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

by Crystal Kaswell

Even though they're among friends, his grip around her waist is protective.

  Thankfully, they go right to the kitchen, right to the conversation. I stay planted on the couch by myself until Meg and Miles arrive.

  Tom calls everyone to attention and he announces the wedding date. There's gushing and hugging and laughter and another promise that Willow isn't pregnant.

  Everyone is happy and honest and real.

  I'm still a liar.

  ***

  My residence as the woman of the couch is short lived. It only takes twenty minutes for the party to fill. There are two dozen people here and the room is loud with laughter and conversation.

  Drew joins me on the couch with a nod hello. Tom takes the armchair kitty corner to us.

  He looks at me. "I'm hogging your boyfriend."

  "He was your brother first." I offer a weak smile. "He looks like he's having fun."

  It's not quite a lie. Pete is talking to Willow and Kara in the kitchen. They're joking, laughing.

  Miles walks up to us. "Jess, right?"

  I nod and shake his hand. He plops on the couch next to me. I'm sandwiched between the dark haired guitarist and the blue-eyed singer. I should be in heaven.

  But I feel like hell.

  Miles leans towards Tom. "Come on. Admit you slipped one past the goalie."

  Tom motions to Drew. "Do I look like I have a death wish?"

  "Our secret." Miles winks.

  Drew turns to me. "Miles likes to get a rise out of people. He thinks he can get me to hit Tom—"

  "You've done it before," Miles says.

  "I saw my life flash before my eyes." Tom laughs.

  "You kissed his girl. What did you expect?" Miles asks.

  "If she'd already been his girl, I wouldn't have had to kiss her." Tom turns to Drew. "Worked out, didn't it?"

  Drew shrugs a whatever. "You're not gonna piss me off. My sister is happy. That means I'm happy. And I'm glad we're in a community property state where she'll get half your shit if she gets tired of your ass."

  Tom laughs. "She can have all my shit if she gets tired of me. I don't want anything but her."

  "Damn, when did you get soft, Sticks?" Miles asks.

  "Please. You're way mushier with Meg when you're alone," Tom says.

  "How do you know if they're alone?" Drew asks.

  Tom cocks a brow. "Wish I didn't know. They were going at it all tour."

  Drew laughs. "Was funny watching you get more and more pissed the worse your blue balls got."

  "You were almost as moody as Guitar Prince," Miles teases.

  Drew flips him off but he's smiling.

  Tom turns to me. "How are you, Jess? Feel like we barely know each other."

  "An enigmatic woman for an enigmatic man," Miles says. "You're going to law school, right?"

  "Yes. USC." I offer a smile. Is there any way I can convince them to go back to bantering like I'm not here? I guess discussing law school is as neutral as it gets. "I'm good. Tired but good. I've been doing a lot of summer coursework and—"

  "Fucking Pete every place in that giant house?" Miles offers.

  My cheeks flush. They're trying, hard, to be friendly, but I can't escape the voice in my head screaming you're a liar.

  The front door opens. There's a flash of bright blue. A balding man in an ugly suit. Aiden.

  The temperature must drop by ten degrees. Drew, Miles, and Tom exchange frustrated looks.

  Tom leans in to whisper to me. "You know what he and Pete have been talking about?"

  Yes. I bite my lip.

  "Who the fuck invited him?" Drew scowls. "Want me to tell him to get lost?"

  "No. We need your hands for the studio," Tom says.

  "Don't need my hands." Miles cracks his fist. "Have to admit, it's been a while. Kinda miss the thrill of it."

  "No way. Meg still hasn't forgiven me for telling her to get lost," Tom says.

  "Who'd think she'd hold a grudge about a little thing like that?" Miles says.

  "Fuck off. You were the one doing coke with him in the bathroom." Tom frowns.

  "Yeah, but I barely liked coke," Miles says.

  Okay, I have to laugh. "Did you really say that?"

  Miles shrugs. "It's true."

  I clear my throat. "There isn't much to say about me. I'm going to law school. I'm from Long Island. I love The Hunger Games." I push myself to my feet. "And I need to get some air. It was nice talking to you guys."

