Break_An Enemies-to-Lovers Stand-Alone Rock Star Romance Page 11

  I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth. “Ooh, baby, you’re gonna be waiting a long time.”

  Tyrell laughs. “Tell me about it. That ass is sweet.”

  Holder shakes his head then lights his cigarette. “Not as sweet as Ben’s. I mean, I’m not gay, but I’d be his power-bottom any day.”

  “Well, I’m not gay either, but I’d blow his dad just to get a taste of the recipe,” Ponti chimes in.

  Tyrell shakes his head. “The fuck? What a fucking coincidence. I’m not gay either, but I’d totally tickle Ben’s prostate and let him come in my eyeballs.”

  Holder blows his cigarette smoke out the car window. “Damn, son… Still not gay, but I’d totally tie Ben to the bedpost and ride that thunder-cock cowgirl style while reading Rupaul’s biography to him.”

  I nod in agreement. “That’s funny because I’m not gay either, but I fuck Ben’s hand every night.”

  Holder shakes his head. “Too far, man. You went too fucking far with that shit.”

  I roll my eyes as we pull into the parking lot of the only store that confirmed they have one Wacom Cintiq tablet left. I hate throwing my name around, because it’s like sending my GPS coordinates to the paps. But when the guy on the phone said he couldn’t hold it for me, I had to tell him who I was and that the tablet is for my dying father. But as soon as I see two assholes with long lenses standing in front of the tiny art supply store, I feel like kicking myself.

  “Should we roll?” Ponti asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ll stay in the car, you go inside and get it. I’ll text you the model number so you get the right one.”

  “Should I park around the block?”

  “Nah, they’ll just follow us there,” I reply, reaching into the third row of seats to grab a baseball cap I left there a few days ago. “Just park as close as you can, so you can get in and out as quick as possible.”

  By the time Ponti finds an empty space in the tiny lot, there are two photographers by the SUV. There’s one pap on each side taking pictures of me through the tinted windows, while I keep my head down and eyes focused on my phone screen. Lowering the brightness on the screen, I open up a new text message from Jordan.

  Jordan:

  Studio is prepared to settle this. They’ll let you return to the set if you pay a fine and sign another NDA pertaining to the settlement.

  Me:

  I appreciate you trying to hash this out, but I can’t leave my dad.

  I don’t even want to know how he’s going to respond, so I quickly exit my Messages app and open up Twitter. As I tap the search icon, I’m not surprised to see the fourth item on the top ten trending list is “#Benley.” Glancing at Holder, I find him staring at my phone screen with an eyebrow cocked.

  “Don’t click that shit, bro. Don’t do it, man,” he warns me.

  I let out a resigned sigh and tap the hashtag. The first few tweets are just trolls comparing Charley to Becca. But a tweet from a popular celebrity news site gets my attention, because it contains a link to an article.

  Fireworks For Ben Hayes & Charley Winters

  Rumors are spreading over photographs that emerged this Thursday, July 5th, showing Ben Hayes and Charley Winters in a blow-out battle on Independence Day. The fight was followed by an apparent reconciliation on the beach just hours later. Many are speculating that Ben’s decision to return to the house where he and Charley grew up next door to each other was the first step in a plan to get her back. Are Ben Hayes and the ex-girlfriend he publicly humiliated back together?

  Fuck. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to protect Charley from this bullshit.

  I glance at Tyrell and Holder and I’m not surprised to find both of them staring at their phones, completely unfazed by the photographers tapping on the windows, trying to get us to look in their direction. It is possible to tune this shit out. I’ve gotten pretty good at pretending the paps are no more significant than annoying fruit flies.

  Most people, including me, grow up thinking we want to be stars. We want fortune and fame. We want the adoration of millions of screaming fans. While I concede the screaming fans are a hell of an ego boost, no one can convince me the lack of privacy is normal.

