by S. Ann Cole
“Uh…”
“Haven’t been answering my calls or texts for the past three weeks. Why?”
All I could do was stare back, dumbfounded at this hot slice of man. What. The. Hell?
His ridiculously long, wavy, non-greasy blond hair hung down the sides of his face, cruising over his shoulders and ending just below his armpits—nowhere to hide all that hair—and his long lashes grouped together as his eyes narrowed on me, those pinkish-reddish lips the highlight of his devastatingly beautiful face.
Come to think of it, he was probably more famous for those lips than for his prowess with the guitar. Was oftentimes grouped with Joseph Morgan and Tom Hardy for who had the sexiest lips.
Those lips were right across from me right now. Speaking to me. Dizzying me.
I never actually entertained the idea of meeting Xavier in person. I never, ever entertained the idea of being with anyone but Davian.
Davian was the love of my life, the beat of my heart, and I would never, not in a million years, be able to let him go. That said, I simply couldn’t deny the sexual attraction towards Xavier, now that he was right here in front of me.
“Uh…”
Aquafresh-commercial teeth flashed at me, cocky and self-assured. “Know I make women speechless all the time, but you never struck me as the stuttering type. Am I really that…”—he leaned in, hands on the table, face close to mine—“breathtaking?”
That arrogant line snapped me out of it, had me rolling my eyes. “Annnnnnd you just ruined it by opening your mouth.”
Unfazed, he just grinned. Wide.
“The cockier you are,” I went on, “the less attractive you are to me.”
“Why’ve you been avoiding me?”
“I haven’t.”
He leaned back, shifting low in his seat, keeping his head dipped to prevent being recognized. “Sure as hell feels like you have. Been three weeks. ”
“Did you stalk me here, or were you ‘just in the neighborhood?’”
Leaving mine, his eyes roamed around the cafe. “Got business in San Francisco.”
“What kind of business requires you dressing like a bank robber?”
His eyes landed back on me as sudden as a heart attack. “You.”
My lips parted, slowly, taking in air.
Xavier Xander.
Was.
Mind-numbingly.
Intensely.
Annoyingly.
Hot.
“You flew all the way here, stalked me to Starbucks, dressed like a hoodlum, just to ask me why I’ve been avoiding you?”
He merely rose his shoulders up in a shrug.
I waited for it. For him to laugh, recant and tell me he was just kidding. But the no-bullshit look he was giving told me his words weren’t bullshit.
This guy’s nuts! “You’re nuts,” I voiced my thoughts.
“Wasn’t a long journey. We’re resting in L.A for a while. Never-ending touring’s taking a shit toll on us. Benny agreed we take a one year break and let Ice Steam shine in our glow for a bit. So…I got time to stalk…”—grin—“I mean play.”
At the mention of Ice Steam, my heart constricted, expanded, then tightened again. I sat up straighter, the pain as intense as it was two years ago. “Ice Steam’s in L.A, too?”
More scanning of the cafe. “Uh-huh. Staying at our villa.”
“Oh…”
The barista couldn’t have picked a better time to show up with my Frappuccino, because I needed a minute to breathe, to think fast, to decide here and now.
Davian was in Los Angeles. I could see him again.
I could see him again.
His words from two years ago slammed me like a defibrillator to the chest: If I get back and you’re with anyone, Alina, I promise you I’ll insert myself and rip.it.apart. Because you are Davi’s, you hear me? Davi’s.
He’d had the audacity to make such a promise, then turn around and give up on us. What if I kept that promise instead? To insert myself and rip his engagement apart?
Now that I knew exactly where he was, the timing couldn’t have been more perfect. I could take JK’s advice and contractually move to L.A to be a model by day, and an engagement destroyer by night, using Xavier as my cover.
Would be wrong of me to use Xavier, seeing that he was so deep into me, but I’d still be using him even if I decided not to use him as cover, because my heart belonged to Davian. I couldn’t see myself wanting him for anything more than sex. And hey, the dude was a frigging rock star, most likely we were on the same “just sex” page.
