Torrid Love: Friends to Lovers Romance (Bad Boy Studs Book 1)

by Scarlett Avery

  “You’re an idiot, you know that?” I laugh.

  “Maybe, but you’re no longer in a foul mood.”

  I’ll give him that.

  Roark stopped by EggSlut––some of the best breakfast sandwiches in LA—and grabbed a few of our favorites.

  “I was a grouch because I was so hungry.”

  “You’re lying to yourself. You always get this worked up when things are tense––or weird––between Dom and you. Why are you two fighting?”

  “It’s nothing,” I shrug.

  “Well, the way you barged out of that party room dragging her behind, spelled anything but. Want to talk about it?”

  I study him for a few seconds, unsure if I should fess up or not.

  “I kissed her,” I blurt out.

  Roark’s eyebrows hit his forehead. “You mean you kissed a woman?”

  “No. I mean I kissed Dom.”

  “You kissed your best friend?”

  “Jesus Christ, are you deaf?” My voice raises several octaves.

  He cocks an eyebrow in that fatherly way I haven’t seen in a while. “Pipe it down, little brother, and keep your attitude under lockdown. My hearing is fine.”

  Roark is eleven years older than me. Rory is thirteen years my senior. When I step out of line, they’re quick to rein me in. A rock star status and several millions in the bank mean shit to them. I’m still their bratty little brother. After all, they became my surrogate parents and took care of me in a way my own mother and father never could.

  “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “Better. Back to what you just said. I thought you didn’t kiss women?”

  “I don’t. I haven’t really kissed a woman since Sadie Matthews.”

  She was my first. We were both sixteen. We dated for a year, then my career exploded into the stratosphere. Sadie’s parents didn’t want her to be part of my chaotic world.

  “Wow. You kissed Dom,” Roark shakes his head in disbelief.

  “Yeah.”

  “That’s huge.”

  “Don’t remind me.”

  “You hold Dom on a pedestal. No other woman can touch her pinky toe. You used to warn the guys in your band and in your entourage to steer clear of her. If anyone laid a hand on her, you’d castrate them. Hanging around you for more than ten seconds and you knew Dom was off limits.”

  “You’re exaggerating,” I argue.

  “Am I? Rod, you have this invisible protective shield around her.”

  “Oh, come off it.”

  He flashes me an incredulous side stare.

  “You make me sound like a caveman,” I say.

  “The only time you weren’t able to hover over her like an eagle over its chicks is when your career hit big. Your frequent trips across the country and abroad prevented you from being your precious little Dom’s shadow. Thank God, she was living with Rory and Isobel by then so you didn’t have to worry too much. She was in good hands.”

  “You’re taking pleasure in this?” I reproach.

  He ignores me. “And now you kissed the untouchable girl.”

  “You wanted me to open up and now you’re mocking me. Fuck off, Roark.”

  “You mad at me or mad at yourself?”

  I don’t answer immediately. “I’m pissed off at myself. Happy?”

  “Was it bad?”

  “No. That’s the problem. It was incredible. After kissing her, I wanted more. What the fuck is wrong with me?” I grumble in frustration.

  “I don’t get it. Why are you so upset?” Roark asks.

  “I shouldn’t have kissed Dom. But I wanted to kiss her so damn much. No,” I shake my head. “I needed to kiss her.”

  “So you went after what you wanted. What’s new?”

  “Don’t you see it?”

  “No.”

  “I acted on impulse and now I’m petrified I might’ve ruined something precious. It may already be too late to salvage things between us.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I got cold feet and I was so weirded out about the whole thing, I might’ve pushed her away.”

  “Call her and tell her.”

  “I’ve tried. Several times. She’s doing a pretty good job at ignoring me. Finally, after God knows how many attempts, she texted me back.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Please pretend I don’t exist, Rod.”

  “Shit.”

  “Exactly.”

  “There’s something I don’t understand.”

  “What?” I ask.

  “If the kiss was so memorable, why push her away?”

