No Pink Caddy (ACE Book 1) (26 page)

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OMG!
RealJohnnyKnite
is having lunch with blogger
NoPinkCaddy
. #WhatDoesHeSeeInHer

Aaron strolls around my small apartment like he owns the place. I don’t mind, but my home isn’t large enough to contain his nervous energy. His fingers make a rat-a-tapping noise on the counter. Then he rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet. Next he paces in front of my couch, nearly missing the sharp edges of my marble coffee table. He points at a corner. “That’s dangerous. You should really get rid of the table.”

I sigh. “I like it. Troublesome edges and all.”

He jumps on top of the table and then off, and does this another time before I yell, “Stop it! You’re driving me mad. Sit down.”

Of course, he doesn’t listen. He jumps on my coffee table again. “You’re going to need an office. You can use mine at the recording studio.”

I’m sitting on my couch with my laptop resting on my thighs. “I don’t need an office. I’ve worked from here since I had the idea for NoPinkCaddy. This is fine.”

“But if you work out of my office then I can see you whenever I want.”

Then it dawns on me. He’s talking about his office in Austin. “That commute would be a real bitch.”

“Not if you lived with me. It’s about twenty minutes up the road.”

Ignoring him because I just don’t have it in me today to discuss living arrangements, I type
Aaron Emerson
into the search bar. “What should I Google?”

“My publicist says my name alone brings up pages and pages.”

I erase his real name and type
Johnny Knite.
Then, with much trepidation I hit
return.
“Google is suggesting Wikipedia.”

“Probably has more of the straightforward stuff.” He’s now behind me rubbing my shoulders.

“For the love of God, please stop. Go sit down and play on your phone.” I point to the cushiony chair. “Or go take a walk. Please.”

Does he listen? No. He reaches around me and disconnects my laptop from the charger. He carries the computer into my bedroom and flops on my bed. I follow him and lie down by his side. He positions the laptop so we both can see it as he clicks on the Wikipedia link.

His name appears in bold letters at the top of the page, but in smaller font it reads
Aaron Charles Emerson
and has his birthdate in brackets. “Your birthday is in April?”

“That’s what my mom says,” he quips.

“You’re thirty-eight?”

“Only on my birth certificate—soul of a teenager.” Truest words ever spoken.

I scan the first couple of paragraphs. They’re essentially what he already told me—raised by a single mother. He worked all kinds of crazy jobs to learn the industry. He got hit by a car when he was seven.

“You were hit by a car?”

“Nothing exciting. Some old man pulled out of his driveway without looking. He hit my bike. I broke my collarbone and left leg.”

“Why did they include it if it wasn’t a big deal?” I ask.

He just shrugs and then picks at a string on my quilt.

I keep reading. “You graduated valedictorian from high school.”

His smile is obnoxiously big. “See? Aren’t you glad you read this? You didn’t know I was such a genius. You should listen to me more often.” He points at his chest. “Motherfucking Einstein.”

I give him a kiss on the cheek. “You forgot humble.”

The rest of his early life is pretty mundane. He swam in high school and was offered some college scholarships for academics and sports. He accepted none of them.

The next header reads
Career
. He reaches over and scrolls down the page.

“Hey. I wanted to read that,” I protest.

“Here’s the summary. I’ve put out lots of albums. Some have been successful—others, that were actually great, were considered flops. I’ve produced a lot of acts. Most have been great gambles. Next time you can’t sleep, tap on my shoulder and I’ll give you a nightcap. If after that you still can’t sleep, then read that boring shit.”

I roll my eyes. “You’re the one who threw a temper tantrum to get me to Google this. I want to read all of it.”

“Later.” He quits scrolling when he reaches
Personal Life
.

I make note to go back and read career when he’s gone home. “You named your daughter after the Beatles song ‘Hey Jude?’”

“Yeah. The person who birthed her wanted to name her Charlotte from the song by The Cure. But when you’re so high you don’t remember giving birth, you lose naming privileges. Paul McCartney wrote the song as a way to comfort John Lennon’s son Julian when his parents were divorcing. I thought it was appropriate.”

I stop reading and turn to Aaron. “It must have been very hard on you, birthing your daughter.”

