Rebel Rockstar (9 page)

I
’m literally suffering
from the worst hangover known to man. I have no idea how much I drank last night, or what even happened. I can’t remember returning to my room. All I know for sure is that I’ve slept for most of the day, only getting up to puke occasionally. Much as I know that this is a self-inflicted pain, I can’t help but feel sorry for myself.

I’d come outside for some much-needed fresh air when I noticed that half the deck was cordoned off. When I asked someone what was going on, and they said Jem was having a photo shoot, I just had to go and see her again. I can’t believe she’s up and about again, and she hasn’t called me!

I certainly didn’t expect to find her sprawled over the deck in next to nothing with some douchebag yelling at her. I couldn’t stand for that. I had to put a stop to it right away. I’m glad I could help her out, but now she’s racing away from me at a speed that my poor, hungover body can’t even begin to keep up with.

“Wait!” I yell after her. “Wait for me.” She spins around, giving me a look that suggests I’m about to be on the receiving end of whatever bad mood that dickhead has put her in. “Do you want to come to my room and chill out for a bit?” I ask, hoping I can stop the rant before it begins.

“Oh,” she replies sarcastically. “Is it me you want to come to your room, or is it Lola?”

Lola?
Shit. The night comes screaming back to me—some of it, anyway. At least the bit where Lola tried to kiss me.

“No, no…” I try. “It’s not like that. It wasn’t like that.” My hangover is making it very difficult to be coherent. Why did I have to get so wasted after that kiss? “Please, just let me explain. You have to believe me.”

“You can’t explain cheating on me.” She steps away from me, creating what feels like a massive distance. “And I don’t
have
to believe anything you tell me.” She’s so clearly uncomfortable in that teeny bikini that I use it to my advantage.

“Please, just come to my room. It’s much closer than yours, and I can get you a t-shirt.” I can see that she isn’t happy about my suggestion, but it doesn’t matter. She follows anyway. It may just be for the clothing, but once she’s inside I’ll be able to give her my side of the story.

Once we’re inside my room, and she’s wearing an oversized t-shirt that looks like a dress on her tiny frame, I continue trying my best to make her understand. She’s not looking at me like she wants to listen, but I intend to make her. “Look, I took Lola out for a friendly—
non-alcoholic
—drink last night. I just wanted to spend some time with her because I missed you like crazy, and I thought she’d be a nice friend to talk to.” Jem doesn’t look convinced, and I can hardly blame her. “She got upset, started saying all this weird stuff about me being the only one to understand her, and then she leapt at me.” I sneak a glance at Jem, but she’s glaring back at me. “I pushed her off right away. Of course I did. Not only do I have you, but she’s underage. I don’t see her in that way. She’s like a little sister, and if I’m honest I don’t think she really likes me either. I think it was a cry for help.”

I just don’t know for what…

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?” Jem pleads for an answer, and I’m desperate to give her one.

Thinking on my feet, I hand her my phone. “Call her now. Ask her. She’ll tell you the same as me.” I know she’ll tell the truth, even if it makes her look bad. At least I hope she does.

Jem dials the number and waits for Lola to pick up. I can only hear one side of the conversation, but from what I can make out, she’s telling the truth and defending me in the process. But it doesn’t go unnoticed that she doesn’t say a lot—she isn’t the normal chatty Lola she’s always appeared to be. Jem doesn’t seem to catch on to that. She just seems relieved that I didn’t cheat.

How could she think that I would? Does she really think that little of me?

“Okay,” she sighs, clicking the phone off. “She said the same as you.” She seems to be accepting of this. I’m incredibly relieved.

“Right…” I start, about to say more, but before I can finish my sentence, Jem’s mouth is on mine, and she’s claiming me all over again. It’s almost as if she’s so glad that we’re going to be okay that she can’t keep her hands off me for another second. All thoughts of the hangover vanish from my mind as I kiss her back just as enthusiastically.

Not wanting to let the moment pass us by, I start to lean her down until she’s lying on the bed, the t-shirt rising up, exposing the G-string to me. Unable to bear that tiny piece of material on her skin, I yank it down, leaving her fully nude from the waist down. I’d rather see all of her than think of her posing awkwardly for that horrible, pathetic little man.

I tug her along until she’s at the end of the bed, then I kneel down on the floor beside her, wanting to do for her what she did for me not that long ago. I push her knees up and begin to kiss lightly down her thigh until I reach her entrance. By the time I do, she’s gripping tightly onto the sheets below her for dear life, her whole body tense with what is to come. I’m not sure if she’s expecting it, or if she’s just waiting for anything to happen, but I cannot wait to see how she’ll react.