The barista was all but bouncing when she handed me my Frappuccino. “We haven’t seen you in weeks, Ally!”
I forced a smile up at her. “Jacob’s been sucking up all my hours.
Her grin was ridiculous as she superfluously updated me, “Oh, JK was here with him earlier today. He grabbed my boob! Then he did the same with Clarissa. Such a womanizer already! But I guess he’s learning from the best, right? I mean, we all know JK was, like, man-whore of the century before he went off the market.”
I raised my brows. If Saskia was here she’d probably punch her in the mouth.
Her face flushed scarlet when she realized what she blabbered, and she quickly shifted her attention to Xavier, who had his head deeply bowed, ostentatiously dicking around on his cellphone. Nothing but beautifully long, wavy blond hair, hoody and a ballcap.
“Would you like anything, sir?”
The blond waves shook from left to right, and I watched as the barista slanted more and more to the side trying to get a full view of his face.
“He’s not in a good mood.” I raised my Frappuccino. “Put this on my bill, okay?”
Still fighting to see under Xavier’s hoodie, she nodded absently, almost on one foot now, she was slanting so far to the side.
To snag her attention from Xavier, I went on, “And I’ll tell Saskia you said ‘Hi’.”
Her head snapped back to me, and she was bouncing again, eyes wide. “Really?”
“Sure.” As if Saskia would even know who she was.
The barista clapped her hands, almost squealing as she skipped off.
“The girl was this close to breaking her neck just to see your face,” I said through a laugh.
Gray eyes lifted to mine, knocking the air right out of me, then dropped to my Frappuccino. “Weren’t lying when you said you were addicted to Frappo, I see.”
“Because I lied about so many other things?”
“Like the warts on your nipples.”
“How do you know for sure I don’t have warts on my nipples?”
“Of all the places warts could be, your nipples?”
“Hey, maybe nipples are warts. They probably taste the same to men. Have you ever licked a wart?”
He just grinned, his eyes twinkling.
Covering my straw with my mouth, I sucked up the first sip, closed my eyes, savored the taste on my tongue, then swallowed. “Love love love love love love.”
When I reopened my eyes, Xavier was watching me with an expression I didn’t understand, lips glossy as though he’d licked them when I had my eyes closed. “So much more in person than I could’ve imagined. This moment? Priceless. As of right now, you’re ‘Chino’ for me.”
Setting the cup down, I crossed my arms on the table. “How long are you here for?”
He glanced down at his watch and swore. “Leave in less than an hour.”
I hid my disappointment. “Seriously?”
“Been here for four days,” he informed me, “tryna find a way to get to you without showing up on your doorstep and triggering another feud with that douchface dancer.”
“Four days?”
He shrugged. “Really like you, Chino. Never done anything like this before. You’ve got me all messed up in the head right now.”
“You’re nuts,” I repeated, laughing this time.
Glancing at h
is watch again, he sobered up, reached across and squeezed my hand with a certain urgency. “Know you’ve been playing games over the phone. Came here to let you know I wasn’t.” His cellphone started vibrating. He ignored it and implored me instead. “Can we make this real? Can you see yourself with me?”
Intense eyes bore into mine, begging me.
My panties were wet.
“I’m temporarily moving to L.A.,” I blurted.
Buzz…buzz…buzz.
Xavier blinked. As if that was last thing he’d expected me to respond with. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, traveling all the way to his eyes, telling me he really wanted this.
“This is happening?” he asked in a quiet voice, almost as if he was afraid I’d recant.
I brought my shoulders up to my ears then dropped them. “This is happening.”
Buzz…buzz…buzz.
He glanced at his phone, then at his watch, then leaned across the table and—ohsweetJesus—pressed his famous lips to mine. Quick, but definitely not forgettable.
“See you in L.A., Chino.”
By the time my mind, blown to pieces by that evanescent kiss, slowly pieced itself back together, Xavier was striding away from me, hands jammed in the pockets of his hoodie, head down, hair creating a curtain around his face.
I touched my fingers to my lips.
