Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4)
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Authors: Crystal Kaswell
Play Your Heart Out
A Sinful Serenade Novel
Crystal Kaswell
Sinful Serenade
Sing Your Heart Out
- Miles
Strum Your Heart Out
- Drew
Rock Your Heart Out
- Tom
Play Your Heart Out
- Pete
Sinful Ever After
- Coming Summer 2016
For Karine. I hope you've become the person you always wanted to be.
––––––––
"O
h. Ohhhhh. Ohhhhhhh."
The entire bar echoes with the sounds coming from the single-stall bathroom in the corner.
"Jess, that one is yours." Rick points to the shaking bathroom door and hands me his set of manager's keys. "You're off after that."
Great. I'm off after I tell the people fucking in the bathroom to break it up.
"Ohhh. Yes. YES. GOD, PETE. OHHH."
"Now, Jess." Rick's voice is dripping with irritation. His gaze is fixed on the cleavage of the copper-haired woman leaning over the bar.
What does he have to be irritated about? He's getting laid tonight. Sure, he's not going to get the woman screaming as loud as this Pete guy is, but he's not going home alone.
I press my eyelids together. Only two more weeks working here. My loan will go through. I'll quit this hellhole and officially enroll at USC Law.
Life will be under control.
My lips curl into a customer service smile. Rick is my boss. I have to be polite. "Of course, sir."
I take a deep breath and turn towards the bathroom.
It's late enough that the bar is down to a dozen customers. Half of them are lost in drunken misery. The other half are staring at me, licking their lips in anticipation of the drama about to unfold.
Attention from concerned strangers, my favorite. I steel my nerves. This is nothing compared to standing in front of a jury. If I want to be a trial lawyer, I need to learn to project strength and confidence.
"
Oh, God, Pete you feel so good. MMM."
A sigh escapes my lips as I tap a knock on the door. Must be nice to be that uninhibited.
Is it even possible to enjoy sex that much? It's not like the guy is at an ear piercing volume. I can barely make out his grunts.
Okay, that's enough of listening to the strangers having sex. I knock again. "Excuse me. You can't—" I'm a grown adult, I can say the word—"engage in sexual activities here. Please get dressed and leave."
This does nothing to quiet them.
I knock again.
"
MMM. PETE DON'T STOP
." The woman squeals.
Rick is watching me with that same stern
do my bidding
expression. Dammit. Our bouncer only works weekends. I'm the last cocktail waitress on the floor. Either I take care of this or I escalate to calling the police.
Deep breath.
I pound on the fucking door. "I have the key. I'm opening the door in five seconds." My hands are so sweaty I can barely grip the thing. "Five. Four." I slide the key into the lock. "Three. Two." I turn it. My fingers curl around the door handle. God help me. "One."
I open the door.
A tall, broad-shouldered man has a thin brunette pinned against the wall. Her red dress is at her waist. His jeans are at his feet. Even in the dim light of the bathroom, the hard muscles of his ass and legs are clear as day.
He's still pumping into her. She's still screaming. No more words. It's a collection of incomprehensible sounds. She claws at the wall, shaking and panting with orgasmic bliss.
The guy, Pete I guess, waits until she's finished. Then he stops pounding and he turns to me.
My cheeks flush as our eyes connect. He's handsome.
And familiar. Really familiar.
He's not a regular. Certainly not from Long Island.
I don't know anyone in LA. Why do I recognize him?
I shove my hands into the pockets of my apron. I'm here to accomplish something and it's not checking out the manwhore with an exhibitionist streak. "Excuse me, but you can't do that here. Please take a minute to get dressed and leave or I'll have to call the police."
"Can you make it two minutes?" he asks with a deep, even voice.
He's ballsy. I'll give him that much.
My gaze is drawn to the tattoo curving around his hip and thigh.
Get a grip, Jess. Six months is a long dry streak but you don't need to stoop to being some player's sloppy seconds.
"Uh..." I can negotiate too. "Two minutes if you keep it down."
"Thanks." He turns back to the woman. One hand plants on the wall in front of her. The other stays over her mouth, muffling her groans.
He has the decency to wait until I close the door to resume fucking her.
Pete.
I know him.
But how?
I do a mental run through of every dark-haired man I know as I add up my tips. Time to close out with Rick. And to plead for an extra weekend shift.
He's sitting with the copper-haired woman, his arm around her waist.
Great. I'm interrupting his flirtation. That will put him in a good mood.
Someone bumps into me. Hard. It's her—the woman from the bathroom.
She scowls at me. "Thanks a lot."
I bite my tongue. Telling her to go to hell is above my pay grade. Better to step out of the way and let her storm off. Besides, she looks embarrassed. I'm not going to rub salt in the wound.
I try to step aside. Her eyes narrow. She goes out of her way to bump into me again.
Shit. My balance falters. I land right on my ass, my glasses sliding off my face.
I can't make out any of the details of her expression. But I can hear her frustrated sigh, her loud stomping steps, the cracking of plastic.
Dammit. I know that sound. There's no chance my frames are still in one piece.
Her footsteps get quieter as she storms out of the bar.
