Fake Dating My Rockstar Roommate: A Sweet Standalone Romance (Fake Dates Book 3) Read online

  It had been her little nod to Empire Records, AKA the best movie ever made, and at the time it had made her laugh.

  Now, her breathing was coming in gasps and she had no idea how long she sat like that.

  She wasn’t even sure when the tears started, but they were trickling down her cheeks.

  At least one song went by as she sat there in miserable silence, her heart aching and her head spinning, reeling with shock.

  When she finally lifted her head, she saw that no one noticed.

  No one around her seemed to care that she’d gone from excited fangirl to weeping basketcase. The crowd below her was too busy cheering, and waving, and singing along.

  Gina, meanwhile, had the disturbing sensation that she was watching it all from a distance. Maybe that was why she didn’t so much as blink when Aston Rogue’s gaze met hers at the end of the song.

  Maybe that was why she didn’t even pretend to smile or even swipe at the streaming tears.

  She wasn’t even here, after all.

  This was just a dream.

  And then, just like in a dream, it all took a turn for the surreal. One minute she was just another fan watching a show, and the next he was singing…to her.

  She blinked, thinking maybe that would wake her from this fantasy. She’d had this one a thousand times as a teen. The one where Aston Rogue singled her out and sang her a love song.

  And now here he was.

  It was happening.

  And Gina now knew for certain that this wasn’t a dream.

  It was a nightmare.

  Because every set of eyes, every camera, and every phone was now aimed in her direction as she wept over her broken heart.

  And Aston Rogue?

  He just kept singing.

  Two

  Aston ignored the first call.

  Or...he tried to, at least.

  Burying his head under his pillow, he groaned as his phone chirped on the nightstand for a second time.

  Where was he?

  That was always the first question to pop into his head when he was on tour. Sometimes even when he wasn’t on tour. And then there were times when it took him a full ten minutes of lying in bed just to remember if he was on tour or not.

  This morning he felt confident he was on tour. The pillowcases at his bungalow home in Malibu were of a way higher thread count than this. And the bed…

  He shifted his weight tentatively.

  Nope. This was not definitely not his bed.

  If this were two years ago, or any year in the decade before that, his next move would have been to see who else was in his bed. But as he’d said farewell to one night stands, along with several other toxic bad habits, he’d gotten used to waking up alone.

  And to the sound of his phone ringing.

  When it started ringing for the third time in a row, he rolled over to the edge of the mattress and reached for his phone. “It’d better be an emergency,” he growled.

  His manager’s voice filled the line. “Just when I think you can’t cause me any more trouble,” Toby said.

  Aston struggled to sit up, rubbing at his eyes as he squinted at the clock. Not the crack of dawn like he’d thought, but still earlier than he typically rose, especially while on tour. “What did I do now?”

  He didn’t care. Not really. If it were something really serious Toby would have woken him with a knock on the door. Toby believed in face-to-face lectures and had been known to hop on a cross-Atlantic flight just to ream Aston out about the way he’d handled a local news radio interview. A quick flight from Los Angeles to Wyoming would’ve been nothing if Aston were in serious trouble.

  “Guess you haven’t been online yet, huh?” Toby’s voice held more amusement than anger.

  Another sure sign that whatever had him calling Aston at this ungodly hour, it was definitely not an emergency. “Hard to be online while also fast asleep,” he mumbled.

  “You were still sleeping?” Toby laughed.

  Aston pushed his legs to the floor and shuffled over to a coffee pot on the hotel room’s kitchenette counter. Coffee. Coffee would make everything better.

  “Must be nice to sleep in,” Toby said.

  Aston sighed. He no longer tried to make his old friend understand that the high of performing live didn’t fade instantly. He couldn’t go from being ‘on’ onstage to a peaceful sleep without several hours of come-down time.

  Toby was still chuckling. “Wish I could sleep in like you do, I’d—”

  “Toby,” Aston cut in. “Emergency. What is it?”