I tease my fingers in, one by one, feeling her wet excitement. I massage her, alternating between plunging into her and playing with her clit. It makes her wild with desire. Then, just as she’s settling in to enjoy the movement of my hands, I nudge her legs farther apart with my nose and remove my fingers, replacing them with my mouth. As I flick my tongue all over her, using her clit to my advantage, she almost screams out in joy. I can tell she’s never had this done to her before, and that makes my cock stand at attention with excitement. I could stay here all day, tasting her sweet desire, but she soon sits up, wanting more from me.

“I want you…bad,” she announces, almost too honestly. I kiss her quickly, moving myself until I’m hovering over her, then I thrust my cock in, needing her as badly as she needs me. I want to taste her until she orgasms at the tip of my tongue, but I also want to give her exactly what she’s begging for.

“Oh, God,” I cry out in pleasure. She feels so good, always, and I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of this sensation. Of everyone I’ve ever slept with before, no one has ever felt as right for me as Jem does. No one has fit me quite so well, and made me feel so fucking special.

I start moving powerfully above her, wanting to make her feel amazing, but it seems like I’ve awoken something inside of her, a hunger that needs to be sated, because she quickly flips me over until she’s on top. When she’s like that, I need to see every inch of her body, so I beg her to remove the t-shirt. When it’s off I angle myself into a sitting position, and I get that terrible bikini top off of her too. She’s too good for that. I never want to see her in anything so scanty again. I might even have to have a word with her management team about this new “sexier” image—it’s totally unnecessary for the rest of the world to get to see what’s mine.

I
really
hope that photographer didn’t get a good shot of her, despite what I said to him—I don’t like the idea of the whole world getting to see my beautiful girlfriend like that! Especially not in a sleazy men’s magazine…

“Oh, shit,” Jem calls out, tossing her head back in ecstasy. As she shuts her eyes and begins to lose herself, I realize that I need her looking at me. I need to feel connected to her for this to be real. I like seeing her face fully contorted in pleasure, and I don’t want to miss another chance of experiencing that.

“Look at me,” I plead. “I want to see you.” At my request, she snaps her eyes open and sends me the sweetest smile I’ve ever seen. As she rides me, angling me for her pleasure, I an intensity grows in her face. She’s growing closer by the second.

Just as I’m about to explode, she screams out my name as she orgasms and crumbles above me, fueling my own pleasure in the process.

As we lay there, panting next to one another, I feel grateful all over again that she’s giving me another shot, that she hasn’t let those silly rumors bother her. But something else is plaguing me. There was something about the way Lola spoke to Jem on the phone that has me worried—and I’m not sure what for. Am I concerned that she’s going to twist things? Or is it because of what she said about heading down a self-destructive path herself? When I first met Lola, she seemed like a happy, well-rounded girl. Definitely not someone who would kiss her friend’s boyfriend. Something must have changed inside of her. But what?

Or
who
?

It’s a mystery I need to solve.

A
couple
of days later we prepare for yet another stop. This time it’s more of a historical island, rather than the picturesque heaven we were in last time, but I’m excited all the same. It feels like a nice getaway, stepping off the ship into another place and another culture, and I can’t wait to do that again. And after all that we’ve been through recently, I really feel like Nate and I could use the time to reconnect. The last stop-off worked wonders for us, and I could really use that sort of luck again.

I’ve been focusing on Nate, trying to push everything else to one side for the time being, but it keeps cropping up in my mind over and over again. The awful photo shoot, Kim’s annoyance at my “diva attitude,” the weirdness with Lola, even my confusion about Tonya. They’re things I’m going to have to deal with, but I’m not quite ready for them just yet.

Nate knocks on my door and comes in to see me. “Are you ready?” I smile at his cute t-shirt-and-board-shorts combo. With me in my pale, floaty summer dress, we really will look like the sweetest couple ever.

“I’m ready.” I slip my hand into his, and we head toward the exit. Before we can get there, Nate’s manager Paul comes rushing in, holding a newspaper above his head. He’s red and sweaty and looks more stressed out than I’ve ever seen anyone look before.

“What the fuck is this, Nate?” he cries out in frustration. “Haven’t I had enough bullshit from you? And then you go and do
this
to me? What about your new image? Everything I’ve been working for? You’ll never work again at this fucking rate!”

“Whoa,” Nate replies, his eyes wide with shock. “Whoa, Paul. What the hell are you talking about? What’s going on here?”

