Hot Mess: A Players Rockstar Romance (Players #1)

by Diamond, Jaine

  His behavior had prompted me to go over to her as we were leaving and apologize. Something along the lines of, I’m so sorry… there’s no excuse… I don’t even know what to say.

  She’d been nice about it, but really, she shouldn’t have been.

  Who should have to endure that in the middle of their workday?

  “So it’s your dad who’s the hoarder?” I asked him. I wasn’t quite sure how to broach the Your-grandfather-is-a-raging-asshole conversation. Clearly, Ashley knew what the man was. Pointing it out to him wasn’t going to make him feel any better about it.

  “Yup,” he said. “Dad drinks and hoards, and bitches about the government, and Arturo recites the same racist and homophobic diatribes he’s been spewing for the last eighty years. Family reunions are a real love-in.”

  “And… does your grandfather know you’re bisexual?”

  “He’s been informed.” Ashley’s hands tightened on the wheel. Clearly it was a sore spot. “He didn’t speak to me from the time I was fifteen until I was about twenty-three, and I guess my dad showed him proof that I was a rock star. I think they saw me on TV or something. When I was a kid, he at least spoke in my general direction, even when I was bringing home girls he didn’t approve of. When my dad told him he’d caught me kissing one of my male friends in the back of his car, my granddad called me a ‘dirty little faggot,’ all the shit you’d expect from a bitter old man. Told my dad to kick me out. My dad didn’t kick me out, but Arturo stopped looking at me. Until I started making serious money and forking some of it over to my dad, I was a ghost in my granddad’s eyes.”

  “I’m so sorry, Ashley.” What did you say to something like that? “You deserve so much better than that. But… I hope you know it’s not your fault he’s so filled with hate.”

  He didn’t address that. But after a moment he said, “Ginny’s amazing. I just want you to know not everyone I’m related to is a fucking waste of air.”

  “I don’t think that, Ashley.”

  “They’re embarrassing.”

  “So, why did you bring me to meet them?”

  “Because… you took me to meet your family. I just thought you should meet mine.”

  Because I want you to like me.

  I could practically feel him thinking it, even when he didn’t say it.

  Because I want you to know me and not run away.

  Wasn’t that the same reason I’d brought him to meet my family?

  He glanced at me. “Tell me the truth. Did it terrify you to the depths of your soul?”

  “Hardly. I grew up with Daniella, remember? We shared a bedroom for years.”

  “Ah. Right.” He smiled.

  “I’m glad you brought me. Really. I’m honored you wanted me to meet your family, no matter who they are.”

  “They’re not good people, Danica,” he told me in a low, serious voice. “At least, most of them aren’t. Not like Ginny is.”

  “I’d love to meet her someday.”

  He didn’t say anything else about that.

  “Do you love him?” I asked him gently. “Your dad, I mean.” It was pretty clear he had no love for his grandfather.

  “I don’t know,” he said. Then a moment later he added, “Sometimes.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Danica

  We took the long, long way back to my place. Instead of heading straight there when we reached the city, Ashley drove us over the Second Narrows Bridge and meandered through North Vancouver. Then we made our way back over the Lions Gate Bridge and through downtown to my place.

  Along the way, he told me stories about growing up, about his aunt Ginny and uncle Joe. About his early years playing in garage bands, and some of the ridiculous antics of being a teenage musician.

  And I wondered what it would’ve been like to know him back then. If we would’ve gotten along this well when we were teenagers. If we always would’ve had this easy chemistry between us.

  If I always would’ve liked him like this.

  Yes. Hell, yes.

  When I was fifteen, Ashley would’ve been eighteen and he would’ve set my world on fire.

  When we finally reached my neighborhood, it was late. He found a spot to park about a block away from my building, and told me to stay put while he walked around and opened my door for me.

  “You really don’t need to walk me to the door,” I told him as I slid out. “Dropping me in front of the building is just fine.”

