Playing by Heart

by JB Salsbury

  Jesse

  After giving Bethany a quick tour of my house, we sit down for peppered beef and noodles, shrimp dumplings, and chocolate coconut mochi. My mouth waters for something stronger to drink than green tea and sparkling water. With four refrigerators that have always been stocked with booze, I’m having a harder time adjusting to being in my house than I thought I would.

  Dave cleaned out the booze, and it’s no surprise he fired Anton and hooked me up with a chef who doesn’t cook using LA’s finest chronic. Thank fuck for Bethany. If she weren’t here, I’d have left an hour ago to pick up a bottle.

  Am I that weak? With all that’s at stake, would I give it up so quickly?

  “I’m so full.” Bethany leans back with her hands on her stomach. “That was honestly the best meal I’ve eaten in my entire life. I don’t know how you managed to stay so fit living this lifestyle.”

  I push a few noodles around my plate then drop my fork. “Cocaine and a liquid diet.”

  She flinches a little at my tone.

  I clear my throat and try to rein in these new and unfamiliar urges. This shit was a lot easier to control when I was living with Ben. Maybe those daily meetings weren’t a total waste of time. “You ready for that swim?”

  Her eyes widen. “Now?”

  Bethany’s wet and naked body in my arms is just what I need to get over the cravings.

  I shrug. “I’m down if you are.”

  Her eyes light up, and her gaze darts to the windows overlooking the pool. “Are you sure no one will see us?”

  I push my plate away and brace my forearms on the table. “Would you really care if someone did?”

  “Of course I would.”

  “Really? Think about it. Think how sexy it would be, me pinning you to the wall of the pool, your arms locked behind my neck and your legs wrapped around my hips while I rock in and—”

  “Okay!” She holds up a hand and I don’t miss the way her fingers quake. “I get it.”

  Fuck, she’s so much fun to get riled up. “So?”

  Her gaze slides to the pool again, then she nods. “Let’s do it.”

  “That’s my girl.”

  I push up from the table and take our dishes into the kitchen. The chef left the kitchen spotless, so I rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher.

  Bethany brings in our glasses and napkins. “How do we do this? Just strip down and go?”

  I wipe my hands on a towel. “There’s a robe hanging in my closet. Why don’t you go get that on and meet me in the pool?”

  She turns and darts up the stairs. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

  As soon as she’s out of the room, I pull off my shirt and toss it on the counter, along with my belt. I’m already barefoot. When I pop the button on my jeans, a flash of headlights shines in from my driveway.

  Who the hell would show up here at nearly nine o’clock at night? No one even knows I’m in town except Dave and my band. I check my phone but have no new texts or missed calls. The headlights go dim, and the dark shadowy figure of a woman crosses the driveway to my front door.

  Whoever it is knew my gate code. The list of people who know that is limited.

  I swing open the front door as Kayla’s high-heeled foot hits the doormat.

  “What the fuck are you doing here?” I growl.

  Her glossy pink lips part, but she doesn’t answer until she steps closer. I want to back up, but doing so would put me deeper in the house and I’m afraid she’ll take that as permission to come in.

  “You shouldn’t be here.”

  She blinks those long black eyelashes over icy-blue eyes. “I know, I’m sorry. I heard you were in town and I had to see you.”

  “Why? We’ve got nothing to say to each other.”

  Her gaze rakes over my naked torso to settle on the open top button of my jeans.

  “Kayla.”

  Her eyes snap to mine. “I don’t understand. We had plans to be together then you just cast me aside like I meant nothing to you.”

  “Fuck,” I groan and study my feet. She’s right. “I was high, drunk. I honestly don’t remember much of the time we spent together.”

  She steps closer. “That can’t be true. We talked about a future, kids—”

  Kids? Damn, I must’ve been really fucked up.

  “You told me you love me.”

  “I know, and at the time, I thought I did, but things change. I sobered up. I moved on.”

  She blinks rapidly, and tears gather on her eyelashes. “Things change?”

