No matter what Xander thought, I wasn’t an idiot, a child, or some kind of bar slut. So from now on, I wasn’t even gonna bother avoiding him anymore or trying to impress him, seduce him, or convince him of anything.
I quit.
Since I couldn’t sleep, I tried to do something useful that might also tire me out—and work on the only thing I’d wanted to work on for the past year. I really hadn’t been working on it enough since I’d moved in here.
So maybe this was what I needed to do. Focus on something else—something besides my brother and his problems—that was important to me. Keep working at it… and maybe it would actually take me somewhere.
Because here wasn’t really working out for me so well.
In-between all the studying, all the stupid papers I had to write for school about things I didn’t care about… I’d worked on my secret project. It was what kept me going through the university entrance bullshit, working my ass off to get into a school I didn’t even want to go to.
I opened the file on my laptop.
ALIVE: The Life and Death of Gabe Romanko
I scrolled through the first chapter of the book, trying to focus on what I’d written.
Everyone else seemed to want to move on—as fast as possible—from what happened to Gabe.
Well, everyone except my brother.
I just wanted to go back and learn everything there was to know about Gabe’s life.
Everyone knew about his death. But that wasn’t the important part.
It didn’t tell you anything about him.
I’d become mildly obsessed with the knowing, like if I didn’t uncover it all, every scrap of detail there was to know about him before it was lost, it would be lost.
He would be lost.
And I just couldn’t let that happen.
I wondered if my brother would be happy with the book I was writing about Gabe. Proud of me.
Or if he’d be upset about it.
I was pretty sure, as long as Gabe’s parents approved of what was in the book, they wouldn’t mind me publishing it. They weren’t afraid to talk about Gabe like my parents were. And if I did decide to publish it, I planned to ask Gabe’s parents for their permission, of course.
Maybe they’d even write a little foreword or endorsement for it. I wanted it to be legit, an official biography that Gabe’s family could be proud of.
I didn’t care what my parents thought. I didn’t need their permission to do this.
But I did wonder what Xander would think.
Unfortunately.
Freddy stretched out next to me. He was done eating, and proceeded to give himself a thorough, full-body tongue bath, like he always did after he ate. This little dude was meticulous about his appearance.
Kinda like Xander…
But Xander could stuff it.
I rubbed Freddy behind the ears the way he liked, and he shut his eyes in a look of pure feline bliss, purring softly. At least someone was always happy to see me and enjoyed my company.
Unlike other males, who didn’t even want me around.
I’d seen Xander at the club as soon as I arrived, with his tight, sleeveless shirt and sculpted muscles on display, his loose jeans and his casual pose. Sitting there with that girl, her hand in his lap.
His hair was all perfect, his beard all neatly trimmed. With his little diamond stud earrings and his nose ring… he looked all manly and polished and fuck-ready. He wasn’t wearing a ball cap like he sometimes did in public, which probably meant he wanted to be seen. He was looking to pick up, probably, and all I was doing was crashing his fun, apparently.
Cockblocking him.
He didn’t like me playing adult on his turf.
What would he think of this book, and the fact that I’d written it?
What would he think of the way I’d portrayed him in it?
I’d tried to be objective in my writing, without putting aside my point-of-view as the writer—someone who cared about the people in the book. It was a hard line to tread, I’d learned, and I wasn’t sure I’d gotten it right.
I definitely hadn’t pulled any punches in describing Gabe and his friends and the antics they got up to. They were guys. They were rock stars. They liked to party. I was only fourteen when Gabe died, but still… I’d seen things.
So far, it was just a rough draft, though.
I knew it still needed polishing. And I hoped I could get some of Gabe’s closest friends to read it and give me feedback. I planned to interview some of them, and Gabe’s parents, to flesh things out, finish some of the incomplete chapters.
I’d wanted to interview Xander, in theory, but I really wasn’t sure I could stand to be vulnerable to him that way. I knew the slightest criticism from him about my writing might sting.
But I did care what he thought.
I also cared how he felt.
And no matter how much I wanted to pretend it didn’t matter… it was really, really bothering me that he’d gotten so mad at me tonight.
I heard the rumble of a motor as a car eased up the driveway in the distance. Then silence. I knew it was him, and my heart thudded way too hard in my chest. I took a deep breath and Freddy mewled.
I’d dug my fingers into his fur a little too hard.
“Sorry, snuggle bunny,” I whispered. I lifted him in my arms, hugging him to my chest like a teddy bear. “Shhh,” I purred in his ear. But he chose that moment to push at me with his soft paws and bolt, as the sudden footsteps on the path startled him.
I looked over to see Xander coming up the path around the side of the house. His keys jingled in his hand and he stopped abruptly as Freddy streaked in front of him.
He followed the path of Freddy’s trajectory with his eyes… right back to me.
“Hi,” I said.
The lanterns were on in the backyard, but I couldn’t see his eyes well or read the expression on his face in the shadows.
He drifted toward me. “What are you doing out here?”