  “My attention span is short. I don’t fuck the type of women I might develop a connection with that’s more than sexual. Things are fleeting in my world and I like it that way. I never lie to those women. I’m always upfront about it. They know the deal before they drop their panties. No expectations. No disappointments.”

  “What does that have to do with Dom and you?”

  “I couldn’t bring myself to do a once and done with my best friend.”

  “Rod, you’re letting Rachel screw you up.”

  He doesn’t call our mother Mom. He never has… not since I’ve been alive. Neither does Rory.

  “I’m not,” I spit out.

  “You are. She still has the upper hand on you. You’re just blind to it. Rachel’s been dead for five years. She did enough damage when she was alive. Don’t let the woman fuck with your head when she’s six feet under. She isn’t worth it.”

  I eye Roark with skepticism. “Hmph.”

  “What?”

  “What’s your excuse?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “With women?”

  “I don’t have any excuses. I choose to keep it simple,” he argues.

  “I thought Zoe—”

  “It was fun with Zoe—”

  “But you couldn’t commit,” I sneer. “Get off your high horse, big brother, you’re no better than I am. Seems like I’m not the only one Dear Mom is still screwing over.”

  Sure, the once and done approach sounds superficial, but when you grew up with a mother like ours, it’s just survival. Rory is the only one who has his shit together.

  “I can’t commit to a woman who’s so high maintenance, it becomes a turnoff. I know this is LA—the land of the forever young—but Zoe’s obsession was tiring.”

  “What are you saying? You’re out there looking for the one?” Sarcasm laces my words.

  “Rory has set the bar really high. The more time I spend with him and Isobel, the more it becomes clear it’s about finding the right person. His wife was a friend, lover, partner and confidant for years. We both know Isobel was an important, integral part of his life long before things turned romantic,” he pauses and fixes me with a serious stare, “much like Dom is for you.”

  CHAPTER 8

  Dominika

  “Dominika, over here!” Zoe waves.

  It’s eleven o’clock in the morning when I walk into The Griddle Café. The place is packed. Hungry patrons are devouring the huge plates piled high with food. My stomach is growling so much, I can hear it over the brouhaha. I weave my way through the tables until I reach the one in the far corner.

  “Hey, Zoe!”

  We do the air kiss thing and sit down.

  “Sorry if it seems like we’re sitting in Kansas, but I was able to snatch the last table when I got here or else it would’ve been at least a half an hour wait.”

  “I’d die of hunger by then.”

  “So would I,” she laughs.

  “My God, you look so well-rested, your makeup is flawless and you’re all dressed up… even on a Saturday.” I, on the other hand, look like I spent exactly two minutes on my face before jumping into a pair of shorts, a t-shirt and Converse shoes.

  “I had to conceal the fact I partied really hard last night,” she winks.

  “It was your day.”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t want to pay for it when I woke up. I n
eeded an intervention when I got home. I splattered a lot of anti-aging serum on my face before going to bed. And, this morning, I applied a generous coat of Prima Golden Elixir—well worth the thousand-dollar price tag.”

  “Wow! That’s a lot of money. I hope that buys you a case of the stuff.”

  “I wish. I can only afford this stuff one bottle at a time.” I’m flabbergasted. “It’s LA and I work in the TV and film industry. It’s not only actresses who feel the pressure. It trickles down. My job is to make you look incredible. If I look like shit, why would you trust I know what I’m talking about?”

  “Point taken.”

  I’m glad I don’t have that kind of pressure in my profession.

  “Enough about my beauty regime. Let’s talk about what’s important.”

  I’m already dreading this conversation.

  “What’s on your mind?”

  Zoe tilts her head to the side. “Seriously?”

  “I can’t read minds.”

  “Okay, so let’s start from the beginning. Guess what?”

  “What?”

  “The club is going to sue Clemensia.”

  “Who?”

  “The woman who mistook the Wordsworth for a low-class strip club.”

  “Oh, the classless tart.”

  “The one and only!”

  “Her name is Clemensia?”

  “Yup.”

  I grimace. “It sounds like an STD.”

  “Oh, my God, Holly said the same thing. It kind of sounds like Chlamydia, which I’m sure she has, or must have had in the past.”