  “In this sketch-ass neighborhood, at this time of night?” He closed and locked the door behind me. “Not fucking likely.”

  “Honestly,” I told him as he took my hand and walked me toward my place, “anyone hanging out on the street in this neighborhood, at this time on a Sunday night… there’s a ninety-nine-point-nine-percent chance that they’re fucked out of their tree.”

  “That supposed to make me feel better?”

  “The junkies around here are totally harmless,” I said. “They’re in their own world, and if anything, they’re probably more scared of me than I am of them.”

  “Uh-huh. Well, where there are junkies there are dealers. You’re gorgeous and you’re not walking around here by yourself. Fucking creeps me out. Did you get that lock on your door fixed yet?”

  Ah, yes. The lock.

  The lock on my apartment door that had been sticking lately, which my sister had felt the need to report to my entire family, at brunch yesterday.

  “Jacob sent someone over to replace it already,” I assured him. “Last night.”

  “Jacob?”

  “Aunt Margot’s fiancé.”

  “Oh. Right.”

  “He’s wealthy,” I explained, “so he often steps up with things like that. It makes Margot happy. Believe me, Dani’s report at brunch didn’t go ignored. She had Margot all in a panic thinking I was sleeping in a heroin den or something.”

  “She’s never been to your place?”

  “Margot doesn’t exactly leave West Vancouver very often. Madeleine’s been over, though, plenty of times.”

  “And she’s got no problem with you living here?” We’d arrived at my building and he frowned at the fresh graffiti on the front door as I unlocked it.

  “Oh, she’s got plenty of problems with me living here. I really don’t need you all ganging up on me, though. I like my place. It has character.”

  Ashley made a little grumbly sound that wasn’t really a word and followed me inside.

  In the tiny foyer, I turned to say good night. “Thank you again for taking me to meet your dad. He was… um…” I trailed off as I searched my brain for something nice to say that wouldn’t be untrue.

  “He’s an asshole, Danica. You can say it.”

  “And your grandfather was… How do I put it? I think I’ll just follow the age-old advice of polite society, ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say…’”

  He snorted. “Not like he has anything nice to say. Doesn’t stop him.”

  “I had a good time,” I told him. “Seriously. I know it wasn’t the same house you grew up in, but it was nice to drive out there with you and just see where you came from. I’ve never been to Chilliwack before.”

  “And now you never have to go again.”

  I knew he was kidding. Being self-deprecating. “Maybe I’ll get to see your dad again, sometime,” I said.

  “Maybe you will.”

  “I’d even put up with your astonishingly racist and hostile grandfather. You know, for you.”

  “I really wouldn’t expect you to. Believe me, I see him as little as possible.” He drew closer to me, taking hold of my waist and pulling me into his body. “But thank you for being so cool to my dad. He hardly deserves it, but it was nice of you.”

  “It was interesting to see him. You kind of look like him. Except… prettier.”

  “Prettier?”

  “Yeah. You must look like your mom. Was she really pretty? I mean… she looked pretty, but all I’ve seen is that one little photo
of her on your wall.”

  “Yeah,” he said. “She was.” I slid my arms up around his neck. “Your mom’s pretty too,” he added. “But you’re much prettier…” He brushed his lips, just barely, over mine… and my stomach swirled with those little sparkles of excitement.

  “This feels like a weird conversation to have… when you’re about to kiss me.”

  The corner of his mouth lifted in a small smirk. “You sound confident of that.”

  “I am,” I whispered. My thoughts were already racing south, and I assumed his were too. I could feel his hard dick against me. “But I don’t want to hurt you…”

  “It’s okay,” he said. And I wondered what that meant.

  It didn’t hurt anymore? He didn’t care if it hurt?

  He was planning to leave as soon as he gave me a quick peck anyway…?

  His eyes were searching my face, and he asked me, “Do you look like your dad?”

  “So I’m told. But he’s not very pretty…”

  “Lucky you, then,” he murmured, as his lips brushed mine again.

  “Me…?”

