The Rock Star (Hollywood Heartthrobs Book 2)

by Tabitha Bree

  He pinches his eyebrows together, like he’s trying to figure out if it’s a trick.

  “There are also rumors of trivia. So, I could use your help. You know, if there are questions about the application of eyeliner or something.”

  Xavier snorts, his frown turning into a grin. “Alright, you’re on.”

  “Great, we’ll leave in twenty minutes.”

  I walk out of the trailer before he changes his mind, and silently swat at the butterflies going nuts in my stomach.

  There’s about ten of us at the bar, and we’re spread out across one of the private rooms. Jayden and George are playing pool, and Sadie is with a couple of the makeup girls chatting over cocktails. A few people look over curiously when we walk in, but seem to shrug Xavier’s presence off pretty quickly. I think it’s just unexpected, more than unwelcome. At first, I’m concerned I’m going to have to stay by his side all night, but he eventually challenges Sadie to a game of darts, and then joins the boys at the pool table. Every now and then he looks over at me and smiles. Except now, he doesn’t look away so fast.

  Could it be that we’re both tired of the charade?

  Could it be that the games are finally over?

  I join George for a beer and we catch up on life. His wife, Elsa, is in remission after her second battle with cancer, and he’s adopted this new ‘every day is beautiful’ philosophy. The more he talks, the more I realize he’s right. I’ve spent so much time being tightly wound that I don’t have the mental space to see all the great things around me. Great friends, a job I love, and a guy… who’s staring at me again with those piercing blue eyes.

  Xavier hasn’t tried to kiss me since that night at karaoke. I suspected he backed off because of the tabloid thing. Maybe he’s waiting for me to show my hand.

  I hope this night is a start.

  “Alright everyone, gather round. I have a surprise for you all,” Jayden announces, standing in the middle of the room. “We’ve still got a little while to go on the shoot, but I thought it might be fun to look back on some of the good times we’ve had already.”

  Sadie leans in to me. “Ugh, his home movies are coming back to haunt us.”

  For someone pursuing acting as her career, Sadie HATES seeing herself on screen. It’s endearing.

  “They’ve been kind enough to play my slideshow on the projectors they use for trivia, so sit back folks, and enjoy the memories!”

  Someone grabs Jayden in a headlock and ruffs up his hair, but we all reluctantly sit down and face the screen. The lights go down and I look across the room, seeing Xavier next to George. I secretly wish he was next to me.

  Jayden’s video plays, beginning with our first day on set. Even though it’s only been a few weeks, there is something nostalgic about looking back. It’s basically just a compilation of people pulling faces and pushing Jayden’s phone away with their hands. Every time someone in the bar spots themselves on screen, they either laugh, or cringe and look away.

  My face comes on the television, talking into my shoulder mic and then directing the grips where to get set up. When I notice Jayden filming, I tilt my head and smile, flipping him the bird. Everyone laughs, but the person I notice most is Xavier, the grin lighting up his entire face.

  The video goes on like this for five minutes; people messing around, Sadie doing goofy things. It’s nice that she and Jayden have become buddies; she isn’t so nervous on set anymore.

  And then another face fills the screen—Xavier. It’s footage of him showing Sadie breathing techniques the day we filmed on the ship. They look ridiculous, pressing their fingers against their nostrils, but there’s a few coos dispersed through the laughter.

  “Thanks, Jayden,” Sadie says, rolling her eyes.

  I beam down at my hands, remembering how terrified Sadie had been of falling into the water. Xavier really helped her. It was the first time I’d seen a different side to him.

  Maybe Jayden was right—it’s nice to look back.

  The video changes again, and it’s footage of a bar. I’m horrified to see my face again, a delightful close up.

  “Who is the most attractive person on the set?” Jayden’s voice says off camera.

  “I’m not going to answer that.”

  “You have to! It’s for memories.”

  Uh oh, I have a bad feeling about this.

  “I think we all know the answer to that—Xavier,” I say on screen.

