Rock My World Read Free

awaited his arrival,
driver ready to take him anywhere he pleased. Fame meant a lot of things to get
used to—entering establishments through side doors, traveling with
security, paparazzi stalking him. Having someone else navigate L.A. traffic
wasn’t hard to enjoy.
    “Hey Max,” he said to the driver. “How’s Shelly?”
    “Good, boss. Thanks for asking. Where to?”
    “Home.”
    “Home it is.” Max said, pulling away from the
tarmac.
    A half hour later, they pulled up to a white
mission style home on a quiet Santa Monica street. Its high archways lead into
a Spanish tiled courtyard, opening up to an oversized red door. Alex opened it
and breathed in a sigh of relief. No matter how nice the hotel rooms were on tour,
nothing compared to home.
    Their home was a perfect combination of his and
Jenna’s personalities. Bright and open, it was filled with photos and trinkets
collected during their years together. The wall leading from the entryway into
the living room overflowed with black and white photos of Felicity growing up.
Looking at those pudgy baby photos gave him a twinge of nostalgia.
      He
loved returning home to the competing sounds of indie folk music blaring from
Felicity’s room—the antithesis of his own punk rock roots—and HGTV,
which Jenna kept on 24/7 “for ideas,” she said. She was constantly
redecorating, but the style du jour seemed to be red and white
nouveau-vintage-mod, or something along those lines. It was strange, returning
to an empty house.
    Before he could set his bags down, his cell phone
rang. “What?” He demanded. “No, I told you I won’t be able to be reached until
sound check tomorrow. No. No. No. Bye, Simon.” He shook his head at his overbearing
manager and switched his phone off. He felt guilty about lying to Jenna, but
needed time to pull off his big anniversary plan. The quiet of his empty house
was overwhelming, especially in contrast to the gaggle of people who constantly
surrounded him on tour.
    The piece of home he missed the most was his
backyard. Having grown up in apartments and high-rises his whole life, it
represented adulthood. To have a backyard meant he was making his own way in
the world—not slaving for a landlord or homeowner’s association. Each
house on their street was built in a different decade with its owner’s style on
full display.   He loathed the idea
of living in one of those cookie cutter communities where everything looks identical
and no one can paint their house or forget to mow their lawn. Maybe it was the
adult manifestation of his punk rock rebellion.
    He slid on a pair of well-loved jeans and a white
undershirt before heading out to his workroom. He wanted tonight to be perfect.
His body craved the heat of the sun and the sweat of manual labor to transport
him away from his professional problems and bring him back to where he wanted
to be—home.
    ***
    Airika Thomas left Karyn C’s
and headed straight to her office. “Good morning, Ms. Thomas,” her assistant,
Meg, said handing her a triple soy non-fat decaf sugar-free hazelnut macchiato.
“Trevor called from the shoot and says they need more boots because the model
is refusing to wear anything made from animal hide.”
    “Who the fuck does she think she is?
Naomi-fucking-Campbell?”
    Meg paused before continuing, “Jess says we’re set
on Martine’s dress for the Grammys but we need her for a final fitting today.
But you also have to go to Malibu to meet with Julia’s niece who is going with
the lead singer of Brands of Charlotte, who is slated to win Artist of the
Year. Which do you want me to reschedule?”
    “Neither.”
    “You won’t have time for that and the photo
shoot,” Meg said, worried.
    Airika rolled her eyes and looked at her assistant with
pity.
    “Um, also, Simon had this delivered a while ago. Phazee Crux are doing a behind-the-scenes DVD, and they
need you need to sign this waiver.”
    “Call Martine, have her meet me at the office for
the