Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4)

by Crystal Kaswell

  Pete nods.

  "At the end, he goes to her and says, 'you love me, real or not real.' And she says 'real.' I want that. One person gets 'real or not real' and the other gets 'real.' It could be with a mockingjay or an arrow or just the words."

  My face is burning. I can barely bring myself to look him in the eyes.

  There's no judgment in his expression. He's smiling. "That sounds sweet."

  "You don't think it's lame I'm a super fan?"

  "Fuck no. Hunger Games is good shit."

  My fingers are drawn to the lines of his tattoo. "Will you explain it to me, what it is you felt in your soul? Why you got the tattoo?"

  "It's not exact. If I could explain it exactly, I wouldn't need the ink."

  "That's okay."

  His voice drops. "My biological mom died giving birth. Dad never got over it. That's why he was always drinking. He never stopped blaming me for it." Pete's eyes go to the comforter. "Looked at me like I stole the sun from the sky."

  He's been through an ocean of pain. I reach out to comfort him. My fingers find his cheek. He leans into the gesture for a moment then he turns away from me.

  "Always knew I could lose anything at any moment," he says. "Wasn't till I landed with Ophelia that it mattered. She was the first person who thought I was worth something. Roses are her favorite flowers. Became mine too. Got the ink the day I turned 18. Can't explain better than that."

  "I think I understand."

  He moves closer. Pain slides off his face until his expression is all playful. Does he really feel better or has he just pushed it aside? I'm not sure.

  All I know is how badly I want to be there next time he hurts, to do whatever I can to comfort him.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Dinner is a blur of good food and better conversation. We share two obscenely fancy seafood dishes—red snapper and scallops—and an array of amazing vegetable side dishes.

  I don't snap out of the cloud until we're on our way back to my place. The drive takes too long. He has one hand planted on my thigh. My whole body sizzles from the touch.

  This can't happen soon enough.

  Pete parks on the street. I'm about to jump out of the car when he pulls me back.

  "Hold on." His voice is rough. He's upset.

  Oh. There's a stocky man standing outside my apartment, talking to one of my neighbors. There's a camera around his neck. He's a photographer.

  "Let me handle this." Pete gets out of the car without waiting for my response.

  His posture stiffens as he approaches the photographer. I can't hear anything from the car, but I can feel the anger all the way over here.

  This is bad.

  I'm not gonna sit and watch him get hurt. I open the car door and step onto the sidewalk.

  "Let's go inside," I say.

  "Be there in a minute." Pete glares at the photographer.

  Okay. That's a threat. No way he's getting into trouble on account of me.

  "No, come in with me." I try to keep my voice light. I point to the writing on my chest. "You did make me a promise."

  That breaks up some of the frustration in his expression. He shoots the photographer one more glare then follows me into my apartment.

  I lock the doorknob and the deadbolt. It's not enough security. My blinds don't work—they're stuck half open. Anyone across the street can see in here. Anyone can find me.

  Is it really that interesting, Pete dating a random law student?

  The air is stiff and tense. Something tells me this conversation isn't ending with him planted between my legs.

  He presses his back against the wall. His eyes stay glued to me. "This should blow over in a few weeks."

  I nod.

  "Until then, you need to stay with me." His stare is demanding, intense. "I know you want your space. I respect that. You can take Tom's room and one of the empty rooms as an office."

  I swallow hard. "This is my apartment."

  "You can't stay here. It's not safe." He runs his hand through his hair. "I won't forgive myself if something happens to you." He moves closer, until he's only a foot away, then he pulls me into a hug. "Give it a few days. If you don't like it, we'll figure out something else."

  "Okay."

  I soak in the comfort of his arms for as long as I can.

  Then I pack up everything I need for the next few weeks, get in his car, and say goodbye to everything I love about my apartment.

  ***

  He goes straight to his room. No discussion, no concern, nothing but him locking me out again.

  I try to soak in the atmosphere of the house—it is a beautiful place—but all I feel is the lack of his presence.

