“Sure.”
I watched him leave, then exhaled. When did we get here? Ash, worrying about me? Wanting me to call him when I got wherever I was going and check in?
I gathered my small personal items from the room, some makeup and my phone, and shoved them into my tote. Joanie would arrange for the rest—clothes and shoes, and flowers people had sent for me—to be packed up and taken to my house. At least Ash hadn’t sent flowers; they were from my publicist and the record company and my girlfriend, Summer.
I waited a few minutes to be sure Ash had cleared out before emerging from the room, all the while wondering, when did we get here? Me, hiding out, to avoid Ash?
God. What a shit show.
I knew I was gonna have to deal with him. He was starting to act like a possessive boyfriend, when I didn’t particularly want a boyfriend.
And even if I did… I definitely didn’t want him to be Ashley Player.
Ash was great—as a friend. And as a friend with benefits—yeah. He was super fucking hot. He definitely knew what to do with his pierced tongue and his pierced dick.
He was not, however, boyfriend material.
Though I probably should’ve thought of that before I fucked him.
It wasn’t like I didn’t know, from the very start, that this whole “friends with benefits” deal was a bad idea.
Chapter Six
Elle
I found Brody in the hallway, alone, talking on his phone. As I approached, I heard him say, “I’ll call you in a bit… ’Bye, baby.” Which meant he was talking to Jessa.
Jesse’s sister was officially part of Dirty again; we’d contracted her as a songwriter. But she wasn’t part of the audition process. She was home in Vancouver right now, which meant Brody was calling her every chance he got to check in and keep her updated. Because that’s what people did when they were a couple.
In what world did “friends with benefits” need to check in?
I tried to just let my irritation over the conversation with Ash roll off. Right now, I needed all my irritation for Brody.
“Well that was bullshit,” I told him, when he looked up and saw me coming.
“Which part?” he asked flatly. Clearly he was as unimpressed as I was with what went down in that audition—just for different reasons.
“You,” I said bluntly. “Walking out.”
“You know I’m not gonna do anything to upset Jessa right now,” he said. And yes, I knew that.
And no, I didn’t blame him for it.
But that still didn’t make what had happened in there okay.
“Brody, you’ve always been honest with me. When Jesse wasn’t… you know, happy, when we were together… you were the only one who was truly, painfully honest with me. So I’m asking you to dig deep and be honest with me now.” I took a breath and asked him: “Do you really believe Seth did something out of line with Jessa?”
I wasn’t going to say the word rape. I just couldn’t.
I’d never been able to reconcile that word with Seth and Jessa in my head.
Months ago, long after Brody had spat that word in Seth’s face, when I’d asked Jessa if she’d wanted Seth fired and she’d admitted to me that she didn’t, I’d decided that “rape” was most likely an incredibly inflammatory word for whatever had actually happened between the two of them, selected by Brody’s male ego, to sum up his personal feelings about the matter.
I’d never shared that theory with anyone.
But he knew what I was asking.
He said nothing, his deep blue eyes fixed on me, and his face, well… I could tell he was struggling not to be pissed at me. So that was something.
“I mean,” I pushed on, “other than just be a stupid, lonely kid who took too many drugs and maybe fell in love?”
“I don’t wanna hear about it, Elle,” he said quietly. Too quietly.
“Too bad. He was an orphan, Brody—”
“You can save the poor lonely orphan story, Elle. I’ve heard it all before. From Jessa. And what he was was a grown-ass man.”
“He was nineteen,” I fired back. “And he was an orphan. And an addict. And we were all he had.”
“Where the fuck is this coming from?” Brody demanded, more than a little venom in his voice, and it took me aback. Brody had never talked to me like this, but of course, when it came to Jessa, the man was an overprotective bear. Always had been.
“It’s coming from my gut,” I said. “Because I didn’t see a guilty man on that stage today. Did you?”
