As You Were (Rising Star Book 2)

by Lee Piper

  I swallow. “Yes?”

  He mutters the most creative use of the word fuck I’ve ever heard. Once finished, he storms to his Challenger, opens the passenger door, and with a curt nod gestures inside. “Get in.”

  “I don’t think that’s—”

  “What part of get in don’t you understand? Is it the three-letter word or the two?”

  Planting fisted hands on my hips, I glare at him. “Now you’re being plain rude.” Zeke tries to speak, but I raise my hand, stopping him. “No, it’s my turn.” I shift to where he is glowering beside the vehicle. He crosses his arms and I blink, momentarily stunned by powerful forearms.

  I shake my head.

  “Look, I admit driving to the gas station was reckless.” He raises a sardonic brow. It’s frustratingly sexy. “And I guess I should thank you for telling me about the other issues.” Dollar signs flash before my eyes. “But my Honda’s never given me problems before, and I don’t think driving to Bayside and back will do any more damage.”

  “To who? You?” His hand fists my hair. I bite back a pleasure-filled moan as his lips come perilously close to mine. “The next time you get in that shitbox could be your last.”

  Blindly, I reach for his T-shirt, crushing the fabric between my fingers.

  “Your car’s getting serviced.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Yes, it is.”

  My eyes narrow. “Not everyone lives in a cliffside studio, Zeke.”

  He pulls back. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means the service is going to have to wait until after the record is finished. I’m not exactly flush with cash right now.”

  Pause. “I’ll sort it out.”

  I try to shake my head but can’t; his grip is too tight. “Oh no. I won’t be indebted to you. There’s no way you’re paying for anything of mine, I won’t let you.”

  Dipping his head, he skims his nose along my jawline. My eyelids flutter closed. “What makes you think you’ve got a choice?” He nips my earlobe, and I shiver. “I call the shots, not you. You’d best get used to it, little girl.”

  My grip on his shirt tightens.

  “Tell me,” Zeke continues, oblivious to how close I am to ripping his shirt off. “What would happen to your band, your mom, if you were stupid enough to get behind the wheel?”

  All the blood drains from my face.

  “You really want to risk it all when I’m offering you a free ride?”

  I try to disentangle myself, but Zeke’s hold is resolute. “Wait. How did you—”

  “Overheard you talking to Reid and Drake yesterday.”

  Visions of the boys distraught over their dreams turning to ash filter into my brain. However, it’s the mental image of Mom, helpless and abandoned, that really gets to me. She would have no one. No one to pay for her care, no one to visit her, no one to remind her of a daughter who loved her more than life itself. She would be completely alone.

  Zeke must notice the moment reality sinks in because he loosens his hold. “Get in the damn car.”

  Sighing, I stare at the empty seat and then slip inside. After shutting the door, Zeke moves to the other side and folds himself into the driver seat. I don’t know how he does it, but the cabin feels small, too small with him beside me. It’s like he sucks all the air out until there is nothing left but him.

  So much for my promise to keep my distance. And remain focused. It’s impossible to think of anything except Zeke’s smell, the way his thigh flexes whenever he changes gear, and those masterful hands gripping the steering wheel. They’re the same hands that made me come harder than I ever have before.

  I shift in my seat.

  Determined to remain silent, I distract myself with the scenery flashing past. Drake’s warning about Zeke maybe being a player, a man who hooks up with musicians in return for special favors, circles my brain. Could Drake be right? Is Zeke going to use my car as blackmail? It’s true I don’t know him well, but is he really that much of an asshole?

  He’s your producer.

  Shut up.

  And wants to sleep with you.

  Not helpful.

  What’s to say—

  A large hand clamps down on my thigh. “Stop it.”

  I yelp. “Stop what?”

  “Thinking. I can hear you from here.”

  “You can hear me thinking?”

  “Fucking annoying.”

  “Of course, it is.” I roll my eyes and remove his hand from my leg. I need to think of something, anything other than how his touch sets my body alight. I fix my attention to the window. A blur of greens, browns, and blues fill my vision. I lose myself in the distorted image of trees against sky. And it works, until a gravelly voice interrupts my reverie.

