You Really Got Me (Rock Star Romance #1) (14 page)

“I’ll grab something on the way.” He tapped his fingers impatiently, looking at the mess. “What can I do? We have to go now.”

“I’m not going to your show.”

He stilled, all emotion wiped from his features. “Why not?”

“Because Tiana’s coming over.”

“So you can both come.”

“Ben broke up with her. She’s not going to his show. We’re having a girls’ night in.”

He just stood there, keychain dangling off his finger. He didn’t say anything for the longest time. She didn’t know if he expected her to say something. She didn’t know what he was thinking or feeling.

Then again, it was Slater. He was probably deciding whether he wanted a sandwich or a Big Mac on the way to the club. Or wondering which woman he’d take home tonight. Based on what? Hair color? Maybe he alternated, brunettes on Mondays, blondes on Tuesdays, redheads on Wednesdays, and then back to brunettes on Thursdays. He—

“But I want you to come.”

Heat swept over her, and the breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Slater wanted her to come to his show. He was
telling
her he wanted her to come.

“I like when you’re there.”

She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t even know what it meant that he would say something like that to her. She seriously wanted to drop what she was doing, leave the enchiladas on the counter, and jump into the car with him.

But, of course, she couldn’t. Because Tiana was destroyed and needed a friend. And that came first. But, man, he
liked
when she was there. She had no idea how to respond. If she softened, he’d harden. Crack a joke. If she said something snarky, she’d hurt his feelings and possibly close this door he’d just opened.

And she did not want to close this door. She wanted to walk right through it to a whole new level of . . .
something
with him.

But before she could respond, he said, “I’ll make a sandwich, sure.”

Flustered, she finished pouring the sauce over the enchiladas and carried the dish to the hot oven. Then, she watched him lean into the refrigerator and move things around. At this rate, he’d never get a sandwich made. She got the bread out of the pantry. “Turkey’s in the top drawer, cheese is in the middle.”

She could hear the drawers opening and closing. “Got ’em. Hey, can you do that thing you did last time? That vinaigrette you put on it? That was good.”

She smiled at how quickly they’d fallen back into their routine. They got so intense, so emotional, sometimes she thought he’d wash his hands of her. But he always came back, as though nothing had happened. Except . . . each time they seemed to go deeper. Like just then, telling her he liked when she came to his shows.

He shut the fridge, set the turkey and cheese on the counter, and started opening the packages. “Tiana’s fine, you know. They do this all the time.”

“Have
you
talked to her? Because I have.” She let out a breath, hating how upset Tiana was. “She’s devastated. They didn’t break up because of a fight. They broke up because of the festival. Because of this big change that
might
come. Ben wants to be free to ‘bang’ as many ‘chicks’ as he can.”

“He was drunk.”

“You all were, but you all said the same thing.
Girlfriends are a burden. We need to be free
. I mean, what the hell? Why do you treat women that way?”

“Now, hang on. I’ve never misled anyone. The women I get involved with know exactly what they’re getting. And I’m pretty damn sure Ben’s never misled Tiana, either. He has fun with her, sure, but he’s not ready to get serious. And he shouldn’t. We’re not in any position right now to offer promises.” The way he looked at her caused her to do a double take, wondering if she saw particular meaning in his gaze. But she must’ve been mistaken because he wore his usual stoic mask.

“Oh, please.” She didn’t know why she was talking to him about this. She turned away. “You don’t get it at all.”

“What don’t I get?”

“Forget it.”

“No, tell me. What don’t I get?”

“It isn’t about the timing.” Did she really have to explain it? “It’s about doing whatever the hell you guys feel like doing. When he wants Tiana, he’s with her. When he wants groupies, he dumps her. It’s as simple as that.”

“You’re acting like Tiana’s being played. She’s not. Ben’s straight up with her. She makes her own choices.”

“Yes, Slater, because obviously she wants the whole package from him. And, I’m sorry, but it
is
misleading to a woman. When he’s with her, he acts like he’s wildly in love. And then you guys get a gig out of town, and he dumps her because . . . because what? He wants his freedom? You guys don’t get to use the ‘Hey, I Told You Upfront I Wasn’t Ready to Commit’ card every time you want to get some play.”

