Undone: A Fake Fiancé Rockstar Romance

by Callie Harper

  Finally, I pulled out my phone. Ash had been trying to get ahold of me. He’d texted:

  Where are you?

  and

  Let’s go to my place.

  Then

  Are you at the party?

  Then

  You OK?

  I texted him back that I was fine. I told him I was heading back to my hotel. Then I put the phone away.

  He’d wanted me to join him back at his place, not at the Santa Clara party suite. Well, maybe the misunderstanding was for the best. Had I met him alone back at his place, I knew where things would have led. It was better this way, I told myself. Better to be alone, sobering up and crashing down hard in a car by myself. Tomorrow I’d go back to New York and have a few days to detox. The Ash Black detox program. Kind of like those crash diets where you cut out all the good stuff, no alcohol or caffeine or sugar or bread. It was supposed to reset your system and make you never crave the bad stuff again. Only my experience was after the initial high, it just made my cravings worse.

  And tonight, I didn’t even go through the initial phase of abstinence. The second I climbed into bed, what did I do? My fingers found my naughty sex and slipped right in, remembering what Ash had done to me on that piano bench.

  He’d pushed me back, taken my ass in his hands and devoured me like a panther with a fresh meal. I had no idea it could feel so good. I’d always wondered, of course, but couldn’t imagine how I’d get past feeling self-conscious. The few times it had come up with Stan, he’d acted like we were talking about him eating a poisonous fish. It had been hard to imagine enjoying it when the act had obviously been so distasteful to him.

  But Ash. He’d clearly loved every second of it. He’d breathed me in and lapped me up and made me feel like a rare, exquisite flower that offered life-sustaining nectar. My fingers down between my slick folds, I worked myself, remembering how he’d played with my clit, knowing exactly how and when to push, when to tease. He’d sensed my body’s responses even better than I did my own, taken me where I hadn’t even imagined reaching.

  I loved how he got a little rough with me, spreading my legs wide, so wide it almost hurt. He brought out something in me, some sensuality, a deep desire to feel possessed by him. To serve and submit.

  My breathing quickened. I brought a hand to my breast, massaging, pinching down on my nipple the way he had the other day. Pressing deep into my hole, then down on my clit I worked myself up, up and over. As the ecstasy bucked through my body, it was his name I called out into the dark recesses of my hotel room.

  12

  Ash

  I sat on the couch in the hotel suite, one girl on my lap, a second to my right, and a third to my left. A few more danced in front of me, putting on a show, hoping I’d watch. But all I could think was ‘damn it.’ I wanted to see Ana again after the show. I wanted her.

  I’d headed to the after-party after I couldn’t find her and didn’t hear from her. Then my phone had buzzed with rejection. She was in a goddamned car heading back to S.F. When was the last time I’d been rejected? I had to search my memory for that one. It had to be thirteen or fourteen, the years when I’d first met Connor at boarding school in England. Those upper crust aristocratic Brits had wanted nothing to do with either of us. At my full height with none of my adult bulk and muscle, I’d rattled around that cold campus like a ghost. Seemed the only time people noticed me was to sneer or shove. Thank God for Connor. Had we not met and started playing music together, I don’t know what I would have done.

  But what was I doing sitting at an after-party literally covered in pussy thinking about those dark days?

  “You were amazing tonight.” A girl with candy-red hair and lips whispered into my ear.

  “Thanks.” I have her waist a squeeze. But then I eased them all off of me and stood up. The dancing girls lit up with excitement. Was I joining them? But I disappointed them all, heading through a bedroom with three or four people making good use of the bed. Not surprisingly, Connor was one of them, snorting coke off of a boob. Again?

  “Where you going, old man?” He called out, a devilish grin on his face, a trace of powder on his chin. He’d taken to calling me that lately, with an edge. I didn’t like thinking about it. He and I had always been so close. But more than once over the past year I’d wanted to ask, Aren’t you getting tired of this?