  We both laugh.

  “Does she work for UTV.com?” I ask.

  “No. I thought she was someone’s plus one. It turns out, Clemensia crashed my birthday party. She was heading to another party, when she saw Rod heading to mine.”

  “Another LA wannabe?”

  “Yup. I got the lowdown from security before leaving.”

  “Vulgar whore.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. In any case, she’s history.” She pauses and cocks an eyebrow. “What was that all about between you and Rod after Clemensia was escorted out?”

  “He just wanted to talk,” I shrug. She frowns and shoots me a side glare. “What?”

  “It looked like a lot more to me.”

  “You’re making too much of it.”

  “You’re bullshitting me.”

  “Did you end up hooking up with Roark?” I divert.

  “Don’t think I don’t see right through you!” she waves a warning finger at me.

  “Just curious to find out if you were able to cross off another item from your sex-bucket list,” I offer a devious grin.

  “No cock on my birthday. Roark came over and wished me a happy birthday. The next thing I know, he was walking out the door. Men? At least Rod cares enough to make a fuss. Roark barely acknowledged me. It was clear he was wearing his executive hat. He wasn’t there as my former lover,” she lets out a long sigh. “So, back to you and Rod.” Zoe’s eyes are bright and eager for details.

  “You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I stress again.

  “Spare me the canned response. You were practically spitting fire at Clemensia––not that I blame you.”

  I don’t respond.

  “Even in my semi-drunken stupor, I could tell there was more than met the eye. Everyone at my party saw what was going on between the two of you. There was something very caveman-ish about the whole thing. FYI, very sexy. Very possessive. Very caliente!”

  I still remain quiet.

  “Listen, Dom, I know we aren’t best friends, but if you want to talk, I’m here.”

  I ponder over her offer.

  It’s not like I can reveal any of this to Isobel. Truthfully, I’d welcome a sounding board.

  “Let’s order some food first,” I say.

  * * *

  The Griddle Café isn’t called LA’s king of pancakes for nothing. I couldn’t finish more than a third of my frisbee-sized berry-delicious pancake stack. Zoe doesn’t fare much better with her Oreo-flavored one.

  “Good God, I always forget how huge these are,” she says, pushing her plate away. “Who finishes a full portion?”

  “You should try coming here with Rod and Roark after they’ve hit the gym. Not only can they polish off the stack of three enormous pancakes, but they also each order a three-egg omelet with extra sausage and bacon.”

  “Men. They can eat their faces off. So unfair,” she pouts.

  “I’m used to it by now. It was more jaw-dropping when I was traveling on the road with Rod and his bandmates. Some nights, you’d think they were going to eat the restaurant out of business.”

  “I still can’t get over the fact you knew Rod well before he became a sensation. Was he always this hot—and impetuous—even as a teenager?”

  I’m unable to contain my smile. Even in my confused mess, a wave of affection washes over me. “The Wolfe brothers are clueless to the awkward teen years the rest of us know intimately. I’ve seen plenty of photos of Rory and Roark when they were young and they’re as handsome back then as they are now.”

  “What a gene pool,” Zoe says.

  “Tell me about it. While most of us burnt––or buried––our high school photos for fear of embarrassment, the Wolfe brothers looked supremely confident and self-assured. It hasn’t changed much.”

  “Is their father as handsome?”

  “He wasn’t in the picture,” I say simply.

  “I see. Well, their mom did a great job.”

  I let that one slide. It’s a thorny subject.

  You’d never know their mother was a fucked up mess and their father was a coward.

  “Going back to Rod—”

  “Of course,” she grins.

  “He’s still the epitome of the bad-guy-slash-good-guy persona. He’s the bad-boy-rocker-god who still gets panties thrown at him when he walks into a room. He’s cocky, infuriating and a consummate player. But, behind it all, he’s also a good man and a fiercely loyal and protective friend.”

  “You mean overprotective,” Zoe says.

  I frown my surprise.

  “Rod isn’t overprotective,” I defend.

