by Lauren Rowe
“No.”
“Yes. Trust me.”
“See, the thing is: I actually don’t trust you as far as I can throw you.”
“I’m just gonna take a selfie of us—of our faces, not of my twat pressed against your lips. And I won’t send anything unless you’ve approved it first.”
I’m too stunned by the image of Aloha pressing her “twat” against my lips to move a muscle for a moment.
“Zander Shaw! Keep up, sexy man! For the love of fuck, give me your phone.”
“I... no.”
“Yes! I’m the pampered pop star on this bus and you’ll do as I say.”
“Try again.”
She sighs. “Fine. Pretty please, Mr. Bodyguard? This is a trust exercise.”
“Yet again, it bears mentioning I don’t trust you at all.”
“Hence, the trust exercise.”
Aloha waits with her palm out, until, finally, I slowly place my phone in it.
“Just don’t go scorched earth on her,” I say. “I’m never an asshole to my exes. Ever.”
“Trust.” Without the slightest hesitation, she places my thumb on the thumb reader of my phone—like we’ve both come to some implicit agreement it’s her unfettered right to hack into my phone at her whim. She swipes into the camera, and then, much to my surprise, climbs on top of my lap, drapes her body over mine, and bites my ear, taking my diamond stud into her mouth and swirling it with her warm tongue... all of which results in my dick springing to life directly beneath her glorious ass... the amazing ass I saw naked, in all its glory, mere hours ago... which I’m now suddenly remembering in acute detail. Oh, God. That ass! It’s a work of ass-art that should be on display in an ass-museum in Massachusetts.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Happy,” Aloha says as my dick hardens to steel beneath her. She grinds into me playfully and giggles. “Wow, Z, I’m constantly amazed at how much Mr. Happy likes doing yoga with his platonic friend.”
“It’s pure physiology.”
“Mmm hmm. So you keep telling me. Now smile for Daphne, Zandy Man. Smile like you just fucked the living hell out of me and then I sucked you off ’til you passed out.”
“Jesus Christ, Aloha.”
“Dude. Stop looking like that. You have to look like we just rocked each other’s worlds, not like I just punched you in the face.”
Without warning, Aloha bites my earlobe, hard, making my cock jolt underneath her.
And then I sucked you off ’til you passed out.
Jesus God, I’ll never forget Aloha saying those amazing words as long as I fucking live.
Aloha shows me the selfie. “You like?” she asks. “Wait. Don’t answer that.” She pointedly presses herself into my hard-on underneath her. “Yes, I can surmise that you do, indeed, like it. You like it a lot.” She snorts and slides off me, leaving Mr. Happy gasping for air and silently screaming, “Don’t gooooo!” And then she hunkers down and begins tapping out a text on my phone like she didn’t just send rockets of pleasure shooting into my cock.
I rearrange Mr. Happy in my pants and peek over her shoulder. “What are you writing?”
“A text to go along with the photo. Don’t worry. I won’t send anything without your approval.”
“But what are you gonna say?”
“Trust.”
“But, see, I one hundred percent do not trust you,” I whisper. But then I remain quiet and patiently wait to read whatever masterpiece she’s concocting.
A minute later, Aloha hands me the phone and says, “Okay to send?”
Hi Daphne. This is Aloha Carmichael on Z’s phone. I just want to thank you for being honest with Zander about your feelings for him (or lack thereof). I’m sure it wasn’t easy to break his heart, considering how great he is, but I think it takes a big woman to be honest about her feelings and let someone as amazing as Zander go. If he’s not a fit for you, better to cut him loose and let him try to find love (or at least some smokin’ hot lust) with someone else. One woman’s trash is another woman’s treasure, amirite? Thanks again for your honesty and authenticity and for paving the way for me to have such a horny good time with someone who fits me like a glove in more ways than one. Snicker. Love and light, sister! Aloha
Chapter 20
Zander
I can’t stop laughing as I read Aloha’s text to Daphne. “How’d you get so damned diabolical?”
“The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, I guess. Did I mention my mother is Satan?” She giggles. “Do you want to do the honors and press send?”
