“Say something, please.” He wrapped his arm around me, but I buried my head under the blanket, too defeated to look at him. He meant everything to me. I’d loved him from the moment I laid eyes on him and in an instant all my dreams for our future were over.
“It was Veronique, wasn’t it?” I’d known for a while his personal assistant wanted to steal him away, but I blindly trust he’d be faithful to me.
He nodded sadly and kissed my hand again. “Please forgive me, ma souris.”
“I’m going to take a shower now. Then I’m going to pack my things and go to a hotel.” I tried to remain as calm as possible. The last thing I wanted was to become hysterical, but it was getting harder by the second.
“No, please, we can talk about this. You have every right to be furious with me, but please don’t leave me, my love.” He held on to me as I tried to pull free and slide off the bed. “You mean the world to me. I love you. I promise this won’t ever happen again.”
Shaking with anger, I finally broke down sobbing and I squirmed out of his grasp. “Fuck your promises! And fuck you! You said you loved me, but you never meant any of it! I’m so stupid!”
Running after me, he pushed through the bathroom door before I could close it. “Of course, I love you! I’ve felt terrible since it happened. I wasn’t going to tell you for fear I’d lose you, but I don’t want this secret between us for the rest of our lives.”
“Lives? What lives?” I turned on the shower and pushed his oversized, freakishly tall body away from me. “You never talk about wanting to marry me. You hardly say anything about the future.” That was only half true. He talked about the future all the time, he just didn’t talk about marriage. But at the moment I didn’t care about accuracy. He was a big liar anyway.
“Liana! That’s not true! You’re 19-years-old. I’m the only real relationship you’ve ever had. I just worry you’ll live to regret marrying me if we marry too soon. Of course, I want to marry you. I’m in love with you. Why do you think I told you this? I could have taken it to my grave!” He barged into the shower with me and tried to make me look at him. I was too angry and too heartbroken to listen to any words of reason.
I gazed up into his beautiful blue eyes that only fifteen minutes earlier had always held me entirely enraptured and choked out my tearful reply. “You’ve betrayed me. I don’t think I will ever be able to trust you again. I’m sorry, Armand, but I’m leaving you.”
“No! Please, my angel, I need you.”
“My father was a philanderer. I won’t wind up like my mother, I’m sorry. This is not something I can ever forgive.” I stepped out of the shower, slipped on my tiny pink robe and started packing my clothes.
Armand was inconsolable. When he couldn’t convince me not to leave him, he made me promise to stay until the morning. He gave me the master bedroom and reluctantly made his way to the guest bedroom down the hall. Wrapped in the sheets we’d just made love in was not good for my mental health and maybe that’s what he was counting on. First thing I did was search for a hotel room and then I stopped. I text some friends, but I didn’t mention the break up. I knew they’d call to get the details and I was in no mood to have that conversation. Armand came by the room to check on me, but I sent him away—I was too devastated and vulnerable to look at his gorgeous face. In my weakness, I knew I would take him back. That’s when I got a text from Elliott.
Hey gorgeous, I’m leaving back to the city on the 6am flight. Let me know if you change your mind about the video. It’s not too late to say yes.
That was it. I could go to New York. I could get the hell out of Paris and go to New York with Elliott and do this stupid video with what’s-there-name and put some much-needed time and space between Armand and me. After some quick texts back and forth, I bought myself a first-class ticket, packed a small suitcase without making too much noise—no need to let Armand know I was leaving—and managed to sneak out of the apartment in time to make my flight. I’d like to say I was the picture of the modern independent woman washing her hands of her cheating lover by running off in the middle of the night and I guess, technically that is what I did, but I’m not going to lie--I was a fucking mess.
As soon as I hopped into that cab, I started crying. On the way to CDG Airport, it started snowing and it almost never snows in Paris, which made me think of cuddling up by our huge fireplace, drinking wine and riding Armand to my heart’s content. When I finally met up with Elliott at customs and he took one look at my red, swollen eyes, then remarked, “What the hell?” I broke out in hysterical tears regaling him with Armand’s confession.
