And I had to admit, ever since Ash had serenaded me with a Calvin Harris song—the night we first hooked up—I’d become hooked on Calvin Harris’s music. Not because it reminded me of Ash. Because it reminded me of letting go, of moving forward; of better times to come.
After I ate, I reclined on one of the long lounge chairs on the patio in my bikini, still feeling a little tired. It was my favorite bikini, my sexiest bikini, the one I wore when I wanted to catch some sun and feel good about myself. I wouldn’t have worn it if Seth or Flynn were here—it was that sexy. But Joanie said Seth had gone shopping, and I knew Flynn would keep himself scarce until he was needed, which meant neither of them would be subjected to my near-nakedness in my custom-made cream crochet bikini. My unlined crochet bikini.
Not only was it skimpy, it had holes in it. The breeze went right through it. If you had the balls to look really, really closely, you could see my nipples through it… among other things. I always made sure I was completely shaved before putting it on.
Kinda felt like being naked, without actually being naked.
In fact… it felt kinda like a waste that no one was here to see me in it. On further consideration, it was really more of a bikini you wore to catch some sun, feel good about yourself and show off for a man.
So I did the next best thing. I took a hot selfie and sent it to my most incredibly-supportive girlfriend, one who always appreciated sexting, even if it only came from me.
Summer: Hawt!!!!!
Me: Kauai baby!
Summer: Hope you brought a man with you.
Summer: Or an anatomically-correct toy.
I hesitated to respond.
But it was Summer; I told her pretty much everything, and God knew she was not shy—at all—about telling me every fucking detail of her intimate life.
So I replied…
Me: I brought Seth.
Summer: Whatnow?
So I guessed she hadn’t heard about the big scandal yet.
Me: Don’t ask.
Her responses came in, rapid-fire:
Summer: I’m asking
Summer: Considering you’re wearing the worlds tiniest excuse for a bikini…
Summer: Maybe I don’t need to ask?
Summer: Ok I’m asking
Summer: Seth Brothers, right?
Me: The one and only.
Summer: When did this happen??
Me: Nothing happened.
I considered adding, We’re just friends. But I didn’t know if we were friends.
We used to be. And I knew I still wanted to be. Maybe that’s what this was all about. Salvaging a friendship, if a working relationship was out of the question?
And in that case… maybe it was up to Seth if we were friends.
Me: We’re talking.
Summer: Uh huh. You’ve been known to wear that to biz meetings.
Me: He’s not here.
Me: I’ll get dressed before he gets back.
Summer: Or don’t.
Then she sent a devil face.
Me: I could wear this to talk to entire band and maybe they’d listen to me for once?
Summer: Mmm… not.
Summer: Sorry, hon. Gotta go. Strutting into lunch meeting.
Me: Your life is so glam
Then I sent her a series of hearts and kissy faces. Because I loved her like that.
Summer: You know it. Check in later babe.
Summer: Where’s Ash?
Right. Ash.
Summer’s ex-boyfriend.
The two of them were still good friends. Such good friends that she had no problem whatsoever with me hooking up with him, as evidenced by the fact that she’d given me the green light, long before we hooked up, “just in case.” Maybe she’d sensed he was into me. Either way, I’d never felt bad hooking up with him, where she was concerned; there was no need.
But somehow, I felt bad about her finding out I was cutting him loose. Because she was still protective of him, even if not possessive.
Me: He stayed back.
Me: Talk later babe. XO
I figured I had a little wiggle room, maybe, to wait to talk to her about it in person. In case she was upset about it.
Obviously, he hadn’t said anything to her about it yet.
I lay back and just tried to chill out about it. About everything. Fortunately, it didn’t take too long to get there. It was Hawaii. Chill was in the air.
Besides that, Bruno Mars was playing, “That’s What I Like.” While I lay there, actually feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks—if not months—and all kinds of sexy, I wondered, briefly, if I’d made a mistake not bringing Ash here with me.
