Dirty Like Me Read online

  She sipped her drink, her eyes never leaving mine, and there it was again. The distance, even though she was pressed so tight against me I could feel the heat of her bare thigh through my jeans.

  I put my arm around her. She relaxed against me, her body wedged into my side, where she stayed for the rest of the night.

  ◊◊◊

  “The fuck is this?”

  I tossed Katie’s sketchbook at her feet. She’d just come out of the bathroom wrapped in a hotel bathrobe, her hair all glossy and wet. I stood there in my underwear, staring at her, half-hard at the mere smell of her all warm and moist from the shower.

  She stared at the sketchbook, open to the most recent sketch—a dude with a mohawk and some twirly pattern shaved up the side of his head.

  Then she looked at me, scanning me from head to toe with her big blue-green eyes, apparently unimpressed as shit with whatever she was seeing.

  I was drunk. Pretty much because I was pissed off, for no real reason, and I was tired, and annoyed and fucking jealous, which was not a feeling I was well-acquainted with or fucking thrilled to be feeling at all. And yes, I fucking knew that drunk was not the way to approach a conversation that was sure to go down all wrong, unless I wanted to make it worse.

  I didn’t want to make it worse. But I did want to fight. Or fuck.

  No. Actually, I really, really, really wanted to fuck.

  I wanted to fuck Katie Bloom.

  Instead I’d just snooped through her sketchbook, which she’d left out and had obviously been sketching in. While I took my shower. Alone. With the image of Katie laughing in my head… standing there at the bar talking to some stranger with a dumbass mohawk and smiling like I hadn’t seen her smile in my direction in days.

  Fuck.

  If anyone could’ve seen it.

  Rock star Jesse Mayes jerks off in the shower, again, because he promised a chick he’s not even sleeping with that he wouldn’t fuck anyone else.

  Fucking idiot.

  “That’s my sketchbook,” Katie said, still staring at me.

  I flicked my chin at the dude on the page. “That guy know you’re my girlfriend?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly. She was getting mad, I was pretty sure, which only made me fucking madder. “I’m not your girlfriend,” she said.

  “Wrong answer.” I stalked over to her and got close, looking her in the eye. She looked annoyed, and worse, fucking concerned, like she was worried I’d trip in my drunk-ass state and break my head open. “The deal is you’re fucking mine for the next four weeks. That means your ass belongs to me. That means you don’t flirt with dudes in bars when my back is turned.”

  She looked taken aback, and worst thing yet: hurt.

  “You’re drunk, Jesse. Let’s talk in the morning.”

  “Is this about me walking in on you getting busy with your little pink friend?”

  She blinked at me, looking embarrassed all over again. “What the hell does this have to do with that?”

  “That’s what I’m asking. You’ve barely smiled at me since.”

  “Well, I’m sorry that I haven’t smiled at you enough. I didn’t know there was a daily quota I was supposed to hit.”

  “So are you pissed because we didn’t fuck, or because we almost fucked?”

  “What?”

  “You told me to stop. What did you want me to do, keep going?”

  “No,” she huffed, but that looked like one hell of a lie.

  “Well, something’s been bothering you. You ever gonna tell me what it is?” I leaned closer, until my nose almost bumped hers. “Or is it because you were about to lose the bet?”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No? You weren’t about to lose your shit if Raf hadn’t knocked on the door?”

  Her little nostrils flared, her cheeks turning pink for an entirely different reason than the one I usually liked. “You were the one who was about to lose your shit. I was in control.”

  “Right.”

  “You were the one who started flirting with me at dinner. I was more than happy to go back to the hotel alone and finish myself off with my little pink friend. You were the one who stalked me there and tongue-fucked my face in the elevator.”

  “Tongue-fucked you?” I laughed. “Sweetheart, I tongue-fuck you, I’m not doing it to your face.”

  She stared at me.

  Then she took a deep breath and let it out through her teeth, slowly, like she was resisting the urge to strangle me. “I didn’t flirt with that guy intentionally,” she said calmly. “He was funny. I laughed.”

  “He wanted to fuck you.”

