Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4) (29 page)

"Really?"

"He's more than
Jurassic Park
. You ever read
Prey
?
Timeline
? Shit's addictive."

"Just... I thought you were all about facts and information. He's a little—"

"I was seventeen." He smiles. "It's not like
The Hunger Games
has consistent world building."

"You did not just insult
The Hunger Games
!"

"And if I did?" He raises a brow, baiting me.

"I'll shoot an arrow through your traitorous heart."

He smiles. "I like you assertive."

"Me too." Might as well push it further. I cozy up to the spot next to him. "You haven't distracted me, you know."

Pete nods. He takes a long time composing his next thought. "I did love her. We didn't talk much, but I've never been one for conversation."

"You talk to me."

"Yeah. It's different with you."

"How?"

"Actually have something to say."

My heart sings. Does he realize what he's doing to me? No, he must not. He's still focused inward, pulling his thoughts together.

He continues. "She liked listening to me play. Not bass but the guitar. Should have been the first sign." He laughs but there's a sadness to it. "I'd look at her art. She was a painter. Does graphic design now. Advertising. She's good. Always was. She got into Columbia, full scholarship. I told her to go. Not like I'm gonna get in the way of her future."

"Reasonable."

"Yeah. I didn't see the point of college. Didn't really have a chance. Knew the only thing I wanted to do was play bass. Stayed home. With Mom. And Tom. Sinful Serenade was only half formed. Didn't have Drew yet." His face scrunches in concentration. "Maybe. Dates blur together. We got serious pretty soon after I graduated."

"You look cute thinking."

"Don't tempt me to take those shorts off, Jess. It's hard enough as is."

My cheeks flush. "Okay. No more comments about how cute you are. Unless you put on your glasses. Then I have to jump you."

He cocks a brow. "What if we lived together and I wore them to bed every night?"

"We do live together."

"But if we shared a bed. Would you jump me every night when you saw me reading in my glasses?"

Mmm. I want him already. But I'm not getting derailed. Especially not with how hard my heart is pounding over this hypothetical living together, sleeping in the same bed scenario.

I clear my throat. "I suppose I'd have to have sex with you every night. If that works for your schedule."

He smiles. "I'll rearrange some things."

Pete leans in to kiss me. I get warm all over.

He pulls back. His eyes turn down as he speaks. "We were young and stupid. She never told me she wanted me to follow her. I never told her it would gut me to be away from Tom and Ophelia. We never shared like that. Waited for the frustrations to build up until feelings were insults."

I press my fingers into my thighs so I won't move too close. It's not enough. I need to be close to him. "Did you fight a lot?"

"Normal amount. The particulars aren't that exciting. Long distance meant we got to live in bubbles. I had my life. She had hers. Then we had this bubble just for the two of us. The three of them didn't connect. She couldn't go to my shows. I didn't know her friends, couldn't follow the gossip." His brow furrows. "It's hard to explain."

But it makes sense. "I think I understand. It's like having a pen pal. You communicate but it's not as natural as being in the same place as someone."

He looks at his hands, thinking. "When our lives did connect, when the bubbles broke, things didn't make sense. If she was home for the summer, we didn't know what to do together. The quick intense bursts—that was normal. A weekend to squeeze in everything we could. Or a long phone call that ends with... You want to hear this part?" He motions to his crotch.

"As long as you're not going to say the sex was better with her."

"Fuck no."

My lips curl into a smile. It's not possible to stay on the other side of the bed. I move close enough to take his hand.

Pete chuckles. "Phone sex was amazing. But when we were actually together... not as much."

"Fantasy trumps reality."

"Or I'm that good."

My cheeks flush.

"It was nice having somebody to call at the end of the day. Even if it was clear we were growing in different directions. By the time we finished our first tour, I felt like the only people who knew me were the guys in the band, Mom, and Cindy."

"And your friend, the one who slept with her?"

