You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (11 page)

“Yeah, but he doesn’t stand a chance if you’re lusting after that guy.” She nodded toward Slater, who stood at the side of the driveway, lining up his shot. The ball arced over the guys’ raised hands and dropped neatly into the basket.

“Is there anything he can’t do?” Emmie had seen his fans crying as they listened to him sing and watched him fix all kinds of random things at his mom’s house as well as theirs. He wrote songs that she knew without a doubt could sell to the biggest artists in the world. He was gorgeous, smart, athletic . . . Seriously, what couldn’t he do?

“He can’t give you what you want.”

Emmie felt a jolt to her heart. “I know that. I’m not interested in him that way.”

“Yeah, but that’s your head talking. Look, I’m not trying to get into your business, but I’ve seen the way you look at him.” Tiana stepped in front of Emmie, blocking out the guys. “I’m not saying you want to get with him. I believe you when you tell me what kind of guy would make you happy. But the way you look at him and . . .” She looked away, clearly troubled. “I don’t want to say this because you’re a girl and you’ll take it wrong, but I know the way he looks at you, too. It’s obvious to anyone. That boy tracks your every move. He gets this really intense expression as he watches you. It’s actually kind of hot. I wish Ben looked at me like that.”

“No, it’s not like that. He just appreciates that I’m helping him out with the band. And we’re both home during the day, so we just, you know, spend a lot of time together.” Who was she kidding? They did have this crackling, sparking energy between them. She could admit it. It wasn’t like they’d do anything about it. They just seemed to really enjoy each other. “Hey, come on, not all musicians are bad. You’re with one.”

“They haven’t gone on tour yet. Besides, Ben and I are off and on so much, and he gets plenty of action in the off time. But he’s different anyway. I think he gets so sick of all the groupie action that he comes running back to me. He’s torn. He wants to want it, but ultimately, it’s not who he is.” She turned to watch the guys. Just then Slater jumped, both hands cupping the ball. His shoulders lifted, the muscles bunching and flexing, as he made his shot. “But it
is
who Slater is.”

The guys shouted and whooped as the game ended. Slater’s team had obviously won, since his teammates were circling and high-fiving him. Slater grabbed his towel off the ground, glanced in Emmie’s direction, and did a double take. His gaze thrilled her, made her body burn with arousal. And then a wicked smile curled his delectable mouth as he tugged the waistband of his shorts down just a tiny bit, revealing his tattoo.

The pulsing between her legs turned into a throb.

“Shit,” Tiana said in a whisper. “There isn’t a woman in Texas who wouldn’t run down her own grandma to get that man to look at her like that.”

Emmie’s heart raced so fast she could barely breathe.

“You sure you want to go out with my brother tonight?”

“Oh, God, yes.” The sooner she found a good guy to date, the better off she’d be.

—

Once again, Slater found himself hiding in his mom’s backyard. As if sleeping here brought him any respite from the constant ache of wanting the one woman he couldn’t have.

Well, he probably could have her. For a night or two. But her time in Austin was almost up, and his boys, well, good things were coming for Snatch. Emmie would make sure of that. They’d get signed, get a tour, something that would take him away from the quiet house in the suburbs and put him into the decadent world she so despised.

And one night? Giving in to the call of the wild, when she was looking for a real relationship with a solid guy? No, it’d be the worst thing they could do. First, it would ruin their friendship, and he actually
liked
her. Looked forward to spending time with her.

If he fucked her, she’d hate him. But worse? She’d hate herself. And that was the last thing he wanted. So, yeah. No Emmie.

No matter how he burned for her. How attuned his senses were to her every sound, scent, and touch. All night he’d rouse at the slightest noise coming from her room across the hall, his body on constant vigil for a sign, a piece, a hint of her. He’d hear the sheets rustling, hear her sigh, a whispered moan, and he’d light up, waiting for what she’d do next, wondering what she was dreaming or thinking about. All day he’d listen to her moving around the house, and hope to see her, to be near her, even if it meant just the slightest brush of her skin against his.

Christ.

Tapping his pen on his notebook, Slater listened to the conversation, the occasional bursts of laughter, and the sounds of various instruments being played inside his mom’s house. He couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t hear the melody, and the lyrics wouldn’t come.

