As Long As You Hate Me

by Carrie Aarons

  Heidi clucks her tongue. “She prefers exotic dancer if you read her Instagram page … but anyways, she’s pregnant.”

  “No! Jeez, is there something in the water?” I shake my head.

  “Not unless you tell me you have a bun in the oven, which would make it three for three.” She flicks my arm.

  “As if me, Marie and Jennifer Price have anything remotely in common. No, there is no way I’m with child. Religious birth control pill taker ever since the day I turned seventeen, you know that.” I hold my fingers up like I’m pledging a Scout’s honor.

  “As if I don’t remember the day your mom took you to the gynecologist.”

  Oh lord, that had been so uncomfortable. Telling your mom you were no longer a virgin had to be one of the weirdest conversations a teenage girl could have. She’d cried in the doctor’s office, called me a woman and wanted to hear every kind of birth control option possible. Meanwhile, I’d wished my grave would open up in the middle of the floor and just swallow me whole right there.

  “It’s not like you’re sleeping with anyone anyway. Lucky girl. Who gets a five-carat diamond and doesn’t have to put the vijayjay on display?” She picks up a salted caramel and pops it in her mouth.

  I stay silent, staring ahead at the movie. No matter which way I go with this, Heidi is going to get it out of me. But I can stall for just a minute longer.

  “Wait a minute … I know that look. Did you sleep with him?! Did you sleep with Dean fucking Jacobs!?” She grabs the closest, cushiest pillow and smacks me over the head.

  “Why do you say his name like you didn’t sit next to him every day at lunch for all of high school?” I pout, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Are you fucking serious? You slept with him? He put his million-dollar penis in your vagina?”

  The way she described it made me laugh, and I had to reach for the wine glass on the side table next to me. “Yes, okay? I didn’t really mean for it to happen …”

  “Oh, yes you did, I saw this coming from the three hundred miles away where I live my boring life in New Jersey. I knew it.”

  “Just rub it in.” I roll my eyes at her.

  “Was it good?” She wiggles her eyebrows.

  I sigh, giving up putting this off. “It was fantastic. Incredible. Sexy in a way I’ve never had before, and I’ve already slept with the damn man.”

  “Oh, this is making my toes curl. How, when? I feel so cheated that you waited a day and a half to tell me this.” She sits up on her heels, turning toward me as if she’s a child and I’m going to read her a story.

  “Down, girl. Fine … it was at his concert three days ago. Or, after it, I should say. In the dressing room. He practically sang the entire show directly to me, B. It was insane, I’ve never been more turned on in my life. And yet, I was so pissed off at myself for having those feelings, that it made the sex almost … angry. Shit, I don’t know.”

  Heidi squeals. “So, what does this mean? Did he say anything before he left?”

  My heart drops at having to say this out loud. “Not a peep. We got in the car after we finished, he stared out the window for the forty-minute drive out to Malibu, and then closed the door to his room the second we walked through the front door. It’s like … I am not even the one who has been up front about my feelings or pursuing anything, and yet whenever something intense or intimate happens, he runs for the hills. He snuck out of this house like a regretted one-night stand. I have no idea what it all means. I never wanted this.”

  I hold up my hand at her, the diamond ring sparkling.

  “Maybe he is freaking out about you possibly freaking out. That’s such a guy move, you know?” Heidi waves her hands around as she talks. “And come on, Kara … you’re my best friend. You don’t have to lie to me. A small part of you knew that something like this was going to happen. No one in their right mind agrees to a fake engagement to the love of their life without having some repressed feelings involved.”

  Burying my head in my hands, I mumble, “You’re right. I just … I feel like one of those weak women. I told you he never cheated, right?”

  Her warm, supportive hand lands on my arm. “You did … and I believe him, Kara. Remember the only time I ever mentioned it, right at the beginning when you broke up, and you got so mad that I let it drop? I never truly believed he could do that. Sure, Dean has that swagger about him, and he hasn’t been an altar boy for the past seven years, but he loved you. He really loved you. You’re not weak, you’re human. And you let go of a love that most of us never even dream of, much less experience. I think it’s okay to explore that when it’s gifted back in your face.”

