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

by Diamond, Jaine

  I couldn’t let that shit happen.

  For all I knew, it was happening right now, behind closed doors.

  He hadn’t texted me in days, either.

  * * *

  On Friday, Cary finally texted me back. He said the album was going good. He was working.

  The usual.

  He sounded okay.

  But it was like a six word text.

  By Saturday, I’d caved and gone back to his place. Only to find that Courteney had moved into the poolhouse in my absence.

  “I thought you moved out,” she said flatly, standing in the doorway of the poolhouse in a pink bikini and ponytail, arms crossed, glaring at me.

  I didn’t say a word.

  She pointed me in the direction of the main house… Where I discovered all my personal possessions from the poolhouse had been packed up and left for me in one of the guest rooms. The room right next to hers, which she was, apparently, no longer using.

  At least this time, she’d used boxes instead of garbage bags.

  I sighed and started unpacking.

  * * *

  The next day, I woke up to the noise of a pool party.

  Couldn’t really mistake those sounds for anything but what they were.

  I’d gone out for drinks the night before with Lucas, then ended up meeting up with Ash and his girl, and staying out til the middle of the night. Barhopping, then hanging back at Ash and Danica’s place, smoking weed.

  As I blinked my eyes open and checked my phone, it was close to eleven in the morning.

  I could hear the splashing as people did cannonballs off the diving board, the laughter, the music…

  Fucking chick rap.

  Shayla.

  I groaned. What the fuck now?

  I rolled over and stretched. I was kinda hungover. Foggy. Really wasn’t used to smoking that much pot.

  I dragged my ass up and took a look out the window, nudging the drapes aside. The sun was blazing out of a crystal-clear blue sky.

  And there was Courteney by the pool in her ruffled white bikini. The one she’d been wearing the day I rubbed sunscreen on her back.

  Shayla was there, dancing in her bikini. Trey’s sister, Larissa, was there. Angie Delacroix. Some other girl… and several guys. They were all in swimwear.

  There were beer bottles and cocktail glasses, both full and empty, all over the various tables around the pool. Looked like they’d been drinking—copiously—before noon.

  I took a quick shower and assessed myself in the mirror. Eyes slightly bloodshot. I looked like I hadn’t slept well in days, which was the truth.

  I pulled on shorts and a sleeveless shirt. As I walked past the framed photo of me, Cary, and Gabe that I’d put on the dresser, I tapped it automatically with my knuckle. I glanced at Cary’s smiling face and muttered, “Your sister’s a real pain in my ass, you know that?”

  Then I went downstairs. The doors to Cary’s studio were shut, as usual, and I didn’t see him anywhere. His reusable coffee mug was sitting in front of the door, the one Court always refilled for him.

  I headed into the kitchen and put back a breakfast shake. Would’ve loved a coffee myself, but there was no coffee maker. Cary kept it in his studio. Really uncool, when he was also getting coffee delivered to his door on a daily basis. And I had none.

  I mean, I could’ve gone to pick one up. But fuck that.

  I headed through the living room to the French doors in back, which were open. Then up the path through the trees.

  Angie saw me first. “Hey, Xander!” she said, needlessly loud—for Courteney’s benefit. To alert her I was coming, obviously.

  Courteney was busy flirting with some dude, from what I could tell.

  “Hey, Angie,” I muttered, stalking past her.

  Courteney turned to look at me as I approached, and the smile fell off her face. I threw the guy she was talking to a withering look. Predictably, he withered and drifted away.

  “You know Cary doesn’t like parties in his house,” I told her, bracing for a fight.

  “We’re not in the house,” she said brightly, and sipped on her bright green cocktail.

  “Or in his yard.”

  “I’m allowed to have people over,” she said, and she didn’t give me any attitude about it, either. “It’s like seven people. It’s not a party. Cary knows they’re here.”

  I stared at her. Something was wrong.

  She was being way too polite.