Probably because the only sound in his head was Emmie’s and Tiana’s laughter from earlier this afternoon as they’d gotten her ready for her date. Which explained why he was sitting in his mom’s backyard yet again.

He didn’t want to see Emmie dressed in her new outfit designed to woo Hector, the actuary. A steady job, nice manners, a tidy haircut . . . How did that translate to attraction? It obviously didn’t.

But he couldn’t find peace here any more than he could find it at his own house. Hadn’t all his previous attempts taught him that?

The screen door opened, and his mom came out with a plate and a glass of red wine. He got up to take them from her, setting them on the table beside him. “Thanks.”

“You’ve been working so hard on these songs all week. Why don’t you come in and workshop them with us?”

He cracked a smile for the first time that day—only, not a happy one. They played this game all the time. She tried to entice him to jam with her students and colleagues, and he turned her down. As a teen, he’d told her to piss off, winning his dad’s approval, but as an adult, he had to admit he liked her perseverance. She’d never given up on him. No matter how much harder his dad’s pull, his mom had never given up on him.

“I’ll pass.”

“How did I know you were going to say that?” Her fingers tapped on her knees. Her facial wrinkles mapped out the hard years of her marriage to an impossible man. Her hair had gone completely gray. She looked like a woman in her seventies instead of a fifty-seven-year-old. “You know, your father’s been gone a long time.”

Where the hell had that come from? “Yeah.”

“So maybe it’s okay for you to come play with us.”

“I came out here to work. That’s all.”
Too many distractions at home.

“Do you remember when you were a little boy, how you’d be right in the thick of it?” She had a look of awe. “You took my breath away. You could pick up any instrument and play it like you’d studied it all your life. And nothing held you back—nothing intimidated you. It was marvelous to watch you, so uninhibited, so free, so immersed in the music.”

Oh, Christ. Here we go.
“Mom.” She could just stop now.

“I used to say you were a prodigy. But your dad didn’t like that. Of course, he associated it with my world. I couldn’t get him to understand the actual meaning of the word. He kept thinking it meant you’d be a violinist in the Austin Symphony, with baggy slacks, greasy glasses, and a plastic pocket protector.” She smiled, but he knew her well enough to see the bitterness underneath. “That’s not, of course, what I meant. But you have always been prodigiously talented.”

His mom didn’t nurture. Not physically anyway. On sick days she’d leave cans of chicken soup and boxes of crackers on the kitchen counter. But she always went to work, and she never ran her fingers through his hair the way Emmie had. She rarely touched him.

But Slater didn’t doubt his mom’s love. It was as fierce as his dad’s. Just better because of its reliability.

“Your father had a profound influence on you. That’s not news, certainly. But he has been gone quite some time.”

Nine years, actually, since the police had shown up at the door with the bad news. “What are you trying to say, Mom?” Slater was exhausted. Staying away from the house hadn’t brought the peace he’d anticipated. He didn’t need one more puzzle to figure out.

“Well, it just seems you’re old enough now to figure out who
you
are. He’s not directing your life anymore.”

Anger flared. “So you think the real me is just dying to get in there and play music with your buddies? That the only thing holding me back is my need to please my dead father? Is that it?”

“I do wonder, yes.”

“So, we’re still there.” He sighed. He was so sick of this game they played. “Did you really think I wanted to spend my time playing with your students and colleagues? Did it occur to you that I might have become bored by your little collection of instruments by the time I was eight? Did it occur to you to ask me what
I
wanted to do?”

His mom reeled back, a mix of shock, embarrassment, and hurt in her eyes. She looked down at her hands, clasping them in her lap. She drew in a shuddery breath. “I don’t know how to answer that.” She paused, lifting her chin in an almost haughty manner. “I . . . Where did
that
come from?” And then she sighed. “You obviously think I didn’t.”

“Not once. Not one damn time.”

Her gaze wandered out to the lawn. She looked deeply lost in thought, one eyebrow cocked, as though sorting through images and memories, looking for clues. Anything to support her own vision of his childhood.

