by Kylie Scott
He pressed his lips into a tight line. “Can’t you just take the check and call it an apology?”
“Why didn’t you tell me you loved me?”
“We’ve been over for ages. Why does this even matter?”
“Well, it matters because you’ve been talking about me and singing about me pretty much constantly for a while now, Adam. Makes it kind of hard to put everything in the past, in all honesty.”
Nothing from him.
“In fact, I think it’s time I had my say,” I said. “So why didn’t you tell me?”
He turned his face away, the streetlights casting shadows on the sharp lines of his cheekbones and the shape of his lips. God, he was beautiful. Even in his exhausted, rundown state, I couldn’t help but stare, and my heart gave the most embarrassing lurch. Life would be so much simpler if I didn’t still swoon at the sight of him. At the thought of him. The more time passed, the more my head seemed to forget how aggravating he was in a thousand tiny everyday ways, but my heart still remembered perfectly what it had been like to fall for him.
“Three little words,” I said. “Can’t be that hard.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbled.
“Bullshit.”
“It was never the right time.”
“Oh, please.” My throat tightened, and my vision swam. Ugh. “You never loved me. Our relationship was convenient for you. A place to live and someone to do your laundry. I was just an easy—”
He hung his head. “Fuck’s sake. You have got to be kidding me.”
“What?”
“You and me, we were never convenient. And you and easy have nothing in common. Trust me on that one.”
“You utter douche canoe.”
“I worshipped the ground you walked on.”
“You grunted at me and called it a conversation. No wonder I missed the signs of your supposed adulation.” I ground my teeth together. “Just admit it already. The whole being in love with me thing is bullshit. It’s a PR stunt or a…a…”
“Are you crying?”
“No!”
“Jill.” He leaned closer, cupping my face in his big hand. His gaze went from curious to startled in under a second. “Jesus, you are.”
I pushed off his hand. “I am not crying, I’m just very angry at you, and it’s coming out in unexpected ways.”
“We’re here,” announced the bodyguard.
Sure enough, out on the sidewalk, a group of fans waited along with several photographers waving their cameras around. I wiped the tears off my face. Stupid emotions. Righteous fury was what I was feeling. Not pain and heartache. I got over Adam a long time ago with the aid of ice-cream, vodka, and my most excellent girl gang. Those three things trumped a male of the species any day of the week. It was just that smelling him and hearing him and seeing him again had me confused or something.
In all likelihood, I was crying due to his presence giving me horrific flashbacks. To such occasions as when I went to visit my parents for a week and came back to find the interior of the fridge somehow entirely covered in black mold. Or the time I came home from work to find the furniture rearranged into the sign of the anti-Christ in honor of Ozzy Osbourne. Perhaps even the memory of when he wrote a song for me on the living room wall in permanent marker. A love song, almost, but without actually going so far as the L-word, of course. Because…Adam.
Actually, I didn’t hate that particular memory. I might have even taken a photo of the wall before I invited the girls over to graffiti all over it. But I still very much hated him and should tell him as much. Right now.
“I hate you, and I’m perfectly fucking fine,” I sobbed. “I am so…so over you, Adam Dillon. S-so…”
“Goddammit,” he snarled, reaching for me.
Chapter Two
Everything seemed to happen at once. The bodyguard cleared a space outside and opened the car door. Adam snaked a hand around my waist and dragged me up against him and out of the vehicle. Lights flashed and people shouted. Basically, all hell broke loose. Again.
“What are you doing?” I whisper-screeched.
“I’m not leaving you like this. We’re going inside.” And that was that.
My feet barely touched the ground. In fact, they definitely didn’t due to my wrapping them around his waist. It just seemed safer since the man had gone insane and seemed determined to carry me off so we could continue our fight elsewhere. If he was so desperate to get cried on and yelled at, then I was certainly the girl to do it. Easy, as he carted me through the waiting crowd. With one hand on my ass, he used the other to cradle the back of my head, encouraging me to hide my face in his neck.
