Flirting with the Rock Star Next Door

by Nadia Lee

  Killian closed his eyes briefly. “Actually, she did.”

  “No, she didn’t. She said her name was Emily. Didn’t you say the author was Emma something?”

  “Emily is Emma,” Killian said. “It’s her pen name.”

  “Ohh…” Devlin’s eyes widened. It was comical how eloquently his expression said, Oh shit. “You should’ve told me that before.” He said it like it was one hundred percent Killian’s fault that he’d shoved his giant foot into his mouth.

  “Well. At least now I know what you really think,” I said coolly, in my most evil corporate tone, the kind I’d used when I needed to let somebody know they were being terminated for poor job performance.

  “Ah, don’t be mad,” Devlin said, all the chest-puffing bravado gone. “Killian, uh, forgot to mention he was doing you. Otherwise, I would’ve been much more polite.”

  “Shut up, Devlin,” Killian said, trying to put a hand over the drummer’s mouth.

  Devlin leaned away. “It’s true, man. You didn’t say you were banging Emily. I thought you wanted to bang Emma the chick-lit writer!”

  I crossed my arms over my chest. It didn’t surprise me that Devlin knew Killian and I had had sex. He’d have to be braindead to miss the fact that I was wearing Killian’s shirt and boxers this time of the morning, and what that meant. Devlin might be prone to saying stuff he shouldn’t, but he seemed quick enough about things like sex and getting laid.

  Killian stepped between me and Devlin. “I’m really sorry, Emily.”

  “It’s okay,” I said, out of reflex, then stopped. Why was I saying that? To smooth things over? To make them feel better? To hang around with them and their Barbie Sextet?

  “Actually, it’s not. I don’t feel okay at all. I think I’m going to get my things and go home now.” I waved in the general direction of the people. “Hope you have a great time together. We can talk later, Killian.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Killian

  Ah, fuck. Emily walked right past me to grab her purse, then marched out. She wasn’t bothering to get her dress and underwear, which were still in the bedroom. From the stiff way she was marching to her house, she had to be fantasizing about murdering me. Then Dev and the girls. What woman would be okay with this kind of mess thrown at her right after the first night together?

  I should’ve known Dev would pull something like this. To him, women were nice, fun distractions, a great way to relax and rejuvenate. He didn’t understand why I liked Kingstree when it didn’t have a thousand fawning females rubbing their tits all over me everywhere I went. He’d said it was fine for when I was settled down with a wife, but until then, I shouldn’t be wasting my youth.

  I jogged after Emily. Dev called out, “Hey, where you going?” but I ignored him.

  “Emily, I’m sorry,” I said, slowing down to a walk next to her.

  She didn’t respond.

  “I didn’t think he’d show up like this. Or bring all those women. I certainly didn’t ask him to bring them. I also didn’t say your books were junk. He’s just being a dick. You know how much I love your writing.”

  She kept marching, her eyes straight ahead. Every taut line of her body said she was too irritated to talk.

  Shit. Anxiety like I’d never felt ran through me. It was worse than my first audition. Now Emily was never going to give our relationship a shot. I’d be lucky if she didn’t point and laugh when I asked her to consider coming to Dallas with me.

  Damn it, Dev!

  “I’ll kick his ass. Would that help? I’m faster and stronger than him. And then I can pack him and those girls up and send them back to Spain.”

  When we reached her driveway, she stopped. “I know you didn’t have him come here with those women. And I’ve heard worse about what I write and my career, so I shouldn’t be this upset. But I am. I hate it that somebody as close to you as a band mate would say that about me. Or bring those women and be that insensitive when he had to know why I was at your place at this hour, dressed like this.” Her lips were pressed tight, and I hated the unblinking gaze—or the fact that she wasn’t looking at me. She was trying so hard to appear calm, but I could sense the tightly suppressed hurt.

  Fuck. Emily took such pride in her work. I’d seen how hard she worked, and you only did that with things you cared about.

