CLASS ACT (A BRITISH ROCKSTAR BAD BOY ROMANCE) Page 4

  He groaned. “I should’ve kept my damn mouth shut.”

  “Writing is just like any other skill,” I replied, handing him the worksheet. “You have to practice it before you get good at it. I’m sure it’s the same with your guitar playing and singing.”

  He took the worksheet from me. “How long will it take for me to get well at it?”

  “As long as you need,” I answered to his frustration. “It could be a few months. It could take years even. You just have to take it one day at a time.”

  His first exam would arrive in six months. At his current skill level, he would fail the GCSE in a spectacular fashion. With Heath likely suffering from dyslexia, it was likely going to be an uphill battle for him to even get a passing grade.

  Heath sighed as he put paper to pencil. “I guess we’ll be working together for a very long time.”

  “Don’t rush ahead, that’s how you made mistakes last time,” I critiqued. Heath doubled back and started again. “It doesn’t have to be unpleasant. Just don’t treat me like you do your bandmates.”

  He gave a short laugh. “You need a thick skin if you want to be play on stage, especially with a man like me.”

  “I heard about Howard and how he got a degree in music and mathematics,” I mused. “He sounded like a really talented man.”

  Heath looked up from his writing exercise for a moment. “Like I said, he was the brains of the operation. He had the willpower to buckle down with a book each night and go to a university.”

  I caught a glimpse of his piercing blue eyes. It felt like a bullet passing through my heart. The very breath in my throat flowed like sand.

  That man bled charisma. He was the complete package from his striking eyes to his sexy body. His voice could make women moisten their thighs. No wonder he found his purpose in life by becoming a rock star.

  He poked me with his pencil. “Charlotte, are you on the level?”

  I blushed as I said. “Come on, that writing exercise isn’t going to finish by itself.”

  For the next few minutes he wrote and I instructed. He was a poor student but not necessarily an unmotivated one. With some hard work, I think he had a shot of doing well enough to earn his certification. Nonetheless, it would be an uphill battle.

  After he finished, Heath nursed his writing hand. “Damn, I’ve had practice sessions less strenuous than that. Makes you want to leave the all the writing to the media.”

  I sucked in my lower lip before speaking. “Heath, do you like being in the media’s spotlight all the time?”

  “I’ll admit it comes with benefits,” he said with a small smile. Soon, it turned into a frown. “I’ll also admit it does get to you sometimes. I can barely go out to buy groceries without some blogger writing about it. I like having time to myself. Even these damn lessons feel like a relief.”

  “It must be difficult,” I replied. “Having your entire day dissected by the media…”

  He nodded in approval. “I knew what I signed up for but this bullshit still drives me batty.”

  “Like what?”

  “They pick and choose the parts of my life they want to display,” he grumbled, leaning closer to me. I could smell the musk of his skin combined with his spicy cologne. “Then, they put all those bad parts together and parade that Frankenstein of a monster as the real Heath Lawrence.”

  “Frankenstein was the scientist, not the monster,” I replied, the bibliophile in me correcting him. “But I get your point.”

  He sat back and his unbuttoned shirt revealed more of his toned chest. “What’s next on the lesson plan?”

  After reviewing the writing exercise with him, I brought out another worksheet. “Well, there’s some math problems that I wanted-”

  We were interrupted by a loud tapping noise against the bus.

  It was Tyler. He pounded on the bus again. “Hey, Heath! The stage is being set up. We have to do a few sound checks and then start practice.”

  “I guess that’s the end of this session,” Heath said, getting up with a groan. A part of me felt sad to see him go more than any teacher needed to feel for a pupil. “I’ll see if I can make time for you, Charlotte. Don’t trip on a liquor bottle on your way out.”

  And just like that, the rock star left me.

  Practice.

  That was all it took to get good at something. Charlotte had been right about that. With enough practice, you could get good at anything.

  That wasn’t to say I wasn’t blessed with some natural talents.

  I was born to perform. Before I was even old enough to shave, I could belt out tunes like a veteran. I could dazzle a crowd before my balls had even dropped.

  The audience became clay in my hands. I could make them reach nirvana with a single word. I could cause them to weep by changing the timbre of my voice. I felt like a man elevated to Godhood by the masses.

  To me, practice felt like play. It was like being told to eat your vegetables. I didn’t mind since these vegetables tasted like a rack of lamb.