Excellent idea. How the hell did he tolerate people getting all up in his grill all of the time? Outside his home, for heaven’s sake.
Small point: I could ignore the heat and scent of him while avoiding appearing on gossip sites no problem whatsoever. Women are multitasking masters at the best of times. Achieving both of these aims at once would not be a problem at all. Even if nibbling on his shoulder had once been a favorite hobby of mine. That I wanted to sexually attack him in the middle of a press and fan frenzy was disturbing news.
My hands clutched at him, holding on tightly as he strode into an upscale apartment building. The shouting voices and flashing lights faded behind us, the concrete walkway changing to a smooth marble floor.
“Evening, Mr. Dillon,” said the concierge, an attractive older woman with grey hair drawn back in a neat bun. She didn’t even take a second glance at me clinging to the man like a howler monkey. Dignity certainly played no part in my current position. I guessed in an apartment building like this, they saw all sorts of things. Because this had to be the infamous building where half of the world-famous band Stage Dive lived. The rock band who’d given Adam a hand-up in the music world after I’d kicked him out.
The tears slowed, though my breath still came in hiccupping sobs. How embarrassing. So not okay. His sneakers squeaked against the white marble flooring as Bon the bodyguard pushed the button for the elevator. All in all, the apartment building seemed to be some art-deco throwback with lots of shiny surfaces. A couple of pieces of expensive art stood on pedestals. The overall effect was one of expense and privilege.
“You can put me down now,” I said, doing my best to sound calm, cool, and collected. “Thank you.”
Adam frowned, but did as asked. His hands gripped my waist as I slid down his long, hard body. The whole experience made me tingle in a most unwelcome way. We were broken up. Way broken up. Tonight had turned all too emotional and physical for some reason. Not what I’d planned at all. Hard nipples poked at the thin material of my blue cropped tee, and my stomach flip-flopped. I crossed my arms over my chest and focused on my breathing. Everything would be fine. Denial was ace.
When the elevator arrived, a couple was already standing inside, having obviously come up from the parking level beneath the building.
The dude with long blond hair and tattoos had a baby attached to his front in one of those infant carriers. A pretty redhaired woman stood next to him, carting a baby bag. It was black with little cartoon skulls on it. So much rock ‘n’ roll cool with diapers included.
“Adam. Dude, bro,” said the man. “How’s it hanging?”
“Hey, Adam, Bon.” The woman gave me a somewhat tired but curious smile. “Hi.”
“Anne. Mal.” My ex nodded and said no more. He definitely didn’t introduce me. Even more awkward.
Bon pressed the button for a floor near the top of the building, and off we went.
Meanwhile, if Adam’s new rock star status didn’t overexcite me, the elevator’s current occupants sure did. I mean…holy shit. I may or may not have been a devoted member of the Stage Dive fan club for several years. David Ferris remained my favorite. Which actually might explain my whole tall, tattooed, long dark-haired guitarist fascination, now that I thought about it. But back to the famous dude who stared me in the face.
“Who’s you
r friend?” asked Mal. As in Malcolm Ericson, the drummer for Stage Dive. “The girl currently ogling me with slack-jawed wonder. Her eyes are red. Did you upset her?”
I shut my mouth and turned away. Gawky tweens showed more cool than I currently exhibited. With ease.
Mal played with a tiny socked foot that was sticking out of the baby sling. “It’s okay. Don’t be embarrassed. I am indeed amazing. Why the things I can do would frankly astound you. Take this infant attached to my chest here…his name is Tommy. I made him.”
The pretty redhead, Anne, shook her head. “If memory serves, I think you might have had some help with that.”
“Geez, babe, you’re as bad as Davie. Remember when he wanted co-writer credits on Fall for just filling in the gaps between my drum fills?”