  “You got all the good genes.”

  He kissed me then. Long and deep, until everything else faded away. I melted into the heat of his mouth, lapping his tongue with mine… his lips so smooth, his freshly-shaven skin already a little rough… Until we were both moaning softly.

  “Um, are you sure you’re not ready…?” I asked, desperate with hope that his dick had somehow made a full recovery in the last few hours.

  “Yeah,” he said, dashing my hopes, “I’m sure. There’s kind of a scab situation going on.”

  “Oh, God…”

  “And this morning I tried to take matters into my own hand, so to speak. There was blood.”

  “Shit. I’m so sorry, Ashley.”

  God.

  And now I was getting hot at the thought of him touching himself… even though it hurt.

  “Just a tiny bit of blood,” he said, nibbling a bit on my lip. “But still.”

  “Ugh. I can’t believe I did that to you.”

  “Don’t worry. Dicks heal fast.”

  I giggled uncomfortably. “Not fast enough.” I clung to him, unsure of what to do. I was a little out of breath. I didn’t know what to do with myself right now if I couldn’t pull him upstairs and fuck him.

  But I really didn’t want to hurt him.

  Probably the right thing to do would be to let him go home…

  “I have to work tomorrow…” I told him. “I’m pretty booked up the next two days, unfortunately. But maybe the day after that, we can get together, see how you’re doing?” I let go and backed away a bit. My eyes dropped to the package in the front of his cargos. I couldn’t help it.

  I bit my lip.

  “Yeah,” he said, his voice a little gruff. He cleared his throat. “Sounds good.”

  “Okay, then.” I put my hand on his shoulder and hopped up on my tiptoes to brush one last kiss on his gorgeous cheekbone. Then I headed for the elevator. When I was just about to push the button, I turned back.

  Ashley was still standing there, watching me, his hands jammed into the front pockets of his pants.

  And maybe it was selfish of me, since making him hard right now was probably just making him uncomfortable… but I really, really didn’t want him to leave.

  “Hey, Ashley. Do you want to see something?”

  A smile spread across his face.

  * * *

  “I thought you had to work tomorrow,” Ashley said, as he followed me off the elevator and we headed up the hall.

  “Yeah, well.” I tossed a smile over my shoulder. “Who needs sleep?”

  I led him up the stairs to the roof and pushed open the door. Ashley followed me out and when he saw the view, he whistled.

  “Wow. Nice view.”

  “I know.” I shut the door behind us and grabbed his hand, drawing him over to my favorite corner of the roof.

  We were only seven stories up, but we could see city skyline to the west, and a slice of water and the dark shapes of the mountains to the north. I loved my view. I grew up in Vancouver, but that mountain view would never get old.

  I had this exact same view from my apartment on the fifth floor. But up here, the view was better.

  I picked up two lawn chairs from a stack of them that lay on the rooftop and unfolded them, setting the weatherbeaten old chairs side-by-side. “Have a seat.” I sat down and gestured to the chair next to me. “Hands to myself, I promise.”

  “Your hands aren’t the only things causing trouble here,” he informed me, his gaze raking down my body as he sat down.

  “I’ll stay a solid five feet away at all times.”

  “You’re about two feet away right now, so I call bullshit on that.”

  “My intentions are pure,” I said innocently, batting my eyelashes.

  “What is it they say about the road to hell…?”

  I laughed. “Are you saying hanging out with me is hell?”

  “I’m saying if you were there, babe, hell might not be so bad.”

  I grinned like an idiot. “You really are a romantic, Ashley Player.”

  “You know, I really think I am. I don’t get enough credit for that.”

  “You should.”

  “I was kidding,” he said.

  I smiled at him. “You don’t give yourself enough credit.”

  He looked out toward the water. “So this is what you wanted to show me, huh?”

  “It’s the best view this building has to offer.”

  “That’s not true,” he said, and looked at me again.

  “See, there you go. Being all romantic again.”