“Is that why you changed your mind?” He narrowed his eyes and gave me an I told you he was too old for you smirk.
“I don’t want any Armand-bashing right now. I’m devastated and I love him. I already left him but I’m not exactly over him.”
“Well, let’s get you home and get you some revenge. Nothing like fucking a rock star to give your man a taste of his own medicine.” He took my carry on and escorted me to the gate.
“He’s not my man—not any…not anymore! Oh Elliott! He was so beautiful, and he has the biggest dick!” I buried my head in his chest and wept.
Rubbing my back to console me while he waited for the first class to be called, he whispered, “How big? 8 inches? 7? Not 9?!”
I glared up at him and clutched my hand to my throat. “What are you talking about? I said he was big. What kind of small-dicked men are you dating, Elliott? Armand is 11 inches, hard and uncut and I’m not exaggerating, I measured it.”
Stunned and dying of envy, he followed me down the jetway demanding details. “God damn Liana! No wonder you’re devastated.”
Chapter 3
A Band Called Jupiter
“So, are you named after the planet or after the Roman god? Technically the planet is named after the god, so you could say both and that would be perfectly legitimate, but I’m just curious where your head was at when you called your band Jupiter.” I sat across Asher Cook for the first time since I was 13-years-old and he and my brother were seniors in high school.
“It’s just a cool name.”
“No, you don’t get to act like you invented the word Jupiter. There is a planet and a Roman god,” I lifted my hands in the air like a scale, “which one were you thinking of when you said, oh hey, let’s go with Jupiter.”
He smiled and cocked his head to one side. “You always were a bit of a smart ass.”
“Perhaps. Why do you want me in your video? I’m not a fan. I’ve never heard any of your music. Lionel never mention anything about this planet band of yours. Is he a fan?” I wasn’t trying to sound bitchy, but I really didn’t want to be in his video after all. I’d been in New York 36 hours, Asher was 2 hours late to our meeting and Armand had been texting me non-stop since he woke up and found I was gone.
“Well, I’ve heard about you. There is a huge billboard of you in Times Square and last week when I saw you up there, looking like you just stepped out of the 1967, I told Earl, he’s our guitarist, that you’d be perfect for this song. Come take a ride with me and I’ll play it for you.” He grinned from ear to ear, believing his smooth talk had somehow won me over. I’d just spent 6 months living with a hot Frenchman and you haven’t heard smooth talk until you’ve heard it in French.
“Nice try, cowboy, just give me the deets on this job. I’m not interested in hanging out with you.” I took out a pad and pen just in case he said anything important.
“Stop being such a hard-ass Liana. If you don’t want to do this video, it’s not a big deal. You’re my preference, but I also just really wanted to see you again. Why don’t you come out with me tonight? It’s not a date, Elliott already told me you’re dating some old guy in Paris. This is a private party at Lounge 44 –kind of a release party for our new record but it’s just some close friends and music industry people. I’d like you to meet Earl and hang out for a while. We’ll get you back early.” He smiled and handed me
an invitation. “I’ll pick you up at your hotel at 9. Is that okay?”
Staring at him coldly for calling Armand old, after he was 24 and already starting to show some crow’s feet, I pursed my lips and nodded. “Watch your mouth, Cook. My man isn’t old, and you look like shit for 24.”
“I’m 23.”
“Well, that’s even worse.”
“So, 9?”
“Yeah, yeah. But this isn’t a date and I’m not staying out until all hours of the night.”
“I promise I’ll get you back early.”
I was going to cancel but Elliott dropped by my hotel and convinced me I should go and hang out with people my own age. He sent over a stylist, a make-up artist and some outfits to sweeten the deal, then gave me a pep talk on how big of a prick Armand was for cheating on me.
“You didn’t even want to go out with him, Li. He chased you!” He sat on my bed and checked his email.