But she wouldn’t find any supporting evidence. They hadn’t asked—neither of them. Not once. They’d always tugged him in one direction or the other. His dad had been stronger because he played to win. Not to nurture, not to guide. But to get what he wanted for himself. It wasn’t about anyone but Slater’s dad.

Finally, she let out a shaky breath. “Well, if I didn’t . . .” She paused, making a slow, rolling gesture with her hands to indicate she would allow the possibility that she hadn’t. But then she just slumped forward. “Well, hell. I thought I
knew
what you wanted.” Her head tilted toward the house. “I started this for you. I thought if I surrounded you with it, in your own home, you could feel free to be yourself. I’ve kept it up all these years in the hopes it would draw you back out. Back to the person I thought you wanted to be.” It took a moment for her to pull herself together. She shook her head, frowning.

And then, looking uncharacteristically rattled, she said, “What . . . what did you want to do?”

He thought of Emmie encouraging him to talk to his mom. But she didn’t get it. It was way too late for this discussion, so he didn’t bother answering.

“Jonny, I . . . I don’t know what to say. I thought . . . well, I thought I
knew
.”

He glanced up at her, all his anger gone. He felt like shit for hurting her. She hadn’t been a bad mom at all.

“So, I’m asking you now. What did you want to do?”

“I wanted friends.” How could they not have known something so obvious? What kid didn’t want friends? “I didn’t want to hang out with your people. I felt like you were showing me off to them.”

She let out a stifled sound, looking like she might cry. “Wonderful. So, ultimately, I was no better than your father who dragged you across the country making you perform for anyone who would listen.” She shook her head, focusing on her hands. “I honestly thought I was offering you a refuge, a chance to immerse yourself in the world you belonged in.”

“Yeah, well. I just wanted friends.”

His mom gave him a funny look, like the concept was so foreign.

“What?” He sounded petulant, but he couldn’t hold back.

“If you wanted friends . . . well, for heaven’s sake, why didn’t you make them?”

“Are you kidding me? Who would be friends with me? Dad dressed me like a freak. Did he really think I wanted to look like Axl Rose when I was eleven? And if I did bring someone over, they didn’t think he was cool, like he thought. They thought he was scary. He was wired all the time. He was embarrassing.” He drove everyone away.

His mom looked stricken. “I thought it was your choice. That maybe you were more mature or . . . I don’t know.” She looked away. “Preferred your dad’s company.”

“My only
choice
was to keep to myself. Just let them think whatever they wanted of me. It didn’t matter anyway.” He’d always wanted his mom to step in and do something. Make his dad back off.

She looked deeply troubled. “I had no idea. None. I feel so . . . How could I not have seen any of that? I thought you loved your dad so much, you wanted to look and act like him.”

“Are you f—” He stopped himself. “All those photographs you’ve got in there? The bookcase full of pictures chronicling my childhood in ridiculous costumes Dad made me wear? Every time I see them, I want to smash them. A constant reminder of what a freak I was.”

“But why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you fight back?” Her imploring tone only fueled his anger. How did she not get it? She was the man’s wife, and she’d never stood up to him.

“Like you? Because you were such a great example of fighting him?” His mom flinched, and Slater regretted taking out his anger on her. And, yet, he couldn’t help it. He
felt
anger toward her. Because she hadn’t defended him, hadn’t helped him at all. “I think you know what fighting him accomplished. After being bullied and then ignored . . .” Slater snapped his fingers. “Just like that, he’d forget about it and whisk me off to the next audition or whatever his next brilliant idea was. I didn’t exist. He just used me.”

“Your father loved you,” she said quickly, her voice filled with emotion. “You were his whole life.”

“Literally.” He held her gaze. “As you can imagine, that sucked.”

She let out a shuddery breath. “He was a difficult man.”

Slater hated that telling her all this made her feel bad. Made her think she’d failed him. His childhood . . . it was an impossible situation.

She blew out a breath between pursed lips. “I really should get back in there.” But she didn’t get up. “I just . . . I’m a little at a loss here. I’m glad we’ve started talking, Jonny. I am. It’s what I’ve wanted for so long. I just need to . . . to sort through everything you’ve said.”