Dirty Like Me Page 7

  “Wow. Restraining order?”

  “You better believe it.”

  “Poor fella. Maybe all he wanted was a kiss.”

  Jesse grinned. “What else has the internet told you about me?”

  Ugh. I hated having to admit I’d been reading up on him. “Not much other than the obvious. You know, rock god, guitar legend in the making, blah blah blah. Oh. And you’ve dated a lot of famous women. Models. Actresses.”

  “That’s true.”

  I was kind of hoping he’d deny that one. Not that it should matter to me—fake girlfriend that I was. But I didn’t exactly relish being compared to his usual “type.”

  “But not many actual girlfriends,” I said, digging a little.

  “Also true.”

  “One, actually.” Because according to Wikipedia, Elle was the only woman who held that distinction.

  “Two,” he said. “I had a girlfriend in high school. Then we went on our first tour and fame took its course. Relationships got sticky.”

  Sticky how, I wasn’t sure, though obviously the long distance thing probably sucked. And I could imagine dating a guy who suddenly rocketed into the spotlight would be a lot to take, especially when he was being pawed by rabid female fans every night. But I wasn’t sure I wanted the details on that; I was nervous enough about walking into this party on Jesse Mayes’ arm and being the object of jealousy and judgment. I’d had a taste of that since the video came out, and it was pretty hard to swallow.

  “So, you just don’t do the girlfriend thing?”

  “No.”

  I was surprised by the blunt answer. And maybe, way deep down, just a tiny bit disappointed, which was beyond stupid.

  “You’ll probably hear a lot of things,” he said. “But here’s the truth. Elle is family to me. But she wasn’t any more right for me than any of the other women I’ve dated these last ten years. We stuck it out a while, probably longer than we should have, because of the band. We were in the middle of the tour when we realized things weren’t right.”

  “How long were you together?”

  “About a year. But the last few months of that was a prolonged breakup.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Thank you for filling me in.”

  “That it?” he asked. “The internet trail go cold there?” Clearly, he knew it hadn’t.

  “Not exactly.” I met his gaze. “You get horny on stage.”

  He grinned and kind of rolled his eyes. “I wish I could say that’s a lie.”

  “It embarrasses you?”

  “If I said yes, would you believe me?”

  “I don’t know yet.” After the way he’d pretended to fuck me senseless in front of a camera crew, all the while with a raging hard-on, it was hard to imagine anything would embarrass the man.

  “Anything else?”

  “Um… yes. It also seemed evident that you have a reputation as…” I tried to put it as diplomatically as I could, and not give his ego too much of a stroke. “A talented lover.”

  To my surprise, he didn’t laugh or gloat. He didn’t say a thing about it.

  “What about you?” he asked. “What would your ex-lovers say about you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe you could ask him sometime.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Unfortunately, yes.”

  “How is that?”

  “How is what?”

  “How is it you’ve only had one lover?”

  “I’m a slow learner?”

  He smiled at my lame joke. “Seemed to know what you were doing when you kissed me at the video shoot.”

  “You mean, when you kissed me.” I tried not to smile too big at that comment. “And thanks for saying that. I was feeling a little out of practice.” I glanced at him. “Like, um… two years out of practice.”

  Jesse looked over at me, his mouth open like he meant to say something. Then he shut it. Then he opened it again.

  “Well, fuck,” he said.

  Yeah. Pretty sure I’d just blown his mind. Though maybe not in a good way.

  “So…” He cleared his throat. “What else should I know about Katie Bloom?”

  “Um… I don’t know. I’ve never had a stalker. I’ve never been on stage, so I don’t know if it would make me horny.”

  “What’s your favorite food?”

  “Pizza.”

  “Everyone likes pizza. What kind?”

  “Double cheese. Triple if I can get it.”

  “That’s it? No toppings?”

  “Cheese is a topping.”

  “Any weird allergies?”

  “Nope.”

  “Strange quirks?”