  Pete is still in the kitchen. His gaze flits between me and Aiden. I point to the outside patio. A nice quiet place to think. Hopefully.

  It takes great effort to move through the party. I spot Ethan with a model on his arm. She has a platinum pixie cut and a very short dress. She claws at him like she's already ready to take him home.

  He nods hello. "You okay, Jess?"

  Damn, am I that transparent? "Just getting some air." I nod to his date. "Have fun... later."

  He laughs. "Let me know if I need to kick his ass for you."

  I play dumb. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "Yes, you are." He nods to Pete, still in the kitchen, still staring at us. "I'd help you make him jealous if I wasn't busy."

  "That's okay. I... uh, I guess I'll see you later."

  "Dangerous Noise is opening for Sinful Serenade on their US tour next year. Should be interesting, me being Drew's replacement's replacement." He nods goodbye. "You'll be sick of me soon."

  He thinks I'll still be around by the time the band is on tour again. I'm not sure if it's sweet or pathetic that everyone is assuming I'll be around for good.

  Finally, I find the patio. It curves all the way around the house, to a small side yard. There isn't much room—a tall, wooden fence housing the next door neighbor's side yard is four feet in front of me—but there's a patio table.

  I collapse in the plastic chair.

  Ah, quiet. Sort of.

  It only makes my thoughts feel more jumbled.

  I need to keep my eye on the prize. School comes first. Whatever is happening with Pete is secondary. Even if the strength of my feelings for him is going to swallow me whole. Even if I feel sick over lying to all these people.

  A nasally voice grabs my concentration. "Miss James, is it?"

  Aiden is standing by the fence. The sight of him does nothing to help in the holding down my dinner front.

  Still, I smile. "Yes. How are you?"

  "I can see why he went with you." His gaze fixes on my chest. "You're prettier than you seemed at first."

  What the hell? From the polite expression on his face, this is his idea of a compliment.

  He continues. "It's working. His fans are going crazy, wishing they were the normal girl he'd fallen for. Girls love him. Especially the teenagers. That's why marketing wants him with someone nice."

  "Okay."

  His eyes narrow. "He really believes you care about him."

  "I do."

  He stares back, incredulous. "You think I was born yesterday, honey?"

  I push out of my chair. I don't like where this conversation is going. "Excuse me. I should get back to the party. I'm sure Pete is looking for me."

  He grabs my arm. Hard. "We need to have a conversation."

  "I don't think Pete would like that."

  "I don't care what he'd like." His grip tightens on my arm. "I know your type. I've seen it happen before. You pretend to be a nice girl, convince him you love him and not his money. Thought he'd see you for the gold digger you are but the kid is too sweet for that."

  "I'm not. I do care about him. I'm not trying to convince him of anything."

  He leans closer. "I know how much he paid you. You really expect me to believe you're in this for something besides your bank balance?" His hand goes to my hip. "You belong to the band. And I control everything that belongs to the band."

  My blood goes cold.

  "Don't fuck with me. I know what that kind of money buys. You want the world to know you're a whore?" He moves e
ven closer. "My car's around the corner. It won't take long."

  I can barely breathe. Okay. Stay calm. Think. The best way to deal with it is a smile. "I'm sorry, but you're misunderstanding the situation, Aiden. Pete and I are exclusive. It's very important to him." I swallow hard. "It's part of what he's paying for."

  He glares at me. "I've seen bitches like you before. Think you're too good for a regular john now that you have your claws in a rich guy."

  He pushes me against the wall. Okay, no more polite smiles. I kick him in the shin. It doesn't help the situation any, so I aim a little higher.

  But I miss. He's not there at all. He's against the wooden fence opposite us. The thing is shaking.

  Pete has his arms around Aiden's collar. He doesn't give the asshole a chance to explain.

  His punch lands with a thud. Then another. Another. Another.

  I turn away, checking if the coast is clear. There's no view of the side yard from downstairs. We're not upstaging the party.

  We're not at risk of someone calling the cops.

