Cherry Beats

by Vicki James

  “God, those noises you make,” he breathed, reaching up to rub his thumbs over the red, swollen buds. “And the way you taste.”

  But I was too busy going to work, watching as he sprang free, rock hard and ready to be ridden.

  “Holy shit,” I whispered, my eyes widening at the size of him. The veins throbbed under the lights of the bathroom, and the end of his dick was already wet, waiting for me.

  “Touch me, Cherry. Let’s make each other come until we see the sun.”

  The second I wrapped my fingers around him and began to jerk him off, he grabbed the back of my head, pushed me back until I slammed into the wall with a grunt of exciting pain, and he fucked my mouth with his kisses, while I took care of him.

  With one hand he made me come by doing nothing more than twisting and pinching my aroused nipples.

  With one hand I made him come over my stomach, leaving the two of us already somewhat sated, but desperate—fucking desperate—and panting for more.

  “Look at that,” Presley said, forcing my head to snap up to see him standing there wearing nothing more than a white towel around his waist, showing a slither of that perfect V. He smirked, running a hand through his wet hair. “We just made it out of a bathroom without either one of us getting the other off.”

  “I’ve acquired some control since then,” I lied.

  “We’ll see.” He laughed, dropping his hands to the tight towel around his waist so he could adjust it, which only made his hard pecs and abs flex even more.

  I narrowed my eyes at him as he dropped down onto the sofa and kicked his feet up on the footstool, making himself at home.

  “You motherfucking wankholing…” I said under my breath through gritted teeth, and then I growled—literally growled—and I kicked the kitchen unit as my temper flared. “Dammit!” I snapped, immediately doubling over to grab my freshly wounded toe. “Shit.”

  “You okay back there?” he asked, not even looking over his shoulder as he flicked the TV on with the remote.

  “Never been better,” I squeaked.

  After a minute of bringing my toe back to life, I got to work on the chilli, making sure to slam every door I opened and shut, and clang every pot I held in my hands. I was halfway through stirring the food and burning holes of destruction into the back of Presley’s head when the knock at the door changed everything.

  Presley spun around on the sofa, looked at me and mouthed, “Expecting anyone?”

  I shook my head violently. “Nobody.”

  The two of us stared at the door, watching it as though it was going to explode.

  “Miss Lisbon?” a sweet voice called from the other side of it.

  Presley’s concerned eyes shot back to mine. “Do you know who that is?” he mouthed.

  “No. You?”

  “Why would I know?” he hissed.

  “I don’t know. You might recognise the voice. You’re the one on the run today, not me.”

  “Shit.”

  “What do I do?”

  He glanced at the door and then back at me, repeating the action a few times before he finally stood up. “Answer it. If it’s anyone looking for me, you haven’t seen me in years. I’ll be in the bathroom. Don’t let them beyond the door. Okay?”

  “What if I mess up?”

  Presley took a moment to stare at me. “Not possible.”

  He left me no time to argue before he tiptoed all the way back to the bathroom, and I heard the door click shut quietly.

  “Miss Lisbon, I know you’re in there,” the voice called out again.

  I rushed over and peered through the peephole to see a stunning blonde lady, perhaps in her early forties, standing there smiling right at me. Her long hair was curled in perfect waves, and her bright red lipstick made the white of her teeth pop.

  “Hi.” She waved.

  “Who are you?”

  “Open the door, and I’ll introduce myself properly.”

  Blowing out an anxious breath and readjusting my shoulders, I opened the door and peered through the crack I’d created. The woman wore a camel-coloured trench coat with a Burberry scarf hanging loosely around her neck. She either had money to burn, or she wasted money she didn’t have because her perfume reeked of expense.

  “Ah. Green eyes.” She smiled brightly. “I’m sure there’s a song about those in the charts.”