“Filling in the gaps with stuff like lyrics and music, you mean?” asked Anne. How the woman managed to keep a straight face was beyond me.
“Exactly. The little stuff. But no…apparently, you just have to be in the room when the magic is happening and you get co-writer credits. It’s a good thing I’m so magnanimous about sharing the glory.” Mal stopped for a moment and looked between Adam and me as if a thought had just struck him. “Young Adam, when Davie allowed you to purchase an apartment in his building, there were certain stipulations attached to the sale. And one of those, as you well know, is no female friends are allowed to visit. You’re much too young and foolish. As evidenced by the fact that you’ve already somehow managed to mess up and make her cry. Shame on you.”
“I thought the lower garage was out of action,” grumbled Adam.
“For everyone else, yes,” said Mal. “But it takes more than a parking gate to stop me. Ever since Sam started to share his cool commando spy tips, I’ve been unstoppable.”
“By spy tips, you mean whining until the super gave you the emergency override codes?” asked Anne without even a hint of sarcasm. What a woman.
The elevator chimed and slid to a stop. Bon stepped out and put his hand over the door opening to stop it from closing. Adam grabbed my hand and followed, tugging me along.
“Let’s not change the subject from Adam’s misdeeds,” continued Mal in a low voice so as not to wake the sleeping baby. “I’m sorry, boy, but you know it’s for your own good. Also, it’s past your bedtime. Don’t forget to brush your teeth first though.”
“He’s about the same age as you were when we met,” said Anne.
“Yeah, but drummers mature faster than guitarists. Everyone knows that, pumpkin.” Mal sighed. “Adam, you’re just not emotionally mature enough to deal with sexual intimacy and adult relationships. Not sure you ever will be. Take my advice and stick to the hand. I appreciate that this is the first time you’ve attempted to bring a lady friend home—that I’m aware of. Which makes me even more curious about just who she is. But the rule still stands. Send the nice girl on her way, please.”
We stood in another hallway with doors leading to apartments at either end. More white marble on the floor. This place must cost a small fortune, and Adam lived here now. Yikes.
Adam turned back and stared at the drummer.
Mal tipped his chin. “What?”
Anne waved at one and all. “Ignore my idiot husband and have a nice night.”
Without comment, Bon removed his hand, and the elevator doors started to close.
Then Mal grinned. He grinned like a man who found himself immensely amusing. I had to admit, he was kind of funny. “Mystery girl is smiling,” said Mal. “She likes me!”
His wife shushed him. “You’ll wake Tommy.”
“Sorry, sorry.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “By the way, it’s not called ‘whining’ when spies do it. It’s ‘working an asset.’”
And then they were gone.
“I’m not sure if he’s different than how I thought he’d be, or exactly how I thought he’d be.” I frowned in thought. “You live with actual rock stars. Wow.”
Adam frowned in annoyance. “I am a rock star.”
“Eh.”
“At least he got you to stop crying.”
Bon opened the apartment door and dealt with the security system before looking back to Adam with some unspoken request. Sure enough, he took over holding open the door so the bodyguard could move into the apartment, turning on lights as he went. There were wide wooden floorboards, tall arched windows, and an interesting color scheme. A long, pale blue plush-looking sofa, a grey rug, and a couple of white leather armchairs. A silver resonator guitar hung on the wall along with a collection of gold and platinum albums. The rest of his guitars would be somewhere close. Even before all of the money, he’d owned a minimum of three or four at any given time, including a Martin he’d won in a poker game. And then there were the amps, a veritable wall of them. Old valve amps that looked like they dated back to the ark, and gleaming new ones with enough buttons and knobs to intimidate an air traffic controller. It was a wonder we could move about in the tiny living room at my place with all of his stuff. For certain, he wouldn’t have the same issue here. The apartment was huge.
“How many records did you have to sell to get those?” I asked, looking at the framed records.
“Half a million for the gold, and a million for the platinum.”
