by S. Ann Cole
I couldn’t help laughing. “And you’re telling me that’s the reason Xavi buys me coffee?”
“Undoubtedly.”
He shifted upward so his head was on the cushion with mine, while his legs kicked about below to get rid of his jeans and boxers.
As he hooked one of his legs over mine, I felt his dick hardening at my hipbone. “I don’t want you to leave.”
“Then I’ll stay.”
“I miss this,” he whispered sleepily, eyes hooded, far too content for a man who just cheated on his fiancée. “I miss us.”
His hand moved to play with the ends of my hair, and I seized it, frowning at the deep, jagged scar that slashed through the infinity tattoo on his wrist.
As I smoothed my thumb over it, he stiffened, fighting his hand out of my grasp.
I couldn’t identify with the brokenness in my voice when I asked, “You tried to get rid of it?”
The mere idea of Davian trying to erase us so thoroughly cut deeper than that slash on his wrist.
On the night before he left for tour with Ninety Miles, we drove to a parlor and got matching tattoos.
It was his idea. He said it was supposed to keep us linked, a promise to wait for each other, a promise to fall in love with no one else, a promise of forever.
Even after breaking me, forgetting I existed, I never, not once, thought of having it removed. Removing it would be like exorcising Davian from my heart.
Xavier said he’d seen the tattoo before, and I’d thought for sure that Davian’s wrist was where he’d seen it, but now I wasn't so sure, because our tats weren’t identical anymore.
Davian’s tattoo was all distorted by scar tissue—unless Xavier remembered it from before Davian got it slashed through? When did he get it slashed?
Successful in extricating his hand from me this time, he growled, “No. It’s a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
In a flash, he was off me and on his feet. He picked up his jeans and aggressively tugged them on. “A reminder that I can’t be with you.” He turned his back to me. “You need to go, Ally.”
I sat up on the chaise, righting my bra, confused. “But you just said—”
“I know what I just said,” he snapped, back still turned. I knew him well. Davian could only be mean to me if he wasn’t looking at me. “I was thinking with my cock. What happened just now can never, and will never, happen again. I’m with Jess.”
Nodding, even though he couldn’t see me, I stood, fixed my underwear and straightened my skirt, feeling like a prostitute spat upon in a dark alley.
The buttons on my blouse were all gone, scattered about the room. I had an extra change of clothes in my bag, but I picked up Davian’s stylish sweater off the floor and put it on. It swallowed up my arms and cropped below my bum, the material soft and warm against my skin. It smelled like cinnamon and frosty ice.
He so wasn’t getting it back.
Davian turned, a tightness to his jaw, dark clouds shifting across the sky that were his eyes.
Seeing me in his sweater seemed to irritate him even more, or maybe it was my non-reaction to his acerbity.
Straightening his posture, a determination in his broadened shoulders, he went on, “I’m engaged to another woman. I love another woman.”
Biting the insides of my cheeks, I picked up my bag and walked past him.
He, along with his acidic words, followed me. “I walked into a store in Switzerland, and I picked out a diamond ring, for her.”—He was trying his best to hurt me. Apparently, no one gave him the memo about the New Alina.—“I took her on top of that building, showed her the world, seduced her, sung her a song, told her I loved her, got down on one knee and begged her to marry me.”
I kept walking until I reached the door, where I had to pause to roll up one sleeve of his too-big sweater in order to turn the handle.
The door was halfway opened when a violent force slammed it back to an echoing close. Said violent force whirled me around by my shoulders and pushed me back against the door.
Thumping his fists above my head on the matte-black wood, nose touching mine, he barked in my face, “What the hell is wrong with you?!!”
Hands at my sides, I merely stared back, nibbling at the insides of my cheeks.
“Alina! Say something!”
The warm blue skies had vanished from his eyes, and now there was an overcast storm brewing, the threat of a torrential downpour.
I said, “Do you want me to go, or do you want me to stay?”
The pretense left him in a cold whisper like an intangible spirit leaving a lifeless body, and he dropped to his knees in front of me, like he’d been shot, a single bullet to the heart.