Brody’s chest rose as he drew a deep, incredibly slow breath—maybe part of his anger management therapy. Then he said, quietly, “Jessa’s part of Dirty, Elle. She’s got a contract. Unless that changes, I don’t see Seth fitting in, do you?”
I didn’t have an answer for that. I wasn’t about to stand here and speak for Jessa, like he was. But I meant what I’d said.
Why would a guilty man come back, and get up on that stage, in front of all of us, in front of the cameras, in front of the world, just to play his heart out for us and risk rejection all over again?
Risk another broken nose, or worse?
I turned on my heel and walked away.
“Let me know when you’re coming back from Kauai,” Brody said behind me, but I didn’t even answer. I hadn’t yet told anyone exactly when I’d be back, for a reason. I didn’t know when I’d be back.
Right now, I felt no obligation to be anywhere other than on that beach. My only pressing commitment was to Dirty, finding a guitarist and finishing the album, which had been put on hold, again, while we filmed this thing. I’d come back for that when I was needed.
Until then, I was on vacation.
On my way out, there was one more person I hoped to see, though. I knew Jude had to have let Seth into the bar, because no one got past Jude and his team.
But no one knew where he was.
I told Joanie I was ready to leave, and on our way out, Flynn appeared. A longtime member of our security team, Flynn had been “promoted” this year—assigned to me, as my personal bodyguard and driver; ever since my solo album launched me into an even higher level of the megastardom stratosphere a few years back, Jude no longer let me go anywhere without one.
The three of us, Flynn, Joanie and I, headed out back. Jude’s bike was still here, but he was nowhere to be seen, and I wasn’t going back inside to look for him.
I’d just have to talk to him later.
Liv was outside, her crew loading equipment into a couple of giant trucks. “Elle,” she said, falling into step with me. I didn’t even stop. “Can I ask you about Seth? On-camera?”
“Not right now.” That was my polite way of saying Not ever.
“Just a teeny, tiny soundbite?” she pressed. “Something. Anything? I need a reaction from someone in the band. Just a few words?”
“She said not now.” That was Flynn. Somehow, he managed to angle his broad shoulders in-between us and stop Liv in her tracks as I slipped into the SUV with Joanie.
“Sorry, Liv,” I said, again to be polite. I wasn’t sorry.
I was accustomed to cameras, but I was done with this whole documentary experience. Cameras and crew in my face all day, every day for the last three weeks. First, interviews with all of us, then behind-the-scenes stuff with the band, playing at the church, doing what we do on a daily basis. They’d filmed me working out, getting my hair and makeup done, eating lunch with Dylan—as if that was somehow interesting?—whatever they could get. Then the two straight weeks of auditions, with insanely long hours every day.
I liked Liv, but I’d had enough.
Flynn shut my door and went around to the driver’s seat.
“Don’t worry about Liv,” Joanie said supportively. “We’ll schedule another interview, if and when you’re ready. If not, I’ll talk to Brody.”
That had become her mantra of late.
I’ll talk to Brody.
I’ll talk to Jesse.
She�
�d even gone so far as to step up with I’ll talk to Zane.
The woman was fearless. She took her job seriously and she’d come through for me, big time, since the breakup with Jesse. Taken it upon herself to deal with shit she really didn’t need to, just so I didn’t have to.
These days, I didn’t know what the hell I’d do without her.
“It’ll be fine,” I told her as we pulled out, a statement that was neither here nor there. Did I want her to fight my battles with Brody for me?
No.
Would I let her?
Possibly, yes.
I sighed and sank into my seat, trying not to look at Liv standing there in the lot, watching me drive away. I could feel the question in her eyes, following me: What are you all hiding?
What are you so afraid of?
Liv really missed her calling as an investigative journalist.
“Do you want to go over things now?” Joanie offered, probably trying to distract me.
“In a minute. Just make sure my schedule is totally cleared for the next few days. Like, I want to owe nothing, and to no one.” One could only dream.