  I mean, take snorting coke off of a boob. It wasn’t so much that it had gotten boring, but it wasn’t exactly like the first time, now was it? I hadn’t done coke in a couple of years. I didn’t like how paranoid and edgy it made me. And I could think of much better things to do with breasts. But Connor didn’t seem to be slowing down, not one bit. In fact, the more I did, the more he seemed to speed up, as if daring me to say something.

  I waved him off and headed into the bathroom, splashing some cold water on my face. Drying off, I looked at myself in the mirror. I squared my shoulders and studied my reflection. Broad chest, I filled out a t-shirt well enough to get girls wet even before I picked up a guitar. I’d come a long way since those scrawny, lonely, adolescent days. Hadn’t I? I thought Ana had enjoyed herself tonight. I certainly had. And I couldn’t have been more clear, I wanted more of her. A lot more. My fingers twitched and itched to be on her skin again. I could still taste her, feel her quivering on my tongue.

  I knew she’d felt it all so intensely. With Ana, there wasn’t a moment of fake. I wondered if she’d ever faked a moment in her life? Until she’d met me, of course. Now I’d entangled her in faking everything for a full month.

  But I brushed aside that pang of guilt with remembering taking her on that piano bench. How sweet, how pliant, her thighs opening for me. Those sounds she made, the pants, the start of her moans. Then when she really lost it and grabbed my hair, mashing her pussy into my face. It had gotten me so hard I’d felt like I had a freaking jackhammer pressing into the zipper of my jeans. If we’d only had more time, I would have driven it home, taken her right there on the bench while she was dripping and still shaking from her intense orgasm. I’d have ridden her fast and hard right into another one, and another. She was like a drug, this woman, and right now I felt like an addict in dire need of another hit.

  But addicts weren’t exactly the best decision makers. I’d signed a no-sex clause over her. What a stupid move. It hadn’t seemed like such a big deal at the time. She’d wanted it in there and I’d wanted my image restored. And now regret didn’t change reality, so maybe it was better that Ana had headed back up to the city. Breach of contract and all that.

  But now what was I going to do with my massive hard-on? Where had that been a few minutes ago when I’d had semi-naked women draped all over me? Then, nothing. Now, from just thinking about Ana, I sported some fantastic wood.

  I could take myself in my hand. It wouldn’t take long. It would feel good, grasping my long, hard shaft in my palm and giving myself release. But what the fuck? I was in the bathroom hiding from groupies thinking about jerking myself off?

  God damn it. There was only one thing to do. And it wasn’t standing around by myself in a bathroom. I wasn’t supposed to head back to New York until Monday. I was supposed to give out a few scoops about how much I missed Ana and then after the weekend I’d go and “surprise” her at work. Cue adorable reunion. Click.

  But why not really surprise Ana in New York a day early? Who knew, we might even steal some time together without anyone finding out? I might get Ana to myself, all to myself, far away from the cameras and prying eyes. I could think of a few things I’d like to do to her. She had a lot more orgasms in store.

  §

  Six o’clock Sunday night I stopped by Ana’s apartment. I had her address from the reams of legal documents we’d both had to sign. She lived in a seedy section of Brooklyn. I didn’t like the idea of her walking around there by herself at night. I didn’t exactly see men with guns holding people up, but it seemed like at least even odds it would happen at some point on her block that evening.


  “Who is it?” I didn’t recognize the female voice speaking to me through the intercom.

  “I’m a friend of Ana’s.” With a name like mine, you didn’t throw it around. It could go off like a hand grenade, and I wanted my entrance to have much more stealth.

  “Yeah? What’s her favorite color?”

  What? “Um…” We hadn’t exactly had that discussion. What colors had I seen her wearing? Lots of black, come to think of it. “Black?”

  “Brrrnt. Wrong.” The woman gave me the buzzer sound. Then I heard some rustling and a few muffled words exchanged.

  “Hello?” Ana now spoke, and I smiled at the sound of her voice.

