by Lauren Rowe
She flushes. “There are no cameras here. We don’t have to pretend anything.”
“I’m not pretending a goddamned thing.”
Laila’s chest heaves. “Neither am I.”
It’s too much excitement for my body to handle gracefully. Physically twitching with arousal and excitement, relief that she’s clearly beginning to trust me, I get up from my seat at the table, pull Laila up, and kiss her passionately. “Come on, beautiful,” I whisper. “It’s time for me to finally get to fuck you in a bed.”
Ten
Savage
As Laila rides my cock, I admire the curves of her body in the moonlight streaming through the bedroom window.
“You’re gorgeous,” I whisper, my pleasure ramping up and up. But I can’t find the right words to convey how stunning she is to me. How perfect and addicting. Or, hell, maybe I do know the right words, but I’m too chicken to say them out loud to her. The only thing I’m sure about is that fucking Laila in this bed, in this moment, is a new level of rapture for me. I’ve never bared myself to a woman the way I did downstairs to Laila in the dining room. And somehow, knowing she knows all that shit about me, and is now riding my cock like none of it dampens her desire for me in the least, feels even hotter than the hottest hate sex.
“You feel so fucking good,” I whisper, as Laila gyrates on top of me. I touch her clit and massage it round and round as she moves, and she begins snapping her hips back and forth with added enthusiasm. After a bit, Laila grips my chest and digs her nails into me, like she’s hanging on by a thread. I make a guttural sound, as my eyes roll back from pleasure. She gasps out my name. My first name. Which feels amazing. That’s a first during sex. And then, her interior muscles surrounding my cock release and ripple and squeeze fiercely, sending so much pleasure into my cock, I lose it, along with her.
When both our bodies have become quiet and still, Laila leans down and kisses me deeply. As her long hair falls on either side of my face, I inhale the scent of her shampoo. Revel in the taste of her lips and tongue. I run my fingertips down her bare back, feeling high. Drugged. Addicted. Gone.
“I feel high,” she whispers into my lips, reading my mind.
“So do I,” I admit. “Physically, like you’re a drug.”
We share a smile. This isn’t a “hate sex high” we’re feeling this time, and we both know it. Frankly, if I were to write a song about this kind of high, I don’t know what the song would be called. This feeling is something I’ve never felt before. Something I can’t name. Whatever it is, though, I never want it to end.
Sighing happily, Laila slides off me and lies alongside my naked body in the bed, cleaving every bit of her flesh into mine. “You really think I’m gifted as an artist?”
“One hundred percent.”
“Why, exactly, did you step aside for Kendrick?”
“He had a crush on you.”
“Yeah, I kinda figured. But so what? Why did you step aside for him?”
“He’s my best friend. Plus, I knew he’s boyfriend material, and I’m not.”
“Yeah, but you don’t pretend to be. Isn’t that what you said in Providence, when you were bashing me for supposedly dating Malik?”
I furrow my brow. “Supposedly dating Malik? It sure felt like a whole lot more than ‘supposedly’ when he was throwing me against a wall, Laila.”
Her cheeks flush. “No, yeah. I meant to say you act like you’re supposedly not boyfriend material. You supposedly pretend not to be.”
She’s speaking gibberish all of a sudden. What am I missing? “There’s no ‘supposedly’ about any of that, Laila. I’ve never pretended to be boyfriend material. I don’t think anyone would make that mistake about me.”
Her chest heaves. “Oh, I don’t know about that. You did an awfully good impression of a guy who’s grade-A ‘boyfriend material’ when you made me that amazing meal tonight.” She swallows hard. “Listen, about Kendrick . . . I feel like I should tell you he never had a shot with me. Not with you on the tour. And probably not at all. Kendrick is the sweetest person who ever lived. But the minute I met him, I felt only platonic friendship for him. No lust. No heat.”
I stroke her back. “Don’t take it personally that I stepped aside for my best friend. It doesn’t reflect on you. You were nothing but a vixen in a music video to me at that point. A fantasy. And Kendrick has been a better friend to me than I could ever explain to you. I wouldn’t be here now without Mimi and Kendrick. They’re the only reason I’ve got this life.”