  Maybe she’s right. But I feel so vulnerable right now, that I feel like if I expose one artery to Dean, he could slice it and I’d bleed out.

  My head is not in rhythm with my heart. Both are all over the place. And the only way to have them marching to the same beat is if Dean comes home and we address this, once and for all.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Dean

  Whenever one visits London, they become a Londoner.

  There is something about this city that just takes over your soul, molding you into a calm, cool, confident type who likes to walk the streets on a brisk afternoon and pop into a pub for a long date with a dark stout. This city, with its beautiful parks, cozy eateries, bustling traffic and efficient tube system just gets into the marrow of your bones, making you never want to leave.

  For me, it’s also the city that shaped of some of the greatest musicians ever known to man. The Who, Oasis, David Bowie, Pink Floyd, and who could forget the kings? The Beatles. With every alley I turn down, and every royal walkway I step on, I hear the ghost of Sgt. Pepper.

  If it weren’t for my home base and the industry being firmly supplanted in California, I probably would have moved here a long time ago. As it is, I try to spend three to four months out of the year in the flat I bought in this city. It’s so peaceful, so much less media attention and the need to keep up with anyone.

  “I think I’ve fallen in love with this bar.” Johnny takes a swig of his fourth beer, the thick foam from the dark ale sticking to his upper lip.

  “I think you mean the beer, man.” Neil raises an eyebrow, a hint of a smile forming beneath his beard.

  “Nope, I mean the bar. I could live here and be as happy as a clam.” Johnny’s meaty hand sets his glass down.

  For a guy who looked like one of the giants in Harry Potter, my bassist was a complete teddy bear. Six foot seven and almost three hundred pounds of sheer muscle, Johnny was like Hagrid’s twin. He was also one of the greatest guys I knew, and an asset to keep around in an industry full of so many phonies.

  The bar we’d stumbled across was almost hidden from the street by how much ivy and shrubbery covered its brick face. The door was only viewable if you looked closely, like some secret garden smack dab in the middle of London proper. And on the inside? A wood paneled paradise. Gleaming bar tops, dark wood walls, a dark paneled floor to match. It was a man’s paradise, full of the best brewed alcohol and perfectly fried fish and chips.

  “I say we stay in London, man. It’s just … better here. Fuck LA, I’m over it.” Neil clinks my glass.

  I couldn’t say I disagreed. “Well, we still have the next two shows here, and then it’s a short trip home before Germany in a month.”

  The show tonight had been fucking amazing. I loved playing these smaller venues, really getting to sing for and entertain the true fans, the ones who knew not just our hits, but the rare stuff. I could play some of my very first EP songs and they sang right along, the room hushed and respectful but also fully tuned into the experience. So far, we’d done four shows in the week and a half we’d been here, and we’d perform twice more before flying back to Hollywood and its bullshit glamour.

  “Let’s go out tonight.” Johnny gives us puppy dog eyes.

  “We are out, right now,” Neil deadpans, his approach to seeing through Johnny’s de
mands just a straight and narrow bulldoze.

  “No I mean out. It’s been way too long since we were each other’s wingmen. I could use a nice woman to keep me company tonight, and damn do I love a British accent.”

  Neil tilts his head to the side. “Shit, brother, you got me there. The London ones are always so fun.”

  I flip them off, scoffing. “You two boneheads do remember I’m a kept man now?”

  Neil keeps his mouth shut, because he knows about the contract, but Johnny just laughs. “As if a ring was ever going to keep you from sticking your dick where it doesn’t belong. Isn’t that how we got into the Hannah mess in the first place? Monogamy, bro, it’s not your strong suit.”