But I knew that was just my horny, almost-naked pussy talking.
The rest of me was glad Ash wasn’t here. Especially when he texted me not long after.
Ash: What’s the deal with Seth?
I wasn’t sure if he was asking what was going on with Seth and Dirty, and/or with Seth and me, but if he was being passive-aggressive and accusing me of something—messing around with Seth?—while trying to pass it off as concern about the band, it was thinly-veiled.
At that point, I turned off my phone.
And I thought about what Joanie had told me.
She said Seth had gone to buy some clothes, since he hadn’t brought any extra with him. She’d told him Woo had some random stuff in the guest rooms he could use, but he declined that. Maybe he didn’t want to impose. Maybe he felt uncomfortable here, but apparently he’d been nothing short of completely courteous with Joanie and Flynn. He’d gone grocery shopping with Joanie this morning and made everyone fresh-squeezed orange juice and banana pancakes, which I didn’t even know was a thing, despite the Jack Johnson song.
Joanie had even caught him chatting with Flynn over coffee, out in the driveway after breakfast, and it was rare that either of us caught anyone chatting with Flynn. The man didn’t exactly talk much. But apparently, he and Seth were now coffee buddies.
Never saw that coming.
I had to wonder if Seth had even slept.
I knew he’d been careful with me, feeling me out. Letting me work on the plane. Not pushing for conversation. Clearly, he was letting me take the lead in how things unfolded between us. I knew this was on purpose and I not only appreciated it, I respected it.
Too many people in my life did not know when to back off and give me space. Or, frankly, shut their mouths.
As the afternoon waned, I felt closer to being ready to talk to him some more. To really talk. And maybe let my guard down a bit. The sleep and the sunshine had helped me to process what we’d discussed last night. By now, I’d pretty much cooled off. Any anger I’d felt at the audition, and afterward, had dissipated. It was really just a knee-jerk reaction, based on things that were long in the past.
And anyway, I’d had an epiphany today.
Last night, after we’d talked, Seth had asked me if I thought I could ever forgive him. I couldn’t really give him an answer, but not because I couldn’t forgive him. It had only started to become clear to me when I woke up this afternoon: I didn’t really believe in forgiveness.
For a long time, after Jesse broke up with me, I wanted him to forgive me. I kept waiting for him to change his mind and ask me to get back together with him, and when that didn’t happen, I started hoping he’d forgive me for whatever I did that was so wrong. I even asked him, once, if he was ever going to do that.
He’d looked completely stunned by the question.
Because of course, there was nothing to forgive. It wasn’t like he was mad at me for what happened between us, for our relationship not working out. At first, I was kind of confused about that. How could I make amends with him if there was nothing to forgive? Maybe I magically wanted something to change, to make things better between us.
But that wasn’t going to happen overnight.
We’d shared an intimacy that, in the end, hadn’t worked for us, and now we had to live with it.
<
br /> His way of living with it was to move on—big time.
For me, it had taken a lot longer.
But as time passed, I’d come to the realization that I actually hadn’t done anything wrong in that relationship. I was just me, and that wasn’t what he wanted.
I didn’t need anyone to forgive me for that.
And I didn’t need to forgive Seth Brothers for being who he was. No matter how much his actions had hurt me, hurt the band, hurt himself, he didn’t need forgiveness from me. In my mind, forgiveness implied that you were better than someone else, that they were seeking some kind of absolution from you. And that felt all wrong to me. I didn’t want to have that kind of power over anyone.
I wasn’t better than Seth, just like Jesse wasn’t better than me. So I wasn’t looking to forgive or to be forgiven anymore. We’d all made mistakes. We were all entitled to carry on, to make mistakes again, to do our best. To be human.
Personally, all I really wanted was to be free to be me with the people who were closest to me—flaws, fuck-ups and all. Not Elle the rock star. Just Elle.
And to be loved for who I really was.