  The room breaks out in oohs and ahs and laughter, and if I didn’t know any better, I would think Xavier is blushing. He looks over at me, tilting his head and grinning.

  “Gee thanks, Jayden,” I say, punching him in the arm. I had completely forgotten about his stupid interviews. Mainly because they were done under the influence of a few drinks.

  “What is your honest opinion of Xavier Black?” Jayden’s voice continues off screen.

  Suddenly my insides go still, like the cogs of a machine coming to a stop after a power cut. I don’t remember this, but I know it isn’t good.

  “Alright, my honest opinion of Xavier Black.”

  The me on screen deadpans the camera, looking into the lens with steely eyes.

  “He’s a dollar-store James Dean wannabe, only without any talent. With a head so big I’m surprised he can get into his costume.”

  I inhale sharply. “Jayden, can you turn this shit off??”

  “I don’t even know where they’re playing it from,” he says, looking around. But on-screen me isn’t done.

  “The only people who like him are teenage girls on Instagram, and that’s only because they’ve never met him.”

  More reactions around the room—mainly whistling and someone saying “ouch.”

  “He has the personality of a stale beer, and the only people willing to spend time with him are getting paid for it. His girlfriend was blessed the day he cheated on her, because she dodged a lifetime of disappointment.”

  “Seriously, Jayden, turn this off,” Sadie says, looking like she might cry. I can’t even bring myself to look at anyone else.

  “Xavier Black is an asshole, and never seeing him again will be the silver lining to this film being over.”

  The screen goes dead and we all turn to see George, with the cord hanging from his hand, ripped from the wall. Everything is quiet, save for the sounds coming from the other rooms in the bar.

  I finally look over at Xavier, who doesn’t appear to be focused on anything. I wish the ceiling would cave in on me, that a fucking truck would crash through the wall and take me out, anything to stop the feeling in my chest.

  This is mortifying.

  “I think I’ll get some air,” Xavier says, his voice low.

  “I’ll come with you,” I reply.

  His eyes flick to mine. “I’d rather you didn’t”.

  And he is gone.

  I sit in my car for a good ten minutes before I convince myself that chasing after him is a good idea.

  When Xavier said he was getting air, what he meant was, he was getting into an Uber and getting the hell out of here. And I can’t blame him.

  I can’t believe he heard all that fucking stuff I said about him.

  It was awful.

  I can’t get his expression out of my head. And I can’t stomach the knowledge that I put that expression there. The bully was me.

  I clench my steering wheel, resting my forehead against it. I’m not stalling because I don’t care… it’s because I don’t even know what to say. It’s not like they dubbed the video, like it could be misconstrued. I actually said those things about him. I just said them before I knew him better.

  This is stupid. I just have to have an honest conversation with him. I turn on the ignition and roll out of the parking lot, rehearsing what I’ll say for the entire drive to his house, which I’m assuming is where he fled to.

  I enter the code and drive through his gate, my heart thumping harder in my chest as I inch closer to his house. Benson sees my car and comes bounding ove
r, greeting me as I open the driver door. My insides sink like quick sand as I pet him. It’s like I know his affections aren’t genuine, because if he knew all the awful things I said about his human, he wouldn’t want a bar of me. He’d probably cock his leg and piss on my tire.

  Making my way to Xavier’s front door, I knock and face the ground, hanging my head in shame, like I should.

  “Hey?”

  But the voice that answers does not belong to him.

  I snap my head up and have to stop myself from gasping at the woman standing across from me. Short, bleached blonde hair, tats, tanned… the kind of girl you know is cooler than you just by glancing at her. And here she is in Xavier’s house.

  Wearing his sweatshirt.

  The one he put on me that night.

  “Are you looking for Xav?”

  Xav?

  “Err…” I stutter. “Um… no.”

  I’m an idiot. I’m an absolute fucking idiot. There I was, fantasizing about a man who has a woman shacked up in his house, wearing his sweater and nothing else. How could I ever have thought something genuine could be happening with me and Xavier? The writing was on the wall. Hell, it was literally all over the magazines.