  And with this thought, I suddenly remember that I stuffed a bottle of whiskey into the back pocket of the driver’s seat. Sliding my hand in, I smile when I come up with a full bottle of Four Roses small batch bourbon. I easily chug a quarter of the rich amber liquid in one go, savoring the sensation of the fiery fluid coating my throat and belly.

  Closing my eyes, I lean my head back against the headrest, not giving the slightest fuck about the tapping on the windows. The clicking of the cameras fades away as my muscles get warm and loose. I’ll stop drinking soon, but not today.

  My body sinks down, molding itself to the leather seat as I open my eyes and navigate back to the top trending list in my Twitter app. Three spots below #Benley is #LindbergBaby. Right below that is #DNAdontlie. I shake my head as I say a silent prayer that my FaceTime chat with Katie Lindberg this Saturday at three p.m. goes as planned.

  Katie’s the only person who knew me ten years ago whom I trust to help me out of this twisted mess. If she refuses to get involved, then I’m fucked. I may end up hurting Charley more than when I broke up with her three years ago, and I don’t think either of us could survive that.

  14

  Romantics

  Now

  The receptionist hands me my receipt for my copayment and smiles. “Your teeth look great! Good luck with you-know-who,” she says with a wink.

  I want to ask what she means by this, but I decide to let it go. “Thanks. See you in six months.”

  As I turn around, I text Ben letting him know I’m done and I get a response within seconds.

  Ben:

  Stoked to see you again.

  I stare the message in confusion. That seems like an odd response.

  Ben:

  Sorry this ain’t Ben. It’s Holder. I got lil Benny’s phone. We’ll be rollin up in a few.

  Me:

  Ok. Text me when you get here.

  I smile at the nickname “Lil Benny.” Ben hates when Holder calls him that, especially since Ben is taller and sturdier than Holder. I wait in the lobby of the dental office for about fifteen minutes before I get another text from Ben.

  Ben:

  We’re out front on Commercial.

  Me:

  Be right there.

  I head out through the front entrance on Commercial Street, rather than the back entrance I came in from off Kearny Street. I don’t know why Ben is picking me up at a different location than he dropped me off, but I don’t question it.

  When I come out of the dental office, I smile when I see Holder standing next to a black SUV.

  He’s holding the back door open, bowing when he sees me. “A pleasure to see you again, m’lady.”

  My smile disappears when I’m closer to the SUV and I see Ben in the back seat. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Holder winces at the question. “A little too much of that ol’ Kentucky.”

  My shoulders slump as I let out an exasperated sigh and shake my head. “This was a mistake,” I say, pressing a button on the side of the back seat so it slides forward and I can climb into the third row seat, as far away from Ben as I can get. “Can you drop me off at Homage?”

  Holder hops into the back seat next to Ben and shuts the door. “We’re having lunch with you, Char-Char. I’m fucking starving. Can’t fuck with that manorexia.”

  Ben’s bodyguard in the driver’s seat shakes his head as he merges into traffic on Commercial. “Fool, you’ve been manorexic since your mom shit you out and abandoned you in a dumpster.”

  The guy in the passenger seat shakes his head. “Oof, Ponti. That tea you’re brewing is hot as hell.”

  Holder glances back at me. “Hey, beautiful. This no-manners piece of shit right here is Tyrell Hartford. And I’ll just save him some trouble by telling you that he graduated summa cum laude from USC with a degree in Sound Design.”

  I try not to laugh as I wave at Tyrell. “Nice to meet you. I’m Charley.”

  He waves back at me. “I’m sure you already know not to listen to this loser,” he says, nodding toward Holder. “If not, you’ll learn to tune him out, like fucking static.”

  Holder chuckles. “Oh, man. The irony is so rich I just gave it a tax cut.”

  I laugh out loud this time, but quickly stop when I see Ben stirring in his seat. “You’re gonna have to go right on Grant and take Clay Street to circle back around to Montgomery,” I say to Ponti, as he seems confused by the one-way streets in the Financial District. “Then, you can make a right on Sutter and park there or on Kearny. There won’t be any parking in the alley.”

