Manhandled: A Rockstar Romantic Comedy (Hammered Book 2) Read Free Page A

“Sometimes.”
    “Women?” she squeaked.
    I grinned. “Sometimes.”
    “Wow.” Hope’s eyes were the definition of owlish. A tiny wrinkle formed between her brows, then she chewed on her bottom lip.
    If she actually asked the question brewing in that good-girl brain of hers, I’d eat my favorite pair of Dr. Who Chucks.
    I hadn’t been with a guy in a while, and I resisted any and all fix-ups from her and our mother. She glanced at Noah, then back at me, then finally made a “hmm” sound.
    “Patrick keeps me safe. Not to worry.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to stop the smile. Hope was just too easy to tease.
    She opened her mouth as if to say more, but snapped it shut when our parents waved and made their way over.
    On second thought, maybe I could bribe Noah into playing my boyfriend for the night. It was better to get a disapproving look from my father than to endure the list of eligible bachelors my mother probably had in her iPhone.
    My mother was wearing a baby-blue dress with a slim black belt that was a throwback to Jackie O’s style. Her hair was a perfect champagne blonde and swung in a knife-blade sweep of straight hair just above her shoulders. My father wore a sand-colored suit with a matching blue tie.
    Prom.
    How sweet.
    I beat down the snark with my internal bat. It was always at the ready.
    My parents weren’t bad people. Actually they were the nicest people on the planet, as far as I was concerned. The problem wasn’t them. It was me. I didn’t belong in their country-club lifestyle.
    I was dark-washed denim and a rude T-shirt to my mom’s silk and pearls.
    I was seedy bars with a battered upright piano jammed in the corner screaming my name. They were a baby grand on glossy marble floors with Beethoven’s 5th playing in the background at a party.
    I was rock and roll, and they were classical.
    Noah must have read my mind, because his pinkie brushed mine. He’d play the boyfriend if I really wanted him to. We’d done a similar role play at a party in Hollywood. Noah might be the quiet brother, but he was far more intuitive than people gave him credit for.
    I lifted both glasses. “Refill?” I asked him.
    His dimples flashed. “Sure.”
    “Thanks.”
    I let my mother envelop me into her Dior signature scent. She didn’t give air kisses like Hope. She squeezed and didn’t worry about wrinkles. She tucked a few strands of my hair around my ear. “So nice to see it back to blonde.”
    “Mom.”
    She sighed. “Hair isn’t meant to be blue.”
    The only reason mine was back to my natural color was because everyone and their dog had rainbow hair these days. Going back to my pale blonde was actually being rebellious.
    She cupped my cheeks. “You’re beautiful. I’m so glad this was a traditional wedding.”
    I rolled my eyes.
    If I ever got married, I’d have to come down the aisle in tartan plaid with Converse sneakers just to freak her out. Maybe black lace with a red bodice.
    Hmm.
    That could work. Might be cute, actually. I blinked back into the conversation as she rattled off names of the people she knew at the party. When she mentioned Donovan Lewis, my ears perked up.
    “How do you know Donovan?”
    “He’s on the board at the Children’s Hospital with your father.”
    My eyebrows shot up. “Really?”
    She nodded. “Why do you think we were so thrilled when you signed with his little company?”
    Little?
    I frowned. A multi-billion-dollar company wasn’t chump change, but I refrained from commenting on that one. Ripper Records might be a smaller subsidiary of the Lewis fortune, but there was nothing little about the label.
    In fact, his name was another reason we were climbing back up the charts. Ripper Records was synonymous with incredible talent. We’d been languishing on a larger New York City label, and when our contract had come up, Lila had pounced on us to sign with them.
    Best decision ever.
    Between their marketing, and Hunter’s crazy Rolling