He shakes his head. “You have no idea.” He pauses for moment, and I can tell by the way his mouth twists he’s warring with himself if he should share. I guess he decides I should know the details. “I hadn’t heard from her for a few days so I stopped by the trailer where she was living. I found her inside naked, covered in vomit, and on her hands and knees, absolutely out of her mind. I called nine-one-one and screamed for them to send an ambulance. She was incoherent. Blood was everywhere.” His eyes dart to the ceiling and he swallows hard. “I could see a bit of grey inside of her. The operator said that the baby was trying to be born. She had me push on her stomach to help my daughter enter this world. And then I slapped the shit out of the woman who was so fucked up she didn’t know she was in labor and told her to wake up to push. She did and I literally reached inside and pulled Jude the rest of the way out just as the paramedics rushed in the trailer. The fucking scariest day of my life.”

Dear God. After hearing that I wonder how the man could have ever used drugs. He was so young—just a kid himself. That’s the kind of story that gives you nightmares. “It says that Jude’s mother was named Hannah.”

“Look, MK, I don’t mean to stop this line of questioning, but the last thing in the world I want to discuss is that woman. As far as Jude is concerned, she has no mother. She’s fortunate enough to have a father, aunt, and grandmother who adore every strand of hair on her head. Next.”

I nod and turn back to the screen reading more. There is no mention of any other females he’s been linked to. The next section is
Legal Troubles
.

“I’m assuming this is where it gets good?” One of my eyebrows cocks.

“You could say that.” He rolls over on his back, and I position the laptop in front of me.

I should be feeling anxious, but I’m not. It’s still as if I’m learning about someone else. I don’t think I’ve accepted that this Johnny Knite is indeed Aaron.

There are five entries. “First you were arrested when you were twenty for beating up the owner of a bar.”

“Yup,” he confirms, and doesn’t sound remorseful. “It’s the bar that gave us our start, where I met the woman who birthed Jude. I found out the owner had been shorting us a couple hundred a weekend for years. I told him to pay up. He didn’t. I punched in his face.”

Sighing, I keep reading. “You were sued when you were twenty-six over a song copyright?”

“And I won.” He sounds cocky. “Some kid I went to high school with said I lifted one of his songs.”

No big deal, I guess. So far, this isn’t very scandalous. “You were arrested for drunken misconduct and indecent exposure.” Okay. That’s got some spice to it.

He laughs. “This is a good story. My thirtieth birthday. Vegas. It was an ugly, ugly night. Let’s just say I wound up hospitalized for alcohol poisoning after I was arrested for having sex with multiple girls on the rollercoaster that goes around the top of the Stratosphere.”

My mouth hangs open as my top lip curls up and my nostrils flare. I’m appalled. “That’s disgusting. I should’ve Googled you before I let you blow your load inside of me.”

He pulls me to him and tickles my stomach. “See, there you go talking dirty again. Makes me rock-hard.”

Pausing for a moment, I push the laptop away. “Aaron, I have a very serious question. Why did you do that? You have a daughter.”

He sighs, and his playful mood shifts to serious. He throws his hands up and shakes his head. “I was making more money than I could spend in one lifetime. Girls were everywhere. One pretended to be the hotel room maid and I found her in my shower, waiting for me. Every club or bar was passing out free booze and some slipped me drugs like it was nothing. Me and a couple of the guys in the band stayed drunk and high for a week straight. I don’t remember most of it. I told a group of girls I’d never fucked on a rollercoaster. They decided to give that to me as my birthday present. In hindsight, we’re lucky no one got seriously hurt. Security stopped us and tried to let me go, but I acted like a jackass so they called the police. In the back of the cop car, I started puking and couldn’t stop.” His lips curl in disgust. “Three days in a hospital hooked to an IV was not fun. All the experience really taught me was to drink less and spread it over longer periods.”

“That’s really terrible. I’m glad I didn’t know you then. I don’t think we’d have been friends.”

He chuckles. “Yeah. You’re probably right.”

I move the laptop back in front of me as I continue reading about Aaron’s trips through the legal system. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You were arrested for texting while driving in a school zone?”

