Dirty Like Brody: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 2)

by Jaine Diamond

  I’d spent the last hour or so before she left arguing with her in my room. It was the only place we could be alone and I’d dragged her up here when we started fighting. It was the same fight we’d had for months before the tour. I was still angry about it; I just tried to pretend not to be. Because clearly, no matter how I felt about it, it didn’t change a fucking thing.

  But that night, when she’d shown up with that piece of shit, it rubbed me the wrong way and then some. I’d had a few drinks and my defenses had slipped. I could no longer pretend it didn’t bother me that we were leaving, again, and she wasn’t coming with us. I knew she was sick of the same fight, and maybe nothing I could ever say or do would make her change her mind, just for the fact that she was sick of the same damn fight. But I wasn’t gonna give it up. I couldn’t.

  And that fight ended like they almost always did—with Jessa walking out. But that time… it was the first time it really got through to me. That this wasn’t a temporary thing. That Jessa wanted out—for good.

  Out of the band… and out of any kind of possibility of a life with me.

  I still couldn’t accept it.

  The next day, before we left town, I had a bunch of roses delivered to her. White ones, with a card that said, Call me when you change your mind.

  She never did.

  The thing was, I always thought she would.

  I’d never stopped waiting for that call.

  And maybe that was what scared me most of all. That I could lay everything I had at her feet and she could just walk away—and now, I could do it all again. Open the door to her, offer everything I had to give… and she could still walk away and leaving me hanging.

  Break my heart all over again.

  Because of course, she fucking could.

  When I joined Jessa on the patio, she seemed to be in a good mood. Kind of contemplative and relaxed. And she was definitely happy to see me; she got up and threw herself into my arms and gave me a long, tight hug, before settling back onto the couch with a sort of self-conscious smile.

  So that was different.

  Better.

  Then we talked. Actually talked, without fighting, like we used to do for hours on end when we were kids. And for once, it wasn’t about all the shit that had gone wrong and the distance between us. It was just talk, and it felt so fucking good.

  At first, I sat on one of the chairs that faced the couch, leaning forward on my knees to be close to her where she lay. I loved watching her, that sparkle in her eyes when she was happy; that sparkle I hadn’t seen in way too fucking long. The way her lips moved… that beautiful sweet curve of her upper lip and the fullness of the bottom lip, the way the corners twitched when she was amused… the way she showed all her teeth when she laughed.

  Gradually we got closer until I was sitting, then lying on the couch right next to her. Both of us on our backs, sides pressed together, just shooting the shit like there was no one else in the world whose two cents mattered.

  We lay like that for a long time, just talking.

  I hadn’t forgotten about my promise to get my tongue between her legs, but maybe we’d work up to that. I really wasn’t up for anything that was gonna make her cry again.

  This peace between us was just too good.

  Eventually, she said, “I’m sorry, Brody.”

  I took a deep breath.

  I’d been waiting to hear those words from her for years, but hearing her say them, so sincerely, I just wanted to let her off the hook. When it came down to it, I didn’t really want her apology; I just wanted her.

  “I know,” I said.

  “I mean… I’ve screwed up. I keep torturing myself, you know? With all the bad memories… all the times I’ve messed things up.”

  “I guess that’s how we’re different,” I said, watching the firelight and shadow play over her features. “Mostly, I keep torturing myself with the good.”

  She stared at me for a long time.

  “I just… I hope you can forgive me,” she whispered.

  “There’s nothing to forgive. I’ve been an asshole myself, Jessa. You know that. You don’t owe me any apology.” I stared back at her in the firelight; so fucking beautiful. The kind of beautiful wars were waged over. “Not if you’re here. With me.”

  She didn’t say anything, just nodded.

  “I meant what I said, though. At the wedding. You know… in your cabin.” And I said it again, the hardest thing I’d ever had to say to her, really. “It can’t be like it was before.”

  Yeah, I wanted her back, more than I’d ever wanted anything in my life. But if having her back meant more of the same, more of the past… I totally couldn’t fucking do it.

  Not even for her.

  I could not have Jessa in my life and not be with her.

  “I don’t need it to be like it was before,” she replied softly. “But I do need my friend back.” Then her hand slipped over mine, soft and strong.

  “You never lost me,” I told her.

  We lay in silence a while, holding hands, my heart drumming in my chest, and then we got talking again.

  “Fill me in on what I’ve missed,” she said. “You know, with the band.”

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Everything,” she said, that sparkle in her eyes. “I want to know everything.”

  So I filled her in, the best I could, on the highs and lows of six-and-a-half years working, traveling and living with a bunch of talented, egotistical, moody, unpredictable and definitely somewhat insane rock stars. Mostly, the many highs. The biggest parties, the most epic concerts, the amazing places we’d been.

  I also told her about all the messes that Maggie, Jude and I had mopped up over the years. Which, in the early days, meant tantrums and trashed hotel rooms (Zane), random disappearances minutes before concerts were scheduled to start (Dylan), trails of broken hearts and death threats from discarded women (Zane and Jesse), ridiculous pranks and practical jokes that ended in nights spent in jail or the hospital (Zane and Dylan), and blow-out fights ending in either tears and a whole lot of broken shit, or laughter (Elle and just about everyone).

