The Rock Star (Hollywood Heartthrobs Book 2)

by Tabitha Bree

  I reach for my phone on the charger and reread the message I received in my trailer.

  Willow: There’s nothing to talk about. Benson is staying with me.

  It took her two fucking weeks to reply, and that’s what she was going with? Too bad, move on? I don’t fucking think so. She can’t just brush me off like that, especially after everything that’s happened.

  Especially after that fucking magazine article.

  It’s always been a problem? She hopes I get it together before it’s too late? What the fuck is she playing at? She has some fucking nerve, talking to the press after the shit she’s pulled.

  I breathe in, counting to four slowly, the same way I taught Sadie. I have to get my head straight before I face this. I can’t lose my cool the same way I did with Mike. I have to play this smart.

  I start the engine again and turn into the driveway, facing the security gate ominously. As I key in the code, I cross my fingers that she hasn’t changed it in the last few weeks. The gate swings open, inviting me to continue up the driveway, and I park next to her stupid fountain that she loves taking selfies in front of.

  Ringing the doorbell and waiting reminds me of when we first started dating.

  Before she became a literal she-devil.

  “Xavier,” she says in surprise as she opens the door.

  “Willow.” I walk inside, not waiting for her to invite me in. I’m not here for her. “I wish I could say it’s lovely to see you.”

  She glares at me as I brush past her. She looks the same, her brown hair waving over her shoulders. Maybe a little thinner since I last saw her. Apparently, spreading vicious lies burns calories.

  “What are you doing here?” she asks indignantly. I can’t blame her. I would be annoyed too if I had to face the person who reminded me of all the crappy choices I’ve made.

  “I got your message,” I say, looking around at the new decorating in the dining area. She redecorated at least once every six months. This time she’s gone with bright green accents. It looks shit.

  “And I thought I was clear,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “We have nothing to talk about, so I’m not sure why you came all this way.”

  “This is a nice touch.” I point to the pile of interior design magazines she has stacked on the coffee table. “Why don’t you include the tabloids you’re quoted in?”

  She rolls her eyes, huffing like my presence is the most inconvenient thing in her perfect day. “Is that seriously why you’re here, Xavier?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Is it not a good day to call you out on your bullshit? I can come back at another time if it would suit you better.”

  “Honestly, I’m not sure why you’re so pissed off. You’re always in the tabloids. Like what I say makes any difference.”

  “Except you’ve made it sound like I’m a fucking alcoholic,” I say, reminding myself about the keeping my cool thing. “It’s always been a problem? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “What? You do like a drink.”

  “Like every other asshole in the world! I don’t drink any more than you do. You made it sound like I’m out of control!”

  “No, that picture is what makes it look out of control.” She cocks an eyebrow. “Really, Xavier? The parking lot?”

  “What I do in my spare time is none of your business… anymore.”

  I walk into her living room and take another deep four-count breath.

  Remember what you came for.

  “Look, you can spread whatever venom you want, that’s not why I’m here.” I crane my neck to look into the backyard through the glass doors.

  “He’s not here.”

  I spin around and she’s standing there, hands on her hips. “Then where is he?”

  “At the groomers.” She appraises her nails. “My baby needed some pampering.”

  “He’s not your baby, and he fucking hates the groomers.”

  Every time I picked him up from that place, he looked like he’d been violated. And they always gave him a weird humiliating haircut. The last time he looked like Napoleon Dynamite. Willow always insisted on taking him there because she was too lazy to look after him herself.

  “He smelled awful.”

  “No shit, dogs stink. That’s why you wash them. Why do you think I left that shampoo here?”

  “I don’t like it on my hands.”

  “And what do you think the gloves are for?”

  “Ugh, Xavier, I’m not having this argument again.”

  “If you can’t even fucking bath him, then why do you insist on keeping him? He’s not even yours!”

  I look at the photos on her mantle. Willow in a bikini, Willow with her girlfriends, Willow at a fashion show. And there on the end is Willow and Benson, if you could say Benson is even in it. You can only see a quarter of his golden curls. They’re on a hike at Runyon Canyon and Willow is posing in front of him, her sports bra pushing her boobs up rather than keeping them down. Which I’m pretty sure is the whole point of a sports bra.

  “He’s not a fucking prop, you know. I know you were pissed at some things I said to you, but you can’t just keep him out of spite. Or to get more likes on Instagram,” I say, glowering at the photo. I bet she uses him to pick up guys too, pretends she’s the everyday girl when, in fact, everything she does is meticulously planned to grow her image.

  Not that I can talk.

  “I’m over this conversation,” she says, blinking with boredom.

  “I’m not leaving without him.”

  “Seriously, Xavier? This is starting to be pathetic.”

  “He’s my dog!”

  “And you should’ve thought of that before you called me a, what was it? A lying, cheating piece of shit?”

  “If the hooker heel fits.”

  She scowls at me through her artificially extended lashes. “You have three seconds to get off my property before I call the cops. And yes, I will be ready with my camera.” She tilts her head to the side. “How do you think the media sharks will like that?”

