by S. Ann Cole
I was in trouble with him. So much trouble. If I had a heart, I could stop this now before I ended up wanting him for more than I’d planned, before I ended up hurting both of us. Right here, right now, I could tell him the truth, that lead singer, Davian Hamilton, from Ice Steam wasn’t just an old ‘hi-bye’ neighbor, but an ex I was still madly in love with, the father of my child. I could come clean and confess I really came here for Davian and not him, and we could still lick and stick in the interim.
But his kiss…his kiss was a song I wanted to continue dancing to, a melody I wanted to linger in my head long after the song is over, a stimulating massage I wanted to last just a little bit longer.
His kiss had me. Had me locked in a tight fist I was in no rush to weasel out of.
I was selfish. Wanted to have my cake and eat it, too. But in that moment, I didn’t care. All I knew, in that breathtaking moment, was that I wanted Xavier Xander.
With an abrupt jerk, he broke away, and I tried to haul him back by his shirt, but the attempt was futile. “Where’s your bathroom?”
What?
“S’okay, I’ll find it,” he said when all I did was stare back at him in a haze of writhing heat and confusion.
In the next second he was walking out of the kitchen, rocker boots pounding the floor tiles, letting it be known there was a man in the house, long hair bouncing slightly due to his swift steps in search of a bathroom.
I remained seated on the island and waited for his return, but when five minutes passed with no sign of him, I hopped down and poured myself a tall glass of water to cool down. Waited some more. Texted Saskia and checked up on Jacob. Waited some more. Checked Facebook. Waited some more…
Fifteen minutes later, Xavier returned—well, he didn’t ‘return’ as much as strode right past me and made a beeline for the elevator.
Curious, I inquired, “Did you just—”
“Yes,” he quickly, if not sheepishly, admitted. Pounding into the elevator, he threw over his shoulder, “And you’re never to bring this up ever again.”
In the elevator, he turned and hit the down button, watching me struggle to keep back a laugh.
Losing the battle, I grinned, feeling like I’d just won some kind of match and had one up on him.
Right before the doors closed him in, he pointed one long, masculine finger at me, steel eyes glaring, and warned, “Ever.”
The elevator swallowed him whole.
My days began at 5:30am.
I would jog to my trainer’s gym just a couple blocks from my apartment building and grumpily endure his punitive workouts for all of ninety minutes. After workouts I would then jog back home to shower, eat breakfast and head out again for the shoot location of the day. There, I would spend the next six to eight hours getting dolled up, stuffed into all manner of frocks and frills, and making faces for the camera.
After shoots, I had to make it to catwalk training for an hour, then I was free to go home and collapse.
That’s how the last two weeks have been for me. Grueling. Leaving no free time for me to maintain a new ‘relationship’, or to ruin an engagement.
By the time I got home in the evenings I was too flagged out to even shower. This was a lot more work than I’d anticipated. To think I used to believe models had the easiest job in the world.
I thought about throwing in the towel and going back home to my boy whom I missed so much it hurt, but then I would either see something on the television or hear gossipers at the shoots talk about Davian and Jessica, and my purpose would get an instant renewal.
In the first week I would come home and find Xavier waiting in the apartment lobby for me to invite him up. But every time we tried to hang out or watch a movie together, it resulted in me falling asleep on his chest and waking up in the morning to notes like:
I do like it when chicks drool all over me…
But only in the metaphorical sense.
Literal drooling is just plain nasty.
Eventually, he gave up and told me he understood the situation right now, and to hit him up whenever I had a break in my schedule.
He felt neglected, like we weren’t making any progress, and like things weren’t much different from when I was back in San Francisco.
Sundays were day-offs, and all I did was sleep and eat frozen yogurt, too beat to do much else.
As the next week uneventfully drifted by, I started to miss coming home to find Xavier waiting for me in the lobby. Missed having his chest to fall asleep on during our one-sided conversation.
I missed Xavier.