  Now she looked pissed again. “So? Half the women in the room wanted to fuck you. And the other half wanted to blow you when their boyfriends weren’t looking. And it’s like that in every room we’re in.”

  I stood back, all thought grinding to a halt. Complete fucking traffic jam in my head.

  I rubbed my hand through my hair, feeling really fucking tired. “That bother you?”

  She wrapped her robed arms around herself. “Um, yeah, Jesse. It kinda makes me look like a chump.”

  “How?”

  “Because you eat it up. You flirt, you hug, you sign breasts. And I just stand there.”

  I stared at her. She stared back, her mouth curved in an angry pout.

  “Well… maybe I need to pay more attention.” I blinked at those plump pink lips, feeling like a complete dick with a side of drunken asshole.

  “Maybe you do.”

  She stared at me.

  I stared back.

  Then she turned and stalked back into the bathroom.

  I kicked her sketchbook across the room, then slumped down on the bed. I stripped off my underwear, burrowed under the sheet, and waited for her to come back as I fought the spinning sensation, the waves of sleep and the echoes of Can’t Feel My Face throbbing through my skull in an endless loop.

  The next thing I registered was Katie, standing next to the bed in her bathrobe looking down at me, silhouetted in the light from the bathroom, which was way too fucking bright.

  “Katie,” I heard myself say.

  My eyes were shut when she got into bed. I felt her warmth and smelled her cherry-vanilla smell. She laid her head on the pillow next to me and sighed.

  And even in the dark, in the ringing silence, I felt the distance.

  CHAPTER 22

  KATIE

  My fake boyfriend was hungover.

  It was actually kind of cute. It also took the edge off my frustration over what happened last night.

  I watched him drag his sexy ass out of bed, naked, and weave his way to the bathroom, stretching out his sculpted body as he went. I’d never seen him like this before, all groggy and stumbly. He tripped a little, mumbled and slammed the door and I just grinned. It was the first time since the start of the tour that I was out of bed before him.

  He emerged a few minutes later. “Room service.” He looked at me with one eye open, the other one squeezed shut like the light was killing him. “Omelet,” he croaked. “Juice.”

  I gave him a kiss on the cheek. “I’m on it. Take a shower and don’t break anything.” Then I added sunnily, “You’ve got a show tonight.”

  Confused, he struggled to open the other eye and focus on me.

  “Just kidding!”

  He groaned and tried to grope me but I dodged the clumsy attempt. He grumbled and disappeared into the bathroom.

  After his shower he looked a hell of a lot better. At least he had both eyes open and he managed to get dressed. He didn’t say much. He ate half his omelet, then Jude showed up and to my surprise, they went to the gym.

  Which left me some time to evaluate as I finished my breakfast. In the morning light, things looked a little clearer than they had last night.

  Despite my recent Sahara-sized romantic dry spell, I wasn’t totally clueless. I knew Jesse had to be on edge over our, um… fucked-up situation. It couldn’t be easy on a guy making ou
t with a girl every night, then sleeping alone, or worse yet, right next to that same girl, and not being able to fuck her. Especially for a guy who wasn’t used to having to wait—as he put it, for any fucking girl. It probably felt like he was being punished, when he hadn’t even done anything wrong.

  I kept using the excuse that I was tired from the crazy pace of life on the road so I could go to sleep before he got any ideas about groping me. Which was kind of true—I was always ready to fall into bed by the end of the night, but I was definitely avoiding another steamy make out in private, because there was no way in hell I could stop him if the man started licking my nipples again.

  So far he’d been a gentleman about it, keeping his hands on his side of the bed and letting me sleep, which was just kind of making it worse. Maybe this would be easier if he got pushy and gave me a reason to tell him to fuck off. Then I’d have a convenient excuse to run away and avoid the whole problem.

  I was pretty good at avoiding things. It was kind of my go-to survival mechanism.