  “All right, all right. No need to be rude.” Toby was the worst sort of morning person—the kind who couldn’t fathom why everyone else didn’t bounce out of bed, chipper and alert. “And I’m the one who should be asking questions this morning. Starting with, who’s the girl?”

  Aston froze with the coffee pot in one hand and the bag of grounds in the other. A sick sense of dread slid through his veins before he reminded himself that he didn’t get into trouble anymore. Not real trouble, at least.

  There were too many lost years in his past. Too many mornings filled with nameless faces and regrets. But it had been years since he’d drowned his troubles—in booze, pills, or women. He gave his head a rough shake and finished making the coffee.

  He had a perfectly clear memory of the night before, including the car ride back to Cyrano, the only real town within a hundred miles, and the elevator ride to his hotel room. Alone. “There was no girl,” he said.

  “Uh huh.” Toby’s voice was filled with disbelief. “Try telling that to your fans.”

  Aston frowned at the coffee pot as it went about its business. He didn’t even want to ask. But he couldn’t avoid it forever either. Whatever it was, if it involved his fans, it involved him.

  He rubbed his gritty eyes.

  Some people served their autocratic bosses. Other people had butts to kiss and shoes to shine to earn their payday. Aston had his fans. If he didn’t keep them happy, they’d bolt. Onto the next big thing and leaving him in the dust to perform in dingy casinos and cruise ships. He’d seen it happen.

  But it wasn’t about to happen to him.

  “What are they upset about now?” he asked.

  “Not upset,” Toby said. “They’re over the moon.”

  Aston had been reaching for a mug and he stilled again. How was it possible that he experienced more dread knowing his fans were thrilled about something he’d done?

  Maybe he was getting paranoid in his old age. Not that he was ancient at thirty-five, but in rock star years...he kind of was.

  He rubbed the bridge of his nose, trying his best to relieve a burgeoning headache.

  Coffee would help that too.

  Coffee helped all things. As far as Aston was concerned, coffee was a miracle in brown liquid form.

  “Did you sing to some chick last night?” Toby asked.

  A smile tugged at Aston’s lips as the memory came flooding back to him. He’d seen the pretty, petite brunette before he’d even gone on stage. Stuck in that VIP box amidst the bigwigs from his record label and producers for his upcoming tour, it’d been impossible not to notice her. Her bright smile had been like a beacon even from across the stage.

  And then he’d seen her again right after his first song.

  “She was crying,” he said, as if that was any sort of explanation.

  He’d seen countless women weep at his shows. But this had not been that. The dark-haired girl with the brilliant smile hadn’t been overcome with excitement or beside herself at being in his presence.

  No. She’d been legit crying. Like her heart had just been broken and her world shattered.

  He knew that look. He’d caused that look.

  He hated that look.

  And so he’d done something he hadn’t done in years. He’d improvised. With a quick word to the band that had been put together for him for the upcoming tour, he’d gone off script.

  The band had been cool about i
t and had kept pace easily. A good sign since this musical festival in Podunk was supposed to be a sort of trial run before the real tour began in a couple months. He and his new band would play a few more low-key shows to work out the kinks, but last night had been a good start.

  His stomach turned as the now-familiar pressure settled on his shoulders just like it did every morning. At least he had a band. And a tour. Because if things kept going the way they had, there was every chance he wouldn’t get another record deal. At least not with one of the big labels.

  He dropped his head into his hands.

  This could be the last tour. This could be the end of the road.

  “You still there?” Toby’s voice cut into his wallowing.

  “I’m here,” he muttered through his hands.

  “So what happened?”

  It took a second to remember what they’d been talking about. Right. The girl with the megawatt smile and the heartbreaking tears. He cleared his throat and scrubbed the back of his neck as he remembered what he’d done. “I pulled out one of my old songs.”

  “From the early days?” Toby sounded shocked. Understandably.

