Starting From Zero (Starting From Series Book 1)

by Lane Hayes

  Neither of us moved. And if he spoke, I wouldn’t have been able to hear over the rush of blood to my head. Even in the aftermath, I felt like I was falling through space, somersaulting at a breakneck speed while tethered to a stranger I desperately wanted to know. Maybe that was why I held on longer than necessary. Once I let go, he’d fly away and I’d be left wondering if this was a dream.

  “That was…”

  “Yeah…wow.” Justin gently nudged me to disengage.

  I stepped backward, pulling my cell from my pocket to use my screen as a flashlight so I could see what I was doing. I disposed of the spent condom and grabbed some toilet paper, handing a wad to Justin before cleaning myself up as best I could. He playfully licked his fingers, then wiped them on my stomach, chuckling when I swatted his ass. We redressed in silence, opened the door, and headed for the sink. Light streamed from under the main door, providing enough illumination that we didn’t need to use our cells to guide the way.

  “What are you thinking?” I asked as I met Justin’s amused expression in the mirror.

  “I wonder what the procedure is for breaking out of a hotel restroom in the middle of the night.”

  “Hell if I know.” I glanced at the time on my phone. “I can’t believe it’s after two a.m.”

  “Hotels don’t sleep. The light’s on out there. Maybe if we bang on the door, the janitor will come and free us. I don’t know about you, but I don’t want to spend the night in here.”

  I grabbed his elbow just as he raised his fist. “Hang on. I’ll call the reception desk. We’ll do this the civilized way.”

  “Civilized? We just fucked in a bathroom stall at a hotel bar. Somehow bangin’ on the door seems like the logical escape route, but hey…let’s hear you spin this.”

  I shot him a dirty look before scrolling the hotel’s website and contact info. I found the number and pushed Call.

  “Hello, can I speak to the reception desk?…Thank you.” I gave him a quick thumbs-up sign as I waited for the call to transfer. “Yes. I’m currently locked in the restroom outside of the Skybar. The one next to the elevators.…Men’s Room.…Yes, I’m not sure how it happened, but I’d appreciate it if you could send someone with a key.…Perfect. Thank you.”

  I disconnected the call and slipped my phone into my pocket. “They’ll be here shortly.”

  Justin regarded me with a thoughtful nod. “Are you famous?”

  I chuckled and shook my head. “No. Why?”

  “You know they’re gonna know what we did in here and if you’re famous, it could be a thing for you.”

  “Well, I’m not. Why are you looking at me like that? Don’t you believe me?”

  “Sure, I do. You just look important. Like someone I should know but don’t. I never recognize anyone, though. It used to be you could look at a People magazine and know the actors, models, and musicians on the covers. Now I have no fuckin’ clue.”

  “You read People magazine?” I asked dubiously.

  “Fuck, no. My mom does though, and she knows every so-called celebrity on the planet. ‘Oh, he’s from The Bachelor. She’s on the Food Network,’ ” he said in a woman’s falsetto. “I’ve never watched those shows. If you have, don’t tell me, ’cause I’m seriously infatuated with you right now. Don’t ruin my crush.”

  I laughed. “So you like me, eh?”

  “Oh, yeah. I’m totally hot for you. My ass hurts, my dick is sore, and my heart rate just returned to normal. I’m in that post-sex euphoric stage, planning a big romance.”

  “I thought you were against love and romance,” I reminded him.

  “I am. I’m thinking more along the lines of future sexcapades. Nothing too crazy. Change of location and position, that kind of thing. Bathroom sex wouldn’t be my first choice, but this was swanky. As far as position goes, I’d want to top next time…and I’d want to see your face. Missionary style, legs over my shoulders.” He grabbed his crotch and winked.

  “Jesus, I’m getting hard again.” I adjusted my cock.

  “Me too. Let’s try doggy-style…on the floor.”

  “The floor’s filthy,” I said primly. I rolled my eyes when he chuckled.

  “I’m kidding. I—hey, I think someone’s coming. I hear whistling.” Justin moved to the door and knocked before calling out, “Hello!”

