But with our looming expiration date…
I don't know what I'm doing later, but right now, I want to be in his arms.
I soak in every ounce of comfort he can give me.
I feel naked when I unwrap myself from Joel's arms. But I still manage to finish putting together dinner.
We take our food to the couch. I sit, cross-legged, pushing my shrimp around my plate. I'm not hungry anymore.
Too much is happening too fast.
My head is spinning.
Joel isn't lacking for appetite. He eats with greedy bites. It's not exactly messy, but it's certainly not dainty either.
He swallows, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks to me. "This is fucking good."
"Yeah?"
"Great even." He motions to my fork try it.
"I'm not hungry anymore."
"Try it anyway."
I did make this meal. I should at least taste it. I stab a shrimp and a broccoli floret and use them to scoop rice.
The shrimp is a little overcooked, but the broccoli is perfect and it's bursting with flavors of garlic, lime, ginger, and fish sauce.
I chew, swallow, dab my lip corners with a paper towel (Joel doesn't have cloth napkins).
His eyes meet mine. He raises a brow. Well?
"It's good."
"Only good?"
"It's great, considering my limited options."
"It's great."
I shake my head.
He nods.
I take another bite. To test these claims. Then another. Fuck. I guess I am hungry.
Joel chuckles. "It's great."
"It's very good."
"That's the best I'm going to get from you, huh?"
I nod.
"I'll take it." He turns his attention to his plate but he keeps one eye on me.
Even with the rice a little mushy and the shrimp a little stringy, the dish is good.
Very good even.
But that doesn't feel like enough.
Good has never felt like enough to me.
And I have the scars to prove it.
I trace the faint scars on my wrist as I pour over old memories.
Joel was right. I don't do things unless I can be great. Or maybe I make a point of being great at everything I choose to do.
Either way, I never give myself permission to fail.
Hell, I never give myself permission to be good enough.
Forget about okay or terrible.
It means I close myself off to any activity where I won't excel.
It means I stay planted firmly in my comfort zone.
Only… I'm here, in Los Angeles, in Joel's apartment, spending a week with him before our impending divorce.
That's way, way outside my comfort zone.
I want to try new things. To be the kind of person who can try new things.
But not tonight.
Tonight, I need comfort food.
Like greasy shrimp stir-fry.
Joel finishes first. He waits for me to finish then takes our plates to the sink.
He checks the time on his way back to the couch. "There's a lot of night left."
There is. And I'm tempted to insist we spend it in his bed, naked. I need the comfort right now. Even if it means I break into pieces when we part.
He sits next to me, his body turned towards mine. "I have a pitch."
My breath catches in my throat. "Yeah?"
His eyes fill with mischief. "It might keep you up all night."
Yes. Hell yes. I nod.
"You sure you can handle it?"
I'm not.
I nod anyway.
His smile spreads over his cheeks. "We should start watching the Harry Potter movies."
I have to laugh. "Tease."
He plays dumb. "What did you think I meant?"
"You know exactly what I thought you meant."
He pulls me into his lap. His lips hover over my ear. "You thought I'd offer to use my wand instead of showing you Harry's?"
I nod.
"You're going to have to request that specifically." He drags his lips down my neck. "Unless I hear otherwise, we're going to Hogwarts."
I smile. "Let's do it."
10
Joel
Bella nearly falls asleep on the couch a dozen times. By the movie's end, she's barely able to make her way to the bathroom to brush her teeth.
She shifts into my room and closes the door as she changes into pajamas.
Then she pulls the door open and climbs into my bed.
That's an invitation.
But I meant what I said. I'm not rushing things with her. I'm not fucking her until she's begging me.
Still.
I am going to say good night.
It's a few steps into my room. I flick off the light and sit next to her.
She looks up at me from behind her thick, black frames. Her expression is this mix of apprehension and affection.
And exhaustion.
She blinks and stares into my eyes. "I… thanks for the movies."
I pull her glasses from her face. My fingers skim her temples. Her cheeks. I get lost in the soft purr that falls off her lips as I run my fingers through her hair. "Thanks for dinner."
"It was nothing."
"It was a lot."
She leans into my touch. "Well… you're welcome."
For a second, I consider giving into my body's demands. She wants me touching her. I want her coming on my hand again. It's a win/win.
But she's still nervous.
This is all either one of us is getting.
I lean down and brush my lips against hers. She tastes good. And the way she moans into my mouth—
Fuck, I want every inch of her.
But there's something about stopping at a good night kiss.
It's intimate in a way an easy fuck isn't.
I wait until her eyes flutter closed again then I go back to the main room.
My cock is not happy at this course of events. I could easily take the edge off, but I want to wait to come with her.
I entertain myself by channel surfing.
Law and Order.
Perfect.
I get lost in the show for a while. The grey-haired detective is making a wisecrack when my phone rings.
It's Daphne.
I bite my tongue. I shouldn't ignore my sister's calls, but I'm not sure I can put on a happy face about this divorce shit.
I let it go to voicemail.
