Page 3 of Wild Stars (Rock His World #2)

CHAPTER 3

Dare

My fucking head... Ow.

I groan as light filters in through the bedroom window, my head aching something fierce.

“Rise and shine, boys,” Penny chirps and the sound of clinking hooks echoes like a damn loudspeaker in my brain as she pushes the curtains open all around the room.

Richie groans across the room, and I can hear Spike and Ines across the hall cursing as they fight over the bathroom.

“Five more minutes, Penny...” I grumble as I cover my face with my pillow.

Penny kicks me—in my ass—with her heeled boot, which is enough to make me jump out of my fucking skin.

“Five minutes, my ass,” she bites as she gives my ass another shove.

I groan, attempting to throw my pillow at her, but my aim is shit and from the huff I hear five feet away, I guess it hits Richie instead.

“She’s right,” Richie deadpans, and I can hear the annoyance in his voice.

I don’t care how right anyone is, I want to stay right fucking here in this damn bed. It’s soft, warm, and I feel like I was hit by a damn truck.

I wipe my eyes, groaning as I remember vaguely the events of my previous night. Though it’s all a bit of a weird blur, I can remember dancing on the kitchen table, and I remember being carried by strong, sturdy arms...

My face heats as I remember a deep, dark voice nipping at me to move my legs, fingers digging into my sides.

Batman...

No...

Mateo Starr...

I groan as I realize I must’ve looked like an absolute idiot in front of him.

Mage Of Mercy is still by far one of the most unique sounding progressive rock bands in Hollywood. Shit, I’ve been a fan of Mateo’s act since I was in middle school!

He’s the whole reason I even wanted to sign to Casualty Records in the first place!

I throw my legs over the side of the bed, flashing my gaze up at Penny, who has the audacity to look at me like I’m nothing more than a child. Her eyebrow raised, arms crossed, she bites, “Get your shit together, Darren. Rehearsal is in an hour.”

I hate it when she uses my real name. It’s like when your mother yells at you.

And with that, she leaves Richie and me to our devices.

The cold water on my skin helps to wake me up, but it does jack shit for my fucking hangover. I feel like I’ll have this headache for eternity at this point.

Seriously, what the fuck did Jinger give me? I’m never doing whatever that was again. Fuck...

I close my eyes for a brief moment, bracing myself against the cold tile. Hazy memories infiltrate my senses, of deep, dark eyes staring down at me, of perfect, exquisitely defined features. Like a Greek god or some shit, mixed with the sight of a night sky.

Despite my hangover and my overall feeling like shit, my cock seems to not be affected as much.

Absentmindedly, I let my hands wander, finding my shaft and relishing in the feel of my own touch. After all, it’s part of my morning routine.

Despite what the gossip and rumors about me say, no one but me has serviced this cock in at least a year and a half.

I might be the frontman of Heart Killer , but Richie and Spike are the pussy magnets.

You’d think being the token bisexual of the group, I’d have more options, but that’s not the case.

I know most dudes want a guy with a six-pack and a loaded wallet, and I have neither.

At best, I’ve got a body built by cinnamon rolls and a wallet that nowhere near reflects the amount of success someone like Mateo Starr does.

The band’s only been with Casualty Records for a little over a year. We’re still trying to find our footing, and while we’re more than lucky to be signed to such a fantastic label, we’re the new kids, and therefore, we don’t get as much attention, or money. Yet.

I try not to think about the truth, for fear of losing my erection.

Instead, I lose myself in thoughts of dark eyes, perfect lips...

I mean, Matty is fucking hot, and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only man in the world who’s jacked off to the thought of the guy.

It doesn’t mean I like him.

I don’t even know him.

Not to mention in the limited memory I have, he was kind of being a dick.

Still, all thoughts of bitter Batman aside, it doesn’t take long for me to come. I’ve gotten pretty good at pleasing myself this past year. A few strokes and thrusts while I think about those perfect lips, and I’m over the finish line pretty quick.

A part of me worries I’ll never actually find someone, like in the stupid songs about fairytale-written love sense, and the other part of me worries that when I do, they won’t live up to my unrealistic expectations, or I just won’t be satisfied.

Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.

So, for the time being, I just focus on doing what feels good, what feels right, and continue to write about, hopefully, finding someone someday who can handle all of me.

* * *

I pile into the red Malibu with Richie. Spike and Ines speed off on their bikes, while Penny utilizes every Uber or Lyft she can and bills the label. I know we could do the same, but there’s something genuine about staying true to our roots. Richie bought the car with our first advance, and it’s as much mine as it is his.

But he’s a way better driver than I am, so I don’t fight him when he plops into the driver’s seat every time.

Within seconds, we’re speeding off toward the highway as I poke around the radio stations, finally stopping when I settle on a station playing Mage Of Mercy ’s newest hit, Satellites.

“I’ll fly across space and time, baby, if it would only make you mine. I’ll fight the asteroids, dispel the meteorites, baby, nothing can keep me away from my... my satellite...”

Matty’s deep vocals are like smooth, black velvet. My brain turns to mush a little as he breathlessly sings his words, and my cock twitches.

Nonchalantly, I adjust myself as I let out an agitated sigh.

“That was Mage Of Mercy with Satellites . God, it’s so good to have new music from Mateo and Hailee Starr again, don’t you agree Tiffany?”

I roll my eyes as Richie speaks up.