  “You mean like stage horniness?” I threw him a sidelong look. “Hmm… I never wear matching socks.”

  “Never?”

  “Never. I mismatch them as soon as I buy them.”

  “Weirdo.”

  “I have a lucky leather jacket.” I indicated the one I was wearing.

  “And it’s lucky because…?”

  “Because good things always happen when I wear it. I wear it sparingly.”

  He looked at me like I was dead crazy. “Why wouldn’t you wear it all the time?”

  I gave him the same look right back. “Because what if I wear all the goodness out?”

  He laughed at that logic. “Okay… Favorite sexual position?”

  I had to think about that. “Missionary?”

  “Really?” His tone was entirely disbelieving. We were now stuck in a slow crawl into Gastown, so I wasn’t getting out of this anytime soon.

  “Yes.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you like about it?”

  “Well… I like having a man on top of me. You know, being able to feel him… his weight and his strength…” I opted to shut my mouth there, since Jesse’s eyes were blazing into me. I shifted in my seat; I was beginning to sweat in my leather and lace. “How about you?”

  “Favorite food, T-bone steak, rare,” he said. “I’m allergic to cats. I sometimes talk in my sleep.”

  “Really? What do you say?”

  “I don’t know. You’re my girlfriend. You tell me.”

  “I think I heard you mumble something about getting my name tattooed on your ass.”

  “Sounds like something I would say.”

  I laughed. “Favorite sexual position?”

  “My face. Between your legs.”

  My laughter choked off as heat flushed my cheeks. Right. Oral fixation. “Um…” I swallowed. “Isn’t that more of a foreplay position?”

  He didn’t answer that, just chewed his gum and smiled. The roar of the Ferrari echoed off the close buildings as we made our way through the narrow streets.

  “So, what do I tell people?” I asked, looking to steer the conversation away from sex. “I mean, they’re gonna ask. You know, me, with you.” Maybe all prettied up with makeup and lingerie and fancy lighting in a glossy music video I was a match for him on some level, but the truth of the matter was that Jesse Mayes was way the hell out of my league. He had to know it.

  Everyone else would.

  “Just tell them I fuck your brains out every night and you’ve never been happier,” he said, unconcerned. “What more do they need to know?”

  “But shouldn’t we have a few details worked out? Corroborate our stories? Like what do you like most about me? Assuming that what I like most about you is that you fuck my brains out every night.”

  He grinned. “I like fucking your brains out every night.”

  I blushed; it was getting bloody hot in my leather jacket, but I was afraid to take it off and get eye-fucked all over again when he got a glimpse of the plunging neckline of my dress.

  “Tell me what else I should like about you,” he said.

  “I don’t know. I like animals. You’ve met my dog, Max. I’m fairly neat and organized. I’m a good baker.”

  “You just described my grandma.”

  I blu
shed again, this time from embarrassment rather than rising horniness. Why I didn’t mention my painting, I wasn’t sure. Maybe I didn’t want to sound like a pathetic wannabe. Too many times I’d seen the spark of interest in someone’s eyes, only to see it snuffed out again when they discovered I’d never actually done anything with my artistic aspirations. “Um… and I fuck like an animal?”

  “That’s more like it.”

  “And what else do I like about you, other than the frequent sex?”

  “You like my big ego,” he said easily. “You find it charming. You like my big dick. And I’m a phenomenal lay.”

  Sweet Jesus. “Is that all?”

  “What more do you need?”

  “How did we get together?”

  “I sent you a dick pic after the video shoot and the rest is history.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Why not? Not everyone can fall in love over a nudge. Some girls need a little dick.”

  “I thought it was a big dick. See? We need to get our story straight.”

  He laughed. I liked making him laugh. Which was not a good sign.

  “What about L.A.?” I asked. “I thought you were out of town since the shoot.”

  “Not a problem. We’ve got sexting, phone sex, and there’s always Skype. And I’ve been back in town for six days.”

  We’d stopped at another red light, at the edge of Coal Harbour, and I gave him a skeptical look.