He circled his arms around my knees and pressed his forehead to my thighs, holding me tight.
I had no idea what he was doing or what he wanted, but I didn’t dare look down. I stared straight ahead across the room to an oil painting of a black stallion galloping through the wilds. So beautiful. So very beautiful.
After minutes of poignant silence, Davian released me, hoarsely whispering, “Go.”
I went.
Beach Rock was quiet and empty when I got there after work.
Leaving my pull-along in Xavier’s bedroom, I phoned him to find out where he was but got no answer.
It was a full eight days after that night at Hart’s Hotel. Guilt had kept me from going to Beach Rock the following weekend. I just couldn’t face Xavier after what I’d done, so I lied and told him I was being forced to make a trip to Seattle with Lion, then locked myself in my apartment for the entire weekend, cheat-eating and re-watching episodes of Reign.
We spoke earlier this afternoon to confirm that I’d be coming over, and he never mentioned going out with the band, so the empty house was a little unexpected.
I dialed Xena. She and Jessica had since made it a routine to show up at my shoots to have lunch, and now they regarded me as a friend. Goes without saying, the sentiment wasn’t mutual.
“Where the hell are you?” Xena answered without preamble.
“Beach Rock,” I told her. “Where is everyone?”
“Do you ever listen to anyone other than the evil voices in your head?” Clamor and cheers and music in the background all but drowned out her voice. “We’re at the gymnasium! Come over!” Dial tone.
Having no idea what was going down at the gymnasium, I headed back to the bedroom and took a leisurely shower to wash off the day’s sweat, hoping when I got out Xavier would be there and I wouldn’t really have to go to the damn gymnasium.
No such luck when I got out, so I donned my distressed jeans shorts and a Ninety Miles burn-out crop-top I’d ordered off their website a week ago, and high-tops.
The crop-top stopped a mere few inches below my breasts, and the jean shorts were super-duper short. I looked like a groupie, and this had me grinning deviously at myself in the mirror.
Jogging out of the house, I reluctantly began the promenade to the gymnasium, which was a good three minutes away from Beach Rock.
As I got nearer, I noticed there was a chaos of vehicles jacked up along both side of the curbs. There had to be some kind of event going on.
The external design of their gymnasium was like a giant metal turtle back, glossy and somewhat futuristic.
When I pushed through the doors, I found myself in a vast open space, with nothing but two sets of metal double-doors on each side of the room, and a staircase leading up to a second floor.
The suppressed thumping of Chris Brown’s Loyal sounded from behind the double-doors on the right.
Raising my sunglasses to sit on top of my head, I pushed through the double-doors, which led me into a mini-basketball stadium, crowded with bodies cheering and dancing in the stands, booze and greasy foods being passed around, two teams of famous faces fighting for control of a basketball on the massive court, two referees on the sidelines and two camera m
en videoing the game.
People. Lots of people. Ew.
I spun on my heels, beelining right back through the doors, when someone latched onto my arm.
“Alina! You’re finally here.”
I winced at the accent, cocking my head just slightly to peer at the gorgeous redhead. “Hey, Jess.”
Her ebullience was nauseating as she tugged me from my escape, pulling me to the left. “C’mon! We’re seated down here.”
“What is all this?”
“Rockers versus Rappers,” she informed me. “They do it every year. For charity. To play on the court you have to donate ten grand. And the losing team will have to donate a hundred grand. Didn’t we tell you about this yesterday?”
Clearly I’d been tuning them out, because I couldn’t remember a conversation about this event. I had such a bad habit of tuning out others that sometimes I did it without even meaning to.
Jessica pulled me along the sidelines, where Tex, Jake and Leo were benched. Beside them were Xena and…wait, was that Danni? Yep, it was. He seemed a little dazed at being in a room chock full of super stars.
Tex looked broodier than usual, so I skipped him and greeted Jake and Leo.
