All We Were (Ex-Factor Duet Book 1)

by Elisabeth Grace

  The only thing certain is I need to get my shit together before I see Jimmy and find out what I did. I push the shame and guilt to the back of my mind and zone out while the spray hits the back of my skull. At first it feels like a thousand tiny jackhammers peppering my brain, but after a few minutes, the heat seeps into my neck and my shoulders relax. I enjoy the feel of hot water running over my skin, rinsing me of whatever I did.

  Once I’ve towel-dried my hair and wrapped one of his plush bath towels around my naked body, it’s time for me to face the music. Reluctantly, I leave the bedroom, in search of the person who means the most to me in the world, even if I don’t treat him like it.

  Jimmy’s in his den, sitting at his desk, his eyes focused on his computer screen. He doesn’t look up when I enter, but from the way the muscles in his jaw tighten, he knows I’m here.

  “What happened last night?” I ask in a low voice, tiptoeing to the leather chair that sits adjacent to his desk.

  He ignores me for a minute. Punishing me for misbehaving—again. A punishment I probably likely deserve. But sometimes I don’t think he understands what lives inside me on a daily basis.

  He pushes his chair away from the desk and swivels in my direction. He’s dressed in a grey V-neck T-shirt, and his five o’clock shadow perfectly matches his dark brown hair that’s a little mussed. His legs are spread wide in a pair of well-worn jeans. Jeans we picked out together shortly after we arrived in Los Angeles and he’d made his first real money acting. Does he think of that day every time he slips his feet into the soft denim, the same way as I do?

  After shopping, we went for a drive to check out the Hollywood sign and we had sex in the bed of his beat-up Chevy truck. After he came, he said to me, “This is it, Lilah. This is the beginning of a new life for both of us.”

  It wasn’t his words that made the day so memorable to me. He’s long promised me our lives were going to change—before and after that day. But that was the first time I truly believed him. It wasn’t hope that sprouted inside me when he said it that day—it was faith. And those are two very different things.

  I blink a couple times and return to the present. “What happened?” I ask again.

  His eyes seep with a mixture of anger, bewilderment, and affection in the way only Jimmy can pull off. The reason he’s the hottest up-and-coming actor. “See for yourself.”

  He clicks the keys on his laptop and turns the screen in my direction. I slide to the edge of the chair and read as he slides the screen on his MacBook, each one with headlines of the fight he got into last night, questioning whether the two of us are off or on. Worst of all, calling out his golden boy status.

  I don’t need to ask for the details of exactly what happened. I can fill in the blanks for myself. I drank too much, among other things, and someone hit on me. I liked the attention and led the guy on. Jimmy got pissed and said something. Punches were thrown. Same story, different day.

  “I’m sorry. I really am.” You’d think after the number of times I’ve said those words to him, they’d lose their meaning, but his shoulders relax a bit, suggesting maybe he does understand what lives inside me on a daily basis.

  When Jimmy’s mad at me, it’s like a thousand-pound weight I have to carry around my neck, but it’s still not enough for me to stop using.

  “The guy was out of line. That’s not your fault.”

  Typical. He’s always making excuses for me.

  “Even so.” I rise from the chair and step closer to him until I’m standing between his legs. “I feel terrible.” I drop to my knees, staring up at him with my best pitiful eyes.

  He looks down at me with half-lidded eyes. When Jimmy looks at me like this—like I’m the only woman in the world. Like he can barely keep his hands off me. Like he feels the need to claim me—I feel in control… I feel almost whole.

  His tongue slips out, and he wets his bottom lip.

  “Let me make it up to you.” I slide my hand up his thigh, and the hard muscle beneath the denim flexes under my touch.

  I reach his rigid length and squeeze his cock. I lick my lips, eager for the taste of him. Jimmy groans, and I move my hands to release him. I unbutton his jeans, and I’m about to pull the zipper down when his hands clamp down on my wrists.

  “No. You can’t always fix it this way.”

  I still and dart my gaze up to meet his. His stern face says he’s serious.

