Sometimes Brooke (The ALWAYS SOMETIMES NEVER Rock Star Romance Series Book 2) (4 page)

“Why this one?”

“It reminds me of you.”

I’m not sure whether to laugh or be insulted. “I remind you of mutant fruit?”

She nods. Adamantly.

“How exactly am I like this orange?” I hold it up so we can both get a good look at it.

“If you tell someone to think of an orange, most people will think of the perfect piece of fruit. The stereotypical orange in size, shape, color, texture, even scent. People don’t generally think of oranges that look like that.” She points to the deformed thing in my hands. “Tell someone to think about a rock star and the same thing happens. They have the stereotypical image of what they think a rock star is. I know I did. Until I met you. On the outside you try really hard to be the bad-boy rocker, but that’s not what I see when I look at you. Because I know you’re different. You’re really a good guy deep down inside. You defy the stereotype. Just like this orange.”

I’m not sure what to say, so I keep my pie hole shut. If she thinks I’m more than just a rocker I don’t want to burst her bubble. But Rayne was absolutely right. The more she thinks of me, the scarier it is. What if she finds out I’m really not that different from every other jerkoff rock star? What if I’m really nothing more than an asshole trying to get laid like everyone else?  

Three

Brooke

“Since when do you jog?” I struggle to keep up with Harper who is already yards ahead of me.

For the first time in all the years I’ve known her Harper actually looks normal. She’s not wearing a skirt that looks like she got it from the back of her mother’s closet or some peasant blouse circa 1970. She’s wearing 21st century jogging shorts, an Always Rayne t-shirt and brand new sneakers.

My lungs are already burning, but I don’t think we’ve gone that far. While Harper seems to be enjoying the exercise I feel like I want to punch someone.

Hard.

“Stop,” I manage to get out between wheezes and pants.

Harper turns around and jogs back to me. She’s still running in place while I’m doubled over, gasping for breath, as I try filling my lungs up with oxygen.

“That wasn’t even a mile,” she complains. She doesn’t seem to be out of breath at all, which pisses me off even more.

“How long have you been torturing yourself this way?” I ask when I can finally speak again.

“A few months. I sit in front of the computer so much these days I needed something to keep in shape. Nic’s property is so beautiful I figured I’d take advantage of the awesome views.”

“Maybe we can walk for a while,” I suggest. “I can’t keep up if you run.”

“Sure. No problem.”

We both start to walk at a brisk pace. It’s still a challenge for me, but at least I don’t feel like I’m going to die.

“So how would you feel about being a bridesmaid in a wedding?” she asks as we walk by an enormous fountain.

“He finally talked you into it, huh?”

“When I told him I’d give some serious consideration to his proposal he took that to mean yes. He’s ready to drive down to the courthouse at a moment’s notice.”

“You don’t want a big wedding, do you? I never pictured you as the fairytale wedding type.”

“No, not at all. I’m all for eloping, especially if it means avoiding the paparazzi. But I still want it to be special.”

“You could just get married here. This place rivals a lot of five star hotels. And he’s got enough fountains. You’ll have no trouble finding spots for photographs.”

“I thought about that. I’m just not sure…”

I stop walking and turn to face her. “Not sure about getting married right now…or getting married period? Or are you not sure about marrying Nic? There’s a big difference.”

Her brow furrows and she seems to be giving my questions serious consideration. Then she says. “There’s no one I’d rather spend my life with than Nic. I do want to get married and I do want to marry him. I guess I’m just scared. It’s a big step.”

“If you weren’t scared I’d be concerned,” I tell her. “You’ll know when the time is right.”

She nods. “Thanks. We’d better keep going. I don’t want our heart rates to drop.”

“Again with the torture,” I tease. “I feel like I’m in rehab again with all this exercise. Just don’t make me sit through any group therapy sessions, okay?”

She laughs. “I won’t. I promise.”

When we get back to my room it takes me a moment to realize there’s something taped to the door.

“What’s that?” Harper asks.

“It’s a note.”

“And a flower,” she adds.