  “You going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “No.”

  He grips my thigh again. I want to clamp my legs shut, imprisoning his fingers. Then I want to smack myself upside the head. “Too bad. I want to know.”

  I sigh. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Please let go of me.”

  He removes his hand. The car creeps along the uneven driveway before Zeke pulls into an empty parking spot and turns off the engine. The silence is palpable.

  “Is this about last night?”

  “No.” The lie tastes bitter on my tongue. I swallow. “Yes.”

  He swallows too. “Do you regret it?”

  Zeke’s question makes me pause. In truth, no, I don’t regret kissing him. We share chemistry that’s impossible to ignore. And yes, it’s based on attraction, but there’s more simmering beneath. It’s undeniable, elemental, real. Not that any of it makes our actions right, but it doesn’t make them entirely wrong either. Seems the lines blur when it comes to Zeke.

  Hair falls about my shoulders as I shake my head. “I don’t regret it. Doesn’t mean it’s going to happen again, though.”

  His gaze narrows.

  “I’m not the type of girl to do this sort of thing.”

  Leaning forward, his face a hairsbreadth away from mine, he rumbles, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

  Those eyes.

  My hands have a life of their own. They caress his face, tracing the furrowed brow, wide cheekbones, and soft, full lips. It hurts knowing I’ll never kiss them again. The muscles in his jaw tighten. “I’m talking about you, me, this situation. It’s impossible. I’m not going to put my band’s reputation on the line for a fling. I’m sorry, but it’s not worth it.”

  He stills. “Not worth it.” Jerking his head away, he stares out the front window, his jaw ticking. The distance between us grows larger by the second.

  “I’m sorry,” I whisper.

  “Heard you the first time.”

  Collecting my oversized handbag, I open the car door. “I’ll find my own way back.”

  He spins to face me. “The fuck you will. You’ll call me and I’ll be here. End of fucking story.”

  “Zeke—”

  “End. Of. Fucking. Story.”

  Heated glares.

  Hastened breathing.

  Erratic heartbeats.

  Blinking, I scramble from the car.

  “Hey, Jeanie,” I call, stepping through the entrance. “How’s Mom?”

  She smiles sadly. “Not great, love. Sorry.”

  My body deflates. “Damn. And she was doing so well yesterday.” Stopping in front of the administration desk, I play with the long line of crystals she keeps on display. “What happened?”

  “She had a difficult night. At handover, Sue told me Dawn became agitated around eleven o’clock. She was calling out, something about sunshine and shortbread? Does this mean anything to you?”

  My heart constricts. “Yeah. Sunshine is the nickname she gave me as a little girl. Used to say my hair was a flaming sun that lit up her day.” I smile wryly. “It was beyond lame, but I loved it. Made me feel better when other kids gave me crap about it.”

  “And the shortbre
ad?”

  “Oh, we used to bake shortbread most weekends. It was our thing. Burned my fingers so many times. You’d think I’d learn not to grab them straight from the oven, but I never did.” Meeting Jeanette’s empathetic gaze, I murmur, “When did she finally crash?”

  “Not until after four this morning.” She sighs. “Insomnia is all part of the disease, I’m afraid.”

  “It’s progressing faster than I thought.” I tuck wayward hair behind one ear. “Soon it’ll take everything, won’t it? Her memories, her body, her,” I swallow, “life.”

  Warm fingers cover mine and squeeze. “I’m sorry.”

  “Yeah, me too.”

  “But you can still go and see her. She’s asleep, but I’m sure her room could use some of the essential oil I know you’ve secreted away in that bag of tricks.”

  “You know me well.”

  “That I do.”

  Rummaging through my bag, I pull out a small package and hand it to her. “I’ve got something for you.”

  Holding out her hand, Jeanette inspects the small bundle I place in her palm. “What’s this?” She sniffs it, a small smile forming. “Nice.”

  “It’s oolong tea.”

  “It’s what?”