“Yeah, but I had a huge crush on him already. It was just the age thing that freaked me out. But you know he looks damn good for 42.” I tried to speak why while the make-up artist worked her magic.
“I’ll give him that, he looks ten years younger. But if I were you, I would take this opportunity to fuck Asher. He seemed way into you this afternoon.”
“You were on the other side of the room.”
“I was watching, and his body language said everything.” Elliott wanted to believe he was an expert on men.
“Well if he is, it’s only because I treated him like shit. Guys like that are used to chicks worshipping them and they don’t know what to do with themselves when they find one who shows no interest.” The make-up artist agreed with me.
“Do you have any ideas how many thousands of girls are dying to get into his pants?” He snapped at me while I tried to figure out what dress to wear.
“Elliott, they can have him. I’m not fucking some guy just because I’m mad at my ex-boyfriend. The wound is fresh, and Armand was a phenomenal lover with a donkey dick that deserves a mourning period. I can’t go out there and screw some mediocre guy who may not even know how to eat me out. That’s just a waste of time.”
“You’re never going to find another 11-inch dick, Liana, especially not on someone like him, with that body and that face and that fucking bank account. They’re just not out there.” He stared at me smugly as I heard the sound of my heart shattering into a million pieces. He was right. I didn’t need to hear it, but he was right.
Reaching for my phone, I scrolled to read some of Armand’s texts while the stylist finished blowing out my hair.
Baby, where are you?
Come home, please.
I love you, Liana. Please forgive me. I only want to be with you.
Please call me sweetheart, I’m so worried about you.
Your mother told me you were in New York. May I come see you?
Please answer me, I need to hear your voice. I love you.
There were so many and each one broke my heart a little bit more. I wanted to go home. I wanted to rush into the apartment, slap him a few times and then tell him I forgave him, but then I’d feel terrible and always suspect he’d do it again. My mother went through it with my Dad. Men like that don’t change, they just get better at hiding their “indiscretions.” There was a tiny bit of consolation in knowing that Armand confessed—something my Dad NEVER did. Each time he was caught it was due to my Mom’s vigilant sleuthing and yet she stayed. Now he’s too old to get any decent tail but he still flirts with anything that moves. I just don’t want that for myself. I swore I would never marry someone like my father.
By the time Asher arrived in his limo, I was convinced that I needed to get Armand out of my mind. I was far too much in love with him. I’d allowed him to become the center of my fucking universe and now my universe was destroyed. I’d never love anyone like that again. Sitting across from blond-haired, blue-eyed Asher, who was better-looking than I gave him credit for—although still not my type, I decided to play nice for the evening.
“You look stunning, Liana. How the fuck did you get so gorgeous? Last time I saw you, you were all legs, acne and braces.” He chuckled.
“I never had acne!”
“I know, I just threw that in to see if you were listening. I do remember those big green eyes, though.” Asher used a particular grin when he was in the process of flirting. It was attractive, but he needed more practice at it.
“I heard some of your music today, it’s not bad.” I felt my phone vibrate again and turned it off. I couldn’t take any more guilt trips from Armand. It sucked that I was feeling sorry for him when he was the one who fucked someone else.
“Not bad, huh? You’re too kind. What’s your story? Why are you so serious for 19?” He jumped over and sat next to me.
“I was serious at 9, you just didn’t know me very well. I’ve always been this way.” I looked out the window and tried to pretend he wasn’t flirting with me, hoping he’d stop, but it didn’t work. It was just the start.
Some men believe that if they show a girl how badly other girls want him, she’ll be blown away and cream her panties on the spot. It’s a two-fold process. He displays his marketability but he’s also knocking her confidence which makes her pursue him instead. I suppose it might work for some, but I am accustomed to being the center of attention and any man who thinks he’s going to woo me by neglecting me is in for a rude awakening. As soon as we arrived at the lounge, Asher walked away to attend to his adoring groupies, leaving me vulnerable and on my own in a crowd of people I’d never met. After I’d been forced to endure his endless flirting through 30 minutes of heavy Manhattan traffic, I sniffed out his weird game instantly. This was not a problem for me. In my line of work, I mingled with dipshit showbiz people all day and understood how to draw people to me. Within minutes, I had my own crowd of men buying me drinks and hanging on my every word. Asher took immediate notice.