  “Hey, Ana. It’s me.”

  “Ash?!?” She practically shrieked through the intercom. I looked around nervously to see if anyone on the street had heard, but it didn’t seem I’d been discovered.

  “Can I come on up?” She buzzed me in. I climbed up three flights of dingy stairs and three women stood in a doorway waiting for me when I reached the top. One had her mouth hanging wide open, another had bright blue hair and a lip piercing, and the other was perfect. In grey sweatpants and a huge Queens College sweatshirt that seemed to swallow her whole, Ana had her hair piled up on top of her head in a scrunchie. A few tendrils escaped and I wanted to twirl them around my fingers.

  “What are you doing here?” Ana gasped, hands up to her mouth.

  “I came to see you. Is that OK?”

  “Um…” She flushed a gorgeous shade of pink. Much like she had after that orgasm I’d given her on the piano bench. It looked good on her. Maybe I should have said that was her favorite color. I planned to see it on her a whole lot more.

  “Come in.” She seemed to remember her manners and the three of them stepped to the side. “I had no idea. I thought you were going to come by the library tomorrow at noon?”

  I shrugged. “I didn’t want to wait to see you. I thought maybe we could get some dinner.”

  “Ash Black.” The one with her mouth hanging open managed to say my name.

  “Hi there.” I stuck out my hand to greet her and she stared at it as if it were a marvel.

  “This is Jillian.” Ana introduced her, but that didn’t snap her out of her trance. “And this is Liv.” The blue-haired, pierced one stared me down with suspicion. I didn’t try to shake her hand.

  “Are you free?” I asked Ana. “Have you had dinner yet?”

  “No. Yeah. I mean, yes I’m free and no I haven’t eaten dinner.” Ana looked down at her sweats and suddenly realized she was wearing them. “Oh!” She smoothed them down as if it would magically alter them into something cooler, but she shouldn’t bother. She looked adorable.

  “You don’t have to change,” I offered. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen a pretty woman in baggy sweats. Lingerie, sexy dresses, skin-tight jeans, that happened every day. This was kind of cute. I still preferred her naked, though. “But if you want to—”

  “Yeah, I’ll go do that.” She turned to her bedroom. Then she paused and turned back to look briefly at Liv. “Be nice,” she admonished.

  “Ash Black,” Jillian repeated, her brain clearly having trouble processing my presence.

  “How are you?” I asked. She gaped at my smile.

  “So what corporation owns you?” Liv spat at me. She wore a leather choker around her neck with big, angry metal studs.

  “What do you mean?”

  “What’s your label?”

  “Sony.”

  She nodded. “Big brother. Do you know they’re spying on us? Recording everything we do. Violating our privacy. Recording all our preferences and habits.”

  “You mean, like, sales stats for marketing?”

  She waved that off. “You can call it that.” She glared at me, the enemy.

  “Ash Black,” the other one repeated. Somewhere in-between the two reactions would be nice. So far I wasn’t off to a great start with her roommates, with one hating me and everything I stood for, and the other one unable to do anything but repeat my name. I had my work cut out for me.

  “What do you think about how corporate rock is killing the independent artist?” Liv shot at me.

  “Uh…” I was so eloquent under pressure.

  “Back in the 70s all that mattered was if you could sing,” she said, accusingly. “Now you have to look hot.”

  “Are you saying that I look hot?” I teased her. She started, losing her composure for a moment. Laughter rang out from behind me.

  “He got you, Liv.” Ana came back into the main living area, not really big enough to call it a room though I guessed it functioned as that. Kitchen/den/living room/entryway all in one. She looked radiant, now in a simple long-sleeved shirt and jeans as she tied her hair back with a ribbon. I didn’t even think she’d put on any makeup. Wow, she was a knockout.

  “Ash Black,” Jillian murmured.

  “OK.” Ana patted her dazed roommate on the shoulder. “We’re going to head out now.” She smiled up at me and I could think of nothing I’d rather do.