  She even pasted a smile on her face when she said, “Have a margarita,” and handed me one from the table next to her.

  I took it. No idea why.

  The smile remained frozen on her face, but her eyes blazed at me for a moment—and there it was. She was mad.

  No, she was livid.

  I’d never seen her like this—where she got scary nice to me instead of yelling at me. She was performing, maybe because her friends were here and she didn’t want to spoil the party by yelling at me in front of them. Pretending like nothing was wrong as she tapped her glass to mine in cheers and sipped her drink through the pink straw.

  I hated it.

  This was worse than when she avoided me. Way worse.

  I didn’t know this girl standing in front of me, smiling at me as she sipped her drink and giggled at something Shayla was babbling on about behind us. The party was still in full swing, people talking, laughing, music playing. But I just stared at the girl in front of me.

  Where the fuck was my Courteney?

  I put my margarita down on the table.

  Wait. My Courteney?

  Where the fuck did that come from?

  She glanced at my abandoned drink, blinked at me and said, “Maybe you’d prefer a virgin?” She licked salt from the rim of her glass, slowly… and my dick twitched. “You wouldn’t want that nasty, clingy hangover.” There was acid in her voice, but she smiled again and walked away.

  Or tried to.

  I grabbed her arm, gently, stopping her.

  “Can I talk to you?”

  “About what?” She blinked at me innocently. “There’s nothing to talk about, right? Excuse me, I think I’m burning. I need someone to rub lotion on my back.”

  For a split second the smile crumbled, and she gave me the nastiest, filthiest look I’d ever seen on her face. And not sexy-filthy. It was more of a Why-don’t-you-eat-shit-and-die-choking-on-it? filthy.

  Then she yanked her arm away, snatched a bottle of sunscreen off a chair as she went, and sauntered right over to that rich brat from next door.

  Stephan. The trust-fund-kid-turned-pool-boy.

  The guy I’d overheard her and her girlfriends talking about that first day by the pool.

  Yeah, I heard that.

  The same guy who’d come by a few times now and fucking stared at Courteney in her bikini.

  Yeah, I saw that too.

  Saw her lounging by the pool, working on her book or something on her laptop, with her cute little glasses on… and the kid about to break his neck trying to keep one eye on her as he cleaned the pool.

  And now he was taking the bottle of lotion she held out to him and nodding like a puppy. She turned and stretched out on a lounge chair, just like she did for me, and the little dickwad started rubbing the lotion on her back.

  I took a deep breath and blew it out through my gritted teeth.

  I made the decision not to snap Stephan’s neck and toss him in the pool to drown, and instead sat down on the lounge chair right next to them. I kicked my feet up, stretching out. On second thought, I peeled off my shirt. Then I relaxed back, making sure my muscles flexed a little and all her little brat friends—the male ones—noticed I was twice their size.

  They noticed.

  Stephan looked right at me, and when I met his gaze, I smiled—the way a jaguar might smile at a small, juicy deer who’d been separated from the herd. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing. Kid had to be fresh out of high school. Courteney’s age. Kind of athletic, but no match
for me.

  He knew it.

  He made quick work of getting that sunscreen on her back, then beat a path to the other end of the patio.

  Larissa was in the chair on my other side, her mouth hanging open a bit as she watched him go. When she realized I was looking at her, she snapped it shut.

  “What’s new, Larissa?” I asked her.

  And there I stayed, for the next five hours, while Courteney and her friends had their little party.

  * * *

  Courteney was drunk.

  She was leaning on Stephan for support, laughing at his jokes, while his arm was wrapped around her waist.

  At least she had clothes on now. She’d pulled on a little skirt and a T-shirt over her bikini.

  Unfortunately, Larissa and her boyfriend hadn’t been drinking all day—I’d kept track—and they were all packing up to head out for dinner.

  Since they were taking two cars and had two designated drivers, I didn’t really have an excuse to stop them. Courteney wouldn’t even look at me, much less talk to me. So I just let them go.

