“Oh.”
When she didn’t immediately pick up on the fact that I was implying her, and that I wanted her to stay a while in my bed, I decided to spell it right out for her. Because I’d learned from past mistakes. From sitting back, waiting on someone to come around, to come to me.
What I’d learned? There was no point dragging things out or waiting around for anyone. The longer I did that, the more my emotions potentially got invested, and the more potential there was for someone to fuck with me.
Fuck that.
My emotions were not getting involved.
I was not falling in love anymore.
Yes, I’d made that declaration before—but here I was again, with another broken heart. So. There was no way I was getting my heart broken, again, at the end of some long, drawn out, messy bullshit that I could’ve just avoided in the first place by being upfront and bypassing that whole pathetic scene.
My new MO: just let it all hang the fuck out.
If it scared her away, if I scared her away, so fucking be it.
“I want to hire you,” I told her. “And you’re right. We should clarify something. And that is, I also want you in my bed. As soon as fucking possible would be ideal.”
Chapter Twelve
Ash
Danica stared at me for a long-ass minute.
Then she said, “Um. I was just going to tell you I don’t think I can take the job.”
“What?”
“I mean, everything we’ve discussed so far still stands. I have a co-worker who I thought would be a much better fit for this project, though. So, I… um… thought I could hand everything off to him. I mean, if you’re okay with that.”
“Like fuck.”
“Excuse me?”
“You don’t want me to hire you?”
“Uh… that’s not exactly what I—”
“But you’re turning the job down.”
“I’m not turning it down. I just thought my co-worker—”
“I don’t want your co-worker.”
That shut her right up.
She didn’t expect that. That I’d put up a fight.
So, what? She thought she’d just breeze in here and dump me off on her co-worker over pre-dinner drinks? Was that what this was all about?
Asking me to dinner?
Bringing me a fucking ring?
She felt bad that she was turning me down… so she took me to dinner and gave me a ring, to soften the blow and, what? Ease her guilt?
Yeah. That sounded about right.
Which meant this chick was definitely a little nuts. Nice, but nuts.
Thing was… I kinda liked that about her.
“You really want to hand this job over to your co-worker, instead of doing it yourself?” I pressed, looking her in the eye. “I dare you to tell me the truth here.”
Danica drew a deep, silent breath. “Okay. Then… no.”
“I’m hiring you,” I said firmly. “Consider yourself hired.”
She looked away, avoiding my eyes. “Well… if you do hire me—”
“I am hiring you.”
“I really prefer to keep things professional, Ashley.”
“Meaning what? I can’t hire you and fuck you at the same time?”
Her eyes met mine again. “No, you can’t.”
Uh-huh. So that was it.
She wanted to fuck me, she knew I wanted to fuck her, and she was uncomfortable with the idea of fucking a client.
“Why not?” I said.
“Because… it’s inappropriate. I wouldn’t feel good about it.”
“Trust me. It would feel good.”
This time, she didn’t blush. Her whole face changed. I could see the heat behind her eyes. I could see her thinking about it.
I could see that she’d been thinking about it.
The idea of my naked body and hers getting horizontal together was not a new one.
But she swallowed and said, “Let’s just be friends.”
“Let’s not.”
I watched the heat flare in her eyes—like I’d just thrown a match on it. But she said, “I just don’t think we should get involved.”
“If by ‘involved’ you mean naked, I disagree.”
She said nothing, just pressed her lips together.
Clearly, she wasn’t giving in on this.
The girl had principles, apparently. I wasn’t buying for a second that she wasn’t into me, though. Wasn’t sure I totally bought her whole professionalism excuse either.
But whatever.
Whatever her reasons for putting me off, that was her bullshit. Not mine.
I was only gonna push so far. Only gonna waste so much time and effort. Just because my cock thought she was worth it didn’t mean my cock was right.
My dick had definitely led me wrong before.
“Ashley,” she said, softly. “This isn’t a personal rejection. I’d just like to do my job, without… complicating things.”
“Uh-huh.” I sipped my beer. “So you’re refusing to flirt with me, see where it could go?”
She sipped her drink, looking nervous as shit. “Well, I’m really trying not to flirt with you,” she admitted.
Christ. That was adorable.
And fucking hot.
Wasn’t totally sure when my dick had gotten so damn hard, but it was getting pretty uncomfortable in my jeans. I shifted a bit.
We didn’t even have our appetizers yet.
This woman was a weirdly intriguing blend of adorable and totally fucking sexy. Like a nice, old-fashioned good girl or something. Did those exist anymore?
Ones who looked like she did?
Yeah, apparently.
I just wanted to wrap her long, curvy legs around my head, bury my face in her pussy and watch her eyes roll back.
I cleared my throat. “So, what should we talk about, then?”
A smile flickered at the corner of her mouth. “If you can’t flirt, you’re at a loss, huh?”
“I never said I wouldn’t flirt.”
“Let’s talk about work,” she said, quickly changing the subject. “How about your work? What have you been working on lately? I mean… if you can talk about it.”
