"Oh, well, pop songs fall into five categories. One is let's party." She sticks out her tongue. "Those are the worst, but I get why they need to exist. The next is I'm the best. You see that a lot with rap. Then you have classic love songs. I love you and you love me and we're awesome together. None of those in the Dangerous Noise catalog."
"But we love to party and we're the best?"
"No. Yours nudge into the next category. I love you but you don't love me. But that's not what they're really about…" She looks back at me. "Correct me if I'm wrong."
"What's the last category?"
"Angry break-up songs. I hate you for hurting me. I hate you and you don't love me. You have some of those too."
"You've thought about this."
"I love music."
"And film?"
She nods. "I've wanted to direct music videos since the first time I saw one." Her eyes go to her apartment complex. She pulls her purse into her lap. "I think about songs a lot. Not just yours."
"You're twisting the knife you stuck in my back."
"I'm sure." She presses her lips together. Hugs her bag.
I park on the street, turn off the car, undo my seatbelt.
Lacey undoes her belt and steps out of the car. She slams the door shut. "I hope I didn't ruin your attempt at chivalry."
Her voice wavers. She's nervous.
I step out of the car, lock it, move towards her. "Now that I know you're from the 909, I'll have to watch you and my car closer."
"Haha." She sticks out her tongue. "Because I'd steal it?"
"No."
"No?"
"No." I hold her gaze. "You might stash meth in the glove compartment."
She laughs. "I look like I'm packing meth?"
"Your innocent look is what makes you a good go-between."
"Damn, you've got me all figured out." She moves up the stairs.
I take in her cute ass for a minute then I follow her up the stairs.
She stops in front of her door. Slowly, she pulls her keys from her bag and slides them into the lock. "It's late."
I nod.
"I should get to bed." She turns towards me. Her eyes fix on mine. Her lips part.
"You should."
She moves closer.
Her hand skims my hip.
I'm not inviting myself into her apartment.
Not tonight.
But I can't leave without tasting her lips.
I have to know what it feels like when she's really reacting to me.
I press my palm into her lower back and pull her body onto mine. Her crotch presses against mine. Her stomach. Her chest.
She looks up at me.
Then she's rising to her tiptoes, her eyelids fluttering together.
I dig my other hand into her dark hair and I bring my lips to hers.
Soft.
Then hard.
Her lips part as she groans against my mouth.
Her hips buck against mine.
Fuck, I can't remember the last time someone wanted me this much.
I slide my tongue into her mouth. I pin her to the door. She's soft and eager and fuck, the things I want to do to her.
But this is just a taste.
I pull back.
Slowly, her eyelids flutter open. She presses her lips together. "Goodnight, Mal."
"Goodnight."
I watch her step into her apartment and listen for the click of the lock.
Every muscle in my body begs me to knock on that door.
To invite myself into her bed.
Somehow, I force myself to my car.
The drive home takes too fucking long.
For once, the emptiness of the giant house doesn't mock me.
I need it empty.
I need to fill this place with noise.
I step into the master bathroom and kick off my shoes. I pull off my socks. I'm too sweaty. My t-shirt sticks to my skin.
My jeans fight me.
The boxers too.
Damn, my head is already full of thoughts of Lacey.
I run the water and step into the shower.
I wrap my hand around my cock and I think of the taste of her lips.
Her soft groans vibrating down my neck.
Her hips rocking against mine.
That cardigan on my floor.
My hands under that tiny crop top, pushing aside her bra, teasing her nipples until she's panting and groaning.
Until she's begging.
Until she's so fucking wet I can feel it through those tiny shorts.
Fuck, I come so hard I see white.
I don't want to break her heart.
But there's no fucking way I'm letting this end without getting her in my bed.
7
Lacey
All week, I try to keep Mal and the Hurt Me, Baby video out of mind.
I fail epically. Of course, Mal is texting me about everything and nothing.
I'm only human. I text him back during breaks and at night.
I text him at the gym.
I text him at red lights.
I text him between episodes of Futurama, during opening and closing credits of every old Hollywood film I watch, and during commercial breaks.
And when I'm supposed to be replying to Carrie.
And when I'm supposed to be working.
My job doesn't demand too much, mentally. It's mostly grunt work. Even so, I'm too far off in the clouds to do my best. I flip the caramel to vanilla ratio in Danielle's coffee. I drive to the wrong dry cleaner. I call a drama queen rapper by his rival's name.
Friday, I get to work determined to get my head in gear. No rock stars on my brain. Well, besides the one I have to research for Danielle today.
No thinking about Mal rolling around in that messy bed.
No thinking about Mal pinning me to the wall as his lips brush mine.
No thinking about his lips, period.
Danielle isn't here. She's at some meeting—she goes to a lot of meetings. It's just me and the computer and the big, empty room. The bed is gone. Everything is gone. Everything but this desk.
I try to stare at the monitor, but my eyes refuse. They want to stare at the footage. At Mal. I want him in my bed, stripping for me, kissing me, wanting me.