Talented as she was, though, Joanie wasn’t a miracle worker.
“You want me to reschedule the call with Danielle?”
Shit. Danielle. I’d forgotten I was supposed to have an important conference call with my publicist and her team.
“That’s Monday?”
“It’s tomorrow,” Joanie said. “But I can get it moved.”
A bold offer, since Danielle had been all over me the last few weeks about this meeting. We had a lot to talk about with the upcoming Kiss & Tell campaign; my new lipstick line was launching in two months. She was not gonna be happy to hear from Joanie on this instead of me.
“Move it to next week,” I said. “I need seven days. Just get me seven days and I’ll love you forever.”
“You already love me forever,” she said.
“I really, really do.” I put my head back on the seat. “Music. Please.”
Joanie tapped her phone, and through the wonders of Bluetooth, Lenny Kravitz’s “Always on the Run” filled the air. Joanie had everything I’d ever want to hear at her fingertips; she was that good to me. I should’ve been thinking about giving her another raise. As soon as I was back from vacay…
As we slid to a stop at a red light, I rolled my head to gaze out the tinted window. And I saw him there.
It was pretty dark out… but it was definitely him.
Sitting on the curb in front of the taco place across from the bar. He was leaned back against the drive-thru sign, like some street busker, but his guitar case, discarded next to him, wasn’t open for change. The dirty old man sitting next to him—and he was literally dirty—was holding his acoustic, and the two of them were chatting.
“Fuck me.” I sat up.
The old man was obviously homeless. But despite his faded T-shirt and the rips in his jeans, Seth Brothers was far from that.
Wasn’t he?
Jesus, what was he doing? Hanging out on the curb like yesterday’s trash…?
Was he scoring drugs?
The thought passed through my mind, far too disturbing to ponder for any length of time.
“Stop. Pull over!” I called up to Flynn as we started to drive off. “Can you pull around? To the taco place.”
“You want drive-thru?” Flynn asked; I never ate fast food. But he threw on his turn signal and squeezed into the turning lane.
“Just pull into the lot,” I said.
He did. He pulled around into one of the narrow spots along the side of the taco place and I immediately hopped out. Flynn got out behind me to stand guard, because that’s what Flynn did, even if I was just buying a taco.
But I walked right past the door of the restaurant and over to Seth. The old homeless man was twiddling on the guitar; they were talking about music, as far as I could tell. The old man looked up at me first. When he saw me standing over them, his eyes widened in his heavily-lined face.
Then Seth looked up, too.
“I want to talk to you,” I said.
I did. As soon as I saw him sitting here on the curb… I just had to.
“This your girl?” the old man asked, smiling. His words were slurry. He sounded drunk, maybe, or unwell. Or it could’ve just been his age and the missing teeth.
“No,” Seth said. He was looking up at me with caution. Confusion. Wondering what the fuck I was doing here, probably. But his tone was calm and level when he said, “This is Elle.”
“Elle,” the old man repeated, savoring the sound of my name. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Looks like I’ve gotta go, Gus,” Seth told the old man, but his eyes were still on me.
“Sometimes the angels come a-callin’,” the old man mused, handing over Seth’s guitar. “Be a fool of a man to pass ’em up.”
Seth packed his acoustic away and got to his feet. He was still looking at me when he said, “Isn’t that the truth.”
“I’m no angel,” I told the old man, mostly because I felt uncomfortable looking Seth in the eye. He was mere feet away from me, and I wasn’t ready for that.
“Look like one to me,” the old man said, still smiling his gummy smile at me.
I turned and walked back to the SUV. Flynn met me halfway, or rather, he intercepted Seth.
“Where’s he going?”
I stifled the urge to roll my eyes. “You can pat him down if you want to,” I said. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”
I wasn’t sure of that, but I wanted Flynn to feel ridiculous for thinking it.