I could, if I wanted to.
“Well, my band just broke up,” I told her. “I was with them for a long time, like almost a decade. So right now, I’m not sure.”
“What was that like? Breaking up with a group of people you’ve been close with for so long? I mean, I assume you were close?”
“We were. We still are, but our working relationship as a band is over. And it was really hard, actually. Took a long time. Like if you were married to someone for a decade, a divorce wouldn’t just happen overnight, right?”
“Probably not.” Her soft blue eyes were all over my face…
And, shit. Kinda hurt just talking to her about it.
She seemed so… sympathetic. And it just made me feel every shitty thing I’d been through this last year. All over again.
I didn’t want to think about any of that right now, let alone feel it.
“Are you sure you’ll never work together again, though?” she asked, maybe sensing my shift in mood. “Like, you know how bands always break up and then they get together for a final reunion tour? And then another final reunion tour? And then another…?” She smiled softly.
“Yeah, some bands do.” I shrugged. “Who knows? Maybe someday when we’re eighty and the royalties are running out, we’ll reunite for the Penny Pushers’ geriatric world tour.”
She laughed her soft laugh. “Let me know. I’d like tickets to that.”
“You’ve got tickets. Hell, if we do that tour, you’ve got a backstage pass.”
“I’m holding you to that. I liked the Penny Pushers. I’ll be honest, though. I never had any of your songs in my iTunes or anything…”
“Ouch,” I said, in mock offense.
“I mean, until just recently,” she confessed, “after I met you. Bu
t you guys do get a lot of radio play in Vancouver. I hear your songs a lot. Everyone does.”
“Yeah. Thank the gods of music for CanCon. Without those requirements saying local radio has to play a certain amount of Canadian content, we probably never would’ve gotten off the ground. We had a strong following in Canada, and we had a few lucky breaks over the years. Meeting Dirty at a festival was one of them, for sure.” I figured I didn’t need to explain to her who or what Dirty was. They were way the hell more famous than the Pushers ever were.
“You toured with them a lot, right?”
“Yeah. They liked us, and they took us on their tours, several times. Really opened up our fan base. Without them, I don’t think the Pushers ever would’ve been so successful. Not that we were all that successful in the end.”
“I guess it depends how you measure success,” she said.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, like I said, your band gets radio play. A lot of bands don’t. And I’ve seen your condo, Ashley. You said you own a house on one of the islands. Not everyone can afford real estate in Vancouver.”
“Yeah. We’ve made some money. We’ve had some hit songs. I guess that’s not the only way I measure success, though.”
She cocked her head a little. “What else do you want that you don’t have yet?”
“Fame,” I said bluntly. “And I don’t mean that I need millions of people screaming my name and following me around with cameras all day, hashtagging me. I’d just like to be known among my peers as the guy. You know… the guy who does that thing you admire. I’d love to be known, by the time I die, as one of the greatest rock vocalists of all time.” I shrugged. “Something ridiculous like that.”
“That doesn’t sound ridiculous. It sounds like the exactly right kind of dream to have, since it’s your passion.”
“Maybe.”
“Anything else?”
Love.
I didn’t say it, but there it was, looming in the back of my mind. Breathing down my neck like some phantom son-of-a-bitch.
A fucking amazing relationship was definitely on the wishlist, wasn’t it?
I didn’t even want to acknowledge that or admit it to myself, much less say it out loud to anyone else. But it was there.
It was always there.
Even when I told myself I didn’t want it.
I had some vague idea of myself with a woman, a man, maybe both. This fucking amazing relationship that was the beating heart of my life.
But I’d never had that, either.
“That’s about it,” I said.
The waiter dropped off our Brussels sprouts, and I served some onto her plate. “Thank you,” she said, and she waited for me to scoop some onto my plate, too. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d hung out with someone who was so damn polite all the time.
And not fake polite. More like classy and courteous.
“They’re sautéed in this incredible balsamic glaze thing,” I told her. “Way more delicious than you expect.”
“I’m sure.” She took a tentative taste just as I did, and her eyes went all round. “Holy shit. That’s delicious.”
“I know.”
We both dug in, and not gonna lie, I liked a girl who’d eat in front of me like she did. Like she was genuinely enjoying the food and not overly worried about how she looked while she enjoyed it, or what it was gonna do to her body after she ate it.
She looked hot enjoying it.
She licked some oil off her lip and caught me watching her.
“Um… tell me about Dirty?” she said. “I read that their drummer, Dylan Cope, is your best friend. Is that true?”
“You’ve been reading up on me?” I arched an eyebrow at her.
“Not anymore. But I did,” she admitted. “Is that gross?”
“Maybe, if you weren’t honest about it. But I appreciate your honesty. Most people wouldn’t be honest about that.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Huh.” She set down her fork, then pulled out her phone. She swiped the screen a couple times and passed it to me.
A Facebook profile. Her profile. There was a photo of her in a little dress, standing on a beach.