  Except Larissa. As they filtered out to the driveway, I grabbed Trey’s sister by the wrist and stopped her.

  “If that guy hurts her,” I told her, “I’m gonna have a problem with it, Larissa.”

  Larissa’s eyes went big and round. “He won’t. Stephan’s a nice guy.”

  “Right.”

  She looked me up and down. Then she lifted her chin, like she was looking down on me, even though she was like five-four, at best.

  “If you want her,” she said, “why don’t you just tell her so? You’re always playing games with her.” Then she planted her hands on her hips. “Maybe I have a problem with it if you hurt her.”

  Well. That was unexpected.

  Sure, I’d seen Larissa sass her brother, plenty. But she’d never sent any attitude in my direction before.

  She cocked an eyebrow at me expectantly. “Well?” she demanded. “Nothing to say for yourself? You’re not gonna admit that you like her?”

  “I think I like you better when you’re giving me the gears,” I said.

  She kinda sniffed and turned on her heel.

  I caught her arm again.

  “I’m serious, Larissa. If he tries anything, I want you to text me. I’ll come pick her up.”

  She pressed her lips together, skeptical.

  “Don’t let her go home with him.”

  “He lives next door,” she pointed out.

  “I don’t care. If she comes home with him, we’re gonna have a problem.”

  She made a dismissive tsshht sound. “I’m not her babysitter and you’re not her daddy, so stop being gross, Xander. You’ve been acting like a pervy chaperone all day. Courteney is smart. If you want her, just be a man about it.”

  With that, she turned on her heel and took off to catch up with her friends—who were honking their horns like drunken maniacs in the driveway, calling her name.

  Jesus Christ.

  I slammed my way back into the house as they took off, and I went upstairs to change. No way was I sitting here with my dick in my hand while they went out partying.

  I changed into jeans and a nice shirt, grabbed my wallet. Smoothed back my hair. Changed out my nose ring for the diamond stud. Maybe I’d go pick up with Trey tonight.

  Fuck someone.

  Fuck a whole lot of someones until Courteney Clarke’s pussy was a distant memory.

  Yeah. Right.

  I made it as far as the front steps and sat down, keys in hand. Then I went around back and started cleaning up all the shit they’d left by the pool.

  After I cleaned up, I ordered in dinner. I texted Cary to see if he wanted anything, but he didn’t answer.

  So I ate takeout in front of Netflix, alone. I even changed into sweats.

  Then I fucking sat around for the rest of the evening, alternating between watching TV, checking my phone, checking the driveway, and sweating a girl who was avoiding me. Like a fucking loser.

  When had I ever done this shit?

  Well, maybe when I was a teenager.

  Now here I was, all bent the fuck out of shape over my best friend’s teenage sister.

  And my other friend’s little sister was telling me to be a man about it?

  Maybe that was the best advice I’d gotten about this whole thing. I sure felt like a pussy sitting here right now, waiting for her while she was out on a date with some other dude.

  Okay, it wasn’t exactly a date. There were other people with them. But she was definitely leaning on him as they left.

  And why shouldn’t she?

  She was single.

  Drunk.

  And now she was no longer a virgin, so sleeping with a guy probably wouldn’t seem like as big a deal…

  Fuck.

  I was totally sweating her. I hadn’t sweat a girl since I was seventeen and a virgin myself, with no idea what to do around a beautiful woman.

  Courteney Clarke made me feel like a kid again—and not at all in a good way.

  I lay sprawled on Cary’s living room couch, staring blankly at the TV. It was like my fucking teenage nightmare brought to life.

  When I was her age, a girl like Courteney would never have looked at me twice, much less begged me to fuck her, and that was the sad truth. Back then, the Courteneys went out with the Stephans, and I went home with my hand.

  I dreamed about having a girl like her… but I never thought I actually would.

  But that was a long time ago.

  Nowadays, I could have a lineup of pretty blonde eighteen-year-olds, if that’s what I wanted. I didn’t need to sweat this one.