  I stared at her, ignoring the reference to Youth Gone Wild’s song Green, Green Eyes of Home.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I hope so.” She smiled like a snake and took a step forward. My eyes instantly dropped to her high-heels in warning. That’s close enough, lady. “I’m Janey Dominic.” She held out her perfectly manicured hand for me to take, but I just looked at it like it was dirty. Something told me it was. “Okay,” she chuckled, dropping it quickly and pushing both hands into the pockets of her trench coat. “Straight shooter. I get it. Let me cut to the chase. I’m looking for Presley West.”

  “Who?”

  Janey smirked and held my gaze for an eerily long time. “The drummer from Youth Gone Wild. You went to school with him.”

  “Oh, him.”

  Her smile was accusing. “I think you know him better than that.”

  “Sure. Presley Aron West. Nickname Paw. Cracking striker for the school’s football team. Decent basketballer when he let himself take his leather jacket off long enough to play. Rubbish at handing in his homework on time. Way too cocky. Always smelled nice, though. Eyes that got him out of detentions a few too many times because Miss Winters had a not-so-subtle crush on him. Hung about with everyone, but always seemed a little bit like a comfortable loner, too. Never quite knew how he managed that. He drank a lot in the bar I work at, BBs.”

  “Right,” she said sarcastically. “That’s him. The guy with the whole world at his feet, but who can’t seem to stay away from England. I wonder why that is?”

  “Maybe he misses scones.”

  “Or he misses someone rather than something.”

  “I guess you’d have to ask him that.”

  “I’d like to. I’d like to do that right now, if I could. Is he here?”

  “Here?” I laughed roughly. “Okay, sure. I’ll just grab him.” I rolled my eyes.

  “Tess,” she sighed, tilting her head to one side. “May I call you Tess?”

  “No, you may not,” I said, face falling.

  “My apologies.” Janey nodded. “Miss Lisbon… let’s neither one of us pretend that you don’t know him better than you say you do. Let’s neither one of us continue with this charade. I’m sure you’ve seen the news and know he was arrested this morning for lashing out at a fan.”

  “And let’s neither one of us pretend you have any right to come to my home, stand outside my door, accuse me of lying, and talk to me like I’m a piece of used-up gum stuck to the bottom of your obviously fake Louboutins, Miss Dominic. I don’t know who the hell you are or what you want from me, but I haven’t seen nor heard from Presley in three years. So, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you left me alone to finish my cooking and get on with my oh-so-exciting life where I’ll probably sit here and watch Golden Girls reruns all night. Thank you.”

  I tried to slam the door in her face, thinking it was over, but she must have been ready for the action. Her hand flew out to push it back open, and my already sore toe got caught in the swing back. I yelped in surprise as the pain tore through me again, and I stumbled back, letting the door drift wide open.

  “I’m so sorry.” Janey stepped forward, while I brought my foot up to my hand and hopped around.

  “Leave now, right this second, before I call the police. Or I punch you in the… goddammit. Ouch.”

  When she didn’t say anything else in response, I looked up through squinting eyes and saw Janey taking a good look around my apartment. The victory smirk that appeared on her face had my head snapping in every direction, wondering if Presley had popped out and she’d somehow gotten a look at him, bu
t he was nowhere in sight.

  Then, I was just pissed off completely.

  “Get the fuck out of here!”

  With a bow of her head like she was bloody Gandhi, Janey Dominic turned to leave, sashaying all the way down the corridor like she hadn’t just been given the cold shoulder.

  I slammed the apartment door shut and flinched when it smacked into the frame. My foot throbbed, so did my head, and I pinched the bridge of my nose as I stood there taking a moment to myself. Presley appeared sometime after. I felt him before I saw him. When I looked up, all I could do was let my shoulders sag, and exhale.

  “So, Janey Dominic is...?”

  “A giant cactus-like pain in my arse.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means she’s a reporter—probably the most brutal in the business right now. A real bitch.”

  “Of course, she is.”

  “Cherry…”

  “Don’t,” I said, holding up my hand. “I fucked it up. I know. I can’t lie for shit, and I got angry too quickly, which made me look guilty from the minute I opened the door.”

  “No, it’s not that. You did good. Better than good. Even I almost believed you.”

