Break_An Enemies-to-Lovers Stand-Alone Rock Star Romance Page 10

  Oblivious to the effect he has on me, he stares at the “i love us” tattoo for a while, then he pulls my hand toward his mouth and places a tender kiss on the words he wrote. “It means that I promise I’ll never give you another reason to doubt me.”

  I swallow hard as I pull my hand back and clutch it against my belly. “I’ll believe that when I see it.”

  He kneels before me and rests his chin on my knee as he looks up at me. “Give me a chance to show you.”

  I want to ask him about the new tattoo on his chest — the word “unbreakable” — but I’m suddenly feeling very self-conscious. Despite the butterflies singing a chorus inside me, all I can think of is whether there are any paparazzi watching us right now.

  I shake my head. “I can’t…” I reply, barely loud enough for me to hear my own words, but Ben can read my lips just as I can read the disappointment in his eyes. “Not yet,” I add. “I guess… I guess we can be friends for now.”

  His shoulders relax as he smiles and kisses the top of my knee. “That’s more than I could have hoped for.”

  I hold my breath as he leans back a bit to look at my legs, and I can practically feel his gaze traveling over me like the whisper of fingertips.

  “Let me drive you to your appointment tomorrow. I need to pick up my buddies and grab that Cintiq for my dad,” he says, his gaze meeting mine again.

  I don’t ask how he knows I have an appointment or how he knows his dad talked to me about the Cintiq. I learned not to question the way Ben seems to know everything about everyone all the time. That’s just who he is, always genuinely interested in other people.

  I nod before my brain can come up with an excuse to reject him. “Okay, but I’m meeting Michelle and Allie for lunch after my appointment. You’ll be facing the tribunal. Are you ready for that?”

  The right side of his mouth pulls up in a dangerously sexy half smile. “Bring on the inquisition, baby.”

  On cue, the flash of a camera goes off on my left and Ben chases off the same paparazzo who was creeping in the seagrass earlier today. Is this the reality I’m going to choose?

  I lean forward, holding my face in my hands as I realize I made my choice when I agreed to let Ben drive me to my appointment tomorrow. I can still unmake that choice. But as I think of the words etched onto Ben’s ribs, I know I can’t back out now. Loving Ben isn’t easy, but nothing worth the time ever really is.

  As he walks back toward me, he pulls his phone out of his pocket, scrunching up his eyebrows as he reads something on the screen. I want to ask him if someone texted him, but I don’t have the right to ask those kinds of questions anymore. Not yet.

  He taps out a message and looks up as he tucks the phone back into his pocket. “It’s my assistant.”

  I shrug. “It’s none of my business.”

  “It is your business. I wouldn’t be texting other girls while trying to get you back. You know that’s not who I am.”

  “Honestly, Ben, I don’t know who you are.”

  His jaw clenches as his expression hardens. “Yes, you do. You know me better than anyone.”

  “Yet, I still don’t know why you humiliated me in front of millions of people,” I reply, standing up to leave. “This was a bad idea. I have to go.”

  He places his hands on my hips to stop me. “Charlotte, don’t go. Please.”

  The butterflies in my belly are flapping their wings so fast they’re about to start a fire. Ben knows, of all my many names and nicknames, I prefer my given name most.

  I look down at the sliver of space between us as I place my hands on his forearms. “I don’t know if I can ever trust you again.”

  His hands travel up my sides, grazing past my breasts, and taking my face in his hands. “I promise you’ll understand. When everything is out in the open, you’ll know how much I fucking love you. I promise.” He places a tender kiss on my forehead. “And when we’re back together, I’ll fly you out to L.A. and show you my house.”

  “I don’t want to see your house,” I pout, refusing to look up and into those irresistible blue eyes.

  “They still have Alberto’s in L.A.,” he murmurs.

  I sigh as I finally look up to meet his gaze. “How can you make me feel so safe and so reckless at the same time?”

