Fall Into Me (A British Rockstar Romance)

by Nikki Wild

  “Wait, Riley–” He tried to blurt out.

  “No. Fuck it all. You love that he’s got these fucking skeletons in his closet. It takes him out of the running so that, what, you can swoop right in and rescue me when I need you? What kind of white knight bullshit were you thinking?”

  “Riley,” Reiko tried to intervene. “I think you’re being a bit hard on him–”

  “Stay out of this, Reiko,” I commanded her before turning back to him. Connor simply stood there, seated on the edge of the desk and staring at me with sadness staining his eyes.

  “Of course I’m fucking mad that this has happened. But I’m angrier still with you. You didn’t bring this to my attention out of the kindness of your heart, and we all know it. You did this to get a leg up on him.

  “Well, spoiler alert, Connor. You’re a good guy, but I’m not into you. I’ve never been into you. And I never will be. You’re like a brother to me. You know this. How many times do I have to tell you?”

  Connor swallowed, and rose up from his desk. He turned around and faced the large David Bowie poster up behind his desk – the single piece of decoration in his office.

  “Please go,” he half-croaked.

  “Connor…” Reiko whispered after him.

  “I need to be alone,” he insisted miserably. “When you go, please tell Tiana to lock up and excuse herself for the day. I’ll give her a full shift’s pay.”

  I grunted my approval of that response, reaching down to snatch up the folder of revelations into Lex’s past. As I stood up, I noticed that neither of them had budged an inch.

  “Are you coming, Reiko?”

  She didn’t turn away from him.

  “Reiko?”

  “No, I… go ahead without me,” she spoke.

  I suppressed a deep, angry sigh, and passed down the hallway and towards the front. Tiana had just finished ringing up the two punks, and they were traipsing back out of the store, leaving just us.

  I relayed the message to her, and she avoided eye contact with me. It seemed that she’d probably heard some of the exclamations from the back, so I shook my head bitterly and let her lock me outside as she flipped the Open sign around.

  By the time the streetcar got me to the end of my street, the sun was already beginning to set on the horizon. I called ahead to a Chinese takeout place further up the road, and stepped in to pay and take my dinner home with me.

  I was expecting Lex for the evening, like usual. He had told me he would be running a little later than usual, as he was training harder today for his upcoming football season.

  He always loved to fuck me on training days.

  Tonight, was going to be a little different than what he expected.

  It was an hour later that he walked through the door to my apartment. I’d just wrapped up dinner and cleaned up the place, and I was perched comfortably on the couch in front of the TV when he let himself in.

  “Ello, Riley,” he chuckled to himself as he stepped into the living room. His expression fell as he took in my glaring face, and his gaze shifted to the stack of pages on the corner of my coffee table.

  From his angle, he undoubtedly recognized the top sheet… and that explained why he turned to me with a careful, fearful look.

  “Riley, I think we should talk–”

  I cut him off, leaping up from my seat.

  “When were you planning on telling me that you’re publicly known as a womanizing asshole?” I demanded to know, throwing the stapled stack of papers into his face. “Or that you’ve been caught fucking your way across the tabloids for years?”

  With the reflexes of a trained athlete, Lex snatched the fluttering pack of papers from the air, flipping backwards and forwards between the pages.

  “I can explain,” Lex stiffly offered.

  “I seriously doubt that.”

  “If you’ll give me a moment–”

  “You know, I knew there was more to you, but I never expected this,” I bitterly told him. “And here it is. How many sex scandals have you been a part of?”

  “You tell me,” he said sharply. “You appear to have done your research. What I’m wondering is why you’ve dug this all up now, of all times…”

  “I didn’t,” I defiantly exclaimed.

  “Then how…?”

  “My friends. They look out for me. They pulled you up online and dug up all this crap on you. What the hell, Lex? What else have you been hiding from me?”

  “I enjoy my privacy, and last I remember you didn’t care about my past,” he wearily answered.

  “Certain things you reveal to the strangers you whisk up into your arms,” I angrily rebutted. “Such as the fact that you’ve fucked your way across half of the United Kingdom. Or that you’re apparently a World Cup player?”

  He paused with a groan.

  “Do you even know what that means?”

  “Of course I do, Lex. I did my research, remember? I looked up how big a deal that was. You led me to believe that you were just some football player on some rinky-dink team in England.”

  Lex’s eyes instantly flared into rage.

  “Excuse me, what the fuck did you just say?”

  If I wasn’t so bitterly angry, and with the moral high ground solidly beneath my feet, I might have been intimidated. His eyes were wild with fury, and he took a menacing step towards me, and another, until he was so close that I could practically feel the heat pumping off of his body.

  “Don’t you dare – dare – insult my sport, my place in it, or the teams that I’ve had the privilege of representing.”

  “Oh, boo the fuck hoo,” I mocked him. “You think you’re such hot shit? Well, maybe you are. Maybe I would have taken you a bit more seriously if you’d been honest with me, instead of pretending to blend in as some minor football player with some money in the bank having a little fun on vacation.”

