“Are you okay?” She chuckles, watching me jump up and down with a mic in my hand, clearing my throat.
“Yep, just a pre-show ritual,” I lie, because I never do this. Typically, I’d be sitting on the couch reading Twitter, not concerned with all of those people out there waiting for me.
But this show, there was only one person I am intent on impressing.
“Remember when you made a sign for the sophomore year talent show? When I played that song by The Fray?” I take a sip of the same herbal tea I drink before every concert.
Kara’s cheeks crease under her smile. She looks gorgeous tonight; the maroon silky slip dress clinging to her body in places that make me want to shove my fist in my mouth out of sexual frustration. Paired with the chunky black combat boots and just-woke-up curls she’s sporting, she looks so punk rock that no one in the arena, from the crew to the fans, can seem to keep their eyes off of her. I never thought I was a jealous man, but I’ve wanted to spoon about a dozen guys’ eyes out of their heads.
“God, I was so embarrassing, wasn’t I? But you were great. You won, remember?”
Of course I remembered. She let me get to second base that night, but the trophy from the school was a good runner up.
“Remember the time I tried to get you to write and sing a duet with me?” I can’t help but bust out a laugh.
“Yes.” She fake pouts. “I tried to rhyme boring with orange. I was terrible.”
“It’s a good thing you had a mind for science, because artistry and words were really never your strong suit.”
Kara walks past me to grab an iced tea out of the mini-fridge in the corner, and pushes my arm. “And here I was, thinking that was going to hinder me in life. Now look at me. Engaged to a millionaire celebrity and not a care in the world.”
She flashes her ring at me and rolls her eyes, and we both smirk. Kara would never be the girl who let a man take care of her, staying home and living off him, and we both know it.
“Hey, how do you know I’m a millionaire?” I side-eye her as I take my guitar out of its case, tuning it.
“I went on Zillow and looked at your house. It’s worth like, six million dollars … which is ridiculous. Who has that kind of money?” She waves her hand.
“You cyber-stalked me? I thought you said you didn’t want to know anything about me?” At least that’s what she had said at the wedding so many months ago.
Kara shrugs, crossing her legs as she sits down, the dress riding up on her thighs. “I figured if I was living with you anyway, I could break my social media ban. Do you know you have like, dozens of girls sending you naked pictures on Twitter?”
And those were only the girls she could see publicly. She should see my direct messages. “Don’t worry, I don’t engage.”
“I wasn’t worried.” That answer surprises me, but maybe she took our conversation on the beach to heart.
It was true what I’d told her, I was done being angry. Ever since she’d stepped foot back in my life, even if it was orchestrated, it was like the dark cloud that had lingered over my days was lifted. I hadn’t even realized it was there, how much duller my life had been without her, but now it was like all of my senses had been turned to ten. There may still be complications, things left undiscussed, the court case and a contract that I now wanted to tear to pieces just to show her I meant real business when it came to us. But despite all of that, I was going to fight for Kara this time. I was going to do what I should have done seven years ago, and even if she clawed me at every turn, I was going to win her back.
“Money, girls … no wonder you got yourself into so much trouble. The Dean I knew stayed on the outside of the herd.” She was teasing me, because she still knew me so well.
“All of the wealth in the world still won’t bring happiness. And that same happiness everyone is searching for only comes with the right girl.” I give her a pointed look, making sure she didn’t forget my sentiments from the other day.
She brushes my seriousness off. “Psh, whatever. I’d love to show everyone out there the skinny freshman football player I knew. Here, give me your phone. I’m going to hack your Instagram.”
Kara always did get a kick out of my early football pictures. “I admit, I looked like a tool with that spiked up front hair. God, didn’t I dye that little front patch blond too? Who was I?”
“A tool, that’s who you were.” She sticks her tongue out at me.
The stage manager comes in and warns me that I need to be on stage in five minutes. I tune my guitar, sling it over my back, and finish my tea. Kara just sits there silently, but I feel her support. If I asked her for something right now, she actually might do it. It’s the first public appearance, besides dinner the other night, that I feel like we’re kind of a team instead of enemies about to rip out each other’s throats the minute we were alone.
When I’m ready, I hold out my hand for her to take before opening the door. We are alone, and yet … Kara laces her fingers through mine, her skin feeling like velvet. We stand there a moment, staring at our connected body parts and experiencing the immensity of the moment, before I unlock the door and step out.
On the way to the stage, some professional musician photographer snaps our photos, and I can only imagine it will end up in Rolling Stone or something of the like. The crowd’s stomps and chants grow louder as we go.
“Oh my God, I’ve never been on the back end of this. Sure, I’ve gone to concerts, but this is insane. It’s so loud!” Kara laughs like a child, and her bright enthusiasm makes me feel refreshed in a way I haven’t been in ages playing a show.
“You stay here, I’ll be able to see you the whole time. Front row, as always,” I joke, referencing her sign escapades in high school.
“Give them the sparkle, baby.” She winks, and I think the buzz of the crowd has her high because she’s never used that nickname in all the time she’s been in LA.
