Reckless Reunion (The Reckless Rockstar #3) - Samantha Christy

Chapter One

Garrett

I carefully push her off me, hoping I don’t wake her. I study her face for a second, trying to remember her name. Karen? Karly? Kiersten? She makes a noise, and I stiffen. Then she rolls over and goes back to sleep. I take my pile of clothes into the bathroom and quickly dress. When I emerge, she’s sitting on the edge of the bed. Naked.

She yawns. “Where are you off to so early?”

“Meeting.”

“With the band?”

I slip on my shoes and nod.

“Can I come? I’d love to meet them.”

“Sorry. No.”

“Please?” She lets her legs fall open. “I’ll make it worth your while.”

It’s impossible not to look at what she’s offering, and for a moment, I contemplate taking her up on it. But Bria and the guys would kill me if I showed up with a groupie. I start for the door. “I can’t be late.”

She holds out a hand with her phone in it. “Put in your contact info so we can hookup again sometime.”

I try not to laugh. I’ve been bitten more than once by falling for that. In fact, I’ve had to change my phone number twice in the past six months. I’ve learned my lesson. “The record label doesn’t allow me to give out my number.”

“Seriously?”

It’s not a complete lie. I’m part owner of said record label. Therefore, I make the rules, and I just made that one. I shrug as if I have no control over it.

“At least take my number then,” she says, following me to the door—still naked.

“Uh … Karen? Kristen?”

“Kara.”

“Right. Kara, I’m not going to blow smoke up your ass and tell you I’m going to call, because I’m not. I’d be a dick to string you along, and I’m pretty sure I told you last night was going to be a one-time thing. Which you agreed to, by the way. I’m not interested in dating or even fucking again, so thanks for last night. It was nice meeting you. Have a nice life.”

“Asshole!” she yells after me as I shut the door.

I stop at my apartment for a shower. After living with Liam, Crew, and Bria for almost a year, it’s still strange coming home to a place that’s only mine. The three of them aren’t far away, however. Crew and Bria kept the three-bedroom we had, while Liam and I leased our own places just down the hall—on the same floor in the same building. The four of us had a lot of good times living together, but with Crew and Bria engaged, and Liam and Ella wanting to move in together, it seemed time to get our own places. Funny how none of us wanted to leave the building. And we all have keys to each other’s apartments. Hell, we eat dinner together at least three times a week. It’s like we’re one big happy family.

Except for Brad.

I’m still mad at him for jumping ship. He still plays bass for us, but it’s temporary until we find a replacement. He recently had a kid and says he won’t leave her when we go on tour. That gives us two more months to hire someone new. We’ve been auditioning people since last summer but haven’t found the right fit. Now it’s getting down to the wire.

When I arrive at IRL, everyone is waiting in the conference room. All eyes are on me as I walk through the door.

Ronni, our rep, lets out a disgusting snarl. “You had three weeks off, Garrett. The least you can do is be on time to start the new year right.”

I check the time. “I’m five minutes late. Cut me a break.”

In usual Ronni fashion, she hands everyone a thick packet with Indica Record Label in bold print on the front. Sometimes I still can’t believe we own the company—a fluke situation involving Liam, our guitar player, and his uncle, the slimeball we bought it from. But here we are, six months later, trying to navigate not only owning the label but also being one of the hottest new bands in the country.

Brad walks in after I do, looking like death warmed over. “Sorry,” he says. “The baby was up all night. Katie thinks she has colic or something.”

“Your presence isn’t required at this meeting,” Ronni says.

Liam hands Brad a packet. “Shut up, Veronica. He’s still a part of the band.”

“But he has no say in any of this.”

“Brad helped us get this far,” Bria says. “He most definitely has a say. How’s little Olivia, by