“Hell yes.” I press the button. “Thank you, Satan’s Daughter.”
“You’re welcome, Shaggy Swaggy. I’m not diabolical thanks only to my demonic DNA, by the way. For years as a kid, I used to have to sit through coaching sessions before going on TV talk shows and press junkets. After all that training, sending a ‘fuck you’ disguised as a ‘thank you’ to Daphne is child’s play.”
“You’re amazing, Aloha.”
She flashes me a truly adorable smile. “Does that mean you’ve fallen deeply and madly in love with me?”
“No, but I’m this close to falling in heavy like with you.” I show her my index finger and thumb, barely a centimeter apart. “But don’t tell Keane. He won’t believe I’m still on this side of the line and he’ll call the bet in favor of the one-monthers.”
“Dude, I wouldn’t dream of ratting you out to Judge Peen. At least, not during month one. I’m a two-monther, remember? I want that pot of cash.” She squeezes my arm. “So riddle me this, Zan-Zan. What was so damned amazing about Daphne that you felt compelled to swear to your friends you’d never, ever, not in a million years, fall for me?”
“Daphne wasn’t the only reason I said that, remember. Barry had a lot to do with it, too.”
“Fuck Barry. He’s not the boss of me.”
“Well, he’s the boss of me—and not a guy I want to piss off.”
“Aw, Barry’s a softie.”
“He’s a badass motherfucker.”
“With a softie center. But whatever. Back to Daphne. She was at least part of the reason you said you’d never, ever touch me.”
“Correct.”
“Then my initial question stands: what’s so amazing about this goddamned girl? Because, last I checked, I’m pretty damned amazing, too.”
I chuckle. “You really are the female Keane, you know that? Well, the pre-Maddy Keane. Before Maddy came along, Peenie couldn’t stand the idea of a single pickle in the world not throwing herself at him, even if he didn’t actually want the pickle.”
“The pickle?”
“Peenie used to say getting women was like ‘picking pickles from a jar.’”
Aloha laughs. “Stop trying to distract me and answer the question: what was so amazing about Daphne you couldn’t even imagine falling in love with a sexy and irresistible woman like me?”
“I don’t know how to explain Daphne’s appeal. She was just really attractive to me. Luminous. Kind of, I dunno, mysterious. We had amazing chemistry.”
“But was your amazing chemistry with her better than your amazing chemistry with me?”
“Jesus, you’re relentless.”
“I am. Which means you might as well tell me what I want to know, because I’ll pry it out of you, eventually.”
I exhale. “Comparing my chemistry with you versus Daphne is impossible. It’s like comparing apples to oranges—pickles to pomegranates—because you and I haven’t had sex. “ Yet. That’s the word that just popped into my head. I shut my mouth, making sure I don’t say it.
“Okay, then, take sex out of the equation,” Aloha says. “Think back to your pre-sex chemistry with Daphne. Was it better or worse than ours?”
“That’s a hard thing to remember. Daphne and I slept together Lionel Richie style the first night.”
Aloha cocks her head. “Lionel Richie style?”
I grin. “All night long.”
Aloha hoots.
“That’s a Kean
e-ism,” I say, laughing with her. “I wish I could take credit for that one, but I can’t.”
“Is that typical for you?” Aloha asks.
“Oh, God, yes. I absolutely love going all night long.”
Aloha visibly blushes. “No, Mr. Sex Machine. I meant is it typical for you to have sex with someone that fast—the same night you meet them?”
“Oh.” My face floods with heat. “Um. It’s not atypical, I guess. If I meet someone, and we’re really vibing, and both of us are sending green-light signals to each other, then why wait? Now, just to be clear, one-night stands typically aren’t my jam. But if a woman bowls me over and she’s making it obvious she’s down to fuck, then I’ll roll with it and see where things might lead.”
Aloha looks genuinely surprised.
“You’ve never leaped straight to sex on night one?” I ask.
