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

by Diamond, Jaine

  Don’t do this.

  You do not want to do this.

  I smeared the lotion on my hands and then leaned in, ignoring the voice in my head that told me to stop. Because fucking right, I wanted to do this.

  Do not touch her.

  I touched my fingertips to her back. Gently. I was half-expecting her to jump again, or scream or something.

  She didn’t.

  Do not start rubbing lotion on her.

  I started rubbing lotion on her.

  Her skin was warm. Soft.

  And I could’ve sworn I felt the warm vibe of her energy, buzzing right through me where we touched.

  She shifted a little, her body undulating under my hands as she adjusted herself. Her firm ass cheeks jiggled a bit.

  Holy Christ.

  Think of something else.

  Anything else…

  Garbage.

  Rotten food.

  Back acne.

  Yeah, that was good. While I rubbed lotion on Courteney’s smooth, perfect, soft skin… I was picturing some dude’s harry, acne covered back.

  No I wasn’t.

  I was staring at her. Again.

  I slipped my hands under the little string in the back of her bikini top, trying to get the lotion even. If she asked me to untie it, though, I was gonna have to search for the hidden porn cameras.

  Because real life was not this good.

  Even my life.

  She didn’t ask.

  I definitely smoothed my hands over her skin for longer than I needed to. But then I managed to remove them from her body, somehow.

  She didn’t say anything, except a murmured, “Thanks,” when I finished.

  I wiped my hands off on her towel, then sat back on my chair. I kicked up my legs and stretched out. I was wearing my drumming clothes, a tank top and loose shorts, ready to go work up a sweat. But I didn’t really feel like going anywhere.

  I glanced over at Courteney.

  She was still lying there, her head turned away from me.

  The song had changed, and now some slow, bump-n-grind song was oozing sex out of the tiny, shitty speaker in her phone.

  “What is this shit? Post Malone?”

  “Mmm. And Justin Bieber. Why?” she asked, like she didn’t care. “You hate it?”

  “Hate’s a strong word.”

  “It’s sexy.”

  “I guess.” It was sexy. Too sexy to sit here listening to with her. “Don’t suppose you have any Slayer…?” It was the first non-sexy music that came to mind.

  “What do the girls you usually hang out with listen to?” she asked, ignoring that.

  “No idea.”

  “Figures,” she mumbled.

  “What ‘figures’?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You want a good hanging-by-the-pool song…” I picked up her phone. By the time she realized what I was doing and rolled over, I had her music app open.

  “Don’t fuck around with my music.”

  “Just adding a decent song.” I put on Sublime, “Doin’ Time.”

  “I didn’t ask you to,” she said.

  I turned it up and put the phone down on the table between us. “You’re welcome.”

  She frowned.

  I lounged back—and shut my eyes. Otherwise I was gonna be searching for the outlines of her nipples through her bikini top and springing wood.

  I heard her huff and shuffle around. Assumed she was flopping over on her stomach again to ignore me. Or possibly snatching up her phone to turn off my song.

  But it kept playing.

  “Hey… Xander?”

  My eyes snapped open. Courteney was standing right over me. Actually, she was settling her knee on my chair, right next to my hip. And then the other knee, right next to the first one.

  She was climbing onto my chair.

  “What—?”

  “You have a thing,” she said, leaning in, right over me.

  Her tits were right the fuck in my face.

  I pretty much froze. My fingers bit into the arms of the chair as she reached for my hair, and when she touched me, gently ruffling her fingertips through my hair, a shiver streaked down my spine.

  Holy fuck.

  Her tits were in my face. If I stuck out my tongue, I’d taste her skin.

  The fuck was happening?

  She leaned in a little more. Then maybe she lost her balance or forgot where the fuck she was, because her tits bumped my face.

  They touched me.

  My head was pressed against the back of the chair—there was nowhere for me to dodge. I was paralyzed anyway.

  I was pretty damn sure I felt a nipple through her bikini as it grazed my cheek.

  And now my dick was hard.

  Maybe it was hard all along…

  I looked up at her. She glanced down at me, meeting my eyes as my dick throbbed. Her tits were hovering, maybe an inch from my face. And she was fucking blushing, for sure.

  The fuck was she blushing about, though? She was the one who climbed onto my chair and put her tits in my face. Wasn’t some accident she was now hovering over me.

  Or was it?

  Nope.

  Chicks generally knew where the fuck their tits were, and noticed when they shoved them in a guy’s face.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” I asked her in a low voice.

  “Nothing. You had a thing—” She held up a seed pod thing that had fluttered down off one of the trees. And landed in my hair, apparently.

  She smiled at me a little.

  My brain went blank.

  Without another fucking thought, I picked her up by her hips, set her aside, got up, and got the fuck out of there. I was on autopilot, and barely registered what I was doing until I’d stepped into the poolhouse and slammed the door behind myself.

  Then I fucking paced, back and forth, up the fucking hallway and back.

  Repeatedly.

  Jesus, was that on purpose? That was on purpose, right?

  Had to be.

