Strum Your Heart Out (4 page)

Drew looks at me. "There's a pool on the roof."

"No," I say.

"Should I prove it?"

"I can't live here. The rent probably costs more than my car."

"Your car is ancient."

I fold my arms.

Drew walks across the long living room. He opens a sliding door and steps onto the balcony. Even on this floor, it's loud. Wilshire is jammed and there's enough honking to prove it. The smell of gasoline and exhaust drifts into the room. Oh, Los Angeles, you really have a unique charm.

The wind whips Drew's hair and t-shirt. He turns and motions
come here
.

I stay put. "This place is not us."

"What's us?"

"Don't you want to live in Hollywood?" I ask.

"So I can hit the clubs every night with Tom? No." His eyes find mine. "I want to live with you."

He steps inside, closing the door behind him. Instantly, the room is quiet. It's too quiet, actually. I can hear my racing heartbeat.

I clear my throat. "I hate Westwood."

"It's half a mile from UCLA."

"It's a clusterfuck. And all the people here are stuck up."

Drew raises an eyebrow. "You better watch yourself, Kendrick. Might offend someone."

"You're very down-to-earth. For a rock star." My blouse strains as I inhale. I adjust my purse so it's covering my chest. "Is there another option?"

Drew smiles. "Of course." He takes my hand. "And it's perfect."

***

The landlord looks at me like we're cut from the same cloth. She's a lot like my mom—thin, impeccably groomed, wearing only the finest business casual attire. We shake hands. She says her name but it goes in one ear and out the other.

She turns to Drew with significantly less positivity. He's in skinny jeans and a t-shirt. I'm in my work getup. It looks like I'm the one with the job and the money and he's my handsome but useless trophy boyfriend.

"Aren't you a nice couple?" She smiles. "Will this be your first time living together?"

Drew nods. He doesn't correct her.

This place isn't an apartment at all. It's a single-family house. Cozy, but plenty of room for two.

We follow the landlord up a small stone path. The yard is all drought-tolerant plants—cacti and succulents surrounded by grey and white pebbles.

This place is at least twice the size of my current place. The main room stretches on forever. It has clean hardwood floors. The kitchen has an island. There's room for half a dozen mixing bowls and baking pans. There's room for fifteen coffee makers. I'm in love with the idea and I don't even drink coffee.

The landlord points to the stairs. "There are two bedrooms. You could use one room as an office. Or as a nursery. When the time comes."

Drew throws me a look. "Yeah, honey. It would make a nice nursery."

Two can play this game. "It's so nice that you want to be a stay-at-home dad, so my career can come first."

He raises his eyebrow
really?

I nod. Sure, why not.

"Kara, sweetie, you know you always
come
first."

The landlord stares at us like we're crazy.

I press my palm against the sliding glass door to the backyard. There's a pool out there. It glows under the dark sky like a beacon of hope. It's practically screaming
this is the best place you will ever live and the only chance you'll ever have to go swimming without a panic attack.

"Where do you work, Ms.—" she trails off.

"Kara is fine." I turn back to the rest of the house. It's huge. It's massive. It's perfect. "At Giffin Industries. I'm also a student."

"And you, Mr. Denton?"

He winks at me. "I'm in a band."

All that positivity falls right off her face. He's in a band. Talk about a loser who can't afford to pay the rent.

"We have to do a credit check. And we'll need some proof of employment. Our usual rule is that a couple needs to be making three times the rent before tax."

Drew cocks his eyebrows. He makes eye contact with me and smiles. It's like he's saying
watch this.

He turns to her. "How about we skip all that and take a look at my Mint account."

He pulls his phone from his pocket. A few taps and he flashes the screen to the real estate agent. I can't see what's on display, but it must be a lot, because her frown turns right upside down.

Drew is no longer a penniless loser.

He has money now. He's worthy of her attention now. Never mind that he was always worthy of attention. Even before he was hotter than the sun. Even before he had enough money to rent a place like this.

I bite my lip. No reason to get upset with this woman for doing her job. It's not like she invented capitalism.