“Something wrong?” he asks, and I glance at him from my seat.

I curl my legs up, wrapping my arms around them. I hate sitting like a normal person, it feels uncomfortable.

Memories of Matty’s dark Batman voice reverberate in my brain. His authoritative tone, his bite.

I purse my lips.

First chance meeting my idol and I fucking blew it.

And all the contents of my stomach, no less.

Fuck, I’m hungry.

“You ever meet someone you admire and immediately regret it?” I murmur.

Richie sighs. “Does this have anything to do with Mateo Starr?” he asks.

I furrow my eyebrows. “How did you?—”

“He called us a car last night, insisted I make sure you got home safe. Even made me fucking text him like he was my dad or some shit.”

I blink as I try to remember the events of last night clearly, but I didn’t remember Mateo doing anything like that.

All I can remember is me throwing up and him yelling at me and pushing me around.

“Yeah, well, I’m sure he would have done the same for anyone else.” I shrug.

Richie purses his lips, returning his gaze to the road. “You ever just... wish you could go back in time and do shit over?” he asks.

“Yeah, kinda feel that way right about now,” I whine as I rub my temples. “You think Penn has any Advil at the studio? My brain hurts.”

Richie shakes his head. “That’s why I stick to fucking weed, man. The natural shit. Never leaves me feeling like garbage.”

I bang my head against the window, nonchalantly flipping him off.

“Fuck you,” I bite as I close my eyes and let the motion of the drive lull me into a half sleep.

When we finally arrive at the studio, I feel a little better, and my headache has started to subside, but I’m still dragging ass. Thankfully, the studio is posh as shit and they have, like, the best break room I’ve ever seen.

Seriously, their collection of K-Cups and super fancy drinks is a huge motivator.

Richie takes off for the rehearsal studio, but I keep walking.

“Where are you?—”

“Caffeine and sustenance, man. If I don’t eat something or get some fucking coffee in my system, I think I will perish,” I tell him.

Richie only rolls his eyes, but waves me off. “Fine. But that caramel cappuccino shit isn’t actually coffee, you know!” he yells as I make a beeline for the break room, running headfirst into something large and solid.

No, not something, someone .

“Jesus Christ, Dare, are you still drunk?” a bitter voice beckons.

I look up with wide, surprised eyes.

“Oh shit, Matty, I’m sorry, I?—”

“Don’t fucking call me that,” he nips as he shifts his stance in the doorway.

I look around him to see the spread of pastries and muffins on the counter, and my stomach growls.

“I’m sorry, just a little hungry, and—” I bumble like a fucking idiot, then blurt, “Felix calls you Matty.”

Mateo scowls. “Felix is annoying at best. I don’t pay any attention to what that asshole does.”

I swallow harshly as I reply, “Noted.”

Just as he moves to leave, I stop him.

“Hey, um... Richie told me you, uh... what I mean is, uh...”

Matty raises a sharp eyebrow, his expression a blend of stoic and annoyed. “English, please, Dare.”

The way he says my name makes a shiver run up my fucking spine.

It’s smooth and warm, like caramel cappuccino.

I blink furiously, trying to keep focused on being polite and thanking the man for making sure I was okay, and not focusing on the sexy way he says my name.

Which makes my ADD riddled brain burst with thoughts that are probably way too inappropriate for the workplace.

I fight the heat that wants to rush into my cheeks as I hold his steely gaze.

You can do this! He’s just a guy.

Yeah, a guy you totally had posters of in your room as a teenager.

Who happens to be way hotter in person than in your dreams.

“I just wanted to say thanks. For, uh... helping me out last night.”

For holding my hair back and letting me make a legit mess of myself in front of you, Sir.

Where the fuck did that come from?

Something shifts in Matty’s eyes and his expression softens only a little.

“Yes, well, someone clearly needed to.” He grinds his jaw.

What is his problem?

Why am I so hot all of a sudden?

“Matty, come on, can you just, like?—”

Batman practically shoves me up against the doorframe, and for a moment, I can’t even fathom the thought of K-Cups or muffins, because the sight of those perfect lips, that dark gaze, and my stupid fucking twitching cock are all I can focus on.

Matty leans a tattooed arm against the doorframe, his lips curling back to expose perfectly white canines. The veins in his biceps make the constellation lines look alive, and I have to remember to breathe.

Not only because my idol is inches away from me, but because something about his aura is making my brain feel like mush, like when he sings.

I swallow harshly, as he growls, “I said, don’t fucking call me that.”

And because I truly am a damn idiot with probably only one functioning brain cell at the moment, I don’t shut up like I should.

No, my last kamikaze brain cell feels like fighting.

I challenge his space, gazing down his fiery pupils as I respond, “You aren’t the fucking boss of me, Matty .” I smile smugly as I purposefully enunciate his name, using my size to shove him back against the side of the doorframe, and steamroll my way into the break room.

“Ungrateful little shit. Next time I’ll let you fucking rot,” he snaps, and with that, Mateo Starr leaves me to question every decision I’ve made in the last twenty-four hours.

“Fuck,” I breathe once he’s out of sight. “What the hell is wrong with me today?” I run my hand through my hair as I wait with bated breath for my caramel cappuccino.

“Whatever, Dare. Just grab your coffee and put Sexy Batman out of your brain,” I tell myself as I grab my drink and head off the studio.