  Nowadays, the dramas surrounding the band were a little less… full-throttle. Everyone was on the brink of their thirties; Dylan and I were already there, Jesse, Zane and Jude were next, and Elle would soon follow. Ten years working together as a band, longer for Jesse, Zane, Jude and I, and everyone was mellowing out. Thinking about what was next. For the band; for themselves. The days of partying all night long, sleeping all day, banging an endless line of willing groupies and drinking everything alcoholic in sight had lost at least some of its appeal.

  I’d seen the way everyone in the band—not just Elle—looked at Jesse with Katie. Katie had changed him, in a good way; Jesse had always been a happy guy, but something had happened this last year.

  “She’s brought out the best in him,” I said. “Without even trying, she showed him there was more to life than the one he’d been living, epic as it was.”

  “Yeah. I see that.”

  “I think the guys are jealous, actually.” I meant Zane and Dylan, but I was jealous of what Jesse and Katie had too. For sure I was.

  I kept talking, and Jessa kept listening. She begged for more details when the stories got good. Smacked me on the arm when they got too crazy to believe. Best of all she laughed, that soft, bubbly little giggle, and even better, that big, throaty laugh like she just might choke—the one she’d laughed when we were kids.

  Jesus, I’d missed that laugh.

  When it was her turn to talk, to share what life had been like for her these past six-and-a-half years, she held back. I knew she did. But I took what she gave me.

  Mostly she told me about her travels, some of the most incredible photo shoots she’d done, the places she’d been. And I was glad to hear she’d been happy. At least, she’d definitely had some good times over the years. Maybe I was eighty percent happy and twenty percent jealous… but really, I ne
ver wanted her to be unhappy.

  I just wished she’d been happy with me.

  “Turks and Caicos,” she mused. “That was the most fun ever. They have the bluest water, and it’s just so beautiful.”

  “Near the Bahamas, right? I’ve never been.”

  “You should go,” she said, but I left that alone.

  If Jessa was there in a bikini, not a problem. I’d book my flight this minute.

  “Night swimming there is pretty epic… it’s a little warmer than it was up at the wedding.” She grinned at me. “I don’t think I’ve ever been that cold. When I jumped in the water, I thought my heart was going to stop. If Zane didn’t put his arms around me, I think it might’ve. You were smart not to come in. But then again… you always were the smart one.” Her smile faded, replaced by something else… a certain wistfulness. Admiration, maybe. It was the way she often looked at me when we were really young.

  Like I could do no wrong.

  “The amount of alcohol you drank,” I said, “you’re lucky you didn’t get hypothermia.” That much was true; jumping in that frigid water, drunk, in the dark, was a fairly risky move, and I didn’t like her taking those kinds of risks.

  “Lucky me, then, that I had you to make me a fire.”

  “I see you got this one started just fine without me.”

  “Actually,” she confessed, “Jesse did it.” She bit her plump bottom lip. “Brody… I was drunk that night, but I don’t want you to think… That wasn’t all bullshit just to get you back to my room. I hope you know that. I mean, I knew you were there with Amanda. Even if I wanted to—”

  “Uh… hi.”

  We looked up to find Maggie standing over us.

  She looked carefully from Jessa to me and back. “Am I interrupting anything?” Clearly, she knew she was.

  Great fucking timing, Maggs.

  “I brought you some bevvies,” she added quickly. She was double-fisting a couple of drinks in round brandy snifters, something that looked and smelled of coffee, with whipped cream on top. “Mexican coffee,” she said. “Kind of. Dylan brought a shit-ton of tequila and Katie was feeling nostalgic for her barista days, so we improvised. It’s got Kahlúa, dark chocolate liqueur, cinnamon and espresso. And, you know, I thought you guys might be a little chilly.”

  Which meant she knew we were out here. Which meant she’d snooped in my room and saw us out the window.

  Jessa looked happy to accept the coffee, though, so I let it slide.

  A bit.

  “Jessa,” I asked, my eyes never leaving Maggie as she handed me a coffee, “you cold, sweetheart?”

  “I’m good,” Jessa said. “The fire is nice.”

  Maggie was staring me down, giving me another one of those narrow-eyed looks, but I stared right back. I knew she was pretty tight with Jessa, and it was cool of her to have her girl’s back. I’d always appreciated Maggie’s attention to detail, when it came to business. As long as it wasn’t my business.

  I drew a line at her butting her nose into my personal shit, and she knew it.

  “Alright, well… I’ll be down in the party room, making sure Zane doesn’t burn the place down, if you need me,” she told us. Or rather, she told Jessa. “And I’ll make sure no one bothers you guys.”

  Then she threw me another narrow look and left.

  After she was gone, Jessa and I looked at each other. She smiled. “You better be nice to me,” she said. “Or you’re on Maggie’s shit list. Just saying.”

  “Yeah. Well. Hers wouldn’t be the only one.”

  “That’s true,” she said, maybe a little too pleased at the thought, and sipped her drink. “Mmm!”

  I took a sip of mine. “Jesus, that’s good.”