  “I’m a big fucking deal back home, alright? Is that what you want to hear? I can’t take a shit without some arse paparazzi taking a picture through my window. I’m angling for a contract that will put my face on every piece of merchandising beneath the Patrovo Corporation.”

  “The Patro – what now?”

  “The corporation that owns a third of the country,” Lex snarled. “I’m here to get away from that life – to keep myself out of trouble. I’ll be considered as their corporate mascot for the year. It’s a twenty-million pound sponsorship… and I’m facing a rival who can rip it all away from beneath me.”

  “Aren’t you already rich?” I snapped. “Why is it that the greedy just keep getting greedier?”

  “I’m beloved by the English populace,” Lex responded, glaring down at me. “I’m a cultural icon. But it’s not just that… I’m one of the best fucking players in the world. I’ve been world-class material for years. And now I deserve this. It’s not about the money. Do you think Michael Jordan cares about the money? This is about immortality. This sponsorship is my reward.”

  “Your reward for what, exactly? Kicking a ball around better than the other guys? Keeping your pants down so often that you’re in dozens of tabloid issues? Making a complete fucking fool of yourself?”

  Lex advanced, and I pressed my back up against the wall. I bitterly returned his furious glare, letting a sly smile cross my lips.

  “You could have had everything Riley. I’d have given you everything. I thought you were different.”

  “I am different! Do you think that’s what I’m after? Your money?”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Lex began, but I cut him off.

  “I didn’t even know who you were until today. You’re not the only badass in the room. Dozens of galleries carry my art. I drew the attention of one of the most legendary museum curators in the world. I’m an accomplished, award-winning, decorated painter about to hit world-class… in my mid-twenties. I’ve got decades ahead of me to hone and sharpen my craft and all it takes is for one painting to take off at auction, and everything I’ve ever touched
will be priceless.”

  Lex stood there, silent.

  “How long can you kick a fucking ball around on the field, Lex? How long will your career last? I checked the statistics. The usual professional athlete career lasts eight, maybe ten years even at the highest level. You’ve already been on the field professionally for years now. What are you going to do when the sun sets on your glory days, huh?”

  Lex lowered his face down to mine, and I realized in that second just how far I’d pushed him… I didn’t know if he was going to kiss me or hit me, and I wasn’t sure which of those two things I was more afraid of… If he put his lips on mine, would I be able to stop him? Would I want to?

  “Fuck you, Riley,” he growled in a deep, dark voice, baritones lower than I’d ever heard from him. “You’ve crossed the line.”

  He pulled back to look at me quietly. One palm came down from the wall, and then the other. He stood there, regarding me quietly for a moment, and finally took a step backwards.

  I summoned up every ounce of strength I kept down in my core. “I really need you to leave.”

  Lex looked pained, as if I’d just stabbed him straight in the heart. He took another stumbling step backwards, glancing down at his open palms, and searched my eyes with a glance.

  “Now, Lex.”

  “No,” he murmured. “We can fix this. I know you have feelings for me.”

  “Lex.”

  I let my face darken as I took a step towards him. “You’ve betrayed my trust. I just want you out of my apartment and out of my life.”

  “Please, Riley,” he whispered.

  I’d had enough of his bullshit.

  “You haven’t listened to a fucking word I’ve said, have you, Alexander Lambert?” I jeered. “You’re trespassing now. Get out.”

  He realized then that I wasn’t backing down, and his eyes narrowed at me. He didn’t even bother to cast out one last, pathetic please.

  All I knew was that I wanted him gone. He could come back later, maybe, after I’d cooled down and had some time to take in all of this new information – about his past, about his reputation, about everything.

  But for right now? He had to go. I needed some space and some time.

  With one last, withered look – a look that boiled into relentless anger – Lex Lambert slammed the front door behind him, disappearing into the night.

  31

  Lex

  When I stormed out of her apartment, I wasn’t thinking straight. All that I knew was that I needed to get out of that place and away from her.

  The painful, vicious things she’d said.

  The buried memories she’d drudged up.

  I needed to blow some steam, and fast.

  While wandering along the French Quarter, surrounded by bar upon bar, I gave some serious consideration to popping into any one of them and drinking myself into a blinding stupor.

  Luckily, I was thinking clearly enough to recognize how fucking awful an idea that would be. I could imagine Jess’s furious face, screaming obscenities at me:

  What if you’re caught on camera?

  What if they drag you out to the street?

  What if you hurt somebody?

  Grow the fuck up, Lex!

  With a low growl and an absent-minded wave of my wrist, I banished the apparition from my thoughts. Sure, Jess was going to be pissed – both as my best friend and my publicist – but I couldn’t help but require some time to simmer down.

  That was, even if I did keep her fears in mind. After all, if she knew where I was and what I was doing at the time… I was aware that her perceived thoughts on the matter weren’t exactly incorrect.

  My eyes scanned the windows of another bar as I passed by. This one, however, caught my eye. Two words: billiards tables.

  I allowed myself a sliver of a smile.

  Now… there’s a thought.

  My heel turned, and I found myself strolling into the bar. The bouncer at the front, some fat fuck picking his teeth, let his jaw slacken as he spotted me.