  “You guys should come to my show tonight,” Liv called after us.

  “OK.” Ana said it bright and tight and I already knew her well enough to understand that she felt uncomfortable about the invitation.

  “Good to meet you!” I called behind us, and before the door closed I could hear a mixture of angry muttering and one last time for good luck, my name on repeat.

  Ana led me to a small place around the corner, a Thai restaurant. Simple and inconspicuous, with few patrons and dim lighting, it looked perfect. I still kept my baseball cap pulled down low. I didn’t want to risk getting spotted.

  We ordered and after a little chit chat, I asked her to tell me more about her past, her family, how she’d ended up here in life. It was all in the dossier prepared for me by the PR firm, but reading really wasn’t my thing and I much preferred it told to me by Ana. Sitting there petite and sweet, she grew animated as she told me about her hard-working parents, how much they’d sacrificed to move to America and start over so they could make a better life for her. They’d poured time and effort and money into her piano study, hoping one day she’d be able to turn her talent into a profession.

  “You’re so talented,” I told her, bullshitting her not in the least. She’d really impressed me the other day. “I’m sure you could.”

  “Not everyone can make a living with music,” she corrected me. Though she didn’t sound bitter about it. “Anyway, I love being a librarian. And I can always play music.”

  “I’d love to hear you play again.” Sitting with her, both of us making music together, I didn’t have words to describe how it had felt, so natural and alive. Connor and I had always been able to collaborate with ease, feeding ideas and building on them together, creating something out of nothing. But I’d never felt that kind of a connection with a woman before. It almost scared me.

  “I’ve never…” Somehow I wanted to let her know how much it meant to me. That this wasn’t all for show. “Making music with you, I’ve never…” Why were words so hard right now? I swallowed. “The women I usually date aren’t exactly…I’ve never really dated a musician before.”

  She burst out laughing. OK, not exactly the reaction I’d been hoping for.

  “The last woman you dated was Mandy Monroe!”

  Point taken. She was right. And Mandy Monroe was the real deal, able to sing and play guitar and write songs with the best of them. But, funny thing, we’d never once done it together. She’d always been a whole lot more interested in going out together, seeing and being seen, and I guessed that had never bothered me. Now, though, it seemed strange.

  “What happened between the two of you?” Ana asked me, her light brown eyes watching me with keen insight. “I don’t mean to pry, but I feel like maybe I should know the real story? I am here as part of the official clean up team.”

  She smiled at me and I smiled back, but it didn’t sit right with me, I didn’t like her
thinking of herself like that. Even though she was right.

  “We met at an awards show,” I began, the way so many celebrity couplings did. That or an after-party after an awards show. Or the classic intro through PR firms, that happened a lot, too. Like the matchmaking of old with a celebrity twist, each involved party understood the purpose and limitations of the pairing. I ran Ana through the course of our brief and predictable relationship, meeting up at each other’s shows, vacationing in Cabo.

  “I thought maybe she’d be different. She wasn’t.” It might sound as if I were making light of a painful situation, but as I spoke about it I realized the relationship had never touched beneath the surface. I’d never cared about Mandy during the months we were together even a fraction as much as I cared about Ana.

  “And the whole break up?” Ana pressed. “I’ve seen the video.”

  I winced. I figured she had, the whole world had seen it. Even I had to admit, it made good TV. “I can’t tell you it was fake,” I admitted. “I said all that. I was an asshole. But Mandy set it all up. We were done and she knew it. Earlier that night she’d already thrown a vase into a wall and told me I was a worthless prick. The tears at that table, she set that up for the cameras. She wanted to get one last headline out of me before we were through.”

  “That’s cold.”

  I shrugged. “She’s a savvy businesswoman. She saw an opportunity to get a spike in sales and she took it.”

  Ana shook her head. “You’re surrounded by vipers.”

  “You think?” That sounded grim.

  “Mandy, Lola, Joel. And I’ve got to say, your friend Connor’s a real gem.”