No pretending.
No business.
Nothing but our bodies.
Fuck, I need to get a grip. I suck down my iced green tea then suck on an ice cube.
Bad move.
It's only filling my head with delicious mental images.
Fuck it.
I pull out my cell and text Mal.
Lacey: I've got the video polished. It's nearly done.
Mal: Show me.
Lacey: It's on my external drive. I don't have it right now.
Mal: You're at work?
Lacey: Yeah. I shouldn't be texting. Even if I'm alone.
Mal: This is a booty call.
Lacey: No.
Mal: You're telling me you're alone.
Lacey: At work!
Mal: You remember last time we were together at your work?
Lacey: The bed was a special feature. For your video only.
Mal: And the counter in the bathroom?
Lacey: I'm not sure what you mean.
Mal: Yes you are.
Lacey: I'm not.
Mal: You've never fucked on that counter?
Lacey: God no.
Mal: But you've walked in on fucks on that counter.
Lacey: Maybe.
Mal: On a guy bending a woman over the sink and slamming into her until the mirror is shaking.
Lacey: No comment.
Mal: Or a woman perched on the sink, a guy on his knees, licking her until she's coming on his face, screaming loud enough you have to cut the camera.
Lacey: I'm booty calling you?
Mal: Hey. This is innocent.
Lacey: Innocent dirty talk?
Mal: I'm trying to reactivate your memory.
Lacey: Uh-huh.
Mal: What are you doing tomorrow?
Lacey: The gym. Then I need to take another crack at re-editing my thesis film. I never got it quite right.
Mal: What are you doing for fun?
Lacey: I don't have time for fun.
Mal: Ever?
Lacey: Not since I moved out. Why?
Mal: Come over tomorrow.
Lacey: To your place?
Mal: Yes.
Lacey: But I'm the one booty calling you?
Mal: Yeah.
Lacey: I reject these claims.
Mal: I'll make a note. I need to be sure you're in for the video. Our timeline got pushed up.
Lacey: Something wrong?
Mal: Boring shit with the label. It's good, overall, but it means we need to do this fast. I need to know you're prepared to direct the Tangled video.
Those butterflies in my stomach demand my attention. I want to direct Mal's video. No, I need to.
But it's also fucking terrifying, taking on a job this big.
Knowing it means putting in notice with Danielle sooner rather than later.
Knowing it means letting go of the only stable thing in my life.
This is a great opportunity.
I can't turn it down.
Lacey: I'm in. A hundred percent in.
Mal: Good. Come to my place tomorrow. Eleven a.m.
Lacey: Eleven a.m.?!?!?
Mal: I'll make tea.
Lacey: Still.
Mal: It will be worth it. The place is nice. Big. Quiet. Beach-adjacent.
Lacey: Should I bring a bikini?
Mal: If you want to swim without getting arrested.
Lacey: Your place?
Mal: We can meet somewhere else.
Lacey: No. I'm good with your place.
Mal: I'll see you at eleven.
Lacey: Right. See you tomorrow.
Tomorrow morning.
At Mal's place.
No big deal.
Not at all a big deal.
The next morning, I slip back into my routine. I brush my teeth. I throw on my workout clothes. I head to the gym. I sweat through my routine.
I shower and dress and eat breakfast and attempt to think about anything but the fact that I'm going to be alone in Mal's house in an hour and change.
Everything is ready on my laptop. My leather wedges/pink sundress outfit is cute and professional.
I do one last check of my stuff. It's all here: bikini, wallet, cell, laptop, notebook, pens.
Camera…
It's not here.
It's still at Adam's place.
Shit.
I bite my tongue. Either I stop by on the way to Mal's place or I show up without it. I don't need the camera and Adam's place is the wrong direction. It would be easier to pick this stuff up Monday, after work.
Or to write it off completely.
Only I can't afford that.
And I want to play with it today, to see if it's good enough or if we'll have to rent something.
Okay. No thinking. I can't talk myself out of it.
I pull out my cell and dial.
Adam answers right away. "Lacey, how are you?"
The longing in his voice guts me.
I press my lips together. "Okay, you?"
"I've been better." He lets out a soft sigh.
"You mind if I stop by to pick up my camera equipment?"
"Hot date?"
My laugh is impossibly nervous. "Just the extra gig." I press my fingers into the back of my cell. Every ounce of my being begs me to hang the phone up. I can feel his heart breaking again and again. "It should still be in the closet."
"I'll check." His voice gets soft. "Lacey, I—"
No, no, no. That tone means he's about to say I miss you. I still love you. I want you back.
"I have a meeting. I can't talk. Will you be home in half an hour?"
"Yeah, I'm here."
"Okay, I'll see you then."
I hang up the phone before he has a chance to finish his thought.
My hands are shaking.
My chest is heavy.
The rest of me is numb. It's not like I can run from this. I broke Adam's heart. It's for the best, in the long run, but that doesn't change the facts at the moment.
I try to focus on getting to my car. On taking streets to the freeway. On the steady drive up the 405.
