Filthy Beautiful: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #2)

by Diamond, Jaine

Ugh. Why did he have to be such a dick about it? “I meant, I wasn’t letting you get in my pants or something.”

  “I wasn’t trying to get in your pants.”

  “Good. Because you weren’t succeeding.”

  Silence.

  Then: “Where did you think I was taking you?”

  “I don’t know,” I huffed.

  “Then why did you let me lead you out of the bar?”

  “You’re just trying to trick me.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “Because I was hoping you’d feel me up in the back alley.”

  Silence. Ugly, strained silence. I could feel it… he was mad now, for sure.

  I glanced over and watched the little vein pulsing at his temple.

  “Isn’t that why girls usually let you lead them out of bars?” I said.

  Silence again.

  “I’m sorry, did I offend you?”

  “That’s what you thought I was gonna do?” he asked, in a weirdly low voice.

  “No.”

  “Then why did you say it?”

  “I don’t know. Who cares.”

  “Why did you let me lead you out of the bar, Courteney?”

  “Because I so enjoy your company.”

  “Jesus Christ.”

  “Just chill, okay? I get that you were trying to protect me in some annoying, warped way.”

  “So then why do you have to be such a bitch about it?”

  I huffed. “Really? Now you’re calling me names?”

  “You called me an asshole.”

  “Because you are an asshole. You’re saying I’m a bitch?”

  “I said you’re acting like a bitch. Two different things.”

  “No, it’s totally not.”

  Silence again.

  I couldn’t stand his damn silences.

  “If you were luring me out to your car to try to make out with me, rest assured, the answer would be no.”

  “Here’s an idea. How about you just sit back and enjoy the drive.”

  I went silent.

  He said nothing else. The entire way.

  And it just about killed me.

  I knew why I was pissed at him. I’d been pissed at him for the last two years. But why was he being such a dick to me?

  This was the longest conversation we’d had since I was sixteen, and it was broiling with tension. It was like we were hurling fireworks at each other. Angry, bitchy, accusatory fireworks.

  By the time we pulled into my parents’ dark, silent driveway, I was even more pissed at him. For being so mean to me.

  He’d never been mean to me before. I mean, he’d hurt me before. But not on purpose.

  I took off my seatbelt. “I would say thanks for the ride, but it fucking blew, so.”

  “Your parents know where you were tonight?”

  I turned to glare at him. “Fuck off, Xander, okay?”

  “I’m just wondering how stupid you were being,” he said, gazing through the windshield at nothing at all, as he sat there with one toned, tattooed arm resting on the steering wheel. Still not looking at me. “Like did anyone know where you were? Or would no one even notice you were gone until the morning, if you disappeared off the face of the Earth tonight?”

  “You’ve been creepy enough for one night. Just quit while you’re ahead, okay?”

  I went to open the door, but he locked them down so I couldn’t get out.

  I blew out a breath. “See, you’re being a creeper again.”

  He looked at me, but again, kind of through me. “Yeah? What would you do about it if I was?”

  “Okay, that was definitely creepy.”

  “It’s just a question. What would you do if some guy locked you in his car?”

  I made some sputtery noises that weren’t words. Then I managed, “Whatever, Xander. I’d stab him with my light saber, then melt the locks off. What kind of question is that?”

  He looked away again. “Did you even think about that? You know, when you were lying to your parents about where you were going tonight?”

  I just glared at the side of his head.

  “Did you think about what it would do to your brother? You know… if something happened to you.”

  I sucked in a breath, hard. I wanted to slap him for that. “How could you?”

  “How could I what?”

  “Say something like that.”

  He didn’t answer me for a long moment. Then he said, “He’s been hurt enough, Courteney.”

  “Yeah. I know that.”

  “Maybe you’re worth more than you know.”

  I ignored that. What was that anyway, some kind of backhanded compliment?

  And why was my brother the only one whose feelings ever seemed to matter anymore?

  “He’s not the only one who hurts,” I said. “My brother doesn’t own the trademark on sadness.”

  “Other people aren’t afraid to leave the house.”

  Well, fuck.

  What the hell was I supposed to say to that?

  No one else ever put it quite like that. So direct.

  “So, I’m supposed to be afraid to leave the house, too?”

  “You don’t belong in that bar,” he repeated, ignoring my question, “with people like that.”

  “You mean adults?”

  “I mean, with men like that.”

  “What, men like you?”

  “Yeah,” he growled, looking at me again. Really looking at me. I actually drew back a bit when the force of his eyes hit mine. “Men like me.”

  I tried to laugh, but it just came out a pissy, huffy noise. “I’m not afraid of you, Xander.”

  He said nothing.

  “I can handle you.” I tried to relax back in my seat and give him my toughest, coldest look. “Bring it on.”

  He unlocked the doors.

  I didn’t move.

  “Get out of the car, Courteney.”

  But I didn’t. I just sat there, looking at him.

  “Ride’s. Over.”

  I still didn’t move.

  I had pretty much zero idea what he was thinking, but he didn’t say anything else.

  Minutes passed.