  “Oolong tea,” I repeat. “It’s a Chinese tea full of vitamins, minerals, and antioxidants. When you go on your break, drink it instead of coffee.” Holding up a larger package, I give it a small shake. “Brought some for Mom too. I’ve got so many of these natural remedies saved up. This tea helps improve brain function. I’ll leave it in her room.”

  Jeanette nods. “Good idea. And thank you, honey. Can’t wait to try it.” Placing the tea next to the mug on her desk, she gives me the side eye. “Noticed you didn’t drive again today.”

  I groan. “My car is falling apart. Zeke won’t let me behind the wheel until it’s fixed, which means I’m going to be without wheels for an eternity.”

  She shakes her head, eyes laughing. “Must be a real shame having to carpool with that hunk of man candy. Don’t know how you do it.”

  Heat warms my cheeks.

  “And aren’t you some big shot rock star now? Surely you can afford some new wheels of your own? Isn’t that what the young, rich, and foolish do? Spend millions on depreciating assets?” She winks. “Don’t tell me you’ve already blown it on cocaine and hookers?”

  “Yep, you caught me,” I deadpan. “Totally spent it all on hallucinogens and strangers likely to give me venereal disease.”

  Jeanette snorts.

  I sigh. “Royalties don’t start until we’ve got a product to sell, Jeanie. And the house doesn’t have a buyer yet, which is a pain in my ass.”

  “Ouch. I’m broke too, otherwise I’d offer to help.” Her eyes skim over the many crystals lining the desk. “Wonder how much these would go for?”

  Backing away, I shake my head. “No way, they were a gift. That’s some seriously bad karma you’re playing with.”

  Jeanette holds up the tea sachet. “Well, what about this? Was the oolong expensive? Maybe you could—”

  “Jeanie, no.” I step forward and gently push it toward her chest. “Thank you, it’s kind of you to offer, but this was from my personal supply. Besides, I love giving people presents.” I shrug one shoulder. “It makes me happy.”

  She grasps my hand. “If there’s anyone who deserves to be happy, it’s you, Wil.”

  Blinking, I wave her away and straighten my shoulders, then move to the alarmed door. “Can you let me in please? I’ve got essential oils to burn.”

  With an amused chuckle, Jeanette buzzes me in. And I’m thankful. I don’t have time for tears. I don’t have time for anything except doing my best by Mom by making a kickass album.

  When I get to her room, it’s to see she is indeed asleep. Padding to the side of her bed, I lean down and press a soft kiss to her cheek. Her expression is so different in slumber, soft, almost childlike in its peacefulness. There are no traces of confusion or annoyance, no vacant stares. And though it hurts not being able to speak to her, I’m glad she’s comfortable. Brushing the backs of my fingers down her cheeks, I murmur, “I’m going to take care of you. Promise.”

  Aside from burning some lavender oil, straightening Mom’s blankets, and brushing her hair, there’s not a lot left for me to do. Her room is tidy, her clothes are washed and put away, and the crystals I brought the other day take pride of place on top of the chest of drawers.

  After giving the space one last glance over and writing a detailed explanation of how to make the Chinese tea, I give Mom another peck on the cheek before murmuring, “Love you,” and leaving.

  Since my resolve to keep things platonic will crumble if I hear Zeke’s rumbling voice over the phone, I shoot him a text instead. He doesn’t reply. However, by the time I navigate the numerous corridors leading to the entrance and step outside, his car is waiting in the parking lot.

  Nerves take flight in my stomach. I don’t know why—must be extra emotional today. Determined to keep it together, I inhale a deep breath, hold it, then exhale. When I’m feeling slightly calmer, I make my way to the Challenger, open the door, and settle inside.

  A paper bag is placed in my lap.

  Opening it, my eyes feast on the Danish pastries and fresh fruit salad. Then, turning to Zeke, they feast on him too. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do this.”

  Without a word, he starts the car and slowly navigates his way down the patchwork driveway.

  When I’m certain I won’t end up wearing the bag’s contents, I eat. The food is mouthwatering, delicious, and exactly what I need. In fact, I’m midmoan when Zeke says, “I’m taking you out tonight.”