  “Why not? You never had a problem before.”

  He releases my wrists, and I pull my hands back. “I know, and that’s the problem.” He buttons his jeans back up.

  I stand, embarrassment flushing through my body. “Funny, the last time you came down my throat, it wasn’t a problem for you.”

  He springs up from the chair. “Don’t do that.” As he looks out the window, his fingers weave through his thick hair.

  I lean against the wall, wishing I could disappear. “Do what?”

  “Act like I’m one of those men you let use you.” His eyes are steady on me as he closes the distance between us. I step backward, my back flush to the wall, but he grips my shoulders as though he thinks I’ll run. “It’s time to get your shit together. Enough of the constant partying and the drugs and the alcohol.”

  Another conversation that makes me hate myself. Perfect.

  “Don’t start,” I say with annoyance, trying to wiggle free, but he steps forward, locking me to the wall.

  His hand slides down my arm and wraps around mine. “Something bad is going to happen to you if you don’t get control of yourself. What if I hadn’t been there last night?”

  “Then I guess I would have gotten laid.”

  His nostrils flair and he releases my hands before crossing his muscular arms over his chest and narrowing his eyes. “Would you have preferred that I just left you there and let him do whatever he wanted with you?”

  “What do you care, James?” I purposely call him by his working name to annoy him. In public, I have to refer to him that way, but in private, he hates when I use it. Jimmy and James are two completely different people.

  He steps forward, letting his hands drop to his sides and leaving no room between us. “You know I care.”

  I ignore my pleading body that wants to fall into his arms of safety and tell him how much I care too. “Only if I’m Miss Perfect and become exactly what you want me to be.” I slide along the wall until I have space to clear the room and Jimmy.

  “That’s not true and you know it. Wanting you to lay off the drugs doesn’t mean I want you to be perfect.”

  “Well, good thing. Because I’ve never been perfect, nor will I ever be. You know that better than anyone.” I spin around to escape the room and his judgmental eyes, but he’s quick, coming up behind me and pulling my back into his chest.

  “Exactly,” he says, his breath fanning across my neck and causing my nipples to pebble. His hard length presses into my lower back. “I know everything about you. Which is why I don’t want to see you go down a road you can’t turn back from.”

  We stand in silence for a minute. The only sound in the room is our breathing as it picks up pace and we begin the final leg of our sick cycle. Get along, fight, fuck, apologize. Rinse and repeat a thousand times over. Sometimes we start at the beginning and go full circle in the course of a day. Other times, there’re weeks in between.

  His hand wraps around my throat and slides down the valley of my breasts, slipping between my legs. I’m already wet. Of course I am. His finger coasts over my nub, and I bite my bottom lip from the pleasure only he can spark. Instantly I long for the oblivion he delivers. I let my head fall against his shoulder and give in to his demands.

  He places a chaste kiss on my ear and whispers, “Just say you’ll at least think about it.”

  His spell is broken.

  I rip myself from his arms and turn around to spear him with my most lethal look. “I’ve already had one father, and that was more than enough. I don’t need someone else telling me how
to live.”

  I spin around and run out of the room. He lets me leave, as I knew he would when I compared him to a man both of us believe was the devil.

  Chapter Four

  Lilah

  Two weeks and not a word from Jimmy. I’ve sent text after unanswered text, but I tell myself it’s for the best. That’s the truth—it’s the best… for him. One of these days, I’ll be strong enough to leave him alone for good. Let him move on with his successful career and live a happy life without the detriment of me.

  But right now, the thought of not having Jimmy is too soul-crushing. I’m well aware how selfish I’m being.

  I can’t stand the silence from him any longer. Jimmy’s whereabouts tonight are heavily rumored. The studio finally announced today that he’s signed on to star in the reboot of their superhero series, The Regulator. So he’ll be at the Regent to celebrate this milestone in his career.

  What better way to get his attention than to wear my skintight, mid-thigh-length red dress with a V down to my belly button? Add a pair of gold stilettos and if that doesn’t spur him to talk to me, I’m positive my nipples poking through the fabric will.