“I agree.”

“So, then, why, when he has this great girl, a girl he’s obviously crazy about, does he discard her so easily? How many meaningless encounters will it take to satisfy you?” Oops. Crap. “
Him.
I meant him.”

He gave her a look that asked,
Did you?

She looked away, ignoring him. “Women are wired differently. Well,
I’m
wired differently anyway. I want enduring, all-consuming, heart-and-soul commitment. I need to know I can count on someone’s love.” Embarrassed, she turned away from him, shoving the cheese toward him. “And I just don’t know if that’s even possible.”

She could feel him studying her for a long moment, and it made her uncomfortable. She didn’t know what he was thinking. Why had she brought the subject up?

“We’re talking about two different things,” he said carefully. “Love, marriage, all that is fine. Just not right now. And to ignore the reality of where we are in our careers . . . Well, it’s just setting yourself up for failure.”

God, she was an idiot. Talking to him about this. He needed to get going. She tried to hand him a knife to cut his sandwich in half, but he just looked at it like he didn’t know what to do with it. “Cut it. It’ll make it easier to eat in the car.”

“Is this about Alex?” he asked softly.

When he didn’t take the knife, she cut the sandwich herself. She grew increasingly uncomfortable at the truth he was digging toward. “No. Well, obviously yes, but it’s not just him. I’m sure you know about my dad.”

Stuffing the remaining turkey back into the plastic bag, she reached for a sponge to wipe away the crumbs.

“
You
tell me.”

She didn’t think he realized the effect he had on her when he was like this, all caring and interested. It just made her feel so close to him. “You know he cheated, right? I mean, like, all the time. But my mom said it wasn’t always like that. In the beginning, they were a team. My dad had all this talent but no interest in the business side of things. So my mom took charge. She’s the one who got him gigs, handled tours and managers, all that stuff. And then, as soon as he gained some traction, started building a name for himself, he started treating her like crap. He’d be gone for days at a time, always with some transparent excuse. He was jamming or the commute was too far to come home or he’d had too much to drink. It was awful. We all knew what he was doing. I don’t know why my mom stuck it out—well, I do. She did it for us. She wanted us to be a family.” She swallowed, willing herself not to cry. “Anyhow, the point is my dad didn’t need her anymore, so he dumped her.”

She turned away from him. “It was devastating. Everything changed after that. Derek moved to Texas, and I . . . well, I became the best little helper my dad could ever hope for.” She’d been so afraid he’d dump her, too. And he would have. He didn’t keep in touch with people he didn’t need.

When she forced a smile, Slater didn’t return it. He came toward her, cupping her chin, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “All this for a prick.”

“What? My dad’s not . . .” Well, yeah, he actually
was
a jerk.

“It’s so fucked-up. You’ve got Derek driving himself so hard just to prove to your dad that he really is a great musician. And then here you are killing yourself to show him you’re worthy of his love.”

She turned away, not wanting him to see her as that weak. “I’m not killing myself. And I want my dad in my life, Slater. That’s pretty normal.”

“Yeah, but the thing is, you’re never going to get what you want. Neither of you. He’s a narcissist. Em, you gotta know, even if you became bigger than Irwin Ledger, if Derek became the next John Paul Jones, your dad wouldn’t give a shit. It’s all about
him
.” He shrugged. Like it was all so simple. “He’s got nothing to give.”

The truth of it slammed into her. Her dad gave nothing. He never had. He just took. She’d known that—intellectually. But just then, for the first time, she actually got it on a gut level.

He’d
never
have anything to give her. Not friendship, not companionship, not love. And not respect. Because he didn’t care about anyone but himself. He
was
a narcissist.

Slater leaned close enough for Emmie to see the tiny red line in the curve of his chin where he’d nicked himself shaving. “It’s not you, Em. Your dad’s just an asshole.”

Then, he grabbed an apple out of the fruit basket, rubbed it on his shirt, and gave her a sweet smile. “Thanks. I have to go.”

She stood there, after he left, wishing she hadn’t burdened him with her story, wondering if he was relieved to have escaped the kitchen. She heard his feet on the stairs, charging up and then moments later trampling back down. The front door slammed, and then his car engine rumbled to life.

Her phone buzzed. She grabbed it from the kitchen table.

