Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4) (8 page)

"What about that isn't true?" I ask.

"I landed with my adopted mom, Ophelia, when I was a teenager, after my dad died." He clenches and unclenches his jaw. "She's middle class. Always knew I had my room waiting."

He skipped right over what happened with his dad. I want to know, but I can read his posture and it's screaming
don't ask.

He shifts backwards. "Have you decided?"

Okay, he doesn't like having this hanging over us. I'd like it out of the way too. But that means I have to ask for a hell of a lot.

Deep breath. I can do this. "Is it monogamous?"

He nods.

"There were a dozen models at the club who were picturing you naked."

"And?"

"And... it's not tempting?"

His brow furrows. "Don't understand the question."

"You have easy access to beautiful women—" I take a deep breath. I want to tell him. I want him to understand. "My ex cheated on me. We were days from breaking up but he didn't even respect me enough to tell me it was over before he started screwing someone else."

"I've been there."

Oh. That's why they broke up. That explains some of his
no way am I getting into a relationship attitude
. But now he's stuck in some ugly memory, his body turned away from mine.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I ask.

"Not really. Do you?"

I shake my head. "I guess I'm the one who is jealous. I'm not sure I can compete with a lingerie model."

He turns back towards me. This time, his eyes pass over me slowly. "You fishing for a compliment?"

"Just being honest."

"All due respect to whatever the fuck her name was—she seemed like a nice person—but I'd take you any day of the week. You have gorgeous eyes, responsive tits, an ass I can grab onto."

How can
responsive tits
feel like such a compliment? My cheeks flush. I've never been so flattered.

"You're fucking hot, Jess. And I like you. There's no competition. I don't want another girl." He stares back at me with a look that says
don't make me find another girl.

Okay. This is it. Either I go for it or I tell him to get lost.

I take a deep breath, preparing my response.

Here goes nothing.

––––––––

I
stare into Pete's gorgeous brown eyes. "I want to do this, but I have terms."

His lips curl into a smile. "You want to do it?"

God, that smile. It does things to me. "First, you need to explain why you need me to play your girlfriend."

"The short answer is that Aiden is a piece of shit who can't be fired—his uncle's the head of the label. Only real option is keeping him pleased. Usually, he stays busy doing drugs, but he's fresh out of a rehab stint four and he wants to feel important."

I offer him my hand. Something to sooth the furrow in his brow.

"His latest idea is that I need a nice, sweet girl on my arm. According to marketing, I test best as the enigmatic guy who's good to his girlfriend. Usually, I'd tell him to go fuck himself, but he's threatening to bury our next album." His eyes turn to the floor. "We're obligated to record it but there's nothing in the contract that requires them to release it or promote it. If that happened... Tom would lose it."

"If you're doing this for your brother, why not tell him?"

Pete pulls back. "Out of the question."

"Why?"

"Just is."

"I'm not doing this unless I understand why we have to lie to your friends and family. They're nice people. And they clearly love you." I take a deep breath. It helps break up the tension forming in my chest. "It's not going to be easy to deceive them."

He stares back at me. "Tom would fucking kill Aiden if he knew. And he'd be too pissed to be smart about getting away with it." He lets out a laugh. "Guess that's a fucked up way of putting it."

I reach up and run my fingers through his hair. Again, the frustration in his brow softens. I do it again. Again. Until his eyelids are pressing together and he's letting out a soft moan.

He's practically purring.

"You can't tell anyone," he says. "Tom will find out."

"And you like him thinking you're happy, so he won't worry about your ex breaking your heart, or how much it sucks that you don't live with your brother, your best friend anymore."

"Is it that obvious?"

"No, but I know what it's like when you feel like you've lost your best friend." My stomach clenches at the thought of Madison.

His fingers curl around my wrist. Gently, he brings my hand to my waist. His expression gets intense. "What are your terms?"

"I'm going to be me," I say. "No pretending I'm someone else."

"Wouldn't ask. Like you the way you are." His eyes stay glued to mine. "There will be events, shit where you're expected to look a certain way. But you look fucking fantastic now. You'll be fine."

