Long Term Gig: A Clean, Rock Star Romance

By Harlow Adair

Dahlia has a plan. 

A 5-year plan. 

A methodical, logical, 5-year plan that will lift her out of poverty. 

All she has to do is attend nursing school, study her tail off, and land her dream job as an RN. 

But just after high-school graduation, her crush-turned-rock star throws a wrench in her tidy little 5-year-plan. 

His name is Tai Solaris. The man with smoldering good looks and a golden voice. The most famous thing to ever come from Dahlia's tiny town. But why her? Why now? 

Tai invites Dahlia on a summer-long international tour with his band. Prestige, money, and fame are all at her fingertips. 

It's just one tour. One summer won't change her life's trajectory. Right?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Harlow Adair
• Release date: Apr 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224548934

Harlow Adair

My name is Harlow Adair. I write contemporary romance novels.  My raison d'etre for writing couldn't be simpler: every profound book is a relationship between the reader and the writer. Think about it. When you're flipping through the pages of a novel that's really sucked you in, you're co-creating that universe with whatever author set it to pen. The writer might have started the work, filling pages with ink that describe her ideals. But unless a reader comes along and allows the vision to come to fruition in his brain, it is all for naught. My highest ideal through writing is to embark on this process of co-creation as deeply and as widely as possible. This is why I value the feedback of my readers so greatly: I view them as an equally important partner in the molding of my written word. This precious feedback from my readers allows my writing process to become a dynamic, living thing. Check out my author's website, which I update all the time with new content!  https://harlowadair.com

Book preview

Prologue

People always ask how I got started in this business.

It’s a fair question. Most people in show business have to claw their way to the top without a modicum of self-respect or consideration for others. But not me. I was swept up into the jet set lifestyle quite by accident. Maybe that isn’t fair. Why should I get a shot, when others have to sacrifice so much just to get a second-look in the world of rock stars and performance artists?

I don’t know how it happened. I was supposed to go to college.

Sometimes, when people ask how I got where I am, it smarts a little. My impostor syndrome kicks in, and I wonder if they’re judging me. Do I not look the part? Can they smell that I’m a phony from a mile away? I don’t exactly look like a punk-rocker. Heck, I was supposed to be a nurse.

This journal is a record of my beginnings, I suppose. The annals of my adult-life, to date. Hopefully, one day, I can pull this diary off the shelf and my story will all make sense. It sure doesn’t now. I’m writing in hopes that in so doing, I might understand my story.

And like so many young women’s stories, mine starts with a call from a boy. A call out of the blue from a boy that I’d been crushing on for quite some time. A boy who I wrote off long ago, figuring he’d forgotten I exist.

I was supposed to be a nurse, not a rock and roll groupie.

And I tell you that fact, because I need you to know something.

It’s a truth that ties in with the person I was meant to become...that nurse running triage in some hospital’s emergency room in Middle America. It’s a vestigial truth from the life I forsook: sometimes when I look out into the crowd, I don’t see throngs of fans. I see countless lives that need saved.

But I’m no nurse, I’m a roadie. I don’t know how to save any lives.

Chapter 1

Let me set the scene: it’s the summer after my senior year of high school, and I’m lying on a lime green sofa in the living room of my double-wide.

Mom hates it when I call it a double-wide. She says it makes us sound like white trash. Mom insists I call it a modular home. But this is my story. You can put lipstick on a pig, but it’s still a pig. I live in a freakin’ trailer park in Brown Bluff, Michigan. It is what it is.

So, as I was saying, I was lying on a couch, trying not to call Garrett Moore.

Every troubled teenage girl has a Garrett Moore. It’s a truth universally acknowledged, as my girl, Jane Austen, would say.

He was my first love: never good enough to commit to, but just good enough to keep me crawling back. If a relationship is on-again, off-again, it’s crap. You shouldn’t pursue it. I should’ve known that then, and I think, in a sense, I did. Hence, I was trying not to call him.

I was lying on my back, staring at the popcorn ceiling that had gone out of style—what? 30 years ago? I tried to stave off my loneliness by distracting myself. Maybe watching some TV would do the trick. I grabbed the remote from an end table made of particle board and flipped it on. My eyes and ears were assaulted by a slew of mind-numbing infomercials, sitcom reruns, and game shows. I clicked through channel after channel, hoping to find something that could hold my attention. I landed on a medical drama.

