Mr. October: A Rock Star Romance (Calendar Boys Book 10) Page 7

  “Nope.”

  I scowl at the back of her head.

  I’m a fucker for being irritated. This is the treatment she’s received from me ever since she arrived, and here I am – getting it back for thirty seconds and I can’t take it.

  Maybe that’s her game.

  Well I can play games too.

  I snag a piece of carrot from her chopping board and brush past her, my front pressing against her back for the briefest of seconds, but the joke’s on me. Her floral scent hits me like a wrecking ball, assaulting my senses and making me crave her. I could drown myself in her perfume and I’d still want more.

  I cross the room quickly, trying to clear my head, but I swear the scent comes with me, clinging to me – torturing me.

  My phone dings and it’s a text from Josh, telling me that he’s taken Avery out for dinner. Eric’s playing chauffer. Lucky him.

  “Looks like it’s just me and you tonight, sugar.”

  Her eyes meet mine and widen. “Where’s Avery?”

  “Being subjected to a date with Josh.”

  Her eyes soften and a smile curves up at her lips. “I think he likes her.”

  I think he just likes the idea of getting into her pants, but I’m not about to be the prick that says it out loud.

  “He took her out for dinner?”

  I nod.

  “That’s so sweet.”

  Like fuck it is. Josh isn’t sweet.

  I don’t reply.

  “Imagine if they got married and had babies one day – the story they’d have to tell of how they met through us.”

  Us. The word bounces around inside me, trying to force its way in deep.

  There is no us. There never will be.

  She sighs, her expression dreamy, and goes back to whatever the hell she’s cutting up now.

  “You want to go on a date, sugar?” The words are out of my mouth before I can consider the weight they carry – the implication of them if she were to say yes.

  She laughs, a nervous giggle. “With you?”

  I nod. Jesus. Someone hand me a fucking shovel, I’m digging myself a deep hole here.

  “That’s okay. You don’t have to take me out.”

  I breathe a sigh of relief, thanking God that I don’t have to take her to some fancy restaurant and pretend when all I really want to do is stay here and see the real her.

  “What about takeout?” I offer. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Anything.”

  She nods, thoughtful. “Alright, Masen Lennox, you got yourself a date.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  Billie

  I’m expecting a TV dinner, so when he sets up our takeout at the dining table, positioned so that we’re facing each other, I’m surprised.

  He’s been distant, aloof, cold even towards me for the past day or so, and I can’t get a read on him.

  He seems to want me close, but not too close.

  Sometimes it’s like he really couldn’t give a flying fuck about me, barely even glancing in my direction, but then he does something like chew Josh out for even thinking about me in the bedroom, and I’m right back to having absolutely no clue where I stand with him.

  Like right now, as the guy I’ve crushed on for years sits across from me, holding out a set of chopsticks for me to take like it’s no big deal at all that we’re on a sort-of date.

  We eat in silence, our only interaction when he leans across the table and steals a piece of chicken from my bowl and I try to smack him with my chopsticks.

  I figure this is how the entire evening is going to go, so when he looks at me all dark eyes and smouldering looks and asks about my family, I’m shocked.

  “You got any sisters, sugar?”

  I shake my head. “N… no. No sisters.”

  Great. We’re back to stuttering now.

  One corner of his mouth lifts, my discomfort clearly amuses him. Asshole.

  I drop my chopsticks, too on edge now to eat anymore. “Are you not going to ask if I have any brothers?”

  He huffs out a humourless laugh. “I already know you haven’t got any of those.”

  “How?” I ask, confirming that he is in fact correct with that one word.

  “No one has threatened to kick my ass since we got together,” he explains.

  “What if I had a younger, nerdy little brother or something? One that doesn’t know how to punch?”

  He shakes his head, cocky in his assumptions. “Nope. No brother, no matter how nerdy, would watch his sister date a guy like me and not say a word.”

  My eyes roam over him. “Are you someone’s brother?”

  “Not that I’m aware of,” he mutters under his breath.

  I want to know what he means by that, but he’s clearly not in the mood for sharing, he’s in the mood for asking.

  “What about your olds?”

  I nod. “My mum and dad. They still live in the same house I grew up in. Doing the same jobs… still got the same friends.”

  “What do they think about you getting mixed up in my life?”

  I lift one shoulder. “They’re good people. I told them I knew what I was doing, and they asked when I was bringing you home for a Sunday roast.”

  “They invited me for dinner?” he questions, surprised.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  “You didn’t tell me.”

  I snort. “No, I didn’t. It’s not like we’re going to go home and have dinner with my parents.”

  “What if I wanted to?”

  “You don’t.”

  “You don’t know that. You didn’t ask.”

  I roll my eyes. “Fine. My parents invited us for dinner, do you want to go?”

  “Fuck no,” he says, a grin spreading across his handsome face. “Do I look like the kinda guy you take home to your folks?”

  I lose it.

  “You’re such a dickhead,” I say between giggles.

  He laughs, his grin still in place, and it steals the breath right out of my lungs.

  He’s too much. I can’t handle a guy like him.