His eyes rake over me. Once again, my heartbeat picks up. My sex clenches.

Lust makes it difficult to concentrate. I close my eyes and focus on my breathing. This is a big ask, but it's the only way I can secure my future.

I pry my lids apart and stare at him with all the confidence I can muster. "I want you to pay my tuition for the entire year. Plus living expenses."

"Done."

"That's it, done?"

"Yeah. Anything you want besides money? I've got money."

"I don't have money, and I have a strict policy of not asking other people for it." I do nothing to swallow my irritation. "It means a lot to me, being able to go to school without worrying about making rent."

He nods with understanding. "I get that."

"I don't want to take advantage of you," I say. "I wouldn't ask if I had another way to pay for school."

"I know."

"How?"

"I can tell." He shifts closer. His eyes find mine. "I want you to live with me. I have air conditioning."

Tempting.

"And a pool."

More tempting.

"I skinny dip every night."

Incredibly, painfully tempting. But it's still out of the question. This apartment is mine. I spent hours arranging the flower decals on the walls. I perfected the cacti garden on the windowsill. This is the first time I've ever had my own space. I can't give that up.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not leaving this place without a good reason." I look Pete in the eyes. It takes great restraint not to crumble and beg him to take me to his place for skinny dipping under the moon.

"There's a lot of fame bullshit. You sure you can handle that?"

"No. But it can't be worse than giving up on law school." I offer my hand to shake. "Do we have a deal?"

"Yeah. I'll take care of the money tomorrow."

We have a deal.

I'm going to law school.

Screw the handshake. I jump into Pete's arms, pushing him onto my bed and knocking his glass of water to the floor in the process.

He laughs. "You want something, ask."

"I want a hug."

He looks at me like he can't believe my response. Still, he pulls me into a close embrace.

I can feel his heart beating against my chest. Hear his steady breath.

It feels right in his arms. Too right. If I keep holding him, I'm going to fall for him.

The doorbell rings. Our food. He goes to get it. By the time I've cleaned the spill, he's back and the room smells like hot sauce and ginger.

"What is that?" I ask.

He sets the food on the counter and unpacks it, checking each dish carefully. There's a vegetable curry in coconut broth and a colorful stir fry with chicken and a dark sauce.

We eat dinner on my bed. Both dishes are flavorful and rich. Pete even admits that the vegetables are fantastic.

After we're finished, he clears the trash, lays me on the bed, and plants a long, deep goodnight kiss on my lips. His hand slides between my legs, skimming the edge of my skirt.

Then it's at his waist, and he's at the door, wishing me goodnight in a voice that says he knows I'm about to touch myself thinking of him.

***

T
he morning is beautiful. The air smells better. The sun shines brighter. Even the graffiti plastered over my shitty neighborhood is more appealing.

I take a long jog. It's hot but even that feels good. I don't have to worry about money for the next year.

It's unreal.

After a quick shower and a bowl of cereal, I pick up my phone.

Pete: Check your admissions status.

I go right to my computer. USC website, login, loading.

There, in beautiful green letters:
ENROLLED
.

I'm a law student. Officially. My chest is light.

I'm a fucking law student.

I'm flying.

Jess: Thank you!!! You have no idea how badly I wanted this.

Pete: I have some idea what you look like when you want something.

Jess: That's different.

Pete: Still like thinking about you sighing and clutching at my shoulders because you're desperate to have my cock inside you.

My skin tingles with anticipation. I rub my eyes to check if I'm dreaming. It's right there, in text.

Damn, he's just as direct in text message as he is in person.

My phone buzzes.

Pete: I'll stop distracting you.

Jess: Thanks. I have a lot to do today.

Pete: How are you going to celebrate?

Jess: I don't have time. I have work. I have to pick classes. I have to call my dad.

Pete: Fuck that. We're celebrating. And you're quitting that job. I'll take care of you.

Jess: I don't want to take advantage.

Pete: You're not. I need you for those hours. I'm gonna work you hard.