  I didn’t need to… but I totally was.

  Because there was no one like her. No one who’d ever made me feel what she was starting to make me feel.

  Starting?

  Who the fuck was I kidding?

  Christ, I was so getting the feels over her.

  How the fuck did this happen? This was supposed to be about sex.

  For me, if not for her.

  I was a pig, right? She told me so. I was the bad guy and she was the good girl. I was supposed to use her up and spit her out and be on to the next thing.

  I couldn’t do that with her.

  Yes, I wanted to do filthy, filthy shit to her. But then I wanted to wake up and do it again the next day.

  I wanted to fuck her and I wanted her to keep coming back for more.

  So I waited up for her.

  I waited, until well past midnight, getting more and more bent out of shape about it the longer she stayed out.

  I even texted Larissa, once. She better not be alone with him right now.

  She didn’t reply.

  And that’s when I decided. This shit had gone on long enough.

  When Courteney got back from her little date or whatever the fuck it was, I was gonna spread her open and fuck her front to back and make her beg for it, make her come gushing all over me.

  Make her forget little Stephan and whatever he’d said to her, whatever he’d done.

  Remind her that he was just a boy.

  And I was the man to give her what she wanted.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Courteney

  “You need to stop moping,” Shayla complained from the other side of the hot tub. “You’re bumming me out.”

  “I know…” I groaned and sipped my water.

  I felt gross, still kinda drunk, kinda hungover… I’d been drinking since ten in the morning, but stopped sometime after dinner… ish. It was after midnight now and I wasn’t okay to drive, for sure, but at least I was more coherent.

  I hardly remembered most of the afternoon, though I did remember Xander lying there on a lounge chair with his shirt off and his feet up, watching me—while I flirted with Stephan like a jerk.

  Stephan, who’d asked me on a date after dinner. Who now thought I liked him, probably, because I was all sloppy-drunk all over him.

  I’d politely
turned him down and decided to stop drinking, and the Lil Brat Society had parted ways with the boys. We still had our swimsuits on under our clothes, so Shayla decided we should crash her brother’s hot tub.

  Johnny was out of town, so we were now piled into the hot tub on his back deck, enjoying his sound system and the snacks we’d pillaged from his pantry.

  “Are you ever gonna tell us what happened?” Larissa asked me as she nibbled on a dried apricot. Unfortunately, Johnny was kind of a health nut and didn’t have much food suitable for the munchies, but we’d managed to find some popcorn and dried fruit.

  “Yeah,” Shay added, “like, why did Xander sit there all day like a grouchy, sexy bodyguard while you drank your face off?”

  I groaned again.

  “He was pretty upset that you were leaving with Stephan,” Larissa added gently.

  Yeah. She’d told me what Xander said to her. And also that he’d texted her half an hour ago.

  She better not be alone with him right now.

  Ugh.

  I felt bad making him think I was out with some other guy. When I was drunk, it seemed like a great idea. Now I just wanted the world to stop spinning and this night to be over.

  I couldn’t go home right now, though, and risk facing his grouchy, sexy wrath. I didn’t have the wherewithal to deal with that right now.

  Maybe I never did.

  “I slept with him,” I blurted.

  There didn’t seem any point keeping it to myself anymore. I would’ve told my girlfriends sooner, if telling them didn’t also mean I’d probably have to explain why we weren’t currently doing it like horny, happy bunnies—because he’d brushed me off afterward.

  My girls all went silent.

  I supposed I didn’t sound all that happy about it, so no one was exactly congratulating me on finally shredding my V-card.

  “Courteney…” Angeline slid over next to me. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m great. It was great.” I shoved a handful of popcorn in my mouth. “Larissa, you gotta put more butter on it next time.”

  “Sorry.”

  “What happened?” Angie pressed. “If it was so great, why are you all aggro around each other, and what’s with all the popcorn? You’ve eaten like two bowls of it.”