A Rock Star Love Story Book 2: Her Elusive Price
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Isabel S. Knight
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She never expected Maddox Price to appear in her life—rock god, notorious heartbreaker, and the star of every fantasy she’s ever had. When he shows up as her knight in shining armor in a back alley, her world spins. Stolen moments, flirtatious banter, and chaotic adventures through L.A. challenge her independence and stir her heart in ways she never imagined. From playful music video shoots to intimate escapes, Maddox breaks through her walls, testing boundaries and pulling her into a world of fame, temptation, and a chemistry she can’t resist.
Sky's Weird Wedding
MADDOX
The band was finally catching their breath after the whirlwind of tours and a successful album drop. Tonight was Sky’s wedding, and we’d rented out Roman’s bistro—because apparently, a last-minute venue change was part of the newlyweds’ “we’re chill like that” philosophy.
It was a private event, just close friends and family, and honestly? I respected the hell out of it. These two could’ve thrown a million-dollar bash at some Italian villa, but instead, they chose good company and greasy food. And that made them more awesome than they already were in my book.
I mean, who serves pizza, burgers, fries, banana splits, and a mountain of beer at their wedding? Only Sky and James. Simple, fun, and completely them. It was so intimate that it almost felt like being inside a dream, one with too many carbs and not enough single women.
That part was a little tragic, by the way. Either everyone was taken, or I’d already made some questionable history with them. I might be a self-confessed man-whore, but I had principles. Taken women were off limits. Still, a man could hope for a little flirtation to spice up the evening.
But tonight wasn’t about me. It was about my best friend tying the knot, and I could respect that. Even if the whole “eternal love” thing made my stomach churn a little.
James, glowing even more while pregnant, cried so much that Sky had to keep wiping her tears with his sleeve like a hopeless romantic. It was disgustingly cute and fucking sweet enough to cause cavities.
“How many PDA scenes does one wedding really need?” I muttered to Maverick, who snorted into his drink.
“Just enough to remind you you’re single,” he said, grinning.
“Thanks, man. I almost forgot.”
I took another swig of my beer and tried to focus on something less sentimental. But the speeches came next, and things escalated fast.
Jaxon kicked off his toast like he was auditioning for a Hallmark movie, then immediately derailed into comedy. “Let’s be real,” he said, raising his glass. “We were all a little in love with James at some point.”
The room exploded with laughter. Sky groaned, and Big G, the father of the bride and our label boss, looked like he was about to ban Jaxon from future weddings.
Then Jaxon looked Sky dead in the eye. “You were such a softie from day one, man. Took you years to grow the balls to confess.”
Sky flipped him off, and then the crowd cheered as if it were the most glorious speech ever. Everyone kept laughing like they were watching a stand-up comedian on stage. He stole the show for about fifteen minutes there, but it was all good.
Maverick followed with a short but sincere speech, because of course he did. That guy could read a grocery list and still sound poetic. Among the four of us, he’s the mellow and stable one. He’s just super clueless about how to deal with women who throw themselves at him sometimes. It’s entertaining to watch him try, though.
“You two are proof that love doesn’t have to be loud,” he said. “It just has to be real.”
Everyone sighed. Typical Mav: sweet, calm, but secretly allergic to drama.
When it was my turn, I went for something honest and simple. I talked about how Sky and I grew up together, how we started the band, and how James had become one of us long before tonight.
I wasn’t exactly good with words. I usually shit things up when I needed to say something serious, which was the reason why Sky was the writer of the group. I was more of an action kind of guy, so I did the best thing I could come up with to show my love for the newlyweds.
I took the microphone off its stand and sang “I Melt With You” by Modern English. By the end, everyone was singing along, and Sky had that dumb emotional look he gets when he’s trying not to cry.
The night wound down beautifully. When most of the guests had left, I decided to step out back with Cody, my bodyguard slash brother from another mother, for a smoke.
The alley behind the bistro smelled like beer, garlic, and nostalgia. I leaned against the rough brick wall, lit up, and exhaled a lazy puff into the night air. The faint hum of laughter and clinking glasses from inside reminded me of our early days.
Back when the band was still hustling from one tiny bar to another, playing our hearts out for spare change. Those nights had the same scent: smoky air, greasy food, and spilled beer on sticky floors.
I smiled faintly, remembering the nights we played for a crowd of five, and two of them were drunk enough to think we were good. Funny how far we’d come.
Yet here I was, in another back alley, cigarette in hand, feeling like the same broke kid chasing a song that might change his life. Maybe success didn’t erase where you started. Maybe it just made the memories hit a little harder.
I stood there, smoke between my fingers, still thinking about how back then we didn’t have fancy venues. Just old amps, secondhand guitars, and a bunch of dreams too stubborn to die.
That was when I noticed them. A man and a woman, a few yards down the alley, clearly in the middle of a heated argument.