  But I didn’t want to run away from Jesse. I wanted to stay, even though I was on the verge of going batshit with desire. He was totally right; I was upset that he hadn’t fucked me yet. I was upset that if I gave in and fucked him, I’d regret it. I was upset that this couldn’t just be easy, and I was upset with myself for making it so hard. I was annoyed as fuck that he was still getting his flirt on with his groupies night and day, right in front of me. I had epic blue clit, I had no idea how the guy felt about me other than, apparently, finding me fuckable, and I was terrified of letting myself get carried away over the man’s awesomeness and ending up with my heart smashed all to hell.

  And now he was upset because some dude in a bar bought me a drink?

  Seriously. I couldn’t even begin to get a read on the man. Though I could admit to myself that seeing him all bent out of shape about it did give me a little glimmer of hope that he actually liked having me around, and not just because of whatever I was doing for his career.

  The problem was I still didn’t know what he wanted, other than for me to do my job, and maybe do him on the side.

  Was he thinking that through, though? Like what was going to happen after he fucked me?

  And after the tour ended?

  Shit.

  I pushed my unfinished plate away. I couldn’t even eat when I fast-forwarded to that. Because the truth was I had no idea how I was going to say goodbye to Jesse Mayes.

  ◊◊◊

  I spent the rest of the day shopping and sketching while Jesse went to a couple of interviews. I had dinner with some of the guys at the hotel, then everyone piled onto the buses and we spent the evening on the road. We were headed to Florida for a couple of shows, and things between Jesse and I seemed okay. He was pretty quiet, a little reserved, but he sat next to me and kept giving me his smoldering fuck-me eyes, so I was pretty sure things were about as normal as ever between us, if not still a little tense.

  By now I’d realized that things were always going to be a little tense, unless we tore off each other’s clothes and fucked for about a day and a half. Which I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about doing. And every time Jesse did something remotely nice, like passed me a bottle of water or asked if I wanted something to eat or told Pepper to shut up when I was trying to get a word in, I wanted him just a little more.

  Was it possible to overdose on desire? Like some kind of hormonal overload that makes you pass out or something? Because every time I thought I’d reached that place where I wanted Jesse Mayes more than it was possible to want anyone or anything, he managed to turn my crank just a little more.

  What a lovely, fucked up kind of torture.

  I texted Devi to tell her, My vagina is in love, and we haven’t even done it yet.

  And my best friend texted back, That’s one stupid vagina.

  Which made me laugh so hard I almost cried, and everyone looked at me and wanted to know what was so fucking funny. Especially Jesse.

  But luckily the guys were kind of distracted.

  Pepper had crashed our bus to jump on Jesse and Mick and Raf, literally, going on and on about his birthday. Apparently it was two nights ago but we hadn’t celebrated sufficiently for his liking, and now that we had the night off, the man wanted to party.

  The guys finally gave in and we rerouted both buses to Savannah, even though we were supposed to drive all the way to Tampa. The drinking started, posthaste, but I noticed Jesse stuck with water, and I opted to sip rather than partake of the shots the guys passed around. They were happily buzzed by the time we rolled into the club. All fifteen of us. That’s thirteen half-drunk rock ’n’ rollers, Jesse and me.

  The herd immediately dispersed in search of women, except for the married guys, who took to the VIP area with Jesse and I. Pepper was a one-man gong show; apparently drumming his ass off almost every night wasn’t enough to let off all his steam. He was so fucking happy we were celebrating his thirtieth, he was making everyone else happy. Including Jesse. And it was so good to see that sparkle in Jesse’s eyes again, his teeth showing when he grinned. He held my hand and I snuggled against him, because I was damn good at my job. And also, because he was Jesse. And when we were out, being seen, it was easy.

  It was when we were alone and the lines weren’t so clearly drawn that things got hard.

  ◊◊◊

  Hours later, I stumbled off the dance floor, my legs kinda rubbery from dancing so much. I collapsed next to Jesse and he wrapped his arm around me, smiling.

  “Having fun?”

  I lifted my sweat-damp hair off my neck. “Oh, yeah. Pepper is off the hook.” Actually, I was pretty sure he was about to lose his pants and get us all kicked out. “That guy makes me laugh.” My smile froze and I bit my lip a little, remembering the conversation we’d had about me flirting with that dude last night.

