Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4) (4 page)

There's no way I'm going to find this kind of money elsewhere.

It would be stupid to refuse. Taking advantage of him is selfish, but don't I deserve a chance to be selfish for once in my life? He's offering. I can say yes.

I try to push the words to my mouth.
If you pay my tuition
. But my stomach clenches up. I can't take his money.

My knees go weak. It's a struggle to take a step backwards. "I don't know. I need to sleep on it." I need to figure out some better way to make school work. Something besides lying.

After ten years of lying for Dad, I barely know who I am. I finally have a semblance of a backbone. I can't throw that away.

"Your glasses." He motions to the optical shop.

"I, uh, I'll get them later. I need to get home and change for work."

"I'll give you a ride."

His eyes fill with vulnerability. Then he blinks and it's gone.

What the hell does he need me playing his girlfriend for?

I want to know. I want to know everything about him. Maybe there's some way to agree to this. To make it fair for both of us.

I'll try to figure it out. After my thoughts settle down.

I take another step backwards. "I'm in the mood to walk. Alone."

He nods with understanding.

I turn and get the hell out of there as fast as I can.

***

T
wo hours into my shift, I sneak into the back room to check my loan status on my cell.

I stare at the screen as the page reloads.

Damn. Pending.

It might not go through.

My stomach drops. I don't know what I'll do if I have to wait another year for law school. That will prove Nathan right. Prove to my mom that I'm another stupid woman who let a guy get in the way of her dreams.

If I'd studied harder, got better grades, I could have gotten a better scholarship.

For a second, I consider asking Dad for money. He makes a good living. But that would come with strings. I'd have to be the person he wants me to be. I'd have to go back to lying to hide his drinking.

I slide my phone into my pocket and take a few deep breaths. I've always wanted to be a lawyer. I don't want to keep waiting for my life to start.

I need to find a way to pay for school. And I'd love to spend more time with Pete. But how is lying for him different than lying for Dad?

Where the hell will I be in all that?

"Jess." Rick's voice booms through the backroom. He's irritated.

Great. I brush a few stray hairs behind my ears and make my way to Rick.

He's standing behind the bar, pouring a Moscow mule into a copper mug. His eyes are fixed on a pretty redhead. Not the one from last night. A new one.

Guy has a type. I'll give him that much.

His gaze stays on her chest as he talks to me. "Your boyfriend is here. He needs to buy a drink or get lost."

My boyfriend? "I don't have a boyfriend."

"Don't lie, sweetie, you're not the first waitress to have a quickie in the backroom. I don't care. It's slow. Chat if you want. As long as he buys a drink." Rick nods to a table in the corner.

Pete is sitting there, his eyes fixed on me.

I offer Rick my best customer service smile. "Of course, sir." It
is
my job to sell drinks. "Did you assign the Friday shift yet?"

"Yeah, gave it to Christina. She needs the cash."

"I need the cash too," I say.

"You'll get the next one." He motions to Pete. "Now, Jess."

Okay, there's no arguing with Rick when he's in
I'm taking this woman home
mode.

Pete is sitting in a black vinyl booth. It matches him—black t-shirt, black skinny jeans, black converse. Hell, he's even wearing black eyeliner.

It should be a crime, looking that good in eyeliner.

It should be a crime, looking that good, period.

His lips curl into a smile. The joy spills over his expression. His cheeks crinkle. His eyes brighten. There's even something different about his posture—more relaxed.

"You're staring," he teases.

My stomach flutters. "You're wearing eyeliner. It looks good." The guys I know back home wouldn't be caught dead in eyeliner. They're missing out, really. He looks fucking yummy.

"Stage makeup," he says.

"So you don't wear it normally?"

"Sometimes." He looks up at me. "You okay, Jess? You're bright red."

I let out a nervous laugh. "You must have steady hands. That line is even." Okay, so I want an excuse for why I'm staring at his dark eyes. They're inviting, deep. I want to drink them in.

He cocks a brow. "That's what you're thinking of my hands doing?"