  He cracked a smile. Then he looked out toward the mountains and rubbed a hand over his face. He still seemed a bit stressed, maybe. From seeing his family? Residual discomfort?

  Actually, he looked kind of… antsy.

  Was this boring?

  I looked around. Honestly, the view was nowhere near as good as the one from his place. Plus, the rooftop was pretty grungy. The chairs were garbage.

  Okay, this place was totally ghetto. Actually, it was literally ghetto, like as ghetto as any neighborhood in Vancouver got.

  Why did I think it would be a good idea to bring him here?

  “What are you thinking right now?” I asked him.

  “I’m thinking I’m jonesing for a smoke.”

  Oh. “Like… a cigarette?”

  “Yup.”

  “You can’t smoke those, Ashley,” I informed him. “They’re very, very bad for you.”

  He snickered. “Thanks. I wasn’t aware.”

  “Anyway, I have something better. If you want, I have top quality cannabis we can smoke.”

  He looked me over with a heated gaze. “A nice girl like you?”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s practically legal, yo.”

  “I’ll take it. Though if you have a cigarette…”

  “Nope. Sweet leaf only, my friend. But it’s in my apartment. We can get it in a few minutes, if you want to come in…”

  Hoo, boy. Did I just invite him into my apartment in the middle of the night?

  Yup. I sure did.

  The way his pierced tongue slid slowly over his bottom lip said it all.

  “What are your favorite bands?” he asked.

  It was such an abrupt topic change, I laughed a bit. “Um. What?”

  “Bands. Who do you listen to? I mean, besides Def Leppard.”

  “Okay. Uh… Lots of bands.”

  “Everyone says that. It’s bullshit. Be specific. What bands do you actually listen to, like right now.”

  “Okay—”

  “And don’t say the Penny Pushers or I’m leaving.”

  I laughed. “Why?”

  “Because then I’ll know you’re kissing my ass.”

  I dropped my jaw in mock offense. “After everything I’ve endured tonight, Ashley… you’d walk out on me, just like that?”

&n
bsp; “Yeah. You were nice to my granddad so this would be the last straw.”

  I smiled. “Have you ever heard of Phoenix?”

  “Which Phoenix are we talking about? The city? The mythological bird? I’ve got one tattooed on my side…”

  “Which one? The city?” I teased.

  Now his jaw dropped in mock shock. “Did you Google me? Have you been looking at my tattoos on your computer, you little perv?”

  I frowned. “No.” Yes. “And I’m not talking about your tattoo. I saw it the other night. It’s great, but please get over yourself. I’m talking about the band. Phoenix. You want to know what music I listen to, they pretty much sum it up.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  “Foster the People, Panic! At the Disco, Awolnation… Duran Duran, if I can get away with admitting it because my sister’s not here… those are some of my faves,” I told him.

  “Cool.”

  “But Phoenix, they’re my biggest obsession. They’re from France. Kind of indie-synth-pop-rock. That’s my jam.”

  “I’ll check them out.” He pulled out his phone, like he meant it.

  “You should.”

  “I will,” he said, typing something on his phone. “Sounds like something Summer would like…”

  “What are you doing?”

  “Sending a note to myself so I don’t forget.”

  Okay. That was flattering. He was a rock star, and he was gonna check out my favorite band, just because I said I liked them?

  “Also, you should make me a playlist,” he said.

  “A playlist?”

  “Yeah. Specifically, twenty songs.” He tucked his phone away. “Not just your favorite songs, or songs you think I’d want to hear. More like… deathbed songs.”

  “What?”

  “Wait. That sounded morbid.” He cracked a smile. “Uh… shit, how did Summer describe it?” He rubbed his forehead, thinking. “Like if you were stranded on a desert island and you were gonna die, and all you could leave behind were twenty songs to tell the world what you would’ve said through music… Does that make sense?”

  “No.” I laughed.

  “Imagine you’re a musician and you’re putting together a band and you want to show the other band members who you are, through twenty songs. That better?”