  “He’s a one-man riot,” Jesse agreed. “If Dylan wasn’t ten times the drummer he is, I’d want him for Dirty. But don’t tell him I said that.” Then he winked, and I knew we were okay. No drunken arguments tonight, no going to bed mad. I also noticed he was still sipping a water. I hadn’t seen him drink all night.

  Which was cool. I appreciated that he had restraint. In all areas.

  He smoothed my hair off my cheek, his gaze drifting down over my chest, which was still heaving in my ruffled tank top as my breath worked its way back to normal.

  “Kiss me,” I said. Maybe I just wanted to see if he would do it on demand.

  He did.

  His lips met mine and we came together in a slow burn, my hand running up his chest to grip his soft T-shirt. “I’m sorry about last night,” I breathed against his lips.

  “Don’t apologize,” he said. Then he kissed me again, and he didn’t stop kissing me for like half an hour, so there wasn’t much else to say on the topic. I pretty much forgot whatever I was trying to apologize for anyway, or why, or anything else other than the feel of his lips on mine, his tongue in my mouth and his hand on my thigh, up under my skirt. His thumb grazed my panties, sending a thrill of pleasure through my clit, and I squirmed.

  “Jesse—”

  “Katie.” He did it again, rubbing his thumb between my legs, and I parted my thighs just a little, wanting more. Then he leaned in to say something in my ear. “You see all these girls?”

  I was panting with need by now and not particularly interested in looking at any girls, but we were definitely surrounded by them. “Uh-huh.”

  He kissed my neck, then my ear, and said, “I know I could take my pick of who to screw tonight.” He withdrew his hand from my skirt, touched my chin and turned my face to his so we were nose-to-nose. “I’m not going to,” he said, brushing his lips over mine.

  “I know,” I breathed. “We have a deal.”

  “Fuck the deal,” he said, and kissed me again, deep.

  I didn’t know what that meant, exactly, but whatever it was my body really, really liked it. I let him kiss me, let him touch me, let him
draw me closer and closer against him.

  Then I started reciting the list in my head.

  Night after night, as I’d lain in bed in the dark just inches from him, I’d made myself a list. A list of all the reasons I couldn’t even begin to fucking think about falling for Jesse Mayes.

  There were many. Not the least of which was that he’d hired me to be here—to pretend to be in love with him. He had never once asked me to feel anything real.

  But I did. I could feel it igniting in my chest like a tiny, uncomfortable spark. Every time he walked in the room. Every time he looked at me. Every time he kissed me like he was starving and I was his last meal.

  I told myself it wasn’t his fault that he was a fabulous kisser, that his touch made my pulse race, my head spin and my toes curl. It wasn’t his fault that my vagina was sending mixed signals to my brain and I was reacting erratically. Sometimes I was all over him. Sometimes I was distant. Sometimes I overcorrected and got weirdly cheerful.

  Tonight I was so relieved we weren’t fighting and so thrilled to be back in his arms that I was all over him, and I didn’t even try to hold back.

  So I really shouldn’t have been surprised when, after the bar closed and we all piled back onto the buses, Jesse instantly corralled me in the back bedroom.

  But fuck.

  He shut the door, locked it, and turned to me like a raging bull.

  I could feel the heat rolling off him. There was a hungry gleam in his dark eyes that made me swallow, hard. He tore off his shirt like he was burning up, tossed it aside and stood there, heaving, like he’d just run a few miles. And if he kept looking at me like that, my panties were gonna drop in about three-point-five seconds.

  We smashed together. We kissed like we wanted to devour one another. His chest was slippery with sweat, pulse slamming in his hands as he gripped my head. I held onto him as he walked us to the bed and threw us down on it.

  He tore off my skirt and panties in seconds, groaning with lust. Then he knelt between my legs and spread my thighs with his big hands.

  “Um! What about the bet?” I gasped.

  Jesse lowered himself between my legs, giving me the most smoldering look I’d ever seen. “Fuck the bet,” he said, and went down on me.