  He stares into my eyes for a long moment before he responds, “I want you to always feel safe. But I’d rather you be reckless with me than playing it safe without me.” Another camera flash breaks the spell and the muscle in Ben’s jaw twitches. “Come on. I’ll walk you back.”

  As we walk along the shore in silence, I can’t help but think of how much Ben and I have changed. He has at least a dozen new tattoos and I haven’t traveled farther than fifty miles from home in the last three years. One thing we still have in common: we both hate predatory photographers. But is our mutual hatred of the paparazzi powerful enough to resurrect a dead relationship?

  12

  Mercy

  Now

  “Whose car is this?” I ask, as Ben opens the passenger door of a sleek black sports car for me.

  “She’s mine. My buddy offered to drive her up here from L.A. last week. She’s been chilling in the garage, begging for me to ride her hard.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “I think you might need to ease into her. She’s been in that garage a while.”

  He laughs as I slide into the passenger seat. “I’m sure she’ll do just fine. She likes it rough,” he says, closing the door on me.

  I sigh as I try to adjust my skirt and relax my muscles before Ben drops into the driver’s seat. “Do you know where we’re going?”

  He smiles as he presses the ignition button and I’m blasted with hot air from the air-conditioning vents on the dash. “You text me the address for the dentist’s office.”

  “Right,” I reply sheepishly, doing a very bad job of not appearing flustered by the sudden feeling that I’m on a date with my ex-boyfriend.

  He lays a hand on my bare knee and gives it a shake. “Relax. We’re just having lunch, right?”

  I nod, but I don’t say a word. Just having lunch. Sure.

  He uses the Bluetooth on his phone to put on some music before he pulls out of his driveway. The song has a crisp high-hat and rhythmic beat familiar to many of the pop songs released these days, but this is one I’ve never heard. As soon as the vocals come in, I recognize Ben’s voice.

  He glances at me as he turns on Highway 1. “Have you heard this one?”

  I shake my head and focus my attention on the road in front of us. “I haven’t listened to it.”

  “Not even once?” he asks, clearly disappointed.

  “I haven’t listened to any of your songs for almost three years.”

  He’s silent for a moment. “You mean, you haven’t listened to any of the songs on the Blink album?”

  I shake my head again.

  He lets out a sharp breath through pursed lips. “Wow... I wasn’t prepared for how much that would hurt.”

  I sigh as I turn toward him again. “You have to understand why. I mean, people kept telling me, ‘You have to listen to this song or that song. I’m pretty sure it’s about you.’ Or, ‘It seems like all the songs are about you.’ I wanted to listen. So badly. But I thought if I listened and realized they were right, I would have to explain to them that you only did that to boost record sales. And I knew if I listened and the opposite happened, if I realized the songs weren’t about me, I would be devastated.”

  He nods, straightening his posture as he refocuses his attention on the road. “Yeah, I get it. It’s just... I wrote that whole album for you. Well, Holder and I wrote it.”

  I stare out the window for a moment before I respond. “How’s Holder these days?” I ask, desperate to change the subject.

  “He’s Holder. Still crazy as ever, but still the best songwriter I know.” He taps his phone a few times and a piano ballad plays from the speakers. “This is the only song I wrote without Holder. It’s called ‘How
About Us.’”

  My stomach clenches like a white-knuckled fist as I wait for Ben’s voice to kick in. Each breath is measured as I try not to blurt out a command for him to turn it off. And when the first few words flow out of his expensive speakers, my body begins to tremble.

  “You said you’d never doubt,

  Now I’m caught on the out-

  Side looking in-

  Side, let me in

  Hide your heart again

  You said you’d love us all-

  ways, Now you never call

  Play games with to-

  Day, your spinning cool

  Shade, there you go again.”

  I clench my jaw and squeeze my eyes shut to keep from crying when the chorus kicks in and I can feel the pain in his voice. It takes a few seconds for me to realize, the music has faded away. Ben has turned down the stereo and is singing the chorus to me.