  “I don’t hear anything,” I said, squinting as though that would help.

  “I do. Hola!”

  Justin spoke Spanish to someone on the opposite side of the door and gave me a thumbs-up sign just as the lock clicked. A short Latino man pushed the door open and flipped the switch on a moment later. The sudden light was blinding. I blinked as my eyes adjusted to the glare and thanked our rescuer. He nodded in acknowledgment but thankfully didn’t ask questions when he relocked the restroom door and led the way to the elevator. He swiped a key card over the inside panel and pushed the Lobby button before exiting the elevator with a friendly wave.

  We were silent on the way downstairs. I wondered what he was thinking, but I was afraid to ask. And the closer we came to saying a final good-bye, the more anxious I felt. I could chalk it up to dealing with real-life stuff, like getting my car from the valet in the middle of the night, but I knew it was something else entirely. I didn’t want to leave him. I smiled wanly when the elevator door opened.

  “Let me take you home.”

  “No, thanks.”

  “Justin…” I wanted to argue, but I stopped in the middle of the empty lobby and motioned toward the front desk instead. “I have to get my keys and…let me give you my number. Please. You don’t have to call me, but if you want to, you’ll know how to reach me.”

  Justin regarded me for a moment, then pulled out his cell and typed something quickly before handing it over. “Here you go.”

  I smiled at the contact heading “Boyfriend.” I added my info and returned his phone. “Call me. Or don’t. But either way, write magical songs, do amazing things, conquer the world. I want to tell everyone I knew you when you were just starting out.”

  “Starting from zero.”

  I grinned. “Gotta start somewhere.”

  He gave me a crooked smile, then headed for the wide glass door. I watched him until he disappeared into the shadows like a vampire returning to his lair or a fallen angel. He was unruly and wild and infinitely unique. And though I was grateful we met, tonight was an anomaly. We had no history and we had no future. This was a good place to say good-bye.

  So why did letting him walk away feel like a big fucking mistake?

  AN INCESSANT BUZZING yanked me from sleep the following morning. I flung my arm toward the nightstand, blindly groping for whatever was making that awful noise. I breathed a sigh of relief when it stopped on its own, then rolled over again and pulled the duvet over my head.

  Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

  I sat up and reached for my cell, growling at the caller ID flashing on my screen.

  “Are you decent and are you alone?” Seb asked, sounding far too peppy first thing in the morning.

  “What time is it? I’m pretty sure I have a gag order on you till nine. At least,” I snarked, flopping back onto my pillow.

  “It’s eight. Close enough. And if your bed is empty, I’m coming upstairs. We gotta talk,” he chirped.

  “Are you in my house?”

  “Yeah. I dropped Charlie off. He said he’s helping you organize your new collection. What the hell were you thinking? He hates getting dirty, and we both know he prefers delegating.”

  “Stop yelling,” I groaned.

  “I’m not yelling. Are you hungover? Do you have someone up there?”

  “No and no.”

  “Good. I’m coming upstairs.”

  “Bring coffee,” I grunted before disconnecting the call.

  I rubbed sleep from my eyes, then stared unseeing at the ceiling, willing myself to wake up enough to deal with tsunami Seb. I loved the guy, but he was a force of nature; gregarious, friendly, funny, and scathingly hone
st when necessary. Those qualities made him a natural in Hollywood. High-profile producers had to know how to get the most out of every team member to deliver to expectation. “Summer blockbusters don’t get released in fall” was one of his favorite sayings. He had a dozen of them. And he had a million ideas whirling around his brain on any given day and a fierce need to bounce them off others. Particularly me. That was probably because he could trust me to tell him the truth. Even if he didn’t like it.

  Of course, that worked both ways. I frowned as pieces of last night filtered through my sleep-hazed mind. Justin onstage with his acoustic guitar, singing in that sexy, soulful voice about peace and karma. Justin in my car. Justin on the rooftop with the city lights behind him, talking about writing and romance and…Justin in the bathroom. My dick twitched at the memory of being inside him. Fucking in the dark. He was hungry and curious and vibrant. And for a few hours on a normally run-of-the-mill evening, I’d willingly made a host of questionable decisions with a man who didn’t even know my name.

