Rock Me Faster (Licks of Leather #4) - Jenna Jacob Page 0,9
ghosts, and put them to rest once and for all.”
“You’re talking about cocaine, right?”
“No. I’m talking about the reason he turned to cocaine.”
“And the reason is…?”
“Your job to find out. I’ll warn you now. Ross isn’t going to make this easy on you. He’ll fight you every step of the way. Do whatever you have to, bribe him, trick him, hell, sleep with him if—”
“What? I am not a prostitute,” I bit out as anger spiked.
“I-I’m sorry, I know that. You’re a sweet, wholesome young woman. I wasn’t trying to insult you, simply stress the importance of opening him up and bringing back our old Ross.”
“So basically, you want me to convince a man who doesn’t want to dissect his past…to dissect his past.”
“Yeah.” Quinn exhaled heavily.
Mercy. This was getting more complex by the second.
“You took down your blog before you came here, correct?”
“Yes, though I don’t know why you insisted I needed to do it.”
“Because I don’t want the press tracking you down. I don’t want them revealing that you’re Ross’s emotional support person.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need you to work your magic with Ross without him knowing what you do.”
“How on earth am I supposed to help him if I can’t tell him why I’m here?”
“Because you’ll be posing as his girlfriend.”
Chapter Three
Ross
Dragged from a sound sleep by the blaring foghorn alarm on my phone, I bit out a curse, snagged the device off the nightstand, and silenced the annoying thing. I collapsed onto the mattress as the lure of rolling over to catch more z’s tugged my brain. Instead, I stretched and yawned like a bear out of hibernation, rolled out of bed, and hit the head.
After tugging on a pair of nylon shorts, I opened the trunk of weights I hauled with me on every tour, spread out my mat, and grabbed some barbells to warm up. Fifteen minutes later, I switched to the heavier rubber-gripped circular weights and lifted them until my muscles screamed and endorphins sailed.
After wiping the sweat from my face, I downed a protein drink, took a hot shower, then dressed and strolled to the living room of my suite. When I spied the carafe of coffee that I’d ordered from room service last night, sitting on the glass-topped table in front of the couch, a grateful hum rolled from my throat.
I filled a mug to the rim and took a big sip, moaning in gratification as the caffeine hit my system. Two gulps later, I refilled the cup before swiping open the calendar app on my phone. When the reminder that it was my turn to post something on the band’s social media page popped up, I snarled a curse and tossed the device down beside me.
Quinn MacKinnon hired people to put shit up on our page, but after a spark of genius hit him, he’d decided that at the start of every tour, each of us should take a turn posting something. Because it was more personal.
“Shit. I need more coffee for this,” I groused out loud.
After draining and refilling the cup again, I snatched up my phone and launched the social media app. Syd’s stunning photo of me sleeping had been altered, stamped with big bold letters that read: IS ROSS WALKER DEAD?
“What the fuck?”
Brows slashed in confusion, I scrolled through the fan page. There were thousands of posts from people mourning my death.
“You gotta be shittin’ me. Christ, people. I fell asleep. What the actual fuck?”
Through my spiking anger, common sense told me the rumors had originated from someplace else. And I knew just where to look. Launching the website for Celebrity Access—the sleeziest tabloid on earth—I bit out a curse. On their home page was the same photo Syd had posted, but the accompanying headline had me clenching my jaw so tight my teeth nearly cracked.
After numerous suicide attempts, Ross Walker is presumed DEAD!
“You cock-sucking, lying motherfuckers…I’m not dead. I’m right the fuck here,” I barked at my phone.
Blood pressure spiking, I scanned the article to see if I could determine how the trash-spewing bastards could have twisted Syd’s photo into something so idiotic and slanderous.
It’s reported that Ross Walker, bad-boy drummer of famed rock group Licks of Leather, was so despondent over the recent couplings of his bandmates and fears the group might be breaking up that he fell into a chasm of depression.
“What the hell are you guys smoking?” A brittle laugh tore off my lips.
Sources close to the drummer say Walker’s past cocaine addiction left