  Pastry lodges in my throat. Coughing, I manage to clear my airway, though it does little to stop the tears streaming down my cheeks. When I’ve gulped enough mouthfuls of air to no longer feel light-headed, I wipe them away with the back of one hand. “I’m sorry, what?”

  “I said, I’m taking you out tonight. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  “Who?”

  “A friend.”

  “You have friends?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, I wince. Darting a quick glance at Zeke, who is as implacable as always, I mumble, “Sorry, that was mean. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  He shifts in his seat, but doesn’t respond.

  “You’re just so….” My hands flail, doing little to justify the hurt I’ve probably caused.

  His jaw is tight. “I know what I am.”

  “So do I.”

  Zeke looks at me, and I smile. His eyes dart from my eyes to my mouth, and back to my eyes again before glancing away. His grip on the wheel tightens.

  Turning my attention to the window, I nibble my bottom lip. There’s no way I can go out with him. If the media get wind of it, they’ll say I’m sleeping my way to the top, and I’m not about to tarnish my burgeoning reputation for a handshake and awkward conversation with a person I don’t know. But damn, I’m curious. Apart from Selena, I haven’t seen Zeke talk to anyone except my band, so I’m beyond interested to learn more about this friend.

  I speak to the glass. “Who did you want me to meet?”

  “Kai Jenner.”

  My mouth drops open. Spinning to face Zeke, I stare at him. In fact, I gape at his profile for a solid five minutes.

  He watches me out the corner of his eye. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? Stop it, it’s weird.”

  “Kai Jenner? You want me to meet the Kai Jenner?”

  “Yeah. What’s the big deal?”

  My inner fangirl is preparing to scream like she’s never screamed before. She’s thrashing about her band T-shirts, posters, badges, everything. “You mean Kai Jenner, the multi-award-winning rock god whose last album went platinum after only three days?”

  “It was a good album. I should know, I produced it.”

  “You mean the guy whose last show sold out in seven minutes flat?”

  “It was a solid set.”
<
br />   “Tonight’s sold out in five and a half.”

  Zeke shrugs. “Like I said, a solid set.”

  “Holy Hermes, you know Kai Jenner,” I breathe. “I’ve been lusting after him since Heathen’s EP debuted two years ago.” Zeke accelerates through a corner. Absentmindedly, I pack away what’s left of my breakfast. “Not only is he hotter than a Hades heatwave, but his guitar skills….” I shake my head. “There’s nothing sexier than a guy who can play guitar.”

  “The fuck there isn’t,” Zeke growls. “And would you shut up about Kai?”

  “Not possible. He’s every woman’s fantasy.”

  A strong hand clasps my thigh. I suck in a sharp breath at the shock of his touch. Long fingers deliberately skim sensitive skin, leaving a riot of goose bumps behind. He trails them, oh so slowly, closer and closer to my center.

  Zeke’s voice is a low rumble. “Only one man is gonna star in your fantasies, and it sure as fuck won’t be Kai.” Deft fingers play with the hem of my cutoffs. “Understand?”

  Words. I’m meant to be saying words. Specifically, let go of my leg, I’m not going to sleep my way to the top. Only nothing comes out. The lone sound to pass my lips is a strangled moan-slash-sigh. It does nothing to strengthen my cause.

  Zeke’s mouth twitches. “As I was saying,” he continues, fingers inching beneath the soft denim. “Kai’s a classically trained musician. Judging by your style, I’d say you’re self-taught.” His eyes slide to mine. His expression would be hesitant if it weren’t for the determination hidden in the caramel depths of his gaze. “Thought he could give you some pointers.”

  “You thought—” Clammy palms cover my face. If I’m not careful, my head is going to implode. Not only is Zeke about to finger fuck me in his car, he’s friends with my idol, produced his freaking record, and wants to set up a meet.

  A meet I can’t accept.

  My inner fangirl is crying. All. The. Tears.

  Groaning, I thump my head against the leather seat. After carefully disentangling Zeke’s fingers from my shorts, I place them on his thigh. “Look, I appreciate you wanting to help, believe me, I do. And this opportunity is more than I ever dreamed.” It’s impossible to meet his gaze. “But I can’t keep accepting handouts from you. People are going to talk.”