A text from Slater.

Hold out for it. You deserve that kind of love. You deserve everything.

Emmie smiled, but then fear stabbed through her happiness.

She was falling for him. It wasn’t just lust. It was . . . come on.

It was so much more.

“Uh, Em? You might want to come up here,” Tiana called from upstairs.

Emmie shut off the faucet, leaving the casserole dish to soak, and went to find her friend. As she climbed the stairs, she saw Tiana leaning out of her bedroom with a mischievous smile. “What?” But Tiana had already slipped back inside.

Emmie found her friend standing beside the bed, hip jutting, pointing questioningly toward her pillow.

Where she saw a scrap of paper and some bills.

Cab fare. In case you have time to come to the show.

Emmie held the note in her hands, holding her breath, as electricity sped along her nerves. He surprised her all the time. Why did it matter so much to him?

“I’m guessing it’s from Slater?” Tiana leaned over Emmie’s shoulder.

Emmie nodded, trying to play it off like it was no big deal. “I’m going to get all these critics and record people to come see them at ACL, so they want to work on their performance.”

“Uh-huh.”

“What?” She couldn’t keep from smiling. It was just so . . . so sweet of him to want her there.

“What’s going on between you two? Have you slept with him?”

“Of course not.” She stepped back and headed out of the room.

“Yeah, so you say, but now he’s leaving money for you to take a cab to his show?”

“I just told you why.”

“And you’re super great at coming up with brilliant excuses, but you suck at lying. No offense, but I can read every emotion on your face.”

“What you’re reading is a tiny bit of infatuation. You said it yourself, who wouldn’t have a crush on him? But he’d never see me that way—not when he’s got his choice of the entire Hooter’s lineup every night of the week.”

“Well, something’s going on. But you don’t need the cab fare. I’ll drive you.”

Emmie swung around at the top of the stairs. “That’s the last place you want to go.”

“Actually, I have to.”

“You’ve just spent the last two hours telling me how glad you are to be free of the ‘stupid bastard.’”

“Yeah, but I always say that after we break up. And then time passes, and we miss each other, and we’re tearing up the sheets again. This time I want it over for good. I want to see him in action.”

Emmie shook her head slowly. “That’s going to hurt.”

“Exactly. And I’ll carry that hurt around so that the next time he sends me a text or shows up at the office, I’ll be able to ignore him. Let’s go.”

*   *   *

She’d never seen the club more crowded, and Snatch had played there plenty of times.

“I’m not even going to attempt to go out there,” Emmie shouted to Tiana, indicating the dance floor. “Let’s get a table back here.” Tonight she’d videotape them, send it to Irwin. She knew if he saw Slater onstage, he’d see the magic.

And, really, she was running out of time. She had two weeks until Irwin came back from Australia and expected to see her in the office. She wouldn’t go back without a promotion, and her greatest shot was Snatch. Sending him the video with the press kit? No way could he say no.

They skimmed the perimeter of the dance floor and found an empty table at the very back of the room. A waitress came over and set down cocktail napkins.

“What can I get you ladies?”

“Gin and tonic,” Tiana said. “To hell with the tonic. Just give me gin, straight up.”

Emmie squeezed Tiana’s knee under the table. “Cranberry and seltzer for me.”

“Got it. Be right back.”

Emmie wondered why Tiana sat with her back to the stage. “The action’s over there.”

“That’s not the action I need to see. Watching him play drums gets my panties wet. I want to see him with the girls. He’s a total jackass when he’s trying to get some.”

“This should be a fun night.” Emmie brought herself up on a knee on her bar stool and focused the camera on the stage. Then she turned it on and sat back down, keeping her hand high over her head.

When the waitress brought the drinks, Emmie used one of Slater’s twenties to pay for them. She’d pay him back tomorrow after she hit the ATM.

The song came to an end, and the crowd went crazy.

“Thank you,” Slater said. “Thank you so much. You guys are fucking great.”

The girls screamed like he was Mick Jagger or something. It was insane.

“I want to thank you guys for coming out tonight and for all the support you give us. You make it fun to play here.”

The crowd quieted down, and Tiana drew in a breath before turning to face the stage.