  Did it mean that little to him, sharing how his father hurt him?

  I try not to let it hurt. He isn't going to fall in love with me. He doesn't want a girlfriend. He doesn't even want to talk to me when it's not convenient for him.

  I'll stay here for a while, but I'm not going to let him become a part of my life. Not if he's going to pull away like this.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  It's fifty minutes and two transfers from Pete's place to the law school book store. Plenty of time for my confusion to settle in. Where the hell does Pete get off pulling away like that?

  Damn. If only he'd been reasonable, we could have ended the night with fireworks and orgasms.

  The five minute walk in the sweltering sun is enough to make me well aware of my body's other demands. It's well past lunch time. I'm tired. It's damn hot.

  I need an iced coffee.

  And I need him deep inside me.

  Air conditioning pours over my skin as I step into the bookstore. Now, all I need is him deep inside me. It's wrong, thinking dirty thoughts in a law school bookstore. This place is practically a library.

  I load my hands with required textbooks, trying hard to think of anything but the matter of fact text from Pete sitting on my phone. I transferred some spending cash into your account. What the hell is his problem? The guy closes off in a hot second then he transfers an obscene sum of money into my bank account.

  Enough that I don't need to even think about getting a job for the next twelve months.

  "Excuse me!" A student in slacks and an oxford shirt bumps into me. He looks at me like I'm out of place then nods to the bookshelf behind me. "You mind?"

  "Yeah, sure." I step aside so he can grab his text book.

  The guy scoffs. The look on his face says shhh. The volume of my breath displeases him. Or maybe the floral pattern of my skirt is too loud. Somehow, I don't fit his vision of law student to be.

  Fuck him. Fuck Pete if he's going to turn off his affection.

  I ignore the rude guy as I collect the rest of my books. Damn. This is heavy. I make a pile of half a dozen books on the carpet.

  A sound pierces the quiet. An Amy Winehouse song. Shit. That's my ring tone. I find my cell in my pocket. Incoming call from Pete Steele.

  The rude guy stares at me like I'm evil. Asshole. I dig my fingers into the slick plastic of my phone case. Okay, I'm frustrated. But I'm not stooping to being an asshole.

  I bring the phone to my ear. The irritation in my voice is more obvious than I intend it to be. "Yes?"

  "Where did you go?" he asks.

  "To get my books."

  "Tell me next time."

  "Fine."

  "You okay?"

  No, I'm not okay. I couldn't sleep a wink, because I couldn't stop thinking about how you locked me out. "About as good as a person can be getting textbooks." My stack is up to eight books. It's going to be miserable getting these home on the bus. "Why do you ask?"

  "We're live."

  "Oh. That's good, right?"

  "Yeah." His voice is uncertain. "Pic's pretty racy."

  "Send it to me."

  My phone buzzes with a new picture message. It is racy. We're at the hotel, making out, his hands digging into my ass.

  It wasn't a staged moment. It was real and raw. I can
feel how much he wants me just looking at the picture.

  A flutter builds below my belly. This isn't helping ease the ache between my legs.

  I bring the phone back to my ear. "Looks great. And you can barely see my face. I doubt anyone recognizes me."

  "It's only a matter of time."

  I switch my phone to the other hand. I shift my weight between my legs. "I know what I signed up for."

  "With all due respect, you don't know till it happens."

  "I've been chased out of my apartment. I think I know."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "If you don't want a girlfriend, that's fine. Stop letting me in then pushing me away. I've got the point. You don't want intimacy with me. Right?"

  He says nothing.

  My chest heaves. How can he be so casual about this? Not my problem. My problem is school.

  I do nothing to fight the frustration in my voice. "I should go. I need to figure out how to get these books home."

  "Jess."

  "Are you getting at something?" I ask.

  "Don't play dumb. You can't pull off dumb."

  "I know that you can pick me up, Pete. It's just that I don't want to put myself through another round of you opening up to me then locking me out again."

  "I'll be there in twenty." His voice softens. "If you need anything, call."