“What’s up, boss?” Cody asked quietly.
I lifted a finger to my lips. “Hold up.”
The woman looked like one of Roman’s staff: black-collared shirt, black jeans, and hair tied up neatly. She was carrying a few trash bags out toward the bins. The guy was clearly not from around here, judging by his slouched posture and cheap jacket. He was following her everywhere she went.
“For the last time, Damon, I’m not going out with you,” the woman snapped. Her voice was sharp and tired.
“Oh, come on, Syd, stop playing hard to get,” the man slurred, swaying slightly.
She tried to walk past him, but he grabbed her elbow, a little too roughly. “Let go!” she demanded, but he pulled her closer.
My cigarette instantly hit the ground. Not because I meant to drop it, but because my body reacted faster than my brain, again. One second, I was minding my own business, zoning out, and the next, I was about to step straight into the middle of an argument I wasn’t a part of.
And honestly? I had no idea why I was doing it. It wasn’t like I was some street hero. Normally, I’d be the first guy to say, “Cody, call Roman’s bouncers; they can deal with this crap.”
That was literally the whole point of bouncers: big dudes, hired fists, and crisis specialists. Not me. I sang into microphones for a living. I did not jump into alleyway chaos like some vigilante with rock-hard morals and zero self-preservation.
So why the hell were my legs moving? Why was I walking straight toward the idiot who clearly had nothing better to do than add “assault charge” to his résumé?
I told myself, firmly, loudly, and stupidly, that I was only doing this for Roman. That was the only logical explanation. Helping out a friend. Protecting his business. Making sure his bar didn’t end up on TikTok as the latest crime scene with terrible lighting.
Yeah. That was it. Totally it.
Except the second I caught a better glimpse of her—a few loose strands of hair falling forward as she pushed the dude away, eyes wide and breath shaky—my brain did this weird hiccup.
“Asshole alert,” I muttered, quickening my pace as I walked toward them.
Cody sighed and followed, probably wondering what kind of trouble I was dragging him into this time or why I would even bother to get in the middle of the mess in the first place.
“Yo!” I called out, raising my voice just enough to cut through their argument. “Ready to go?”
Both of them turned. The woman blinked in confusion while the guy frowned. “Who the hell are you?” he barked.
“Me?” I gave him a lazy smile. “Just a friend waiting for…Sydney here.” I drew out the S on her name until her name tag clearly caught my eye. Perfect save.
She stared at me like she couldn’t tell if I was rescuing her or auditioning for the role of “random idiot with confidence issues.”
The guy squinted, and I could see the recognition dawn in his booze-soaked brain. “Hey, you look familiar.”
“Yeah, I get that a lot,” I answered.
“Wait a minute, you’re…Maddox Price, aren’t you?”
I tilted my head. “Congratulations, you can read faces.”
That was when Cody stepped in front of him, calm and solid as a wall. Just the hint of him moving his jacket as if he had a gun somewhere in there was enough to send this guy Damon stumbling backward like he’d seen a ghost.
He didn’t say anything else and just bolted down the alley as if all his aggression and alcohol-induced thoughts had disappeared somewhere.
“Well, that was fun,” I yawned, stretching both my hands above my head.
The woman, Sydney, looked uncomfortable as we stared at each other. “I—uh, thank you. I didn’t expect—”
“Most people don’t expect to get rescued during trash duty,” I said, grinning.
“No, I didn’t expect that you would.”
“Me? Why not?” I asked, out of honest confusion.
She hesitated. “Because you’re famous and you don’t even know me.”
“Right, so should I have said, most people don’t expect to get rescued by famous people during trash duty?” I grinned.
She rolled her eyes, but a smile played at her lips. “You’re a bit strange.”
“I get that a lot too, but it adds to my charm.”
Her lips twitched. “You think you’re funny, huh?”
“I know I’m funny. But seriously, you okay?”
She nodded, her cheeks slightly flushed. “Yeah. Just…embarrassed.”
“No need to be. I’ve done worse things in alleys.”
Her brows shot up. “That’s…reassuring?”
“It is,” I laughed.
We stood there in awkward silence; she, unable to look me in the eye and shuffling from one foot to another, and I, trying to gauge what her deal was.
“Aren’t you going to go back in?” I asked, pointing toward the bistro’s back door.
“Umm, no, I’m done for the day,” she shyly answered, clutching the strap of her bag tighter, which I hadn’t noticed.
“Cool, want a ride home?” As soon as the question was out, I slightly tilted my head, also confused as hell why I even offered. I could question the hell out of it later, but right now, all I knew was this: I was already in it, and besides, I was doing this for Roman. Obviously… Probably… Maybe? Damn it!
Cody groaned behind me. “Boss, are we really doing this?”
“Yeah, Cody,” I finally said without looking at him. “We’re doing this.”