  And the girls… Contrary to what Dev thought, they weren’t my type. People generally put too much stock in women’s cup size and hip-to-waist ratio. I also happened to care about brain size because I needed somebody I could talk to and laugh with.

  Although I understood that Emily’s reaction to the women wasn’t completely out of bounds, I was vaguely disappointed that she considered me shallow enough to go stupid over a collection of silicone tits. Didn’t she know me better than that?

  On the other hand… If her close friend had shown up with a group of aspiring male strippers the morning after we had sex for the first time, I might not have taken it too well either.

  “He doesn’t understand the situation,” I said. “And he’s probably still half-drunk. Just ignore him. You’re so my type, those women don’t even register.”

  She finally lifted her gaze to make eye contact. There was uncertainty and pain, and I hated it that they had replaced the light and lazy satisfaction from earlier.

  “I saw you step back from them, but…” She sighed, her shoulders sagging a little. “I have issues, Killian.”

  “I’d have issues if I were in your place,” I said. “And unlike you, I would’ve broken Dev’s nose.”

  Her lips were pressed nearly white, but they twitched. Just a little. Hopefully she wouldn’t get more upset about Devlin’s stunt.

  “Um. Why are they filming this?” Emily said, her gaze flicking beyond my shoulder.

  Filming? My body stiff, I spun around and saw the six women with their phones out, Dev watching them.

  “What the hell, man?” I shouted, and then at the women, “Are you livestreaming this?” I was going to murder them all if they were. Then I’d murder Dev again just because I could. He knew how much I hated having my private life broadcast everywhere. The public got to see the slices I chose to share, not everything.

  And I’d be damned if those women were going to use me and my life for their agenda. To get more likes. To get more followers. To get more publicity and adoration from strangers on the Internet. So they could somehow turn them into profit and even more spotlight.

  “I wish,” the black-haired one said. “We’re just recording it. In case you want to let us post it later.”

  The pink-haired girl pursed her lips. “Now I have to edit the video, though. I don’t like you turning around and yelling at us. It doesn’t make for a good sharable experience. People are going to think we aren’t friends.”

  “We aren’t friends, and you absolutely cannot put that up!” My blood pressure shot up with anxiety and fury that their thoughtlessness might ruin the peace and quiet—the normalcy—I was enjoying in Kingstree. “Nobody gets to put stuff about me on social media!”

  “But don’t you want people to see the real you? Do you know how many likes I’m going to get?” the brunette said. “And new followers. I’m close to a quarter million.”

  “I don’t give a fuck!” I shot back. “If you want to be famous, go do it yourself and keep me out of it.”

  “Come on, Killian,” Dev said. “Calm down. I already told them they couldn’t post stuff without talking to me first. Their phones don’t even have GPS on. I made sure before coming here.”

  It made me feel better. But only a little. “Delete the damned video. And the pictures,” I said tightly. “Everything. Or you’ll hear from my lawyer.” I paid a shit-ton in retainer fees. He could think of some reason to sue.

  “You’re no fun!” The purple head pouted.

  “Make sure of it, Dev,” I said, dead serious.

  Devlin grew sober. He knew how much I hated people using me, and that had been the main rea
son I not only broke up with Caitlyn but quit trying to date or hang out with people who weren’t at my level of fame and popularity for a while. He held up a hand, indicating surrender. “No problem. Got it, man.”

  I turned to Emily, who was watching the ridiculous drama unfold. “Don’t worry about it. Nothing about what happened here will be on social media,” I said soothingly, confident now that Dev would take care of it. Nobody liked to have their privacy violated. And thank God we lived in an empty cul-de-sac with just our two houses. No neighbors secretly watching us with a bucket of popcor—

  What the…?

  A silver Mercedes swerved in, its engine roaring. The car got on the one-way loop serving the cul-de-sac, but was going the wrong way. For an instant I wondered if it was another of Devlin’s surprises, but he was staring at the car with his mouth slightly parted. So it wasn’t him.

  The Mercedes veered sharply toward Emily’s house without reducing speed. She stayed on the spot, frozen with her eyes wide.