  My heart flinches, my pride wounded and my ego more than a little salted. “Can we ixnay the Hannah talk? I haven’t been getting as crucified about it, in the media or in interviews, but that girl is like voodoo. Say her name and she’ll appear like Bloody Mary. And fuck you, man. I am faithful to Kara, she’s my fiancée.”

  “That isn’t an ‘I love you,’” Neil chimes in, and I want to sucker punch him in the jaw.

  “I love her, I do.” I glare at him.

  “You hardly ever bring her around the band, man. She never comes to rehearsals, she was briefly at that club one night before you got into it and left. The concert before we left she was there, but she didn’t say more than two words to me. I just don’t see it. And you get engaged to this girl who was your high school sweetheart literally out of nowhere? I’m not going to say I listen to rumors, but there are some going around, Dean.” Johnny shrugs sympathetically, but he’s a straight shooter too, as always.

  “Rumors? Who the fuck is saying something?” That pisses me off, especially if the people closest to me, like my bandmates, are talking shit.

  “Not me, but there are some accusations going around the musician scene, and I can’t say some of them don’t sound accurate, dude. No offense, but this feels like a contract engagement.”

  I should have known my bandmates would be smarter than I thought they were. Contract relationships were such a normal in our industry, that they were basically the new brand of love. But I should have thought ahead, made up a better cover story for those closest to me. I had to admit too, it looked fucking suspicious to pull this woman, who I never talk about, out of nowhere and suddenly she’s spending her life with me and we are headed to the altar.

  I’m half-drunk and trust these two, so I don’t even try to deflect. I’m tired of bottling up my feelings, and I could really use someone to talk to.

  “So what if it started like that? It doesn’t mean it isn’t real now.” I sulk into my sudsy mug of comfort.

  “Oh man, you didn’t.” Neil sighs.

  “What?” I sound like a cranky teenager.

  “Wait, it really is a contract relationship? I knew it!” Johnny covers his mouth, like he wasn’t supposed to say that.

  “Did you really fall in love? Tell me you didn’t fuck her?” Neil is staring at me with that judgmental look in his eyes.

  I turn to Johnny. “Yes, and don’t tell anyone. It might even be more, but don’t tell anyone that either.” Then I turn to my best friend. “And what does that mean? I finally have the girl I love more than anything back in my life, of course I am trying to make something happen.”

  Neil shakes his head while Johnny looks back and forth between us. “But not like this. She’s tied to you, legally. While that contract stands between you, nothing will be real. Either tear it up in some grand gesture, or leave it be. You might be catching feelings, shit, she might too. And fucking each other’s brains out is one thing. But can you honestly start something with a foundation that is such a lie? Remember, Kara wasn’t thrilled about moving in with you.”

  His words annoy the shit out of me, grating on my skin like one of those arm burns your frenemy gives you in kindergarten. The sensation slides down my spine, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I know he’s right.

  “No, I can’t undo the contract. It has a shelf life … she’s guaranteed things too.” It was an excuse, to guard myself.

  Because as long as I can keep her tied to me, I don’t have to wonder if she’d stay if she had the choice. I can have her right where I want her, with a clause in place to hold her there if she decided she didn’t want to love me the same way I loved her.

  After the night at the concert, I didn’t want to know the way she would look at me. Would she think it was a mistake? Could I be hopeful enough that she would fall in love with me again? That she would put aside all of the past animosity and shit from our history? I didn’t know. So I ran. Like a fucking coward. I’d fucked up, but I knew that when I got home, she would still have to be there.

  Neil looks at me as if he’s seeing right through my arguments, and I know I won’t be able to hide from this truth for long. But right now, this contract is all I have.

  I need all the time with her that I can get before we know for sure that the two of us is something that will last for real.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Kara

  The lights are on in the massive front hallway when I unlock the front door, and I know Dean must be home.