Where the hell did my glasses go? I'm about to swallow my pride and launch into a full on hands and knees search when I hear his voice. The man from the bathroom. Pete.
"You okay?" He kneels next to me and offers his hand.
I stare back at him. Does he really think I'm going to take that hand? God knows where he was touching the girl in the red dress. "Where has that been?"
"Just washed and scrubbed."
Not clean enough.
He's close. I can make out his expression. Concern. About me or something else?
"Your friend ran off." I push myself to my feet. "You should hurry if you want to catch her."
He looks up at me. "You were wearing glasses."
I rub my eyes. It does nothing to help my vision or my comprehension of the situation. His voice is even, his posture is confident. Three minutes ago, he was screwing that girl in the bathroom. Now, he's worried about my glasses.
I can't help but laugh. "You noticed what I was wearing while you were pounding the screaming brunette."
"Stopped pounding when you opened the door," he teases.
"I guess you did."
He reaches for something on the floor then pushes himself to his feet. "These
are
yours?"
He holds up my glasses. I squint to make out the damage. They're broken at the bridge. Damn.
"You have tape?" he asks.
I nod. "Yeah. It's through here." I lead him to the back room. After two months taking every shift I can get, I know the bar well enough to navigate sans corrected vision.
Supplies are in the Manager's Office. Booth against the wall is the only place to sit. I point everything out to him and slide into the bench seat.
A few moments later, he slides into the booth next to me with a roll of tape. My heart beats faster. A flutter builds below my stomach.
This beautiful image pops into my head—the two of us in the bathroom, him pressing me against the wall, one hand tugging at my long blond hair, the other sliding under my skirt.
I want to be lost in pleasure the way that woman was.
Is it even possible for sex to feel that good?
"Here." His deep voice pulls me out of my thoughts. He holds up my now taped together glasses.
"You're good with your hands."
He chuckles. "True."
"I didn't mean it like that."
His laugh gets deep. "Years of playing the bass guitar does good things for your dexterity."
The bass guitar.
No. He can't be Pete Steele, the bassist of the alternative rock band, Sinful Serenade. They're Madison's favorite band. Her wall is covered in pictures of them and especially pictures of the enigmatic bassist.
"These will hold for tonight." His deep brown eyes meet mine. "I'll buy you new glasses tomorrow."
"You're going to buy me glasses?"
"My fault these are broken."
"What if I never want to see you again?"
"Then you wouldn't have let me help you."
I bite my lip. I can't afford new glasses and I can't work with these for long. But seeing him again is dangerous. His proximity has my body buzzing. Will I really be able to resist him?
Last thing I need is some player breaking my heart. Even if he is rock star bassist Pete Steele.
"What if I have a policy of rejecting players who get into fights?" I ask.
"You getting at something?"
"Have you ever heard of asking?"
He nods. That's it, a nod.
I wipe my hands on my apron. "Are you going to ask?"
"If it will make you feel better about how badly you want to say yes."
Damn, he's cocky. I usually hate that kind of thing, but on him, it's sexy. I swallow hard. "It will."
"Will you allow me to buy you glasses?"
"Yes."
His fingertips skim my temples as he slides the frames back onto my face.
Now that I can see, there isn't a doubt in my mind. "You're Pete Steele."
"Unfortunately." His eyes meet mine. "And you are?"
"Jess."
"Nice to meet you." He shakes my hand. "Where's your phone?"
My heart is beating too fast. I need to tell him to get lost, to pull back so I won't get hurt.
My body won't allow it. My hands and arms move of their own volition. Before I know it, my phone is in his palm.
He taps his number into my cell then sends himself a text. "Jess what?"
"Jess James. Technically Jessica," I say. "People called me Jessie James all throughout elementary school."
"Sweet, innocent blond on the outside. Outlaw on the inside. I see it." His lips curl into a smile.
I melt. It's the most beautiful smile in the history of the world.
He texts me an address. "Meet me at one."
I wait for my judgment to kick in, but all I can feel is the flutter of desire in my stomach. "Okay."
His eyes meet mine. "You gonna be alright, Jess? You look a little flushed."
"I'm not used to breaking up sex in the bathroom." I play with my skirt. "That girl was screaming loud enough to wake the dead."
His smile turns cocky. "I've heard louder."
"Really?"
"Yeah." He pushes himself out of his seat. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"See you then."
I rub my eyes, pinch myself to see if I'll wake up from this daydream.
But I'm not daydreaming.
That's Pete Steele.
He knows my name.
And he's buying me glasses tomorrow.
What happened to my normal life?
––––––––
M
y tiny North Hollywood apartment is cruelly without air conditioning. Sixty seconds after my shower, I'm hot and sticky.
Screw pajamas. I plop in bed naked. Even my thin cotton sheet is too much. I try to sleep, but my thoughts weigh on me.
What if the loan doesn't go through? There's no way I'll pay for school. And Dad hasn't called back. Is he drinking again? I'm not there. How is he going to hold it together on his own?
Just once, I want to forget how to think. I want to be like that girl in the bathroom at the bar, completely in my body, screaming in ecstasy.