  "Were you listening to me?"

  "You don't have to talk to me."

  "But, I—"

  "Tell me to go fuck myself and I will."

  I trip over my tongue. "You don't mean that you'd go touch yourself."

  "Yeah. Sure. You want pictures?"

  "Yes." My cheeks flush. I want a million pictures but he's not distracting me with sex. "But not right now."

  "You want me to come or not?"

  "Don't say it like that."

  "You want me to pick you up or not?"

  "Okay. You can pick me up. If you're going to stop jerking me around."

  "Deal. See you soon."

  I slide my phone into my pocket and offer the nosy asshole guy a weak smile.

  My heart is still heavy. My stomach is still in knots. Okay, I can admit it. This is more than sexual frustration.

  I have full blown feelings for him.

  But I'm not letting that get in the way of law school. That's what happened to my mom. She met a guy, gave up her career to get married, had a few kids, then resented her family every minute of every day.

  Not me. No way. I'm not letting anyone get in the way of what I want. Not anymore.

  I collect my last few books, pay at the register, and find a cozy spot on the lawn.

  I'm a law student.

  No one is taking that happiness away from me.

  ***

  For twenty minutes, I soak in the warmth of the sun, the soft breeze on my arms, the sharp aroma of fresh cut grass.

  There are footsteps. Someone sits next to me. I don't need to look up to know it's Pete. I can feel his presence in the way my shoulders relax.

  Even when he frustrates me, he makes me feel like I can float.

  His fingers brush the back of my hand. "You excited?"

  I take a long look around the quad, memorizing the shape of the tall trees, the red brick of the main building. "This is the next three years of my life."

  He moves closer. Until our shoulders are touching.

  Still, I keep my eyes on the school. Looking at him is too risky. I might mount him right here on the grass.

  He drags his fingertips over my forearm. Damn musicians and their masterful hands. I'm already flushed and wanting.

  "Any chance you're taking up entertainment law? Like you a lot more than our current lawyer," he teases.

  "No. It pays well but it doesn't interest me."

  "Atticus Finch doesn't argue royalty percentages."

  My stomach flutters. He remembers what I said about To Kill a Mockingbird. "Am I that obvious, wanting to be a defense attorney?"

  "You want to get murderers off. Cold. Exactly what I expect from you," he teases.

  Finally, I look at him. Damn, the affection in his deep brown eyes takes my breath away. How can he have his guard down so quickly when it was up so high last night?

  I run my fingertips over his chin. I can't help it. He's beautiful.

  I make my voice as confident as I can. "Only person I want to get off is you."

  His lips curl into a smile. "Only if I get you off first."

  My cheeks flush. I want to. But I can't deal with him closing off again. "You bailed yesterday."

  He says nothing.

  Okay. That's not the best sign. I study his expression for a clue to his intentions, but the only thing I can place is confusion.

  "Why did you do that?" I ask.

  "I was thinking."

  "About."

  He moves closer. His eyes fix on mine. "You haven't told me why you want to be a defense attorney."

  "I guess it started before To Kill a Mockingbird. My friend, Kathryn—"

  "The one who sleeps around?"

  I laugh. "That one. We've been friends since kindergarten. She got bullied a lot. One day, I think it was third grade, a few of the popular kids ganged up on her and started a fight. When the teachers broke it up, the popular kids all said Kathryn started it. Nobody listened to her. They barely gave her a chance to defend herself. It wasn't fair. Everyone deserves a defense."

  "What about your ex?"

  "It's not a crime, being a cheater or an asshole."

  His brow knits. "But if it was?"

  "I guess he'd deserve a defense. I always let him get his way, never challenged him. But I didn't offer much of myself. I didn't make an effort to get to know him. I didn't love him the way Tom loves Willow. Or, uh, what was it, Drew and Kara?"

  "Yeah."

  "It was nothing like that. Not even close." I swallow hard. "Reasonable doubt is the cornerstone of our justice system." I sound like a textbook. I continue anyway. "The police can't just know what happened. They have to prove it. They need enough facts to convince twelve jurors."