  “Knock, knock. Are you decent?” Seb bounded into my bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him before setting a cup of coffee on my nightstand. “That’s hot. Give it a second.”

  “Did you put cream in it?”

  “Nope. It’s as black as my heart.” He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and tapped his Rolex impatiently. “Why are you still in bed? You never sleep in. Are you sick?”

  I let out a half laugh when he slowly retreated to the end of my king-sized bed. I shook my head, then leaned over to pick up the coffee cup. “No. I’m fine. I went to bed late.”

  “You? Was there a Friends marathon on TV last night or something?”

  “Ha. Ha. Fuck, this is hot.”

  “It’s coffee, idiot.” Seb skirted the bed and sat beside me. “You ditched me after the first act at Carmine’s last night without a word.”

  “I texted you.”

  “Yeah, and I told you to call me back. We have to talk. Shit is going down, my friend. And I need you to come save the day.”

  I scowled over the rim of my cup and took a leisurely sip while I studied my oldest friend and former lover. Sebastian Rourke was six three and built like a runner; long, lean, and muscular. His short, dark hair and well-trimmed beard were liberally streaked with gray. I’d heard him referred to as a silver fox and I wholeheartedly agreed. Seb was a very handsome man. Of course, I’d thought he was pretty damn sexy a few decades ago too. The difference was, I didn’t want him naked in my bed now. Or even sitting on my bed while I was half-naked under the covers.

  Actually, I didn’t care anymore. We’d navigated a painful breakup from deep within the closet. So deep and so long ago that very few people knew we were once much more than friends.

  And why did it just occur to me that Justin would have been a toddler when I met Seb? My forehead creased hard enough to give me a headache. I pushed the errant thought aside and sipped my coffee while Seb barreled on about a theme song.

  “…should be a love song. Kinda syrupy. Audiences love schmaltz and we gotta give ’em what they want, but with a twist they don’t expect.” He paused to pull my cup from my fingers. He took a healthy swig, then set it on the nightstand and inched closer with a wily look in his eyes before continuing in a low theatric tone, “The warrior princess.”

  “Huh?”

  “The girl from last night.” He snapped his fingers and frowned. “Starts with an X but sounds like a Z.”

  “Xena,” I replied.

  “Yeah! Were you still there? I thought you’d left. She wasn’t bad. Needs some polishing for sure, but her voice is strong. Well…strong enough. I dig her look. What do you think?”

  I cocked my head. “About what?”

  Seb sat up taller and gave me a thorough once-over. “What’s going on with you? Did you get laid last night? You’ve got that dopey look in your eyes like you either got the blowjob of your life or…”

  “Stop.”

  “Ooh. I’m right. Who was it?”

  “For fuck’s sake, Seb. I’m not telling you who—”

  “That’s okay. I can guess,” he said, picking up the coffee cup again and taking another sip. “The pretty blonde at the bar with the big tits. No? Um…oh. The guitar player! Carmine said he left after you went out for a cigarette. I thought you quit, by the way. You know I fucking hate it when you smoke. But yeah, that guy was pretty good. He was your type too. Dark and broody. So, what happened? You got five minutes here. I gotta give you my spiel and get to the studio before my secretary sends someone out to look for me. Go on.”

  See what I mean? Seb the tsunami. The man was exhausting.

  “I have nothing to say…other than it was one cigarette. Leave me alone and give me my coffee.”

  He furrowed his brow as he handed the cup back to me. “Fine. I’ll get it out of you later. Here’s the deal.” He raked his hand through his hair, then tugged at his designer trousers as he twisted to face me. “I need you to add a couple of songs for the Baxter movie.”

  I sighed heavily. “So that’s why you dragged me out last night. I knew you had an agenda. The score is almost complete.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not talking about the music. I need a song. A hit song.”

  “Oh, right. That’s easy,” I huffed sarcastically.

  “It’s easy for you. You’re a fucking genius at this stuff,” he enthused.