  “Everything about the vibe he gives off suggests otherwise when it comes to you, Dom.”

  I frown harder. “No.”

  “I guess you don’t see it. I have an older brother and I’m sure he loves me in his own way––when he isn’t telling me I annoy the shit out of him––but I doubt he’d take a bullet for me. I can see Rod doing that for you.”

  Much to my dismay, my cheeks flush.

  “Am I right?” Zoe asks.

  “Yeah. He can be fearless for the people who matter most.” I pause. “That’s how we met,” I say shyly.

  “Is that what you meant yesterday when you said he rescued you twice?”

  I nod. “I can still remember with absolute clarity” —the kind that still makes me shiver— “the day Rod came into my life. I was thirteen years old. A new immigrant who spoke limited English, and I had a huge Eastern European accent. I was awkward, short—well, I still am—and skinny. I had just started at Carter Dyer High and I hated it. It was worse than purgatory. To this day, my old high school is still part of the bottom five percent in the state of California, even if parts of the Fashion District have changed—”

  “Wait! What?” Zoe’s eyes grow round. “No fucking way!”

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “You grew up in the Fashion District?”

  “So did Rod.”

  “Whoa! I thought he grew up in Van Nuys. That’s what I read online. It’s far from being Bel Air, but it’s not the pit of the barrel.”

  “It was a complicated story around custody—not mine to tell.”

  “Oof,” Zoe exhales. “Roark was always fairly tightlipped about his childhood. Since we were casual, I didn’t push.”

  “They had a horrible childhood. I fared slightly better, but not by much.
”

  “I had no clue.” Zoe does little to hide her shock. “I mean the Fashion District… it’s one the worst neighborhoods in LA. It’s just a hair above the Wholesale District.” Aka, skid row.

  “If the violence in the old neighborhood didn’t kill you, the agonizing decaying of your soul did.”

  Don’t be fooled by the seemingly sophisticated name. LA’s Fashion District isn’t the stylish, posh or edgy imagery you might have of cities like New York, Paris, Tokyo or London. It’s a shithole. High-crime. High unemployment. Low income. Low hope. In other words, hell on earth.

  “I’m sorry, I interrupted your story,” Zoe apologizes.

  “It’s okay.” Her reaction doesn’t surprise me a bit. Rod and I have done a half decent job at putting the past behind us. Going back is never fun. “I met Rod on a Friday, just after the morning classes. I was heading to the cafeteria when a bunch of mean girls—led by Connie Washington—circled me. They took turns bumping into me, shoving me around and pulling my hair. They even dumped the contents of my backpack on the ground just to humiliate me further. Other kids were gathered around us, cackling, snickering and laughing. No one stepped up to help.

  “That’s horrible.”

  “It gets worse.” I offer a sad smile. “The mean girls started insulting me, Your foreign food smells like shit. Fart face. Dumb Dom. When are you going to start speaking American? Polish sausage roll—”

  “I thought you were born in Austria?”

  “I was. Mom is from Hungary and Dad is Austrian, but mean girls don’t care about the facts.”

  “I can’t believe people can be that heartless and stupid. How dare they make fun of you? This country was built by people who came with big dreams and big accents, and the willingness to work hard to build a better life for themselves.”

  I nod. “I agree, but as I said, none of that matters to bullies.”

  “Idiots. I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” she sympathizes. Zoe reaches out for my hands, wraps hers around mine and squeezes tight.

  I wish I had someone like her in my corner back in the days before Rod came along.

  “The first month of school, no one noticed me… that’s until the math teacher asked the class to solve a challenging equation on the board. After twenty minutes everyone was still stumped. I had solved it in two. Shyly, I raised my hand to give the answer. People heard my accent, ignoring the correct answer. After class, Connie started calling me brown-noser. The bullying started soon after. It was horrible, but on that Friday, it had reached another level of cruelty. As the mean girls kept torturing and tormenting me, I closed my eyes hoping to dull the pain. Against my will, tears started rolling down my face. Then I heard a voice, ‘Leave her the fuck alone, Connie.’ The assertive timbre gave me the courage to open my eyes.”