We open up the show in grand style, me and the band I’ve been working with for three years. There is no more struggling through, no guessing if someone might make a misstep. Neil, Johnny, our bassist, Garrett, the piano and keys man, and Mitch on backup guitar were as ace as any band I’d ever played with. We were a unit now, formed by mutual respect and a passion for great music.
The crowd picks up our groove, singing back to us and cheering wildly with each new song we break out into. About halfway through the show, I give the signal for one of my oldest, but favorite, songs I’ve ever written.
Neil counts off the song, and I strum the opening chords for “Bleacher Seats.” I wrote this song in a haze of whiskey and cigarettes at the ripe age of twenty-one, not able to get the words out without tears streaming down my face in a drunken stupor.
“This song is dedicated to the girl who blew my mind for the first time, and continues to do so now.” I smirk into the mic, and the crowd goes wild.
The screams are deafening as I start to sing, my eyes finding Kara, her body mesmerized just off stage.
Dark night, teen lives,
How could we break out this time?
Too hot, skin to skin,
My hands can’t wait to begin.
I hold the mic out to the crowd, letting them sing their hearts out for the next few lines. I never take my eyes from the woman who was owned my heart since I was a teenager. Her face and chest are broken out in the most enticing shade of pink, and I want to walk from the stage now and go get her.
The song is about us losing our virginity to one another, the night she’d opened my world and flayed my heart. Branded it in her specific ink, never to be tattooed by another.
Under the metal, velvet ’neath my fingertips.
Please don’t let this slip away, don’t slip away from me.
Risers grow into the sky, shielding us from the world.
Won’t you stay with me, hidden from view?
Explore me and I will discover you.
I sing the chorus, the words burning my throat as I belt the
m, my eyes a magnet to Kara’s gaze.
We are both thinking about it, that night that I’d torn through her barriers, the night we’d ventured from one plane of teenage life to the next. How much love had been contained under those bleachers, the grass soaking the blanket on that humid, dewy night of summer.
I will never get the image of her looking up at me under hooded lashes out of my head.
Or the fact that she’s giving me the same look right now.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Dean
We both know it’s going to happen before my feet even leave the stage.
She’s standing in the wings, those violet eyes piercing me as every beam of light passes over them. The crowd roars behind me, the audio of one of my songs still playing as people get up to leave the show. As I pass band members and crew, they pat me on the back … but I don’t stop for anyone.
Kara is waiting, and as soon as I reach her, the hot air of the arena making that slinky dress cling to her skin, I grab her hand and pull her along with me.
She doesn’t protest, and the band on her third finger indents into my skin as I practically race back to my dressing room. It shouldn’t be here, I shouldn’t do this here. Not the first time after so long. But … the animal magnetism in the air won’t allow for anything else. The sex charging between us is too powerful, and even though nothing has been resolved, and she probably still hates me, we both know this is going to happen.
We crash into the dressing room, hands and fingers everywhere. Gripping clothing, pushing things off of the vanity, the lights of the showbiz mirror creating some kind of optical illusion as we paw at each other. My lips bite at hers, her hands rake through my scalp.
My fingers are rough from strumming my guitar for the last three hours, the stroking motion leaving me hard for most of the show as I sang to her. I must bruise her when I shove the straps of her dress down, my hands falling immediately to the breasts that are rounder and fuller since the last time I touched them. Kara moans, her head falling back, making contact with the mirror as I plant her firmly on the hard surface of the vanity in front of me.
Trembling hands wrench at the button on my pants, my cock clawing for the need to get out and into her hands. The hours I stood on stage were like the most erotic form of foreplay I’ve ever experienced, and I hadn’t even touched her. Now we can’t get enough, her small, velvet hands stroking me to the point of madness as I pop both cherry red nipples into my mouth one at a time.
There is no more waiting, no more thinking. It’s all been building to this; the hate, the confusion, the unsureness of actually being together. I wasn’t mincing my words when I told her I was coming for her, and here she was, trapped beneath me.
Sliding her dress up her thighs, there is not even a discussion of what is going to happen next. We bypass the romantic kissing, the dates ending in rounding second and third base. We’ve been here before, but the motions aren’t learned anymore. There are new places to discover, and I have no intention of going slow in this moment to explore them.
I grip the back of her neck, our bodies struggling to both come together and be as far apart as possible. We’re in this tangled dance of fucking in the most dirty possible way, but so many emotions fill the room that we can’t escape the web of our past tangling us up.
Grunts and moans fill my ears, but no words pass between us as I drive into her. I’ve said all the words, sang my heart out over the years hoping that she’d listen. No more vowels or sentences were needed, at least not right now.
I use every look into her eyes, every thrust of my hips, each finger indenting the skin on her hip as my means of communication. And she uses them back. With each snarl of her lip as I bottom out inside of her, the way she’s gripping my ass with those combat boots, her hands tugging at my hair.
Our body language says everything we can’t. Or are too afraid to.
Kara is whimpering, her body shaking as the threads of my soul begin to loosen. It’s an out of body experience, making hard, fast love to her. We’re different this time around, older and unfamiliar with who the other really is. My spine tightens, her body grips me everywhere like a damn vise. Soon, we’re both blind with lust, slick with arousal and swamped with the unintelligible song of sex.
