Melody of Truth (Love of a Rockstar Book 3) (7 page)

I pushed the frosty glass back to him. “You can’t order me around like one of your groupies. I’m a grown-ass man. “

“That is up for debate.” At my glare, he laughed. “Lighten up dude. You have been a rain cloud of misery this past week.”

“Like Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh,” Noah interjected.

Ash jabbed his finger at Noah. “Exactly! Like Eeyore, and honestly, it’s bumming me out. You need to get over whatever is twisting your panties into a knot and focus on the positive.” His arms swept open like a game show host. “Enough free pussy to sustain you for the rest of your life.”

For a rock star, I was rather prudish when it came to sex in the sense that I liked it to mean something. Ash, though, viewed our fame as a free ticket to an all-you-can-eat buffet.

“At this rate you’re in danger of becoming the poster child for STDs,” I said.

“I’m clean as a whistle, according to my very sexy doctor Mrs. Monica.”

“Does this Mrs. Monica have a medical degree?”

“Nope, but you should see her in a lab coat…” Ash whistled low under his breath. “Almost sent me into cardiac arrest.”

The first real laugh I’d had since my almost kiss with Melody busted out of me. You could always count on Ash to lighten the mood. No longer itching to leave and return to an empty bed, I ordered a new beer. Once the waitress set the pale ale on the table, Ash, Noah, and I clinked glasses.

“Cheers!”

The ice-cold brew slid down my throat as the taste of hops exploded on my tongue. “Damn, that’s good.”

“So…” Ash ventured. “Am I right in assuming Melody is the cause of your foul mood?” When I didn’t dispute his claim, a grin spread across his face. “Oh man, what did you do?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“It can’t be that bad.” I gave him a look that said
you have no idea
and he chuckled. “You’re probably overreacting.”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Try me.”

“I’d rather not. You aren’t the best when it comes to these kind of things.”

He jerked me to an upright position by the back of my t-shirt. With his attention fully centered on me, he raised a brow. “Spill.”

“We nearly kissed a couple nights ago when we were in Idaho, walking back from Fat Smitty’s.”

As I predicted, he struggled to comprehend why it was a big deal. To Ash, a ring didn’t mean shit. “So?”

“So I ruined whatever was between us with that one stupid lapse of judgment.”

Noah looked at me over the rim of his glass. “You could be friends with her.”

“She wants nothing to do with me.”

“You’re assuming that, but if you make it clear you want nothing more than friendship, she might be amicable to welcoming you back into her life—as long you keep your dick in your pants, that is.”

Ash muttered his agreement, which shocked me to no end. Usually, he was the one adamantly opposing the friend zone. Maybe Noah was onto something. I slid free of the booth. “I’ll check you guys later.”

I RUBBED MY EYES AND
the computer screen blurred in front of me. The footage I’d captured so far had been sliced and edited into a teaser trailer for prospective film festivals. I had to apply for a spot almost a year in advance in order to stand a chance in getting in. I shoved my chair backward and stretched my arms above me as I stood.

The past week had been non-stop work to distract myself from thinking about the moment Sean and I had shared outside the restaurant. The temptation to succumb while he looked at me with such raw desire that night was frightening—as was how little control I had of my emotions when it came to him.

My steady and calm nature was a key part of who I was, yet Sean brought out this other side that had been strictly reserved for my sister. She was the wildcard who lived in the moment and indulged her every whim. I had seen the potential of how fun it could be if you didn’t have a conscience, which I did—a huge one.

Despite my lingering doubts, Marco deserved a loyal fiancé, and I wasn’t going to lose my head because of a sexy-as-sin rock star.

“No way José. My lady bits are closed for business.” Giggling, I pointed to the empty mini rum bottle I’d dumped into my hot cocoa. “You might have gotten me a tad tipsy, sir.”

A thunderous boom shook the floor. I swiveled my head around, convinced an earthquake had hit Dallas.

“Melody? Open up. It’s me, Sean.”

On unsteady feet, I padded to the door and swung it open. He was leaning against the frame, breathing heavily as if he had run there.

Seeing my bafflement, he explained, “The elevator is broken.”

“Really? It was working fine an hour ago.”

“Can I come in? I want to talk to you.”