Dear Lord, I’m in trouble.
Two weeks later, I was en route to Los Angeles.
Lion was relieved he didn’t have to put up a fight with me about the contract, and the only person who knew my real reason for skipping off to L.A was Saskia. She voiced, more than once, that she thought what I was doing was wrong, but she couldn’t stop me.
My life, my decision.
“You do like Xavi, though, yeah?” she questioned me as we walked down the driveway to where Thomas, Saskia’s driver, was packing my hot-pink suitcases into the Phantom.
Jacob was propped on my side, yapping his gum and yanking my hair, while Clare, JK’s eight-year-old daughter from another mother, stuck to Saskia’s heels like she usually does whenever she was over for the weekends.
“Seriously, Kia, have you seen Xavier?” I replied, sliding a side glance her way. “I came home with my crotch soaked. That’s not ‘like’, that’s desire.”
“I don’t know,” she said, absently rubbing her baby bump. “I’ve just never seen Xavi go after anyone so hard. Back when I used to hang with Ninety Miles, he was the sluttiest of all of them. To the extreme. How he’s acting right now got to mean he’s really into you, and I’m worried how things will play out if he finds out if you’re using him. Ninety Miles’ boys are all for one, one for all, no matter what. You hurt one, you hurt all.”
Clare skipped off down the driveway to Thomas, firing a million questions at him.
“Worrying isn’t good for the baby,” I told her. “I promise I won’t let it get too serious between us. You know I’m in love with Davi.”
Saskia gave off a loud and exhausted sigh. “I hope to God you know what you’re doing, Ally.”
Clare waited until Thomas wasn’t looking before making a dash for it through the open gates. That little girl was nothing but a headache, rude and mouthy. No idea how Saskia survived her.
Both Saskia and I started running for the gates, yelling for her to come back, me lagging behind because of Jacob, who was flapping his arms excitedly, all stirred up due to our raised voices, showing off his gums and two bottom teeth, thinking this was a party.
“Gabooblahbentibahabadidahhhdootoo!” he gummed on.
When we finally made it through the gates, Dave Hamilton, up in age with papery skin, cropped brown hair and wisdom-filled blue eyes, was walking toward us with Clare.
“She yours?” he asked in course voice ruined by years of vocal straining and tobacco.
“Yep,” Saskia answered, rushing forward to take the little girl’s hands. To Clare, “You’re going to be in so much trouble with your father if you don’t behave, yeah?”
Clare’s eyes bugged out. “No! Please don’t tell on me, Auntie Sassy!”
As Saskia and Clare argued, I noticed, from my peripheral vision, that Dave was staring me down. When I cocked my head to find out what his deal was, I realized he wasn’t staring at me, but at Jacob, all color drained from his already pale face.
Oh shit.
“Lemme see the bottom of his right foot,” the older man hoarsely demanded.
“I’m sorry?”
“His foot,” he repeated. “Lemme see the bottom of it.”
I know what he wanted to check for. The red, pear-shaped birthmark on the left sole. Davian had it, Kaydeen had it, and Jacob was born with it.
Since Jacob was born, I’d been careful to keep him out of Dave’s sight. With all the excitement caused by Clare, I never even considered our next door neighbor might be out.
“Uh, sorry, we don’t sell baby porn here,” I smarted, turned and began power-walking back inside.
“I know a Hamilton when I see one!” he called after me, ripping off my veil for everyone to see my lies. “I won’t sit back and let you keep this from Davi. I won’t let you keep my grandson from me!”
Whirling around, I marched up to him. He had great height, but I glowered up in his old face anyway. “If you say one word to Davi about this, I’ll take it to the press that Mr. Famous Rockstar knocked me up at nineteen, screwed my life up, the ran off to chase fame and refused to take care of his son. I’ll tell them he’s a delinquent and a fake, an ungrateful turd who chewed off the hand that fed him.”
Dave gaped at me, as if to say “you wouldn’t”. This man clearly didn’t know me and what I was capable of.