“Well, I was pulled over because I was just coming home from a party and school happened to be in session. I wasn’t texting. I was snorting coke off of my phone screen. The police officer let me off easy.”

“That’s awful. You could have hit a child,” I scold.

“Not my finest moment,” he confirms with the shake of his head.

The last entry details his assault charges against the man who sexually assaulted Jude. There’s a lapse between when the charges were filed and when he went to rehab. I wonder if that was because there was legal wrangling going on. “So the assault happened when Jude was sixteen. Why did you just now go to rehab for it? It’s been two years.”

Aaron shrugs. “The wheels of justice turn very slowly. My lawyer and the district attorney had to iron out a plea deal. No jail time and the incident stays off my record if I completed a stint in rehab.”

Fair enough.

Next I move to
Sex Tape
. It details a video featuring Aaron having sex with a woman while they were on a boat. Someone filmed it and sold the tape to a pornography company. Aaron sued but not before the tape went live for a couple of hours. There were downloads, but it was removed and destroyed.

I must admit, in all my years of dreaming of Mister Right, him starring in a sex tape was not one of the qualities I thought I would find.

Aaron pushes the laptop towards the edge of the bed and rolls me over so I’m pinned underneath him. He holds my hands above my head. “Look. If I had any idea all of those years ago I would’ve met you, I wouldn’t have been such a prick. I’m sorry. I wish I didn’t have the history that I have, but well, I do. See past it and focus on the guy who adores you.”

“You didn’t let me read the good parts about your career and philanthropy. Right now, I just think that you’re sure to have VD and are an amazing father.” I mean it as a joke, but it’s obviously not interpreted that way.

“MK.” He glares at me. “I would never put you in danger. I told you earlier I have not had sex since rehab, and I was tested for everything there.”

I buck my hips, hoping to get him off, but he doesn’t budge. “Look, Aaron, I wish you didn’t have a past. I really wish you hadn’t had sex with a random girl on a boat or multiple girls on a rollercoaster.” I shiver and make an involuntary disgusted face. “But you did. I never thought my guy would have a criminal record, but well, you do. I wish you didn’t have a history with drugs, but I can’t change it.”

“Fuck, MK, when you put it like that, why haven’t you kicked me out?” There’s a hint of seriousness in his tone.

He releases my arms and I reach up, tucking his hair behind his ears so I can see his knowing eyes. “Your past doesn’t frighten me. It’s your future I’m concerned with.”

He beams. “So I can quit trying to make you run far, far away from me.”

“You do it again and I’ll flick your balls.” I smile. I can’t help it. His moods are contagious, like the flu.

He mouths
I love pain.

There’s nothing for me to do, but shake my head.

“Awesome so now we’ve decided you’re stuck with me, let’s make plans for the weekend.”

My head aches from another sudden case of whiplash. “Aaron—”

He cuts me off with a smirk. “I prefer Angel.”

My eyes roll so far inside my skull that I swear I catch a glimpse of my brain. “Angel.” It’s said dripping with sarcasm. “Go home. I adore you, but you are too much for me right now. I need a break.”

His lips turn, and he looks hurt. “If you adore me then you want me to stay. We just decided that I can’t scare you and you can’t run away.”

“Not running. Need a nap,” I lecture. “Big difference.”

The
V
forms between his brows.

“Get off,” I try bucking him again. “I’ve had a really crazy day. Let’s review. It started when I found out you had a daughter. Then at midnight your employee walked into the bedroom after we’d finished doing naughty things to each other. I got a bit of sleep and/or a break. Next I watched you eat cereal on my toilet while you talked to me about life. I tried to go to work and you did the most erotic thing in the world, which absolutely is my hot button trigger, so I was forced to have sex with you—”

“And you cried because you realized how much you like me,” he interjects, very pleased with himself.

“I’m spent, Angel.” I pause. “I want to edit my pictures and video that I took today and sit in my frumpy, flannel pajamas, and drink a bottle of wine.”

“You can do that at my house. I’ll leave you alone.” His face is radiant as if he just brokered world peace.

“Go home. I’ll discuss our plans with you for this weekend tomorrow.”

He doesn’t give up. “How about if we make all the plans now, I’ll go home?”