  “Trust me,” he said. “We could do a lot of damage in six days.”

  Well, then. “Okay… so as of right now, we’ve been doing it for six days straight?”

  “Every spare moment.”

  As the light turned green and his gaze left me, I tried to hold back my smile. This fake relationship was starting to sound like a hell of a lot of fun.

  “And is there anything to this relationship besides sex?”

  “Of course. Just wrote a new song about you that I’m gonna sing on tour. It’s called New Girl.”

  I assumed he was joking and laughed, but he didn’t. He looked darkly serious as we turned into the drive of an incredibly posh hotel near the water.

  “No one really cares who I’m fucking, Katie,” he said. As he parked us at the valet stand, his dark eyes locked on mine. “Not for more than five minutes. Jesse Mayes in love, that’s the story.”

  CHAPTER 8

  KATIE

  When we arrived, the club was already packed.

  About a thousand bouncers were waiting to escort Jesse and his entourage into the venue. Jude and another one of Jesse’s personal security guys, Flynn, had met us at the hotel, and along the way we’d managed to accrue a number of other big, leather-clad dudes with tattoos. I had no idea if they were Jesse’s buddies or his bodyguards or both. He’d given me his hand and I clung to it with both of mine and didn’t ask questions, just tried to take everything in.

  The club was in an old but renovated building, original, hundred-year-old stone outside, glass and steel inside. We went in through the lobby of an adjoining building, through the bar’s staff entrance. I could make out Hugo’s 99 Problems thumping through the glass wall that looked into the bar and I could tell it was pretty dark, people crowded at least three deep up to the two long bars. Over the stage an illuminated backdrop featured the image from the cover of Jesse’s solo album, Sunday Morning: a pair of men’s dirty leather boots, discarded on the floor next to what was obviously a woman’s bed.

  There were a bunch of people waiting to talk to Jesse in the narrow staff hallway. He spoke with a few of them, briefly, but didn’t introduce me. I hung back with Flynn, who seemed to be hovering near me, but Jesse never let go of my hand. So far, he was a pretty classy date. I just hoped I didn’t disappoint him. I had no idea what to do or say to all these people, so I just smiled—enough that I looked like I was happy to be here, but not so much that I looked like a weirdo. As soon as Jesse was done talking, Jude gave the nod and the bouncers whisked us up a flight of stairs into the VIP room. Which was cool, because I’d never been a VIP before.

  It took several seconds for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. There were candles burning in glass bowls on low tables with cushy blood-red seats grouped around them. A web of tiny lights like stars filled the ceiling. The room was surrounded on three sides by a low wall with a railing that overlooked the club floor below and had an incredible view of the stage. Two giant screens, one to each end of the room, played the video for the first lead single off Sunday Morning, Come Lately, which was mostly footage of Jesse playing the song in an empty field while his hair blew around his face and he played his guitar so hard sweat ran down his body… which, if you asked me, was all you really needed to put in a video.

  I tore my gaze away from the giant image of Jesse to follow his lead through the dark room. We headed straight for a giant party booth in the middle with a bunch of tables clustered inside it. There were a lot of people there already. Men, mostly. I recognized Jesse’s bandmates, Zane and Dylan, right away, and his hot manager, Brody, who rose to meet us when he saw us coming.

  I scanned the group but I didn’t see Elle.

  “Hey, brother,” Brody greeted Jesse, but his eyes were on me. A smile spread across his face. I wondered if he knew yet about the proposal Jesse had made me, which was kind of embarrassing, but I’d just have to deal with it. “Katie. Nice to see you again.” He took my hand, though Jesse never let go of the other one.

  “You, too,” I said.

  Dylan greeted us next. He towered over me, sweeping his dark auburn hair back out of his green eyes as Jesse introduced us. Then the big drummer gave me a huge grin and pulled me in for a quick hug. Thank God he was wearing jeans this time. When I’d met him at the video shoot he was wearing his kilt, and he’d put one booted foot up on the couch while talking to me, showing so much muscular thigh I’d almost choked to death on my water.