I shrugged. “Guess you should’ve barricaded the door.”
“It’s late.” He stopped a few feet away, studying me. I could see his face now. He looked grouchy and tired. “You should sleep.”
“I can’t.”
He just stood there, looking at me. I could feel his black mood charging the air, like that eerie shift in pressure before a storm.
“What are you doing?” he repeated, looking at my laptop.
“Writing.”
And that’s when I remembered I was wearing my glasses. I usually only wore them when I was working on my laptop… and when hot guys weren’t around to see me. I quickly took them off and tucked them in the pocket of my hoodie. I didn’t need him seeing what a geek I secretly kinda was.
“Writing what?” he said.
I cleared my throat, nervous. I hadn’t told anyone about the book I was writing, other than Angeline, so far. “It’s just a project I’ve been working on.”
“What kind of project?”
“It’s got nothing to do with Cary,” I told him, assuming that was the reason for his interest. “Well… actually, it kinda does.”
Why was I telling him this?
“What is it, Courteney?” he pressed, getting annoyed.
“Nothing. It’s just…” It’s not nothing, I berated myself. “It’s… kind of a book.”
His eyebrows went up. “A book?”
“Yeah.”
He stared at me… and I knew why I was telling him this.
Because I liked his attention, and I knew this would snag it. And also, because I wanted someone in Gabe’s inner circle to know what I was working on—and tell me it was okay.
Because I wanted, badly, for someone to give me permission to write this book.
The book I’d already mostly written.
“It’s about Cary?” he asked, still hovering.
“Can you just sit down?”
He moved, slowly, and sat on the lounge chair next to mine, fac
ing me. “I didn’t know you wrote books.”
“I don’t yet. This would be the first one.”
“Does Cary know about it?”
“No. And it’s not really about him.”
I clicked on the title page of the book, took a little breath, and turned the screen toward him so he could see it.
ALIVE: The Life and Death of Gabe Romanko
Xander read it. Then his eyes met mine.
“It’s… just a working title.”
“You’re writing… Gabe’s life story?”
“Yeah. Like a biography. It’s an unauthorized biography, so far. But I’m going to take it to Gabe’s parents when I have a decent draft finished and ask them to read it, get their permission to try to publish it.” I shrugged casually, but nothing about this project was casual to me. “Unless they don’t like it, I guess.”
“Can I read it?”
My stomach turned.
Dread.
Excitement.
“Would you want to read it?”
“Sure.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s about Gabe,” he said. “And because you wrote it.”
“It’s not very good.”
“I doubt that.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re smart, Courteney. I’m sure they taught you how to write decently at that private school of yours.”
“Yeah. I guess.” I studied him. He seemed sincere about wanting to read it. Maybe this was a good thing… Like if he read it and thought it was okay… he could help me tell Cary about it? And maybe Cary wouldn’t get upset? “I can email it to you. You can read it when you have time and let me know what you think. Or… whatever.”
“I will.”
“And… if I got any facts about you wrong, you can let me know.”
“Me?” His eyebrows went up. “I’m in it?”
“Well… you were one of Gabe’s best friends and bandmates. Obviously, you’re in it. And if you’d let me interview you about him sometime, it would help,” I added quickly, not looking at him. I was prepared for him to say no to that.
No one ever seemed to want to talk about Gabe for any length of time—other than his parents.
“Sure,” he said. “I can do that. If you want.”
I met his eyes. I nodded, not sure what else to say about it. I was afraid when he read the mess of a rough draft I’d written so far, he’d change his mind.
“So… I should apologize,” I told him, quick, before I lost my nerve. “I’m sorry about that stupid argument tonight.”
“You don’t need to apologize.”
“Um… you were mad at me, though,” I said, carefully. “Because I went to the bar.”
“So stop going to the bar.”
“Until I turn nineteen, right? In like five-and-a-half months. Then what happens when you see me in a bar?”
He didn’t answer that.
Instead, he sighed and rubbed his beard. “You’re gonna have an incredible life, Courteney,” he said, sounding weary. “You’re gonna do great things. You’re smart and you’re beautiful and you deserve better than some creep in a bar. You have good friends and a good education and your brother has money. You can do anything you want in this world. Just remember that.”
Then he moved like he was about to stand… to leave, as always.
“Wait,” I said, sitting up and putting the laptop aside. I was struggling to catch up with everything he’d just said, because it all felt way too good.
It always felt good when he said nice things about me.
He did it so rarely.
I knew this was all in him, though; all this kindness he so rarely expressed with words. I knew he cared about me. Maybe it wasn’t a sexual attraction, yet… Maybe he couldn’t see me that way. Maybe he never would. But I was pretty sure he believed all those things he just said about me.
More than I believed them about myself.
I knew I was a good person, and I would have a good life, courtesy of my brother and his money—and my parents’ determination that I make them proud.
But I wasn’t going to be some lawyer, and I didn’t really believe I’d get to do whatever I wanted.
Or be with whoever I wanted.
