Play Your Heart Out: A Rock Star Romance (Sinful Serenade Book 4) (19 page)

"We all have ugly things in our past."

"Yeah, but you turned yours into something beautiful." I point to his tattoo, though it's covered by his jeans. "And your music too. You make your pain so beautiful."

"No." He stares back at me. "The pain is ugly. Dealing with it is the beautiful thing."

"You sound like a self-help book."

He pulls me closer. "Tell me anyway."

I want to tell him. I really do. It's not just that I want this off my chest. I want Pete knowing me. The ugly parts too.

I swallow hard. I have to find out. "My dad is an alcoholic. He went to rehab last year, but there's no telling if he's really sober. He's high-functioning. He's good at hiding. My whole family, we're great at hiding things."

His voice is steady. "His whole life or after your mom left?"

I nod. "It got worse when Mom left. He'd fall asleep drunk on the couch. He'd miss work."

He rubs my shoulder. It puts me at ease. My self-preservation instincts don't kick in.

I stare back at him. "When it started, I was a kid, and I didn't know better. But after a while, I could tell he had a problem. I knew I had to do something or he'd drink himself to death, but I didn't. I lied for him a million times. I lied to teachers, to my aunt. I even lied to Madison, so she wouldn't know how bad it was."

"He's not your responsibility. He's an adult."

"Maybe when I was a kid. But, by high school, I was old enough to know better. Madison is the one who got him help. I don't know if I'd have ever stopped lying. I woke up one morning to him passed out in a pool of vomit. Madison had already called 911. They said he was a few minutes from dying. Would have been my fault."

"It wouldn't have been your fault, Jess. You can't fix someone else. No matter how badly you want to."

"Yeah." I press my fingers against Pete's cheeks. It does something to me, his skin against my hands. It makes me feel safe. Like I can take the pressure of this. "I'm sure it's nothing compared to your father hitting you."

"You can't win at having a fucked up childhood." He slides his hands to my waist. "Don't make it a competition."

"You're mature for a guy who became famous at 19."

"I know." He slides his hand into my hair and pulls me into a tight hug.

My body floods with relief. It feels good getting this off my chest.

There's no running from my feelings this time. I'm falling hard and fast. There's no way to avoid it.

I whisper in his ear. "I lied so much, Pete. I thought it was for the best, that I was protecting my family. But all it did was make him sicker and grind me to nothing. I barely know who I am now, what I want. That's why I had to leave New York. So I could figure it out."

"Have you?"

"Getting there." I press my hands together. "But... I don't think he's doing well. He keeps dodging my calls. The way Dad lies... I won't know what it is that's wrong until the doctor calls me to tell me he's gone."

"Come here." He pulls me closer, his chin nestling into the crook of my shoulder.

My eyelids press together. I squeeze him tightly, then I release everything. When a sob rises up in my throat, I do nothing to choke it back.

Within moments, I can't keep my eyes closed. I'm crying. Ugly crying. Instead of wiping my eyes, I dig my fingers into his t-shirt.

"Hey." He slides his hand to my cheek and wipes a tear with his thumb. "It's okay, Jess. You're gonna be okay."

"You promise?"

He nods. "It's not your fault. But I know it feels like that sometimes."

I choke back another sob. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload on you like this."

"You walk around like you're carrying the world on your shoulders."

"No." I press my lips together. He has a point. "Maybe."

"Maybe just North America?"

I laugh. He's the only person who could make me laugh at a time like this.

My heart flutters. I let my eyes close. I let my muscles relax as I sink into him. "I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"I'm crying."

"So?" The pad of his thumb presses against my cheek. "Was it hard for you, telling me this?"

"You know it was."

He nods. "That's strength, not weakness. Most people spend their lives running from intimacy."

Intimacy. It's a beautiful word.

"Most people run from all the ugliness in their lives."

"How did you get so perceptive?"

"Emo music." He smiles.

"Are you kidding?"

He nods. "It was metal."

I laugh. "That's not funny."

"Okay, you got me. It was hip-hop."