  Zane was next, greeting Jesse and giving me a thorough once-over. He noted my hand in Jesse’s and his blond eyebrows rose.

  “Where the fuck do I know you from?” he said, and his tone was so dripping with innuendo, I swore for all he thought he might’ve fucked me on some distant, drunken night he couldn’t remember.

  Dylan leaned in and said something in his ear I couldn’t hear. The music had gone up a notch and The Black Keys were thumping out the opening lines of Your Touch. Zane’s ice-blue eyes crinkled as he burst out laughing.

  “You’re fucking kidding me. The girl from the video?” He pulled Jesse in for a one-armed, chest-to-chest bro hug, then tossed his head back, flashing his white teeth, and roared again. “Shiiiiit, brother.”

  I was blushing by this point, but lucky for me the dim lighting in the room probably hid the fact. Which was good, because I’d be doing it a lot.

  Jesse slapped Zane on the cheek. Zane never stopped grinning. At me. Then he tossed his arm around Maggie, who’d materialized, to my delight. Maggie rolled her eyes, shrugged him off, sort of, and hugged me. “Katie!” She looked at my hand in Jesse’s, then at Jesse, her expression curious, then accusing. “What the fuck did you do?”

  “Nothing,” Jesse said, and winked at me.

  Right. Nothing. Except sent me an alleged dick pic.

  Shit. Were we really going with that story?

  I watched, helpless, as Jesse started getting sucked away into the growing crowd of people wanting his attention. Twenty-four hours ago, if someone told me I’d feel less nervous with Jesse Mayes at my side, I’d say they were high as fuck. But right now I didn’t want to let him go. He did a really sweet thing, though, and looked me in the eye, told me he’d be back, and kissed my hand before he let go.

  Luckily, Maggie was there to scoop me up.

  I fucking loved this woman.

  She looked hot tonight too, her little black dress showing off her flawless light-brown skin, her sleek, dark hair loose around her pretty face. Which was probably why Zane kept putting his arm around her. She kept dodging it, though this seemed like a
long-established game between them. I wondered how she kept her sanity around all these hot men. Did she sleep with any of them?

  Were she and Zane lovers?

  I really couldn’t tell. But she pretty much ignored him as she introduced me around in a whirlwind to what she called “the VVIPs.”

  Besides Dylan and Zane there was Dylan’s buddy, Ashley, who told me to call him Ash. He had this punk-meets-surfer-dude thing going on with his inky black hair, serious blue eyes and many piercings. And he was crazy hot.

  What was it with these guys and their friends?

  Did one need to be a perfect ten—minimum—to even hang with this crowd?

  I was introduced to the members of Jesse’s solo band next, and my nerves settled a little. These, at last, were dudes from my planet. While none of them could be called unattractive by any stretch, they probably weren’t responsible for causing whiplash in the streets, and that was probably a good thing.

  I was told that Rafael played rhythm guitar and various other instruments; he also co-wrote a couple of songs with Jesse on the album. Letty was the bass player and Pepper was on drums. Pepper and Ash were in some alt-rock band I’d never heard of called Penny Pushers, who often toured with Dirty as their opening band. And as it turned out, after chatting with the members of Jesse’s solo project band, and laughing with them, and enjoying the first pint of beer that Pepper handed me, I decided they were pretty fucking awesome on their own. What was it about rock ’n’ roll musicians that was so… yummy?

  The carefree, bad boy vibe?

  The tight jeans and leather?

  Yeah. That.

  And as I soaked in the vibe, I realized it wasn’t just the way they looked, or dressed, or the in-your-face sex appeal, but the sheer, potent electricity of raw male energy. It was this unapologetic way they had of taking up space, sitting with their thighs spread wide, throwing their heads back to laugh out loud, showing their teeth. They wore big, chunky rings and had tattoos, and Zane even wore a smudge of eyeliner, which made his arctic eyes look even bluer.