DEXTER: Rockstar Instalove Romance (Love & Rock 'N' Roll Book 1) by Mazzy King

Author:Mazzy King [King, Mazzy]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: MZK Publishing
Published: 2021-07-15T16:00:00+00:00

6

Dexter

I’ve stood on the Panacea stage many times, but this is a first—shooting a video for a single that the world won’t even hear for at least four to six months.

But the crowd that’s here tonight to be “extras” is hyped, and we’re feeding off that energy. It’s been a long week of back to back shooting, but seeing the crowd, straining and pushing against each other as we rock through a quick five-song set, gives me all the energy I need.

The song we’re shooting, “Roots,” is our last song. I wrote it as an homage to growing up in Orange County, an homage to punk music, and an homage to all my fellow punkers. We’ve played it a couple times, and everyone always loses their shit when we do.

I unsling my guitar and hand it off to a roadie. I normally play rhythm guitar on every song, but for the video, Bobby just wants me singing. We’re going to play the track anyway, so we won’t sacrifice any musical power. I return to the stage, raking a hand through my hair to muss up my spikes.

“All right, you motherfuckers!” I yell. “We’re shooting a music video tonight for this last song. So when the camera points at you, pans across the crowd, I want you to fuckin’ go off!”

The crowd screams in return. I have no doubt they’re going to do just what they’re told.

Tonight I’m wearing the white Sex Pistols T-shirt from Judy’s collection, and it glows under the bright stage lights. As Van counts us down and we launch into the song, I can’t help scanning the crowd for the girl who’s completely stolen my heart this week, no matter how in denial I am about it.

As I stalk along the stage, singing to the track blaring from the speakers, I see her leaning against the bar, talking to someone. Since she’s technically working, she’s dressed down in jeans, a white tank top, and a flannel shirt tied around her waist. She looks like she just stepped out of a nineties campus coffeehouse, right down to the chunky Doc Martens on her feet, and I love it.

The person she’s talking to shifts slightly—and it’s all I can do to keep my shit together as I realize who Judy’s talking to.

Trisha.

What the fuck is she doing here? How do they know each other?

But I can’t focus on that now. I have to focus on this video, on giving the best performance I possibly can, because it’s going to be immortalized in a video forever, and I don’t want to be caught looking like I’ve just seen a ghost.

Or my ex...whatever she was talking to the woman I’m interested in.

Halfway through the song, there’s a glitch with the spotlight, so Bobby yells to cut and a few techs rush onstage to figure it out. I hop off the stage—and come face to face with Trisha.

“Hi,” she says.

I sigh inwardly. “Hey.” I try to step around her to head to the small, makeshift dressing room the club set aside for us in the back.

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