“Got some pretty cool news for you. You know that little show Austin puts on each year? What do they call it, boys?”

“The Turkey Trot?” Derek shouted.

“Naw, that doesn’t sound right,” Slater said, his smile so utterly disarming, Emmie’s heart fluttered. He acted like he had no idea that he was gorgeous and sexy, that every woman in the room wanted to strip him out of his clothes and lick his extremely hard body. His charm was in his total ignorance of how very impressive he was.

“Oh, I know,” Cooper said. “The Celtic Festival. We playin’ that?”

Slater laughed, dipping his head, making him seem a little shy, a little embarrassed. “Hm, can we pull that off, boys?”

Oh, God, Irwin would love his stage presence. She was so glad she’d brought the camera.

All at once the band started riffing, sounding nothing like Celtic music, until Pete found a beat on his synthesizer, and the others backed off to let him run with it.

“There we go,” Slater said. “Pete, we’re just gonna sit down and have a drink. Get to know some of the pretty ladies out here, and let you handle the whole Celtic thing.”

“Why don’t you come down here and handle me, Slater Fucking Vaughn?” a woman called from the audience. The whole place went up in laughter.

“He’s amazing.” Tiana leaned across the table. “If I didn’t think he was half in love with you, I’d offer up my skanky self.”

Emmie held a finger over her mouth, hoping her friend’s voice hadn’t been picked up by the video camera.

“Okay, okay,” Slater said, quieting the audience. “Screw the fucking Celts. Let them do their thing. While they’re fucking around with their bagpipes, we’re going to be shredding it at Austin City Limits.”

Screams, catcalls, and clapping exploded in the club. Feet stomped, creating a thunderous rumble.

Slater gave them a few moments before quieting them down. “So make sure you get tickets for the second weekend. We’re playing on Sunday. More info to follow. Okay, back to the music. I promised you ‘Get it, Boy,’ so . . .”

But then his brow furrowed, and he looked down at his feet. It was such an intimate moment, like he needed to make a confession. And then he looked up and shook his head, like he couldn’t go through with it.

Emmie knew everything they did up there was calculated, so she knew this little diversion for what it was. A way to get the crowd to feel like they were part of something special. She was so glad she’d brought the recorder tonight. Her arm started to tingle, but she knew she was capturing pure gold.

He turned to the boys, murmuring to them. They looked genuinely surprised. She knew her brother well enough to see his concern about messing with the set they’d crafted with such intention. The guys looked at each other, waiting for someone to make a decision. But they always listened to Slater. They trusted him implicitly. Yeah, her brother ran the business end. He also created a lot of the chord progressions, but the music was all Slater’s. Finally, Derek nodded, and the band cleared the stage. A few seconds later someone brought out Slater’s guitar and a chair.

Slater sat down, lowered the mic, and started tuning his guitar. “We’re going to do something a little different. I don’t know about you guys, but I work my shit out through songs. And let me tell you, I’ve got some shit on my mind. It’s really turning me inside out. So I’m going to try and work it out right here, right now. You up for that?”

“I’d like to get
you
up, Slater, baby,” a woman shouted.

He laughed into the mic. “Hey, now. There’s a time and a place. And I’ll text it to you after the song.”

Again, the crowd blew up with laughter and catcalls.

And then he started strumming, the lights cut out on the stage, and a spotlight focused on him. His broad shoulders hunched, and his face pulled in concentration.

Up all night, up all day,

Baby, you got me in the worst way

Try to run, try to hide,

Too late, you’re already inside

Get out of my head and out of my heart,

Because this thing we got, it ain’t gonna start

Under my skin, not in my bed,

This magic you weave’s messin’ with my head

Leave me in peace, leave me be,

Aw, fuck it, too late, you’re all I see

You, you’re all over me, inside me, around me

You, you’ve sunk in, wound around, and pulled tight

You, you gut me, destroy me, sink in

You, you’ll never, you’ll always, you are,

Get out of my head and out of my heart,

Because this thing we got ain’t gonna start

Tiana spun around, her jaw hanging open. She mouthed,
Is this about you?

Emmie shook her head hard. It couldn’t be. But, God, it was freaking amazing. Intense, powerful. And she’d captured it on tape. She couldn’t wait to hear Irwin’s reaction.