“I don’t hold it against you. I think it’s sweet you’re a loyal friend to Kendrick.”
“Plus, I hate to sound arrogant, but I knew I could have pretty much anyone else I wanted. So, why endanger my friendship with Kendrick over a girl I didn’t even know, when someone else would surely catch my eye any minute?”
“Which is exactly what happened, many times over. I get it.”
Fuck. That’s what she still thinks? That all those groupies in her dressing rooms, that waitress in New York, all the ways I shoved my rockstar bullshit in her face, were real? Somehow, I thought she’d understood by now that I was only messing with her all those times—I thought maybe she’d understand I’ve only got eyes for her—and it’s been that way for a very long time now—without me needing to explain it to her with words.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Should I come clean to her? Or would that be too big a confession on night one of our three months together? It was only yesterday that I swore I wouldn’t “catch feelings” during this little charade, after all.
“Here’s what I don’t get,” Laila says, before I’ve decided how much to confess to her, if anything. “Kendrick couldn’t have had a crush on me when Reed first put me on the tour. I only met Kendrick at Reed’s party, and the decision had already been made by then.”
“Kendrick had a crush on you, even before he met you.” And so did I. “You were his ‘celebrity crush.’” And mine, too.
“No way.” She makes an adorable face. “That’s so sweet. Unfortunately, for him, though, you were my celebrity crush.”
Hallelujah. “Well, that’s convenient, because you were mine.” There, I said it. It’s a small confession, considering what I’m holding back. But at least it’s a start.
“No way,” she says, her blue eyes sparkling.
“Way.”
Laila swats at my chest. “Okay, now I’m pissed at you for stepping aside for Kendrick—and especially that you objected to me being on the tour!”
I groan. “Laila, I only objected to you being on the tour out of self-preservation. Because I didn’t want to watch you canoodling with Kendrick for three months. Because I’m that stupid and immature and selfish. Can we please forget everything that happened on the tour? Let’s erase the whole damned thing from our memory banks and pretend none of it happened.”
She’s nodding furiously.
“From now on,” I say, my pulse pounding, “we’ll be the Savage and Laila we were downstairs in the dining room. The Savage and Laila who told each other about our dads. We’ll start fresh and erase every last memory of the tour, and agree to only look forward from now on, okay?”
Laila looks bowled over. Surprisingly emotional and relieved. With a deep exhale, she throws herself at me, and I wrap her in my arms. “That sounds amazing,” she murmurs into my shoulder.
“I’m so sorry, Laila,” I whisper. “I fucked up right and left on that tour. I didn’t know how to handle my attraction to you. Didn’t want to betray my friend. I was jealous of Malik and pissed that you’d want an asshole like him over me. I was irrational and stupid, but that’s me, unfortunately—irrational and stupid, a lot of the time.”
“It’s okay.” She wipes her eyes. “The past is completely forgotten. We’ll both press the reset button and start over and not mention anything either of us did, ever again.”
“Thank you so much.” I hug her to me. “Thank you, Laila.”
For a long mom
ent, we lie quietly, our bodies entwined in the moonlight. Suddenly, though, she lifts her head and says, “One tiny question about the past before we leave it for good. How did you know I played HORSE at Reed’s party, and writhed around on the ground when I missed my shot?”
My stomach tightens. “Huh?”
“You mentioned that at the press conference, but you were nowhere near the basketball court when I did that. In fact, right after the game, I saw you hitting on a pretty woman by the pool.”
I push Laila’s long hair behind her bare shoulder. “I wasn’t hitting on that woman. She was a reporter for Rock ‘n’ Roll and we were talking about my interview.”
“I didn’t know there were two reporters at that party!”
I nod. “While I was talking to the reporter, I glanced over at the basketball court, just in time to see none other than Laila Fitzgerald miss her shot and then drop to the ground like a goofball.”
She giggles. “Why didn’t you come inside and watch my performance with Aloha and the Goats, after I walked past you?”
“You mean, why didn’t I follow you into the house, after you walked past me, flanked by Malik and Kendrick?”
“Oh.”