The flush in my cheeks spreads to my chest as I think of his hands doing something much more exciting.

He shakes his head with mock outrage. "Jess, we covered this. If you're gonna imagine me touching you, you need to describe it to me."

"Uhhh." I swallow hard. "Rick, my boss. He thinks you're my boyfriend."

Pete stares at me like he's looking for meaning in my eyes. "Convenient you're already selling that story."

"No, I haven't decided."

He nods.

"But uh... he wants you to order a drink or leave."

"Whiskey, rocks."

"Well or call?"

He names an expensive brand. I motion
just a minute
then check all my tables on the way to my bar.

Rick is protective about the top shelf stuff. I repeat the request to him instead of pouring it myself. For once, he looks at me. He nods his approval of my supposed boyfriend.

Pete's eyes are still fixed on me. He's frustratingly unreadable, especially from a distance.

It's almost like he's checking me out.

Not almost. He is. When I adjust my much too tight skirt, his lips part with a sigh of desire.

I'm pear shaped to the extreme—not a lot of boob, very much in the way of butt. Usually, I'm self-conscious about my round bottom but the way he's staring makes me feel utterly perfect.

"Drinks up." Rick nudges me. His attention goes back to the pretty woman who is flirting with him.

With my most confident posture, I bring the drink to Pete.

He nods a thank you, takes a sip, and sets the beverage down. He motions to the plastic case on the table. "Your glasses."

"Thanks." I reach for them. "I should go."

"Try them first. Want to make sure they fit."

"In case I decide I never want to see you again?"

His voice is steady, even. "Would be a shame if you decided that before I got to hear you come."

My cheeks flush. I look to his expression for a sign he's playing with me, but there's nothing but desire in his eyes.

I want to say yes to his offer. I want more time around him. But is it really worth going back to lying to the world?

Pete motions to the booth. "Sit down."

Given the way Rick is flirting, I have plenty of time before I have to do another pass around the bar.

I sit close enough my knee brushes Pete's. The fabric of his jeans is rough against my bare skin. It sends shivers up my spine.

He turns so we're face to face. His fingers brush my temples as he pulls my glasses off. "You have beautiful eyes."

"Thank you." I swallow hard. There's something intoxicating about him. I want to soak it up.

He opens the case, takes out my new glasses and unfolds them. His eyes fix on mine as he slides my new glasses on.

His touch is gentle, caring, like we're old lovers instead of near strangers.

His fingertips brush my chin on their way to his lap.

This is a better prescription. I can see more details in his face. The flecks of honey in his dark eyes. The strong line of his jaw. The soft curve of his upper lip.

"You're staring," he says.

"Checking my new prescription."

He laughs, cocking his brow like he finds my claim implausible. "What's the verdict?"

His expression shifts, serious. He's not asking about the glasses. He's asking about the offer.

Right now, staring into his eyes, I want to say yes more than I want anything.

It's dangerous, how desperate I am to wipe his pain away.

I take a deep breath. I can't afford to say no. Even if I'm not sure I can live with saying yes. "I'm thinking about it."

I stare back into his eyes. They're vulnerable. Why does he need this lie? It doesn't make any sense. He's handsome enough he could find a girlfriend in thirty seconds flat, even without the whole wealthy celebrity thing going on. Even without the whole clearly a sex God thing going on.

I drop my voice to a whisper. "I need the money."

"You're starting law school in the fall."

I nod. "My scholarship only covers half my tuition. I'm trying for loans for the other half plus living expenses, but so far, I haven't had any luck."

He stares back with understanding.

Still my stomach clenches. "I don't want to take advantage of your situation."

"I have more money than I'll ever need."

"I don't want to lie to people."

"You like me."

I nod.

"I like you. It's not a lie. More of an exaggeration."

"It's a lie." I push myself back. My fingertips dig into my thighs. "Don't argue semantics with a lawyer to be. We'll be at it all night."

His lips curl into a half smile. "You don't want to go at it all night with me?"