And as we both tumble over, surfing the crowd of emotions and physical tidal waves of our climaxes, we catch one another. I hold her up just as she does me.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Kara
“Do you know how happy I am to be doing this?” Heidi snuggles on the leather lounge chair next to me, and I sigh from content.
“Are you kidding me? This is what you had in mind for my visit? Sitting in your massive movie room, binging Netflix shows and eating gourmet junk food? We are in Hollywood! We should be out, passing velvet ropes with all of your new connections!” She throws her hands up, but then pops a Ghirardelli truffle in her mouth with a smile.
I laugh and snap off the end of a Twizzler with my teeth, reveling in the sugary sweetness that is oh so bad for me. Looking around, we’re drowning in bowls and bowls of different candies. When Heidi had mentioned coming out for a trip, and after Dean fled without so much as a word a day after we slept together, I knew it was the perfect time. I had his credit card, booked her a first-class ticket to LAX, and planned the ultimate girls’ night. Talking with Skylar about meal prepping, I’d relayed that I wanted all of the bad, sweet, fried foods that I’d been avoiding since I’d been in front of cameras so much. He set up appetizer deliveries from some of the most delicious restaurants in the area—including dumplings from my favorite new Chinese joint and buffalo shrimp from the tiny exclusive tapas place on Rodeo Drive—and also worked with Dylan’s Candy Bar to set up an incredible spread. It was overkill for the two of us, and we were stuffing our faces like an LA model’s nightmare, or fantasy.
“This is a hundred times better, believe me. And I do that every night, I’m so sick of it. A real night with my best friend for me equals a gossip session on the couch while stuffing our faces and watching terrible romantic comedies.” I tuck my sweatpants-clad legs under my butt.
Heidi rolls her eyes. “Oh, poor little rich engaged girl … she is just forced to attend all of those swanky parties and accept free top shelf alcohol and gift bags.”
I throw a piece of caramel and chocolate flavored popcorn at her forehead. “It’s good to see you too, B.”
“Yeah, yeah. A girl can’t really complain when she was flown out here with free champagne and a first-class window seat. And then picked up in a Bentley. And then taken on a shopping spree on someone else’s dime. He may be a bastard, but Dean Jacobs is a rich bastard.”
Heidi had arrived last night, and in our usual fashion, we’d climbed into my king bed and talked until we fell asleep. Sure, she could have stayed in one of the other fifty beautifully designed rooms in this castle of a house, but having her sleep on the other side of my bed felt like a little piece of home I could cling to. Earlier in the day today, we’d gone and bought out the stores of LA of every overpriced pair of pants and too-expensive shoes.
It felt good, vengeance almost, to spend Dean’s money after he’d shrunken away like a coward. One day after we’d come out of our bodies in his dressing room after the concert, he’d flown to London early without even a word to me. I’d woken up the next day, alone in my bed, confused and turned on and needing to talk about what happened. Needing to process and vent and fight about why I’d let myself do that, about why we had to explore these feelings that truthfully, had never gone away.
But I couldn’t. He’d left word with Patrick, his agent, to let me know he had to go on tour and that he’d be back in two weeks. It seemed like after every physical encounter we had these days, this man who claimed to be so in tune with his feelings about me just flew out the door like a bat out of hell.
“So, what movie should we watch next?” I pick up one of the seven remotes it takes to control this room and click a button to p
ull up the movie library.
“Rich people have it so good. This entire room is bigger than my parent’s house back in Jersey, and he seriously doesn’t even have to wait for movies to come out?! Look, there is that new Ryan Gosling romance that doesn’t release for two more months. This is seriously the life.” Heidi relaxes her hand behind her head and scrolls the movie database.
“It does have its perks. So tell me the gossip, come on. I miss New Jersey.” I click on A Cinderella Story and let Chad Michael Murray’s face fill the screen.
Heidi nods her head in approval. “An oldie but a goodie. Hmm, let me think. Marie came into the salon the other day, she was glowing. I think she’s knocked up … definitely a honeymoon baby. And the Peter family is closing down the diner, apparently, Noah Peter doesn’t want to take over the family business so they’re selling. What else?” She taps her finger to her chin. “Oh! Do you remember Mr. Walsh? The hot history teacher at the high school?”
“Do I remember him? I had the biggest crush on him sophomore year.” I laugh, enjoying the frivolous talk.
“Well, word is, he’s dating a former student who was only a few years above our grade. Kind of gross, but also I’m so jealous of her.”
I digest the information about Marie and Henry, secretly envious that the other Elm Hill high school sweethearts were doing so well. “Congrats to Marie and Henry if so … I mean, obviously, they’re going to be awesome parents. And yeah … Mr. Walsh was hot. But I don’t know how I’d feel sleeping with someone who saw me through the braces phase.”
“B! I said the same thing when my mom came home and told me. Then she said I was disgusting and told me I needed to find a nice man. Whatever.” She rolled her eyes and recited a line from Hillary Duff in the movie. “And you know Jennifer Price?”
“Is she the one who works at the strip club in Florida?” I remembered seeing her more … risqué pictures she liked to post on social media.
As Long As You Hate Me Page 10