  Our laughter dies off and is replaced by a longing stare on my behalf and the usual intense focus from him.

  “You want to produce music?” he asks when I’m about to spontaneously combust.

  I can’t take much more of this, my nerves are shot, my lips are aching for him and the air between us is practically crackling.

  “I’d love to work with music in any way,” I reply, grateful for the distraction.

  “Do you like my music, sugar?”

  I nod, embarrassed to admit I’m a complete and utter fan girl. I’m sure I told him something of the sort when we first met, but he’s never called me on it. Until now it would seem.

  “You shake that sexy ass when you sing along to my songs?”

  My cheeks heat.

  I’ll never get over hearing him call me sexy. Never.

  “If I told you that, I’d have to kill you.”

  He smirks.

  “What about you? What music do you like?”

  “Anything,” he replies quickly. “I’ll listen to anything.”

  “I didn’t ask what you listen to, I asked what you like. There’s a difference.”

  His lip twitches and he nods.

  “Fair. I like older stuff. Fleetwood Mac, The Beatles, Elvis...”

  He’ll be one of those names one day.

  “I approve.”

  He lifts his brows. “I’m glad,” he drawls, his tone making it clear that he really couldn’t give two shits about having mine or anybody else’s approval.

  I think that’s what I admire the most about him – he’s not looking for anyone’s validation. That, and his insane talent.

  Sure, he wants to fix his public profile, but that’s for him – to get what he wants – keep his recording contract so he can keep doing what he wants to do.

  “What are you always reading?”

  “Books?
” I answer, confused by his question.

  “What kind of books?”

  I nibble on my bottom lips, feeling oddly embarrassed to tell him. “Romance mostly.”

  He lifts a brow. “Like porn?”

  I snort out a laugh. “No, not like porn. If I wanted to read nothing but sex, I’d just watch the real thing.”

  “You watch porn, sugar?” he asks with a smirk.

  “Not nearly often enough,” I tease.

  “Do you –”

  “Don’t I get a turn asking the questions?” I interrupt him.

  He scowls, but waves for me to go ahead.

  Shit. I didn’t expect him to give in so easily, I don’t even know what I want to ask him.

  “Wha… what’s your favourite colour?”

  “Black.”

  I’m surprised he doesn’t add ‘like my soul’ to the statement, given the darkness of his expression, but I won’t let it deter me.

  “Tell me about the drinking.”

  He narrows his eyes. “Nothing to tell. I’m sure you saw it all in the press anyway.”

  “Tell me about rehab then.”

  “Wasn’t my favourite place.”

  I plead with my eyes, begging him to give me something, anything real.

  “It was the best and the worst thirty days of my life,” he murmurs. “It was the first time I looked in the mirror and hated what I’d become.”

  I swallow deeply, well aware that this is more of an insight to the real him than I’ve ever got before.

  He shifts in his seat, and I can see I’m losing him.

  “Do you have any tattoos?” I ask, trying to hold onto whatever we have going right here and now.

  He shakes his head. “None.”

  “That’s not very rock and roll of you.”

  “Don’t like needles,” he replies, and I’m freaking pathetic, because knowing that tiny little snippet of information about him, thrills me.

  My face must show just how happy I am, because he pushes out of his seat, rounding the table as he says, “I think that’s enough Q and A for one night.”

  I nod, disappointed and ridiculously satisfied at the same time, as he leans down towards me.

  “Sweet dreams, sugar.” His lips brush the lobe of my ear, and I shudder.

  I wait until I’m sure he’s gone before I get up from my seat, even more confused than when I sat down.

  ***

  “I can’t wear this,” I hiss as I look at myself in the mirror.

  We’ve been holed up in this beautiful house for the better part of two days, doing nothing but swimming, lounging around and eating – add in excessive amounts of flirting as far as Avery and Josh are concerned – but tonight, for our last night here, Josh has announced that we’re going clubbing.

  I didn’t pack for clubbing.

  Avery, however, did… and by ‘packed for clubbing’ I mean she brought a collection of her skankiest dresses and highest heels, because apparently you never know when you’re going to need to dress like a hoe.

  “You’re wearing it. I’m going to get a different pair of shoes, wait here,” she instructs as she rushes from my room.

  I tug on the hem again, but it makes no difference, this thing barely covers my ass.

  I can’t let Masen see me wearing this. Not after he’s already commented on how short my shorts are – this jumpsuit makes them look modest – and the way I keep feeling his eyes on my body whenever he’s around is starting to feel dangerous.

  Where Josh is openly flirty, it’s Masen who holds my attention captive without any effort on his behalf.

  Every stolen glance feels like foreplay, and every time he calls me ‘sugar’, I get weak in the knees.

  It’s stupid – crushing on him when there’s no way he could be interested in someone as plain as me, but every now and then, there’s a look in his eye that makes me think I could have a shot.

  I tug the straps from my shoulders and slide the jumpsuit down my middle and over my ass as I let it drop to the floor.

  I can’t wear this. Not in public anyway.