“No wonder so many people try to friend me on social media to discuss you and how I ruined our perfect relationship.”
His brows went up. “People do that?”
“Yep.”
“I never told anyone your name.”
“Word got around anyway.”
The man did not look happy. He slipped a hand to my lower back, urging me into the apartment. “Bon will be finished with his security check in a minute. Come on in.”
“Has anyone ever actually been hiding out in your shower or under your bed?”
He shook his head, tucking his straggly long hair behind his ears. “This building’s secure. It’s why I bought the place. Along with Dave and Mal being here already.”
“You’re close to them, huh?”
“They’ve been good friends. Most of the time.” He glanced over at me, his forehead furrowed.
“What? What is that look for?”
“Nothing.” He paused. “It’s just strange seeing you again. You in this context is…interesting. Not bad, just unexpected.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I thought you hated me.”
My shoulders slumped. “Ignore what I said in the car. I was having a very small and probably long-overdue meltdown. But the truth is, I never hated you. It probably would have been easier if I had. You just disappointed me, big time.”
Bon wandered out of one of the back rooms, standing almost at attention. “Will you be in for the rest of the night, Mr. Dillon?”
“Yeah, I’ll stay put. Don’t worry. You can head home.” From out of the glossy double fridge, Adam retrieved two beers and set them on the white stone countertop. The rest of the kitchen was navy. Very dramatic.
On silent feet, Bon exited the apartment, locking the front door behind him.
“This sure is a change from my crappy little apartment.” I took the beer he offered, taking a long gulp. My throat was still itchy from the totally unnecessary tears. “You must love it here.”
He shrugged.
“Did you buy it already decorated?”
“Yeah. Some financier asshole lived here last.” He sprawled out on the white couch. “Pretty sure Mal annoyed the dude into moving. None of them liked him. Apparently, he complained about the bodyguards coming and going, the fans out front, and all that.”
“Guess it would take some getting used to.”
He took a swig of his beer.
“Are we going to talk about the check?” I asked, slipping into one of the armchairs. Very comfy. “I think we should.”
“What’s there to say? You deserve the money, Jill. As far as I’m concerned, you earned it.”
“Adam—”
“No one
supported me and my music like you did. Showing up for every gig you could, helping to lug equipment, giving me space to write my songs.” He stared out a window at the lights of the Pearl District. “Even if it was too much for you in the end…”
I downed some beer. The less said about ye olde days, the better. It would only lead to more fights. And what was even the point of rehashing the past yet again?
His sneaker tapped out a beat against the floor and he pulled out his cell. Soon enough, Howlin’ Wolf played over the sound system. Blues had always been his go-to when stressed. “Too damn quiet in here.”
“Is that why you go out all the time?” I crossed my legs, waving my foot in the air. Guess we were both a little wired. “Heard Martha say something about it when you got in the car. And then there’s the tea being served in mighty amounts. Did you really trash a hotel room? Isn’t that a bit clichéd?”
“Everything worth doing eventually becomes a cliché.” He put the beer to his lips again. “So you are keeping tabs on me.”
“I don’t need to. Certain people are only too happy to tell me everything and anything when it comes to you.” I stared at the wall. “You should have seen the messages I received when you were photographed with that model, Mae Cooper.”
He snorted. “She’s a neighbor.”
“How handy.”
“She’s also engaged to Bon’s brother. Who’s almost as intimidating as Bon is. Not a family you want to mess with.”
I paused. “Oh.”
He just watched me.
“What?” I snapped.
A small amused smile curled his lips. “Not like you to be jealous.”
“Go fuck yourself.” I set my beer and the check down on the coffee table, hauled my ass out of the chair and made for the door. Stupid. I was so breathtakingly stupid. With a bit of work, I could have found an address for Martha and just mailed the damn money to her. She’d have passed it on to him. But no. I had to see the big jerkwad for myself. “This is getting us nowhere. I never should have come.”