  And I could feel something building, like electricity on my skin. The residue of all those fireworks we’d been hurling at each other… setting off sparks. Catching fire.

  Neither of us moved. But neither of us looked away.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” I repeated, breaking the silence.

  “Maybe you should be.” His voice was low and dark, and there was a warning in his words.

  I didn’t heed it.

  I reached over and ran my fingertip down his chest. He tensed under my touch. His chest was all thick muscle, and I could feel his warmth through his thin shirt. I felt his chest rise with a slow breath. His nostrils flared.

  My heart thudded, but I still didn’t stop. I wouldn’t let him intimidate me. I knew what he was about. I’d seen how he treated women.

  I wasn’t scared of him.

  He’d never treat me that way. I wouldn’t let him. I’d just love to see him try, so I could laugh in his slutty face.

  “Go ahead.” I trailed my fingertip around his nipple, which was poking out against his shirt. When I looked at his eyes again, he was staring at my mouth. “Give me the best you’ve got.”

  “Yeah?” he growled. His eyes met mine again, and for once, there was heat in them. Desire. Or at least, I thought there was. “What should we do first? Should I fuck that mouth of yours, or should I bend you over the seat?”

  Holy crap.

  I totally abandoned my game plan. I snatched my hand back.

  Maybe I was afraid of him.

  But I stood my ground. I didn’t get out of the car.

  Nerves crackled in my stomach as he reached over and touched me, just barely… brushing my hair off my shoulder with his finger, so gently.

  I shivered all over.

  He knew it. I could see it in his eyes, the w
ay he watched me…

  This was cold war. Ice cold.

  And he wasn’t backing down.

  Neither was I.

  “Is that all you’ve got?” I said, but my voice wavered.

  His eyes darkened, and his hand dropped from my shoulder—and slid deliberately into his lap.

  “Don’t try to bite off more than you can chew, sweetheart,” he said, softly. “You might choke.”

  When I glanced down, he was casually squeezing himself through the crotch of his jeans—a whole handful of himself.

  I met his eyes again.

  He stared at me, with that blank, cold look on his face. But his eyes were still burning.

  I knew Xander wouldn’t hurt me. I’d put every cent I had on it. I’d bet my mother’s life on it.

  But he definitely wanted to scare me… or something.

  I fumbled around for the door handle, and got out of his car.

  Tears were burning in my eyes, and I didn’t even know why. I didn’t look back as I ran up to the house and his car blazed out of the driveway and took off.

  I didn’t see him again until just a few days ago, when I moved into my brother’s house. But I thought about him.

  Every fucking day.

  I thought about that night. And everything he did and said to me.

  It was mean, gross… and grotesquely intriguing. I couldn’t stop thinking about it… and not because it upset me.

  Nope.

  I’d accepted the uncomfortable truth long ago—that it totally turned me on. Every time I touched myself, I thought about the look on his face when he’d said those words to me.

  Should I fuck that mouth of yours…?

  The way his eyelids got heavy and his eyes softened, burning into me.

  … or should I bend you over the seat?

  Just fucking once, he’d really looked at me.

  Don’t try to bite off more than you can chew, sweetheart.

  I could still remember everything about the way he looked, the way he breathed, when he squeezed his dick in front of me.

  You might choke.

  When I thought about it now, I slid my hand between my legs. I knew it was an empty threat. He wasn’t going to do anything.

  He didn’t really want me.

  But…

  I imagined his dick in my mouth. I imagined his hands on my body. I thought of that look in his eyes. I touched myself, and I pictured him, looking at me that way he did.

  I couldn’t even help it.

  I just had to get off, so the ache would go away.

  But it never really did.

  * * *

  Afterward, I found tears on my cheeks. I was a panting, sweaty mess, and I’d made myself come three times.

  I’d told Xander I was fine, and I was.

  More or less.

  The whole truth was I didn’t even know what to feel. I felt too many things, and somehow… not enough.

  I wanted to feel less about Xander.

  Way fucking less.

  I wanted to feel more about Joseph Fetterman. About his death.

  But I didn’t feel any of the right things.

  I never had.

  I’d never felt the way my friends felt, or the way my brother felt, or the way my mom wanted me to feel.

  How are you doing, sweetheart?

  Fine. I was doing fine.

  Or maybe I hadn’t really stopped to think about how I was doing, because I was so worried about my brother all the time.

  And so caught up in trying to hate Xander—and failing.

  I had no idea what to feel about the man who’d died last week.

  When someone killed someone you loved, even if it wasn’t on purpose, even if it was an accident… And then that person died, too… How were you supposed to feel, anyway, in the privacy of your own heart?

  Relieved? Sad? Glad?

  Angry all over again?

  I did feel every one of those things.

  I did feel glad, in a way, when I heard that the man responsible for Gabe’s death was dead and gone.

  At least now, maybe he couldn’t hurt us anymore.

  But it didn’t make me feel any better.

  Chapter Six

  Xander

  For the next few days, I avoided Courteney. I knew things had gotten dicey the other night by the pool, when I’d asked her how she was doing. When she ran away from me.