  He finds the tie holding together my French braid and pulls it out. "You're beaming."

  "Really?"

  "Yeah." He runs his fingers through my hair, undoing my braid. "Never thought a woman talking about the law could be so fucking sexy."

  "Why did you run off last night?"

  His eyes turn down. "Kept thinking that you're gonna back out of this."

  "I won't. I swear."

  He stares back with disbelief. "Can I get that in writing?"

  There's all this vulnerability in his eyes. I want to wipe it away.

  I nod. "Sure. You have a pen?"

  He pulls a permanent marker from the front pocket of his skinny jeans and hands it to me.

  "Hmm, where to write? No paper." I drag my fingers over the V of his v-neck. "This will have to do." I pull his t-shirt down and write my promise on his chest.

  I won't back out of this. - Jess James

  He looks down with a smile then takes the marker back. One hand goes to my shoulder, holding me in place. With the other, he scribbles on my chest.

  "What's it say?" I ask.

  He pulls back to admire his work. His lips curl into a smile. "I'll make you come every day."

  "It does not."

  He nods, pulls out his cell, and uses his camera to prove it.

  There it is, in black marker on my chest:

  I'll make you come every day. - Pete Steele

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Pete's good mood slips when we get back to his place. He goes off to his room to work on a song. It must be true—there is music flowing from his door—but it's not exactly him being straight with me.

  I want to talk to him. I want to pry his head open and look at all his thoughts. But I can't take him pushing back. Not right now.

  After I unpack my books and organize my clothes, I say fuck it, and I give in to the allure of the glowing aqua pool.

  There
's some noise in the backyard. Mostly birds, breeze, a far away car driving through the neighborhood. I can see the hills for miles. I can see Downtown, the cluster of skyscrapers that makes up Century City, the white letters of the Hollywood sign.

  I don't have a swimsuit. Pete's room has a view of the pool. The sun is setting. There's no reason why I need to be shy. I strip to nothing and dip my feet in the pool.

  It takes me a minute to ease myself into the cool water. The chlorine will do awful things to my hair, I'm sure, but I don't care. I dive under the surface.

  The water is refreshing, inviting. I swim in circles until the sun sets then I settle in the shallow end and turn my eyes towards the setting sun.

  The backyard door pulls open. There are footsteps on the concrete. I don't have to turn to know they belong to Pete. No one else is here.

  "Hey." His deep voice cuts through the backyard.

  "Hey." My voice is not nearly as loud or confident.

  I watch him strip out of his jeans, t-shirt, underwear. What is he doing—coming closer, pulling away, holding position? I don't know what to make of his reactions anymore.

  My thoughts turn off as I watch him slide into the pool. The glow of the water casts highlights over his face. It makes his deep brown eyes look even more intense.

  He moves closer. Closer. Then he's a foot away, close enough to touch.

  "Been thinking," he says. "I'm asking too much of you. Fucking up your life."

  "You're not."

  "Listen to this before you argue with me."

  I stare back at him. I know he's wrong, but I'm willing to listen. I nod an okay.

  "It's only gonna get worse, this fame bullshit. I don't want that for you." He moves closer. "I'm giving you an out. If you can't do this anymore, you can walk. Keep the money. No hard feelings."

  "What about your manager, Aiden?"

  "I can deal with him." His fingertips brush my chin. "This is it. If you stay, you have to be in. You have to be sure."

  I drag my fingers over the promise I scribbled on his chest. "I was sure this afternoon and I'm sure now." My chest and shoulders feel light. It's obvious. I need him. I can't walk away.

  "Don't like that I'm fucking up your life."

  "I've dealt with worse." I rise to my tip toes and run my fingers through his dark hair. It's still dry. I'll have to change that. "All I've done since I moved to L.A. is work and read. I was too tired to do anything else. Now, I'm going to law school, I'm getting a hell of a tour around town, and I... I've never had sex like this before."