“That’s my Facebook profile. You’re welcome to dig through. I’ve got an Instagram account, too. If you dig deep in there, I’m pretty sure there’s some drunken pictures of me at some parties and stuff. I don’t post much anymore, but I used to. I use Insta more these days. Have at it.”
I looked at her. “Are there gonna be pictures of you with dudes in here?”
“Um. Maybe…?”
I handed the phone back to her. “I’m good. But I appreciate the offer.”
She took the phone back and tucked it away, seemingly puzzled that I didn’t take her up on the offer. But I really didn’t need to see her wrapped around some dude. “It only seems fair,” she said.
“Do you have a best friend?”
“Yes. Her name is Taylor. She’s fabulous.”
“Yeah? And what would she say about you?”
“To you?” she said, giving me the first bite of attitude I’d gotten from her today. “She’d say I’m fabulous.”
I chuckled. “I’m sure she would.”
“We’re sistas. You don’t mess with that.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“I love her to death.”
“Dylan is my best friend,” I admitted. I didn’t usually talk to just anyone about him or the other members of Dirty. They were crazy-famous, and I respected their privacy. But it seemed fair, since she was being open with me. “Dylan Cope. How well do you know Dirty?”
“I don’t know them. I know of them. I do have some of their songs in my iTunes…”
“And she hits him where it hurts.”
She smiled a little. “Just being honest.”
“Good. Keep doing that.”
She helped herself to some more Brussels sprouts. Girl had an appetite.
I liked that, too.
“How long have you known Dylan?” she asked me.
“About seven years.”
“And were you always close? Did you hit it off right away?”
“Yeah. Right away.”
“How did you meet him?”
“At a festival called DreamWarp. Ever heard of it?”
“No.”
“It’s this massive music festival in England. I was playing on one of the smaller stages with the Penny Pushers, he was playing on the main stage with Dirty. He actually saw our show and came up to me afterwards. We got talking, drinking, and we were pretty much inseparable after that. Actually, I’m heading over there in a couple of days. Dirty’s playing DreamWarp again and they’ve asked me to join them onstage for a few songs. I play there with them whenever they go.”
“Wow. That sounds like fun.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun.”
She gave me a look I couldn’t interpret. “I kind of can’t believe you’re sitting here with me right now.”
“Why?”
“Well, when you say things like that, it’s kind of hard to digest that I’m eating Brussels sprouts with a guy who’s gonna rock a huge stage in a few days.”
“Hey, even stunningly talented rock stars need interior decorators, right?”
She laughed a bit. “Apparently.” She took the second-last Brussels sprout from the serving plate and deliberately left the last one for me. “So, what are you doing after that? After the festival?”
“I’m coming back here and working. Eat,” I said, and scooped the last sprout onto her plate.
“Working on what?”
It wasn’t something I’d tell just anyone. But fuck it. She had nothing to do with the music business…
“You can’t post it on your Facebook page or anything.”
Her eyes went wide. “Oh my God. I would never.”
I believed her.
“I’m putting together a new band.”
; “Oh. That sounds exciting.”
“It will be.” It would be, once it all came together.
Right now, though…?
I still wasn’t totally sure. I’d warmed to the whole supergroup idea since Summer pitched it to me, but my mojo had been a little shot ever since the Pushers’ breakup.
Until I knew for sure who was in the band, and I could build off that—the certainty, the vibe of starting to gel with other musicians again—it would probably stay that way.
“Do you know who’ll be in the band?” Danica asked. “I mean, you don’t have to tell me any names. I’m just curious about the whole thing. You know, I’ve never put together a band before…”
“Not sure yet. I’ve got a line on a few people who might work.”
“And it’s top secret for now?”
“Pretty much.”
I’d told Dylan about it, when I’d talked to him on the phone today, and he seemed to like the idea. Though maybe he’d be supportive of anything that would get me off the couch right now. He did say he liked the supergroup angle. He also said he thought I had a good shot at poaching Xander from Steel Trap. He brought that up; I didn’t ask.
Would be nice if he was right about that, but I still had my doubts.
He’d also mentioned Johnny O’Reilly, of all people. That he’d heard Johnny was still looking for a new gig. Lots of contention in his current band.
I’d skirted around that idea. Ever since that drunken night in Alaska, I wasn’t all that keen on hanging with Johnny O.
But Dylan didn’t know about that. I’d never told him anything about what happened between Johnny and me. I was a little surprised he’d even want me in a band with Johnny, given what he’d learned about Johnny’s history with Amber… but Dylan wasn’t really one to hold a grudge.
It was good to talk it through with him a little, though it would’ve been better if he was here. Or if I’d been more open with him about everything. But I still found myself weirdly guarded when I talked to him about these things… ever since he’d rejected me like he did.
He was still my best friend. I loved him, trusted him… but things weren’t exactly like they were before.
Before I’d started feeling like some kind of failure in his presence.
I’d wanted to tell him about Danica, kind of.
Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1) Page 16