  Pete isn't going to end up in jail.

  It should be okay.

  Maybe.

  It's possible.

  Finally, the sound of fist pounding into flesh stops. I turn back. Pete still has Aiden pinned to the fence.

  Pete's voice is low and angry. "I'm done with you."

  "Mr. Steele—"

  "Don't bother. I heard enough that you can't bullshit your way out of this. I don't want to see you unless we're meeting with the label."

  "Don't you think Tony—"

  "I know your uncle will be interested in what you did to Alice. She's like a daughter to him."

  I blink my eyes open. Pete still has Aiden pinned. The coward is shriveling. And Pete is fuming.

  My stomach flip-flops. I have to protect him. "Let's go. Please."

  Pete turns to me. "You okay?"

  "I will be."

  "Good. I'd like you to stay there, but if you want to go, do it." He turns back to Aiden. "This is something I should have said a long time ago."

  "Pete, come on. We're friends. We're good."

  "One more word and I'm going to knock you unconscious. Don't care if you press charges for assault. Don't care if you make good on your threats to have the label bury our album. You do anything but exactly what I say, and the entire world is gonna know you're a rapist."

  "I didn't..."

  "Maybe she won't admit it. But she's not the only one, is she?"

  Aiden swallows hard.

  "You're gonna stay out of our fucking way until the record's done. Then, the second I say, you're gonna resign as our manager and retire from music."

  "I can't—"

  "You will."

  "How do you think Tom is gonna react to the album getting buried? And right before his wedding? That will break his heart."

  "Threaten my brother again and it will be the last thing you ever do."

  "Pete. Come on. This is a misunderstanding."

  Pete drops Aiden on the ground. "If you touch Jess again, I'll fucking ruin you."

  Aiden steps backwards. He mumbles a yeah.

  "Get the fuck out of here. Now."

  The manager does as he's told.

  Pete goes to me. He runs his fingers over my cheek. "Did he hurt you?"

  I shake my head.

  "Did he touch you?"

  "What if he did? Will you kill him?"

  "Might." His eyes fill with concern. "Good thing you're not allowed to lie to me."

  The intensity of his stare makes my knees weak. Or maybe I'm still terrified.

  I nod. "Only my arm. I'm okay. I can handle myself."

  "Yeah. But you don't have to." His arms slide around my waist. He pulls me into a tight hug. "He's not gonna bother you again. I promise."

  I dig my hands into his shoulders. "Isn't this whole thing for your reputation?"

  "Still have my reputation. Just Aiden isn't a part of that." He pulls me to my feet. "Come on. I want to take you home."

  "But then..." I look up at him. "What are we?"

  "I need you to stay with me through Tom's wedding."

  "Okay." I want to tell him how I feel about him, but my mouth is too sticky.

  Instead, I slide my arm around his waist and let him lead me to the car.

  The ride passes quickly. Then we're home, going inside, in his room, in his bed.

  He peels off my glasses and sets them aside. Then my shoes. My dress. My bra and panties.

  I watch him strip to his boxers. The moonlight falls over his body in such a flattering way, but lust isn't what's stirring inside me.

  He climbs into bed next to me. Again, he pulls my body into his, my back against his chest. It's so intimate, the skin on skin contact.

  His fingertips trail over my hips. "I still owe you one today."

  I shake my head. "Just hold me. Please."

  "You sure?"

  "Positive." I nestle into his body. "I... I'm not pretending anymore. I really do care about you."

  He undoes my French braid and runs his fingers through my hair. "I know."

  I don't ask how much he cares about me. I know he does. The way he acted with Aiden, the way he's holding me now—that's not pretend.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  I wake up alone. The house is quiet. Pete's car isn't in the driveway. There's no sign of him anywhere.

  Shit.

  I go for my usual morning hike, get home, and shower. There's still no sign of him.

  No sense in putting off my day. In the kitchen, I put a pan on the burner, break eggs into a plastic bowl and whisk. Now coffee.

  The carafe is already full. And there's a note next to it, black marker on torn piece of paper.