My finger hovered over the channel up button for half a second. Anything related to medicine interested me, (I was about to go to nursing school, after all,) but tonight it only served to remind me of Garrett.

We had that in common: we both wanted in on the medical field. The state school a couple of hours away had a great pre-med program, and the faculty who taught nursing were top-notch, too. During one of our on-again stages, we decided to attend school together in the fall. Soon after, we were off-again, but you can’t just change your college attendance plans on a whim. So, as it stood, I was still signed up for classes.

I straightened up and smoothed out the hem of my teal, flannel pajama shirt. On-again, off-again. The thought struck me that at this particular moment in time, I couldn’t actually recall if Garrett and I were on or off. I resisted the impulse to shoot him a text and ask. Things had gotten messy, but I needed to preserve some self-respect.

My eyes strayed back to the TV. A tall, dark-haired doctor appeared on the screen. His piercing hazel eyes were fixed on a nurse’s assistant, as he barked out orders. Funny, he was a dead ringer for Garrett. If I relaxed my gaze and turned off part of my brain, it was easy to imagine this show was set about ten years in our future: Garrett was the quick-witted, no-nonsense doctor fresh out of residency, and I was the cool, calculating nurse that did his bidding. I eyed the phone, considering now more than ever calling him up to talk.

As if I willed that idea into existence, my phone buzzed. I snatched it from off the couch cushion and looked at the screen. To my surprise, it wasn’t Garrett. In fact, it was an unknown number.

Hello? I said, as I muted the TV with my free-hand.

Hey, Dahlia? a familiar voice on the other end asked. Is this still your number?

I blinked twice, squinting at my phone.

Is that....I started to ask myself. No. It couldn’t be.

It’s Tai Solaris, came the gruff voice on the other end of the phone. I don’t know if you remember me.

My heart skipped a beat. I had to tighten my grip on my phone, as my palms grew sweaty at the mention of his name. Tai had been the bad boy all growing up. We were acquaintances bordering on friends before he graduated a couple of years ago. He’d lived in the same trailer park I did, and we bonded over the flack we’d catch from our classmates for growing up on the wrong side of the tracks. Everyone figured Tai’s future was all but decided for him: he’d pick up a dead-end job and never make it out of our hometown. How wrong they were.

Y-yeah, I remember, I finally stammered out, suddenly remembering I was in the middle of a phone conversation. It’s been a while.

There was a sharp exhale on the other end of the line, sending static through my speaker.

Sure has, he said. I know this is kind of out of the blue. I hope I’m not interrupting anything?

I scanned my surroundings. I was sitting in my PJs watching a medical soap-opera on a Friday night in my trailer. He was hardly interrupting.

I can make time, I said, playing it cool. What’s up?

I know we kind of drifted apart after high school, he started. But I’m actually the lead guitarist in a rock band now. We’re called ‘Temporal Torsion.’

I smirked, and then pinched myself to see if I was dreaming. He was underselling it, to say the least. The success of Tai’s band was the talk of the town for the past couple of years. They signed with a major record label just after his senior year, and nobody from town ever saw Tai again. For the first couple of months, we all joked that he’d been whisked away into stardom. Those jokes stopped when his first album dropped. Almost instantly, Temporal Torsion was a household name, and you couldn’t listen to the radio for more than ten minutes without hearing their hit single The First One’s Free.

Brown Bluff has always been something of a tourist trap, but Tai’s success had the whole town clamoring for a piece of the pie, advertising their hometown connection with the famed guitarist. The ad-copy practically wrote itself: Come see where Tai Solaris bought his first bike! or Check out Daisy’s Ice Cream Stand...with our new specialty flavor, Tai’s Turtle Sundae!

I narrowed my eyes on the phone, bringing my attention back to the conversation.

I know, Tai, I sputtered out. You guys are huge! You really blew up.

I could hear the smile in his voice in his next sentence.

Thanks, we’ve done okay, he said. But listen, I’m calling with a favor to ask, actually. I’m in town for a couple of days. It’s hard to believe, but the record label actually let me have a few days off. I was wondering if you’d be willing to grab coffee with me tomorrow.