Slater finished the song, and the silence in the room held a pulsing energy. Scraping the hair off his forehead, he gazed out at the crowd expectantly.

And then applause shattered the silence. The band came out, Pete kneeling before Slater and pretending to fan him. Derek shook his head, grabbed the mic out of the stand, and said, “Show-off,” but he could barely be heard over the clapping and stomping.

The roadie came back out, whisking the chair and guitar away, and Cooper and Derek started wailing on their axes. A few seconds later, Slater raised the mic stand, gripped the mic with both hands, and launched into “Get it, Boy,” one of their most popular songs.

“You know what?” Emmie shouted to her friend. “Let’s get out of here.” Tiana didn’t need to witness Ben’s behavior after the show, and Emmie really needed to process the song Slater had just sung. Because part of her believed he
had
written it for her. The other part wondered if that was just part of his game. All he knew how to do was flirt.

Then again, come on, that song was not flirtatious. At all.

Tiana turned to watch the band, clearly reluctant to leave.

“You don’t really want to see him in action,” Emmie said. “And I want to go home.”

“Oh, we’re not going home. Hell, no.”

“Where do you want to go?”

“Zephyr.”

The club the guys usually went after a show to blow off steam. “Uh—” Emmie shut off the camera as Tiana slammed her bag over her shoulder.

“Oh, hell, yes.” She strode toward the exit. “I’m not gonna sit around on my sorry ass. Not when I can show him what he just gave up.”

—

Slater knocked back another shot. Was she
trying
to piss him off? She’d heard his song tonight. Didn’t it mean anything to her?

Emmie’s arms were waving over her head, her hips bucking, breasts bouncing wildly like she was in the throes of fast, hard sex. It made him angry. It made his blood burn and boil. It made him hard as a fucking baseball bat.

It made him
want
like he’d never wanted anything before in his fucking life.

Did she even know which guy moved in sync with her? She couldn’t because she hadn’t looked around once. She hadn’t stopped dancing since she and Tiana had pushed their way onto the crowded dance floor an hour ago.

“Hey, baby,” a voice purred in his ear, fingernails dragging across his scalp. “I got you another one.”

He took the shot, downed it, but kept his gaze trained on his Girl Gone Wild.

When the cat woman stepped in front of him, placing her bony ass on his lap, he finally snapped out of it. He focused on her, her straight blond hair, blue eyes, and bright red lips. She had a barbed wire necklace tattooed just above her collarbone.

His gaze flicked to the dance floor just in time to see Emmie spin around, bucking her hips like she wanted it harder, faster. Only this time she faced the guy, so her breasts pressed into his chest.

Slater tightened, blood screaming in his ears, and he got up so fast, the woman nearly fell to the floor.

“Hey,” she said. He caught her under her arms and held her until she regained her balance on those fuck-me heels. “What was that for?”

But Emmie had already moved on to another guy. She was completely lost in her own world.

“Sorry,” he said. “You okay?” He smiled at the woman, her features undefined. All he really noticed was the tat and the big tits. Did he want to fuck her?

“Yeah, sure. So, you want to go somewhere quieter?”

Did
he? As he’d been doing for weeks now, he waited for desire, temptation, anything to stir. But, as usual, he felt nothing but restless and edgy. He really wanted to want to fuck her.

But he didn’t.

Because of
Emmie
. She consumed his thoughts, his dreams . . . his shower time.

What was he
doing
? She was leaving in two weeks. Her career was in New York City.

He ran a hand through his hair. He couldn’t believe he was thinking like this. Getting involved with Emmie? Forget her moving back to the city, what about him?
His
career? He couldn’t even think about a relationship for the next fucking
decade
.

It could never happen between them.

Unless they were just fuck buddies. But he didn’t want to just fuck her. He wanted . . . Oh, dammit all to hell. He wanted
her
.

He glanced back out to the dance floor. Fear shot through him. No Emmie. He pushed through the bodies mingling in front of him to get a better view. Where the hell had she gone? With her new lingerie, Ben Wa balls, and her fucking
list
, she could very well have left with some guy.

Why did that send him into a panic?

Because she was his. He knew that in his bones. He just knew it. And he was goddamn tired of fighting it.