Rocking the House: MMF Menage Romance

By Kat Logan

Two hot, bad-boy rock stars and the curvy journalist who desperately wants their story...

No matter how hard she tries, Gemma Jones can't seem to sell an article to Rocking the House, an industry-leading music magazine. But when she learns that The Dead Rocks are coming to a rock festival in Los Angeles, she knows she has a chance at a big story. The band is neck-deep in controversy, lawsuits, and scandals, all centered around the sexy lead singer, Z McCord. If she can interview them about the scandals and the band's near breakup, she knows Rocking the House will buy her story. Only getting an interview with Z and Shane Ryder, the bass guitarist and Z's onetime lover, won't be easy. They hate reporters after all the negative press. No one has ever doubted her determination, but when she finally meets Z and Shane, she's definitely not ready for the strength of her attraction to them both. Or how the heat between the two rock stars drives her absolutely wild...

Z has been in a creative and a relationship slump. Ever since Jeff, the band's original guitarist, quit during a tour and nearly destroyed the band, Z hasn't been able to write a song. The whole thing has driven a wedge between him and Shane. But when he meets a beautiful, curvy woman trying to sneak past hotel security to meet him, he's struck by the feeling that things are going to change in a big way. Even though he hates reporters, he finds Gemma's spirit and positivity fascinating...oh and he can't deny his immediate desire for her. When Shane gets in on the interview with him, the chemistry between the three of them is undeniable...and scorching-hot. But their budding threesome is soon put at risk when it comes time to publish the interview. Has Z made a mistake in trusting a reporter, no matter how sexy and charming she might be? And what will a mistake cost him this time...besides his heart?

Reader note: contains m/m/f ménage romance, BBW and rock stars, and male/male love. A complete, stand-alone story with a happily ever after

• Language: English
• Publisher: Wolf Hill Publishing
• Release date: Aug 24, 2022
• ISBN: 9798201622633

Book preview

Table of Contents

Cover

Table of Contents

Look for these titles from Kat Logan

Title Page

Copyright Warning

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Kat Logan

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Healing Their Hearts

Rocking the House

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Her Perfect Mistake

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Dangerous Obsession

Getting Off

Running Hot

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Rocking the House

MMF Ménage Romance

Kat Logan

Etopia Press

Copyright Warning

EBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared, or given away. The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is a crime punishable by law. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded to or downloaded from file sharing sites, or distributed in any other way via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000 (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/).

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are fictitious or have been used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real in any way. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Published By

Etopia Press

1643 Warwick Ave., #124

Warwick, RI 02889

http://www.etopiapress.com

Rocking the House

Copyright © 2018 by Kat Logan

ISBN: 978-1-947135-96-3

All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

First Etopia Press electronic publication: August 2018

CHAPTER ONE

Gemma

Just one chance, that’s all I’m asking! One…chance… I slid the two pieces of paper across the desk with a weak smile, hoping the man with the red tie would take one more look at them.

He didn’t even glance down at my article. "I’m sorry, Miss Jones, but you’re just not showing us you have what it takes to publish with Rocking the House. We appreciate your efforts and your eagerness, but with the sheer volume of submissions we get daily, we aren’t going to publish something mediocre."

The man’s words stung as he slid the papers back to me. Once again, I forced a smile. This wasn’t the first time I’d tried to get my work in Rocking the House, the hottest music scene publication out right now, but it was quickly looking like the last.

"Come on, I would hardly call my work mediocre," I replied with a pained laugh. I tried giving him my best winning smile, hoping to turn the tide in my favor, but the cold stare he continued to give me didn’t give me much hope of getting anywhere.

"What would you call it, Miss Jones? This article is uninspired and shallow. If we’re going to use a freelancer, we need something deeper, something that looks behind the curtain, not to mention something provocative. That isn’t what you’re showing me. He shrugged. I know you have a friend here who sings the praises of your writing, but I don’t see it in this piece."

His words hung awkwardly in the air. I opened my mouth to give him a tart reply, but I closed it again when nothing witty came to mind. Allison Beale, one of my good friends, had been working with Rocking the House for several years. Though she was reluctant to stick her neck out for me, she promised she’d push my most recent piece through. I’d even convinced her to let me come in and check up on it in person.

Now it looked like that had been a mistake. Still, his question remained in the back of my mind. What would you call it, Miss Jones?

But, I was done arguing with this dick. It was finally sinking into my optimistic soul that he wasn’t going to budge on his opinion of my writing, and I didn’t want to burn the bridge by telling him what I thought of his opinion.

Thank you for the opportunity, I said as I snatched my article off the desk. I turned to go, looking straight ahead with a tight smile fixed on my face. I could feel the lump forming in my throat and the tears aching behind my eyes, but I wasn’t going to give in. I was not going to cry about this—or him. I was stronger than that.

I wanted to flip him off, but as I turned, I forced an even wider and more cheerful smile and gave him a light wave. I didn’t know why. My friends sometimes accused me of being too nice. For a cutthroat journalist—well, an aspiring cutthroat entertainment journalist—I had to admit it was a liability.

But honestly, I usually make it work. I’m great at balancing aggressive curiosity and just enough sweet, Midwestern charm to soften people up. Unless they’re hard-headed editors, apparently.