Jess: Are you sure?

Pete: Yeah. How long have you wanted to be a lawyer?

Jess: Since I read To Kill A Mockingbird in eighth grade.

Pete: Really?

Jess: I know. It's too cute for words. That's what everyone thinks of me—blond hair, blue eyes, big glasses.

Pete: You dye your hair that color.

Jess: You're not supposed to accuse a woman of dying her hair.

Pete: Looks good on you.

Jess: Thanks.

Pete: I'm looking forward to dragging my fingers through it the next time you're screaming my name.

Jess: Are you trying to make me blush?

Pete: No. I'm making you wet.

Jess: I plead the fifth.

Pete: Stop dodging. We're gonna celebrate. I want to get you off after you get off.

Jess: Excuse me?

Pete: Try saying it.

Jess: It's too embarrassing.

Pete: At first. Then it's freeing. Try.

Jess: I'm going to have fun with you after I'm done with work.

Pete: That wasn't so hard, was it?

Jess: Let's hope it's hard.

My chest heaves as I inhale. God, this is beyond embarrassing. But once I see the words on screen I feel exhilarated.

Pete: Go on.

Jess: It's too embarrassing.

Pete: You want my cock hard. What's embarrassing about that?

Jess: You know what's embarrassing about that!!!

Pete: Do I?

Jess: You're a tease.

Pete: Yeah. We covered this.

Jess: But it's alarming how much of a tease you are.

Pete: You've seen nothing.

Jess: Really?

Pete: Don't tell me you don't like it. I'll have to prove you wrong.

Jess: I admit nothing.

Pete: Guess I'll have to prove you like it. Do me a favor.

Jess: What?

Pete: Skip the underwear tonight.

––––––––

A
fter work, I change into a cocktail dress and wedges in the backroom. For a second, I consider doing as Pete asked and skipping the underwear, but I can't muster up the nerve.

He's due to pick me up in ten minutes. I boot up my phone to pass the time.

Damn. I have a hundred new texts, a few dozen missed calls. My Facebook is slammed with people who want to get in touch. There are lots of questions and comments but most of them boil down to the same thing:

Oh my God, Jess, is that you with Pete Steele? No fucking way! He's so hot, you lucky bitch.

All of a sudden, all the friends who chose Nathan over me desperately want to talk to me. One measly video making out with a rock star and I'm Ms. Popularity.

My thumb hovers over my cell screen. I should feel powerful, victorious—my old friends, the ones who were perfectly happy to ignore me, are desperate to talk to me now that I'm a rock star's girlfriend.

My stomach churns. I don't feel powerful. Instead, my head is heavy and my shoulders are tense. Those friends felt real, once upon a time. But they don't care about me. They never did. I'm still a tool to them.

How the hell am I supposed to know who I can trust when I can't trust my sister?

My phone buzzes in my hands. Pete. He's here. I wipe my misty eyes. I'm celebrating tonight. No matter how much the thought of Madison still makes my stomach clench.

I shove my phone back into my purse and shoot Rick a goodbye forever wave on my way out the door.

There's Pete, leaning against the passenger side door of his black Tesla. He's wearing black jeans and a black button-up t-shirt. He's wearing eyeliner again. A hint. Just enough to make it impossible to avoid staring into his deep brown eyes.

The smile falls off his lips as he takes me in. "What's wrong?"

I shake my head and smooth my cocktail dress. "Nothing."

He squeezes my hands and pulls my body into his. "Let's try again. What's wrong?"

"All my old friends want to talk to me."

"Fuck. I forget to tell you I posted those pictures from the park." He tilts his chin so he's looking down at me. "I'll make it up to you."

"I knew you would. That's not the problem."

"It killed me when I first realized it." He presses his palm between my shoulder blades. "That people are willing to use you like that—" He snaps his fingers.

There's an ocean of sadness in his eyes.

The feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach deepens. I'm using him to get what I want. He's using me to get what he wants. Is either of us really any better than the friends who want to talk to me because of my access to a celebrity?