Sweet Regret: A second chance, single mom, rockstar romance
Sweet Regret: Chapter 28

“Does it hurt being so popular?”

“What the fuck are you talking about?” I ask Mick, our road manager.

“Chicks calling me to get to you. To get with you. To—”

“Tell them he’s a lousy fuck and that the drummer is better,” Gizmo says.

I raise a middle finger at the same time I empty the rest of my beer. “You’re just jealous, man.”

“That girl you were with in . . . Jesus, what city was that?” Mick asks.

“Which fucking girl?” Hawke asks and chuckles.

“Shit, I think she said her name was . . . Crystal.”

We all burst out laughing. “The fucker calls everyone Crystal,” Rocket says and then downs the rest of his beer.

“Yeah, well. Crystal called,” Mick says, grabbing the bottle of Jack and pouring himself some.

“What fucking city was it again?” Hawkin asks. “Vince has been on a doozy of a pussy bender since . . .” He leans back and looks at me. “Since what city was it, Vin?”

Since Los Angeles. Since Shug. I’ve been trying to fuck her out of my system, so that all the women blur together, and I can try to forget her.

Call me the asshole. Call me a hell of a lot worse. Especially when I made Hawkin take my cell, block her number so it’d get lost in the fray of the hundreds I’ve already blocked, before erasing every goddamn trace of her from my contacts so I can’t call her back.

That’s what Bristol fucking Matthews does to me.

I scrub a hand over my face. “City? Fuck if I remember.”

“Perfectly said, my brother,” Rocket says and fist-bumps me with a laugh. “Fuck if you remember.”

“So what did Crystal want?” Gizmo asks.

“For you to be her baby daddy,” Mick says followed by a collective groan from all of us.

“What number is that this month?” I ask. It’s becoming a fucking weekly occurrence. And since I have a no glove, no love policy, I’m not worried in the least.

“Five. Is that five?” Gizmo asks.

“I think it’s five,” Rocket answers. “Collectively. Not just for Vin. We don’t want to give him a big head or anything.”

“Fuck off,” I say.

“That sounds like a ‘please take care of it for us’ if ever I’ve heard one,” Mick says.

“Perfect.” I rest my head back on the couch as the dressing room begins to spin.

“Maybe we leave all the Crystals alone for a few days,” Hawkin says.

“Only if you leave all your Cherrys alone for a while,” I say, referring to the name he uses collectively.

“Welcome to fame, gentlemen,” Mick says, holding up his glass. “Now you know you’ve officially made it.”