  I studied his face. “What aren’t you saying?”

  His shoulders sagged, and his face looked defeated as he held my gaze. Then, just like that, he pointed to the sofa.

  The one Janey Dominic had seen only moments before.

  The one littered with empty Peroni bottles.

  The very sofa that had Presley West’s famous leather jacket hanging over the back of it, resting there like it was the only place it belonged.

  Chapter Twelve

  “Where the hell are you?” the man yelled down the phone at Presley, who was currently holding it an inch away from his ear, his eyes closed. “We’re in the middle of a media shitstorm here, and you just take off like this doesn’t concern you!”

  “Dicky,” Presley sighed quietly.

  “Like this wasn’t your fault.”

  “Dicky.”

  “I mean, of all the rotten tricks to pull, I never expected this. You’ve been spiralling, sure, but this isn’t you, West. Have you forgotten why you started? Have you forgotten about the fans? The music?”

  Presley sighed, offering no answers.

  “I’ve got the record label on my arse every ten minutes demanding to see you. I’ve got the media ringing the office every minute—my assistants can’t keep up. Speculation is rife. Someone’s making out like you’ve quit the band. Rhett and the guys are going out of their minds.”

  It went on and on and on. I sat on the chair opposite the couch, chewing my thumbnail and jiggling my leg as I watched Presley’s serene face take it all in.

  I wished to live life as calmly as he did.

  At one point, he even put his manager on speaker, dropped the phone to the sofa and let his head fall back on the cushion. I seriously thought he was going to fall asleep.

  “West? West!” his manager called out, forcing Presley to bring the phone back to his ear.

  “I’m here.”

  “Were you asleep?”

  “Not far off. Jesus Christ, Dicky, you go on more than a woman.”

  “Hey!” I mouthed in defence of my fellow sisters of the world, but one wink from Presley, and I was soon rolling my eyes and chewing my nail again. Sorry, ladies.

  “Can I speak now?” Presley muttered, sounding bored.

  “Whatever is about to leave your mouth better be good,” Dicky barked.

  “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. It’s Janey Dominic. She’s found out where I am.”

  “And where the fuck are you? How the hell does that raging bitch know your location and I, your boss, don’t?”

  Presley glanced my way. “I’m with a… friend,” he said smoothly.

  “A friend, like a guy you used to go for a beer with, or a friend you once fucked?”

  “The latter.”

  “Oy vey.” Dick groaned. “Is it her?”

  Presley continued to stare at me.

  “Please tell me it isn’t her.” Dicky sighed.

  “It’s her.”

  Her?

  “I thought we’d agreed that was a no-go area.”

  “Shit happens.” Presley grinned.

  I scowled at him, demanding answers I wasn’t going to get.

  “I swear you need those two words tattooed on your handsome goddamn forehead. Shit does, indeed, happen, but it’s also the by-product of you making a really stupid fucking mistake.”

  “She’s not a mistake.”

  “Debatable.”

  “Listen, I don’t want to get your blood pressure rising again. I need one night away from the circus, and I promise, I’ll be back with you tomorrow morning. I fucked up by hitting that guy, and I need to get my head around that—remember who I am, not who the press want me to be.”

  The loss of him before he’d even gone hit me in my chest. No matter how much I lied to myself, it was going to hurt saying goodbye. We could stay an entire room apart tonight, and I would still ache for him in the morning.

  “Dicky, I need you to get rid of JD for me. I can’t have her snooping around Cherry’s place.”

  “Cherry?” Dicky asked, and through the phone, I could hear his surprise. “That’s her name?”

  “When she’s with me, yeah.”

  “What happened to you keeping her a secret?”

  Presley mused, pushing his bottom lip out as he continued to study me. “I guess more of that shit happened.”

  An indecipherable string of mumbling flowed from Dicky’s mouth before he blew out a breath. “What do you need me to do?”

  “Throw the press off. Use a decoy or spin some shit. I don’t know. You’re the puppet master. Can’t you leak a story that I’ve been spotted in some strip club or something, way across London?”