  I didn’t know how she was really doing, or what she was really thinking.

  But I knew by now that being around her would make me think all kinds of filthy shit that I’d just as soon not think about when it came to her.

  It was now Sunday morning. Almost a week since Courteney had moved into Cary’s place. I’d brought over some more clothes and shit from my place. But other than sleeping here at night, I hadn’t been here much.

  I showered and got dressed, put back a breakfast shake. Figured I’d grab a coffee on the way over to the studio, play my drums. I had a place I rented over in Strathcona where I stored them, and practiced when I wasn’t on the road or in rehearsals. I preferred playing with a band, but I always practiced, even if I was alone. It was exercise. And it kept me sharp.

  After that, I’d head to the gym. Check in with Jordan, maybe. Meet up with friends for dinner and drinks. Stay out as long as I could.

  The usual.

  Come back here to crash well after dark, after Courteney was asleep.

  Solid plan.

  Day seven of my “stay the fuck away from Courteney” plan was going strong, so far.

  I grabbed my keys and gym bag and headed out the door.

  But as I walked through the backyard, I found Courteney out by the pool, alone. In a bikini.

  Plans changed.

  I literally pivoted midstep and started walking toward her. I hadn’t seen her using the pool area at all, other than that one time with her girlfriends.

  I slipped my keys in my pocket and stood over her. She was stretched out in front of me on a lounge chair, in a white bikini. She had sunglasses on, and she didn’t react, didn’t say anything. She also had earbuds in, connected to her phone, which was lying next to her.

  I sat down on the edge of the lounge chair next to hers and put down my bag. Should’ve really been in my car, putting as much distance between the two of us as I could, as fast as I could.

  Instead, I just sat here and stared.

  I leaned my elbows on my knees and studied her. I knew her eyes were closed because she looked totally relaxed. No reaction to me sitting down.

  Her string bikini had ruffles on the edges, and I watched them flutter on the light breeze. On any girl, it might be sexy.

  On her…. it was way too fucking sexy.

  Like if I was her brother, I would not want me sitting here staring at her like this.

  Probably time to start praying that Cary didn’t own a gun.

  I glanced up at the house through the trees. I could see some windows here and there through the leaves, but if Cary was locked away in his studio, there was no way he could see this.

  I looked at her again.

  Damn. The girl was so fucking perfect.

  Not athletic, exactly. Not too skinny. Not too soft.

  Just right.

  She was maybe five-six or so. Long legs. Nice hips.

  And her breasts…

  Courteney Clarke had the kind of tits men wrote songs about. The triangles of her bikini top could barely contain them.

  She still didn’t know I was here.

  How long was I planning to stare at her?

  I could hear the music from her earbuds, faintly. She’d obviously tuned out the world. Maybe she’d let her guard down around me somewhat?

  Or maybe she thought I wasn’t home?

  But here I was. I could’ve reached out and touched her.

  I could’ve licked her.

  “Good morning.”

  She fucking jumped.

  And screamed.

  Her phone we
nt flying and I caught it before it smashed on the ground. She’d jolted upright and by some miracle, her tits stayed strapped into her tiny bikini.

  “Ohmygod,” she breathed.

  “Sorry.”

  I handed the phone to her and she snatched it back. She yanked out her earbuds. “What do you want?”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “No.” She wiped the corner of her mouth like she was worried she’d been caught drooling. “What time is it?” She glanced at her phone, then unplugged the earbuds so her music started playing through the tiny phone speaker. Some hip-hop/dance shit with too much Auto-Tune. She set it down on the towel next to her chair.

  “You’re gonna burn if you fall asleep out here long.”

  “Thanks for your concern. I have sunscreen…” She trailed off, frowning at me.

  And something shifted between us.

  Couldn’t say what it was, but she dropped the attitude a bit, maybe. Her body softened and she glanced at me a couple times, like she was weighing something in her head… making some kind of decision.

  “I should probably flip over, though…”

  Then she did flip over. She stretched out on her stomach on the lounge chair right in front of me.

  I stared at the little triangle of white fabric covering her ass.

  Make that barely covering her ass. I may have drooled a little bit.

  She glanced back at me. “Um… Do you think you could just… do the spots I couldn’t reach?”

  I blinked at her. “Huh?”

  “Sunscreen. It’s right there on the table.”

  I looked over at the bottle. Then I stared at her some more. It wasn’t like I’d never had a chick ask me to put sunscreen on her body before. But this did not compute.

  “On your back?”

  She scowled at me over her shoulder. “Yeah. The part I can’t reach. I can reach my butt just fine, so don’t get any ideas.”

  I made no move toward the sunscreen. “You really know how to get what you want in life, don’t you.”

  She made that little huffing sound I was getting so used to. “I meant to say please. It just didn’t come out.”

  “Right.”

  I picked up the sunscreen—was I really doing this?

  Yes. Yes I was.

  I opened the bottle and squirted lotion into my hand.

  Because I was weak.

  At least, when it came to this girl, I was weaker than shit.