  “Stop,” I whisper. “Please stop. I just… I just want to have lunch. I can’t rehash what went wrong every time we’re together or… Or I’m either going to hate you or fuck you and I’m not ready to do either of those.”

  He smiles. “I’d rather you fuck me, but I don’t want to take my chances with you hating me again. So I’ll stop…for now. If you promise me you’ll listen to the album just once. That’s all I ask.”

  I lean my head back against the headrest. “Okay. Just once, though.”

  Ben drops me off in the backlot of the dentist’s office in the San Francisco Financial District. “What time should I pick you up?” he asks, grabbing his phone out of the cup holder.

  I reach for the door handle. “I’ll text you when I’m ready. We’re having lunch with Michelle and Allie at two o’clock at Homage.”

  He narrows his eyes at me for a moment as if he’s thinking hard about something. “Is Homage a popular place or is it pretty chill?”

  I smile as I realize he’s asking what the paparazzi situation will be like. “It’s popular, but mostly with hipsters who will actively pretend they don’t know who you are because you’re way too mainstream. Plus, the restaurant’s tucked away in the back of a tiny alley. It will be busy because a lot of people have the day after Fourth of July off, but we have a reservation and I’ve asked them to seat us away from the windows.”

  A huge smile spreads across his face. “That’s why I love you,” he replies. “Now go get your teeth cleaned, young lady.”

  “Yes, papa,” I reply, pushing the door open.

  “Have mercy on me,” he says, shaking his head as he adjusts the crotch of his jeans. “Don’t say that kind of stuff at lunch. I really don’t want to have to play hide-the-boner in front of our friends.”

  I roll my eyes and slam the car door shut, but I walk toward the back entrance of the dental office with a huge grin on my face.

  Once I’ve checked in with the receptionist in Dr. Wahl’s office, I take a seat across from a redhead who’s reading a tabloid magazine. My stomach drops when I see a picture of Ben on the cover. It looks like he’s walking through an airport and the headline reads, “Ben Hayes Walks Off Set!” I tear my gaze away from the picture and find the girl staring at me.

  “OMG. Did you hear about this?” she says, pointing at the cover. “Apparently, he walked out on that new Marvel movie they’re filming in Iceland, and…” She looks around to see if anyone else is listening to her, then she leans forward. “His engagement to that one chick whose name I can never remember was a sham.”

  “Becca,” I mutter.

  “What?”

  “Becca Kingsley. Her name is—Never mind, can I see that?”

  “I don’t know how she could even do that. If I had the chance to be with him, I would take it in a heartbeat. He gives snap backs and tattoos a whole new meaning,” she says with a chortle, then she narrows her eyes as she slowly reaches forward to hand me the magazine. “You look familiar. Do I know you?”

  “Not unless you’re from Nebraska. I’m just visiting,” I reply, holding the magazine up to hide my face as I flip through the pages in my search for the article about Ben.

  BEN HAYES WALKS OFF SET

  Ben Hayes reportedly walked off the set of Marvel’s as yet untitled Avenger’s film, which is currently in its fifth week of shooting in Iceland. The production has been shut down, and both the production team and Ben Hayes have declined to comment on the cause of this parting of ways. However, industry insiders are speculating it may have to do with Hayes’ father, a comic book artist who has worked exclusively with DC Comics in the past and was recently diagnosed with stage four lung cancer.

  I roll my eyes at the mention of Frank working with DC Comics, which obviously has nothing to do with why Ben walked off the set. Of course, they’ll say anything to sell magazines. I skim a few more paragraphs until I see Becca’s name.

  Rumors have blown up all over the internet about Hayes’ failed engagement to actress Becca Kingsley. Their fans were upset when they parted ways last year, citing conflicting schedules that made it difficult for them to connect. But Kim Vassar, a former assistant to Kingsley, has been credited with an anonymous video posted on YouTube, which claims the engagement between Hayes and her former employer was a sham. “I’ve never even seen them kiss without a camera around,” the anonymous uploader, whose voice is disguised, can be heard saying in the video, which went viral within hours of being posted.