Mmm. That flutter builds below my stomach. I do. But not enough to concede his point. I keep my voice low. "It is a lie."

"Yeah. But it won't hurt anyone."

"How do you know?"

He says nothing. That vulnerability flares in his eyes. He blinks and it's gone.

I can't decide until I have all the information. I press my palms together. "Why do you need a girlfriend?"

"Fame bullshit."

"That's not an explanation."

"It's complicated. A lot of egos that need stroking."

My cheeks flush. "You're trying to make me blush."

"You blush easy. I don't have to try
hard
."

My stomach flutters. "You're doing it again."

He smiles. "Yeah. I like a responsive woman."

God, how I want to be responsive with him. "You're a tease, aren't you?"

"Yeah. Should I keep going?"

I shake my head and check Rick's position again. He's still flirting.

If I agree to Pete's offer, I can quit this job. I can eat salmon for dinner every night. I can buy more cacti for my mini garden. Hell, I can even buy an air conditioner for my apartment.

It's tempting.

Is there really anything worse than missing out on law school?

"I get that you don't know me. That I don't know you. How about we ask each other a few questions," he says.

"Okay." That's reasonable. "You can go first."

"What's your favorite book?"

"Really? That's your question?"

He nods. "Want to make sure I still like you as my girlfriend."

"Isn't it pretend?"

"Guy's got to have standards."

I laugh. "And what book deems me unworthy?"

He smiles. "Can't tell you before you answer."

"
The Hunger Games
by a landslide. You?"

"
Jurassic Park
."

"Dinosaurs and man not knowing his own limitations. Not bad. Popcorn but not bad."

He cocks a brow. "Oh and
The Hunger Games
isn't popcorn?"

"Insult Katniss again and you're getting an instant no."

His laugh lights up his face. My heart sings. God damn, that's a nice laugh.

"You have your own standards." He smiles. "I appreciate that."

Mmm. Such a nice smile. I bite my lip, trying to get my thoughts to rearrange themselves into something I can work with. "You don't seem like you do things other people want."

"Not usually."

"So tell me the truth. Why do you need a fake girlfriend?"

His expression softens. It's earnest. He's thinking. He's going to tell me.

"It's complicated. Basically, my manager likes to throw his weight around. This is his current project. He's threatening to bury our next album if I don't agree."

"Oh."

"You won't be taking advantage. You can find money a million places. I can't find anyone like you."

"You barely know me."

"I know enough."

"Hey!" The guy at the next table over waves. "Aren't you in some band?"

Pete frowns. He shakes his head. "No."

The guy shrugs it off and goes back to his conversation.

Pete turns to me, his expression softening again.

He leans in close enough to whisper. "Whatever you decide, come to the show. I want to feel you come on my hand."

––––––––

T
he music pours onto the crowded sidewalk. It's not Sinful Serenade. It's another band, one that is all over the Los Angeles alternative rock radio station, KROQ.

There must be a hundred fans who want in the club. The show is open to the public, but from the frustrated looks, I'm guessing there are a lot of people here without tickets.

I smooth my pink, fit and flare cocktail dress, and brush my hair behind my ears. This is the nicest outfit I own. My makeup is on point. I can go up to that bouncer and tell him I'm on the list. No problem.

Deep breath.

I dig into my purse and pull out my ID, then I march to the burly bouncer. He looks me up and down, assessing my potential. It's the same way I look at people who seem out of place at the bar. Not a good sign.

"I should be on the list," I say. "Jess James. Uh, Jessica technically." I show him my ID.

He looks to the clipboard in his hands then to my ID then back to me. "You're in the VIP section. Stairs are on the right side of the club." He points to the door.

I'm in the VIP section.

How the hell am I in the VIP section?

The club is packed. It looks like it's meant to hold about three hundred people. There must be double that tonight. There are four guys playing on the small stage. I don't recognize them—I can't say I'm up on the alternative rock scene—but I've heard this song a hundred times.

The guys are cast in bright white stage lights. Except for soft purple lamps lining the walls, the rest of the room is dark.