I smirked. “How do you think that’ll play out for his shit of an engagement? If you want the Hamilton name to remain revered, you’ll shut it.”
Dave opened his mouth, then shut it, opened it again, shut it, then, “Do you at least plan on telling him?”
“In my own time,” I answered curtly. “I will not be forced or threatened by anyone. He’s my son. I carried him for nine months. So I choose who gets to be in his life.”
The older man swallowed. “What about me?”
“What about you?”
“Do I get to be in his life?” He looked at Jacob, reaching out to play with his little fingers. “At least once a week? Even for a few hours? I’m just right next door. It gets lonely sometimes in that big empty house.” He stopped, shook his head, turned his face to the sky, and laughed. Heartily. When he looked back at me—well, at Jacob—his eyes were glistening. “Christ Almighty, I can’t believe I have a grandson!”
I watched him as he continued to laugh and play with Jacob. There was nothing but instant love, warmth and happiness in his face. And I couldn’t let myself do it. With Davian busy being a rock star, Kaydeen chasing her dreams in New York, and his wife deceased, I imagined how hard it must be for him to be alone over there. Learning about Jacob was probably the highlight of his year.
I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t keep his grandson from him.
“His name is Jacob,” I heard myself say. “And yeah, I think we can work something out.”
Leaving Jacob was hard. But the second I arrived in L.A., I knew JK had been right. The change of atmosphere undeniably altered my entire being instantly. It felt as though there’d been a steel post jammed in my lungs and the fresh, new air of Los Angeles was muscling it clean out.
I was picked up from the airport in a white Range Rover by a butch in a black suit, cornrowed brown hair and a chin piercing, then chauffeured to a stellar high-rise apartment building in West Hollywood.
A genial concierge informed me Lion T’mar was awaiting my arrival in the penthouse suite on the 29th floor as he handed me two gold key cards marked resident. After he gave me a quick rundown on key cards and guests, I boarded the elevator with the butch towing my luggage.
I glanced around in befuddlement when the eleva
tor booted us out directly into the penthouse suite, while the butch relieved herself of my luggage and left with a nod.
Lion was out on the balcony, which had its own infinity pool, all-white lounge chairs and umbrellas, and aluminum railing.
The penthouse was as overly pretentious as one would expect any overpriced, modernistic skyscraper would be. Clean seams and finishes, pops of color here and there, flat, boxy furniture and glossy floors. Someone less fortunate would be “oohing” and “ahhing” right now, but I grew up in wealth, and after having celebrities like Saskia and JK practically as family, not much awed me at this age.
Dumping my handbag on the marble-top kitchen island, I trekked out to the balcony.
Lion T’mar was built, had height, a clean caramel complexion, shorn dark hair and brown eyes. Apart from making people’s dreams come true, he was also a rapper himself. Not the tattooed, grills in the mouth, five watches on the wrist kind. Clean cut, good-looking, and one hundred percent real.
“A penthouse? Really?” I said to his back, then moved to stand beside him at the railing, taking in the view. It was already evening, the time when all the neon signs, stars and streetlights grinned arrogantly through the darkness. “Aren’t I supposed to be a struggling model?”
Without looking at me, Lion raised a glass of amber liquid to his lips, sipped and swallowed. “Believe me, the apartment I rented for you was nowhere near this posh. But, of course, your dick of a cousin demanded to see where you’d be stayin’, and when he did…well, he made it straight that while you here in L.A., you’ll be gettin’ nothing but the best of the best.”
“He rented this penthouse.” It wasn’t a question.
“Yah.” Another sip of alcohol. “Mel, butch who picked you up, he hired her as your personal driver and gopher. And a Mercedes convertible’s downstairs in the garage for you.”
Annoyed, I sighed. “The bastard sure knows how to insert himself into things that don’t concern him.”
“Fiercely protective of you, girlie.” He turned to look at me now. “Don’t usually take threats from people, but ma’ man gave me a clear and thorough warnin’ that if anything at all happened to you while you’re here on my watch, he’d spoon my eyes out. And, Ally?”