There’s a piece of folded notebook paper that’s been ripped out of a spiral notepad taped to the door next to a half wilted daisy.

As I remove the piece of paper I can’t help but smile. It still has the frayed edges on it where it’s been removed from the pad. The poor daisy has seen better days. I’m not sure how long it’s been taped to my door, but it looks like it’s only a few hours away from being completely withered.

As I unfold the paper I notice the note scribbled in pencil looks like a kid wrote it. The handwriting is so bad I can just about make out what it says:
Will you go on a date with me?
This is followed by a poorly drawn heart and a scribble I assume is Leo’s signature.

“Cute,” Harper comments as she reads the note over my shoulder.

“If you’re in seventh grade,” I add even though I really do think it’s cute.

“The daisy was a nice touch,” she says as she hands me the flower. “He had to walk a fair distance to find one of those.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve gotten a flower from a guy,” I admit.

“So?” She raises an eyebrow.

“So what?”

“Are you going to go out with him?”

I heave a long sigh. “I don’t know.”

“You have to give him credit for trying to woo you. Even if his attempt is a bit like a junior high student.”

I glance down at the flower. “It is kind of sweet.”

“In some ways Leo is like a kid in a grown man’s body.”

I laugh. “He kind of is, isn’t he?”

When Harper places a hand on my shoulder I try not to flinch. Her expression has turned serious. “You know you can just go on a date and have fun. It doesn’t mean you have to sleep with him.”

“We probably wouldn’t be doing much sleeping, but I get your point. It’s been so long since I’ve gone on a date and not fucked the guy I honestly don’t remember what that’s like.”

“It might be good for you to go out and have a good time. Just be sure to say goodnight at the end of the date. And mean it.”

“I’ll think about it,” I tell her, although my mind is just about made up.

***

“Okay,” I whisper to Leo when I see him at breakfast.

He’s devouring a grapefruit when I sit down next to him at the kitchen table.

When he glances over at me he’s got a huge smile plastered on his face. “You got my note?”

“Where did you find a pencil?”

He laughs. “There are these tiny ass pencils scattered all over the guest house. They’re like pencils for dwarfs or something.”

“Are they golf pencils?” I suggest.

He frowns. “What do golfers do with tiny pencils?”

“They use them to write down their scores on their scorecards. You’ve never golfed?”

“Do I look like a guy who plays golf?”

I can’t help but laugh. “Not at all.”

“I think Nic’s tried it. Celebrity tournaments. Shit like that.”

I clear my throat. “So what do you have in mind? For our date?”

“I’ll take you to dinner. One of those fancy places in downtown Scottsdale. How does that sound?”

“Expensive,” I admit.

As he moves in close I get a whiff of his scent.  Sandalwood and citrus. I get tingly all over. “I’d pay anything to see you in one of your tight, little black dresses again.” Then he whispers in my ear. “And even more to get you out of it.”

My entire body heats at the thought of Leo hiking up one of my little back dresses and slipping inside of me. I can feel myself getting wet just thinking about it.

“How about tomorrow night?” His breath tickles my neck and makes me shiver.

When I try to reply I realize my throat has completely tightened. So I just nod.

“See you then, Wild Child.”

As he gets up from the table I can’t help but notice the erection that’s straining the fly of his jeans.

It takes me a moment to realize I’m licking my lips like a hungry animal.
It’s just a date
. I remind myself.
It doesn’t mean I have to fuck him
.

But oh, how I want to…

***

“I’m nervous,” I admit as I plop down in the office chair next to Harper’s.

“I know you’ve never worked in an office before, but I have confidence that you’ll handle everything just fine.”

I laugh. Harper is so cute. She thinks I’m nervous about working for her. “The date,” I tell her.

She rolls her eyes. “Of course. How could I think that there would be anything but Leo on your mind?”

“You’re the one who urged me to go out with him.”

She nods. “You’re right. But can you try to focus on Chatter for the next few hours, at least until I go through your training.”

“Sure,” I tell her. “No problem.