  Ben’s eyelids flutter open and he looks back at me over his shoulder. “Hey, kitten,” he says with a smile that somehow still manages to look sexy as fuck even though he’s completely sloshed.

  How is that even possible? How can someone look so fucking good all the fucking time? The man does takes snap-backs and tattoos to a whole other level.

  Holder shakes his head then looks back at me. “You want me to knock him out again?”

  I smile at his offer. “Thanks, but I’m sure he’ll do us the courtesy himself,” I reply, sliding my phone out of my pocket to text Allie and Michelle to let them know I’ll be arriving at the restaurant soon. I don’t mention who’s with me or that the reason we’re late is because I got a last-minute one-hour teeth whitening treatment after my dental cleaning.

  Ben sits up a bit straighter and tilts his head as he continues to stare at me. “Is there something different about you?”

  I glare at him. “How would you even know, Boozy McPissface?”

  Tyrell and Holder burst into laughter. “Aw, damn. Charley is not playing that shit.”

  Ben smiles and nods as he leans forward in his seat. For a moment, I think he’s going to throw up, but then he reaches for the door handle.

  “What the fuck are you doing?” Holder remarks as Ben unsuccessfully tries to open the door while the car is moving, foiled by the child safety locks.

  “I gotta piss. Let me out,” he slurs.

  Ponti shakes his head. “You’re tripping balls if you think I’m gonna let you out here. We’re almost at the restaurant.”

  By the time we find a parking space on Sutter and walk the block and a half to Homage, three photographers are following us into the restaurant. Ben bypasses the hostess and heads straight for the restrooms while I make a beeline for the table in the back of the small dining area, where Allie is excitedly waving at me. Michelle spots us next, but she looks more skeptical than excited when she sees the photographers snapping shots of me and Ben and his friends.

  Allie pulls me into a tight hug and gives me a good shake. “I’ve missed you!”

  I laugh as I let her go. “I saw you two weeks ago,” I remind her, turning toward Ben’s buddies. “Allie and Michelle, this is Tyrell, Holder, and Ponti. And you’ve already met the drunk you saw heading for the restroom.”

  The blonde hostess sets our menus down on the table and smiles at me. “I’ll make sure those photographers leave you guys alone. Your server will be right with you.”

  “Thanks,” I reply, taking a seat next to Michelle on the side of the table with the cushioned bench seat.

  Michelle leans in to whisper in my ear. “Why are they here with you?”

  I whisper in her ear. “Ben had to come here to get his dad a new drawing tablet, so he offered to bring me to my appointment.”

  Her eyes widen. “And you let him?” she replies, glancing at my mouth when I shrug. “Did you whiten your teeth?”

  I ignore her question and shake my head when I see Holder staring at Michelle with hearts in his eyes. “Holder, this is Michelle.”

  “Very pleased to meet you, Michelle,” he replies, tipping his Dodgers baseball cap.

  Michelle glares at me. “Don’t,” she warns me, and I know she means I’d better not get any crazy ideas about trying to set her up with Holder.

  Allie grabs her phone off the table as she stares at me. “Did you do something different to your hair? Or is it your lipstick?”

  I shake my head as I violently regret the decision to whiten my teeth. The truth is that my hair, lipstick, and teeth are all different than the last time I saw Allie two weeks ago. I can’t slip anything by her or Michelle. Apparently, I can’t slip anything past drunk Ben either.

  Speak of the devil.

  Ben arrives at our table and motions to Tyrell to get up so he can slip into the seat next to me. His brown hair is messy and slightly damp, like he splashed water on his face. And there’s no trace of whiskey aroma around him, just the faint scent of his minty gum. Great. He’s not just a drunk, he’s a professional drunk.

  He leans in and whispers in my ear. “Sorry about the paps.”

  I close my eyes as I try to remind myself of all the reasons I hate Ben, but his words linger in my ear.

  He sits up straight and casually places his hand on the top of my thigh as he smiles at Allie. “How’s life with the symphony? I was gonna say hi last time I was here for a show, but this asshole told me it would be a bad idea,” he says, nodding toward Tyrell.

