The Rookie and The Rockstar

by Kate, Jiffy

  Bo’s brows shoot up and a pleased expression spreads across his face. “Now, that sounds like a good idea...also, a terrible one,” he says, brushing his lips across my cheek. “How am I supposed to leave, knowing you’re in my room?”

  “I’ll be here waiting on you,” I tell him, twisting my arms tighter around his neck. “It’ll be a reward for playing good ball…” Pausing, I return the soft kiss, feeling the heat start to build under my skin and knowing these sweet, gentle kisses will only last for so long before things turn heated. “You’ve been playing really good ball lately.”

  Bo smirks. “Davies seems to think I have you to thank for that.”

  “Oh, really?” Biting down on my lip, I fight back a smile. “Well, I guess you owe me a thank you.”

  “I do,” he says, nodding his head with all seriousness. “And I have an idea of how I could do that...at least a start.” When I latch onto him even tighter, partly in anticipation and partly because I’m just so fucking happy to see him, he pauses and pulls back a little. “Did you really come all this way just to see me?”

  I offer a wicked smile, pushing back a little to swat playfully at his shoulder, which is solid and hot as fuck. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I tease. “Either one of them.”

  The instant blush on Bo’s cheeks reminds me that he’s not like other guys. He’s different. He’s equal parts reserved and confident, and it’s sexy as hell. The sly smile that spreads across his face and the way his hand tightens at my waist tells me that even though my crassness catches him off guard, he likes it.

  “What else is going on?” Bo asks. “Have you had any trouble since I’ve been gone?”

  When I stiffen a little at that question, he dips his head to get a better look at my face. “Charlotte?”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him, and it’s not a lie. I’m fine. I’ve been better, but I’m not letting them win. Letting them win would’ve been me hiding out in my house and turning into a hermit, but instead, I’m here...in Boston...with him. “I’m fine.”

  “More rumors?” he pushes. “Anything you want to talk about?”

  Is Lola Carradine using again?

  What is Lola Carradine hiding from the media?

  Are Bo Bennett and Lola Carradine already on thin ice?

  With Bo out of town, will Lola be stepping out?

  Lola Carradine hasn’t released an album in over two years.

  Will her next one live up to the hype of her last album?

  The rumors are vast and wide, some of them so far-fetched and others hitting too close to home. They’re tapping into my fears and pulling them to the surface. Can I live up to my last album? Will I be able to finish this one in time to release it on its anticipated date? Those are all things I lose sleep over at night lately. Add all of that on top of missing Bo like an amputated appendage, I knew what I needed to do.

  I had to escape the madness and calm the one storm I knew I could tame.

  “That’s why I came to see you, to get away from all of that,” I confess. “So, no, I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Bo’s brows pull together as he considers me thoughtfully. “I’m here for you, you know that, right? Any time, for anything. Don’t feel like you can’t dump that bullshit on me,” he says in a low, quiet tone—steady and dependable.

  “I know,” I tell him, turning my cheek and pressing it to his chest. “I promise if it gets to be too much, I’ll talk to you, but since there’s nothing you can do, I’d rather just forget about it for a while.”

  “I can help with that too,” he says, his lips brushing the top of my head. “Have you eaten?”

  I sigh, loving the way his arms feel around me. “Yeah, Case and I ate on the plane.”

  “Oh, right,” Bo says, like something just hit him. “Casey. Where is she?”

  “Our room, two floors up,” I tell him. “She checked us in under her name and we dumped our bags up there. She’s ordering room service and movies.”

  Walking a few steps backwards, pulling me with him, Bo turns me until my back is pressed against the wall. “So, I have you all to myself?”

  “Uh, huh,” I murmur, feeling heat immediately pool in my belly, anticipation flooding my body.

  His voice is low and raspy when he says, “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Using his body to keep me pressed against the wall, he drops his grip on my waist and brings his hands up to cup my face. His thumb brushes across my lips and then he hooks his fingers under my chin, tilting it up until our mouths are practically touching. I need them to be touching. I need to taste him, feel him.