"I'd like to sign the lease now," he says. "Before my... Kara changes her mind about me."

The woman laughs like she doesn't consider this a possibility. After all, who changes her mind about the rich, hot rock star?

"I have a copy in my car," she says. "Feel free to look around the place."

Drew nods. He waits until she leaves to pull the sliding door open and step into the backyard.

"We never got the chance to go swimming at Miles's place," he says.

"And you're going to get naked, jump into the pool, and get dressed by the time she's back with the lease?"

Drew smirks. "She'll still approve us if I'm naked in the pool." He turns back to me. "If anything, it will help our case."

My body buzzes. He offers his hand like he's beckoning me to follow him.

I shake my head.

"You used to be brave, Kendrick."

"Shove a sock in it." I move toward the stairs. "I'm checking out the bedrooms."

I turn so he won't see my face flush. Heat spreads through me. It calls all of my attention. It's like dancing. I'm acutely aware of every part of my body. Every sensation, every muscle, every stretch or strain.

Drew follows me up the stairs. He grabs my hand and jumps into the lead, pulling me into one of the upstairs bedrooms.

It's about average for Southern California. Cozy but not tiny. There's room for a bed, a desk, a dresser, and just enough empty space for floor work.

Drew takes in my expression. "You like it."

"Good thing since you already agreed to sign the lease."

He shrugs like he knew this would happen. His hand intertwines with mine and he leads me to the other bedroom.

The master bedroom. It's bigger and it has a mirrored closet door.

Drew stands next to me and stares at his reflection. We make a strange pair—me busting out of my blouse and skirt and him exuding effortless charisma in his perfectly fitted jeans and t-shirt. It's not that I don't hold up to him. It's just, right now, we look like opposites. My dark brown hair is in a tight bun. His black locks are hanging in his eyes. My outfit is light and neutral. His is dark and bold. I'm all soft, round curves. He's all hard lines.

Don't get me wrong. I'm decent looking. I may not be as thin as my mother is, but I'm just as good with my hair, makeup, and wardrobe. I work with what I've got. Cobalt eyeliner to bring out my brown eyes. A cinched waistline to play up my curvy frame. Three-inch heels to give me enough height to make eye contact without craning my neck.

But Drew is in a whole other tier. Even when he's trying to keep out of the spotlight, he stands out. Girls flock to him and he bats them away like it's nothing.

"How do you want to settle this?" he asks.

I shoot him a quizzical look.

"This is clearly the superior room. I'm willing to let you have it, but not without a fight."

"You can have it," I say. "Since you'll be paying—" I look around the room again. It looks outrageously expensive. "Ninety percent of the rent or something."

He frowns. "I don't want to hear anything like that again. We're equals here."

"But you're paying—"

"I don't care. Everything is even between us." He folds his arms across his chest. "Deal?"

I nod. "Okay, deal."

"How about we flip for it?"

"There must be a better way."

He pulls his wallet from his pocket and takes out a quarter. "Can you name one?"

Actually, I can't. I nod, okay, fine. We'll flip for it. "You flip. I'll call it in the air."

He nods. He places the coin over his thumb. Flip. It spins in the air.

"Head. Heads," I say.

And now my mind is right in the gutter.

Drew catches the coin in his palm. He makes eye contact and raises an eyebrow. He looks down at the coin then holds his palm out so I can see it too. "
Head
it is."

I clear my throat. "Great."

"
Head
is great."

"Shut up."

He shrugs like he doesn't know what I'm talking about.

CHAPTER FIVE

Drew: Kendrick, I have a thought
.

The buzz of my phone lulls me out of my finance class-induced boredom. I check to make sure the coast is clear. There are only twenty people and I'm right in the professor's eyeline.

I wait until he turns back to his PowerPoint presentation and tap a reply.

Kara: Don't leave me waiting in breathless suspense.

Drew: That's awfully poetic for a text.

Kara: Maybe I should be the one who writes Sinful Serenade's lyrics.

Drew: You better not let Miles hear that.

Kara: Miles should be more concerned about what he makes me hear.