  “Save the ego stroking and give me specifics. How much time do I have?”

  “You’ve got a few months before it has to be in production. I wanna release a big blowout, serious smash-hit love ballad, you know, something corny but cool…by July. The movie is scheduled for an August release. That’ll give us a month of pre-release hype. I want a new recording artist. Not an established big name. It’s been done over and over. Let’s go back to basics this time. Bring in a fresh face with a ton of attitude and sex appeal.” Seb paused for dramatic effect, then said, “I want Xena.”

  “No.”

  “What do you mean no?” He frowned.

  “You heard me. My contract is for the score and a theme song. Find someone else to do the rest.”

  I put the mug down and kicked at his leg until he scooted aside and gave me enough room to get out of bed. I scratched my nuts as I made my way to the adjoining bathroom. Of course, Seb followed. He leaned against the counter with his arms crossed and watched me pee. Or maybe he just wanted to examine my dick for clues.

  “So, you fucked this guy and you don’t want to deal with the ex-lover situation,” he said after a long moment.

  I met his gaze in the mirror and blinked. “Where do you come up with this stuff?” I bluffed.

  “Number one, you’ve got dried cum on your stomach. That’s grade-A weird for a clean freak like you. Number two, you never stay in bed after six a.m. during the week, seven on the weekend. If you’re not sick, you did something or someone after you left the bar. Timing adds up to the hot guy with the guitar. Am I right or am I right?”

  I rolled my eyes, then headed through a small alcove to the shower and turned on the water. I stepped out of the briefs I’d changed into when I got home and examined the dried mess on my stomach. Seb was right. About everything. But it still wasn’t his business.

  “Does it matter?” I asked, tossing my black boxer briefs at him.

  He caught them before they hit him in the face and glared at me. “What are you doing? I’m talking to you.”

  “No, you’re dictating. I’m not writing you a love song, and I don’t want any part of jumpstarting a mildly talented singer’s career when we both know there are better options. Now, if you’ll excuse me…I need to wash the jizz off my belly.” I winked because I knew it would bug him, then stepped into the glass-and-marble spa-like enclosure.

  My house was freaking beautiful if I did say so myself. It was a contemporary estate nestled in an exclusive section of Hollywood Hills. A long driveway lined with palm trees led to the two-story modern glass and stone house. I loved t
he clean lines and minimalist decor. But the real draw for me had always been the view. I’d specifically asked the architect to showcase the impressive cityscape from every window, and she’d more than delivered. The property’s elevation ensured a level of privacy that made it possible to have perks like floor-to-ceiling windows in my shower.

  I glanced at the puffy clouds as I reached for the soap before turning to Seb. His silence was nice, but kind of disturbing too. He had one of those wickedly brilliant minds. And he didn’t understand the meaning of the word “no.” He took it as a mild suggestion or an outright challenge. I mentally prepared my rebuttal even though I didn’t really know how he’d convince me that writing a few forgettable songs for an action flick would be in my best interest. No doubt, he’d think of something.

  “Get the boyfriend to write ’em,” he said in a faraway tone that indicated his brain was whirling at warp speed.

  “What boyfriend?”

  “Xena’s ex—aka, the guy you fucked last night. Was he here?” he asked, setting his hands on his hips as he looked around the bathroom.

  “No, he wasn’t here and—”

  “So I was right!” Seb clapped and let out a whoop that didn’t quite seem to fit the situation. “It was the guitarist. You know, he wasn’t that great on the guitar, but I loved his voice.”

  “Okay, well I’m gonna go ahead and finish up here. Feel free to mosey downstairs and grab some coffee on your way out.” I moved under the spray and closed my eyes. When he didn’t move or speak for a full minute, I opened them again and reached for the soap. “You’re creeping me out. Why are you still here?”

  “I’m thinking.”

  “Oh. That’s bad.”

  “No. It’s good.” He snapped his fingers and paced to the doorway and back. “I’ve got it! You write the music and get him to write the words. Xena said he wrote all the songs for their band. Get him to collaborate with you on one or two songs. Like the love song.”