  “What happened between us shouldn’t have happened. You were Nate’s, and I took what wasn’t mine. I take responsibility for that, but you have to know there can be nothing between us.”

  “I think I have something that might change your mind.” She smiles even though tears stream steadily down her face. She grabs my hand and uses the other to reach between her healthy cleavage and pull out something that she drops into my palm before closing my hand around it. “Come on, Jes, let me remind you how good we are together.”

  I open my hand to see a small glass vial of pristine white powder. Both of her hands cradle mine as I stare at my old vice.

  A better man would drop it as if it were on fire or toss it as far as his throwing arm would facilitate.

  But I am not that man.

  I fantasize about what it would be like to pour out thin lines on my glass tabletop. I imagine what it would be like to feel untouchable again, to feel strong and talented and less fucking insecure. I imagine the hours I’d spend writing and fucking and writing and fucking and forgetting what day it is. I close my hand around the vial, and for a fleeting second, I want to give in.

  Warm arms wrap around my waist, but it’s background noise to the eager chuffing of my inner monster who wants to devour everything in sight no matter who it hurts. Soft lips on my neck send my lids popping open.

  “No.” I lurch back, and Kayla stumbles forward, nearly falling in my entryway. I force my hand forward to give her the coke, but she makes no move to take it.

  “Why are you playing so hard to get?” Her hands grip my jeans. “Let me make you feel good. You told me you love me. Let me love you back.”

  In a desperate panic to get rid of her, I hook her around the upper arm and walk her out the door. “I only told you I love you so I could fuck you. I had you and now I’m done with you.” I release her with a gentle but firm push. “Don’t come back or I’ll call the police.”

  I slam the door and lean against it, only realizing then that I still have the vial of cocaine in my hand. I stare at it. It feels super-glued to my palm. I have to get rid of it. I step forward and slam to a halt when I see Bethany sitting on the stairs. Her shoulders are slouched under my black robe, and her expression is etched in pain.

  “How long have you been sitting there?”

  “A while.”

  “What did you hear?” My stomach feels as if it may jump from my throat as I wait for her answer.

  “All of it.”

  I run a hand through my hair and shrug. “Please, that was a long time ago.”

  She’s as still as a statue as she stares through me. “How long ago?”

  Fuck! I swallow hard past my suddenly-dry throat. “The day before I ended up at Ben’s.”

  I didn’t think it was possible, but her expression falls even more. “I see.”

  I cross to her and kneel a few steps down from her. “Don’t think about her, okay? She’s in the past. You’re the one I want now.”

  “Now.” She repeats the word in such an absolute way that I don’t fucking like it at all.

  “Yes, but… I mean, no, I—”

  “What’s in your hand?”

  I swallow hard and grip my fist around the drugs. “I didn’t want it. She handed it to me, but I didn’t ask for it.”

  “Then flush it.” There’s a dare in her tone. She doesn’t think I will.

  “I was going to, so, yeah… fine.”

/>   I head to the guest bathroom near the front door and hear her bare feet slap the floor behind me. I take a quick glance outside, grateful to see Kayla’s car is gone, then duck into the bathroom.

  I flick open the vial to dump the drugs, hesitating slightly. I glance at Bethany. She’s noticed. I fucking hate how weak I feel.

  I upend the container, and the coke drops like white waterfalls into the toilet. I flush it and watch the water and powder drain, feeling the weight of temptation lifted from my shoulders. I would’ve hated myself for giving in. I hate myself for even considering it. I put the vial and lid on the counter, but Bethany snags them both and darts out of the bathroom.

  “What are you doing?”

  She runs through the house, my black silk robe trailing behind her as she bursts out the back door and to the edge of my yard. With a guttural grunt, she tosses the vial into the black night and down the rocky ledge.

  She turns and moves past me into the house.

  “Feel better?”

  Her feet freeze and her shoulders climb to her ears before she turns toward me. “Did you just ask me if I feel better?”

  Oh shit. She’s throwing my questions back at me like Dave does.