  A smile tugged at Aston’s lips. He’d surprised himself with that one. It had been nearly a decade since he’d played any of his early material. His record executives had declared it too slow, too depressing, too simple. “Yup.” He shifted the phone to his other ear as his smile broadened. “I think the fans liked it.”

  They’d sounded like they’d liked it, at least.

  “Oh they did,” Toby said. “They certainly did.”

  Aston snuck himself a cup before it was done brewing. Who could wait at a time like this?

  This being morning, obviously.

  “And the girl...” Toby started.

  Something in Toby’s smug tone had him hesitating as he lifted the steaming mug to his mouth. “What about her?” Aston asked.

  “Well, now she’s your girlfriend,” Toby said.

  Aston jolted in surprise and then cursed as lava-hot coffee splashed onto his hand.

  Toby was laughing on the other end of the phone. “You okay there, pal?”

  “What the—” He cursed again as he wiped his hands on his T-shirt. “What do you mean she’s my girlfriend?”

  “Sending you a link,” Toby said, his voice muffled like he’d already moved away from the phone. “And uh, you might want to sit down for this one.”

  Aston didn’t sit. He paced. He still needed coffee—desperately—but he no longer needed it to feel awake. Oh no. Funny how news that he was intimately acquainted with a stranger could perk a guy up like that.

  “Toby,” he growled, his voice a warning. “What did he do?”

  He was the new PR guy. The latest in a long line of PR people after the last one quit saying Aston was too difficult and his reputation too damaged and blah blah blah.

  He was the so-called miracle man of public relations.

  He was Morgan Jeffers, and he was about to be fired.

  “I, uh, I think Morgan saw an opportunity and pounced.” Toby’s voice was wary.

  Smart man.

  “An opportunity?” Aston didn’t stop pacing as he kept an eye on his phone. He only paused to finally take a sip of his coffee.

  Mistake. He spluttered and winced.

  “You saw the article?” Toby asked.

  “No,” Aston snapped. “I just took a sip of coffee that was brewed by Satan in a pit of tar.”

  “Wow,” Toby said. “This is not your morning.”

  “You think?” Aston’s phone lit up with a text and Aston clicked on a link. “Oh holy…” He sank onto the edge of the bed. “And my fans actually bought this?”

  “Hook, line, and sinker,” Toby said with a sigh. “Before I called you I was on all the fan pages and websites. They’re not just buying it, Aston. They’re eating it up.”

  “Eating it...why?” His voice was a plaintive wail as he stared in horror at the article before him.

  Bad Boy Rocker Tamed by Small Town Sweetheart.

  “Tamed?” He ran a hand through his hair with a wince. “That’s just demeaning.” He huffed. “Toby, it makes me sound like a freakin’ puppy.”

  “A puppy in need of potty training,” Toby added with a snicker.

  “This is not funny.” Aston’s gaze was moving over the article quickly. There were quotes—freakin’ quotes! One from someone at the record label. Another from a tour producer. All people who were sitting near the girl and who had to have known she wasn’t actually his girlfriend. Or anyone to him, for that matter.

  All people whose paychecks depended on Aston’s success. It didn’t take a genius to see that Morgan the Miracle Worker had gotten them to say whatever he wanted to craft a story the public would like.

  “He works quickly, I’ll give him that,” Toby muttered.

  “Toby,” Aston growled, his gaze snagging on a photo Morgan had found of the girl, no doubt from social media.

  “Yeah?” Toby sounded wary.

  Gina. Her name was Gina Parker. And according to social media, she worked at a coffee shop in town.

  “Does this girl even know she’s been pulled into some PR stunt?” A muscle ticked in his jaw as the silence stretched between them.

  The silence spoke volumes.

  “I...don’t know,” he said.

  “That’s a no.” Aston slammed his mug down. “Jeez, Toby, this is some innocent girl—”

  “America’s sweetheart, according to the article,” Toby added.

  Aston scrubbed a hand over his face. “We can’t just go messing with her life.”