  Allie smiles at Tyrell. “It’s all good. The schedule is grueling sometimes, but you know how that is. We’re doing a salute to Gershwin next week. You two should come,” she says, looking at both Ben and me.

  I shake my head almost imperceptibly, because this is beginning to feel more and more like a date with Ben. And it is so not supposed to be a date. Meanwhile, across the table, Holder is flashing sultry glances in Michelle’s direction while she does a fine job of pretending she’s only interested in the menu she has clutched in her perfectly manicured hands.

  Allie raises her eyebrows as she seems to take in the awkward energy at the table. “So… What did you do to your hair?” she asks me, tilting her head as she stares at the lusciously loose curls I spent almost an hour on this morning. “I’m thinking of dying my hair purple.”

  I laugh at this, because Allie has never dyed her silky black hair. “Why?”

  “To advertise that I’m down for anal. Why else?” she replies as she glances at her phone screen, and Holder’s eyes widen. “Ugh. This guy will not leave me alone.”

  “What guy?” Tyrell asks a bit too eagerly.

  Allie smiles at him. “This guy who was just hired as a tuba alternate. He’s like fifty years old and he texts me good morning every day whether or not I respond. I feel like I should just reply with something super creepy. Any suggestions?”

  “Ask him why his hands are so cold when he’s asleep,” Holder replies as our waitress arrives with seven glasses of ice water.

  She shudders. “Creepy, but he might take it as a joke or an invitation to keep texting me.”

  Tyrell motions for Allie to give him her phone. “Give it here. I’ll send him a dick pic and he’ll never text you again.”

  Ben chuckles. “That baby carrot would scare anyone away.”

  “Offering dick pics and dick jokes? Just a couple of romantics, aren’t you?” I reply, shaking my head in dismay.

  Ben nuzzles his nose in my hair and whispers in my ear, “I’m only romantic with you, Yoda.”

  I push his face away when he leans in to kiss me. “I’d rather you send me a dick pic than kiss me with that pickled mouth.”

  His smile widens, completely unfazed as he slides his hand farther down to the inside of my thigh and gives it a light squeeze. “How about you let me put my pickle in your mouth? For old time’s sake.”

  “How about you shove your pickle in your ass and fuck yourself?”

  His gaze locks on my lips. “God, I’ve missed that filthy mouth.”

  I shake my head, trying to ignore the way Michelle’s eyes are burning into the side of my face. “I think we should order now.”

  The waitress standing at the end of the table with an empty drink tray tucked under her arm smiles uncomfortably, as she has been for the last couple minutes of this conversation. “Is everyone ready to order?”

  As everyone places their order, I shoot off another text to Hunter, since he didn’t respond to the first text I sent him this morning.

  Me:

  We’re at Homage. Still time to join us if you get here in the next 30 min or so.

  Hunter:

  I didn’t reply to your first text because I have no desire to hang out with your loser ex-boyfriend or his loser friends.

  Me:

  I’ve been defending you for the last few weeks. Even when you didn’t show up for Father’s Day or 4th of July. But that’s over now. I hope you’re having fun alienating everyone.

  Hunter:

  Having the time of my life. Send mom and dad my love.

  I quickly turn off my phone and stuff it in my purse so I’m not tempted to respond — also, so Ben doesn’t see my brother’s insults. Hunter has always been a bit of a showman. He loves being the baby of the family, the center of attention. But this is getting out of hand.

  I understand the tension between Mason and Hunter, due to Mason’s initial envious reaction to Hunter being drafted by the Giants. But there’s no justification for Hunter insulting me and Ben. I guess it’s time to start taking my dad’s advice and giving Hunter some space.

  As lunch wears on, I’m positive I’m not the only person to notice that Ben has only taken one bite of his burger. He’s probably too drunk to eat, though he somehow manages to look and act as normal as ever. Which makes me wonder if Ben has been drunk every time I’ve seen him since he arrived last week.

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