  “Shit.” I grabbed Emily’s shoulders and pulled her back, out of the driveway, as the silver vehicle screeched to halt. If I hadn’t, it would’ve hit her. Heart racing, I put Emily aside and stepped toward the car. “Are you fucking crazy?”

  The door opened, and a driver in a white jumpsuit spilled out, holding on to the door for support and tears streaming down her face.

  Uh… Whatever I’d been expecting, this wasn’t it. I felt a little bad about yelling. Okay, maybe not the yelling, per se, but yelling “fucking.”

  “Emily!” The woman sobbed, one hand outstretched.

  Emily closed her eyes for a second, then gave a resigned sigh. “Hi, Mom. What’s wrong?”

  This was her mom? I looked at the woman more closely. She had the same golden hair as Emily, the same build. I couldn’t see her eyes because they were so swollen from crying.

  “It’s your father. He admitted it. He is having another affair, this time with his new assistant!”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Emily

  I stood there, my palms slick and my face cold, then hot. I should be used to this. After all, every time Dad admitted to screwing somebody, Mom came over crying. It was how she coped. And after a day or two she’d calm down and drive back to McLean, where she and Dad would go back to their lives like the affair had never happened.

  But it was one thing for me to go through it in private. Quite another to have an audience, especially Killian. Not to mention the Barbie Sextet, who were still recording this. At least they wouldn’t upload it to every social media and video site out there without Devlin’s permission.

  Why didn’t she go to a hotel like I told her? That would’ve been better than driving all the way to Kingstree from McLean, crying her eyes out the entire time. I’d made the suggestion partly because I didn’t have the time to deal with her while on a deadline, but mostly because I didn’t have the mental and emotional energy anymore. At some point after twenty-plus years, I’d started to question the madness of continuing the toxic cycle. And why I was playing a role in it.

  Suddenly, it was all too much. I shrugged away from Killian and pressed the heels of my hands against my temples, praying my head didn’t explode. Or maybe that wouldn’t be such a bad outcome. At least that way I wouldn’t have to see the mess.

  I couldn’t think of a single thing to say to Mom. This was such a familiar routine, but I never seemed to know the right words to offer. Although it wasn’t what Mom wanted to hear, I wanted to tell her, once again, to divorce Dad because he was never, ever going to change. He didn’t love her enough to bother. Surely she didn’t love him either by now.

  But it wasn’t the kind of thing I could say in front of everyone. And what would be the point, anyway? Would she respond differently? She always told me how her place was by Dad’s side and how love was too wonderful to give up on. She refused to accept love wasn’t some kind of chastity belt that could keep Dad’s dick from touching other women.

  “Oh my God, you poor woman!” someone said from behind me.

  The Barbie Sextet was coming toward Mom, clopping precariously along in their heels and putting holes in the lawn. They surrounded her, the expressions on their faces eager and sympathetic. At least they weren’t filming this particular spectacle for likes.

  “Did you slap his face? That is what he deserves!” Brown said.

  “No, no. Punch.” Pink made a fist. “You punch a man who screws his assistant.”

  “Kicking hurts more, yeah?” Purple said.

  “But you have to put on boots for that. Otherwise, your pedicure!” Blondie said.

  Purple looked at her feet. “Too much work, then. Just punching’s good.”

  Mom stared at them, mouth parted and tears no longer flowing. She was probably too bewildered by their presence and the words coming out of their perfectly lipsticked mouths. She also had no idea who they were. They looked nothing like the writers I’d been hanging out with over the last few years.

  “Run him over with your Mercedes,” Pink said. “Insurance can fix it.”

  “No, no.” Brown waved her hand. “Insurance doesn’t fix broken penises. She needs to get a new husband.”

  I put a hand over my mouth at the absurdity of it all as hysterical laughter started to bubble up. Maybe the Barbies weren’t so bad after all. I wanted to punch my dad and run him over every now and then. And if it made him impotent, so much the better. At least that’d force him to be faithful.

  Mom let out a small, shaky chuckle. “Yeah. Maybe.”