Aloha shakes her head. “How could I? If the guy is a celebrity—which is almost always the case when it comes to me—then I’m thinking, at least at first, he might be using me for publicity. And if a guy I’m attracted to isn’t a celebrity—if he’s a guy I’m just meeting out in the world at large—I’d never jump into sex with him because I’d be thinking he’s probably a star-fucker. Or I’d be worried he might sell his story to the rags or try to jumpstart his ‘acting and modeling’ career by ‘leaking’ a private sex-tape. That’s why my team is so strict about NDAs—not just with people who work for me, but with anyone who interacts with me in my personal life. You never know what someone might wind up saying or doing.”
I grimace. “No wonder you’ve never fallen in love. You don’t trust anyone as far as you can throw them.”
Aloha shrugs like that’s an obvious statement.
“You don’t trust anyone?”
“I trust people. But not completely. The only person I trust completely, without a shadow of a doubt, is Big Barry. I used to completely trust my best friend, Cassie—the one who played my bestie on It’s Aloha! She was my sister, the same way Keane is your brother. But after I released my first album and the debut single went to number one, she tweeted that I didn’t deserve my success and that I was nothing but a ‘puppet’ for my label.”
“Oh my God. And you’d trusted her the same way I trust Keane?”
“Like a sister.”
“Holy fuck. Was her Twitter account hacked, maybe?”
Aloha shakes her head. “That’s what I thought at first. But, no. She blamed the tweet on cocaine and went to rehab a few days later. But, come on. Coke didn’t create those feelings of jealousy inside her. It just brought them out. She’d put out an album six months before me and it tanked. And unlike me, she’d personally written or co-written every song. So, I actually understood the source of her anger. But, still, having her turn on me like that—and so publicly—made me feel like I can’t trust anyone. To this day, I feel like anyone besides Barry is one line of cocaine away from eviscerating me on social media.”
Oh, my heart. The tortured look on Aloha’s face is ruining me. I touch her cheek, every cell in my body yearning to lean in and kiss that pained expression away. “You’re not a puppet,” I whisper, my face mere inches from hers. “No one is pulling the strings when you’re up there dancing and singing and making an entire arena full of people fall madly in love with you. That’s all you, Aloha.”
Aloha’s chest heaves. She twitches forward like she’s going to kiss my lips... but then kisses my cheek. “Thank you,” she says softly, just before sliding her arms around my neck and clutching me fiercely.
Oh, fuck. All of a sudden, every cell in my body wants to return that cheek-kiss she just laid on me. I wanna kiss her soft cheek and run my lips along her jawline. But, God help me, if I do any of that, it’ll open the floodgates and I’ll surely kiss her lips. And that’s something I simply can’t do.
Aloha sighs, shifts her position, and rests her cheek on my shoulder. “I think I’m done talking for a while, Shaggy Swaggy. Let’s just watch the sunset for a bit, okay?”
“Okay, hula girl.”
We sit together for a long while, watching the sky changing colors. But after a bit, I can’t resist asking Aloha something I’ve been curious about.
“Why is your relationship with your mother so terrible? Did something specific happen or is it just the culmination of years of mixing business and family?”
She pauses for a long moment. “Long story short, my mother cares about nothing and no one but herself and money. She doesn’t have a nurturing bone in her body.”
“So I take it she’s not on the list of people you trust.”
“She is not.”
“What about Reed Rivers? Do you trust him at all?”
“Reed’s a good business partner. A straight shooter. Is he my friend? No. Would I want to date him? Fuck no. But in a business context, I trust him to do what he says he’ll do.”
“I’ve actually been wondering how you wound up on Reed’s label. He’s not known for pop music, is he?”
“No. I actually signed with Reed because of Barry. Reed had expanded Barry’s duties and told Barry he couldn’t freelance anymore. Which meant Barry was no longer allowed to guard anyone not signed to River Records, not even me. At the time, I was just about to renew my three-record contract with my first label, so I scrapped that deal and negotiated the same deal with River Records. As part of the agreement, Reed promised to leave me and my team alone to do our thing and I promised to make him buckets of cash. And so far, it’s worked out. My first two albums for Reed went platinum and this last one, Pretty Girl, is on track to go triple platinum.”
