What the fuck do you call that?”

“A damn good show.”

“You almost got arrested. You really want to make headlines in cuffs again? I can just see it now. ‘Bryce Baxter arrested for the third time in as many months.’” David Hansen shook his head in disgust.

“Look, you said do something they wouldn’t forget, and I did that. It’s not like I stuck the neck of my Gibson between some girl’s tits. If you’re going to criticize, give some actual solutions.” I shot him a look, annoyed he brought up my recent run-ins with the law yet again.

I didn’t want to go into detail over what happened at the show, and I really didn’t want to go into detail over my track record with the law. These days, it seemed David was more concerned with the bad publicity than he was with my popularity.

I didn’t care if I almost went to jail. I didn’t go. No harm, no foul. What I did was make headlines. Headlines would lead to more sales. More sales would lead to more shows. And, more shows would inevitably mean more money. What the fuck was he worried about?

I was more than aware of how many times I’d been arrested. Hell, I was the one in fucking handcuffs. I didn’t blame David for being pissed about the first time. He was the one who followed me down to the station and picked me up after I bailed myself out.

And it wasn’t cheap, either.

The entire thing was utter bullshit, in my opinion. I openly admit I broke the law. The situation started when some punk at a stop light needed to be put back in his place. Once that light turned green we were off to the races, him pulling an impressive one hundred and sixty-nine miles per hour.

Of course, I wasn’t going to let some asshole showing off for his girlfriend in his souped-up Honda Civic get the best of me. I didn’t care what sort of mods he’d made to the engine. At one hundred ninety, I left him in the dust.

Then the cops showed up.

I’m not the kind of man to play the victim, but I found it odd I was the one who ended up in the high-speed chase while that prick got off Scott free. I imagined his girlfriend sucking his dick in some parking garage somewhere while I was thrown against the side of a police car with my hands being pinned to my back.

I pointed out to the officers several times that they hadn’t bothered with the other guy, but by that time paparazzi was all up in my shit, and I knew I’d end up down at the station. It all took place the same night I’d put on a show. I wasn’t with David at the time and called him as soon as I was free to use the phone.

David had come down to the station as quickly as he could, and he didn’t bother holding back when we got to his car. I felt like an arrogant teenager with a smirk on my face and my arms crossed in front of me, being lectured by my father.

Several thousand dollars and two court appearances later, I was free to go. Of course, this wasn’t without the tabloids having a heyday with all the photos.

“You realize this is going to follow you around forever, right?” David raised his eyebrows. “You all right? Is it Kelly?”

“Don’t say her name. Has nothing to do with her.”

He rolled his eyes.

Fuck him. I’d be a liar if I said she didn’t have something to do with it. She’d played me like an idiot and fucked over my buddy Gage at the same time, ruining that friendship and professional relationship.

“This will go on your record.”

“You realize no one actually gives a shit, right? I’m not applying for a job at a bank, Jesus.” Sure, I was embarrassed that I’d gotten arrested. But, I didn’t need a clean record to do my job. My job was creating tasty guitar riffs and serenading women in the crowd. I didn’t give a fuck what the media thought. Ending up in jail had never been on my bucket list. I knew it was a mistake. It was inconvenient in more ways than one, and I wanted the whole thing to just fade into history like so many of my other bad choices.

Then I’d gotten arrested again.

I was willing to take responsibility for my first arrest. It was stupid to attempt to street race in such a public place. Of course I would have cops up my ass in a heartbeat. The second time, however, the blame I happily gave to Ronnie Thames, front man of Wet Cigar.

If there is one thing I hate about a man who sells shitty cocaine, it’s a man who sells shitty cocaine without bothering to see if there’s a snitch in the room. To really turn it into a shit show, he sold me the last of what he had. So when the cops arrived, I was the only one in the hotel with actual powder in my room.

Blood tests might show that others were just as happy to partake in the substance as I was, but what they didn’t show was who supplied the whole goddamn hotel with the shit. Even the best lawyer in Los Angeles couldn’t get me out of the spotlight entirely, and for that incident I ended up spending a month in jail and several more months in rehab.

I could look back on it all with a grin now, but that didn’t change the fact it made every headline possible. I was definitely the talk of the town. The talk of the world, actually.