My eyes widened, and goosebumps materialized on my forearms. I decided, then and there, that Garrett and I were off-again. Was Tai Solaris asking me on a date?

Wait. I shouldn’t get ahead of myself.

I think I could make that work, I said, nonchalantly. Why, what’s the occasion?

This was the best response I could formulate at the time. I was already kicking myself for how stupid it sounded, but I wanted to play hard to get. That is, if he was asking me out.

Tai sighed.

I actually have a bit of a favor to ask of you, he said, slowly.

My eyebrows furrowed as I processed his words.

A favor? I said. Okay, shoot.

He made a clicking sound with his lips before answering.

That’s just it, Dahlia, he said. I prefer to ask you in person. It’s not really a phone call type of conversation.

My interest was piqued, to say the least. I figured I’d say yes before the suspense caused my heart to give out. If nothing else, I could say I’d shared coffee with a rock star.

Alright, I said. How about the Brown Bluff Brew at 1 o’clock?

I was suddenly aware of the tension in my body. I was smiling like a lunatic at my phone at the idea of seeing Tai. I’d had a crush on him for most of high school. More often than not, I figured he didn’t know I existed. Then, he up and moved away. That was that. But to be called up out of the blue like this? After he became famous? It was like something out of a dream.

That sounds great, he said. I’ll see you then!

I ended the conversation and disconnected. I let out a long breath. It was hard to process: I was grabbing coffee with the lead man of Temporal Torsion.

Oh, and for once I would not be calling Garrett.

Chapter 2

The coffee shop was jam-packed when I arrived. The place had opened only a month prior, and in a town as small as Brown Bluff, Michigan, anything new drew a crowd. It garnered even more attention because of the stark contrast it had with the rest of the city: Brown Bluff tended toward the quaint, old-world, and sentimental. This place was the polar opposite of that. It looked like the love child of a European discotheque and a Modern Art Exhibit.

The walls were ceiling to floor white shiplap. The flooring consisted of checkered black and white tile. Clear swivel chairs encircled tables shaped like surfboards. Neon signs hung on the walls and every single menu item had an accompanying illustration in colored chalk next to it. The ambiance came together, just barely. Each facet of the design seemed entirely unrelated, and yet, thematically, they somehow fit.

I was pressed up against the wall wondering how I’d order my iced latte, let alone find a table, when I heard a whisper from beside me.

Psst! Tss! Tss! came the harsh sound. Dahlia! Over here.

In the corner, Tai sat with circle-framed sunglasses and a Detroit Tigers ball cap on. Underneath the hat, he’d pulled his long blond hair up and tied it back. The glasses were so dark that I couldn’t even see his pale blue eyes.

I guess you’ve gotta be undercover to get any peace these days, huh? I asked. He grinned and his trademark dimples made my heart skip a beat.

I got your coffee already, he said. It’s a latte. I hope that’s okay.

He slid a paper cup in a cardboard sleeve across the table. I sat down in a clear chair and took a sip of the steaming hot coffee.

I do prefer iced, but this will be just fine, I said. So what’s going on, Tai?

He winced just a little at hearing his name, and I realized I’d need to be more discreet. If word got out that Tai Solaris was in town, there’d be a line halfway down the block of raving fans, hoping to get an autograph.

Not sure what your rush is, Tai said, smiling coyly. You just got here. Let’s catch up a little. How have you been? You look great!

Color rose to my cheeks at the compliment. His perfect, gleaming white teeth set my heart fluttering. I tried to play it cool.

Thanks, I said. You don’t look too bad yourself.

He took a gulp of his coffee and set it down. He studied my face for a bit, and I felt nervous under his gaze.

So what have you been up to these past couple of years? he asked. Are you dating anyone?

The hair on the back of my neck stood up at the question. It occurred to me, for the second time in as many days, that I didn’t actually know the answer to this question. Of course, I couldn’t tell Tai that. I took a drink of my coffee just to delay answering.

I’m single, actually, I said. A half-truth, maybe.

He raised his eyebrows in surprise.

What? Is that so hard to believe? I said, defensively.

He shot a disarming smile and leaned back in his booth. He spread both arms across the back of the bench, and I couldn’t help but notice the sleeves of his black t-shirt, pulled taut over his bulging biceps.

Nah, I’m just a little surprised, he said. "A girl like you could get any number