  Home. It’s weird to think of this place as the location where I eat my meals, brush my teeth and make my bed … but, there you have it. Over the course of the past months, Los Angeles has become just that, and sometimes I even feel myself sitting in the large bay window of my room, reflecting on just how nice the view is.

  Of course, I’ll never tell my fake fiancé that.

  But I’ve gotten used to my drive to work. The girls there that have become friends. The guy at the coffee shop around the corner who has my order ready every morning when I stop in.

  Setting my keys down on the table in the hall that has become my place for loose change, my purse and to slide my shoes off, I walk through the house.

  Strumming, the beautiful sounds of a guitar being plucked, comes from inside Dean’s den. And by den, I mean the thousand-square-foot room filled with priceless musical instruments, a giant flat screen, pool table and fully-stocked wet bar. You know, just your average man cave. Insert eye roll.

  But I have to admit, he still plays as magically as he did all of those years ago. If not better, since he’s had almost a decade learning from and becoming one of the best in the business.

  I haven't seen him in two weeks, not since that night in his dressing room. He left for a short tour of intimate concerts in the United Kingdom, and we have only exchanged the few awkward texts checking up on each other. Or more, he's tried to reach out and I've given him one word answers.

  My brain and heart are completely messed up, and my inner-conscience has been cursing at me since I let him fuck my brains out like the world was ending. As if we were the only two people who existed in the universe, as if we were still those teenagers clinging to every moment alone.

  I see him before I hear his words. That long body lounging on a low brown leather couch, the guitar laying sexually in his lap while he gently has his way with it. All of those tattoos rippling as his muscles strain and relax with each flick of the guitar pick.

  My body betrays me, sensual heat licking up my spine.

  Your hair on the pillow paints a picture of lust,

  But our hearts tangle like sheets in love.

  Candles flicker, rain comes down,

  I smell nothing but you, see no one else around.

  “Well, that one should be an instant hit, get ready to cash in the big bucks.” I open with a joke, not knowing his mood or how I should even approach him after all of this time away.

  Part of me wants to be angry that he left without saying a word, but I also want to address everything too, and acting like a sullen teenager won’t help.

  “Yeah, because that’s really why I do this,” Dean grumbles, picking up a glass of amber whiskey and taking a sip.

  “Oh, don’t tell me you don’t enjoy all of this. Those screaming girls at your
concerts, belting your lyrics to you.” Maybe if I bring up the concert, it will fuel a conversation forward.

  I’m being passive aggressive and I know it, but I’m nervous about discussing what happened. I should be brave, but under his cerulean gaze I feel naked and vulnerable. Standing in the doorway to his den, I shift my weight uncomfortably.

  Dean narrows his eyes at me, and I can feel a shift in the room. Cold, and bitterness.

  "Every song is about you; don't you get that? I made one stupid fucking mistake, and that was not coming after you. The dumbest, most irresponsible thing I've ever done in my life. And it cost me everything. You were my everything, Kara ... you and the music, that was all I had. And since I lost you, lost your trust and your heart, I buried myself in the lyrics. I composed melodies to try to win you back, thinking somehow, someway, you would hear my words on the radio and come back to me. Seven years and the songs are still all about you. They're my apology, my feelings. Every ounce of love I still feel for you are in those songs, so don't mock them to me. They weren't a play for money or fame, they were my pledge to you. Don't throw that in my face."

  Sweat breaks out on my skin, and nervous energy skitters down my spine. Every time he uses that four-letter word, I feel like my entire body is melting under his influence.

  “Dean—”

  But he cuts me off. “You once asked me if I get tired of all it, the pretending. Of course I do … I’m fucking exhausted. My bones hurt from all the of the fake. But you know what’s real? This. You and me. It always has been. Even if you refuse to acknowledge it, or push me away or pretend you don’t care … this is real. It’s always going to be you and me. You’re the one I can come home to and let all of my walls down with, you knew me before they painted me in their sheen and sold me to the masses. You loved me before all of this. And I still love you, that’s never changed. That is what my real is.”