I glanced over my shoulder into my small hotel room. He would have to sit on my bed, as would I. If I hadn’t already crossed the line, Sean and I canoodling on the plush mattress would do it—although, no one had mentioned anything about canoodling. My fingers pressed to my temples as the carpet swirled. I had forgotten what a lightweight I was.

“I don’t think that would be appropriate,” I said—slurred?

His eyes danced with mirth as they met mine. “You’re drunk.”

Yup I am definitely slurring.

“I poured a mini bottle of rum into my hot cocoa.”

“Look at you, living on the edge.”

“Shut up. It tasted delicious.”

“Personally, I’m a beer guy.”

“Ack! I hate piss water.”

Sean led me into the room by my elbow and shut the door. As he turned back around, I leveled him with a seething glare. “I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself. No funny business,” he said sincerely.

“Fine, but you have to stand. You’re not invited to sit on my mattress.”

His lips twitched as he fought a grin. “Fair enough.”

I crawled to the mountain of pillows and collapsed into them with my arms outstretched like one of those trust exercises. “You may begin.”

“I can’t talk to you when you’re staring at the ceiling. You look like a corpse.”

“I do not.”

“You do too, and besides, my speech will be much more impactful if you can actually see my emotions.”

“Oh my god! You’re so demanding.” Pushing myself upward, I crossed my legs and looked at him. “Better?”

“Yes, thank you.” The lightheartedness dissolved as self-reproach infiltrated his gaze. “I’m sorry things got out of hand between us. I never want to urge you to cross a line you aren’t comfortable crossing. You aren’t just another woman to me. You’re special, and you deserve respect.”

My heart did a double backflip as one thought blazed to the forefront of my mind—I was already halfway to hell in a handbasket with Sean as my passenger.

He shuffled to the edge of the bed, his expression open and vulnerable. An adorable smirk lifted his lips. “Will you be my friend?”

“But how, when…” I gestured between us and mimicked fireworks exploding.

“When our attraction is so strong?” He shrugged. “I don’t have an answer, but I’m willing to try.”

The films and novels based on the premise of guys and girls as friends always ended up with them naked in bed together, in love and blissful, proving the opposite sexes were fated to be lovers. Could Sean and I be in the one percent? I doubted it, since whenever we shared the same air space, we created an electrical storm.

The doubt must have showed on my face because his mouth turned downward into a frown. “I’ll leave. It was a stupid idea forged by too many drinks and the encouragement of two dumbasses.”

As he shuffled to the door, his shoulders slumped with rejection and a sense of loss tightened my throat. Call it selfish or reckless, but I didn’t want to give Sean up just yet, not until I absolutely had to. “Hold on! You haven’t heard my answer yet.”

His hand paused on the knob and he glanced over his shoulder. “You don’t need to kick a guy when he’s already down.”

“Yes, I’ll be your friend.”

“Really? Or are you playing with me?”

“Contrary to popular belief, I’m not that much of a bitch Sean.”

He gifted me with one of his famous smiles, and I attempted to ignore the effect it had on me—key word, attempted. After all, it was impossible to be immune to his charm.

“Awesome! I have never had a woman friend before,” he confessed.

“Ever? Even when you were little?”

“Nope.”

“How is that possible?”

“I never had any interest in holding shopping bags or acting as an inside source of what men are thinking.”

Until now—that’s what he was implying. “I’m honored to pop your friendship cherry.”

“Can we not talk about sex? You’re a mere two feet away from me, wearing boy shorts and a tank without a bra.” Sean’s features became strained, as did his voice. “You’re killing me with those nipples.”

I slapped my hands over my chest, humiliation burning my cheeks. “Throw me my sweatshirt. It’s hanging on the hook in the bathroom.” He did and I quickly tugged the worn piece of clothing over my head. “Why didn’t you say anything before?”

“Because I knew I would regret it, and guess what? I do—greatly.”

“You’re such a male.”

“Born and bred.”

My index finger rose as I implemented a new guideline. “Rule number one: long sleeves and pants are imperative when hanging out.”

Sean joined in on the game. “Rule number two: wear a wedding ring. It’s easier to remember you’re off limits.

“I left it with my sister for safekeeping.”

“Does your fiancé know that?”

“Yes. Marco knows I don’t need a ring to prove my love for him,” I lied.

He let out a low disbelieving laugh. “Right.”

“Whatever. I don’t need or want your judgment.”

“Ok, let’s move on to a safer subject. What should we do tonight?”