  Xavier was never going to care about me, or anyone, for that matter.

  “Just tell him…” I say, hearing some movement at the top of the steps. “Don’t tell him anything, I’m out of here.”

  26

  Xavier

  As soon as I get in the door, I go straight upstairs. I need to wash this shitty day off me. I rub my towel over my hair and bring it over my face, and I see my reflection staring back at me.

  What a fucking loser.

  Actually thinking I had some genuine people in my life.

  I throw on a pair of sweats and contemplate being a completely tragic case and going to bed early when I hear Jack’s voice talking to someone. It’s probably my assistant, or maybe my agent, wanting to go over my schedule before I take off for a week.

  By the time I get down the stairs, Jack is standing in the living room alone, inspecting her bag of laundry that she just dumped on my couch.

  “Were you on the phone?”

  “No.” She looks up when she notices me there. “That was just someone at the door… it was kind of weird actually, they took off without saying anything.”

  “Who was it?”

  Jack shrugs. “I don’t know, some girl. Pretty green eyes, Black, maybe a little taller than me?”

  I rub my eyes with my fingers.

  Dee.

  I look back at Jack. “And you answered the door like that?”

  She looks down at her outfit. “Like what?”

  “You’re not wearing any fucking pants!”

  “Yes I am,” she says indignantly, lifting up the sweatshirt to show me. “I’m wearing shorts. It just looks like I’m not because the sweatshirt is big on me. It’s not like I want to wear your shit.”

  I sit down next to her giant pile of clean clothes, resting my head in my hands. “That was Dee.”

  “Like Dee Dee? Why did she run off?”

  “Fuck, I wonder?” I say, shifting my wide eyes up and down her ensemble.

  She takes herself in. “She thought we were… ew!” Like it’s suddenly on fire, she scrambles out of my sweatshirt, throwing it at my face. “Ugh! I feel like I need a shower.”

  She’s wearing a full outfit under the sweatshirt, down to the belt that’s fastened securely around her hips. But that’s not what it would’ve looked like to Dee. To Dee, it would’ve looked like Jack and I had just finished a round between the sheets and she tossed on my sweatshirt as some sign of affection.

  I groan into my hands. “Great, like I’m the one who should be feeling guilty right now.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Jack demands. “You didn’t say a word when you got home and now you have girls chasing after you only to flee two seconds later?”

  I sigh. It’s so humiliating. I don’t even want to talk about it.

  “I was at a bar with a few people from the film, and they played a slideshow. Kind of behind-the-scenes stuff. Anyway, let’s just say there was some footage of what Dee really thought of me.”

  “And they played it in front of you?”

  “I got the impression they’d forgotten it was in there… but that’s not the point. The point is that she said it.”

  “What exactly did she say?” Jack’s forehead creases.

  I wave her off. It’s nothing I particularly feel like repeating.

  What a fucked up day.

  And everything was feeling so good. I was feeling so good. And then BAM, a stark reminder that I’m just a joke to people, just some douchebag not worth anyone’s time of day. I followed Dee to hang out with her friends like a goddam puppy dog, only to be humiliated in front of everyone.

  Pathetic.

  “You should at least set the record straight about us,” Jack says, returning to fold her laundry. “Sounds like you don’t need things to be more complicated than they already are.”

  I watch her fold a t-shirt into thirds, and then into quarters so that it’s a neat little rectangle.

  “You know what? This is good. Let Dee think whatever she wants.” I stand up and walk to my bar cart, pouring myself a whiskey. “She made up her mind about me a long time ago, anyway.”

  I knock it back in one gulp, enjoying the burn.

  “Seriously?” Jack’s eyes goggle. “You’re going to just let her think that I’m shacked up here with you? Not tell her who I am?”

  “People will believe what they want to believe.”

  Jack huffs, shaking her head. “I think she’s having a little help from you in this scenario.”