Realizing I’d never be able to enjoy Los Angeles, or the rock stars of Los Angeles, with this kind of schedule, I had a meeting with Lion and made it known that the six days a week thing wasn’t cutting it for me.
After a long, circuitous argument in which he tried to convince me that once all the test photo-shoots were over I would have a lot of free time during his deliberation process, he gave up the fight, muttered a couple F-bombs under his breath and agreed to rearrange my schedule and give me Saturdays off.
Xavier was glad to hear this, and wasted no time in making plans to pick me up from my shoot the following Friday.
I was bent over the monitor with the photo shoot director flipping through the best shots of the day when I heard Danni, Lion’s assistant manager of the ‘Alina O’Hara Project’, mutter, “Oh. Wow. Ohwow.”
Peeking up over the monitor, I saw him. In dark denims and a gray T-shirt with a sketching of Kurt Cobain. A head taller than everyone else, moving, leaving a trail mix of gasps, wide gazes, lip-biting and open ogling in his wake. A force of nature. An undertow. A man.
Xavier Xander.
Steel-gray eyes darted about the massive room, searching, and when they spotted my dark ones peeking over the monitor, he gunned straight in my direction, in all his Khal Drogo fierceness, giving a chin-lift to the important folks.
“You ready?” he asked in that deep, mellifluous voice when he got to me.
God, I loved that voice. It just made him seem like the only real man in the room.
Danni, who was as queer as they came, twisted awkwardly, looking up, up into Xavier’s face. “Sweet baby Jesus.”
Pretending he didn’t hear, Xavier kept his gaze trained on me, his target, as if no one else there mattered. Like an assassin who came to get the job done, without distractions, and get out.
I picked up my handbag, slung it over my shoulder, and smiled wide, giddy. “Yeppers.”
For the first time since he walked into the room like a blaze of fire from the tip of a guitar, a smile pinched his lips. “Yeppers?”
Dismissively waving a hand, I said, “Text talk.”
With a small shake of his head, he slung a protective arm around my neck and drew me into his side, then moved with me out of the room like we were nobody’s business.
Brushing a kiss to the top of my head, he murmured, “Missed you.”
Sighing, I burrowed into his side, loving it there, along with his smell. Like fresh picked mints and late night winds. Uh-huh, I missed him, too.
Of course, paparazzi were waiting outside when we left the building. Wouldn’t be L.A. if there hadn’t been. At the attack of flashing cameras and shouting faces, I dipped my head and turned my face into Xavier’s side, letting my hair create a curtain around my face.
Keeping me shielded in his side, Xavier moved easily through the klatch of intrusive photographers, ignoring their shouted questions and made straight for a white Hummer sitting on the curb.
Rending the door open, he safely tucked me inside, rounded the monstrosity of a vehicle and swung in.
It wasn’t until he rolled off from the unwanted chaos that I raised my head. “Wow. You could’ve warned me about that, you know. Lion gave me specific orders to keep out of the tabloids for now.”
“Sorry.” He really did look sorry. “Was quiet when I got there. Pests got wings. They move fast.”
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“Until Lion gives the green light, I’m gonna have to avoid scenes like that.”
“Understood.”
A few blocks down, he pulled over at a Starbucks at the same time a pretty blonde in a green apron walked out as if she’d been waiting for him. Xavier powered down the window, gave the blonde his habitual chin-lift, and took the Java Chip Frappuccino she handed him with a geeky grin. She then gave me a quick wave and darted back into the cafe.
Powering the window back up, he handed me the cup. “Frappuccino for Chino.”
Java Chip. I could smell all its sugary, milky, tasty goodness. Taking the cup from him, I took a sip, closed my eyes, and emitted an orgasmic sigh when the flavors burst and dissolved on my tongue. “Love love love love love love love.” I opened my eyes and looked over at Xavier. “You, big guy, are awesome.”
Just like the first time he’d watched me take my first sip of coffee, his gaze went all hot and smoldering. Then he cleared his throat and pulled off into traffic again. “I know.”