I chuckle. “That’s when I decided, once and for all, to give Kendrick a wide berth to take his shot.”
Laila twists her mouth but says nothing.
“Any other questions before we leave the past and never, ever think about it again?” I ask.
Laila pauses. “No. I think I’m good. You?”
“I’m good.”
She makes a goofy, cartoonish series of expressions and sounds, which I quickly find out, based on her next words, is her version of “erasing” the hard drive in her brain. She says, in a computerized voice, “Reed’s party and the tour are now officially erased from the hard drive of Laila Fitzgerald’s brain. Goodbye.” She closes her eyes and lets her tongue hang out.
I laugh. “You dork. I can’t believe they hired you as my babysitter.”
“I fooled them all.”
“You sure did.” When she yawns, I add, “Time for bed. We’ve got a big day tomorrow. We need our beauty sleep. Which, by the way, is what you should be saying to me, babysitter.”
“Oh, I should put on my zit cream.” With that, she hops out of bed and pads out of the room, much to my disappointment. And that’s it. All hope I had Laila would sleep here in this room with me—
Oh. She’s back. Carrying a toiletry bag and heading into my bathroom with a little wink. I hear a commotion in there. The shower turning on. And a moment later, the sound of Laila singing “Fireflies” by 22 Goats in the shower wafts into the bedroom.
My heart thumping, I head into the bathroom, step into the shower with her, and kiss her. And, instantly, my body makes it clear I’m damned happy to see her. I wash her wet, naked skin. Kiss her breasts. And when I can’t resist any longer, drop to my knees and eat her out, with hot water running down my face and back.
After she comes, she returns the favor, while I press my palms against the plexiglass of the shower and groan like a yeti. When I come, we indulge in another round of washing, kissing, and caressing. But finally, she smacks my ass and tells me we need to get our beauty sleep, and we begrudgingly drag our asses out of the shower.
After drying off, I secure a white towel around my waist and watch Laila applying cream to her face.
“It’s a crying shame condoms don’t work in water, don’t you think?” I say, leaning my hip against the bathroom counter.
Laila stops what she’s doing and looks at me. “Is that your way of asking me if I’m on birth control?”
I grin. “It sure is.”
Laila smirks. “Yes, I’ve got an IUD. But that’s only to prevent me from getting knocked up accidentally. My firm rule is ‘No wrapper, no dice, unless we’re in a committed relationship and I trust you completely.’”
I furrow my brow, as Laila resumes her nighttime routine. I think she just implied she doesn’t trust me completely. That’s what she meant by that, right? “I’ve already promised I’m only going to have sex with you for the next three months,” I say. “That’s basically the same thing as a ‘committed relationship.’ And I promise you can trust me completely.”
Not stopping what she’s doing in the mirror, Laila says, “How shall I put this, Adrian? Oh, I know. I don’t.”
“Trust me?”
“Correct. Not completely. But don’t be offended. My complete trust is very hard to get. And you’ve got quite a reputation.”
“I thought we agreed to forget the past.”
“We did. But even so, I could google you right now, in the present, and instantly find out you’re not the best bet to let raw-dog me.”
“So, is your concern that I’m not clean or that I’m going to cheat on you? Because I’ve already promised I won’t have sex with anyone else, and that’s a promise you can take to the bank, ten out of ten times. On the other hand, if you’re concerned I’m not clean, then I’m sure we could arrange for a doctor to test us both tomorrow, either on the set at lunchtime or here at the house after work.”
Laila considers my suggestion for a long moment, making my heart thump in my ears with anticipation. Finally, she says, “Do you swear on your love for Mimi you won’t sleep with anyone else, the whole time we’re living together?”
I grimace. “Can we please leave my grandmother out of this conversation about raw-dogging you?”
She laughs. “Fair enough. Do you swear on your life?”
“I do. I won’t touch anyone else while we’re living together. I’ve already promised that in writing.”
“To the show, in order to avoid the risk of a ‘cheating scandal.’ What I’m asking is for you to promise me, personally. And then, to keep that promise, no matter what.”