Drew: You didn't like the free audio porn?

Kara: No.

Drew: We'll get him back eventually.

The person next to me clears her throat. And here I thought we all outgrew being the teacher's pet in third grade.

I drop my phone in my lap so it's out of view. It buzzes again.

Holy shit.

It's right between my legs. It's pressed up against my clit. That buzz is so...

I bite my lip so I won't react. This is so not the place. I try to grab the phone but it buzzes again.

The teacher's pet scowls at me. She shakes her head like she finds me distasteful. I mouth
sorry
. There. I shove the still buzzing phone in my purse.

The professor turns back to the class. He's looking right at me. I grab my pen and dutifully copy the notes from the slide. Eyes on the paper. I'm totally paying attention. I'm in college. Of course, I'm paying attention. It's not like I don't understand anything in my finance classes. It's not like I absolutely loathe my major and the plan my mom has set out for me: joining her company after I graduate.

I look around the room. The professor is lost in his dull lecture. The teacher's pet is lost in her obscenely neat notes.

Under my chair, my entire purse vibrates. I better turn the thing off. That story checks out. It's not like I'm grabbing it so I can reply to Drew's texts. Not at all.

Drew: What are you doing tonight?

Drew: I hope nothing, because we need to pick out furniture.

Drew: I'll pick you up at 7:30. Your place.

***

Drew plucks a vase from a wooden shelf. He stares at it like he can't understand its mystical and magical powers. It's a vase. It decorates and holds flowers. There's nothing to understand.

He moves to a tiny table. It only seats two and it looks wobbly as all hell. He slides into one of the rickety wood laminate seats and picks up the plastic glass that's sitting on the table.

"Do you see yourself drinking coffee here?" he asks.

"I don't drink coffee."

He motions for me to take the other seat. I fight my desire to roll my eyes but I comply. There's something magnetic about Drew. I can't say no to him.

He presses his palms against the table and leans toward me. He's a foot away maybe and he's looking at me.

I clear my throat and lean back in the chair. "Are you really staying long enough to invest in furniture?"

"That's the plan."

"Not going to get sick of fame and quit the band?" I bring my attention to the floor. It's hardwood. Long, thin planks in this tan color. They're beaten and waxed to hell.

"Say I did. Where would I go?" He pushes himself up. "I have everything I want here."

"And what is that?"

"Sunshine. The beach." He stares right into my eyes. "I have this friend. But she's about to graduate college and move far, far away for some amazing opportunity."

"How do you know she's competent?"

"No clue. But if she shows up to an interview wearing the outfit I saw her in, she's a shoo-in."

Heat rushes through my body. There's no denying it. Drew is flirting with me. It's normal. Friends flirt with friends. It's not as if it means he likes me.

I shift out of my seat and study a bookshelf like my life depends on it. There is absolutely no reason why I'd buy this ugly bookshelf. Most of my novels and half of my textbooks are digital.

Drew moves on to a different part of the store. All casual like he wasn't flirting with me.

He runs his fingers over a wood table. This one is huge, big enough to sit eight people.

Drew turns to me and motions
come here
. I do.

I stare at the table the way he's staring at it. It's a pleasant cherry brown. It's thick. There is something awfully inviting about it. The perfect place to sit with a textbook and a cup of tea.

His fingertips slide over the curve of my hip. "Will you do me a favor?" He turns his head to the right then to the left, like he's checking to make sure no one is watching.

"What is it?"

"Agree first."

There's a mischievous look in his eyes. Okay, fine, I'll bite.

"Sure," I say.

His grip tightens around my hip. He grabs me and lifts me onto the table. I land hard on my ass. My legs part in a desperate attempt to maintain balance. Not enough. I lean back and plant my hands behind me.

Drew keeps one hand on my hip. The other slides down my leg, under my knee. He slings my legs around him. The same position we'd be in if we were fucking on this table.

My heart goes into freight train mode. I've got no clue what he's doing, but part of me doesn't care. He's so close. His crotch is pressed up against mine. If we weren't wearing all these clothes, we'd be steps away from something so perfect.