Not everything would come that easily.
But some things were worth fighting for, right?
“I like you,” I blurted. It came out clumsy and awkward and maybe just a little desperate, as the hairs on the back of my neck stood on end.
I could already feel him tensing, pulling away, like he was about to bolt into the poolhouse any second and leave me here.
“Courteney,” he said, in a low, warning voice, “don’t start that shit.”
“What shit?” I got up and moved to sit right next to him, my heart thudding.
“What are you doing?”
I looked him right in the eyes, up close, and said, “I’m trying to tell you that I’m sorry. And, that I—”
I really like you.
The words got stuck in my throat as he shook his head, slowly.
“You can stop trying to get me kicked out. It’s not gonna work.”
“What?”
“I’m not fucking things up, with Cary or with you. You can try, but he’s not gonna ask me to leave. I’m here to be close to him, because I care about him. And I’m not going anywhere.”
“I don’t want you to go anywhere.”
His brow rumpled and he drew back, studying my face. But he didn’t look any less grouchy than when he’d sat down. He looked more angry, if anything. I could see it in the muscles along his neck and shoulders; restrained agitation.
“You play a tough game, Courteney Clarke,” he said, almost softly. “But I’m not folding.”
“Huh?”
“Come here.” He got up so fast and grabbed my arm, I didn’t have time to react. He had me on my feet, walking me up the path through the trees, to the house, gripping my hand in his.
Once again, I went with him.
He took me in through the French doors to the living room, through the foyer and up the stairs to my room.
“In you go.” He ushered me through the door. He nudged me over to the bed, where the sheet was tossed back from my earlier tossing and turning. “Get in.”
I stood right next to him, next to my bed, and looked up at him. I’d left on one small lamp by the bed, and it rimmed him in light.
He glowered down at me, and I caved.
I climbed into bed, and before I’d even arranged myself, he tossed the sheet over me. He tucked it in around my neck and I went still. I lay there, on my back, as he leaned in over me.
“You may not understand it or believe it,” he said, “but all I want for you is to be safe.”
Then he kissed me, lightly and quickly, on the forehead.
“Go to sleep.”
He started to pull away, but I lunged for him. I wrapped my arms around his neck to anchor him with my weight, and I kissed him, right on the mouth.
He froze.
But his lips softened under mine. I kissed him hard, tilting my head a bit. I swept the tip of my tongue along the inside of his upper lip… trying to show him this wasn’t some game, that I meant it when I said I liked him.
He groaned a little and started kissing me back.
His lips parted, sliding over mine, and he sucked on my lower lip. I moaned, and the desire shot all the way to my toes. For a long, hot moment, we fused together as my heart slammed blood through my body. Sparks rippled across my skin and down my spine… his kiss hitting me like a bolt of lightning between the legs—pure electricity.
Then he pulled away.
“Don’t,” he said.
“This isn’t some game,” I breathed, as he peeled my arms off his neck.
He stood by the bed, breathing hard and staring down at me.
“You saying you really want me?” he challenged, like he didn’t buy that for a second.
“So what if I do?”
I fired back. “And don’t call me a slut.”
“I never called you a slut, Courteney.”
“You treated me like one. I’m not one.”
I took a deep breath. Then I uttered the three little words I’d been carrying around for so long, for him… because honestly, the number one reason I’d never had sex was because he wasn’t available to have it with.
“I’m a virgin.”
“What?” He stared at me blankly. I wasn’t sure if he actually hadn’t heard me or hadn’t understood me or what.
I cleared my throat.
“Say that again…?” he prompted, when I said nothing.
“I’m. A. Virgin.”
He listened. Then he shook his head before any words came out. “No. No, that’s not possible.”
I laughed, more bitterly than I should’ve, maybe. But I was so freaking tired of the whole virgin stigma—and everyone making such a big deal about it. “Why?”
“Because…” he said, at a loss. His eyes dragged down the curves of my body, briefly. “Look at you.”
Right. Because I looked like someone who should be having a fantastic sex life?
And yet I couldn’t get the one man I actually wanted to touch me.
I crossed my arms over my chest, attitude flaring.
“I changed my mind. I do hate you.”
“You should,” he said.
Christ, he was such a dick.
Why? Why did we always have to end up here?
Him, rejecting me, looking at me like I was a stupid little girl who didn’t even know what she wanted?
Just because I was eighteen and a virgin didn’t mean I didn’t know who I was or what I wanted.
Xander sighed and dropped his head, pinching the bridge of his nose for a moment. He rubbed his beard agitatedly. Then he shook his head. And without looking at me again, he turned to leave.
I was getting so sick of the sight of the back of his head, his broad shoulders and tapered waist and perfect, sculpted butt—walking away from me.
“I’ll hate you more if you leave, though,” I said, in barely more than a whisper.
He stopped. Obviously, he’d heard me. He glanced back at me as I hugged myself.
I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t.
He just left.
Filthy Beautiful: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #2) Page 15