  “Don’t let a cheating man make you feel bad,” Red said.

  “Look at your eyes. So swollen.” Blondie peered into my mom’s eyes. “No false lashes until you get the swelling down. They’re going to look fake.”

  “False lashes are fake,” Mom said with a sniff.

  “Yeah, but not too fake. It’s not good. You want them to look only a little bit fake,” Blondie said with a practiced head toss that made her look like she was starring in a shampoo commercial. The breeze caught her hair and moved it sinuously.

  Mom nodded, then dried her cheeks. “I’ll take that under advisement.”

  I squinted, scrutinizing my mother. No more tears. No more wailing over what Dad had done…and how he’d betrayed her. She was never mollified this fast. It usually took me at least a day to get her to stop crying.

  Relief started to ripple through me, and along with it came a reluctant gratitude to the girls. They didn’t have to rush to console a stranger like that. Maybe I’d been too harsh and quick in deciding to dislike them.

  “Hey, are you…” Killian stopped, running a hand through his hair. He looked lost and unsure. “Never mind. I’ll just take the girls and let you talk with your mom.”

  There’s no way I’m letting you take the girls away from Mom. She’d never looked this soothed before. But then, I didn’t coo or fawn. I didn’t want to take Mom’s pacifiers and handle infidelity crisis number ten billion on my own.

  “Um, no need. I think they’re very good at dealing with her.” I didn’t add that there was no point in talking with her privately because this wasn’t the first time Mom had come to me to complain about Dad’s infidelity. I’d already known this would happen at some point. Dad had been “working late” when I called to confront him about the One-Star Hit Squad. Mom complained she’d smelled unfamiliar perfume on his clothes. The next step was him saying he was screwing another woman and Mom reacting dramatically to that and coming straight to me to unload the same ol’, same ol’. It was practically preordained.

  And I was terrible at consoling her. Mainly because I kept telling her to leave him. But she always refused, and my resentment bubbled the entire time until my chest felt like it was rotting from the inside out.

  I’d never said it out loud because it would be too hurtful for Mom to hear, but I suspected Dad kept on cheating just to see how far he could push her and still get away with it. He seemed proud of the fact that he could do whatever h
e wanted and still keep his wife.

  Dickhead.

  “Honey,” Mom said. “I’m hungry.”

  Holy crap. That was a signal that she was feeling a lot better. I looked at the Barbies in amazement. In less than ten minutes, they’d accomplished what would have taken me a full day and copious amounts of alcohol.

  “I have some cereal, but no milk,” I said. “But it’d probably be okay with some rosé.” Mom deserved a drink or two.

  She made a face. “That sounds disgusting.”

  “Plus too much carbs,” Brown said with a sneer.

  “I like carbs,” I said. Carbs were so misunderstood and unloved, but without them the world would be a sad place. No crackers, bread, pasta or cookies? Just kill me now.

  “They make you fat,” Blondie said, glancing at my belly.

  Bitch. I looked down. I wasn’t skinny like her, but it wasn’t like I had a huge potbelly, either. Besides, women were supposed to be rounded! Otherwise, God wouldn’t have given us breasts!

  “And old.” Red shuddered like that was the worst thing in the world.

  I was retracting the good opinion I’d formed just seconds ago. “Carbs are life.”

  Killian stepped forward. “If you don’t mind, I’d love to treat you to breakfast,” he said.

  Mom finally looked at him, then her eyes went completely round in shock. Not surprising, since she’d been surrounded by the Barbie Sextet. She probably hadn’t really noticed him until he spoke.

  “Oh my God! You’re Killian Axelrod!” she squealed in an unfamiliar, high-pitched voice. Her face turned red, and for once, it had nothing to do with Dad.

  I cringed inwardly, but I should’ve expected this. She loved music, and she was never shy about hiding how she felt about her favorite celebrities. And I was certain her adoration wasn’t all that over-the-top compared to teenage fans Killian had dealt with. I’d heard complaints from Skye, who told me her teenaged daughter considered fangirling a matter of life or death.