Interrupting a cute story I was sharing about a wardrobe malfunction I once experienced on an on-location shoot in Fiji, Asher attempted to rain on my parade. “She’s not old enough to drink. You shouldn’t be buying them for her.”
A tall redhead named Henry pushed him away and put him in his place. “I know the owner, it’s fine. Your sycophantic collection of fans all have drinks in their hands, and I doubt any of them are over 18.”
“Hey, she’s with me. I brought her here.” Asher had nerve.
“You’re not acting like she’s with you.” Another man stepped in to defend my honor. It was all very entertaining and not what he expected when he commenced his “Asher is going to play it cool” game. After a few more minutes of allowing them to chastise his less than chivalrous ass, I ended the onslaught.
“Thank you, boys, I appreciate your kindness. Asher is taking me home in a little while, but it’s been a pleasure to meet you.” Smirking at Ash, I took his sweaty hand and let him escort me to a private booth.
“You could have ended that earlier.”
“I didn’t want to. Why did you bring me here if you wanted to hang out with your groupies?”
He slid closer and stared at me with an air of humiliation. “You know what I was doing. I like you, why do you have to give me such a hard time? I’ve wanted to meet you for a while.”
“You met me years ago.”
“I mean, meet you again. I apologize for not noticing you from the start, but you were 10 and I was 14, that would have been kind of sick.” He smiled, genuinely this time, and I laughed.
“I’m sorry I’ve a pain in the ass. I just broke up with my boyfriend recently and I’m annoyed with men in general. I’ll lighten up.”
For the following hour we joked about boring Westchester, his parent’s divorce, how the hell my parents weren’t divorced, my brother’s insane girlfriend, a little bit about Armand bu mostly about his friend Earl, who he appeared oddly fixated on. Earl Evans was Jupiter’s lead guitarist and Asher’s best friend since freshman year in college. He was the guy who
convinced him he was a good enough singer to start a band. For over 30 minutes I had to listen to Ash go on and on about this guy Earl the way a pre-pubescent girl talks about her latest crush, it was peculiar. Naturally, I had a follow up question.
“Are you gay? It’s okay if you are of course, I’m just wondering why you’ve been flirting with me? I’m not here to be some kind of beard.” The look on his face revealed this was not the first time he was hearing it, but it was obviously a sore point.
“No! We’re just good friends. You don’t know how hard it is to have close male friendships without people assuming you’re gay. Women can braid each other’s hair and share clothes, and no one accuses them of being lesbians.” He snapped and slid in closer to me in the booth.
“Okay, okay, Jesus. I just asked a damn question. You’ve been talking about this guy for half an hour instead of asking about me. You do know women like for men to ask about them? Or did EARL forget to tell you that?” I crossed my arms and turned away from him.
Wrapping his arm around my shoulders, he pulled me in to hug me. “You are something else, Liana. I want you to meet, Earl. I think you’ll like him.”
I would have laughed if he wasn’t dead serious. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Why did he keep on talking about another man? And why did he want me to meet him? I was just about to make fun of him when the one and only Earl Evans walked in and slid into the other side of the booth with us. With dark hair, dark eyes, full lips and chiseled features, Earl was an Adonis. He was nowhere near as hot as Armand, but he was 10 times hotter than Ash. If I was as gay as Asher seemed to be, I’d be talking about him all night too.
“You must be Liana. You are so much more beautiful in person.” He was taller than Asher, beefier too. When he drew closer, I felt tiny and girlish, almost giggling in response.
The Accidental Groupie Page 2