  On the other hand, Charlotte’s homework was like shoveling dung straight into my mouth. I didn’t know how much of it I could take. It was pure humiliation. Each question reminded me of how much an idiot I was. Even writing down an intelligible answer was an uphill battle.

  Yet, I forced myself to do it. I was more at home with sheet music than worksheets but I forced myself on it. I wouldn’t admit defeat so easily.

  At first, I guessed it was my pride. I hated to lose. Whether it was a singing content or a round at the pool table at the local pub, I didn’t accept second place. I had to win no matter how difficult it was.

  Then, I thought it was a way to keep my career going. I knew a threat when I heard one. The record label would drop me unless I showed I could be a good, well-behaved student. Worse, they had neutered me by making me sign a binding contract with a non-compete clause. I couldn’t live without playing and sharing my music. Yet, I knew it just couldn’t have been that.

  Finally, I realized this motivation came from my teacher. Something about Charlotte got through to me. The woman was just too stubborn for my charms to have any real effect. I could more easily seduce a mannequin than that cold woman.

  Charlotte aroused something in me. I wanted to impress her. I wanted her to fall prey to my charms. If doing my homework was what it took, then I’d do it.

  “The acoustics here are pure shit!” Dave moaned, tuning his bass guitar. “That reverb isn’t natural.”

  “Put a sock in it, you diva,” I replied, turning my head back to practice. “Howard and I had to make due with no speaker systems when we first started out. Count your blessings if this place doesn’t suffer a power outage.”

  “Don’t get him started about the good old days,” Tyler grinned, letting off a riff on his guitar. “He’ll never stop.”

  Ever since Howard’s death, the whole rock star gig had become so routine. Gone were the days of wonder and discovery as we travelled the world. Now, the label micromanaged my entire life. I couldn’t even use the microphone I wanted due to some licensing deal.

  The man was like a second wind. No mountain felt too high. No challenge was too difficult. We were an unstoppable team.

  Damn, why did he have to die?

  “Hey, Heath,” Ryan said, punctuating his statement by hitting a drum cymbal. The mousey drummer recoiled when I faced him. “We have to start testing the vocals and melody.”

  I readied my microphone. “Keep your prick in your pants!”

  I watched as a battalion of fans gathered outside the Dell Music Center. The venue had seating for over five thousand people. Another thousand or so could sit on the freshly mowed lawn.

  I didn’t know if it would be enough.

  From age eighteen to eighty, countless women camped outside the venue. The show still hadn’t started and they gathered like crusaders on a pilgrimage. Some were crying as if the trip here would bring them nirvana.

  I was glad to be far away from the
gathering crowd. Better yet, I would get a seat in a special booth with the other VIPs. Jared, the manager, suggested I bring some earplugs.

  I didn’t know whether it was because of the loud rock music or the louder cheering by Heath’s fangirls.

  Tickets typically cost thirty dollars for a decent seat. Fancier seating would cost sixty dollars. Double Damage commanded over a hundred dollars per seat. The pass for their cross-country tour would set you back a thousand dollars.

  It was no wonder Heath got away with so much crap. The man brought home the bacon every time he went on tour. Nonetheless, his scandals must have gotten bad enough if the record label was considering dropping him for good.

  With the front man dolling himself up for the main event, I sat with the rest of the musicians. I watched as they did last minute inspections on their instruments.

  Tyler sat across me and absentmindedly strummed his guitar. “First time you’ve been on tour?”

  “First time I’ve been to an actual concert,” I revealed to his surprise. “Unless you count that showing of Phantom of the Opera I went to last year.”

  He looked intrigue at the revelation. “You just need to know how to deal with Heath when he’s on tour.”

  “You’ve been working with him the longest, right?”

  “More like putting up with him the longest,” the Irishman laughed. He seemed to be one of the few men who could stand up to Heath’s antics. “The man’s been through as many bandmates as he’s been through girlfriends. It’s even worse with managers. It wasn’t until Jared that the label found someone who could work with him.”

  “Jared must really care about Heath’s music and well-being.”

  “I think it’s more about the payday,” Tyler answered with a cynical laugh. “The man sees us as walking dollar signs. Why do you think he’s fighting so hard to keep Heath on? The front man is his cash cow. Jared will squeeze him dry until Heath’s in a retirement home. Or dead.”