  Making sure everything is taken care of with the label. Should be back by lunch.

  He left me a note. It's domestic as hell, like our relationship is normal instead of complicated.

  After cooking, I sit down with breakfast, coffee, and my latest YA novel. It's no Hunger Games but it's still quite the page-turner. I get caught up in the book until the door swings open and slams shut.

  Pete is wearing a frown. His brows knit. He runs a hand through his dark hair and lets out a sigh.

  I put down my book and push out of my chair. "Hey. Thanks for the coffee."

  He looks back at me with surprise. "Hey."

  "How was it? Is everything taken care of?"

  "Should be." The frustration falls off his face as he moves closer. Then he's six inches away and he's smiling.

  He's smiling because I'm here.

  Because we're together.

  "Should I make lunch?" I ask.

  "Later." He slides his hands around my waist and pulls me into a soft, slow kiss. When it breaks, he runs his fingers through my messy hair, his eyes filled with affection. "You busy today?"

  "I have a lot of reading to do."

  "I'm gonna practice." He motions to his room. "Stop by if you need a break."

  ***

  After an hour of reading, I'm more than ready for a break.

  I go to knock on Pete's door but it's already open. There's music flowing into the hallway. It gets louder as I step inside.

  He's sitting on his bed, his bass in his lap. The instrument is plugged in to an electric amp and there are headphones over his ears.

  "You don't have to use headphones," I say. "I'd like to listen."

  He pulls his headphones off as he turns to me. "Nobody listens to a bass on its own."

  "What about house music at clubs? Isn't that nothing but a bass line?"

  His lips curl into a smile. "You gonna put on a tight dress and dance?"

  Dammit, it's hot. I shake my head. "I'm just going to listen."

  He unplugs his headphone and pats his bed.

  Tempting. Incredibly tempting. I take a step backwards. School first. Then sex. "I have to get my book."

  Pete nods then his attention turns back to his bass. Music fills the hallway. It's f
amiliar. Something off one of the Sinful Serenade albums.

  I close my eyes and try to place the song. It's not one of the singles. I listen to enough alternative rock radio to recognize those.

  The answer doesn't come. My eyes open and catch his. There's all this affection in his deep brown eyes.

  Last night, I told him I cared about him. He hasn't said anything. Hasn't responded.

  My heart aches. How the hell am I supposed to stomach all these feelings? I want to talk, to tell him how much Dad's non-response is weighing on me.

  But not if he's going to keep running off.

  His eyes turn towards me. He cocks a brow. "You okay?"

  Yes, great. The lie forms on my tongue. I swallow it down. I like being honest with him.

  I shake my head.

  He slides out of his shoulder strap, sets his instrument in its stand, and kneels in front of me.

  Pete pulls me out of the chair so I'm kneeling next to him. His fingers brush my chin and jaw. He brushes stray hairs behind my ears, his eyes fixed on mine.

  "Please don't pretend you care about me," I say.

  "Do you really think I'm pretending?" He pulls me into his lap as he sits cross-legged.

  I shift so I'm straddling him. I stare into his eyes. Run my fingers through his short hair. He smells good. Like soap and shampoo.

  The expression in his deep, brown eyes is earnest. He does care about me.

  That makes this harder.

  My chest heaves as I inhale. I can't tell him how I have feelings for him. Not yet.

  "You're going to explode, keeping everything bottled up." He pulls me closer. "Talk to me."

  "Don't you do the same thing?"

  "I have music. You don't have anything."

  He looks up at me, brushes my hair from my eyes. "I want to know you. The person you want to be."

  The words jump into my throat. He's warm. He's comforting. I really do believe he cares about me.

  I squeeze my inner thighs against his hips, settling onto his body. "Even the ugly things?"

  "We all have ugly things in our past."

  "Yeah, but you turned yours into something beautiful." I point to his tattoo, though it's covered by his jeans. "And your music too. You make your pain so beautiful."

  "No." He stares back at me. "The pain is ugly. Dealing with it is the beautiful thing."

  "You sound like a self-help book."

  He pulls me closer. "Tell me anyway."