  Like he can read my thoughts, he closes the sliver of distance. The slow sweeps of his lips against mine make me feel warm and tingly all over. When he licks and then lightly bites down on my bottom lip, I groan into his mouth, opening mine for him to have complete access. His breaths come in quick pants against my skin as he devours me and I allow him to do so, giving it back as good as I’m getting.

  When I feel his hard cock pressed between us, I run my hands down his chest and to his torso, eventually finding the waistband of his pants...elastic waistband, which gives me zero resistance when I push them down his thighs.

  “Wha...What are you doing?” Bo asks, sounding like he’s a few drinks in, but I know he’s only drunk on me and that’s an empowering feeling. I did that. To Bo Bennett.

  Giving him a grin, I bite down on my lip and proceed, ridding him of his pants and boxers. “You seem a little tense,” I tell him, even though it’s a lie. He seems more relaxed right now than I’ve ever seen him, except for the night after we had sex...made love? That’s a contemplation for another time. Right now, the only thing on my mind is Bo Bennett’s cock. “I thought I’d help you out with that.”

  Dropping to my knees, I come eye-to-eye with one of the most glorious sights I’ve ever seen. It’s long and completely erect, girthy, but not scary. Quite perfect when it comes to cock, if you ask me. The bead of precum on the tip is begging to be licked, so I do. Running my hands up Bo’s thighs, I pull him to me and take my first taste.

  Bo’s hands instantly find my hair. He doesn’t force my actions. He just tenderly tangles his fingers into the strands, holding me to him as he elicits the hottest fucking groans I’ve ever heard in my life. Licking from base to shaft, his breath hitches and he secures his stance. But when I take him fully in my mouth, easing down as far as I can go and bringing my hands up to encompass what doesn’t fit, that’s when he really loses it.

  Bracing his hands against the wall behind me, he begins muttering a stream of cuss words, ending with an elongated, “fuck.” When I swirl my tongue around the tip, Bo slams a hand against the wall, making me jump and then laugh, which just works him up even more.

  “Charlotte.” My name sounds like equal parts warning and prayer.

  I speed things up, working my mouth up and down the shaft, one hand cupping his balls while the other is planted on his firm, tight ass. “Mmmmm,” I hum and Bo jerks.

  “Charlotte,” he repeats, his hips trying to pull back, but there’s a reluctance there, like he’s fighting his natural instincts. Sitting back on my heels, I keep as much contact as possible while I remove my shirt, creating a canvas for what’s to come.

  Pun fucking intended.

  After a few more quick strokes, Bo comes with a roar, painting my chest with his release. Looking up, I swipe a finger across my lips, licking a small drop off, and make direct eye contact with Bo, who is now hovering above me, chest heaving.

  His jaw clenches and he visibly swallows before picking me up off the floor and manhandling me onto the bed. When my back hits it, I bounce, causing my already messy hair to fan out and cover my face, making me laugh with the sudden change of location.

  Before I can say anything, Bo disappears into the bathroom and comes back two seconds later with a warm washcloth, which he uses to clean up his mess. “That,” he says, making a second pass across my chest to make sure he got it
all, “was the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever experienced.”

  “You liked it?” I ask, already knowing the answer.

  The crooked smile on Bo’s gorgeous lips is all the confirmation I need. “Get naked,” he demands.

  The next morning, Bo leaves early to head to the field. The Revelers are playing an early game, which I’m kind of pissed about because I was sleeping so well before Bo left the bed and took my pillow with him. As hard and chiseled as his chest is, it makes a great landing spot for my head. The few times we’ve slept together, I’ve woken each time practically wrapped around his torso. He doesn’t seem to mind because every time, his arms are always caged around me, keeping me in place.

  “You’ll be here when I get back?” Bo asks standing tentatively at the door.

  “Where else would I be?” I ask in return, stretching as I turn over to face him, drinking in the sight of a freshly showered and ready-to-play-ball Bo Bennett.