Jake jumped up when he saw me, face splitting into a grin as he swept me up out of Jessica’s hold and spun me around, typical Jake fashion. “Ally my Ally!”
Setting me down, he said, “Hey, Dustin Latimore just taught me how to do the Dougie. Check me out!”
Bending almost in a squat, he began moving in an awful coordination of flailing arms and foot movements, and I burst out laughing.
He took mock offense to my ridicule. “Just stick to being a guitarist, alright?” I advised. “Some of us are multi-talented, and some of us are only blessed with one talent.”
Pouting, he swung an arm around my middle and sat back down with me so I was seated on his lap.
I didn’t bother attempting to move. Jake could be impossible at times, and this was one of those times where attempting to move would prove futile.
Jessica, however, didn’t seem too pleased about me sitting there, as she gave Jake a narrowed glare and all but stomped off to sit next to Tex.
“She likes you,” Jake whispered to me.
“Why does everyone keep saying that? What does it mean?”
“You’ll see,” he said with a mysterious chuckle.
Leaning across Xena who was sinking her teeth into a hot dog while side-eying Tex, I hissed at Danni, “How come you never told me about this.”
Danni arched a brow. “We discussed this right in front of you, chica.”
Xena elbowed him. “You can’t say words like ‘chica’ while you’re pretending to be my boyfriend, assface.”
Twisting a little, I glanced over my shoulder at Tex who was glowering out at the basketball court, then looked back to Xena and Danni. “That one looks like he wants to punch a hole through the ceiling.”
Pleased with herself, Xena smirked. “He’s been like that since Danni arrived. It’s working, girl.”
“If he ends up punching me,” Danni said, “the price will be triple, and that does not include doctor fees.”
“Oh, shut up and stick your tongue in my ear, gay boy,” Xena chastised.
As they fired up a rather disturbing charade of kisses and giggles, I shifted back on Jake’s lap and looked out on the court.
Davian, Styro, Mark, Xavier, and Zach were the rockers playing against five big name rappers, two of them being Lion T’mar’s artists, including Dustin Latimore—a hot, tatted up, dirty-mouthed rapper/dancer with locks.
The rockers wore black and white basketball uniforms, while the rappers wore blue and white, all so intensely focused on the game, sweating and panting, darting about the court like wasps.
I knew Davian was skilled at basketball. On evenings when he wasn’t rehearsing, he could be found playing basketball on a community court ten minutes away from his house.
That said, he was nothing compared to Xavier right now, who seemed to be the star of the ‘rocker’ team, delivering one three-pointer after another, while Dustin Latimore appeared to be the star of the rapper team, stopping to do a little dance move for the crowd each time he made a shot.
Davian was the boss at launching clean off the ground to slam dunk, clinging to the hoop for a few seconds then swinging off in style to show off. Each time he did this, the crowd roared in applause and the camera flashes went wild.
Davian Hamilton was a bit of a romantic when it came to relationships, a coddler, with swoon-worthy lines and a big heart—not what one would expect from a rock-star—but in other things, he was fierce and competitive, arrogant, and hated losing. This was where his sexiness showed the most, in his competitiveness.
Xavier, well, I haven’t known him as long as I’ve known my son’s father, but even on the court, he was laid back and perfunctory, never missed a shot and he barely seemed to be putting in the effort. Taller and more built than everyone else on the court, his golden waves were pulled up in an unraveling bun, wisps of sweat-soaked hair sticking to his neck. He was a tall glass of whiskey-flavored sex, and just looking at him made me drunk with desire.
I was madly in love with Davian, but if I were ordered to pick one man off that court to have hot, sweaty sex with right there in front of everyone, it would, without a smite of doubt, be Xavier Xander.
The rappers were leading by three points, but the game was a fair one. Jake kept yelling a bunch of incoherent nonsense as usual, Tex was still scowling at nothing in particular, and Leo was furtively eying Danni.
He was definitely gay—or at the most bi.
