead, not deigning to glance around her, as though she were totally alone in the crowded room. Rose’s voice was a little too loud as she spoke. “And then there are some who you need to watch out for. They’re so competitive they make Tonya Harding look like an angel.”

  Layne sank down in her seat as Jenna turned around to stare them down. Clearly she’d recognized herself in that description and didn’t see the need to deny it. If anything, she was probably proud. The girl had a reputation as the ice queen for a reason.

  Jenna’s sneer was halfhearted when she saw Rose, but it intensified to a glare when she spotted Lola. “Oh, it’s you.” Jenna sniffed. “I suppose you think you actually stand a shot at taking first in singing,
right?” Her smile was cold as ice. “How cute.”

  “Good to see you again, too, Jenna,” Lola said in an obnoxiously chipper voice.

  Jenna didn’t reply, her gaze shifting to Layne, then dismissing her in a heartbeat. She paused on Lillian. “Who’s this?”

  Rose glanced over and saw Lillian staring back with wide eyes, clearly not used to dealing with witches like Jenna on a regular basis.

  “Leave her be, Jenna. She’s a dancer,” Rose said.

  Jenna’s lips quirked up in a little smile. “Then break a leg, I guess.”

  “Gee, thanks,” Lillian muttered, making Layne stifle a laugh beside her.

  Jenna had half a mind to make a snide comment about why Layne was even here to begin with—she definitely didn’t belong. But their conversation ended when the same organizer who’d handed out the guidelines cleared her throat at the podium on stage and welcomed them.

  What followed was basically a boring rundown of what they could easily have read for themselves.

  Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts, the pamphlet read. Underneath that there were basic requirements. Must be a high school senior, with a certain grade point average and blah blah blah.

  This year they were introducing a new category that would reward the person who best contributed to the arts in their community.

  Jenna scoffed. Pass. That one was definitely not for her. She was no do-gooder. Not that she was as cold as people made her out to be, but still. Who had time to worry about the community when she had a dream to pursue?

  Other than the new category, the rest were the same as they had been every other year since this regional scholarship competition had come about. The categories were listed along with the requirements for each.

  •Dance

  •Instruments

  •Vocals

  •Acting

  She heard Rose laugh behind her and turned around to glare. She was trying to listen here. Or she would be when they got to the singing part of the competition—the only one that mattered.

  Rose held up her handout and pointed to the categories. “Check it out,” she said in a stage whisper that had every student sitting in a three row radius looking over at her. “The first letters of the categories spell out DIVA.” She laughed again. “How perfect is that?”

  Lola tipped her head back with a loud laugh. “So perfect.” When she straightened her head she met Jenna’s gaze head-on. “Especially for some people.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes. “Please. Do you think diva is an insult? It’s not. It just means I’m driven.”

  To their surprise, Lillian nodded in agreement. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being driven.”

  “Or in wanting to be famous,” Rose added.

  Lola laughed. “So what are we saying? We should be proud to be divas?”

  “Absolutely,” Jenna said.

  Layne wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t the term a little chauvinistic?”

  Rose shook her head. “Not if we’re claiming the name for ourselves.”

  Lola arched a brow at Rose’s utter certainty. “Well I’ve always claimed I was a diva, but I guess you have a point.”

  “Think about it,” Lillian said. “People who are driven are strong and determined.”

  “They’re intimidating,” Rose added, pursing her lips in a fake scowl that made Lola laugh.

  “True,” Layne said, her tone thoughtful. “Maybe being called a diva isn’t such a bad thing.”

  “Shhh,” Jenna hissed, turning to face forward as the speaker began to read the section about requirements and judging criteria for vocals.

  “If she thinks she’s going to win this one, she has another thing coming,” Lola hissed.

  Layne patted her arm.

  Lillian arched her brows as she met Rose’s gaze. “I’m really glad I’m not a singer.”

  Rose laughed. “You think the dancers will be any less fierce? Think again.”

  When they paid attention to the speaker again, she was wrapping up the guidelines and talking about their website where they’d be posting updates before the big competition in April.

  “And this year, we’ve added something new,” the organizer said. “Along with adding a Facebook popular vote element to the applicable categories I addressed earlier, we’ve started a Facebook page specifically for the event where you can post your questions and concerns for quick answers. We encourage you all to join to stay in touch in the months leading up to the event.”

  “Yeah, because that’s what I want,” Lola murmured. “To be psyched out by my competition for the next seven months.”

  “Seriously,” Rose said.

