Keeping up the rock star image ain’t easy, but someone’s gotta show these fakers how it’s done.
Hotel-room-trashing tantrums? Check.
Daddy issues galore? Check.
Glitz, glamour and general debauchery?
I wrote the f**king book.
I’m a textbook bad boy rockstar cliche, and I’ve never claimed to be anything else.
Hell, I own it.
At least, I did, until he came along: Mr. Self-Righteous who acts more like a priest than a drummer. Now he’s my bodyguard and the guy in charge of making sure I don’t OD before the tour ends.
Oh, right. I also have a crazy stalker who’s been obsessed with me since I was a kid. So that’s fun.
It doesn’t take long to figure out Cash is more of a danger than any freak with a shrine of me in his closet, and he’s way harder to shake. He’s managed to convince our band manager (AKA, the crappiest father ever) that he’s the only one who can protect me from my stalker and my own vices.
Cash thinks I’m stuck with him while he forces me to get clean, but what starts out as a Daddy/boy roleplay meant to freak him out turns into so much more than a game.
For the first time ever, I don’t know who’s going to win, but I’m not going down without a fight.
Heat Level 5