"Yeah. And him. I couldn't let go of that. The bigger the band got, the less I connected with everybody else. People always wanted to use me somehow. Or they put me on this pedestal. Soon as we were on the radio, all our musician friends were too jealous to be happy for us. I get it. It's hard seeing someone else with everything you want. But it meant nobody knew me. Nobody gets what it's like to be on the road five months a year. To lose track of where you are one day. It's easy to talk about, but to feel it... hearing your music playing at some store, seeing your picture in a tabloid, catching strangers talking about you... It's a mind-fuck. Guess that's not eloquent."

"It is, in a certain way."

He nods. "The bigger the band got, the more I needed that Pete and Cindy bubble. That was my only normalcy. That and Mom." His lips curl into a smile. "She always tells us we're not as good as Fleetwood Mac. Stuff like that. To keep us humble."

"Yeah?"

His smile spreads ear to ear. "You heard what she said about our last single?"

"No."

"Said it would be better if we went country with it. Should have heard her and Tom go at it."

His eyes meet mine. There's something on the tip of his tongue. Then he swallows and it's gone. He blinks and the vulnerability in his eyes is gone too.

"Want to hold you right now, but I'm pretty sure it means I'm not getting to the end of this story," he says.

"No. Keep going. I want to know... I can tell it hurt you a lot, what happened."

"Yeah."

"Did you love her all that time?"

"Hard to say. Not sure what love is supposed to feel like anymore."

"You love your brother. Your mom."

"It's not the same."

"You see Tom and Willow-"

"It's different from the outside. I know what love looks like. But I'm not sure what it feels like here—" He presses his palm to his chest, over his heart.

"You're lucky you're as hot as you are or that would be cheesy as hell."

"You saying you don't want to fuck me?"

"Absolutely not." I shift a little closer. "But you haven't finished your story."

"Fucking me is a lot more entertaining than this story."

"True. But I still like the story."

His lips curl into a half smile. It's short lived. He shifts back into the bed, happiness falling off his face.

"How did you find out?" I ask. "That she was sleeping with your friend."

"Things had been weird. We were on a break for a while. Shit was busy on both our sides and I think we realized we were holding on to something that wasn't quite there. I was ready to break it for good but she begged me to take her back. I was about to go on tour. Wanted some normalcy. Seemed like a good idea." He swallows. "My first trip to see her, she made excuses to avoid being alone. Left early. Claimed she had to work the next day. But Kyle, he made a point of seeing me the next day. We met at some bar. He was eaten up with guilt. I knew something was up but not what."

"What happened?"

"He blurted it out. Made all these excuses about how they couldn't help it. They were in love." His voice fills with frustration. "And it's not like it could work, me being famous and her being a regular person. It's not like I had any concept of what their lives were like. Fuck, they were ready to get married. He had a ring and everything. He looked at me, asked for my forgiveness, but he didn't apologize."

"No?"

"He talked about how it hurt him, how bad he felt, but no apology. I couldn't deal. Told him he could get out of my face or have my fist in his. He kept up the bullshit, so I hit him. It escalated. We got kicked out of the bar. That was that."

"Have you talked to either of them since?"

"No."

"Did he ever apologize?"

Pete shrugs. "Doesn't matter. Don't want to talk to someone who would do that to me. But I kept thinking... these are the only two people who knew me as Pete, the guy and not the minor celebrity, and my trust meant nothing to them. My feelings meant nothing to them. Kept thinking. Fuck, still keep thinking I must be lacking in some way."

I can't resist touching him any more. I shift into his lap, run my fingers over the skin on his cheek. "You're not lacking. You're amazing."

"Sure you're not under the influence of orgasms?"

I nod. "No... if you were wearing your glasses... that would be a different story."

"You like them that much?"

"Yes."

"Can't return the favor—" He taps my glasses. "They'll get in the way when you're coming on my face."

Mmm. "I'll forgive you. This time."

He smiles.

I press my palm against his chest. "Does it still hurt?"

"Not as much... still don't know who to trust."

"You can trust me. I would never hurt you like that. I know Pete, the guy, and I like him better than anybody else I know."

"Jess—"

"I'm not saying... I don't want to talk about that yet." I stare back into his eyes. "But my feelings for you—they have nothing to do with you being rich or famous."

"My cock?"

My cheeks flush. "I'm only human."