  “I don’t know, I think it’s kind of nice to have a place where we can ask questions about the rules,” Lillian said.

  “Oh please.” Jenna sounded weary when she turned around. “Social media is just another form of distraction.”

  “She has a point,” Layne said as the speaker finished and they grabbed their belongings, heading back out to drop off their official entry forms.

  “Who?” Rose asked. “Jenna?”

  “Ignore her,” Lola said. “She’s not into social media to begin with. The girl doesn’t even have an Instagram account.”

  “Neither do I,” Layne said. “I’m just saying Jenna’s right about it being a distraction.”

  “I definitely can’t afford distractions,” Lillian said under her breath.

  “Neither can I,” Rose agreed. “None of us can if we hope to win.”

  “And social media is the biggest distraction,” Layne concluded.

  Lola scoffed. “Well, I love it. And it’s part of the competition now so we might as well embrace it. Besides, social media might be a distraction, but it’s not worse than boys.”

  Layne nodded. “Fair enough. Boys are more of a distraction, especially for you, Lola.”

  Rose laughed. “So what, are we supposed to close down all our online accounts and stop dating? Should I enter a nunnery while I’m at it?”

  Layne laughed. “You don’t have to stop dating, just be sure you don’t . . . I don’t know . . .”

  “Fall in love,” Lola suggested.

  Rose’s brows arched in surprise at the L-word. “That I can definitely promise not to do.”

  “Me too,” Lillian said. “I don’t have time to sleep, let alone deal with boy drama.”

  “Me three,” Lola added. “There’s just too many kissable boys in the world to fall for just one.”

  They laughed at Lola’s comment, but there was one among them who’d been silent.

  Layne blushed. “Oh, I don’t have anything to worry about there. My love life is non-existent.”

  “Then we don’t have anything standing between us and victory,” Rose said.

  They’d stopped short of the desk where the organizers were collecting the forms and Jenna brushed past them, pushing Lola to the side as she beat them to the desk. “Word to the wise, ladies?” she called over her shoulder. “Keep your eye on the prize.”

  Book Prologue

  Two Years Ago: The Breakup

  Jax

  The hallways were filled with people. Not exactly the best place to drop the bomb, but at the same time—with a girl like Rose, the more people around the better. She might enjoy the spotlight, but no one wanted to be dumped publicly. Letting her down easy here, where there were witnesses, meant I was more likely to survive this blowout.

  Poor girl didn’t even know it was coming.

  “You’re seriously gonna break up with Rose on the day of the dance?” My friend Simone was giving me that judgy look again as she waited beside me at my locker. She was my oldest friend, and I was well acquainted with that look.

  “It’s time,” I said with a sigh. It was the tenth time we’d gone over this.

  Ending things was never fun, and with a girl like Rose? This could be brutal. But that was exactly why it needed to end before it went any further. The girl was drama wi
th a capital D.

  I didn’t do drama. I got enough of that at home.

  Besides, I didn’t do relationships. Period. Everyone knew that. What had started as flirting at Bobby Newman’s party two weeks ago had escalated into a thing and now suddenly we were hanging out every chance we could and texting late at night when we weren’t with each other?

  Nope. That wasn’t me. I hadn’t signed up to be anybody’s boyfriend, and definitely not with someone like Rose.

  Don’t get me wrong, I liked the girl. She was hot—like, hotter than hot—and she was funny. She was all into the theater department and it showed in everything she did. She was larger than life. A force of nature. And that was all fine and good, or whatever, but it wasn’t for me.

  “She’s coming,” Simone hissed beside me.

  I’d already spotted her coming down the hallway in my direction. How could I not? She was sporting bright pink hair that screamed ‘look at me!’

  As if she needed shockingly pink hair to make guys see her. She could have been wearing a bag over her head and guys would still be leering.

  She was tall—taller than most of the girls, at least—and she had this willowy body that made her every move look like she was posing on the catwalk.

  Or maybe that was the heels.

  Tall or not, she was the only girl I knew who wore spiky heels and crazy platform contraptions to school.

  “She’s going to kill you,” Simone whispered helpfully beside me.

  I shot her a sidelong look. I loved Simone like a sister, but sometimes she drove me nuts. Like right now. When we were kids I used to tease her that she was my own personal angel on my shoulder. Such a goody-two-shoes. Always.

  Maybe that was why we worked as friends. She was always good, and I was…well, not bad. It wasn’t like I was some hardcore thug or anything. Let’s just say, I didn’t care for rules.