I didn’t care too much about the bad-boy aura that surrounded me. I was controversial from the beginning. Just didn’t have the criminal record to back me up. With jail time and a couple of mug shots under my belt, I felt I’d earned my stripes. I’d been to jail and, quite frankly, I wasn’t afraid of going back.

Music was my passion, but I was in love with the lifestyle as much as the sound. Screaming fans—especially screaming fans with huge tits who weren’t afraid of ripping their shirts off in front of me, kept me going day after day. I grew more daring in my shows, challenging the women in the audience to show me what I wanted to see.

Tonight, I’d gone a little too far. In my defense, there were supposed to be security guards at the doors making sure the crowd was adults only. But, as I strongly encouraged a gorgeous blonde to show me the gorgeous pair she was hiding beneath her sweatshirt, David nearly deafened me in the earpiece of my headset.

“What the fuck are you thinking? She looks sixteen.” He may as well have been shouting. I didn’t know how loud he really was speaking, but he got the point across. Fighting the urge to yank the piece out of my ear, I turned my attention to another, clearly older woman in the crowd.

By the end of the set, the incident was out of my mind completely. But it wasn’t out of David’s. As soon as I stepped off the stage and headed to the back, he was in my face.

“It’s bad enough you’ve got drug charges and reckless endangerment. Do you really want to add sex offender to your resume?” He crossed his arms in front of him.

Jesus, he was like my mother. “It’s not a sex crime if she just does it. I just told her it’d be a good idea for her to lift her top. Or, preferably, remove it.” I smirked, but David was clearly unimpressed.

“If you get wrapped up with a minor, there’s not much I can do to save you.”

“She wasn’t a minor. We’ve got security at the door. She had to be at least eighteen or they would’ve kicked her out.”

He glared, unimpressed. “Are you really going to try to convince me that you aren’t aware of fake IDs, or the amount of kids who get into your shows?”

I shrugged.

As far as I was concerned, if a minor got into the show, that was on security, not on me. It wasn’t my job to ID every woman who threw herself at me.

“It wasn’t like I pulled her onstage and fucked her in front of the crowd.” I pulled out the plastic bag I had tucked away in the inside pocket of my jacket and laid out a line on the table.

David slammed his hand down, and I shot him a look.

“This shit’s expensive. If you lose it, you’re finding more.” I gave him a look before turning my attention back to getting high.

“Can you get your mind off drugs for more than two seconds?”

I sighed. “Look, I know you mean well, but I’m fine. Nothing happened with that bitch, nothing is going to happen with that bitch, and you can get with the program and forget all about that bitch, okay?” I gave him another look, challenging him to continue the conversation.

“Do you realize all it would take is for that bitch’s friends to film everything on their phones and post it on social media for you to be absolutely fucked? Imagine how pissed off Daddy would be to see his little girl being harassed by a man who is more than twice her age.” He gave me another challenging look.

Fortunately, I was already feeling the effects of the cocaine.

I smiled as I leaned back in the chair, intertwining my fingers behind my head as I stared at the ceiling. Suddenly, he didn’t seem nearly as annoying, though I knew it was just a matter of time before he started up again.

He put a hand on my shoulder. “Look, Bryce, all I’m saying is that you need to use your head when you’re out there. The press are all over the place, just waiting for the chance to throw you on the front of another tabloid. We want publicity, yes, but there is something to be said for good publicity over bad, you know?” He spoke in a much gentler tone, but I gave him a look that told him I was tired of the lecture.

He shook his head. “You know what? You need help. I’m going to find you someone who can keep you out of trouble. I honestly don’t have the time anymore, and I can’t risk you getting locked up again. The record label is already on the fence about dropping you.” David uncrossed his arms and yanked his phone out of his pocket, heading for the door.

“So, what? You’re going to find me a babysitter?” I snickered, clearly amused. I could only imagine some happy-go-lucky prick he would come up with to try to control me.

It wasn’t going to happen.

“Something like that,” David called over his shoulder as he walked through the door.

I wanted to tell him not to waste his time, but he was already gone. Shaking my head, I went back to staring at the ceiling and losing myself in my high. It was coursing through my blood, a sudden rush, and I felt larger than life—invincible.

Let him find someone to watch me. They can watch me tell them to fuck off while I do what I want anyway.

I’m my own boss. David could get with the program or kick rocks.