  I hear footsteps in the doorway and I turn, expecting Avery. “I’m not wearing…” The words die on my lips as I take in Masen; he’s wearing dark jeans and a black button-down shirt, the collar open and the sleeves rolled up his forearms.

  Fuck, he looks so good.

  “Jesus, sugar.” He groans.

  It’s only then that I realise I’m standing before him in nothing more than a strapless bra and a scrap of lace between my thighs.

  “Masen,” I whisper.

  He looks at me like the one word pains him.

  “I was just getting dressed.”

  I reach for the clothing at my feet, but his voice stops me. “Don’t.”

  I stand back up slowly, my hands empty.

  He steps into the room and closes the door behind him. He’s seen me in a bikini a hundred times, but this feels different, more intimate.

  I can barely remember how to breathe as he stalks towards me, his greedy eyes taking his fill of my exposed body.

  My heart is pounding in my chest. It’s so loud I can hear it whooshing in my ears.

  “Are you trying to kill me?” he growls as he reaches me, his hands landing on my hips and tugging me flush against him.

  I shake my head. I can’t speak. I wouldn’t know what to say, where to begin.

  His fingers skim lightly up my sides and a moan slips from between my lips.

  “Fuck it,” he whispers before he clasps my face in his hands and crashes his lips to mine roughly.

  My hands find his chest and press against the hard plains.

  He presses his tongue to the seam of my lips. I open to him and he frantically sinks into my mouth.

  Holy shit, I was wrong. He tastes fantastic.

  My fingers find the buttons on his shirt at the same moment that one of his hands finds the long hair trailing down my back.

  He tugs, hard, pulling my head back, exposing my throat to him.

  I moan again as he drops his mouth from mine and devours the skin at my neck.

  I get the last button undone on his shirt and he’s got it off in a flash.

  I shove him back so I can look at him. I’m yet to see him without a shirt on, and fuck it was worth the wait. His abs are toned and tight and he’s got the hottest ‘v’ I’ve ever seen in real life, with a tempting trail of dark hair leading into his waistband.

  His eyes are dark and smouldering as they meet mine, and I shiver, a chill passing over me from the tip of my head down to the soles of my feet.

  No guy has ever looked at me like this before.

  He steps towards me and I reach for the belt around his hips greedily.

  He groans, pained, and his head falls to my shoulder.

  “I can’t, sugar,” he says, his voice strained.

  “What?” I whisper, shocked by this sudden change of heart. “Why?”

  My hands fall to my sides as he straightens, stepping away from me to put space between us.

  “I can’t do this, not with you.”

  I nod slowly, the reality hitting me like a slap across the face.

  I don’t know how I could be so stupid. I forgot who he is. He’s not just some guy. He’s Masen fucking Lennox, and he could never be mine.

  “Of course… I… sorry…” I wrap my arms around my middle and step around him. “I shouldn’t have… I mean, why would you want anything to do with me?” I laugh bitterly and snag the jumpsuit off the floor.

  He doesn’t reply as I quickly put it on, my back to him the entire time.

  I don’t allow myself to look back as I rush from the room.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Masen

  I know I’ve hurt her. I can see it plain as day. It’s written all over her face.

  I know I’ve said the wrong thing, that she’s interpreted it the wrong way… but the wrong way is one hundred times safer than the right way at this point, so I let her redre
ss in silence, and I don’t say a word even as she rushes from the room without so much as a glance in my direction.

  “Fuck,” I mutter.

  I’ve fucked this up good and proper.

  I let my dick do the thinking and I can’t allow that to happen when she’s around.

  She’s not just some chick I can take to bed and disregard when I’m finished.

  She’ll still be here in the morning, and the morning after that, and the fucking one after that too.

  She’ll be here every morning until Ange decides my reputation is squeaky clean enough and, given the fucking attitude she gave me on the phone this morning, I’d say she’s still far less than impressed.

  “Fuck,” I repeat as I grab my shirt off the floor and shrug it back on, fastening the buttons swiftly.

  Putting it back on is nowhere near as exciting as taking it off was.

  I don’t know what the hell is going on with me, but I do know one thing, I’m a liability as far as Billie is concerned, even more so when I’m walking around with this loaded gun in my pants.

  Jerking off doesn’t even cut it anymore, I need the real thing.

  I drop down and rest my head in my hands.

  I haven’t been this pissed off with myself since before I went into rehab.

  “Tonight’s gonna be a good night…” Josh bellows, murdering the Black Eyed Peas hit song and I groan in frustration.

  I’ve got a matter of seconds before he finds me in here, sitting on the end of her bed looking like a chump, but I don’t think I care enough to move away from the scene of the crime.

  “Well, well, well, what do we have here? You look like you just got a blow job that was all teeth or something.”

  Jesus Christ. I need a smoke.

  “Not in the mood for your shit, Josh.”

  “Well bad luck, princess, because here I am.”

  I lift my head slowly to look at him. He’s gone all out, even styling his blond hair in something other than his usual ‘I’ve just been surfing’ style.

  He leans against the door frame and crosses his arms across his chest.

  “Where’s FG?”

  I shrug.

  “You were a dick, weren’t you?” he accuses, eyes narrowed.