  “Oh come on. She was front and center at the show and wearing your face on her boobs,” Toby interjected in a cynical tone that wasn’t there all those years ago when they’d first met. But a lot had changed since then. They’d both changed, for better or worse.

  “She’ll be ecstatic that she’s front page news,” Toby continued. “We just gave her the ultimate fantasy and wrapped it in a bow.”

  “It’s a lie,” Aston pointed out.

  “But it’s a great lie,” Toby argued. “Which one of your female fans wouldn’t want to be the leading lady in a story like this one?”

  Aston’s head dropped back and he stared up at the ceiling. “She could be married for all we know.”

  Toby sighed. “Then we’ll apologize for the misunderstanding, say you knew nothing about this article, and walk away.”

  “Walk away,” Aston repeated in disbelief. “You want me to mess with some stranger’s life and then just...walk away?”

  “Aw come on, Aston, you’re overreacting. That girl will be happy to have her name linked to yours. You know as well as I do how much everyone wants their fifteen minutes of fame.”

  The cold lead in Aston’s gut was more bitter than this awful coffee. Toby was right. He’d learned that lesson long ago. But even so, she hadn’t asked for this, and there was no telling how it might affect her life. Instant fame had a way of turning a person’s world upside down. “Tell Morgan to take it down, Toby. Tell him—”

  “Too late,” Toby said. “The news is everywhere.”

  Aston cursed under his breath.

  “But you’re missing the bigger picture here, pal.”

  “What’s that?” Aston walked over to the luggage he hadn’t bothered to unpack. This was a one-night gig, and the sooner he got back to his home the better.

  “All this buzz about your new relationship isn’t just a goldmine for your reputation, it’s a win for your music too.”

  Aston paused with a hand on a fresh T-shirt. “What does that mean?”

  “Go online,” Toby said, his tone wheedling. “They loved that song. News of your relationship had everyone and their mother watching the home videos of your performance last night, and the song you sang to the girl has gone viral.”

  “What?” He frowned down at the suitcase. It was a simple, sweet love song. Totally unlike the rock music he’d been performing for
decades.

  “They’re going nuts for it. Even that music critic who always tears you apart was saying how this might mark the start of a new era for Aston Rogue.”

  Aston winced. He ought to be used to it by now, but he hated when people referred to him in the third person. Like Aston Rogue was someone else.

  Maybe he was. But if so, then who was he?

  “So, what are you saying, Toby? You think I should write more songs like that? Add them to my lineup for the tour?”

  “Couldn’t hurt,” Toby said.

  Couldn’t hurt. Just the words every aging rock star wanted to hear from his manager when discussing last-ditch efforts to resuscitate his career.

  “What am I supposed to do about the girl?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” Toby said quickly. “It’ll die down soon enough, but at least for now you got a dose of goodwill. Your fans will be rooting for you when the tour starts.” Toby’s voice got that edge, the one that meant he was scheming. “Maybe we could spin it that you fell in love and she broke your heart. Or—”

  “Toby,” he interrupted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Leave the girl out of it.” He winced as the memory of her crying came back and hit him smack in the chest. “She doesn’t need us messing with her life any more than we already have.”

  “Yeah, sure,” Toby said quickly. “I’ll tell Morgan to drop it. Let it die out on its own.”

  Aston nodded, about to reach for the coffee cup, his chest still tight from that memory he couldn’t shake and guilt twisting his gut into knots.

  Or maybe that was the bad coffee.

  Either way, he felt awful.

  “Hey Toby, what was the name of that coffee shop she works at?”

  “Java Lava,” he says. “Right on Main Street, not far from your hotel.”

  He glanced at the phone askance. Seemed his manager had been doing more digging on the girl while they’d talked. Not that he was surprised. Toby’s job was to know all about the people in Aston’s life—particularly the women. And he took his job very seriously.

  “Why?” Toby asked, suspicion in his voice. “You gonna go talk to her?”