He looked Seth over, but let it drop. As I gestured for Joanie to vacate the back seat, he took Seth’s guitar cases from him without a word and loaded them into the back of the truck. Joanie slipped out and hurried up to the front, and we—Seth and I—got into the back.
“Where to?” Flynn asked me as he settled into the driver’s seat.
“The airport,” I answered, because nothing had changed. I was sleeping in Kauai tonight, and nothing was getting in the way of that.
After a brief hesitation, during which I assumed Flynn was considering saying more—but wisely chose not to—he started up the truck and got us on our way.
“You want music?” Joanie asked from the front. Translation: Should I put the music back on so it’s harder for us to eavesdrop?
“Yes,” I said, and she cranked up Lenny.
After a tense few blocks, I managed to look over at Seth.
He was sitting there looking uncomfortable and somehow laid-back at the same time. His eyes met mine instantly, and I saw the trepidation there. He had no idea what this was.
Neither did I, just yet.
“What were you doing?” I asked him, much more contempt in my voice than was warranted. “Busking?”
“I was talking to Gus,” he said evenly. “He was teaching me a song.”
“He was teaching you?”
“He had a band back in the day. Played the blues.”
“Oh.”
Well, that was lovely. A glimpse of where Seth might’ve ended up if he hadn’t gotten clean, maybe. I wasn’t even sure why that made me so damn uncomfortable. Guilt?
“You have a lot of friends on the street?”
“Some,” he said, seemingly unfazed by that concept.
I let it drop. But I kept looking at him, even when he looked away.
When he was onstage in the bar, I hadn’t gotten a very good look. The screen wasn’t out of the way for long, and I was so shocked, not to mention distracted by the tension in the room and the reactions of everyone else, that I hadn’t fully absorbed what I was seeing.
He looked good. Really good.
Healthy.
And the shorter hair suited him.
He’d taken his shades off, and his eyes met mine again. Those were the same as ever. A pale, smoky green, almost grayish, with gold around the pupils. But there was someth
ing in them I couldn’t put my finger on. Something new. A self-assurance, maybe. A maturity.
But just like when I saw him onstage tonight… I did not see a guilty man looking back at me.
“I’m listening,” he said. “Whatever you have to say, you can say it.”
“Not yet,” I said. And I told him, “I’m still pissed at you.”
I really was.
There was a whole shitload of conflicting feelings swirling through me right now, some of them ugly, but I knew better than to let them all come spilling out. First, I needed a little time to gather my thoughts so I wouldn’t explode in anger. Or guilt—which was anger at myself.
He didn’t flinch, didn’t even blink when he said, “I know.”
I tore my eyes away and dug my phone out of my purse, mostly because I wanted him to think I had something else I needed to do. Though all I really needed to do right now was scrape my head together. It was an impulse, picking him up. But I didn’t regret it. I just couldn’t stand the sight of him sitting there on the street.
Guilt, yes. But something else, too.
It was wrong.
Seth had been my friend once. A good friend. A true friend.
Over the years, I’d definitely come to learn the value of a true friend. They were fucking invaluable.
How could I just drive on by, like Seth never meant anything to me at all?
I couldn’t. Maybe Brody could. Maybe the guys in the band could.
I could not.
When I checked my phone, I already had texts from Jesse, Ash, Maggie and Liv, but I ignored them all. Joanie had also texted me, from the front seat.
Joanie: Everything ok?
I texted her back a quick Yes. Because everything was okay. At least, with our travel plans.
I still could not wait to get out of here.
I was still weary as fuck of all the stand-offs. Jesse and Zane, locking horns over every guitarist we auditioned—Seth included. And now Brody was so pissed he’d walked out on the band. Maggie and Zane didn’t even seem to be talking to each other lately, and I wasn’t even sure if anyone else had noticed, or if it was just me. I knew I should check in with her about that, see if everything was okay, let her know she could talk to me. God knew she’d refereed Zane’s battles with everyone else; if she was having issues with him herself, someone should step up.
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 6