I left the offices and headed to the elevator. This setback wasn’t going to hold me down. I was the bold, outgoing, life of the party. Being happy was my thing. I was game to try anything at least once. From the jeans and raw-edged, classic linen blouse to the blond hair framing my heart-shaped face, I had my look down. Between my generous hips and dimpled smile, I had charm. It had taken time to learn it, but I knew how to sway when I walked and offer just the right kind of buxom hugs to soften even the sternest backstage security guards.

Well, usually. Right now I felt about as happy and attractive as roadkill.

The elevator slowly dropped from floor to floor, but as I stood there, my determination and positivity steadily petered out, and my smile slipped. Was all this really worth it? I was doing anything and everything within my power to break into the entertainment writing industry, and time after time the door had been slammed in my face.

I wanted to believe I was happy with my life. Freelancing little articles here and there and doing blog posts online was mostly paying the bills. I knew I had a lot going for me. I loved my apartment. I loved my personality. I loved my beautiful, curvaceous body. Hell, I even loved my writing, despite Mr. Jaded Editor.

But I just couldn’t get anyone else to feel the same way. Not in the big leagues. Not yet.

Mediocre. He thought I was mediocre? I seethed as the elevator reached the lobby. The door chimed and opened. I pushed my way out, ignoring the group of people who were eagerly waiting to get on. I wanted to tell them not to bother, the magazine wasn’t accepting any submissions worth publishing at the moment, but I kept my mouth shut. Let the guard dogs of life chomp all their hopes and dreams one by one, I didn’t care.

So much for positivity. Maybe I could do some therapy shopping…

I excused myself politely as I made my way through the crowd, trying to hide my impatience and not accidentally hip-check anyone on my way out. My personality is as big as my booty, and in my current mood, trying not to take up space and draw attention to myself was hard enough.

A woman smiled at me as she walked by. Excuse me, honey. I know I’m slow. I’ll be out of your way in a moment!

I returned the smile, feeling embarrassed for trying to get past her, elbows-first. To avoid losing my mind over the lethargic pace of the crowd’s exit through the lobby, I glanced around me. Dozens of framed posters were hanging on the walls, from rock ‘n’ roll legends to artists who were up-and-coming. Poster after poster, dramatic photo shoot after dramatic photo shoot, album covers, and concert shots.

Wait, is that…? One in particular had caught my eye. I made one final push through the crowd. I recognized the band’s name from across the room, but I wanted a closer look.

The Dead Rocks were going to be playing at an upcoming LA music festival. That was perfect. The Dead Rocks were a controversial group these days, savaged by tabloids, rumors, a disastrous European tour, and occasional legal trouble. But I grinned as an idea formed in my mind. I would do a piece on them, somehow score an inside scoop on the juicy conflict that had nearly torn the band apart not so long ago. The band’s lead singer, one of those sexy bad boy rockers, had split with one of the other band members over a controversy surrounding Downward, one of their hit songs. There had been an actual fistfight onstage between the band, and the tour had gone off the rails, followed by legal issues and all kinds of hard feelings. But if I got the right angle, I’d have something Rocking the House couldn’t ignore. Something deep and provocative.

But there were other things I needed to figure out. First, how was I going to pull this off? The festival was still a few days away, but I needed to secure a press pass. The festival would be packed with people coming in from all over the country, especially if The Dead Rocks were going to be there. I needed to act fast.

Immediately, my mind was spinning. I had to do some research too. The Dead Rocks might be one of the most notorious bands at the moment, but I’d read that Z, the lead singer, was famously hostile to the music industry press. He refused to talk about the controversy surrounding the song Downward. He refused to say whether the song was about Jeff Grogan, the former lead guitarist’s life and struggle with drugs, or if he’d stolen the lyrics and taken credit for a song Jeff Grogan wrote about himself. There had been a major lawsuit for millions of dollars, settled out of court with the findings sealed. It was all a mess and a real train wreck.

But hopefully it was a train wreck that Rocking the House would pay me good money to write about, especially if I could get at the truth. I’d be doing this on spec, but my confidence was returning. I could do it. This was a chance I couldn’t turn down. If I could score an interview with Z, find out his side of the story, then write the article of my life, I might even earn a spot on the staff of Rocking the House.

I took out my cell phone and glanced at the time. LA was nearly six hours from San Francisco. I would have to put off my trip until morning while I made all the arrangements.

But first thing tomorrow, I would be on the road. I would get that story, bust my way onto the music entertainment scene, and start my career with a smash—or die trying.

CHAPTER TWO

Z

This is a huge chance, Z. My manager, Jacob Mags Magellan, waved a hand in front of my face, yanking my attention to the present. We can finally get the dark cloud off the band and generate some buzz for a new album this year.

I scowled at him. I’d let my mind wander back to my music, trying to write an edgy rock song with a damn-catchy hook and not having much luck. Creating music used to come easy to me, but with all the shit raining down on us these days, I’d lost my mojo.

Mags was the manager for The Dead Rocks. He’d been with us for years. And when Jeff split with us to start his own band and to start suing the hell out of us, Mags had stuck with us instead of going off with Jeff. I appreciated that. Loyalty? That shit was hard to find in the music world. I should know.

Now he was staring at me