  Jimmy’s my only close friend because I don’t do girlfriends—or boyfriends for that matter. Mostly because opening yourself up to someone makes you too vulnerable, especially in this town, and I’ve had enough pain to last a lifetime. But I have a few model friends who like to party, so I give them a call.

  By the time Trina, Courtney, and I arrive at the Regent, I’ve mustered the courage to talk to Jimmy. The alcohol coursing through my system has quieted the logical part of my brain. Alcohol and drugs work the best at making me forget how worthless I am, how I came from nothing and will always be nothing. They numb me against reliving all the awful things my father did to me.

  “I’m heading to the bar,” Trina says, not waiting for Courtney or me to answer.

  Courtney catches the eye of some guy dressed in a nice suit, no tie, and the top couple buttons of his dress shirt undone.

  “I’ll catch up with you guys in a bit,” she says, smiling and stepping in his direction, hips swaying.

  “Guess I’m on my own.”

  Good thing I’m used to that.

  I decide to check for Jimmy. I should grab another drink too, so I’ll have the nerve to approach him and try to make things right between us. I walk around the outskirts of the dance floor toward the VIP area. After all, he’s celebrating and deserves to sit in the VIP section.

  “Hey, beautiful,” a guy says, his finger brushing down my arm. “Want to dance?”

  “No.” I continue toward the VIP section, ignoring the unwanted touch.

  He back steps, staying in line with me as I walk forward. “You don’t wear an outfit like that unless you want attention.” His eyes focus on my nipples.

  “I don’t want attention from you.” I turn on my heel, sliding between a throng of drunk girls rushing to the dance floor.

  The creep doesn’t follow.

  I lean against a huge white column so Jimmy won’t spot me. I need to figure out what to say to persuade him to forgive me after I viciously compared him to my piece-of-shit dad.

  My eyes scan along a white leather couch, landing on Jimmy beside his friend Tripp. Fucking Tripp. That prick hates me and is constantly driving a wedge between Jimmy and me.

  The two of them sip their drinks, deep in conversation. Jimmy nods in agreement with whatever Tripp’s saying and shifts his attention to peruse the dance floor. Tripp’s probably telling Jimmy to stay strong and not return my texts. Maybe the guy should look in the mirror once in a while. He’s not so perfect either.

  I step to the side to hide behind one of the large columns set in a semi-circle around the outside of the dance floor. After I’ve counted to sixty, I chance another peek at him.

  I stumble back and grab the column for support.

  Two women are seated on the couch, one beside Tripp and one beside Jimmy. Tripp is stroking the blonde’s thigh while sweet talking her with his usual flirtatious smile. Jimmy laughs at whatever the lame brunette sitting next to him says. Worse, his reaction is genuine. It isn’t James’s laugh; it’s Jimmy’s, where the small wrinkles by his eyes appear. As if that isn’t gut-wrenching enough, she puts her hand on his knee, leaning in closer. I could be standing right in front of him and I don’t think he’d notice me. His attention is solely focused on her.

  Rage burns like a hot coal in my stomach. I have no right to feel betrayed, but I do. For weeks I’ve been agonizing over our fight, wishing I hadn’t let my temper get the better of me, but obviously I’m the only one concerned about the state of our friendship.

  I turn toward the bar, but alcohol isn’t going to cut it. The crawling sensation under my skin has begun, and there’s only a certain amount of time I can ignore it before I cave.

  Removing my attention from Jimmy and the slut beside him, I glance around, looking for someone who has what I need. I don’t spot any of my regular dealers, but I do spot a guy hanging back on the edge of the dance floor, observing the crowd with a small smirk.

  After years of this merry-go-round life I live, it’s easy to spot the people who can fix me. Call it user intuition.

  Using my long model legs to my advantage, I approach him. His attention lands on me as I was certain it would. He appraises me with a lazy smile. He’s a good-looking guy—taller than me with my stilettos on, dirty-blond hair, and a body that takes a lot of work to maintain. Have I modeled with him before?