That meant accepting other people as they really were, too.
Like Jesse. Because Jesse Mayes was not the man of my dreams; I’d come to accept that much. He was just Jesse.
And now, he was Katie’s husband.
The man of her dreams.
I wanted to look at him without seeing all the mistakes we’d both made, and just see him—without wanting things to be any different than they were.
And ultimately, that was the same thing I wanted with Seth.
I just wasn’t sure how to explain all of that to Seth without sounding cheesy or insincere—given how I’d essentially dropped the ball on our friendship for so damn long—or rambling on about The Great Lessons I’d Learned From My Broken Heart… Or how to show him.
Maybe bringing him here was a first step?
Maybe that’s why I knew it was the right thing to do, even if everyone else disagreed.
I just knew I had to find out who the man really was. Because how could I get to making peace with the past, accepting Seth as he was—then and now—and being any kind of friend to him, when I didn’t even know that much?
As of right now, I was willing to start fresh. To wipe the slate clean of assumptions and give him a chance.
The fact was, it had been years since Seth and I had spent time alone together. And we’d never spent time together when he wasn’t using, until this year. For all I knew, back then, I’d never had a conversation with Seth Brothers when he wasn’t under the influence of drugs.
How could I possibly make a decision on where he fit with the band, or where he fit into my life, if we didn’t even know each other anymore?
And maybe, to be fair to both of us, we never really did.
“Mai tai?”
Sometime later, I looked up to find Seth strolling across the patio toward me, a cocktail in hand. It was colorful and drool-worthy, with a chunk of pineapple on top and a little umbrella.
I sat up a bit. Shit… I’d fallen asleep.
“Thought you could use a cabana boy,” he said. “You know, get the full tropical vacation experience.” He stopped right next to my lounge chair, which I’d dragged into the shade of one of the giant umbrellas when the sun got too high and hot.
“Thanks.” I smiled, tentatively. “I’ve always wanted my very own cabana boy.” I stretched a little and reached to take the drink. As I did, Seth’s gaze flickered down my body.
And I remembered what I was wearing.
My X-rated bikini.
I took the mai tai and sank back into my chair, a little embarrassed. My playlist was still rolling, Maroon 5’s “Sugar” playing, and I felt awkwardly like the star of my own sexy swimsuit video. I could hardly blame him for looking; even Dylan checked me out when he once saw me in this thing, and Dylan was the closest thing to a brother I’d ever had.
As much as Seth and I had once been bandmates, tourmates and friends, he had never felt like a brother to me.
This was evidenced by my own gaze, dropping south of his face. He wasn’t wearing a shirt. I’d actually rarely seen Seth without a shirt. Unlike Jesse, who rarely ever wore a shirt onstage, Seth pretty much always did. And come to think of it, he’d never been one to lounge around half-naked like the other guys seemed perfectly comfortable doing. Not because he was uncomfortable with it, but because he’d never been the attention-whore the other guys were.
Which, in a way, was kind of a shame. For the female fans.
His shopping trip must’ve been successful because his jeans were gone, and in their place, thin white cotton pants sat low on his hips.
He was slimmer than Jesse and Ash. I wasn’t sure why I made that comparison in my head, but there it was.
He was tight though, toned, and cut in all the right places. My gaze followed the suggestive V of his groin down, where it disappeared into his pants… then shot up again, quickly… over his tight abs and his hard chest, to his face. His olive-toned skin set off his grayish-green eyes… which seemed to darken as he looked down at me.
“I wasn’t gonna offer to rub lotion on you or anything,” he said slowly. “That’s where I draw the line.”
“Uh… that’s okay,” I said. “Joanie already took care of that.” Then I laughed a little, thinking I was being funny. Though I realized, belatedly, that now he was probably just picturing Joanie rubbing lotion on me, which was not what I’d intended. Joanie was cute, with her strawberry-blonde hair and rampant freckles. And in this bikini, I was obscene.