  Sure, there was something in my hair, but who the fuck did that? It was hardly necessary for her to fish that seed thing out of my hair, much less kneel over me on my chair, in her fucking bikini, and bump her tits against my face.

  That was not an accident.

  Was it?

  Unlikely. She was fucking messing with me.

  Or…

  Maybe she was just that fucking naive that it was an accident?

  I kinda hoped to God she was.

  But I really wasn’t so fucking sure about that…

  No fucking way. She’s an innocent kid and you’re being a prick again.

  Just because your head is in the gutter doesn’t mean hers is.

  It was an accident.

  She was just trying to be nice. She saw something in my hair and decided to fix it for me because I helped her with the sunscreen…

  Right.

  Or maybe she’s fucking with you…

  Yeah, maybe. Maybe she was lounging by the pool right now, taking selfies in her bikini and sending them to her girlfriends, laughing her ass off.

  I just stuck THESE in Xander’s face and he lost it. LOL. What a creeper. The pool is MINE now! #SUCKER.

  Fuck it.

  I was just gonna have to go back out there and face her down.

  No. Better yet, act like nothing happened.

  Because nothing did happen.

  And if she was trying to fuck with me… I couldn’t let her win some kind of territorial rights over the pool area. I gave up any ground here, she’d push me out inch by inch.

  One nipple graze at a time.

  I opened the door and walked right back out there, not quite sure how I was gonna pull off the “nothing happened” act—her tits touched my face, for fuck’s sake—to find Courteney gone.

  And her brother standing there.

  I glanced around. There was no sign of her. Her towel and sunscreen were still there, but Courteney and her phone had vanished.r />
  Cary was standing right by the chair where I’d been sitting, staring at me. Stock-still, like a deer at the side of the road… just fucking looking at me.

  And yeah, I tried to act normal.

  Did he just see Courteney out here in her bikini, and put two and two together? Was I acting weird?

  Was he looking at me strangely?

  No. Cary looked at everyone like that.

  Fucking strangely.

  Like he’d been holed away so damn long he’d forgotten what to make of other human beings.

  “Hey, brother,” I said, casually, strolling over to the pool between us. “Nice day for a swim…”

  He dropped the towel he was holding on a chair. He wore a T-shirt and swim trunks, his hair tied back in a knot.

  He still hadn’t said anything.

  “Going in?” I asked him.

  “Yeah. Was gonna swim some laps.”

  “Cool. I’ll hang out, grab us a beer.”

  He didn’t say anything to that, just started pulling off his shirt, still kinda looking at me. So I took my ass up the path through the trees, quickly, to the house.

  I headed for the kitchen, my heart drumming in my chest. Wasn’t sure if that was because of what just happened with Courteney… or running into Cary right afterward and feeling like a guilty fuck.

  I didn’t see Courteney. I listened for her as I went to the fridge, but I didn’t hear a sound from the house.

  I grabbed a couple of cold ones, plus a bottle of water for Cary in case he wanted it after swimming. Then I took the long way back out to the pool—through the front door. So I could see if Courteney’s car was in the driveway. Nope.

  She’d taken off.

  Shit.

  No, wait. Not shit.

  Good.

  This was very fucking good. Why couldn’t I get that through my head?

  She should be running the fuck away from me.

  Fast and far.

  Because what the fuck was she doing, lounging around in a bikini and sticking her tits in my face anyway? She shouldn’t be anywhere near me in a bikini.

  Did she not have any idea what she was fucking with here?

  Didn’t I already scare her enough, that night in my car?

  If I didn’t—what the fuck was I gonna have to do to get the message across?

  I headed around back, trying to scrape my head together as I went.

  Put my game face on.

  The one that said, Everything’s cool, bro. Your little sister did not just put her tits in my face. Everything’s totally fucking fine here.

  Best Friend of the Goddamn Year.

  * * *

  I sat by the pool, nursing a beer, pretty much watching Cary swim laps and trying to figure out what I was gonna do or say if he said something to me about Courteney.

  He saw her out here, didn’t he?

  His beautiful eighteen-year-old sister, in that skimpy bikini, with that body of hers… And then I came barreling out of the poolhouse like some horned-up bull.

  And he knew something was up.

  No, he doesn’t. Because nothing is up.

  Just fucking chill.

  By the time he finished swimming and climbed out of the pool, I’d managed to chill out. More or less. Because last thing I wanted to do was upset him.

  Or disrespect him by drooling over his hot kid sister on his property. While hanging by his pool, living in his guesthouse, and drinking his beer.

  Jesus Christ, I was a dick sometimes.

  He came over and toweled off, took the water I offered.

  “Thanks,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to me. The one Courteney had been lying on.

  And that’s when I noticed the makeup on the table between us. Some sparkly tube of lipgloss or whatever with strawberries all over it.

  Shit.

  I tried not to stare at it. Had he noticed it?

  Did he know she was just out here?

  Why couldn’t I just fucking chill?

  Because you’re a guilty asshole.

  Cary guzzled some water, then sat back, putting his feet up. “You working today?”

  “Yeah. Probably head over to the studio in a bit.” Cary always called it “work” when I played drums, even if I was just fucking around, staying in shape. To him music was work, as much as it was his passion, because he was pretty much a workaholic.