She calls again.
Fine.
I bring the phone to my ear. "Yes?"
"Nice to talk to you too, Joel."
Okay, I won't snap. "I'm kinda busy. I don't have time to chat."
"I know Mom called you. I saw her talking to you earlier."
I tap my fingers against the back of my cell. I like my parents. I like my whole fucking family. I don't mind being the person everyone calls when they need cheering up. But I can't do it right now. I can't pretend I'm okay with all this. "They made the announcements. They have the divorce party planned for tomorrow. It sounds like everything is on track." This is about as much of this conversation as I can tolerate.
"Mom is… she needs you here. You're her funny little man. Nobody else can make her smile."
I know that. It fucking killed me talking with Mom, hearing that please, Joel, please laugh this off so I can laugh it off too tone to her voice, and not being able to deliver. It's still killing me. "I'll make her smile another time."
She sighs. "Promise you'll call Mom tomorrow."
"Yeah, but if she asks what I think about this—"
"Change the subject. You're good at that. Like when I ask if you're dating anyone—"
"I got the point."
"And promise you'll call Dad."
"If you promise not to say the word divorce to me again for a while."
"Okay. Thanks, Joel. Love you."
"Love you too." I hang up the phone. I try to tur
n my attention back to the storied crime procedural, but I can't find humor in any of the wisecracks.
Divorce is my new least favorite word.
But it's the only word in my brain. The entire episode of Law and Order, and the one that comes after, my brain is screaming Mom and Dad are getting a divorce.
Marriage is bullshit.
Until death do us part is bullshit.
It's all bullshit.
I lie back on the couch and try to make my mind blank. No amount of closing my eyes or focusing on my breathing helps me wipe the word divorce from my thoughts.
Usually, I know what I want and where I stand. I want to be behind my drum kit. Then I want to be inside a beautiful woman. Then I want to crash in my bed, alone.
Right now, Bella is in my bed.
I want to be inside her, but I don't want to be alone after.
I don't want to kiss her goodbye after breakfast.
Fuck. I've dealt with a lot of weird shit since I started touring, but being a married man takes the cake.
In the morning, I try to get back to my usual routine. I get ready. I head to the gym down the street. It's early enough that no one is looking for celebrities.
I spend an hour sweating through my legs routine, but the entire time I'm lacking focus. Between my parents' divorce and Bella in my bed, I'm distracted.
I try to shake it off on the walk home. I've got three missed calls from Mal. And a voicemail.
A guitar riff flows through the speakers. It's Good Dirty, the song that has been haunting the singer for the last month.
This riff is different than what we've got so far. Really fucking different.
But it's perfect.
I text Mal.
Joel: That's it.
Mal: I'll be at your apartment in twenty minutes.
Finally, my thoughts settle. The riff plays in my head as I get home and get into the shower.
I turn the water, wrap a towel around my hips, and I slip into my bedroom.
Bella stirs. Her eyes blink open. She reaches for her glasses on the bedside table and slides them on.
"Hey." She gives me a long once-over. Her tongue slides over her lips. Her eyes fill with desire.
With sunlight streaming in through the windows behind her, Bella really does look like an angel.
I can't help myself. "Good morning, angel."
She cocks a brow. "Angel?"
"You disagree?"
She shakes her head. "I've never had a pet name before." Her lips curl into a smile. She likes it.
Fuck, I like it a little too much. Corrupting the sweet, innocent angel… it's incredibly fucking hot.
Her eyes stay glued to me as she pushes herself to a seated position. She gives me another once-over. This time, her gaze lingers on my hips.
I drop my towel.
She pants.
I stare into her pretty brown eyes. "I'm going to make some noise for a while. You mind?"
"Depends on what you're doing."
Fuck, I like the way she thinks. "Music. Mal's coming over. He figured out the perfect riff."
Finally, her eyes meet mine. "The lead singer. The one who agrees about making your songs radio friendly."
I chuckle. "You have a good memory."
"That's nothing."
"You have dirt?"
She nods. "I shouldn't have been looking, but I couldn't sleep last night…" Her voice gets low, breathy. She might as well scream I was thinking about you, inside me.
"You gonna fill me in?" I tease.
She barely managed to drag her eyes from my chest. She shakes her head. "My secret."
The doorbell rings. That must be Mal.
I take a step backwards. "It might be a while."
She nods. "You mind if I watch?"
I let me voice get low and seductive. "Angel, you can watch me anytime you want."
Mal has his guitar slung around one shoulder. He has Kit's practice bass slung around the other.
"Kit's going to kill you if you break that," I say.
"I won't."
I motion come in.
He does. He goes straight to my practice room and sets the bass in a stand in the corner.
Usually, Mal is as steady as an anchor. Right now, he's hopped up on I need to get this song right and I'm fucking close energy.
I run a hand through my wet hair. "I have a guest. We need to keep it down."
Mal nods. He gives me a paternal once-over. He takes in my left hand then he's looking me in the eyes. He cocks a brow. Explain.