  I inhale for four counts, but it doesn’t have the same effect. My breath is shaky, like I’ve lost all control of my lungs. I stalk toward the door, knowing this is game over. Getting arrested would be the nail in my career coffin, and at this point, the movie is all I have left.

  I walk back to the outside world, wondering where the hell I got it so wrong. But before I leave, I turn to face her one more time.

  “I can’t believe I ever thought you loved me.”

  Her face barely flinches, and I walk to my car.

  I stare into the glass, the dark liquid shining back at me.

  “Alright, I’m here. What’s the emergency?”

  Jaqueline throws her bag under the bar stool and perches next to me, elbows on the sticky wood like it’s no problem. Her hair is extra blonde, and extra short on the sides. Shorter than mine. She’s always been way cooler than me without even trying.

  “Here.” I slide a shooter across to her, and leave one for myself.

  “Alright,” she says slowly. “What are we toasting?”

  “To my life sucking balls.”

  “Seems a little depressing, but okay. Cheers.” She chinks her glass against mine and we both toss it back. She looks at me with her face scrunched. “Dude, what the fuck? This is just water?”

  “I know,” I say, frowning. “I thought if I did a shot with someone else it would feel more real.”

  “Would you like to tell me what the hell is going on, or do I have to beat it out of you?”

  “Please, you haven’t thrown a decent punch my way since high school.”

  “Is that a challenge?”

  I sigh, bringing my cola to my lips. “I went to Willow’s today.”

  “Why?”

  “To get Benson.”

  “And?”

  “And,” I take a long sip, holding in the burp that follows. “He wasn’t there. But she said she’s not giving him back, anyway. Have you seen the headl
ines?”

  “Is that what these bullshit water shots are about?”

  “Kind of.” I motion to the bartender for another round. “The film I’m on… they’re on my ass about drinking. They freaked when they saw that picture today.”

  The bartender hands us our water shooters and Jack pushes hers away. “Nah uh. If we’re sitting here lamenting, I need a proper drink.” She calls the bartender back, ordering a tequila on the rocks. I look glumly at my plain cola and wonder how much I care about not pissing Dee off. If I ever deserved a real drink, it’s now.

  “Did you know she was bad news?”

  “Willow?”

  I nod, swishing my drink.

  “I told you she was bad news. But like always, you’re a stubborn ass. I never could get you to see reason.”

  I snort, downing the rest of my cola. Jack has known me my whole life, before I was famous, and before I started working on my rock star image. Jack knew me when I had goofy long hair and would pen cheesy acoustic songs for the girls I liked at school; when I had braces and acne and no confidence. She knows me better than anyone, including my dad.

  We catch up on the last few weeks, on my time shooting Legends of the Sea, and on the artwork she finished since I last saw her. She has what you would call raw talent; never went to college, focused on her craft, and made a name for herself. Her paintings hang in mansions all over LA, including my own.

  I finally tell her about Dee, and how she hates me, and about the kiss we shared in the sound stage. Jack’s mouth curves down, and she nods her head appreciatively.

  “Sounds hot,” is all she says in response.

  “It was, but I don’t think it’ll be happening again. She’s all over me about the tabloid shit. I’m basically just a thorn in her ass. Which is great, by the way.”

  “And let me guess, you haven’t set her straight on all that gossip either?”

  “Why should I?”

  “Um… because it’s the truth? Because it doesn’t make you look like such an asshole?”

  “Yeah, it just makes me look like an idiot.”

  I rest my forehead on my palms. The truth is, not coming clean about my side of the story isn’t just about protecting the bad boy image that made me famous in the first place. Admitting that Willow is actually the one who cheated on me is humiliating, especially when you consider the details of it. I’d rather people think I’m a jerk. Besides, I don’t have to explain myself to anyone.

  “Honestly? I think you should give people the chance to learn who you really are. You might be surprised,” Jack says, collecting her bag from the ground. “It’s been fun, dude. But I’ve got to run. And the next time I see you, you better have Benson. That bitch doesn’t deserve his pure soul.”

  I laugh.

  She pats me on the back and disappears just as a text from Dee comes through.

  Dee: Where are you? I have script revisions to give you.

  I grin down at the screen. If she is keeping me on a tight lead, maybe I can have a little fun with it?

  Xavier: At the bar

  The tiny dots appear immediately.

  Dee: Are you fucking kidding me??

  I chuckle and drop the pin for my location.

  Xavier: Come and see for yourself

  I smile and stash my phone in my pocket. This is perfect. I need a little cheering up.

  13

  Dee

  On the same day. On the same fucking day that I tell Xavier he has to rein in the drinking he goes to a bar? It’s like he’s deliberately trying to mess with me. As soon as I got the text with his location, I jumped in the car. It wasn’t until I was halfway there that I realized it might’ve been a trick.

  Is he setting me up or something?

  I never know with Xavier. He likes nothing more than to play games and rile me up. But it doesn’t matter either way; Katherine has tasked me with keeping him in line, and I can’t stand to disappoint her one more time. Especially with this feature coming up. I mean come on; Brad, Leo… Meryl? I would literally sell my firstborn to get in on that. So I don’t have to think twice about dealing with Xavier to appease Katherine, even if I have to yank him out of the damn bar by his ear.