  “Made a decision about Steel Trap yet?” he asked me.

  “Yeah, decision’s been made. I’m out.”

  “They know that?”

  “I’ll tell them as soon as I get around to it.”

  He kinda laughed without really smiling, and sipped his water.

  “I’ve, uh, been thinking a lot about Ashley Player’s offer.” I’d already told him that Ash had asked me to join his new band.

  “Yeah? What are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking I’ll probably do it. Take him up on the offer. I mean… maybe.”

  “Good.”

  “You think that’s a good move?”

  “As long as it feels right to you.”

  Yeah; instead of critiquing Ash and Summer’s musical talents like I’d expected him to, Cary had been telling me, all along, to join the band they were putting together if it felt right to me.

  “How about you?” It was always risky to ask, but since we were talking about work… “You gonna play me what you’ve been working on? I’d love to hear it.”

  “It’s not ready,” he said, like he pretty much always fucking did. Then he looked away.

  “Well, when it is. I’m here.”

  He said nothing for a long moment. Just sat there in that eerie way he had of being totally still, totally silent, until you almost wanted to poke him to make sure he was still breathing.

  He looked alright, physically. Maybe he’d been swimming regularly. And I knew he used the small gym he had set up in the studio. His hair was a little darker than it used to be; way less time spent in the sun. There were slight circles under this eyes, but that was to be expected. Long-ass hours working in the studio and not enough sleep would do that.

  “Courteney’s staying here, too,” he said after a bit.

  “Yeah.” I sipped my beer. “I know.”

  “Have you seen her?” He looked over at me, totally blank. Hard to read, even for me. I couldn’t guess what he was thinking; what he was really asking. If there was any subtext on that question.

  And I tried to remember how I’d reacted—or not reacted—to the sound of her name years ago. When the sound of her name didn’t make my blood boil.

  “Yeah. I helped her bring her stuff in when she got here.”

  Christ, I’d carried like one bag and a box for her. What was I trying to sound like, some kind of hero?

  “Cool,” he said. “Just make sure you respect her space.”

  “Yeah, of course.”

  He held my gaze. His eyes were like hers; a soft hazel, like the color of liquid honey. “Leave her alone, I mean.”

  There was no harshness to his tone. Not a warning. Not a threat. Just the simple, straightforward words of a man who cared about his sister, a fuck of a lot.

  A man who knew exactly who I was, and what I was about, when it came to women.

  He hadn’t seen anything just now, probably. He just knew me.

  And he loved her.

  Which meant I needed to take this request seriously.

  Not like I didn’t know that before… But hearing the words out of Cary’s mouth…

  Leave her alone…

  He knew it as well as I did. I was trouble for her.

  Or I would be, if I got in her space.

  Maybe she knew it, too. Maybe that’s why she was trying so hard to get rid of me.

  I wasn’t sure what all that shit was about—putting her tits in my face like that. But if I had to put money on it… Yeah, she was fucking with me.

  Or trying to.

  Trying to get me to grope her or something, s
o she could go crying to her brother and get me kicked out?

  The more I thought about it, that was the only explanation that made any sense to me.

  No way was I letting that happen, though. No way was I gonna fuck with Cary like that.

  Not happening.

  “I’ll try to stay out of her way,” I told him. “I’m not home much anyway.”

  Cary just nodded.

  “You want another beer?” I asked him. “Food? We could do lunch.”

  “I need to get back to work.”

  “Sure,” I said, watching him get up. Ordinarily, I might’ve tried harder to get him to stay, give me a few more minutes of his time. But maybe it was better that this conversation was over. “I’ll catch you later.”

  He took a sip of his untouched beer, then set the bottle down on the table right next to Courteney’s lipgloss.

  “Later,” he said.

  I watched him walk away, up the path to the house.

  Then I picked up my gym bag, went out to my car, and cleared the hell out of there before Courteney came back.

  Chapter Seven

  Courteney

  “I’m so embarrassed.”

  “I know.” Angeline leaned on the wall just inside the bedroom door, looking at me where I lay sprawled on the bed, feeling sorry for myself. She’d come in to check if I was awake—I was—and tell me breakfast was ready.

  What beautiful words.

  Breakfast is ready.

  Those were the words of a person who loved you, if I’d ever heard any. And I could definitely feel all the love in Angie’s house. I’d been basking in it for three bittersweet days.

  I looked over at her. Angeline Delacroix was a founding member of the Lil Brat Society, and even though she was six years older than me, we’d become best friends almost as soon as we met. I’d always been kind of mature for my age—in some ways—and Angie was, well, kinda immature in some ways. So it balanced out.

  We’d only known each other for two years, but I was closer to her than I’d ever been to anyone. It was only natural, when I’d humiliated myself and needed a place to lick my wounds, I ran to her house for sanctuary.

  She smiled at me. She was wearing mint-green silk pajamas and fluffy kitten slippers, holding a mug of coffee in her hand. Some cappuccino thing her mom made that smelled amazing.

  It was almost enough to get me out of bed.

  “I’ll never be able to look him in the eye again.”