Zach dribbled the ball up the court and passed it to Mark, who was then supposed to pass it to Xavier who was wide open. But Mark had other plans. He wanted to be the star this time around, so he passed the ball to no one, tactically shifted his way around a defense of three rappers, then launched up like Davian would and dunked the ball himself.
The ball went in, the crowd cheered, and, pleased with himself, Mark clung to the hoop, dangling from it like a monkey with a banana-eating grin on his face…until he slipped and dropped sprawling to the ground.
Jake erupted into a fit of boisterous laughter, pointing and calling out colorful names.
When Mark attempted to get to his feet and stumbled back down, they called time-out.
Zach and Davian helped Mark over to the sidelines, all the while laughing at him. But Mark was downright pissed.
Leo stood so Mark could have his seat.
“The hell were you thinking, man?” Jake asked Mark, still cracking up. “Davi’s been practicing dunking moves for years.”
A curvy blonde in white booty shorts and a bra-top with Rockers emblazoned across her racks, skipped out to the court offering Xavier a bottle of Gatorade.
Even though she was practically naked, he barely glanced at her as he took the bottle. But blondie still lingered, craning her neck to look up at him like he was an awe-inspiring piece of art chiseled to perfection by Michelangelo himself.
He unscrewed the bottle, pausing mid-air as he raised it to his lips and squinted over the blonde’s head and saw me watching them. A smile tugged at his lips and his eyes danced as he all but walked through blondie to get to the sidelines.
The others were still fussing over Mark’s twisted ankle when Xavier got across to us, and his smile melted off his face, morphing into a scowl when he noticed I wasn’t sitting in a chair of my own, but on Jake’s lap.
“You’re in his lap, why?” he demanded, shadowing over us like an infuriated deity.
“Uh-oh,” someone muttered, “Khal Drogo’s about to rip someone’s throat out for touching his Khaleesi.”
Jake theatrically ducked his head behind me. “Oh dearest, Queen O’Hara, save me from the King’s wrath!”
Jessica giggled and Xena rolled her eyes.
I smirked up at Xavier, more turned on by his jealously than alarmed. �
��Seeing you all sweaty and fussy on the court was giving him a boner, so he asked me to help him hide it.”
Jake popped his head up and nodded, jabbing a finger at me. “What she said.”
Unamused, Xavier wrapped his fingers around my arm and pulled me up from Jake’s lap, and before I could protest his lips were on mine, hard and punishing, making it impossible for me to reciprocate. A kiss to make a claim, a point.
Roughly tearing his lips from mine, he pointed a threatening finger at Jake. “Hands off my girl, Jake.”
“Ally’s my ally, big guy,” Jake returned. “Can’t make no promises.”
Xavier started to take a step toward Jake, and then abruptly stopped, his face arranging into an even deeper scowl when he caught sight of my attire.
“Damn you, Chino,” he growled, before hauling his jersey off over his head. “Put this on.”
My turn to scowl. “Uh, I don’t think so.”
“Put this on, Chino. Or I’m dragging your ass outta here.”
Folding my arms, I tipped up on my toes and hissed, “No. I’m my own woman, not some star-struck doormat you can boss around.”
“You’re my wom—”
Mark cut him off with, “Just put on the goddamn jersey, Alina. If Xavi’s not on the court, we lose.”
“Thanks a lot, asshole,” muttered Davian. “That’s the reason you sprained your ankle? Because you were trying to be Xavi and not me?”
Tex asked Davian in a cold, bitter tone, “Why does everything always have to be a bloody competition with you?”
“Bloody? Seriously?” Davian scoffed. “Is Saskia around? Where is she? Oh, right, she’s sucking JK’s dick now.”
Tex shot to his feet and ran up in Davian’s face, but Leo was quick in getting between them. “Not the time and place, guys. Right now we’re supposed to be a team.”
“Oh, God,” Xena groaned, putting a hand to her forehead. “If they start fighting again my head’s gonna explode. I cannot take anymore of this pre-school testosterone shit.”
A lot of steam was blowing, and a lot of chests were puffing. Something had to be in the Gatorade. It would explain why everyone was so hostile today.