  “Sure, why the hell not? I’m sure the record label would love for me to put the image of you with your face between a stripper’s tits out there to the public.”

  “Beats telling them the truth.”

  “And what is the truth?”

  “That I’m with a girl who actually means something.”

  My heart skipped a beat as I stared at Presley. My hand fell from my parted lips, and a rush of adrenaline made my skin burst to life.

  “Don’t fuck with me now, West. You know now’s not the time for the world to be seeing you cosying up with a girlfriend. You and the band made promises to each other. Remember that! You know that you’re the major selling point for—”

  “No girlfriend.” He sighed, his smile slipping as he cleared his throat. “I get it.” Presley’s eyes refused to let go of mine. “And the world won’t know anything about her if you do your job right, Dick. I’ll text you the address, and you can send a driver over for five in the morning. I’ll ask Cherry if there’s any way I can slip out without being seen too much.”

  “You owe me, man,” Dicky grumbled.

  “Until then…” And just like that, Presley ended the call and dropped the phone to the sofa, never once looking away from me.

  “That went well,” I mocked.

  Presley’s eyes narrowed, and I saw him swallow the lump in his throat, but he never said a word. He just held my gaze. Held my face. Held my body. Held my beating heart in the palm of his hand.

  I rested the weight of my legs on the balls of my feet until they started to jiggle and shake, making me bounce with nervous energy.

  “Why do you look scared?” Presley asked quietly.

  “Oh, I don’t know, rock star.” I huffed out a laugh, refusing to look at him any longer, instead, choosing the rug on my floor. “Maybe because I’ve spent three years trying to avoid seeing your freakishly handsome face on every TV screen, every newspaper, every magazine, or hearing your voice on every bloody radio station. Yet here you are, lounging on my sofa like you belong there. Taking baths in my tub like this is your home, and for some reason, it doesn�
��t feel weird to me. I’ve worked hard to pretend I did the right thing by walking away that night. I’ve tried to forget the best night of my life because I refuse to believe that’s it—nothing will ever compare—”

  “Cherry…”

  “Maybe I thought I was doing okay, you know, living the good life. And now here I am, with the universe’s most sought-after drummer sitting on my sofa while the entire world’s media search for him, and suddenly all my lies and stupid pretences make me feel sick. It’s like the biggest hangover has just hit me straight in the gut all at once. Vom. Here I go. All my lies are about to just regurgitate right in my own lap for me to clean up after you’ve gone—”

  “Cherry…”

  “But then I hear you saying things on the phone to your manager, things about me. Saying that I matter to you. How does that work? How is that even possible?” My head snapped up in his direction, and my eyes penetrated his with sadness and confusion. “Do I? Do I matter to you?”

  “You—”

  “No. Wait. Don’t answer that. I don’t want to know. What does it even matter, anyway?”

  Presley’s slow rising smirk would have been enough to knock me off my feet had I been standing on them. “You want to know. You’re just not ready for the answer.”

  “God, how do you do that?” I squeaked. “How does one man hold so much power in his shitty, handsome face to make me go all freakin’ crazy like this with just a few words? This isn’t who I am. This is not who I ever want to be. I used to laugh at the women you brought to the bar who acted like this. I’ve become what I used to mock.” I gasped, staring at him accusingly. “This is why you should never fuck your idols.”

  His chuckle was smooth but held no humour, and his soft smile was like a lighter to my sparking ovaries as he looked at me like I mattered.

  “I wish you knew how adorable you were.”

  “I’m nothing but a hot mess, thanks to you.”

  “Definitely hot.”

  “Why?” I croaked, almost inaudibly, scrunching my face together. “Why me?”

  He rested his elbows on his knees, his body relaxed but tense at the same time. “I hate it when chicks ask that question. ‘Why me?’” he mimicked. “You’re gorgeous. You’re individual. You’re brave and different. You’re your own voice in a world drowning in clones. You’re funny as shit. Why the fuck not you?”