“Modest much?”
A one-shoulder shrug was all I got. “You have a thousand bucks worth of coffee at the Starbucks outlet down the street from your apartment. Told them what you liked, so when you go there in the mornings they’ll just sort you out and send you on your way. Cool?”
I glanced over at him, surprised. “For someone who’s never been in a relationship before, you’re kinda nailing this.”
He frowned. “Am I?”
“Well,”—I looked down, feeling somewhat abashed all of a sudden—“you kinda make me feel like the only girl in the world. And it’s just weird…because you’re Xavier Xander, you know. One of the biggest rock stars on the planet. I guessed I’m just baffled why you chose me to ‘try’ with when you don’t even know…me…that well.”
Another frown. “Think we’re moving too fast? Like we should try being friends first or some shit like that?”
No, no, no. No more ‘take things slow’ conversation. I so did not want to take things slow with him. I wanted to jump in his pants as fast as I could and get it over with before I saw Davian and no longer had the desire, or the chance. “Not fast. Just…different.”
An even deeper frown. “I’m confused.”
Me, too. I took another long sip of my frappo, to both occupy my mouth and chase away the heat under my skin.
“As for why I chose you,” he picked up where I slacked off, “I dunno. Saw your pics, got a reaction from my dick, and I wanted a sample. Yeah, started out just wanting to sample you. Then we began chatting. Was light entertainment at first, and soon found I couldn’t stop. Kept wanting more. Your antics kept me from relapsing over the months, and your voice put me to sleep ‘lotta nights. Then you stopped taking my calls and responding to my texts…Knew I had to come find you. Don’t know if I’m doing this right as you say, just know I really like you. And I take good care of what I like.”
His manner of speaking was so raw and straightforward. No games. No poetry. No bullshit.
“Just so you know,” I whispered, “I don’t just ‘like’ you…”
His head shot to me, as if that confession surprised him. “Sure don’t seem like it.”
“Really?”
“Chino, let’s just say you’re the only chick I can’t gauge. Your signals aren’t consistent. Get headaches tryna figure you out.” He shrugged. “Maybe that’s why I dig you so deep.”
“It’s unintentional,” I lied.
He snorted, making it clear he didn’t believe me.
“So,” I dragged, aiming to change the subject, “where are we going?”
“Villa. Boys wanna meet you.”
“You told your band mates about me?”
“Not exactly. They nosed around, found out,” he said. “They can be like that. We’re not just a band. Tighter than blood brothers. Hiding shit from each other’s prohibited. The reason we shine so bright together. Ninety Miles’ not individualized, we’re just one big star.”
“I like that.” I so didn’t like that.
You hurt one, you hurt all…Saskia’s words came back to me.
I could see all the signs of a disaster flickering in my periphery, all the little warnings to turn back and avoid a metal-bending collision. But obstinately fixing my eyes on an unattainable goal, I ignored the warnings, hit the accelerator, and sped straight ahead.
Ninety Miles’ villa was like a mini beach-side college campus—actually called ‘Ninety Miles Villa’.
From a cozy looking hut at the front of the residence, a hulk-like security guard gave us access through the stately gates.
Upon entering, I saw a small park area of lush green grass and trees, swing benches, hammocks, picnic tables and a clear water pond with big, colorful fish.
Xavier drove around the complex to familiarize me with the place, pointing and informing me what building was what. There were four separate houses—aside from amenity buildings—on the complex.
“We’re in this one,” Xavier told me. “Six beds. We call it Beach Rock ‘cause there are a ton giant rocks below the deck on the beach front. Some hollowed out like caves.”
Beach Rock was sprawling and huge, the only house on the complex with a beach view. Not far from it was a gymnasium, which Xavier apprised me had everything from a swimming pool to a basketball court inside.
Next was the second house, not as big as Beach Rock but still huge.
“Guest Rest. Four beds. Currently unoccupied.”
All the buildings were stark white with contemporary designs.