I swat him playfully. Another laugh rises to my throat. It helps dissolve the pain.

I look back into his eyes. I run my hands through his hair. "Tell me the truth."

"I tried running from my feelings. For a long time. First, my dad, the way he took out all his misery on me. Then some of my particularly bad foster homes. Then everything with Ophelia."

"The cancer?"

He nods. "She was sick when I was in high school. Breast cancer. It tore me up here—" He places his hand over his chest. "But I managed to keep calm, for her, to be strong for her. That's something I'm good at."

"Is that why you're lying to your family about us being together?"

"Guess I'm a hypocrite, lying to protect my family but telling you that you shouldn't." He brushes my hair behind my ears. "It was more than that. I needed space to think. Been touring since I was a teenager. This is the first time I've been alone in forever."

I let my body sink into his. It feels good getting all this off my chest. It feels honest. Intimate.

I've never wanted to share my feelings with anyone but Madison. Even with Nathan... there was always this space between us. Something missing.

I slide my arm around his neck, soaking in the softness of his skin. "So where do your feelings go?"

He nods to his bass in the corner. "And if that's not enough, I've got a keyboard and a guitar in Drew's old room.”

All the tension in my body eases as I pull back and stare into his eyes. "Does it really work?"

"Yeah. Try it." He takes my hands and pulls me to my feet.

"I can't sing or play an instrument."

"I'll teach you." He grabs his bass with one hand. The other slides around my waist. He sits on the bed, pulls me onto his lap, then positions my hands on the bass guitar.

His touch is gentle as he shows me how to pluck and how to fret. The strings are thick and heavy. I'll have callouses tomorrow.

"I have no musical talent," I whisper.

"That's okay." He slides his hands over mine. "You have a great teacher."

I actually giggle. I want him so much. I want every single piece of him.

I close my eyes and soak in the warmth of his breath on my neck, the hardness of his chest against my back, the comfort of him guiding me through playing the instrument.

"You have a favorite song?" he asks.

"You can teach me the bass line to any song?"

"If you give me fifteen minutes to look it up."

"Really?"

He nods. "You like pop music. The bass parts are pretty simple. Can't teach you to play
Hysteria
or
YYZ
."

"What about one of your songs?"

He nips at my ear. "Pick your favorite."

"I don't have one."

"Jess, that hurts. My ego is shattering."

"It is not."

"No, it's not." He presses his lips against my neck.

Again, I'm floating. It's like I've been let out of a cage.

I ignore my inhibitions completely. "How about the one you're working on?"

"Your wish is my command."

He takes me through the bass riff, one note at a time. I'm a hopelessly slow learner, but Pete is endlessly patient. We go through the riff a dozen times before he pulls his hands away.

"Try it," he whispers in my ears.

"I've already forgotten it."

"Try anyway."

His voice is steady and reassuring. Okay. I'll try anyway. I close my eyes and let my fingers do the thinking for me.

The deep sound of the bass fills the room. I'm actually playing the riff. It's a crawl compared to the tempo of the song, but I'm doing it.

I squeal with glee when I get to the end. "It worked." I shift off his lap so I can look him in the eyes. "I can't believe it."

He smiles. "You're a natural."

"Will you teach me the whole song?"

"It gets tricky. I'll teach you something easier. You like The Beatles?"

"I guess they're okay."

He chuckles. "Okay. We'll go for something a little more grunge. How about
Smells Like Teen Spirit
?"

I bite my lip. "Okay."

He smiles the widest smile in the history of the world. "Ready to drop out of school and drive around in a van playing gigs?"

I shake my head.

"Then you can't hack it as a rock star."

"Maybe I'll fall in love with guitar or drums."

"Or piano?"

"Yeah. Maybe." Or I'll fall in love with Pete. That's a lot more likely.

He moves closer. "Did you feel it when you played?"

"A little."

"Come here." He pulls me onto his lap. His voice is dripping with enthusiasm. He's passionate about this. "You will feel it."

"Okay." I melt.

––––––––

I
t takes Pete an hour and a half to teach me the three minute song. By the end, I can play the entire thing by myself.