“The fucking headlines.” He slams the paper down in front of him. “Nate Romero kissing a fucking minor! Nate fucking drunk out of his mind
again
. Nate drinking with a fucking underage starlet.”

I stare down at the page, my heart in my throat. There’s an image of Nate and Lola kissing. To me it seems clear that what Nate said is actually the truth—that this was only a split second of awkward shock before he shoved her away (I can see it in his face)—but to the rest of the world this looks bad. Really bad. Combine that with the images of the whiskey, and the drunken photographs, and the quotes from a “reliable source” and it doesn’t spell for a happy ending, to say the least.

“Oh, my God.” I gasp, then clap my hand over my mouth. Are the horrible things that keep happening to us ever going to end? Every time things start looking up, something else is thrown our way. “What’s going to happen?” I know full well how a story can spiral out of control. The media leaps on things quickly and it snowballs before you can even defend yourself. People get involved and sell fake stories supporting what’s been said, just to earn themselves some cash. I can already see this finishing things off for Nate, and I have no idea what I can do about that. I’m dreading what the Internet is already saying about this. “Can we speak to Lola? Maybe if she goes public…”

“It’s too fucking late for that,” Paul exclaims, running his hands through his hair. “There’s a fucking picture here. You can clearly fucking see them drinking and kissing. Nothing
anyone
says will help with this.”

“I didn’t kiss her!” Nate shouts angrily. I think it’s finally hitting him what this could mean for him and his career. “She kissed me. I pushed her off. That’s it. Yes, I was drinking—I might have acted like a fucking dickhead—but I didn’t let Lola drink anything. This is bullshit.”

“You have a reputation. This isn’t going to surprise many people.” Paul sighs and sits down in the nearest seat. “I’m sorry, Nate, but the event’s organizer has already seen this. She’s made her decision—her cruise ships can’t be associated with something like this. It could damage them forever.”

“What does that mean?” I can hear the anxiety in his voice, which absolutely petrifies me. I have no idea what’s about to happen. “What’s next?”

“Well, you’re off the cruise, for starters.” Paul holds his head in his hands, and for a second I feel sorry for him. That is, until I realize the magnitude of what he’s saying. Nate’s leaving. He’s been kicked off the ship, which means I’m going to have to do the final three weeks without him. I’d leave with him if I could, but I know for a fact that I’m under contract—Kim made it very clear before I stepped on board that I would have to do the entire time, no matter what. “Then we’re going to have to have some serious meetings with your public relations team. See where we can go next…”

I tune him out as he continues to plan Nate’s future, wondering what the hell this is going to mean for us. We
just
got to a good place, but I’ve been very worried about what the future holds. Now I’m not even going to get that final time to solidify things between us. Plus, we’re going to have this scandal to deal with. Not to be selfish, but how will it reflect on my career if I’m the girl he cheated on with a minor? Whatever the true story is, that’s how the world will see it.

Kim won’t allow it. I don’t want her to rule my life, but there’s no doubt that she does—all for the good of my future, apparently. She’ll never go for this, no matter how many times I tell her that I’m in love. I’ll be a washed-up nothing in moments.

Before I know it, the tears are flowing down my face. I’m absolutely gutted that I’m going to have to say goodbye to Nate right now, and I’m also upset about what he’s going to have to face alone, without me. The vultures will tear him apart—and that’s without even considering the Internet. People online are vile at the best of times, never mind when something like this has happened. They’ll be calling him all the names under the sun, and there won’t be a damn thing I can do about it.

I grip his hand, wishing I had the answers, wishing I could say
anything
to make it right. But what the hell can I say to this? I don’t think anyone could make any of us feel better right now.

“You’re going to have to come out the back way with me now, Nate,” Paul finishes sternly. “There are a
lot
of paparazzi waiting out there, and I’d much rather avoid photographs if I can.”

“Yeah, me too,” Nate murmurs sadly.

“I’ll come with you,” I announce quickly. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“I’m sorry. You can’t,” Paul jumps in. “Kim wants you to stay here. She doesn’t want you to get involved in this at all. Plus, there’s nothing you can do anyway. We’ll be racing into a car and getting away from here as quickly as possible. We have so much to do. We can’t hang around. Sorry, Jem. I know this isn’t easy.”

Nate drags me into a hug, and I’m racked with sobs against him. This is too much. It’s too painful, and I won’t even get to say a proper goodbye to him. This has to be the worst thing to ever happen to me!

“Come on, Nate.” Paul eventually tears us apart. “We really have to go. We can’t wait any longer.”

Then he’s gone, and I’m standing on this massive ship by myself, weeping like a pathetic mess and wondering what’s next for me.