  “What did I do?” I hold my hands up around my shoulders. “I endure a fucking humiliating roasting in front of the people I work with and instead of apologizing, she takes one look at you and decides I’m an asshole. Well, fuck that. All it ever takes is one headline, one fucking bullshit story for people to decide who I am. I’m fucking sick of it. If she doesn’t even care to get to know me, then she obviously isn’t the one for me.”

  I slam my glass down on the table, pouring myself a refill.

  “Okay,” Jack says, speaking slowly. “But as a woman, let me just tell you that this,” she points her finger between the two of us, “probably looked really bad. She might be in shock. She’s probably embarrassed that she chased you here only to find me.”

  “A talentless asshole.”

  “What?”

  “That’s what she called me,” I say, replacing the lid on my decanter. “Some idiot with no friends and an ex who is lucky I cheated because it saved her a life of disappointment.”

  Jack grimaces. “Ouch.”

  “Yeah. And the only people who want to spend time with me are getting paid.”

  “I’m spending time with you.” Jack shrugs.

  “Because your apartment is infested with bedbugs and you need somewhere to crash while it gets fumigated,” I point out.

  “You know that’s not the whole truth.” She picks up my sweatshirt, folding it into a tidy square and sitting it on the top of the couch. “Though that is the only reason I’d ever wear your clothes. Thank God mine are sanitized now.”

  I lean against my wall of windows, swishing my whiskey around in the glass. I wonder what Dee would have said if Jack hadn’t of answered the door in my sweatshirt. If Dee had of stuck around long enough for Jack to explain who she was and why she was here. I wonder how she would’ve explained the shit show at the bar, or if she would’ve apologized.

  But maybe it’s better that she didn’t have the chance. Maybe hearing her defend her words would only confuse me, and maybe I already know what I need to do.

  I need to just drop this whole stupid thing with Dee.

  I shouldn’t have let it get this far. It started as a bit of fun stirring her up whenever I got the chance, then it turned into a sexual attraction thing, and then somewh
ere along the way it got too serious… I let my guard down and told her things that I have only told the people closest to me. I let myself think she was seeing me for me, and not the jerk that the media made me out to be. I let myself get sucked into the idea that there was a woman out there who would care about me and see the best in me.

  I’m a fucking idiot.

  Seriously, how many times do I have to get burned before I get it through my thick head?

  Happy endings are bullshit.

  I tried to be myself when I was younger and I got rejected. I turned myself into the ultimate bad boy and got fucked over. I give the world another chance, peel back a few layers and let someone take a peek inside, and it STILL isn’t working out. I’m so fucking tired.

  It’s a good thing I don’t have to go back to the studio for a while.

  “Do you have everything you need?” I ask Jack, who is still folding her de-bugged clothes.

  “I think so,” she says, looking around. “And if I can’t find anything, you know I’ll just have a good snoop.”

  “Or call me.”

  She snorts. “Yeah, or that.” She pairs her socks, folding them into little balls. “What are you planning on doing for your week off?”

  I look out the windows, watching Benson play with his chew toy. The one with the squeaky thing inside. His front arms are flat on the ground while he chews, his butt sticking up in the air.

  “I’m thinking of getting away.” I turn back to Jack. “Do you think you could watch Benson while I’m gone?”

  Jack smiles. “Of course. I was planning on spending every day with him by the pool, anyway.” She raises one eyebrow. “Your pad is like a goddam resort compared to the bedbug hotel I call my apartment.”

  “That’s what happens when you get furniture off the sidewalk like an animal.”

  She throws a folded pair of socks at me, and I swat them away. “We can’t all afford la-di-da fancy shit like you, Mr. Half a Mil for an Instagram Post.”

  I pick up the socks she threw at me and toss them in her open suitcase. “At least you’ll have the place to yourself. Except for Benson. And seriously, keep an eye on him. And if you see Willow anywhere near my property, call the fucking cops.”