  As soon as I walk in the door, I know why he’s chosen this particular bar. It’s dark, grimy… the last place you’d find one of Hollywood’s most sought-after celebrities. And yet there he is, perched on a stool behind the wooden bar top. I march over and stand beside him, crossing my arms and raising my eyebrows. He swivels around, immediately smiling when he sees me.

  “Of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the—”

  “Shut up. What the fuck are you doing here?”

  He spins his glass in tiny circles with his thumb and middle finger. “Well, Dee. This is what they call a bar. And people come here to consume various types of beverages.”

  “We talked about this Xavier. You can’t be pulling this shit. I’ll put you on a leash in Hawaii if I have to.”

  “Is that a promise?”

  I glower at him.

  He downs the rest of his drink. “Relax,” he says through the ice blocks in his cheeks. “I’m not drinking.”

  “Right. So you just came here for the lovely ambience I suppose?” I look around at the dark walls, lit only by the odd neon sign.

  “It hasn’t been the best night. I wanted to blow off some steam.”

  “And you seriously expect me to believe you’re not getting hammered?”

  “See for yourself.” He waves at the bartender. “Can I get another round? Make it two.”

  I narrow my eyes, watching the bartender squirt cola into two empty glasses. He passes them to us and serves someone down the other end. I pick my glass up and sniff, and then follow it up with a sip, just to be sure. He’s telling the truth. There’s no alcohol in this.

  “You can apologize whenever you’re ready,” Xavier says with a lazy smile.

  “Okay, so you’re not drinking. You still shouldn’t be in a place like this when the press is all over you.” I smell the air and scrunch my face. It doesn’t seem like they have mopped the floor since their last rowdy night. “Why would you even want to come here sober? It seems like a three-drinks-minimum-to-enter kind of place.”

  “Well, I would prefer to have a drink. But you see, I’m on my best behavior.” He winks. “So this is the next best thing.”

  I arch my eyebrow. “After all that talk about not letting people tell you what to do earlier?”

  He shrugs, and I can see his snake tattoo slithering out from his black t-shirt. “I’ll try anything once.”

  He’s smiling, but I can see something else past his eyes, and I remember him leaving the trailer abruptly. My head is telling me to drag him out and send him home, but my gut tells me something troubles this guy.

  “Do you want to talk about it?”

  “What?”

  “The reason you came to a seedy bar alone to drink colas on a weeknight?”

  His shoulders lurch as he laughs. “Well when you put it like that.” He brings the glass to his mouth, taking a sip. “Remember when you were at my house and you asked if I had a dog?”

  I nod.

  “Well, I tried to get him back tonight. I went to my ex’s house, but he wasn’t there…” He breaks off, staring into his glass. “Though I’m beginning to think she’ll never give him back to me.”

  Okay, I guess I interpreted the whole dog thing wrong. He didn’t surrender him after all. “So, you’re fighting a custody battle.”

  “Except custody battle implies he was both of ours to begin with. Benson was never hers. I got him when I first moved out to LA so I would be less lonely.” His eyes dart to mine and drop to the bar. “Anyway, she hates me now. I’ll never get him back.”

  I frown into my drink. I know what happened between him and Willow—everyone knows what happened between him and Willow. She surprised him on tour and caught him with his pants around his ankles, screwing some groupie in his dressi
ng room. I can’t say I blame her for hating him. But using his dog to get back at him seems a bit over the top.

  “Benson is a cute name,” I eventually say. “I’m sorry.”

  He nods, not meeting my eyes. “It is what it is.”

  Bringing his glass to his lips again, he stops, placing it back down on the bar. “You know, this isn’t doing it for me. I need a real drink.”

  My eyes widen and my eyebrows bunch together. “What? No! We are leaving. I would’ve pulled you out already if you hadn’t distracted me. Get up.”

  He clenches his teeth, sucking in air through the side of his mouth. “Yeah, that’s not going to work for me. Like I said, it’s been a shit of a day, and I could really let my hair down.”

  “What you need to do is go home, and rest up for work tomorrow.” I stand from my stool, leaving my nearly full cola on the bar.

  “How about this,” he says, swiveling to face me. “You stay and we have one drink together—just one. You can keep an eye on me, make sure I’m being a good boy.”

  “No.” I shake my head. “That is absolutely not happening. I’m surprised you think I would even consider it.”

  He scrunches his face. “Well… this is how I see it; you can have a drink with me and we both go home, tucked into bed nice and early. Or you drag me out of here right now, and I jump in my car and drive to the next bar. Only this time, I won’t tell you where I’m going… I’m thinking somewhere very public.” He strokes his chin with his fingers in contemplation.

  “You’re not serious?”

  He pats my empty stool. “Serious as a heart attack.”

  I glare between him and the seat. I did not come here to have a drink with the guy necking rum in the parking lot, but I’m out of options. The last thing I want him to do is go rogue.

  I huff, returning to the stool. “I can’t believe I was actually feeling sorry for you.”

  He grins, signaling the bartender. “Can we add a little whiskey to these colas?”