She narrows her gaze at me. Neither one of us actually believes the crap I’m spewing, but we’ll both pretend that I’m going to at least try to be a halfway decent employee.

When we take her computer out of hibernation the first thing that pops up is a website of wedding dresses.

“Research for Chatter?” I ask even though we both know she’s been looking at dresses for herself.

“Don’t say anything to Nic,” she warns. “I don’t want him to get his hopes up.”

“My lips are sealed.” I pantomime zipping my lips.

She slams on a few buttons on her keyboard until the wedding dress website is replaced with the website for her online entertainment magazine.

“One of your major responsibilities will be to monitor all of the comments we get on the Chatter website and our Facebook page, and keep up with our Twitter and Instagram accounts. You’ll be the face of Chatter across social media platforms. Do you think you can handle that?”

I nod, but my attention is already wandering to thoughts about Leo and being in his bed again. Do I have no self-control?

Apparently not when it comes to Leo.

On the plus side my booze cravings seem to be less intense. Between a sex addiction and a booze addiction I think a sex addiction is less dangerous. Before rehab booze and sex always seemed to be linked.  

“Brooke!” When Harper raises her voice I realize I completely spaced out on her training session.

“Yes, of course,” I reply, even though I have no idea what the question was.

When her eyes narrow and her lips become an angry slit I know I’ve already fucked up. “You’re not paying attention, are you?”

“Why would you say that?” I fake indignity.

“Because I just asked you if you’d like to learn Chinese in your free time and you said, ‘Yes, of course.’”

“That does sound like a complete lie, doesn’t it?” I admit.

“It was a test to see if you were zoning out.”

“I’m sorry. I promise I’ll pay attention. Although it might be easier if you just give me stuff to do and I learn as I go. I’ve always been more of a hands-on kind of girl.”

And that makes me think of having my hands all over Leo and him having his hands all over me…

When Harper slams a large pile of receipts in front of me the fantasies of Leo quickly fade again.

“You asked for it. You got it. All of these receipts need to be reconciled. She turns on another computer that’s sitting in front of me. “I’ll pull up the accounting program and you can get started. And please, no more daydreaming, okay?”

“I’ll do my best,” I assure her, but I can already feel myself fading back into a wonderful fantasy about Leo in the hot tub.

***

I’ve changed my outfit five times and I’m still not thrilled with what I’m wearing for my date with Leo. My heart hasn’t stopped thumping and I’m afraid it might beat right out of my chest.

As I stand in front of the mirror every one of my flaws seems to become crystal clear. And of course I pick apart every one of them. I’ve been doing it since I was a kid. Maybe it’s because it’s all I heard from my parents. They never told me they loved me, but they were very candid about everything that was wrong with me.

Especially my dad.

Just a few sharp and well-timed putdowns from my dad could completely run me into the ground. Over the years I’ve gotten very good at doing the same thing to myself.

I smooth out the wrinkles on my dress. Any shorter and it would actually be just a shirt. And I don’t think it’s possible for the dress to be any tighter. It’s already like a second skin. I’m also wearing fuck-me pumps which give my legs the appearance of being a lot longer and shapelier than they actually are.

I generally don’t wear a lot of makeup, but I’ve put on some bright red lipstick that just begs to be kissed off.

I run my fingers through my long, brown hair one last time to give it a little bit of a tousled effect.

Slut.

That’s the only word I can think of as I stare at my reflection.

I’ve been a slut since the seventh grade. I’ve never really given the term or its implications much thought until I was in rehab. I just considered myself a girl who loves cock. I could never get enough of it. Who, when, where or why didn’t matter as long as I had a dick inside of me.

In rehab they made us examine every aspect of our lives under a microscope. We talked a lot about my addiction to dick. Apparently I use sex to feel wanted and needed and loved.

The idea that maybe I just liked sex without it being some cry for help was completely dismissed by every one of my counselors.

It’s just as date, I remind myself for the millionth time as I take one last look in the mirror.
You don’t have to fuck him
.

But all I can see is a slut staring back at me from the mirror.