“It’s almost eleven thirty. My internal clock shuts off at midnight.”

Looking at the television, he snatched up the remote from the side table and turned it on. “A sitcom then. Can I please sit now?”

I created a barrier in the middle of the bed with pillows. “Yes, but you have to stay on your side.”

“You got it Ms. Bossy Pants.”

Kicking off his shoes, he planted himself on my left and handed me the remote. A strange thrill flooded my veins at the power. Marco deemed our apartment a crap-free zone, meaning my mindless, trashy shows were banned—yet football Sundays remained.

I flipped the channel and squealed as the opening credits to
Mistresses
scrolled on the screen. “Do you mind?”

“Not one bit.”

“It’s an hour.”

“Even better.”

“I might fall asleep and when I sleep, I drool.”

Looking over, Sean grinned. “Are you worried I won’t find you attractive anymore? Because that ain’t gonna happen, even if you drool a river.”

“It’s more like a small pond.”

Sean’s torso shook with a belly laugh. I joined in as a lightness settled into my bones. Lying there next to him, joking around felt…right. Yanking the duvet to my chin, I curled up and watched a catfight between two Botoxed women on the screen.

“Melody?”

“Hmm?” I answered, my eyes fixated on the drama unfolding.

“What the hell are we watching?”

“It’s about four friends that…” I trailed off because the plot was too complicated to explain without confusing him to death. “I’ll change it.”

“It’s cool. I’m used to being subjected to girly crap.”

The characters on the screen began to shed their clothes in a fit of wild passion and moans of pleasure filled the room. Sean’s heady scent broke the barrier of pillows and I did my best to ignore his draw. Watching a sex scene with him provoked images in my mind that should have been reserved for late night fantasies, not mentally played out when he was within kissing distance. Our friendship was off to a great start.

Hitting the mute button, I cleared my throat. “So, you have a sister?”

“Technically I have eight. My parents have taken in a number of foster kids over the years and they have all remained close to the family, even after turning eighteen.”

“Wow, that sounds like a full household.”

“It was. I was never bored.”

“Whenever my sister and I complained of boredom, my dad would hand each of us a pen with instructions to write our own reality. Our stories were tacked to the bulletin board in his office and he would brag about them to anyone who visited.”

“He sounds like a proud father,” Sean said.

“He was, the proudest.”

“Was?”

“My dad would prefer if I were a doctor or lawyer. He hates that I put myself in harm’s way.”

“Isn’t that a reasonable response? No parent wants to worry about their child.”

I sat upright in a cross-legged position and picked at the loose threads in the duvet. “It makes me sick that I cause him anxiety, but my career is what saved me from diving into the black hole of grief like my father did when my mom passed. When I’m in the field, I have to concentrate on basic needs like food, shelter, water, and the safety of my team and myself. At the end of the day, there isn’t room left to think about how my mom used to smell like browned butter and sugar, or how once a month, my sister, my mom, and I would have a sleepover in the living room, giggling about boys and clothes.” My heart tightened. “She was my best friend and when she died, a piece of me went with her. I couldn’t stay in the house—it was too packed with memories—so I signed up for a mission trip in South Africa. My dad agreed because he thought it would only be for three months, but I never came back.”

“Never?”

Shame tossed around in my stomach. “I tried once, but when the taxi pulled up alongside the curb, I half expected to see my mom weeding her precious rose garden with that stupid floppy hat she always wore. When she wasn't there, it felt like she had died all over again.”

Sean linked his fingers through mine and swiped his thumb across the planes of my palm. “I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for you.”

“It was hard, but I was selfish and put my needs above my dad’s and sister’s.”

“You did what you had to to move on.”

I scoffed. “Move on? Is that what you call burying your feelings under a pile of avoidance otherwise known as work? I should have stayed at home. “

“If you had, you wouldn’t have built the reputable career you’re now known for.”

“Yea, but at what cost? My father and I barely talk and my sister is the definition of free love.”

“And if you’d stayed, what would have changed?”

“I’m not sure, but I abandoned my family when I should have stuck by their side.”

Tears pricked my eyes. I inhaled through my nose and counted to ten. The urge to cry receded but the bitter taste of regret remained. Sean tugged me down onto the bed next to him. Lying flat, we watched the lights of the passing traffic dance on the ceiling. “I wish I could have been there for you.”