  “Whoa, partner,” he shook his head. “Not sure this is exactly your kind of place… whatcha want from in here?”

  “Pool table,” I grunted.

  “Lots of places in town with a pool table,” he observed, lifting his chin to stare me down his fat, pudgy nose. “Places more suited to a man of yer, uh, refined tastes…”

  “Where’s the closest one?”

  “Dunno.”

  “Well, then,” I smiled, “that’s just too far.”

  He shook his head lightly. “Suit yerself.”

  I gave him a slight nod of acknowledgement as I passed into the bar. I could see why he had tried to steer me elsewhere. This was a bit of a rougher place: darker, grittier, and with an obvious change in clientele. Black leather and cut, plaid jackets dominated the scene… a scene in which I stood out like a sore thumb.

  But I was already committed to the course.

  A few pairs of eyes wound up on me as I passed through the entrance, and those eyes belonged to men who elbowed those to their side. Within moments, like a great wave of attention, half the bar was staring at me.

  None of them seemed to be making trouble. No one stepped into my way or brushed against my shoulder; nobody called me out or shouted for me.

  See? I thought to myself. These gentlemen know how to be civilized.

  I stepped towards the bar, pushing a bar stool aside and falling into place near a great, slovenly man and his equally fat wife. Dressed in comically undersized cowboy/girl attire, they studied me carefully and gnawed on what was either gum or, more likely, chewing tobacco.

  “Bourbon, neat,” I requested.

  “Well?” The bartender tried to clarify.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  A bigger, grizzlier guy himself, the bartender nodded once. He dropped a few cubes into a tumbler and poured some whiskey over it, and I handed him some cash.

  “Yer change, sir.”

  “Eh,” I closed an eye at him, quickly gritting my teeth in thought. “Keep it.”

  He looked dumbfounded for a moment. I might have accidentally handed him a twenty instead of a ten, not that it was particularly any skin off of my back. After all, I was still getting used to American currency, even with the big numbers in the corners.

  I downed the drink and requested another, being certain to tip him a little more appropriately. This one, I carried over to the only free pool table around.

  Digging around in the pockets, I withdrew the lost pool balls and racked them all up. Buffing the tip of a cuestick with the chalk, I dusted my hands, then broke the pyramid and began to play myself.

  My residual frustration with the events of the night was throwing me off my game, but I managed to keep the cue ball from flying off the table. Still, my playing was substantially less than ideal, and I was starting to think that I was embarrassing myself.

  I lost a game or two with other players before I really started to finally hit my stride. Guiding my anger into careful precision strikes, I began dominating the corner. My resolve strengthening with each turn, I continued proving to myself that I was the reigning alpha on more green fields than one.

  An hour passed as I downed another two, maybe three drinks. My playing continued improving, surprisingly enough. I was starting to draw some attention from the other tables, and players began watching me instead of their opponents during their games.

  I was keeping an eye on some of them, too, and this particular kid caught my focus. He was a really sloppy player, scattering the balls poorly and accidentally ricocheting the cue ball off the table on more than one occasion. Some of us started to chuckle at his ineptitude, although I noticed the passion in his eyes for the sport.

  Give it a few years, kid, I thought to myself. With dedication like yours, you’ll get good at this…

  The cue ball sailed off the table again.

  …Eventually.

  It was after that game finished that I noticed him handing bills to the oth
er player, a look of dejection and defeat across his face. He’s gambling? Is he hoping Lady Luck will kiss his cheek?

  My opponent bought me a drink after I won, and the kid crossed my path. By now, he’d played just about everyone near the pool tables, and I was the single contender left.

  “Want a round?” He asked.

  I studied him for a moment.

  “Nah, kid. I’m good.”

  “You sure?” He asked. “I’ll bet ya a hundred bucks.”

  “Hundred dollars, eh?” I asked, sizing him up with different eyes. “That’s more than you’ve been giving the others…”

  “Dad’s rich. I just enjoy playing with his money, even if I’m not too great at this,” he shrugged. “I think I’m starting to get a hang for it.”

  “You want some pointers?” I asked.

  “Much obliged… but I’m one of those ‘learn as I go’ types,” he smiled toothily and scratched the back of his head. “I’ve gotta let my body figure it all out by itself, and then I just do whatever winds up working.”

  “Muscle memory,” I acknowledged, nodding to myself. “I know what you’re talking about. Friends of mine are the same way.”

  “So, you want a round, or nah?”

  I scoffed. “…Fine. One round.”

  “Sweeten the pot?”

  “Don’t need to,” I shook my head.

  “Oh, come on, bro,” he chided me. “Guy in a nice suit like you? You can afford to piss away a hundred bucks, losing to me.”

  Something clicked in my head. Looking back on it, it was less like an idea popping, and more like disarming the safety on a revolver.

  “That’s a lot of smack, coming from a kid with your losing streak,” I grinned. A few other patrons nearby were taking interest, nodding their approval.

  “Put yer money where yer mouth is.”

  I dug into my front pocket and whipped out my wallet, glancing through and pushing the wad of hundreds aside, looking for some twenties. I counted out a hundred in the sheath and slipped it back into place.