  His slow, easy smile sends a jolt of electricity straight to my core, which is ridiculous, because after going three rounds last night, my lady bits should need some recovery time.

  Once Bo is gone, the door closed behind him and all signs of life outside of the hotel room gone with him, I slip out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. Taking my time, I shower, using Bo’s body wash and inhaling it like it’s the essence of life. After I dry off, I find one of Bo’s t-shirts and slip it on, tying it in the back at my waist so it doesn’t swallow me whole.

  In one of his duffle bags, I notice a wide selection of shoes, which makes no sense, seeing as though when he’s at the field, he’s in baseball cleats and when he’s in his room, he’s usually barefoot. But I make a mental note to ask him about this new discovery.

  Bo Bennett is a shoe whore. Who would’ve thought?

  Slipping my blonde wig back into place over my partially dried hair and securing my large sunglasses over my eyes, I pick up my dirty clothes and stuff them into one of those disposable dry cleaning bags. Before leaving the room, I give it a once over and make sure to not leave any identifying traces of myself behind, just in case, and then I crack open the door, checking to make sure the coast is clear.

  As I step out, I hear the elevator ding and freeze, thinking about scurrying back into the room, but whoever it was must go the opposite direction, so I let out a sigh of relief and head for the stairs. I need the exercise and the anonymity.

  Casey is still snoozing when I open the door to her room, slipping both her room key and Bo’s into my back pocket. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead,” I call out, startling her awake. What can I say? Sometimes, I’m a pain in the ass, but so is she, so we’re even.

  “God, Charlotte,” Casey moans, rolling over. “What the frak has you so chipper this morning? Never mind, don’t answer that.”

  I sigh in contentment, sprawling out on the bed beside her. “I feel like going for a run or scaling the Eiffel Tower or maybe sneaking out for coffee...take your pick.”

  Her glare tells me that none of my fun suggestions appeal to her.

  “I take it your Lothario has left the building?”

  I snicker, turning to her and giving her a playful shove. “You’re just jealous you’re not getting some.”

  Finally, she sits up in bed and scrubs at her adorable face to wake herself up. Her blonde hair is in a mess on top of her head, somewhere between a bun and a ponytail. It’s funny, everyone has always thought we look nothing alike, and we don’t, not really. We do, however, share our mother’s eyes. But she looks identical to her—hair, stature, skin tone, the whole nine yards. Whereas I look like my father—dark hair and a more olive complexion. But the brown, deep set eyes, those are the same. Although, with this blonde wig I’ve been bonding with lately, we probably come closer to passing as sisters than we ever have.

  “We should take a selfie and send it to mom,” I tell her, sliding up in bed and pulling my phone out of my back pocket. Leaning against the headboard beside her, I press my face next to hers, hold the phone in the air, and take the photo. Immediately, diving into a fit of laughter.

  “Holy fuck, Casey.” Holding my stomach, I can barely catch my breath. “This has meme written all over it.” She’s not laughing, which makes it even funnier. But looking back at the picture, I laugh even harder.

  Her crazy, wild hair paired with her expression of complete and utter disgust is priceless. I wish I could post it on social media and make it go viral, but alas, I cannot. However, I can send it to a few choice people. Typing out a quick message, I shoot the pic to Mom, Dad, and Bo...not in a group text, of course, that’d just be weird. We’re not at that level...yet.

  “Woke up like dis,” I text Bo with a cheesy emoji attached.

  “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” I text Mom and Dad with a few appropriate emojis.

  All the while, Casey is shooting daggers at me.

  Ahhh, sisterhood. Where would my life be without it?

  Sailing down shit creek, that’s where. Seriously, without this little ray of sunshine sitting next to me, I would probably be sequestered to my house and never leaving. My life would be boring. I’d be lonely. It would be horrible. But with her, I have someone who’s always on my side and who willingly fights my battles at the drop of a hat. She’s my sidekick. Without her, I wouldn’t have made this trip. It’s scary traveling alone, not knowing what’s waiting around the corner, but with Casey as my travel buddy, I feel confident. We can tackle anything as long as we’re together. I know one of these days, she’ll leave the nest, and me, but I’m grateful for this time in our lives.