  “Is there anything Maggie can’t do?” she mused.

  Yeah. Keep her nose out of my shit.

  I set my coffee down on the low table in front of the fire and got serious. “You have a lot of people here who care about you, Jessa.”

  She didn’t say anything, just nodded and sipped at her drink, licking whipped cream from the corner of her mouth. There was the tiniest dabb of it on her nose.

  “What?” she whispered.

  I swiped it off with my fingertip. I showed it to her and she gave a little giggle. She took my hand and pulled my finger closer, and licked it off with a little flick of her tongue. Then her eyes met mine.

  When she let my hand go, I laid it on the side of her face, running my thumb over her flushed lip, her cheek. Then I took her coffee and reached to set it on the table. When I turned back to her, she was nibbling on her lip.

  “I spoke with Dolly,” she said. “I have a photo shoot in a few days, down in L.A., but I was thinking… maybe I’d come back up afterward for a bit. I don’t want to outstay my welcome at Roni’s, but Dolly says I can stay with her for a while. Zane’s there too, but she has room.”

  “That’s nice of her.”

  It was. But no fucking way I was letting Jessa go stay with Dolly. She had a nice place, a really fucking nice place that Zane bought for her, but it was even farther from here than Roni’s. I knew Jessa had a shoot; if she was actually considering coming back afterward, though, I was gonna go ahead and hope like fuck it was at least partly because of me. And whatever happened between us on the phone last night.

  And whatever was happening right now.

  “But you should stay here.” My heartbeat throbbed in my throat and I swallowed thickly. “I’ve got plenty of room, Jessa. And… I want you here.”

  She parted her lips to say something, but I leaned over and kissed her instead. Softly. I brushed my lips against hers and stayed there, feeling her breathe. Her breath caught, then deepened. I felt the exact moment when she yielded to me, and I nudged her lips open to stroke my tongue against hers.

  She kissed me back, so I went in for more. I kissed her deeper and deeper until I was half on top of her and our bodies were fused together.

  “This can be your safe place,” I told her. “I want this to be your safe place. I want to be that for you.” But I was kissing her when I said it.

  Yeah, I wanted her to feel safe. I wanted her not to run away.

  But I also wanted my dick up inside her. So fucking sue me.

  I wanted my tongue in her mouth, my hands on her tits, her long legs wrapped around my back, and I wanted her screaming, sweating, panting my name as she came on my cock, over and again.

  I’d settle, though, for a kiss.

  It was a fucking start, right?

  But then her hand strayed over my chest and caught my nipple through my shirt, her fingernails scratching as she squeezed at me… and pure sex coursed through me, all other thought fleeing my head.

  Within seconds I’d peeled off her sweater, yanked her tank top up and bared her tits. She wasn’t wearing a bra.

  I looked into her eyes, big and dark, beautiful… aroused.

  “Brody…” she breathed.

  I ran my hand down her curves. I kissed her neck… the swell of her full, round breasts. Took her hard nipples in my mouth, licking, sucking at the flushed pink tips as she panted softly. I went slowly at first, my heartbeat throbbing through me, urging me to hurry the fuck up as my dick throbbed along, but I went slow. Feeling her heat up under my touch… listening to her breaths quicken, soften, grow more desperate. She had to want this.

  Had to.

  If she didn’t… I was finally gonna go ahead and just die. Put myself out of my fucking misery.

  If she turned my ass down one more time… walked away from me again… I could not fucking take it.

  Her furry slippers went next, then her leggings. Gone. She was in her tank top, kind of, and lace panties, and as much as I wanted to paw her like some rabid dog in heat, I was mindful of the cold and covered her with my body.

  She didn’t complain.

  She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me down to her. I kissed her again, deep, rocking my hips against hers because I couldn’t fucking help it. I tr
ied to keep still, to calm the fuck down and just let her lead a bit, let her come to me so I’d be sure of what she wanted. But what she wanted was pretty fucking clear as she spread her legs and ground her pussy against my dick.

  I stirred, restless, fighting the urge to take her, just fuck her right through those lace panties. I was sweating… almost shaking as I held myself back. I’d never been so crazed with desire.

  At least… not since she’d been in my bed.

  Yeah. We kept this up, I was about thirty seconds from coming in my pants like a fucking kid. Like I’d come for her when I was twenty-two and she was seventeen, rolling around in my bed, in secret, in the middle of the night. Just from kissing her, I’d come; barely even any tongue.

  Only that time I was fully dressed, and I didn’t tell her I’d blown my load; I was too fucking afraid I’d scare her off. Lame, right?

  And here I was, thirty, messing around with her again, in secret, and she had me ready to explode… although this time, she was starting to undo my jeans.

  “Brody,” she gasped against my mouth. “I want to make you come…”

  I drew back, away from her seeking hands. If she took my dick out, it was all over.

  “Yeah, sweetheart. You first.” I kissed her bare stomach, moving down her body. “I wanna taste you.”

  I looked up at her face as I reached her panties. She looked at me like she’d never wanted anything more; like she was seconds from going off in an explosion of lust whether I touched her or not.

  She looked like I felt.