Nerves rise up in my stomach as I pull off the freeway, take the first left, the second right, the fourth left after that.
Adam's place is in Sherman Oaks. It was our place. For two years, I took these streets home every night. For two years, I lived in the apartment complex on the right.
Habit takes over as I park, walk to the gate, and tap the code into the electric lock. The door buzzes. I pull it open and step inside.
And there's the old courtyard. It's all concrete with a few potted cacti and a tiny, unkempt pool.
And there's Adam's place, our old place, right by the entrance.
Same red door.
Same gold number.
All this is familiar. It's only been two weeks since I was living in this apartment.
Two weeks doesn't sound like a long time.
But it's an eternity.
Everything is different now.
The fucking red door is enough to fill my stomach with pangs of nostalgia. I miss familiarity. I miss comfort. I miss Adam.
But he's never going to be…
I knock on the door.
"Hey."
That's his voice. His soft, familiar voice.
His soft, familiar footsteps.
My chest tenses.
My entire body tenses.
"It's me." I play with the straps of my messenger bag. Am I still a me? Or did I lose me status when I left him?
He pulls the door open.
And there's Adam, standing in the hallway of our apartment.
His apartment.
His lips curl into a smile, but it's not in his hazel eyes. They're tired. Somehow, his short, all-business brown hair is messy.
How can hair that short possibly be messy?
He's wearing a black t-shirt and the black bow-tie print pajamas bottoms I bought him for his birthday last year.
I can still remember him unwrapping the present and shooting me a smile.
"Hey, they're stylish." He tugs at the bottoms.
"They are." I bite my tongue. This isn't my life anymore. I don't want it to be my life anymore.
But it's tempting to think about falling back into it.
I miss familiar.
I miss comfortable.
I miss not feeling like everything is up in the air.
He takes a step backwards. "Come in."
I do. Same scratchy beige carpet. Same off-white walls. The door makes that same creak as I press it closed. The lock sticks at the same place.
The den slash kitchen is the same too. Well, it's cleaner with just Adam here. He's always been neat. I'm more… tidiness challenged.
I have to keep my tongue between my teeth. This is familiar in the strangest way. It was a good life, but it wasn't mine.
Adam was a good boyfriend. He loved me. He still loves me.
If I asked, he'd love me forever.
But we never quite saw eye to eye in certain ways.
Who am I kidding? It wasn't that Adam didn't get my need to pick apart lyrics. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate film.
It was sex.
I know it.
Adam knows it.
It's heavy in the air, all that you left because of sex tension.
I swallow hard. "I hate to rush you, but I have a meeting."
He nods. "Your stuff is in the closet."
"Thanks." I pull my arm across my chest. The air conditioning is turned way up in here. My thin dress isn't enough. "Should I get it or would you rather?"
His hazel eyes fill with sadness. It's bizarre, looking at my college sweethear
t, asking him if I should go to our bedroom or if he'd rather keep me out of it.
It's not our bedroom anymore.
It's not our apartment.
This isn't my life.
"I'll get it." He turns away from me and moves into the bedroom.
It's right there, ten feet away. I spent every night of the last two years in that room.
This was my home.
And now it's not.
I press my back against the wall to keep from crumbling. That TV is the place where I showed Adam my senior film.
Where I forced him to watch the collected works of Billy Wilder.
We were on that beige couch last month. Laughing. Teasing. I took his spoonful of chocolate pudding and globbed it onto his nose.
He laughed as I climbed into his lap to lick it off.
Then I kissed him.
I took his hands and slid them under my shirt.
I whispered in his ear. Fuck me.
And he shook his head.
And, for some reason, that was it. The last rejection I could take.
I found my own place the next morning.
I ended it that night. Before I could talk myself out of it.
Part of me thinks I'm crazy. How could I leave a sweet, stable, loving man because we never fucked?
Is sex really worth my life being total chaos?
Is it really worth losing my best friend?
Adam steps into the main room holding my bag of camera equipment. He moves closer.
He sets it in front of my feet.
The look on his face breaks my heart.
But then I deserve that. I broke his heart. I blindsided him.
"I miss you, Lacey. I… I'm not going to talk you out of your decision, but I do miss you."
"I miss you too. But I…" My heart gets heavy. My stomach flip-flops. I still love Adam. I'll always love Adam. But it's not that gooey, romantic love. Not anymore. "I have to head out. Work meeting."
"Anything interesting?"
"Yeah. A music video." I pick up the camera bag and hold it close.
Adam's face lights up. He's genuinely happy for me. "That's great. Anyone I know?"
Absolutely. But I can't tell him that. "I'm sworn to secrecy."
He smiles. "A big band?"
"Bigger than I'd expect."
"Fuck, that's amazing." He goes to hug me but the camera bag is in the way. He steps back with an awkward smile then he leans forward.
It's one of those guy hugs where our crotches are a million miles apart.
It's fucking fitting.
Dangerous Fling: A Rock Star Romance (Dangerous Noise Book 4) Page 6