"My wife is sleeping."
"Your wife?"
I nod like I've had a wife for years. Like my wife isn't planning on divorcing me in a week.
"You're married?"
"It's all over TMZ."
"I don't read gossip."
"You should. Those sites say a lot of shit about you."
He stares into my eyes. I can see why Mal has no trouble picking up women, but I don't need this kind of intimacy. Not with him.
I motion to his guitar. "Let's get to it."
"Hold on." He turns to his phone and taps out a few messages. "You trust me?"
"You know I don't."
His phone buzzes. "Too bad." It buzzes again. "You've already been outvoted." He shows me his screen.
Mal: Joel has a wife. Who votes we have a show ASAP?
Ethan: I'm in.
Kit: Me too.
"You're an asshole," I say.
"You don't want her to see you play?"
He's still an asshole, but it's a good point. If I want Bella sticking around, I need her seeing me at my best. And behind my drum kit is where I'm at my best.
He taps out another message. "Tomorrow work?"
"Sounds like I'm outvoted. Does it matter if tomorrow works for me?"
He chuckles. "I try to accommodate."
"Tomorrow is fine."
He slides his phone into his pocket. "We go on at ten in Hollywood. Soundcheck is seven."
"How the fuck did you do that so fast?"
"Alessandra owes me a favor."
I raise a brow. Mal cleans up, but I can't imagine him sleeping with our tough as nails booking agent slash tour manager. She's an attractive woman, but she's not Mal's type. He prefers them… inexperienced.
He chuckles. "Not that kind of favor." He shoots me a look. "You're really married?"
"Yeah."
He gives me another prying look. "Congratulations."
"Thanks." I clear my throat. I'm not liking the direction this conversation is going. "Shall we?"
His expression is as incredulous as the day is long. Even so, he connects his guitar to the amp in the corner.
He adjusts his guitar and plays the riff.
There's no cell speaker muffling it. No wind. No city sounds.
It's just my ears and the music.
"Play it again," I demand.
He does.
"It's fucking perfect."
"I know." He nods to the drum kit.
The man doesn't have to ask twice. I pick up my sticks, slide behind the drums, and I start playing.
The old drum line doesn't sound right. This new riff is harder, moodier.
I let my hands take over. They tap out a new beat. That one isn't quite right. I try another. Another. Another dozen.
There.
A buzz fills my body. There's nothing like writing a song, getting every element working together.
I nod to Mal. He nods back. We play the entire fucking song. It's the same chord progression for the chorus. The same breakdown. The same outro. But with the new riff, it's perfect.
We play it again and again, adjusting our parts a little every time. I'm dripping with sweat and my shoulders are aching, but nothing is going to stop me from finishing this.
This is where I belong.
I'm so lost in the song, I don't notice Bella come in. She's in jeans and a cardigan. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun. Those hipster librarian glasses are fr
aming her eyes.
Fuck, she looks good all prim and proper and corruptible.
"Sorry, angel. You know I can't keep it down," I tease.
She smiles and tilts her head to one side. It's like she's analyzing my words. She knows I'm stepping into that Joel Young, life of the party role.
Mal looks to me and cocks a brow. Really, angel?
I shrug.
"Flirt after you introduce me." He turns to Bella. "Malcolm Strong but everyone calls me Mal."
"Bella Chase." She moves forward to shake his hand. "I'm going to sit in the corner and watch. Or maybe just listen." She holds up her e-reader with her left hand. "I have plenty to entertain myself."
"What are you reading?" Mal asks.
Her eyes meet mine. She winks. "Something about the power of phallic imagery."
"Any chance you play the bass?" he asks.
She shakes her head. "I don't even know what the difference between a bass and a guitar is."
Mal motions to me. Come on.
Okay. I see his game.
This will be fun.
I push off my drum kit. "You want to learn?"
Her brown eyes fill with apprehension. "No, I don't think so. I'm not very musical."
"This is an easy riff," I say.
"And there's no way you're worse than Joel," Mal teases.
I laugh. "It's too much to keep track of, the four strings. Much easier to hit things with sticks."
Bella smiles. "You should contribute to this phallic imagery series."
I laugh. "I'll tell you a lot about phallic imagery if you try this."
She shakes her head.
I lean in to whisper. "Because you might not be great right away?"
She says nothing.
I pull her closer. "Give me ten minutes."
Her voice is still nervous. "I don't know…"
Mal shoots me a cutting look. "Save the dirty talk for when I leave."
She blushes. After a deep breath, her cheeks lose some of their pinkish hue. She turns to me with a nod. "Okay. I'll give it a shot."
I pick up Kit's practice bass and I help Bella sling it around her shoulders.
She's incredibly awkward with the instrument. Her shoulders are stiff. Her stance is stiffer.
"Here." I stand behind her, my chest against her back. God, she's warm and soft. It makes it difficult to focus.
I want her in a way I've never wanted anyone.
Not just her pleasure or her laughter, but her heart.
Her mind.
Dangerous Rock: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 3) Page 7