  Suddenly, a familiar voice interrupted us. “What the hell are you doing with my teacher, Tyler?”

  “Oh, just warning her about how much of a stubborn bastard you are,” Tyler smirked, looking over his shoulder to his bandmate. “She doesn’t know what she signed up for.”

  Heath looked so gorgeous. His dark hair was slicked back with gel. He trimmed his facial hair so that his face had a sandpapery texture to it. As usual, he wore an unbuttoned shirt that exposed his toned pectoral muscles. His eyes were lit with a sense of haughtiness.

  I almost wanted to slap myself for thinking about my student this way.

  “Well, get ready for another check on the electronics,” Heath ordered. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought he was jealous of Tyler for simply talking to me. “I don’t want another Shea Stadium incident.”

  Tyler picked up his guitar and grumbled. “You’re the boss.”

  Soon, the other musicians followed and left me alone with Heath.

  Basking in his masculine presence, I asked. “What happened at Shea Stadium?”

  “The damn electronic interference fucked up the speakers when we went to New York City last year,” he recounted. “We ended up playing acoustic like we were some indie band in the basement of a pub. I paid the fans out of pocket so they could get a refund. Call me whatever you want but I won’t take your money for a shit performance.”

  “Will you be able to make time for me, Heath?” I asked. I prayed he didn’t notice my unprofessional blushing. “I have some new exercises for you to go over. I know we’re on a tour but we have to establish a steady schedule.”

  He sighed which sent a gust of hot breath upon my face. “What’s on the agenda?”

  “Mostly reading and a little bit of earth science,” I replied. “I think the reading will be the key to everything. If we can work with your dyslexia and improve your reading skills, everything else will go a lot easier.”

  “When do you want to do this?”

  “Can you make time after the concert?” I requested. “Jared told me you’ll be busy with the media and other commitments but we really need to sit down together.”

  Heath leaned forward. His lips were so very close to mine. “You’re asking me to turn away the harem of women who will be begging to enter my bed after this concert.”

  I stepped back. “No, I’m asking you to be a dedicated student.”

  He knew what effect he had on me and didn’t bother to hide it. With a boyish grin, Heath said. “We’ll have some time between now and the show. Just knock on my dressing room. No promises though. That’s the nature of the beast.”

  I averted my eyes from both his gaze and his bare chest. “I’m glad you’re taking this seriously-”

  “I’m out of a fucking job if I don’t pass some damn test,” he muttered, rubbing his forehead. “Of course I’m going to take it seriously.”

  “Good,” I replied simply. “As I said before, working with your dyslexia could help you better approach other subjects.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Like curing it?”

  I shook my head. “You can’t really cure dyslexia. You just learn how to better live with it.”

  “I figured as much,” he sighed. “I can handle sheet music. Hell, I can even compose if I put my mind to it. It’s just the words that trip me up.”

  “I’ll admit I’m not a subject on the matter,” I said. In the past, I had tutored a number of students with learning disabilities and other ailments. However, Heath was the first student I had met who had this particular condition. “Nonetheless, one of the ways to deal with it is through practice.”

  He groaned. “Don’t they have some oral medicine I can take?”

  “Maybe talking about your experience growing up with a reading disability could help,” I offered. “It’ll help me understand my student better and how to help him prepare for his exams.”

  Heath looked evasive. “You want to know my experience growing up? Imagine your father stomping on your face with a steel-toed boot until you were twelve.”

  I cringed. “More like what it was going to school and your struggles with learning.”

  The rock star shrugged. “If you think it’ll help…”

  I smiled at him. “I know it will, Heath.”

  “Word of warning,” he teased. That naughty grin of him could charm any woman into coming to bed with him. I was no exception. “I’m a bad boy now and I was a bad boy then.”

  “You seem pretty well-behaved student given your reputation,” I said before adding a clarification. “Relatively speaking.”

  “Like I said, my career is on the line,” he replied, brushing off the praise. The rock star turned and headed to the stage. “Don’t think I’m doing this for you.”

  I watched as he left to join his bandmates. For our relationship to work, we had to keep things professional. I couldn’t teach if my every other waking thought was about my hands roaming his across his rock hard abs.

  I whispered to myself. “Keep it professional, Charlotte.”

  I wanted to believe those words.

  “I take it band practice went well.”

  I looked up from my worksheet at the straight-laced teacher. “Much better than the one I just finished.”