That mental image was total spank bank material.
I cleared my throat a little. I’d just woken up; maybe that’s why everything felt a little off. That, and the fact that I was practically naked. In front of Seth.
“Cheers,” I said, raising my drink. It was cold, the glass already dripping with condensation, and I was definitely in the mood for a cold one.
He raised his coffee mug—which I really hoped was just coffee—and we clinked. “Cheers.”
I took a sip of the mai tai. It was delicious, but I hoped he hadn’t taste-tested it. Who knew what a simple sip of fruity cocktail could do to a reformed heroin addict? Not me.
I managed to squeeze out, “Uh… catch up with you later?” as I grew ever more self-conscious in my barely-there bikini.
“Later,” he agreed. His gaze flickered over my bikini again—or my body in the bikini. Then his eyes met mine. His face was carefully blank, and I had no idea what he was thinking.
Well… I had some idea.
He slid his shades, which had been sitting on top of his head, over his eyes.
Then I watched him walk away, across the patio and the lawn, out toward the trees and the rocky path that led down to the beach. His back was as impressive as his front, which was saying a lot. Seth’s face was incredibly easy on a girl’s eyes. He had those soulful, smoky eyes and full, kinda pouty Brad Pitt lips. His toned, tanned back and his tight butt in those low white pants were much the same—drool-worthy.
Objectively speaking… Seth Brothers was totally hot. The fangirls had always loved him, and anyone could see why.
But in my estimation, he was hotter now than when he was with Dirty. He’d been younger then, still boyish, and a junkie. Out of control and reckless, and the girls had liked that about him, too.
Now he was a man, though, which meant he had more to offer. To the fans. To any band that got involved with him.
To any woman who got involved with him.
And what fangirl wouldn’t like that?
Yeah. If we could only find a guitarist as talented as Seth, who could also sing like Seth, write like Seth, and look like Seth…
I settled back in my seat with a sigh and took a cooling sip of my cocktail.
If only Seth Brothers had an identical-looking, identically-talented twin brother who hadn’t broken our hearts… we’d have it made.
Elle
After dinner, I found Seth sitting on the back patio, alone. Joanie had found us a luau to go to, but I really just wanted to stay in, so we’d grilled some fish instead. Or rather, Seth had grilled some fish. He wouldn’t even let me toss the salad to go with it.
I still wasn’t sure if the man had slept.
He was seated in front of the stone fire pit where several chairs were arranged, facing the ocean. As I walked up, he was strumming out a song on an acoustic guitar that wasn’t his. Several other acoustics were propped up on the chairs, or lying in open cases that had been carefully laid out on a blanket in front of him. He wasn’t singing, but as I grew closer, I recognized Paul McCartney’s “Band On the Run.”
And I stood listening for a while.
Seth was one of those natural guitar players who learned songs quickly and made what he did look easy, even when it wasn’t. I knew he would play for the rest of his life, even if Dirty never took him back, even if he never made another penny from playing. He could play with his eyes closed, could probably play in his sleep, and when he wasn’t playing, he was writing or humming or tapping out a rhythm with his fingers. The music was just in his blood.
I’d known a lot of musicians like that. Musicians who were crazy-passionate about music, who oozed talent and seemed to eat, live and breathe what they did. Like Jesse and Dylan. But I knew very few musicians who actually gave the impression they might die without music in their lives.
Zane was like that.
And Seth.
And both of them were addicts, so go figure… maybe there was some connection there.
They were also both incredibly cool, but Zane had a jagged edge that, as a woman, I’d never wanted to get near. Seth had an edge of his own, but it was far less… volatile. And he was always kind of a mystery man. He never seemed to crave the admiration of the fans the way Zane did, yet he had this effortless charisma that was magnetic, made people want to be around him. The guys liked Seth. The girls liked Seth.
Dirty Like Seth: A Dirty Rockstar Romance (Dirty, Book 3) Page 10