He pushes me off his lap and directs me to turn. His lips curl into a smile. "Play for me."

God, that smile. It makes me warm all over. Okay. I can do this.

I sling the instrument's strap over my shoulder. Pete's eyes are locked on mine. His gaze makes me blush.

My eyelids press together. I position my hands on the bass and I play. Damn, that's loud. The deep, rich sound flows through the room. I'm the one making that noise.

I'm the one playing the song.

It's a rush. I try to let my fingers find their memory. I stumble, but I pick it back up. I make through all three minutes of the song. Okay, more like five minutes at the speed I'm playing, but I still feel victorious.

My eyes connect with his. He's beaming.

"Was I okay?" I ask.

He nods and pushes himself to his feet. "Amazing." He presses his lips to mine then takes the instrument and sets it back in its stand. "Did you feel it?"

I nod. "I can see why you're addicted."

He wraps his arms around me and pulls me closer. His palm presses against the back of my neck, his touch soft and tender.

This is so much more than sex.

My eyelids press together as he pulls me into a kiss. Mmm. I part my lips to make way for his tongue. I bring my hands to his waist and I hold his body against mine.

When the kiss breaks, I'm floating.

He looks down at me. "You hungry?"

Now that he mentions it, yeah. "Starving. What time is it?"

He turns to look at his alarm clock. "Well past lunch. You done with your reading?"

"Someone distracted me."

"You shouldn't come in here wearing those." He taps my glasses. "Can't help myself."

"You like my glasses that much?"

"Want you to wear them next time you suck my cock."

My sex clenches. "What were we talking about?"

He smiles. "I'll make lunch. Finish your reading."

Oh food. Yes, I should eat food. My mind refuses to switch gears. He wants me to wear my glasses the next time I suck him off. He was thinking about that.

It's so hot in here.

I shake my head. Come on, Jess, focus. I only barely manage to look him in the eyes. "You'll cook?"

"Use my credit card. You prefer Thai or Indian?"

"Surprise me." I don't want to untangle our bodies, so I stay pressed against him.

"Jess."

"Yeah?"

"You still have to read?"

"About an hour's worth, yeah."

"Then you should go." He slides his hands to my hips. "If you're here in one minute, I'm going to throw you on the bed and have my way with you."

"You're not making your case well."

He smiles. "I'm not the future lawyer." He presses his lips to mine. "School's important to you."

Damn, he's right.

"Jess, you have ten seconds."

"Give me an hour." I step into the hallway before I get any ideas about prioritizing him over school.

***

I'm an hour into my reading when Pete knocks on my door with the announcement that lunch is ready.

It smells amazing downstairs. Red curry paste, ginger, garlic, and shrimp waft into the air. Thai again. I take a seat at the table and pile my plate with a heaping scoop of each of three dishes—spicy chili green beans, red curry shrimp, and basil eggplant.

Two of the dishes are all vegetables.

He ordered what I like.

My heart melts. I'm not used to people taking care of me.

He pours two glasses of ice water and slides into the seat next to mine. His eyes meet mine as he motions to my drink. "Excited about school?"

I nod. "A little scared. It's already hard, all the reading I have to do."

"You'll ace it."

"How do you know?"

"You don't half ass things." He scoops rice onto his plate then tops it with half the curry shrimp. "We have a corporate gig Thursday in Chicago. Gonna miss your first day. It's a last minute thing."

I chew and swallow a slice of eggplant. It tastes of oil, lime, and Thai basil. "Was that part of you making sure everything is taken care of?"

He nods.

"I understand. This kind of thing must happen all that time."

"Yeah. Thought I was used to it but I'm pissed I can't celebrate with you." His gaze goes to his plate then goes back to me. "I'll make it up to you. Do owe you one from yesterday."

There's something I can't place in his expression, a frustration. He shakes his head and it's gone.

That's better. But there's still something off about his posture. A stiffness to his shoulders.

I don't like it. I want him here, with me, now.

"How about, after lunch, you start making it up to me?" I ask.

His lips curl into a smile. "Done."