  “No, Jesse. I don’t feel better. I’m going to bed.”

  I walk after her up the stairs. “Great, let’s go to bed. I could use some—”

  “Alone.” She passes my bedroom door and goes into the guest bedroom, slamming and locking the door.

  I stand in front of the door for minutes, staring at the wood and willing myself to say the right thing that’ll fix what broke between us, but nothing comes to mind. She can’t really be pissed that I have a history with other women. Just because I told Kayla I loved her doesn’t diminish my feelings for Bethany. I picture Bethany in the room, her head on the pillows while she imagines a million different ways she’d like to hurt me.

  A sickness twists my stomach. I put my back to the wall and slide down to my ass. I can’t have her mad at me. In the past when things didn’t work out in a relationship, I’d move on, no hard feelings, but I’m not ready to let Bethany go.

  And what the fuck is that all about?

  Love is supposed to feel good.

  Whatever it is that I feel for Bethany hurts like a motherfucker.

  20

  Bethany

  Staying in Jesse’s guest suite has got to be right up there with staying at the Ritz.

  Jesse-induced insomnia gave me a rough beginning to the night, but eventually the luxurious bedding swallowed me in a cloud of comfort. I slept until the sunlight shining through the window woke me. Not ready to face Jesse, I took a long hot shower using shower products I’ve never even heard of because they’re probably only sold in high-end salons. I pampered my skin with delicious-smelling lotion, brushed my teeth with a brand new toothbrush and toothpaste, and blow-dried my hair with one of those fancy Dyson blow dryers. Even now, as I sit on the king-sized bed staring at the Los Angeles skyline, a part of me never wants to leave this room.

  As long as I stay in here, I don’t have to face the inevitable conversation with Jesse.

  I run my hands down the silky black robe I slept in and tilt my head to smell the collar. Sadly, it doesn’t smell like Jesse. He doesn’t strike me as the robe-wearing type and I’d guess all his things have been washed since he last stayed here.

  Staying alone in the guest bedroom was not at all how I saw last night going, but I don’t regret how this visit has turned out. Last night was a hard lesson in reality.

  I only told you I love you so I could fuck you. I had you and now I’m done with you.

  How familiar those words feel even though they weren’t said to me. As deeply as they cut, they may as well have been.

  I suck in a deep, shaky breath.

  Easier to cut ties before the binds get too tight.

  I slip off the bed and pull the lapels of the robe together to make sure I’m not showing any skin. I need to get my backpack and get dressed and find out when the plane to Arizona leaves.

  I unlock the door and pull it open, only to pause in the doorway when I see Jesse lying in the hallway. He looks no different than he did last night—jeans, no shirt, no shoes or socks. He’s on his side, using his arm as a pillow, right outside the guest bedroom door.

  I nudge him with my foot. “Jesse, wake up.”

  He mumbles and curls up, his eyebrows pinching together as if he’s in pain—which I imagine he is after a night on the cold, stone floor. He opens his eyes, and it seems to take a minute for him to place where he is. When his gaze comes to me, he pushes up and hops to his feet. “Bethany, hey.”

  “You slept in the hallway?”

  He looks at the spot in front of my door and rubs the muscles in the back of his neck. “I guess so. I didn’t want to miss you when you came out.”

  That’s strangely sweet. I can’t think of anyone who would sleep in a hallway just so they wouldn’t miss me leaving. Not even Ashleigh.

  “What time is it?” he says, patting his pockets for his phone.

  “Seven thirty.” I point past him toward his bedroom door. “I just need to grab my stuff.”

  “Sure.” He steps back so I can exit the room. “Yeah. I should probably get cleaned up. We’re supposed to be at the studio at nine.”

  I slip into his room and grab my backpack. As he sits on the edge of his bed with his phone, I head back to the guest room to get changed. I tell myself he’s not reading a hundred different texts from the woman who was here last night, that he’s not texting her back how sorry he is and making plans to meet up with her when he comes back to town. Not that any of that should concern me now.