I walk to her, cup her face in my palms, and look into her blue eyes. “I hereby promise, Laila Fitzgerald, that I, Adrian Savage, will have sex with you, and only you, and nobody else, for the entire time we’re living together, so help me God.”
Laila blushes. “Okay, let’s do it, then, as soon as we get the ‘all clear’ from a doctor. And by ‘doctor’ I mean a real one—not an actor who plays one on TV.”
I snicker. “I’ll make it happen tomorrow.”
“Cool. Now, come on. Your babysitter says it’s time for bed.” She takes my hand and pulls me into the bedroom. And then, to my thrill and relief, she guides me into bed under the covers and crawls in right next to me, obviously intending to stay with me.
I try not to smile too big. I try to act like I knew all along Laila was going to sleep with me here in the master bedroom. “Goodnight, Fitzy,” I say casually. Like it’s no big thing. But I’m smiling from ear to ear.
“Goodnight, Adrian,” she replies. And even though she’s now rolled onto her side, facing away from me, I can physically hear her wide, beautiful smile from here.
Eleven
Laila
“Welcome to the new season of Sing Your Heart Out!” Sunshine Vaughn, our famous host, bellows from the large stage, and the studio audience behind the judges’ table bursts into applause.
My heart thumping wildly, I clutch Savage’s thigh under the table and squeeze, letting him know I’m freaking out right now, and he places his hand on top of mine, letting me know we’re in this crazy thing together.
“And now, let’s say hello to our four judges!” Sunshine booms, gesturing to the panel. She introduces each of us, one by one, and each judge waves or blows kisses—or halfheartedly smirks like they’d rather be anywhere else, in the case of Savage—as their name is called.
Sunshine says, “Before we get started with the first audition, let’s take a look at the journey our contestants have traveled to get here today—to be able to audition in front of our judges and a live studio audience!”
The live cameras cut out and a pre-taped package begins playing, and everyone at the judges’ table exhales for a moment.
Sa
vage leans into me and whispers, “You feeling okay?”
“Honestly, no. I’m suffering from major imposter syndrome right now.”
“Bah.” He squeezes my hand under the table. “Just pretend Sunshine is Aloha and each contestant a crew member and you’ll be fine.”
I pull a face of surprise. “That’s great advice. Thanks.”
Savage winks. “I get it right, once in a while.”
“Actually, more than once, if last night was any indication.” I wink suggestively, and that’s all the invitation this horny man needs to lean in and kiss me.
Instantly, at the touch of Savage’s lips to mine, the audience behind us bursts into wild whoops and cheers, and there’s no doubt they’re not reacting to the video.
The director peeks out from behind a monitor. “Savage and Laila!” He motions to the cameras, looking annoyed. “See how all the little red lights are off? We want you to make the audience react like that when one of the little red lights is on.”
Nadine, our executive producer, appears out of nowhere, looking frazzled.
“I already told them,” the director says, cutting her off at the pass. But, apparently, she feels the need to say it anyway. “Guys,” Nadine says, looking at Savage and me. “The cameras have to be on when you whip the audience into a frenzy.”
“We’re sorry,” I say, speaking for both of us, even though Savage’s facial expression makes it clear he’s not sorry in the slightest—that in fact, he’s presently imagining both the director and Nadine eating a bag of dicks. I add, “We didn’t mean to whip anyone into a frenzy. We simply got swept up in the moment and forgot about the audience and cameras for a second there. It won’t happen again.”
Nadine pauses, looking surprised by my explanation. And, suddenly, I realize I just admitted that Savage and I kissed off-camera, not because we’re newbies who forgot to wait for the cameras to be trained on us, but because we kissed for real. For nothing but the sheer pleasure of it.
“Oh,” Nadine says, her eyebrow raised. She smirks at the director before returning to Savage and me. “No worries at all. We know there will be a learning curve for you two, so we’ve folded that into the shooting schedule. We can do reshoots and edits throughout the audition shows, so it’s no biggie. The problem will come later, when we switch to the ‘live taping’ format for the weekly singing competition. At that point, you two are going to have to be a well-oiled machine. But for now, we’ll just have you redo the kiss.”