“Wow.”
“Talk about going out with a bang, huh?”
“Going out? Does that mean you’re leaving River Records?”
She shrugs. “Pretty Girl fulfilled my contract and I haven’t signed a new one. Everyone thinks I’m dragging my feet on the new deal because I want to gouge Reed for more money. But that’s not it. I’m just not sure I want to sign a new contract with anyone.”
“You don’t want to make music anymore?”
She sighs. “It’s probably just a phase. But, yeah, lately, I keep finding myself fantasizing about becoming an episode of Whatever Happened To...?”
“What would you do instead?”
“I have no idea. Honestly, I don’t know who I’d be if I didn’t do this.” She waves generally at the bus and then exhales. “Don’t mind me. I’m just being dramatic. I’m sure if I take a nice, long tropical vacation after this tour, I’ll be ready to cut a new album and hop right back on tour in no time.”
“And if not, that’s okay. This is your life. Live it for you and nobody else.”
Aloha shoots me a look like I’ve just said the silliest thing in the world.
“You think I’m naïve for saying that?”
“I think you’re sweet. And I think you don’t realize how many people count on me. Not to mention how stupid it would be for me to throw everything away just because, ‘Wah, wah, being famous is so hard!’”
“Maybe you wouldn’t have to throw it all away. Just change it up. Slow it down. Maybe you could... I don’t know. Keep the parts you like and throw away the parts you don’t?”
“It doesn’t work that way. It’s all smooshed together. It’s like how a sailboat needs to have a sail and a rudder to function properly. You can have a humongous sail and gale-force winds at your back, but without a rudder, you’re just blasting off toward some random spot on the horizon line with no control or way of steering.”
My chest tightens. The look on Aloha’s face tells me she’s just divulged something meaningful to her. I take a deep breath. I’m not sure I should ask the next question, but I do it, anyway. “Do you feel like a sailboat without a rudder, Aloha?”
Her face flushes. She presses her lips together and then nods slowly. “I actually wrote a poem about it once.”
“You write poetry?”
“All the time.”
“Wow. I’d re
ally love to—”
“No. Sorry. I don’t let anyone read my poems.”
There’s an awkward beat.
“Okay, well, if you ever change your mind...”
“I won’t. Thank you. You’re sweet to be interested. But, no.”
There’s another moment of silence between us.
“So... you’re big on sailing?” I say. “I seem to recall you doing a lot of it on your show.”
“You’ve seen the show?”
“From afar. My little sister used to watch it.”
Aloha smiles thinly. “I absolutely loathe sailing. I get seasick just looking at a boat. Moana, I’m not. But all of season eight featured that stupid storyline where Aloha goes undercover as a ‘regular teenager’ to escape the pressures of fame, and she takes a job giving sailing lessons to the guests at a fancy resort. So I had to take sailing lessons to look like I knew what I was doing. It was torture.” She exhales. “But enough of my whining. Let’s talk about something else. Something fun.” Her green eyes drift to the passing scenery out the bus window for a moment before igniting with mischief. “I know. How about we play a game? I happen to know a super fun one I think you’re gonna love.”
Chapter 21
Zander
For the love of fuck, Aloha.”
We’re still barreling down the I-5 toward San Diego. Sitting together on the love seat at the back of the bus. And, much to my aggravation, Aloha just asked me if I’d rather “do” her or Daphne.
“It’s a game,” Aloha says, rolling her eyes. “It’s called ‘Who Would You Rather’? Ellen DeGeneres, the queen of nice, plays it all the time on her daytime talk show. So it can’t be too salacious.”
“I’m familiar with the game. But the two choices aren’t supposed to be two people I actually know. They’re supposed to be, you know, celebrities.”
“I’m a celebrity.”
“But you’re not a celebrity to me. Not anymore, anyway. You were at first, but now you’re just, you know, Aloha. The annoying girl who keeps asking me annoying questions about Daphne because she has a Keane-Morgan-like addiction to collecting pickles.”