  “I love you, Case,” I tell her, leaning into her shoulder.

  “I love you too, weirdo,” she says, sighing as she leans her head over onto mine.

  “Thanks for coming to Boston with me.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see the inside of a Boston five-star hotel,” she teases.

  With that, I sit up. “You know what?” I ask, suddenly feeling a rush of bravery. “We’re getting out of here today.”

  “No,” Casey says, sounding more awake than she has since I burst through the door. “No, Charlotte. We’re staying here. That was the deal. I’d check us in, you’d have your fun, we’d leave...no harm, no foul, nobody knows. The last thing we need is the paps picking up on your scent. This far away from everyfreakinbody? Does Terry even know you’re here?”

  My stomach sinks at that thought, because the answer is no. I didn’t tell anybody, well, except for our parents. We called them on our way to the airport yesterday. But other than them, no. No one knows we’re here. And even I can admit that’s playing with fire.

  “You’re right,” I admit, sinking back into the bed.

  Casey repositions herself next to me and pats my leg. “Hey, it’s fine. We’ll order all the junk off the room service menu and all the Julia Roberts movies we can find. It’ll be great.”

  “I’m sorry I dragged you all the way here,” I tell her, feeling the guilt settle in. “It was impulsive and selfish of me.”

  She scoffs, slapping my leg. “Shut up,” she says, putting heavy emphasis on each word. “I’ve never done anything I don’t want to do, you know that.”

  I do. Casey is a strong person, stronger than most people give her credit for. She’s determined, committed, and loyal to a fault. Sometimes, I wonder where she got her strong moral compass from. Growing up in the environment she did, surrounded by celebrities and affluent people, you’d assume she’d be a spoiled, entitled brat, but she’s nothing like that. She’s an old soul. And although she’s still unsure what she wants to do in life, I know one thing for sure, she’ll be amazing at whatever she chooses.

  And I love that she has choices.

  When my phone rings in my hand, I about piss my pants. Looking down at the screen, hoping it’s Bo, I’m super disappointed and somewhat hesitant to see it’s Terry.

  “Might as well answer it,” Casey says, staring off into space. “You know he’ll just keep calling
.”

  She’s right, he will, so I do. “Hey Terry,” I say, putting the call on speaker and setting it in my lap.

  “Lola,” he says, my name sounding like a reprimand, forcing me to roll my eyes. I catch Casey doing the same. “Where are you?”

  The funny thing is, I’m sure he knows where I am. He tracks my phone. But he wants me to say it. He needs me to be reminded that he basically runs my life, whether I want him to or not. “Boston,” I reply in defiance.

  “Why?”

  “Sounded like a good place to be,” I retort.

  His huff holds no humor and I can picture him fuming as he paces his office with all the windows, living large off my success. “What have we discussed about you running off without telling me and why, for God’s sake, aren’t you in the studio finishing up this album. Do you realize we’re down to the wire on this? If you don’t get the last few tracks laid, we’ll never be able to make the deadline with the label and I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re skating on thin ice here. They’re going out on a limb for you with this album. If it tanks, your career is over.”

  Geez, thanks for the vote of confidence.

  “Relax,” I tell him, knowing it’ll just piss him off even more than he already is, but not caring. “I finished up the last two songs before I left. After I make a few tweaks, I’ll have the files uploaded and sent over by the middle of next week.” Just in time to meet the deadline, I think, but don’t say.

  “And then you’ll need to come to L.A. so we can put the finishing touches on everything,” he insists. “I was even thinking about getting Blaine Wilson to pop in and do a collab with you. Wouldn’t that be great? I think it’d really make the album sell. I’ve always thought the two of you would sound great together, not to mention, he’s single again. We could definitely spin this in our favor.”