Making a right turn, he showed me the third house, which was larger and more futuristic than the previous one. “Eye Spy. Five beds. Glasses aren’t one-way—hence the name. Ice Steam’s in this one.”
A lump—no, a thick fist was in my throat, punching the air back down my windpipe, denying me the permission to breathe. I was…right outside the building Davian was in. So close. So, so close.
My fingers curled into girly fists as I battled with the urge to bolt from the jeep and go pounding on the door, demanding he come back to San Francisco with me. Because I did this. I sent him off to be a rock star. I gave him to someone else.
I looked at the building. Eye Spy was two stories, glass through and through with intermittent stark white columns. While blinds were drawn on all the windows to shut out prying eyes, one particular room on the second floor didn’t follow suit.
The blinds were drawn open, the posterior of a nude woman pressed up against the glass, a tattoo of two ripe cherries visible on her bare ass, sheeny auburn spilling to the side as her male lover buried his face in her neck while he pounded her further and further up the glass, so rough I could almost hear the squeaking sound of her ass against the glass in my head.
When Xavier caught me gaping at the scene, he chuckled and offered, “Jess and Davi. They’re the only ones who stab with the blinds open. Don’t care. Even when there are guests.”
Xavier was looking up at the exhibitionists, chuckling, but I was withering. Inside. Like a flower cruelly planted in dry earth with no sun exposure, I was…dying. It felt as though the glass the couple were screwing on above had busted into huge, pointy shards and descended like falling arrows straight into my chest, to my heart, puncturing, slicing, shredding.
Of the million ways I’d imagined seeing Davian again, this wasn’t one of them; seeing him screw another woman against a transparent glass.
“Chino? You okay?” Xavier was watching me closely now. I was positive I looked pale and dehydrated. “This kinda thing bothers you?”
“Not at all,” I answered in an embarrassingly high-pitched tone. “Rock stars will be rock stars, right?”
His gaze was skeptical, but he let it slide. As he started to creep off from Eye Spy, I chanced another quick glance up the building. Jessica was now facing forward, fingers splayed on the glass, full breasts swaying back and forth as Jacob’s father rammed her from behind.
Xavier drove on showing me the rest of the property, but his voice became warped and tinny like sounds through a defective ear-bud as my thoughts remained stuck on the naked, sweaty couple back at Eye Spy.
Sucking in a shaky breath, I wagged my head to clear it and tried to focus on the hot-as-sin rocker next to me.
“…was a mind-blowing gift, you know.”
As the haunting image left my mind, Xavier’s voice slowly gained clarity.
Focus on Xavi. Focus on Xavi. “Come again?”
“This villa,” he said. “It was a gift.”
“Really?”
“Seven years back we had a die-hard fan in Europe. Sixteen. Succumbing to cancer. Docs estimated he had less than two months of life. Birthday was coming up in those two months and he wished for Ninety Miles to play for him on that day. Boy’s dad, some big-time bazillionaire, tried to book us to fly to Europe for his son.
“But we were on tour, scheduled, booked up and couldn’t afford a detour, so we turned the father down around three different times. Two and a half months later, boy’s dad contacted us again, desperate. Kid was still alive, in pain. Swore to God he wasn’t dying until we got there and played for him. That hit us hard. Little dude’s strength, his courage. So we postponed all else and immediately flew out to Europe. Played for the kid in his room on his deathbed and didn’t take a dime from his dad. Considered it an honor, you know. Next day, kid’s dad called us in tears to let us know that two hours after we’d left, his son went out peacefully, smiling.
“We carried on being rock stars. Two years later we came back to L.A. for a three-month hiatus and found this waiting for us. The dad’s appreciation gift. He’d secretly bought the land and constructed this villa for us while we were touring.”
Genuinely stunned, I whispered, “Wow.”
Ninety Miles had been around since they were pubescent fifteen year olds. They started out as talented school buddies all holding the same passion for music, hanging out till late hours in their music class after school, playing music simply for the love of it.