  I shake the thoughts from my head and focus on getting ready. As much as Jesse likes me in dresses, I’m grateful I brought a pair of skinny jeans and a floral top. I don’t want to draw his unwanted attention. I swipe on some mascara, clear gloss, and a quick dusting of powder—just in case I find myself in the background of a paparazzi shot, I don’t want to look like a corpse.

  On my way downstairs, I hear the shower running in Jesse’s room and decide the safest place to wait for him is outside. The morning air is crisp and filled with the scent of wildflowers and chlorine from the pool. I drop my things at the foot of a lounger and climb onto the cushions. Every single thing in this house is pure luxury. The pool water is so clear, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was imported from the Swiss Alps.

  I type out a quick text to Ashleigh, letting her know I should be home this afternoon and that I have a lot to tell her. She never sees things as black and white. If anyone can shed some light on what happened last night with Jesse and the mystery woman, it’ll be Ash.

  I close my eyes and enjoy the stillness and quiet surrounding me. I’m just able to find my Zen when I hear the door slide open behind me. Jesse appears at the lounger next to me and hands me a cup of coffee.

  “Thanks.” The color is perfect. When I take a sip, I find he nailed the cream-to-sugar ratio.

  “Listen, about last night.” Jesse doesn’t face the pool but rather uses the lounger as a bench, his body facing me. His hair is damp from the shower, and he must’ve been in a hurry because he has a day’s worth of stubble on his jaw. “I swear, I had no idea Kayla would show up here. And you have to know I wouldn’t have used the coke she brought.” When I don’t say anything right away, he leans around to get a good look at my face. “You believe me, right?”

  I grip my mug in both hands and hope the warmth will chase off the chill this conversation brings. “I believe you didn’t expect her to show up. I want to believe you wouldn’t use the drugs, but that’s not what bothers me. You told her you love her so you could fuck her.”

  My words seem to deliver a quick strike, and he frowns. “I said that to get rid of her, okay? I panicked.”

  “You don’t see the parallel,” I mumble almost to myself, shocked he doesn’t see how similar the woman who showed up last night is to me.

  “Par
allel? No. My feelings for you are real. I was so fucked up when I was with Kayla, I hardly remember it.”

  “I’m having a difficult time merging the Jesse Lee I know with the Jesse Lee.”

  He chuckles, but the sound is off somehow. “I’m the same guy.”

  I look at him and feel my eyes fill with tears. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  He looks confused. “What are you saying?”

  A throat clears behind us. Johnny is there, looking ever the professional, and when Jesse glares at him, the man’s gaze hits the ground. “Mr. Lee, we need to get going if I’m going to get you to the studio on time.”

  “Shit,” Jesse growls then stands.

  I follow him, not wanting to be the reason he’s late, and we set our mugs in the sink on the way out the door. I climb in and scoot to the far end, where my shoulder touches the door. The entire ride to the studio, I can tell Jesse wants to say something. He looks at me, parts his lips, then shakes his head and goes back to looking out the window.

  Johnny pulls up in front of a non-descript building at two minutes before nine. Jesse offers me his hand when I get out, and I take it, not wanting to cause a scene by refusing his help publicly even though I could easily remove myself from the car unassisted.

  With Johnny at our backs, the door buzzes and we push inside. Jesse is instantly swallowed up in a group of men who greet him with back-thumping hugs. Only two of the half dozen men do I recognize: Dave and Ryder. The first ignores me. The second greets me with a lift of his chin. I wave and smile back.

  Rather than sit in my discomfort and wish I could be back home to sort through my feelings in private, I look around the space. I don’t know anyone who’s been invited to a world-famous recording studio before. The walls are lined with gold and platinum records for different Arenfield bands. This room is just a lobby with a few couches. I assume all the magic happens somewhere down the hallway.

  Eventually Johnny leaves and Jesse leaves his inner circle to come to me. “You okay?”

  I motion around the room. “This is all really cool.”

  His brows pinch together. “That’s not what I asked.”