He's deflecting, but I feel the shift in the energy. We have a long day tomorrow. We should have some fun now.

I pull my shirt over my head. "You're gonna have to stand up if you want me to keep my glasses on."

His pupils dilate. There. He's under my thumb.

"Will you put yours on? For this part?"

He cocks a brow. "This part?"

"You really want to make me say it?"

"Fuck yeah."

"I'm going to suck you off. Then you're going to eat me out. Then, you'll be hard again, and you're going to throw me on the bed and fuck me."

My cheeks flush. Did I really say all that? I don't feel embarrassed. Just exhilarated.

He smiles. "Fuck am I a good teacher."

––––––––

I
n the morning, we order room service and eat breakfast in bed. Pete leaves a little after noon to tend to his best man duties. Surely, it can't take the groom more than an hour to get ready. He wears a suit, combs his hair, done.

I take a long shower, dress, and join Meg and Kara to do my makeup. Apparently, Willow is getting ready alone. Well, with her maid of honor, Drew. We giggle over the thought of the overprotective guitarist helping his sister with her hair and makeup.

The hours pass quickly. The girls are drinking champagne. For once, I indulge. Without lunch or dinner in my stomach, I get tipsy quickly.

At six, we put the finishing touches on our makeup and take a cab to the ceremony site—the beach, a few miles north of the hotel. Everything is set up on the sand. It's beautiful—an altar decked with hot pink flowers, white folding chairs lined with turquoise ribbon, rose petals lining the aisle.

I only recognize a few people. Flutters fill my stomach. I'm nervous for them. Kara and Meg make chit chat, mostly speculation about Willow's dress—no one has seen it except Ophelia.

The sun sinks into the horizon until the sky is streaked with hot pink. The seats are full. It's time for the ceremony. A coordinator tells everyone to stand. Music plays.

The procession starts. First, Pete and Drew. The best man and the maid of honor. They aren't quite arm in arm, but they're close enough people could talk. It doesn't seem to bother Drew. He's beaming.

Pete too. His smile is ear to ear. His eyes catch mine. He winks. I'm not sure what it means. Only that it makes me warm all over.

Damn does he look good in that dark navy suit. It brings out the flecks of lightness in his deep brown eyes.

Then it's Tom, arm in arm with Ophelia. Her hair is turquoise. Her dress is pink. Despite her recent health scare, she looks strong and bad ass. She holds onto Tom, her face beaming with pride. There isn't a hint of disbelief. For all I've heard of Tom's manwhore reputation, there's no doubt in anyone's mind that he's happier with Willow.

Actually, the drummer is nervous. He adjusts his grey suit as he takes his place at the altar. His eyes turn to the aisle. Then they're wide with enthusiasm, his cheeks pink. Still nervous but mostly excited.

His eyes are fixed on Willow. Damn is it impossible to look anywhere else. She's a pretty girl, but she goes far beyond that today. She glows like the setting sun. It's nothing about her elegant faux updo or her soft, natural makeup. It's not even her off-the-shoulders chiffon dress. Okay, the dress doesn't hurt. The wind blows it in every direction. It flashes hints of her hot pink wedges. She looks like an angel. Well, with the pink tipped hair it's more like a punk rock angel.

Mostly, she looks happy.

I've never seen a group of people this happy. Something warm and salty stings my eye. A tear.

A happy one.

I cry through the entire ceremony, utterly in awe of the happiness around me.

Pete may not know what love feels like, but I do.

This, is love.

***

C
hampagne and happiness is a dangerous combination. Everything is a blur of joy and love. We pose for photographs on the sand. Then we're at the cozy reception, eating an amazing vegetarian pasta dish with twenty of Tom and Willow's closet friends.

Come time to cut the cake, I drink another glass of champagne. It pairs strangely with the rich chocolate flavor, but I enjoy feeling like part of the celebration. Truth is, I don't need the champagne to feel bubbly and light. I only need today.

Pete wipes the chocolate frosting from my lips with his thumb. Then his thumb is in my mouth and I'm interested in more than the love of another couple. He looks sexy in his suit. Good thing he's not wearing his glasses. I'd have to take him right here at the reception.