  I crook my finger at him. He leans in so he can hear me over the electro house beat the DJ’s cranking.

  “You want to party?” I ask.

  He leans back against the wall again, with a spark in his eyes at the promise of a good time. “What’d you have in mind?”

  “Let’s see where the night takes us.” I press into him and run my index finger down his chest, trailing off just before I hit his belt buckle. “What do you have on you?”

  His nostrils flare as his eyes soak me up again. Without a word, he leads me toward the restrooms. I follow willingly, excitedly, almost like a six-year-old waiting in line to finally ride her first roller coaster.

  Lucky for us, or perhaps by design, each bathroom is its own small powder room, rather than communal women’s and men’s rooms lined with stalls. The club owners in LA aren’t stupid. He picks the farthest vacant restroom and locks us both inside, eyeballing my dress—or lack thereof—before pulling a baggie of cocaine out of his pocket and holding it up between us with a cocky smirk.

  “Want some?”

  My tongue salivates at the sight of the white powder. I can already feel the bitter taste at the back of my throat. “Absolutely.”

  He shakes some of the powder onto the edge of the counter surrounding the sink and uses a credit card to separate it into four lines. By the time he’s finished, I’ve already got a bill rolled up and ready to go. He snorts one line, passes it to me, and I do the same. Wiping under my nose, I stand back up, let my head fall back, and close my eyes as the bitter taste at the back of my throat intensifies and my face tingles. I enjoy the sensation as the drug enters my bloodstream and dissolves all the problems that plague me.

  The guy says something. I have no idea what, but I’m sure I heard his voice, so I slowly open my eyes.

  “What’d you say?” I ask.

  “I’m Dan.”

  “Oh, right. I’m Lilah.” I pretend to feign interest in him, but it’s hard when the rest of the coke sits on the counter.

  “You did that modeling campaign for LV, didn’t you?”

  I nod.

  “What do you want to do now?” Dan skims his hand over my breast, thumbing the nipple. It’s clear he wants me.

  I want his coke.

  “Let’s do another bump and then decide,” I flirt in a way that promises him whatever he wants after I do another line.

  He grins and nods toward the white powder—ladies first and all that. What a gentleman. I lea
n over with the rolled bill in my hand and snort another line, exhaling in relief as my face grows number and the familiar burst of energy that accompanies my high finally kicks in.

  He takes the bill from my fingers before I offer and finishes off the coke.

  “Ah, fuck, that’s good,” he says, letting the bill fall in the remnants of the powder. As soon as he straightens, his gaze dips and he twirls me around, pressing me against the full-length mirror on the one free wall in the room, my back to his front. “Don’t you just love this feeling?” He uses his other hand to pull my dress up over my ass and gather it at my waist.

  “Mmm-hmm,” I say as he slips his hand between my thighs.

  “Don’t you love fucking when you’re high?” he growls into my ear.

  When I don’t respond, he slips my thong aside and pushes one finger into me, then another. My head falls back onto his shoulder. He mistakes the action as acquiescence when in reality, I need to move. The pent-up energy and anger inside me are itching to be expelled.

  “Let’s take this party onto the dance floor,” I suggest. Doing so will allow me to take care of both my anger and my energy issues.

  “You sure?” he asks, punctuating his question with a pelvic thrust that drives his fingers farther into me.

  “Yeah, I need a drink. We can get back to this later,” I say.

  To my surprise, he slips his fingers from me and steps back. I realign my dress so that my ass isn’t hanging out and double-check myself in the mirror.

  Dan unlocks the door and lets me walk out first. A security guard is making his way down the hall to do a check. He gives us a knowing look but doesn’t say anything.

  I hit the bar as soon as we’re back in the main part of the club and order a shot and a double martini. Dan partakes in a shot with me but opts for a whiskey sour. Once we’ve slugged back our drinks, I drag him onto the dance floor, careful to situate us so that we’re within view of Jimmy and Tripp, but not so close that it looks as though I’ve positioned us there on purpose. If he wants to play, I’ll show him I can too.