  Some are saying this alleged sham engagement was a publicity stunt. Many former fans of Hayes are speaking out on social media, expressing their hope that Ben’s return to his hometown of Bodega Bay, California means an inevitable reunion with his former girlfriend, Charley Winters. Benley, as their union was often referred to, were social media’s hottest couple until Hayes broke up with Winters on Instagram three years ago.

  I close the magazine and stare at the cover for a moment. By the peeved look on his face, Ben is obviously fighting the urge to punch someone as he’s surrounded by photographers at Santa Rosa airport. Is this the life I want? I shake my head as I realize that I may have no say in the matter.

  With Ben living next door to me again, I’m going to be in the tabloids and all over the internet whether we get back together or not. Until I can afford to move out of my parents’ house, I’m going to have to be on my toes, always looking out for camera lenses and camera phones pointed in my direction.

  I pull a pressed powder compact out of my purse and look at my face, disappointed when I see a new pimple sprouting on my chin and dark circles under my eyes from lack of sleep. I need to do better than this. As I begin applying a fresh layer of powder to my face, I peel my lips back to look at my teeth. Maybe I should get my teeth whitened.

  13

  Stars

  Now

  As I watch Charley walk away and slip into the dental office, I shake my head at how fucking gorgeous that ass is. And it would look even better with my hands on her hips as she bounces on my dick. I park the car in a space as far away and hidden from the entrance as possible, then I text Ponti to pick me up.

  I know I should stay sober so I can drive my car back, but all I can think of is how much is riding on this lunch with Michelle and Allie. I know Allie will probably give me the benefit of the doubt, but I can’t stop remembering the Facebook message I got from Michelle shortly after the breakup.

  Being in the public eye for so many years, I’ve gotten a ton of hate-mail, especially after what I did to Charley on Insta. But the message Michelle sent me was a billion times more scathing than any comment from any internet troll. She blamed me for a lot of things in that message, but the worst thing she accused me of was using Charley, and her photography skills, to further my career.

  The reason this hurt so much was because I knew that this was Charley’s deepest insecurity. And if Michelle was accusing me of something so hideous, then I knew she was also sharing her theory with Charley, and it could not be further from the truth. As easy as it is to lay on the charm with Charley — because just seeing her puts m
e at ease — I know I need to drink if I’m going to have any shot at letting Michelle’s vitriol slide off my back at lunch.

  Ponti arrives within twelve minutes and I climb into the backseat of the black SUV with Holder, while Tyrell nods at me from the front passenger seat. They’re all wearing sunglasses and looking like they partied way too hard last night, and I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

  I point at Tyrell. “You’re driving my car back,” I say, settling back against the seat.

  “The fuck you think I am? Your errand boy?” he replies and Holder laughs. “That’s why you got a bodyguard-slash-designated driver. Holder and I are staying at the Four Seasons. I can’t sleep one more goddamn night on that janky ass sofa at your pop’s house.”

  I shake my head. “You’re the only one I trust to help me take care of my dad when I go to L.A. this weekend and you’re leaving me high and dry? That’s cold as fuck, man. Cold as the fucking tundra.”

  “Aw, man. You gotta bring that shit up?” He shakes his head, probably remembering how I called him earlier to tell him I had to fire my dad’s caregiver for talking to the tabloids. “I’ll drive your damn car back, but this is the last fucking time I do this shit. Next time, you can get your shit towed. I don’t give a fuck.”

  I turn to Holder and smile as we nod at each other.

  “That’s how you guilt-trip a motherfucker, right there,” he says, bumping his fist against mine. “Boom.”

  “Yo, Holder, you need to fix your suspended license,” Ponti says, the only sane voice among us.

  “Fuck that noise,” Holder replies, pulling his pack of cigs out of his pocket. “Lawyer said I’ll have to do at least a week in county to fix that shit. And have you seen my sweet ass? Nuh-uh. I gotta wait until I’m old and undesirable, then I’ll turn myself in.”